1. Number of people in family: 5
2. Number of people in attendance: 5
3. Number of dishes: 8
4. Weight of turkey in pounds: 12
5. Number of helpings of turkey I ate: 4
6. Number of helpings of dressing I ate: 3
7. Years since I’ve been primarily a vegetarian: 7 or 8
8. Months since I last ate turkey: 12
9. Number of turkey sandwiches I ate on Friday: 3
10. Day we moved in this house: Thanksgiving
11. Weather that day: heavy rain
12. Years since that day: 22
13. Size of my waist this week: unknown
14. Kind of pie: pecan
15. Kind of wine: red
16. Number of hours of food preparation: 4
17. Number of people who helped wife cook: 3
18. Person who did not help: me
19. Number of people who helped wash dishes: 3, including me
20. Days ’til I eat meat again: 363
21. Taste of food, including moistness of turkey (1 to 10 scale): 10
22. Number of days we have each 24 hours: 1
23. Number of blessings each day: unquantifiable
I remember my mother and my grandmother drinking borscht.
To the best of my memory, they mixed beet juice and sour cream, shook it in a jar, and drank it from glassesÂ at room temperature. My grandmother was born in Riga, Latvia. Presumably, this was her family’s Russian recipe.
I was a child. My memory may be off.Â But that’s how I remember it.
They made no great effort to serve me borscht.Â It was a sort of “grown-up” dish.Â Â But I think they offered.Â I’m a person who loves food and will try about anything.Â I’m picky only to the extent that, at my age, I no longer eat meat and stay away from processed foods — only because I want to be healthy.Â But almost anything and everything tastes good.Â Borscht is one of the few foods I’ve encountered in my life that did not entice me at all.
We had borscht for dinner last night.Â It was a hearty soup, served hot.Â According to Wikipedia, it comes both hot and cold.
My daughter, Sarah, and my son, Aaron, spent two weeks last year, over Christmas, in Israel — thanks to the Birthright Israel program.
It was there that Aaron ate borscht.Â He liked it, and he got a recipe.
When he returned to his home in Asheville, he made some.Â According to Aaron, it was terrible.
A teacher at the Jewish school, where he worked had a recipe.Â He tried that.Â It didn’t work either.
He then asked a woman at a small grocery for her recipe.Â The third time was the charm.Â He’s made it several times since then.
And he made it for us last night.
Aaron’s borscht was nothing like the borscht my mother and grandmother made.Â Served with Aaron’s Mediterranean salad, it was a great meal.