Soup Date: Unbeetable Borscht

Beet. Carrot. Cabbage. Onion. When a friend first introduced me to this four-veggie bowl filler, I can't say I was overly keen on sticking my spoon in it. I have this thing against onions, y'see. Then my eyes caught a whiff of it and it smelled so pretty that I knew it couldn't be all that bad. It was in the first taste of its light-hearted heartiness that my heart discovered the divine. We cried, "Let there be borscht!" and the vegetables went forth and multiplied in proportions pleasing to our will and performed ambrosial ablutions, bathing themselves in the warm waters of the sunset with much rejoicing, and there was borscht, and we saw that it was good, and it was so good.

Original recipe happily discovered at seriouseats.com.

What you need:

• 2 medium onions (if you're on good terms with this pungent bulb; I used one small onion and was content), sliced vertically into natural crescents 
• 1 pound beets (at least), cut into matchsticks
• 2 large carrots, also matchsticked 
• ≈ 1 pound white cabbage (ie. about a quarter of a large adult head and maybe half of a smaller child head), thinly shredded
• olive oil
• 1 clove garlic, smashed/diced 
• ≈ 5 cups veggie stock
• 1+ tablespoon lemon juice 
• salt to taste
• coarsely ground black pepper
• sour cream and finely chopped fresh parsely, when desired

Note: This makes a hulluvalotta borscht.

Musik: I was about to blast a CD of Piazzolla's best tangos when I discovered something even better in Apartmentmate's collection: HOT. RUSSIAN. TANGO. More specifically: Efim Jourist Quartett: Russisches Roulette. Nothing could have been more perfect. On the off chance that you do not own this compact disc, anything accordiany, brassy, fiddley, and upbeet Eastern Europeany would suffice. Or tango. Seriously.

A confession: Overexcitement often misleads me to cook the first round of vegetables before later rounds are prepared for the party on the stovetop. The chasm of poorly timed cooking is as dark as the pot calling the kettle black, and as deep as Hades' sewer system. Don't fall in. Chop, slice, smash, matchstick all your ingredients before feeding them to the fire. If all goes well, they should look somewhat like this:

Not bad, eh? Quick notes:
1. Make sure all the veggies strips/sticks/crescents are as close to bite-sized as possible. This will make your life much easier later on.
2. If there is no evidence of animal sacrifice to be found on your hands and work surface by the time you finish cutting the beets, cut more beets.
3. If you're not into the zen of chopping, befriend a food processor.

Now for the other easy part. Put the veggie stock on to boil in a small pot on a lonely corner of the stove. Lightly mingle the garlic smash with a splash of olive oil in a large pot. (Go for the big one-- remember that mountain of cabbage you just chopped?) Give the garlic no more than one minute of solo time (its ego is odiferous enough as it is) before adding the onion. Listen to their sizzlin' (but sad, those onions are so emo) duet for another minute before the carrot and beet back-up dancers steal the show. Make sure to reserve at least a quarter of the beets (and their juice, if there is any) to add later for ultimate visual sanguination.

After about five minutes of this musical madness, or whenever the carrots begin to tenderly express their feelings, drown them all out with the hot stock and cabbage. Bring to a boil and then simmer the vegetables into submission, about 15-20 minutes. Add the remainder of the beets before they feel too left out and simmer for another few minutes. Once all the vegetables have simmered down, invigorate them again with the lemon juice, salt (not too much!), and a healthy grinding of black pepper. Feel free to play around with the proportions here until the taste meets your standards.

Hopefully your borscht will have taken on a nice purpley, ruddy complexion by this point. Don't fret if this is not the case, as the color will continue to deepen with time. This is one of those magical dishes that ages well, like George Clooney. I think he, er.. it, tastes even better the day after its genesis.

Unless you're playing the vegan card or just don't like sour cream (I don't... with the exception of borscht), plop a dollop into the middle of your borscht-filled bowl, sprinkle on a little parsley when inclined, and let the fun begin. Let there be goodness. Let there be borscht.

P.S. If you're not a beet person, this recipe probably isn't for you. However! You can still indulge in the delectable pleasure of saying it aloud. Do it. Borscht. Borschtborschtborscht.

P.P.S. In spite of multiple morbid references, I made it through that whole recipe without using the word "blood" in any form. Unbeetlievable!)