A fresh coating of snow outside was inspiring in November. Now, I long for color. The temp has dropped. No sign of a thaw in sight. This is the moment for which I have prepared. I open my freezer. I remove a precious container. Inside is a home-made batch of borscht.
Back in October, when beets, potatoes and dill were in season, I went to the farmers’ market with my annual list. Based on my grandma’s recipe, which was never really set in stone, I set forth to gather the finest, freshest makings of this fuschia soup.
I make a gigantic batch. Two of the biggest pots I can find bubble simultaneously on the stove. I let it cook for hours. I and my family have a feast, and the rest goes into the freezer. This is my gift from my October self to my February self. A brightness of reddish pink, against the monotone of the snow. A “practically jump right into you” boost of flavor and nutrition. It warms the soul.