Food as a Vehicle in Fiction

Food is one of the threads that stitches together my stories.  From the opening welcome of bread and salt, to Massey and Akulina's wedding feast in Ikons, and then to Stepha's coming-of-age in Slogans with borscht and black bread, the importance of food in Russian culture is shown.

The “Bread and Salt” tradition / Alexander Tikhonov / foto-planeta

Being a family headed by a Russian father and a Slovak mother, we had our share of exotic, (meaning Yuk! to the following generations) Eastern European meals.  Our mother ladled up bowls of soup loaded with chicken hearts, livers, gizzards, and feet all swimming in a sea of yellow fat globules.  We enjoyed (?) meals of purple blood sausage, stuffed cabbage rolls, pickled herring, calf's brains with scrambled eggs, headcheese, borscht with sour cream, and an occasional serving of cow's tongue.  As my sister said after watching an episode of the television show Survivors' disgusting food challenge, "That was Sunday dinner."

But there were also the rewards.  After finishing our meal and we got dessert: nut or fruit filled kolaski, poviticia with cream cheese, or any of a variety of cookies.  They were well worth the wait.

Poviticia

The importance of food in my novels was expressed in one harrowing scene from Slogans: Our Children, Our Future, in which Stepha and Vanya are caught in an artillery bombardment.  Stepha comforts his little brother by conjuring up memories of meals past.

* * *

“I'm hungry,” Vanya said after several more distant explosions.

“Me, too.  When this is over maybe Mati will make us eggs.  Fried in butter with crispy brown edges.”  Ka-rump.  “And maybe sausage.  Do you like sausage?”

Vanya attempted to nod, but couldn't raise his head.  “Yes,” Vanya said, “but I would rather have blini.  I miss Babushka Koscik's blini.”  Ka-rump.  “With slivki and berries.”

“I like blini, too,” said Stepha. 

 

The two huddled together and talked of food.  They spoke of plemei with balls of minced meat and varenki filled with berries or potato.  Ka-rump.  Kolobok topped with a dollop of sour cream and buttermilk fresh from the churn.  They envisioned honey cakes, priohi and mushrooms in cream.  Ka-rump.  Ka-rump.

Vanya recalled the cream they scraped off the frozen milk when their mother wasn't looking and how they would eat it with their hands before it thawed.  “And Dadushka's lamb.  I liked how he cooked lamb.”

* * *

In another scene, the breaking of the Christmas fast is celebrated with generous helpings of Grandfather's sausage and customary Yuletide treats; and later in the story, Stepha is welcomed to manhood through a ritual of borscht and black bread.

Borscht and black bread.

* * *

After his fifth spoon, Boris pointed at his oldest grandson.  “Stefan Mataovich,” Boris said, “come sit with me.”  At first Stepha didn't move, but when his mother motioned to him, he followed his grandfather's command and took the spot to Boris' right.

“Lena, bring this young man a proper bowl.”  Stepha's mother scurried to the shelf and pulled down a wooden vessel, wiped it with her apron and placed it in front of her son.  “Give him borscht,” Boris said.  “If he is to be a man, he will have to learn to eat like a man.”

* * *

Stepha's grandfather shows him how to slurp soup and chump garlic seasoned black bread like a man.  Stepha later mimics his grandfather's lesson when he assumes the role as the head of the family and instructs Vanya through the same ritual.

I believe it is the small details, such as food, that transports the reader to foreign counties and customs, and brings the historic fiction genre to life.