Meals from the Heart

last january I traveled to Russia along the same route I had taken on my very first visit there, in 1972. Perhaps it was the retracing that made me think back to the past, when Moscow’s decent restaurants numbered approximately three: the luscious Aragvi, the hotel-style Pekin, and Uzbekistan, which is, remarkably, still going strong after being renovated by the famed restaurateur Arkady Novikov. But even though I have by now eaten in Russia’s most lauded restaurants, I still tend to linger on the simple fare, the meals shared at friends’ apartments or at street stalls or cafés. Three of my favorite gustatory moments from the past are anything but fine dining.

First on my list might be the day I discovered ponchiki, Russian doughnuts. It was 1979, a crisp January morning when I just could not get warm. As I approached Moscow’s Belarus train station I caught a seductive whiff. I followed my nose to a tiny kiosk where steam billowed up in great clouds. A hefty woman was scooping hot doughnuts, still dripping with fat, right from the fryer into paper cones. She dusted them liberally with powdered sugar, which immediately clumped. That and the grease-stained paper should probably have made me steer clear of this artery-clogging temptation, but it didn’t. And truth be told, nothing could have been more satisfying. Although most of Moscow’s doughnut stands have been replaced by shawurma and bliny stalls, on my latest visit I happened upon a small indoor doughnut shop at VDNKh, Moscow’s grand exhibition grounds. Except for the fact that the ponchiki are dished out on disposable plates instead of in cones, they are every bit as greasy and satisfying.

A second memorable meal took place in 1983, in a birch grove outside of Moscow near the Abramtsevo Estate. In those days it was illegal for foreigners to travel outside the Moscow city limits without a permit. Friends agreed to accompany me on the condition that I not attract unwanted attention. The afternoon felt very spy-versus-spy. Again, the weather was freezing, well below zero. By the time we arrived at the Abramtsevo station we were ravenous. Because we couldn’t visit any public places, my friends had packed a freshly roasted chicken into a plastic bag for our lunch. We traipsed off into the woods, but it was too cold and snowy to sit down. So we ate standing up, tearing the chicken apart with our hands and quaffing brandy from a small flask. Just as we were enjoying our meal, a policeman in tall felt boots appeared out of nowhere, causing our hearts to race. But he passed by without comment, and we finished our meal. Roast chicken had never tasted so good.

Some years later, still during Soviet times, I happened to meet a renowned heart surgeon, who invited me to dinner. Given his position, I assumed he would command a luxurious living space, but he had only one small room in a communal apartment. After seating me on the couch that doubled as a bed, he retrieved a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses, then pulled a jar out from under the bed. It held white mushrooms that he had gathered and salted himself. He spooned the mushrooms onto small, chipped plates and we toasted the bounty of the earth. Then he disappeared into the kitchen. After about twenty minutes he reappeared, wielding a heavy, cast-iron skillet that sputtered and steamed. Inside were cubes of potato that he had fried in lavish amounts of butter and oil along with whole cloves of garlic. We dug in, spearing the potatoes right from the skillet, the fat dripping onto our chins. They were perfect: crackly on the outside, creamy within. New potatoes, hand dug in the countryside by the surgeon himself. And that was our meal.

Which just goes to show that sometimes the best food is neither fancy nor complicated, just honest and plain and right from the heart.

Ponchiki

Russian doughnuts are traditionally fried in oil and lard, with a few tablespoons of vodka added to keep them from absorbing too much grease. Here I’ve opted for pure vegetable oil. These ponchiki may well be the lightest doughnuts you’ve ever tasted.

1 package active dry yeast

1 ⁄ 2 cup plus 3 tablespoons milk

3 tablespoons sugar

2 egg yolks

3 tablespoons butter, at room temperature

1 ⁄ 4 teaspoon salt

1 tablespoon dark rum

1 ⁄ 4 teaspoon cinnamon

1 2-inch piece of vanilla  bean, split and scraped

2 cups flour

Vegetable oil for deep frying

Confectioners’ sugar, sifted

Dissolve the yeast in the 3 tablespoons of milk, which has been heated to lukewarm. Then add the remaining milk, sugar, egg yolks and butter. Stir in the salt, rum, cinnamon and vanilla seeds, which have been scraped from the beans. Stir in the flour. The dough will be very soft and sticky. Leave it in the bowl to rise, covered, in a warm place until doubled in bulk, 11⁄2 to 2 hours.

Generously coat your hands with flour and turn out the dough onto a well-floured board. Since the dough is so sticky, it will be necessary to coat its surface with flour in order to roll it out, but be careful not to use more than is necessary, or else the doughnuts will not be light.

With a floured rolling pin, roll out the dough 1⁄2-inch thick. Cut out rounds with a doughnut cutter. Set them aside to rise again, covered, for 20 to 25 minutes, or until doubled in bulk.

Preheat the vegetable oil in a deep-fat fryer to 365° F. Drop in the risen doughnuts, not more than 2 or 3 at a time, and cook them until golden brown, turning only once. The cooking time will be about 5 minutes.

Remove the doughnuts from the fat and place on paper towels to drain. Sprinkle with confectioners’ sugar and serve warm.

Yield: About 1 dozen doughnuts.