Mother`s borsch... What it?
Mother`s borsch - are more than just traditional food. Mother`s borsch is a return for a while to sources, back in the careless childhood when I was a little boy and little understood. This reminder on the lost innocence and purity, paradise on the earth when mother was still young, and the world is kind and beautiful.
It as a touch to former happiness, understanding that you are loved and you are necessary to someone. It is connection between generations.
Every time when my dear mother comes to me on a visit, the next morning, having hardly woken up, all in detailed stories about the family and acquaintances who were born who married and who died, very much preventing me to gather for work, - if it is weekday, - so I will surely forget a wallet, phone, and even the first and second, or having paralyzed me one and a half hour paralysis on a creaking kitchen stool, - if it is the day off, - mother first of all starts one of the main sacraments - to preparation of a huge pan of the Ukrainian borsch.
On fire the most capacious pan with water what can only be found in my barchelor house, liters so on five, and the white wetted since evening kvasoly and crude tsibuliny - a buoy , shaking in the middle of the sea - future borsch - “for a saturation of color and taste - borsch - that on water, not on broth is put, and then it is useful“. Potatoes, a beet , by of a morkv , an onion , chasnyk are peeled , potato is cut on small cubes, the rest rubs on a large grater, is cut and put to be extinguished on vegetable oil in the most capacious frying pan, with addition of a spoon of vinegar, “for a color“, and sugar spoons, “for a sakharnost a buryachka“, and a little later - tomatoes or if there are no tomatoes - not a season, then ketchup. In a special way the thinnest, almost transparent laces, slice cabbage.
Then everything in the obligatory order is issued good luck in a pan with the boiling water and kvasoly , is salted and peppered (lately my dear mother began to cook the Ukrainian borsch on Mexican manners, with addition of chili pepper, a paprika and all other kinds of pepper what can only be found in my kitchen that even I, the fan ostrenky, sometimes shed a tear between spoons of its fabulous borsch, most likely, out of place having remembered something sad), mixes up with pronouncing some magic spells, is tried, mixes again up and covered. Now borsch pines on the smallest fire, minutes twenty - thirty. In the end the mammon can add fennel and parsley, a celery and still what grass what only in forces to find in the refrigerator or on kitchen shelves, having brought the last stroke in this colourful still life, and then switches off borsch, “that it was a little drawn“.
While borsch is drawn, we with my dear mother philosophize on eternal subjects, it seems “Borsch and a modern civilization“ or “Borsch in life of the different people“, giving out each other, in the absolute agreement of opinion, at first sight, paradoxical and, nevertheless, the maxims checked on personal experience, it seems “Borsch is good only in two cases: when it is just prepared and when it was properly drawn“.
Usually I adhere to the first option, and I do not even allow borsch to be drawn and one minute, so I cannot wait to try it. Borsch surely in a wide plate is poured (though my mother prefers to eat the kapustno - a beet enchanting spectacle from “kisushka“, a big high bowl) and in a small amount, on European manners (I know that here I break one of the basic rules of taste of the Ukrainian borsch “That the Spoon in Borsch Stood“, but when on a plate it is a little food, it always seems more tasty). In core the sour cream spoon is put, the clove - other a chasnychka is cleaned (in the childhood I liked to rub with garlic and I will merge a rye top crust), the hunk of black “wet“ bread and - “Tasty is cut off!“
On me, borsch has to be with a heat - heat and almost to burn - then it more tasty. But it is good and in the cold, drawn look, directly from the refrigerator in some midday July sun. (It is remembered, relatives of my once dear wife such Makar, having fairly got hungry in the hot summer afternoon, at one go kneaded the whole pan me the cooked cold borsch - and then from pleasure only grunted).
The Ukrainian borsch is a match for the Ukrainian surzhik: at everyone it, unique. And in own way tasty. My grandmother, for example, cooked borsch on fat pork broth, with meat on a stone as the grandfather loved, on dukhmyany sunflower oil with a smell of sunflower seeds and added dried boletuses to a dish. Her relatives, that in the village near Nikolayev, adds grated fat to borsch. And other relatives always cook pampushkas for borsch and pour over them garlick dressing. Someone surely slices vegetables manually, assuring that quite so and it is necessary - handwork with enclosed by soul and love. Someone rubs on a grater. Someone throws in a pan couple whole kartoshin and at the end kneads them a fork that borsch was more dense.
And at the end of summer, an early autumn borsch is cooked from a gentle beet tops of vegetable and young vegetables, potomiv it on fire of all of what minutes by ten - fifteen that gentle vegetables remained half-baked. It is remembered to such simple borsch my grandmother gave preference in half-starved 90 - e. And such exactly borsch was cooked also by me as soon as I moved to Belarus, and behind a boundary, behind the house which we with the wife rented, to the surprise found several beds of young beet, having considered that it a draw - means, washing. And strange business, it was possible to lose the tongue - it was so tasty.
Talk and the first plate is inevitably followed by a plate the second. Then the mammon imperceptibly withdraws, without stopping telling me about some far relative, the girlfriends and acquaintances or for the 100-th time about the grandmother. I try to keep step with the third plate, becoming heavier and heavier and am lazier with each eaten spoon, continuing to savor alternately a yushka, a thick, crackling garlic and brushing away an unintentional tear, - whether from the Mexican borsch, whether with the obscure happiness overflowing me. I all burn and I am thrilled at the same time, the person who is made happy with mother`s borsch.
To tell that it is just mother`s borsch, tasty first course - means, to tell nothing. Mother`s borsch is a religious rite. Ancient family ritual. A mute maternal declaration of love and tendernesses to the son, without banal and awkward words. Mother`s borsch is not just tasty dish from far - the near past on which you grew up, at first from grandmother`s giving, and then and from mother`s, absorbed it almost with mother`s milk, fell in love still before understood, it is tasty or not. Mother`s borsch is my past. My history. Part me - I want that or not.
And strange business, on water it or on fat pork shank, with kvasoleyu and mushrooms or without, red as the first blood or weak orange to a color, mother`s borsch is always tasty, always as for the first time. And always, as hi and farewell - prepares in two cases: when mother comes and when mother leaves. And if in the first case I fight back tears from chasnyk and hot spices which mother did not regret generously to put in the borsch which burn down to me language and the sky then in the second who knows, perhaps, I cry and with something.
God will give, I will eat for a long time mother`s borsch - with a heat - heat, a vprikuska with garlic, under familiar balachka about relatives and acquaintances, neighbors and friends. God will give...