Echoes of the Arcane by Cody D. Campbell

Author:Cody D. Campbell [Cody D. Campbell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wraithwood Press
Published: 2024-03-25T00:00:00+00:00

Family Recipe

Winter is here. Bleak gray skies have blanketed the sun’s warmth and the rotting autumn has been buried under a layer of crisp, white snow. It’s the time of year when you rush home after work, buried in thick coats and scarves, eagerly seeking remedies of warmth and comfort to fight the deep chill—and nothing combats the bitter cold of winter like a warm bowl of Russian cabbage soup.

There are several different kinds of shchi. A sour version of the soup called kislye shchi can be made using sauerkraut, while variations that use sorrel, spinach, and other leafy vegetables are known as green shchi or zelyoniye shchi. Both are delicious, but this recipe is for traditional shchi, which is always made using fresh cabbage.

It’s been in my family for generations, going all the way back to my great, great grandmother who lived in the northern country, near Yakutsk, before the revolution. The Russian government has changed twice since she first filled her house with the scent of simmering vegetables, herbs, and hearty stock, but this recipe has stayed the same. She taught it to her daughter, who taught it to my babushka, who finally taught it to my mother after the two of them immigrated to the States when she was a little girl.

Just as I fill the pot with ingredients, this soup fills me with memories of the women in my family. I remember my mother stirring as she danced to the Ramones on the radio, her auburn brown locks pulled back with a length of twine because she always lost her hair ties. My father’s face would always light up when he walked through the door. The warm scent of salt and chicken fat melted away the weariness from his long days at the Fulton cannery.

He would come into the kitchen and wrap his arms around her waist from behind. She would pretend to be surprised as she felt his lips peck gently against her neck, eliciting a quiet “oh,” as if she hadn’t noticed the scent of fish coming off him in waves. Perhaps one of these moments is when I first realized what love looks like.

Sometimes I remember my babushka muttering to herself in Russian while she stirred the pot, her cigarette bobbing in her mouth as smoke curled off the glowing ember to mingle with the steam while ash drifted softly to the tile floor. I was nervous when my parents left me alone with her at first. I wasn’t used to the coarse way she cared for me.

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