Made with bacon or beef, chicken or frankfurters, it can be nearly a court bouillon ladled over a single boiled potato. Or, an old rule says good Ukrainian borscht should be so thick with vegetables that a wooden spoon will stand upright when stuck into the tureen.
Although it's sometimes believed the only consistent element in all borscht recipes is beets, there are beetless recipes, too, such as cold borscht made from apricots; "green" borscht with spinach and sorrel; and "white" borscht, whose basis is the brine of pickles. This last will be served at Smedly's during the Lenten season, as is customary in Poland.
Because I was enamored of the soup I ate at Davidoff in St. Petersburg, I made an appointment to meet the chef, Dimitri Vorobiov. "I know of at least 40 ways to make borscht," Vorobiov said with a chuckle as he welcomed me into his kitchen.
Spread out before him were ingredients for the version he'd decided on for that day: beets, cabbage, onions, carrots, tomato paste, peppercorns, bay leaves, dill, garlic, diced pork, butter, sugar and white vinegar.
Already at a simmer was a pot of beef stock. When I asked if canned broth was an acceptable substitute, Vorobiov's smile grew tight. "Most Russians don't even know what canned broth is," he said. "Soup making is so much a part of our culture, you see, just about every kitchen has a pot of boiling bones going right now."
Vorobiov's stock recipe is easy to remember. He uses a mix of half meat, half bones, all of which is washed, then covered with cold water. Just as the fluid starts to bubble, he lowers the heat. This process can't be sped up, Vorobiov said, because if stock boils too furiously, the soup will get cloudy and not produce a clear broth.
His other secret is cutting all the vegetables into uniformly sized strips and sauteing them in butter before dropping them into the broth. Tatyana Malyutin agrees that this step - she even recommends frying each vegetable separately - is of paramount importance.
"In Russia, this is called zapravka," she said. "You have to feel that one ingredient is done before you add another. It's an intuition that comes with experience."
What's also surprising is how much of the soup's flavor is imparted at the very end. Vorobiov adds a bay leaf for only a few minutes ("more than that, it can turn bitter"); raw garlic is stirred in just before serving; dill and parsley are sprinkled on, after the borscht is already in the bowl.
