Kachka: The Word That Saved A Family During WWII And Inspired A Chef : The Salt It took until adulthood for Bonnie Morales, the daughter of immigrant Russian Jews, to appreciate the food of her childhood. Now she owns a popular Oregon restaurant and has released a new cookbook.
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Kachka: The Word That Saved A Family During WWII And Inspired A Chef

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Kachka: The Word That Saved A Family During WWII And Inspired A Chef

Kachka: The Word That Saved A Family During WWII And Inspired A Chef

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SCOTT SIMON, HOST:

Lots of luck getting a weekend reservation at Kachka - it's one of the most popular restaurants in Portland, Ore., that foodie destination. No, BJ Leiderman is not the lounge entertainment there. Kachka serves food from the former Soviet Union. Its chef and owner says in her new cookbook she used to think Russian food was broken. NPR's Neda Ulaby met up with chef Bonnie Morales in New York.

NEDA ULABY, BYLINE: We met really in Brooklyn.

BONNIE MORALES: We're in Brighton Beach. This is called Little Odessa...

ULABY: The kind of place where the child of Eastern European immigrants feels at home.

MORALES: ...because there's just such a concentration of people from the former Soviet Union.

ULABY: Dozens of Russian shops line this shabby thoroughfare right by the Q line. Bonnie Morales married into her last name - her husband's part Mexican. As a child, Morales' Russian Jewish relatives flocked to the U.S. after the Soviet Union collapsed. Every week, it seemed, her parents threw another party welcoming new arrivals with a spread of cold appetizers called zakuski.

MORALES: They're just covering the table. Ideally, you don't have tablecloth showing. And you have bottles of vodka on the table, and people will make toasts.

ULABY: But Morales did not enjoy many of her mother's Belorussian specialties.

MORALES: I thought the smell of mushrooms boiling was just disgusting.

ULABY: That changed after Morales went to culinary school. She thought at first French techniques might improve the Russian cuisine she thought was broken.

MORALES: I thought, man, you could really fix it. It's just being made incorrectly (laughter).

ULABY: But after tinkering with Russian standards like boiled veal foot, Morales realized she lost flavor when French-ifying Russian dishes. And more importantly, she lost heart. She started experimenting with and loving old family recipes. That's why her cookbook is subtitled "A Return To Russian Cooking." It's also a guide for picking out ingredients in stores like the one we've just walked into.

ULABY: And what's that stuff?

MORALES: That's grechikha, which is buckwheat, which is very important.

ULABY: You'll find recipes in Morales' cookbook for buckwheat blinis with lingonberry mustard, beet caviar-stuffed eggs and something called herring under a fur coat, which combines vegetables, fish, mayonnaise and potatoes. She wants to challenge assumptions that Russian food is bland and lacks variety.

MORALES: That it's all for cold weather - very meat-heavy, that everything is pickled.

ULABY: That said, there are plenty of pickles here and in her cookbook, "Kachka." Its name, which it shares with the restaurant, comes with a story about Morales' grandmother, who barely escaped a mass killing during World War II. She fled a ghetto in Minsk and pretended to be a Ukrainian peasant.

MORALES: She was stopped by a stodhester (ph), which is like a Russian working with the Germans, that was on to her - was, like, you're a Jew.

ULABY: He challenged her to say the word duck in Ukrainian to prove herself. Morales' grandmother did not speak Ukrainian, but there was some overlap.

MORALES: She just hoped that maybe possibly it was the same word in Yiddish and Belorussian. So she said kachka, and it turns out that that was. It's the same word in Belorussian, Ukrainian and Yiddish. And he let her go.

ULABY: The word that saved her grandmother's life is now an introduction into a cuisine that - let's be honest - can be a bit daunting if you haven't grown up on it. Morales steers me towards an expansive deli case stuffed with dark brown salamis stippled with fat and more intimidating items.

MORALES: That's a terrine with tongue. You're looking at me like that may be not your jam, but it might be delicious.

ROSE FRIEDMAN, BYLINE: (Speaking Russian).

ULABY: This is when my editor, Rose Friedman, decided to jump in.

FRIEDMAN: Neda specifically told me she didn't want to taste any tongue, so let's get the tongue.

ULABY: I tasted the tongue. It was delicious. Still, I felt safer in the bakery section, fragrant with black bread scented with caraway and rye and baklava and bagels.

MORALES: The former Soviet Union is - what? - like a sixth of the world landmass when it was in its full swing? So I mean, such a huge range.

ULABY: That range is reflected in her recipes. Sometimes Bonnie Morales has been criticized by her customers for not being sufficiently Russian. But maybe that's what happens when first-generation chefs resist then romance their family's cuisine.

MORALES: It's mine. It's my Russian. It's what I think is exciting.

ULABY: And not broken at all.

Neda Ulaby, NPR News.

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