When I lived in Ukraine, it was freezing cold! And I don’t mean Utah in January, dry, better grab a coat cold. I mean a kind of cold that I still remember twenty years later.

My very first night there, I was overwhelmed, far from home, and so cold that I cried myself to sleep. I swear my tears practically froze to my face before they hit my pillow.

A tradition in Ukraine, or at least in the house I lived in, was eating warm beet soup every morning. From the first day I tried it, I fell in love. I hadn’t had much experience with beets before then, and I was kind of terrified to eat pink soup every morning. However, it clearly has stood the test of time. I never would have guessed that this simple bowl of soup would become one of the foods that could instantly transport me back to that period of my life. Thankfully, I had the good sense to ask for the recipe before I moved back home.

Twenty years later, that same borscht recipe is in my cookbook, and now I make it for my own children.

Although this soup brings back so many fond memories of my time there, I also have some not-so-fond memories, like the time I got electrocuted.

The family I was staying with had the washer right next to their bathtub. I don’t know how, but I didn’t realize that they were somehow connected electrically. I still don’t entirely understand the setup. What I did understand was almost no Russian. And when I say almost no Russian, I mean I didn’t even know the words for yes and no.

When I went to shower that day, later than normal, the washer was going, and my dad, Vladimir, was banging on the door trying to tell me something. I was butt naked, lathered in soap, trying to communicate back that I was all good.

I now know what they were apparently trying to say:

DO NOT TOUCH THE WASHING MACHINE WHILE YOU ARE SHOWERING.

Unfortunately, that message did not survive the language barrier.

So, back to me lathered in the tub. This wasn’t exactly a luxurious American shower situation. You turned on the water, got yourself wet, then turned off the water, lathered yourself up, and then used a handheld showerhead to rinse everything off.

I made it to the part where I had to rinse everything off with a fine layer of suds all over my naked birthday suit.

As I reached down to grab my foot and rinse it off, I lost my balance and grabbed the washing machine to catch myself.

ZZZZAP.

LUCKILY, the electricity hit me so hard that my entire body jolted and my soapy feet flew backward. I landed flat on my back in the bathtub. Water still running. Washer still running. Naked, soapy body still panting, having just been electrocuted by a Ukrainian washing machine.

Vladimir busted the door down and gave my pathetic body the once-over to make sure I wasn’t dead. It was hard not to stare at each other for a couple of seconds (the language barrier was broken because the look between us spoke clearly enough). He turned around, closed the door behind him, and started laughing.

My fingernails were bleeding, and my tailbone was bruised, but other than that, I was fine.

At the time, it became one of those ridiculous stories you tell about living somewhere completely unfamiliar and not speaking the language. Looking back as an adult, I realize it actually wasn’t a funny little shock. It was a serious electrocution, and that story could have ended very differently.

I came home with all ten fingers and toes, a much greater respect for washing machines, and, thankfully, a recipe for borscht that I can now share with you. Also, funny enough, this is Vladimir’s recipe, so you can thank him. He made it every single morning for the whole family.

This borscht tastes like Ukraine to me. I know a lot of people have commented that this recipe isn’t traditional borscht, and the fact is, I don’t know how anyone makes it in their own home. This is what was made for me in my home in Ukraine, so go tell it to the wall if you don’t think it’s traditional.

It tastes like being young and very far from home. It tastes like bitterly cold mornings and trying to understand a language I didn’t speak. It tastes like people feeding me and taking care of me when I was a stranger in their country. It tastes like a time in my life when adventure and fun and completely random decisions to move far away from home led me to some of the coolest experiences of my entire life that I get to tuck in my back pocket and savor and pass down. And yes, apparently, it also tastes a little bit like electrocution.

You can make this borscht with cabbage, add meat if you’d like, or change it slightly depending on what you have. That’s part of what makes borscht so good.

My Ukrainian Borscht Recipe

Abi’s Borscht RecipeDownload

A Few Notes Before You Make It

Can I add meat?

Absolutely. Borscht has countless variations, and you can make this with meat if you’d like a heartier soup. Chicken is what I’d recommend.

Can I add cabbage?

Yes. Cabbage is another traditional addition and works beautifully here. I never add it, but you surely can. And you can also add any vegetables you want, honestly. A lot of people put tomatoes in this too.

Does borscht taste strongly like beets?

The beets are definitely there, but they’re balanced by the other vegetables and the broth. If you’ve decided you don’t like borscht because you don’t like plain beets, I’d still give it a chance. It’s sweet, but in the best way possible.

What should I serve with borscht?

I love it with a generous spoonful of sour cream and good bread on the side.