I made borsch for dinner last night. (The recipe called it that. I always thought it was “borscht.” The recipe also said it was Ukrainian, so perhaps “real” Russian borsch(t) is different?)
Anyway. I made borsch(t), and I liked it.
I think it may be a sign that I am growing up.
Or, perhaps, that I am insane. I served beet soup to my children, without even putting a tarp on the floor or covering all of our clothes with plastic sheeting. And (if you are inclined to be generous and count one spoonful plus whatever their bread soaked up) they kind of sort of ate it too!