Preface to the 1983 Edition

My grandmother came to America from Byelorussia in the early part of the century. We called her Baba, and whenever she came to visit, her favorite pastime (her only pastime!) was cooking and baking for her grandchildren. I could spend hours at her side in the kitchen, watching her fingers deftly rolling out the dough for my favorite jam-filled cookies, rogaliki. She would let me choose the jam and spread it on, and I always opted for a mixture of plum and cherry. Baba made the cookies early in the morning so we could have them fresh for lunch. As soon as they were safely baking in the oven, she would start preparing the evening meal. It might be golubtsy, “little doves,” a mixture of ground beef and rice carefully rolled up in cabbage leaves and simmered in a spicy tomato sauce, or a tender pot roast flavored with rum, or chicken stewed for long hours with prunes and sometimes apricots. Baba never followed a recipe, but as I grew older I would query her as she cooked, hoping to be able to reproduce her delicious meals once she was gone.