
Chef Lesia
Berezovyi Sik (березовий сік, birch sap drink)
Birch sap looks like water until you taste it: cold, faintly sweet, mineral, and gone almost as soon as spring admits it has arrived.
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Raw beets turn water into something dark, sour, and alive: a crimson drink for the glass, and the old quiet souring for borshch when vinegar has no business there.
The first thing is the color. Not polite pink, not juice-bar purple, but dark beet-crimson, the kind that stains your fingers and looks as if the jar has learned to breathe. By the third or fourth day it clouds a little, fizzes at the edge, and smells earthy, sour, clean, like the pantry shelf has woken up.
Buryakovyi kvas is both drink and tool. Chilled, it is sharp and mineral, something you sip in a small glass when the kitchen is too warm. In the pot, it becomes beet zakwas, the souring that gives a southern borshch depth without a drop of vinegar. Aunt Nadia wrote once, very helpfully, "when it sounds right," which meant nothing to me until I heard the tiny fizz when I loosened the lid.
The one thing that decides it is submersion. Beets under brine become kvas; beets poking into air become trouble. Weigh the salt against the water, keep everything below the surface, set the jar on a plate because it may leak, and let the living work happen without fuss.
Beet kvas belongs to the same Ukrainian kvashennia tradition as fermented tomatoes, pelustka ("petal" cabbage), stuffed aubergines, and whole watermelons soured in barrels in the southern litnya kuhnia, the summer kitchen. In many households it was less a fashionable drink than a practical pantry sourer, especially for borshch, where beet zakwas gives a round, living acidity that Soviet canteen recipes often replaced with vinegar for speed.
Quantity
700g
scrubbed and cut into chunky wedges
Quantity
2 litres
filtered or boiled and cooled
Quantity
40g
2 percent of the water weight
Quantity
1 small piece
tied in clean muslin
Quantity
2 cloves
lightly crushed
Quantity
1
Quantity
6
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| raw beetsscrubbed and cut into chunky wedges | 700g |
| waterfiltered or boiled and cooled | 2 litres |
| sea salt2 percent of the water weight | 40g |
| rye sourdough crust (optional)tied in clean muslin | 1 small piece |
| garlic (optional)lightly crushed | 2 cloves |
| bay leaf (optional) | 1 |
| black peppercorns (optional) | 6 |
Wash a 2.5 to 3 litre glass jar well and rinse it clean. You don't need theatre, just cleanliness. If the jar smells of old pickle or washing-up liquid, rinse again until it smells of nothing.
Scrub the beets and cut them into chunky wedges, not fine slices. Big pieces ferment more cleanly and are easier to keep under the brine. Leave the peel on if it is clean; there is color and earthiness there.
Weigh the water, weigh the salt: 40g salt to 2 litres water. Stir until the salt dissolves. This is one of the rare places where I ask you to trust the scale before your nose, because the salt is what keeps the ferment safe while the sourness builds.
Put the beets in the jar with the garlic, bay, and peppercorns if using. Pour over the brine until everything is covered. Add the rye crust only if you can tie it in clean muslin and remove it after the first day; bread floating loose is where mold likes to start.
Set a fermentation weight, a small clean jar, or a food-safe weight over the beets so no piece breaks the surface. Cover with a lid left slightly loose, or open it once a day to release pressure. Put the jar on a plate. The loud shelf likes to announce itself.
Leave the jar at cool room temperature, away from direct sun. After a couple of days the brine should turn dark and a little cloudy, with fine bubbles at the glass and a clean sour smell. Remove the rye crust after 24 hours if you used it. If you see fuzzy mold, throw it away and start again; if you see pale sediment or cloudy brine, that is normal.
Start tasting when it smells sour and sounds faintly fizzy as you loosen the lid. It should be earthy first, then salty, then bright at the back of the tongue. When it tastes right to you, strain the kvas into bottles and refrigerate. Drink it cold, or use it by the ladleful to sour borshch.
1 serving (about 250g)
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