#ThrowbackThursday: Borscht

I made a pot of borscht the other day. Because, winter, and beets that needed cooking, and deliciousness. And I was reminded of this blog post from eight years ago, February 6, 2014, written while the Winter Olympics were on in Sochi, Russia. It being the Winter Olympics again, I thought you might like to read it and maybe cook your own borscht.

In honour of the Russian Olympics, I thought I’d cook me a pot of borscht. Well, actually, no, it’s not in honour of the Olympics at all, it’s in honour of the fact that I found a borscht recipe I really like and I wanted some. I hadn’t really ever made borscht before that one, as the man and most of the offspring wouldn’t be into eating it; but I’m on a bit of a food emancipation kick – I want to try new stuff, particularly new vegetable dishes – so I made some. A friend who happened to come by that day ate a bowlful and declared it good borscht, and as she’s of Ukrainian extraction, I feel this soup has received the stamp of approval.

The issue with making anything that involves beets is, of course, that it requires some pre-planning. You can’t just stick your head in the fridge half an hour before you want to eat, and go “Oh, there’s some beets, let’s make something with them” – they take far too long to cook for that. However, cooking them is really easy, and they keep cooked in the fridge for quite some time, so you can pre-cook them one day, and do your spontaneous borschting later in the week. To cook, just wash them off, dump them in a big pot, cover with water, put them on to boil, and bubble-bubble-toil-and-trouble for about an hour (depending on how fat they are – I don’t think you really can overcook beets, so better longer than shorter. Poke the biggest one with a sharp knife, and if the knife slides in easily, they’re done.). Drain them, let them cool (I fill up the pot again with cold water just to cool them off, because I’m too impatient to wait for them to cool on their own), and peel them. Peeling beets is funny – when they’re well-cooked, they slip right out of the skin, with sort of a sloosh kind of noise. I’d highly recommend wearing an apron and/or clothes you don’t care that much about, as your hands and the sink and everything around it will look like a bloodbath (I suppose it is, too – beet blood. Muahahahah!).

Okay, now you’ve got your beets cooked. So here’s the recipe (I got it from the More-With-Less Cookbook by Doris Janzen Longacre, which was the first cookbook I bought myself after I was married. If you can get a hold of that book, I highly recommend it. No, you can’t have my copy; it’s falling apart, anyway.)

Quick Beet Borsch (they spell it without the t. Apparently you can also spell it borshch, which is closer to the Ukrainian/Russian pronunciation. But it looks weird that way.)

1 c cabbage, finely chopped
1 onion, finely chopped
2 c water
cook 10 minutes. Add:
2 c stock or broth
2 medium beets, cooked and chopped
1/2 c beet juice (I leave that out)
1/2 t salt
dash pepper
1 T lemon juice.
bring to a boil, serve with sour cream.

Which is exactly what I’m going to do right now – serve it. Even if it’s just to myself.

Life, the Universe, and Borscht. Do they have cookoffs in the Olympics?

Note on the 2022 edition: these days, I don’t bother with the exact steps of this recipe. I grate/chop the vegetables, dump them in the pot with the seasonings and water or stock (whichever I have available), and simmer it for half an hour or so, until the veggies are soft. I also don’t put in lemon juice, but add some herbs (dill is good, or lovage). If you don’t have sour cream or want to make this a lighter dish, plain yogurt works really well, too. Guten Appetit!

#ThrowbackThursday: Olympic Hockey

Seeing as it’s the Winter Olympics again, I thought it might be time for this repeat blog post from February 2014, written during the Sochi Olympics:

Steve ready to cheer Canada in the Olympics

I don’t give a rip about hockey. Oops, did I say that out loud? I might have just jeopardised my chances of ever getting Canadian citizenship. Oh, wait! Wait! Before you send me hate mail, delete the link to my blog, unfriend me on Facebook and refuse to ever speak to me again, hear me out.

It’s true, I’m afraid – I don’t care about hockey, and I really know nothing about it. But one thing I do know, and that’s that Canadians care passionately about this game. I found out just how passionately four years ago, this very Sunday, during the Vancouver Winter Olympics 2010. The Man and I wanted to go for lunch, and we made the mistake of picking the local pub to get our eats. We got into the pub, and it was crowded – really crowded. Maple leaf motifs everywhere. And there was such a sense of excitement the air was practically crackling with it. We did get a seat, and then we realised that on the big TV screens there were guys on skates, and a big arena – that, in fact, they were winding up for the gold medal game, the final day, the BIG ONE – men’s hockey, Canada vs. the USA (which tells you right there where our heads were at; we didn’t even know it was on that day). I tell you, it was just a little scary. We were there early enough to be able to get our food and get out of there before the game started – slink out, rather. It would have been more than my life would have been worth to say out loud what I just said up top there; the crowd might have just torn me to pieces and fed me to the nearest coyotes. Besides, we knew our seats would get snapped up the minute we left. So we went home, and the Man and the offspring watched the game on TV – I went and had a nap, I’m afraid. But when I got up from my nap, I found out that Canada had, indeed, got the gold; at overtime, in a very dramatic play, no less.

And you know what? I was thrilled! I was so very, very excited. Not because the game means anything to me, but because the whole country erupted in celebration. All around me, people were ecstatic. The atmosphere of triumph, of victory, was fantastic. And it was EVERYWHERE. To have won the gold medal in Canada’s sport on Canadian home soil – there was nothing like it. Canada was one big party zone that day. It was wonderful.

The 2010 Olympic Flame coming through our little town

I might not care about the game, but I care about the people who care about the game – so I guess, in a sense, I do care about hockey, after all. I care because others care. I care because I live in Canada, and Canada cares about hockey. I’m actually quite nervous about the game that is being played as I write this, Canada vs. the US in the semi-finals. I’m not watching it, because, other than the fact that I really don’t know what’s going on on the ice, I find the tension hard to handle. There are too many people to whom this matters so very much. As for the men’s gold medal game on Sunday, I’ll be sure to stay out of the pub. I might just stay off the internet, too, until it’s over – just tell me who won afterwards, will you? If it’s gold for Canada, I’ll be very happy.

Canada is terribly passionate about hockey – my boys got to watch yesterday’s women’s gold medal game in school, one in math class, the other in the school theatre on the big screen while they were supposed to have gym class. I ask you, what other country would put their high school classes on hold so they could watch a sports game? Canucks have their priorities.

Life, the Universe, and Olympic Hockey. I guess I’m a hockey fan by proxy.