Cold Borscht -- Sylvia’s Summer Soup, Served in Silence and in Love

Summer in quarantine. The heat presses against the windows and the house is an island and I am the only adult on it, if you define "adult" as a person who remembers what day it is, which Marvin no longer does and which I am beginning to forget as well, because the days without school are interchangeable, and the only thing that distinguishes Tuesday from Thursday is the soup I make (Tuesday: chicken; Thursday: vegetable; the schedule is mine, imposed on the formlessness of pandemic life like a trellis on a vine).

I made cold borscht this week. Sylvia's summer soup. Beets, sour cream, dill, served ice-cold from the refrigerator, the color of a sunset in a bowl. Marvin used to love cold borscht. This summer he ate it and said nothing, but the bowl was empty, and an empty bowl is its own review. The silence that accompanies his eating is new — he used to narrate his meals, commenting on every dish with the dry enthusiasm of a food critic who happened to be married to the chef. "This is the best borscht you've ever made." "This soup could solve world peace." "If you could bottle this, we'd be rich." The commentary is gone. The eating continues. I miss the commentary. I am grateful for the eating.

I have been writing for the blog more consistently during quarantine — it is the one thing I can do that is for me, not for Marvin, not for the school, not for the disease. The writing is mine. The sentences are mine. The words that describe the borscht and the kitchen and the pandemic and the man in the recliner are mine, and the ownership of those words is the only thing I have not surrendered to the caregiving. Everything else is his: my time, my attention, my body's proximity, my constant vigilance. The words are mine.

A reader named Elaine wrote to say that my blog is the only thing that makes her feel less alone during quarantine. She is seventy-four, lives alone in Toledo, Ohio, and has been making my recipes every week as a way of connecting to another human being through the medium of food. "When I make your brisket," she wrote, "I feel like I'm in your kitchen with you." I cried reading this. In the kitchen, over the borscht, I cried. Because I am alone too. Marvin is here, but alone is not about bodies in a room. Alone is about minds in a conversation. And Marvin's mind has left the conversation, and I am alone in a room with a man I love, and the aloneness is the cruelest kind, and Elaine from Toledo understands this even though her aloneness is different, and the blog connects us, and the borscht connects us, and the connection is everything.

So here it is—Sylvia’s cold borscht, the soup I made this week while crying over Elaine’s email, the soup Marvin ate in silence, the soup that is the color of a sunset and tastes like summer and memory and the stubborn act of feeding someone you love. If you are alone—truly alone or alone in the way I am alone—make this soup. Make it for yourself. Make it because an empty bowl is its own review, and because the making of it is yours.

Cold Borscht

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 40 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour plus chilling | Servings: 6

Ingredients

• 4 medium beets (about 1 1/2 pounds), peeled and quartered
• 6 cups water
• 2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
• 1 tablespoon sugar
• 1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt, plus more to taste
• 1 medium cucumber, peeled, seeded, and diced
• 3 green onions, thinly sliced
• 3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
• 1 cup sour cream, plus more for serving
• 1/4 cup fresh dill, chopped, plus sprigs for garnish
• Freshly ground black pepper to taste
• 2 hard-boiled eggs, chopped (optional)

Instructions

1. Cook the beets. Place the peeled, quartered beets in a large pot with 6 cups of water. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer until the beets are tender when pierced with a knife, about 35 to 40 minutes.
2. Shred and season. Remove the beets from the cooking liquid with a slotted spoon, reserving the liquid. Let the beets cool slightly, then grate them on the large holes of a box grater. Return the grated beets to the cooking liquid. Stir in the red wine vinegar, sugar, and salt.
3. Chill completely. Let the soup cool to room temperature, then refrigerate until ice-cold, at least 4 hours or overnight. The soup must be very cold—this is not negotiable.
4. Finish the soup. Once chilled, stir in the lemon juice. Whisk in 1 cup of sour cream until the soup turns that particular shade of sunset pink. Fold in the diced cucumber, sliced green onions, and chopped dill. Taste and adjust salt and pepper.
5. Serve. Ladle into bowls. Top each with a dollop of sour cream, a sprig of dill, and chopped hard-boiled egg if using. Serve immediately, straight from the refrigerator.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 140 | Protein: 4g | Fat: 7g | Carbs: 16g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 520mg