The recipe seems to be from my great-grandmother. But I’m not entirely sure!
In my childhood, these doughnuts were always there. My mom would bake them for Hanukkah and occasionally just because.
Now, I bake these doughnuts every year and invite friends over to enjoy them during Hanukkah.
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I can't call myself a fan of Soviet cuisine, nor do I feel any nostalgia for it—there's no Olivier salad, meat jello (kholodets), or herring "shuba" in our home. But some Soviet pastries?
My grandparents lived in Tbilisi (my grandfather was a Tbilisi Armenian, and my grandmother, a Jew on her mother’s side, evacuated to Georgia from Kharkiv as a teenager and stayed there). When I was little, in the 1980s, every winter, they would send us a package from sunny Georgia to our home in the Moscow suburbs.
This is a story about Sonya’s close friend, a director of photography. One evening, long before all the wars and disasters, they were sitting in the kitchen, arguing the way only a director and a cinematographer can. The fridge had a strange assortment of ingredients, including an overripe mango, so Sonya improvised and made a mango sauce out of it.
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