Anya von Bremzen

“In just a bony fistful of years, classical Russian food culture vanished, almost without a trace. The country's nationalistic euphoria on entering…

— Anya von Bremzen

“Sometimes it seems that for nineteenth-century Russian writers, food was what landscape (or maybe class?) was for the English. Or war for…

— Anya von Bremzen

“Mom and I argued about every other dish on the menu. But on this we agreed: without kulebiaka, there could be no…

— Anya von Bremzen

“It was my mother, my frequent co-conspirator in the kitchen and my conduit to our past, who suggested the means to convey…

— Anya von Bremzen

“Inevitably, a story about Soviet food is a chronicle of longing, of unrequited desire. So what happens when some of your most…

— Anya von Bremzen

“The sense that I'd fled my Jewishness in Odessa added painful new pressure to the dilemma I would face at sixteen. That's…

— Anya von Bremzen

“My mother is finally rolling out her kulebiaka dough, maneuvering intently on a dime size oasis of kitchen counter. I inhale the…

— Anya von Bremzen

“On Sundays Mom invariably ran out of money, which is when she cracked eggs into the skillet over cubes of fried black…

— Anya Von Bremzen