Being Ukrainian is Harder than it Used to Be

By Walter Kish

I have found of late that being Ukrainian these days isn’t as easy as it used to be, particularly for those of us like me, who are closer to our pensions than to our teens.  Time, age and a changing society have all conspired to turn what used to be a pursuit of cultural happiness into a struggle against pain, embarrassment, cholesterol, and an expanding mid section.

This came home to me quite forcefully during the recent holiday season.  One of the joys of this time of year of course, is the opportunity to indulge, or should I say over-indulge in the delight of Ukrainian cooking.  Since I was a smarkach (runny nosed kid for those of you Slavically challenged), the epitome of fine eating was a heaping plate of varenyky smothered in shkvarky (fried bacon bits and onions) and sour cream.  In today’s health conscious and diet obsessed society however, that simple culinary delight has become a time bomb of carbs, fat (the bad variety!) and empty calories, overindulgence in which is likely to lead to an early panakhyda (funeral service).  Now, in all fairness, there are lots of Ukrainian foods that are not dietarily suspect, including a significant vegetable content, but we can’t deny the fact that Ukrainian taste buds do have a particular attraction for things that the current diet gurus would consider nutritionally “incorrect”.

I can recall from my days of hanging around the kitchen while my mother was cooking that salo, or lard, was one of the prime ingredients of many Ukrainian recipes.  Today however, it is more a recipe for clogging the insides of your arteries with stuff that makes your cardiologist start dreaming of his next golf holiday.

Ukrainian cuisine is full of what used to be considered “hearty peasant food”, which of course made sense in centuries past when you needed large inputs of calories to fuel the twelve hours of toil and drudgery in the fields and when reaching the ripe old age of forty was considered a rare accomplishment. It was also considered prudent to accumulate strategic reserves of body fat to carry you through those periods when war or famine made eating an “iffy” and uncertain proposition.

Of course, times and circumstances have changed and we need to adjust accordingly.  This does not mean that we have to give up on those things that we enjoy so much, but it does require some compromises.  I still slather copious amounts of sour cream on my varenyky, except now my wife makes sure that it is the low-fat or no-fat variety.   And, the shkvarky are now made with “turkey” bacon, maybe not quite as scrumptious as the genuine pork variety, but an acceptably tasty and definitely low cholesterol substitute.

Another noticeable challenge was made abundantly evident while attending this New Year’s Malanka celebrations at the UNF.  Needless to say, there was a fine band playing the kind of energetic Ukrainian music that several decades ago had me dancing the whole night through without breaking too much of a sweat.  Of course, back then, my body was still enjoying the resilience and stamina of being not far removed from my youth, and conditioned by many years of dancing in a Ukrainian dance group. 

Alas, wishful thinking does not compensate for the last few decades of living too well and exercising too little, nor the no doubt substantial mountain of varenyky and shkvarky I’ve consumed over the years.  One fast polka and my lungs and heart were letting me know in no uncertain terms that if I did not pace myself, I would soon be reunited with my illustrious peasant ancestors.  And I knew quite well that my muscles would be reminding me for many days to come that they retired a long time ago from this kind of exertion. Of course, being Ukrainian, I cannot stop dancing, but obviously I must restrain myself from trying to prove that I am the fastest hoofer on the dance floor.

There are many other reminders that keeping my Ukrainian union card is going to be increasingly difficult – the voice is no longer in tune and I forget the words to those old Ukrainian songs we used to sing; going to church is a perpetual exercise in penance as the kneeling and standing wrecks havoc on the back and knees; sitting through the lengthy speeches that characterize many Ukrainian events is a genuine trial in staying awake; and of course, the stomach and liver no longer cope as well with the quantities of rye whiskey and vodka that seemed so reasonable not that long ago.

Nonetheless, I must persevere – being Ukrainian may not be easy, but someone’s got to do it, and I guess I am too deeply into it to back out now!