Wladimir Schohin, Stilleben, 1910 / Courtesy of Amatörfotografklubben I Helsingfors rf, Finland.
Before the punk house borscht, my early memories were of old Russian women force-feeding me huge spoonfuls of cold, red, watery, lukewarm soup with unidentifiable chunks and a sour taste my three-year-old palate couldn’t handle.It was one of the many foods from my ancestral homeland that didn’t initially jive with my first-generation American tastebuds weaned on Cheerios and pasteurized milk; I’d eventually learn to love things like gefilte fish, stuffed cabbage, greasy.
, and other dishes brought over from the old country that probably reminded my family of home.But there was something about that first experience with the red, chunky soup that made me swear I’d never eat it again..But in the punk house, turning down the communal food — most of which was perfectly good produce picked out of dumpsters — wasn’t much of an option.
I didn’t live there full-time, but I didn’t want to upset my hosts, so I ladled a bowlful from the rusted old pot, took my dented spoon, and dove right in.What I got was a rich, vibrant, tangy-but-not-at-all-tart mouthful, the likes of which my teenage senses, used to cans of Campbell’s tomato or my family’s oversalted chicken and noodles, had never experienced.. As somebody who grew up around mostly Soviet Jews and family members touched by the Holocaust, food was necessity, a means of survival, not something to be savored.
The punk house borscht, with chunks of beets and potatoes, the familiar scents of garlic and dill, was the first home-cooked meal that truly got its hooks in me.
Home cooking — that’s how you can tell if you’re home.The People’s Kitchen.
“In fact, the next time you buy a bottle of overly sweet barbecue sauce from the supermarket, try this: Divide the sauce between two jars and top up with an equal part [of] apple cider vinegar, plus some salt and pepper.So much better!”.
fruity, apple-forward.Cider Vinegar-Braised Chicken Thighs.