Skip to main content

Summertime, and the Borscht features Fresh Veggies!

Last week I spent two days at the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis, where my friend and colleague Catherine O'Neil leads a STARTALK program every summer. This government-supported language school runs four weeks, from 8:30-3:30 every day, and features fabulous language teachers from the Naval Academy. With a goal of 90% Russian language every day, the teachers have to be imaginative (after all, they don't take total beginners, but some of their students have had only a year of formal language training). They do exercises and readings, have conversations, play games and watch films (including Volodymyr Zelensky in Servant of the People, conveniently available on Netflix this summer). All in Russian.

I also learned about their coffee break every morning, during which students have to go to the "cafe" and ask the grouchy post-Soviet barista (one of the fabulous instructors) for coffee, tea, or anything else they like. That seems brilliant--on the one hand the students are getting a break, but on the other they are require to activate and use their language skills.

Invited to give a food-related lecture, I put together a presentation on what I called "three Russias": traditional Russia, Soviet Russia, and emigre Russia. The level was pretty high, but I think most of them followed what I was saying. (I felt compelled to explain vocabulary in somewhat nutty ways: to transmit the idea of "exile," as in Russian Cuisine in Exile, I started with the word "diaspora," a cognate, but then went a little crazy, forcing my colleague to draw a sheep as I demonstrated the word "drive," as in "to be driven out." Another high point was when I was quoting Vail and Genis on the evils of "nutrition-based" cooking--they prefer to think about taste and let the nutrition follow, instead of counting carbs and proteins--and crawled under the desk to vivify "vpolzaet v dushu". The students had bemused looks on their faces. Oh well.)

The fun part was the cooking. I was given teams of 4-5 students at a time to instruct in washing, chopping, and assembling ingredients, and though they had a lot of vocabulary in advance, it was still hard at first to understand how to instruct them all, in Russian, while also moving the process along. (We had two cooking sessions, one Thursday afternoon and one Friday morning, and then a big banquet.) I figured out that by making stations around the kitchen and writing out post-it notes with each set of tasks, I could supervise and still "teach" them both language and cooking. Having to give basic instructions ("first wash your hands...") meant that we hit the Russian-language target pretty easily!

Our Salmon Kulebiaka featured a 2+ lb
piece of fish--and was decorated like a U.S. flag.
Will they remember words like "jewelry"? (In order to explain "decorate," as in "think about ways to decorate the Russian pies," I was pointing to earrings and bracelets, talking about Red Square and other "beautiful" things... The students got "ukrasheniia," though the relationship between a necklace and a pie may have escaped them...)

The pies were gorgeous, but so was the summer borscht. I heard a girl who has trouble digesting sour cream praising the lighter pink color of her classmate's borscht. And one of my faculty colleagues, who doesn't like oil in her food, was ecstatic to take home the leftover liter or so of soup.

Russian food has a reputation of being heavy, but in summer the favorites are filled with fresh, uncooked veggies: radishes, scallions, cucumbers and dill. Light and refreshing. The kompot, too, was a revelation--I've never made this fruit drink before myself, and we used it as our sladkoe, our dessert. Delicious!


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Cringeworthy? Really??

It's so sad. I've gotten my first reaction to my new book. Well, second reaction. My sweet husband was brought to tears reading the introduction (possibly because he remembered just how many drafts of each section of the book, and of all the sections left on the cutting room floor, that he had read, and read, and read before). But now I've heard from a potential reader that his Russian friend-in-exile (and more importantly that friend's teenage son) think the title is кринжовый. Ouch. That hurts. Why do we need Russian literature? Do we? My Polish friend wrote to encourage me when she saw my linked in post about the publication and assured me that SHE and all her friends still love Russian literature ... even and despite the fact that Russians sometimes misbehave. (Some Russians more than others, and sometimes not just misbehaving--the world's reaction to the murder of Alexey Navalny in prison is noteworthy and important. We need to hold those responsible in contem...

Personal Sanctions. Second Reactions

On Thursday I fled Denver in the face of what was promising to be an epic snowstorm. (My AirBnB host, who grew up in Michigan, advised that Denver is quick to hit the panic button, but I didn't dare stick around to find out. I needed to be home before Monday!) In the plane, waiting for de-icing, I checked my e-mail and learned that I had been added to a so-called "stop-list" of U.S. citizens who are being personally sanctioned for our attitudes toward the Russian government and its internal and foreign affairs. It's not often that you end up on a list with the head of Lockheed Martin--certainly nothing I ever expected. But then, I also had never thought of myself as a Russophobe, and now that's the label that has been affixed to me by the Russian Federation. I had just been upgraded to first class--apparently not a lot of people were fleeing Denver that morning!--so I did what any Russophobe would do: I ordered a vodka from the flight attendant. An American vodka,...

RIP Randy Nolde

In everyone's life there is a teacher who motivated her to try harder, strive for more, reach beyond. Or in my case, a teacher who teased, goaded, poked, pried, laughed, lampooned, and somehow created an atmosphere where I was ready to work my tail off to make him proud. Randy Nolde, we will miss you. Mr. Nolde was my Russian teacher in high school. I first got to know him as a younger person -- the Russian Club Banquet was quite the event in my home town, and my grandmother used to take us regularly even before my sister enrolled in Russian language class. Every year, the high school cafeteria underwent a magical metamorphosis. Huge murals of scenes from Russia -- fantastic, colorful onion-domed churches, and young peasants reaping wheat, and Armenian maidens with long braids and colorful costumes -- hung all around the edges of the room. On the menu: chicken Kiev made by the cafeteria ladies, supplemented with cafeteria salad, but also khachapuri  and piroshki  made b...