the case of the strange soup

Papa always says that writers write.  You may need another blog to read, but really, when has that stopped anyone from writing a blog?  Since Catherine keeps a pretty good blog of our doings over at Her Romantic Mind, I've been hesitant to start one myself, but I think our experiences of Germany are going to be different enough that I'll have something interesting to tell.  I'll be leaving the heavy lifting of a more-or-less chronological narrative to her and focusing instead on more incidental things that might be interesting.

For example, okroshka:

Yes, I'm going to write about soup.  I told you that this blog would be about incidentals, but there's a story attached.  Stay tuned!

The repertoire of Russian dishes is long but not always interesting.  One thing that Russian cuisine seems to excel at is soup.  Given the fact that for all but about a month out of the year the place is downright chilly, it makes sense that locals would get pretty good at making things that warm you up.  Most of you are familiar with borscht, a cousin soup to okroshka:

This was the trick to convince Catherine Dear that beets might not be so bad--if handled with love, anyway.  We Americans like our roots pretty much in two flavors (carrot or potato, I guess) but trust me, borscht is worth the risk.  Besides, it's usually served with beef, and what American doesn't love beef?  I'll make some for you when I get home if you just ask.  Or I'll give you the recipe I usually use. 

Anyway, borscht is just the beginning.  Then there's schi and lopsha and probably a dozen others.  As a missionary, my experience with soup was limited (we didn't eat at members houses very often) but delightful.  So, when we got back to our hotel from Red Square (or, more accurately, Beautiful Square, but that's a post for another day), I decided to take the Russian route for dinner:

Kroshka Kartoshka was right next to McDonald's at the mini-mall we stopped at, and heeding the threatening-looking fellow on the billboard outside the window who told me that "national foods are tastier!" and "the future of Russia is in its producers!" (ah, patriotism and protectionism create such a lovely fantasy), I proceeded to order okroshka, a summer vegetable soup served cold.

So I knew by looking what was in there: potatoes, cucumber, chicken, eggs, celery, and dill (because dill is in everything--but that's another another post) apparently with some chicken broth or something.  I got it, a small pie filled with seasoned ground beef, and some fruit dumplings.  A fairly inexpensive, very Russian meal.  I was proud of myself, and I liked how it all tasted.

But the soup was awfully bubbly.

Cold soup was a new experience in itself, but I'm game to trying new dishes.  It makes a very routine activity like eating far more interesting.  But this one kind of made the hair on the back of my head stand up.  Warning bells, anyone?  Because there's a large portion of Russian culinary experience that a Mormon should never try...

Based on Wikipedia, I think what was so bubbly was kvass, which would make sense.  Kvass is the national soft drink, a classified as non-alcoholic by local governments (i.e. less than 1.2 % alcohol, which is lower than in some bread) made from rye and yeast.  It's bubbly, it's bready, and it's never really been ruled against the word of wisdom, like some other local drinks (guarana soft drinks, cola, and energy drinks come to mind.)  Most Russian members of the Church consider kvass as the Russian root-beer, whose history resembles kvass's.  (Russians and most Europeans I've met think root-beer is gross because sassafrass, root-beer's main flavor, is used to flavor medicine on this side of the Atlantic.)

But I'm amused by the idea that it might not have been kvass... seriously, in a family restaurant, I wouldn't be surprised.  (This is the country in which old ladies (no joke) have told me that the best way to help a child's cough is a little bit of vodka.  Although, in defense of the babuskis, our cough syrups have no scientifically supported evidence in their favor, either.)  I finished the meat pie and the dumplings, and boy were they good.  But even though I was pretty sure I was dealing with a benign soup here, in Russia, the general rule should be, "Better safe than sorry."