Growing up in an Ashkenazi Ukrainian-Russian household during the Soviet era I have internalised an inferiority complex: our food is so unremarkably simple.

Yet at the same time this food has always had such a special place in my life. Simple it may be but it is so deeply nourishing and comforting, that I would not want to change it for the world.

What’s more, this kind of food in our family is symbolised by the very special figure of my maternal great grandmother, Rosalia. She was born in 1912 to a family of assimilated Jews, who came from the Eastern part of Ukraine then ruled by the Russian Empire.

As a Holocaust survivor who escaped Nazi persecution, she had to give up her Jewish identity papers and assumed a fake Slavic identity under the name, Elena. Living during the Soviet regime, our family, like many fellow Jewish households, did not openly embrace our origins, and the only place where this hidden part came to life was the kitchen.
And yet the humble Ashkenazi dishes that I grew up eating often came under different, Sovietised, names, and were never associated with any Jewish holidays. As an adult, living in the UK, I felt the urge to revive my great grandmother’s Ashkenazi legacy and identity. I started referring to her by her authentic name and wanted to do the same for her recipes.

My mother and I are indebted to Rosalia for our love of the kitchen, and we treasure dearly her old handwritten recipe notebooks that survived to this day.
Whenever I feel a lull in creativity I ask my mom to browse those notebooks for some hidden gems.

Not so long ago, I was researching a recipe for knishes. Growing up with Slavic piroshki buns, I could not recall ever trying a knish and so I was certain there was no family recipe for those; in fact, my mother was not even familiar with the name, knish, when I told her about my research.
However, when I explained to her what those were, a sort of a culinary epiphany took place. My mother shared a cherished memory of the simple rolls that Rosalia made for her when she was young: a savoury kind with mashed potatoes and fried onion; and a sweet one, with sugar and cinnamon.

They were always made in huge batches and brought over to my mom’s place in a distinct Soviet-era white enamel pot.

The recipe which sat on the pages of Rosalia’s notebook all this time was deemed too unremarkable by mom to be included in any of my professional writing!

Serve these buns with sour cream for dipping.

Method:

• To make the dough: mix the wet ingredients in one bowl and the dry in another. Make a well in the dry ingredients and pour in the wet mix.
• Start mixing with a fork and carry on with your hands.
• Once the dough comes together into a ball, tip it onto a dusted surface and knead for 2-3 minutes. Put back into a bowl, cover with cling film and let it rest while you prepare the fillings.
• To make the filling: Heat some vegetable oil in a frying pan, add half of the butter and fry the onion with a pinch of salt on low heat, stirring occasionally, for 20 minutes or until soft and caramelised. Place the potatoes in a pot of salted cold water, bring to boil and simmer until cooked through – approx. 25 minutes. Drain the potatoes, add the rest of the butter, and mash roughly with a potato masher. Add the fried onion and give a thorough mix. Set aside to cool.
• To shape the buns, tip the dough on the dusted surface and divide in two. Leave half in the bowl under cling film and use a rolling pin to roll the other one into a large rectangle. Spread half of the filling evenly across the surface of the dough and roll into a large sausage shape.
• Cut the roll into equal chunks, roughly 6cm thick. Placing each chunk cut side up, run your rolling pin over it lightly a few times to make a round disk. Or simply use your hands to press and flagged them down. Repeat with the second batch.
• Heat up 2-4 tbsp of neutral vegetable oil in a medium pan, and fry the buns in batches for 3-4 minutes on each side until golden. Layout the savoury ones on some paper towels and sweet ones on a cooling rack to get rid of any excess oil.

Alissa Timoshkina is the author of Kapusta: Vegetable forward recipes from Eastern Europe (Quadrille)

First published in the JC December 2023