In my class, we have spent the last two weeks talking about shchi. We learned proverbs, looked at different recipes, contemplated "fasting" or vegetarian shchi versus shchi with meat. We read essays about shchi, discussed the history of shchi in old Russia, and looked at images of shchi in power point presentations.
Or at least I did. Then one of the students -- whose Russian vocabulary seems extraordinary (she's the one who knew how to say "polar vortex" in Russian) -- asked a question.
"What are shchi?"
I had decided to check in with the students about the pace of reading, degree of comprehension, etc., so we were speaking English.
"Cabbage soup," I replied.
"But then why is it plural?"
This, of course, is the great question of Russian cuisine. Why is a soup plural?
The students were not convinced by my first suggestion: because the declensions are that much more fun: add some smetana [sour cream] to your [dative case] shcham; eat bread with your [instrumental case] shchami, can't live without [genitive case] shchei, etc.
Fee Fi Fo Fum, I smell the scent of ... cabbage soup!
So once again, everything comes back to Pushkin. His "learned cat" on a golden chain, walking around the green oak tree, has led millions of Russians into the land of their own (and borrowed) folklore as they ventured forth with handsome Ruslan, fighting giants and wizards to land the beautiful Liudmila. Who, perhaps, would in gratitude whip him up some cabbage soup.
For the Russian feast my students are planning, they decided we need both Russian national soups, shchi and borscht. (Russia is the land of soups, so there are many more! But these are the primary winter soups.) As they prepared their shopping lists, it became clear that many of the ingredients overlap:
I'll have to think further about the implications of that fact. In the meantime, the key is to cut all the vegetables into small cubes -- except the carrots, which we are to cut like "straw."
Should be an adventure, even if there won't be any giants or wizards. An adventure in vegetables.
Or at least I did. Then one of the students -- whose Russian vocabulary seems extraordinary (she's the one who knew how to say "polar vortex" in Russian) -- asked a question.
"What are shchi?"
I had decided to check in with the students about the pace of reading, degree of comprehension, etc., so we were speaking English.
"Cabbage soup," I replied.
"But then why is it plural?"
This, of course, is the great question of Russian cuisine. Why is a soup plural?
The students were not convinced by my first suggestion: because the declensions are that much more fun: add some smetana [sour cream] to your [dative case] shcham; eat bread with your [instrumental case] shchami, can't live without [genitive case] shchei, etc.
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| Illustration by Tatiana Mavrina, from this blog |
They also seemed a little doubtful about Genis's explanation that such an ancient Russian dish deserves the respect granted by a polite/plural form. For Genis, cabbage soup is the very essence of Russia and the Russian soul, and he rewrites Pushkin's preface to his first great narrative poem, Ruslan and Liudmila, saying: "The Russian soul is here; it smells like cabbage soup!" (Здесь русский дух, здесь пахнет щами!) Pushkin, of course, said no such thing. He was instead evoking Baba Yaga, the Russian witch who, like the Giant in Jack and the Beanstalk, can smell a Russian a mile away: "Там русский дух,
там Русью пахнет."
Fee Fi Fo Fum, I smell the scent of ... cabbage soup!
So once again, everything comes back to Pushkin. His "learned cat" on a golden chain, walking around the green oak tree, has led millions of Russians into the land of their own (and borrowed) folklore as they ventured forth with handsome Ruslan, fighting giants and wizards to land the beautiful Liudmila. Who, perhaps, would in gratitude whip him up some cabbage soup.
For the Russian feast my students are planning, they decided we need both Russian national soups, shchi and borscht. (Russia is the land of soups, so there are many more! But these are the primary winter soups.) As they prepared their shopping lists, it became clear that many of the ingredients overlap:
- cabbage (капуста)
- carrots (морковь)
- onion (лук репчатый)
- potatoes (картошка)
- parsnips (корень петрушки)
The main difference really is the beets. Borscht has beets, and shchi doesn't (or don't?). Both get herbs sprinkled on top and a dollop of sour cream (or sour cream mixed with heavy cream). So if we can have "shchi with pearl barley," and "shchi with mushrooms," and dozens of other variations of shchi, why is borscht called borscht instead of "shchi with beets"?
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| Common Hogweed |
And then I got to thinking: where does the word borscht come from? (The "t" is purely English, of course -- in Russian borscht has only four letters!) Once again I turned to the Domostroi, the section on planting a garden, and learned that it is not an older word for beet, but rather a fairly generic term for something that might be called "hogweed" in English, i.e. a ground-cover that can be fed to pigs and other animals and can grow, say, between the apple trees in your orchard. In Texas, it seems, we have cow parsnip -- also edible and related to the Eurasian version (not to be confused with the poisonous kind... Good to be a Russian peasant and know the difference!)
If Russians really do believe that shchi is (are?) their national soup, then in the west we tend to think of beet soup as the most Russian of all. And it turns out that it is named not for what we might see as its distinguishing character -- the beets that give it its color -- but for another cheap and easy-to-grow ancient green, the hogweed.
I'll have to think further about the implications of that fact. In the meantime, the key is to cut all the vegetables into small cubes -- except the carrots, which we are to cut like "straw."
Should be an adventure, even if there won't be any giants or wizards. An adventure in vegetables.
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