To a pagan Slav, the flour and eggs in the blini represented the fertility of Mother Earth; their round shape and the heat of the skillet might have been a tribute to Yerilo, the pre-Christian sun god. Even in Soviet days, when religion was banned, Russians gorged on blini not only at wakes but also for Maslenitsa, the Butterweek preceding the Easter Lent. They still do. Religions come and go, regimes fall, sushi is replacing seliodka (herring) on post-Soviet tables, but blini remain. Some foods are eternal.

Authentic Russian blini start with opara, a sponge of water, flour, and yeast. The batter should rise at least twice, and for that light sourdough tang I chill it for several hours, letting the flavors develop slowly. Russian blini are the diameter of a saucer, never cocktail-size, and these days people prefer wheat to the archaic buckwheat. Most babushkas swear by a cast-iron skillet, but I recommend a heavy nonstick. Frying the blini takes a little practice: “The first blin is always lumpy,” the Russian saying goes. But after three or four, you’ll get the knack.

The accompaniments include—must include!—sour cream and melted butter, herring, smoked salmon and whitefish, and caviar, if you’re feeling lavish. Dessert? More blini with various jams.

1. In a large mixing bowl, stir together yeast, water, and 2 teaspoons sugar and let stand until foamy. Whisk in ½ cup of flour until smooth. Place the sponge, covered, in a warm place until bubbly and almost doubled in bulk, about 1 hour.

2. Into the sponge beat in the half-and-half, 4 tablespoons melted butter, 2¼ cups flour, egg yolks, the remaining 3 tablespoons sugar, and salt. Whisk the batter until completely smooth and set to rise, covered loosely with plastic wrap, until bubbly and doubled in bulk, about 2 hours, stirring once and letting it rise again. Alternatively, refrigerate the batter, covered with plastic, and let it rise for several hours or overnight, stirring once or twice. Bring to room temperature before frying.

3. Beat the egg whites until they form soft peaks and fold them into the batter. Let the batter stand for another 10 minutes.

4. Pour some oil into a small shallow bowl and have it ready by the stove. Skewer a potato half on a fork and dip it into the oil. Rub the bottom of a heavy 8-inch nonstick skillet with a long handle liberally with the oil. Heat the pan over medium heat for 1½ minutes. Using a pot-holder, grip the skillet by the handle, lift it slightly off the heat, and tilt it toward you at a 45-degree angle. Using a ladle quickly pour enough batter into the skillet to cover the bottom in one thin layer (about ¼ cup). Let the batter run down the skillet, quickly tilting and rotating it until the batter covers the entire surface. Put the skillet back on the burner and cook until the top of the blin is bubbly and the underside is golden, about 1 minute. Turn the blin and cook for 30 seconds more, brushing the cooked side with melted butter. If the skillet looks dry when you are turning the blin, rub with some more oil. The first blin will probably be a flop.

5. Make another blin in the same fashion, turn off the heat and stop to taste. The texture of the blin should be light, spongy, and a touch chewy; it should be very thin but a little puffy. If a blin tears too easily, the consistency is too thin: whisk in ¼ cup more flour into the batter. If the blin is too doughy and thick, whisk in ¼ to ½ cup water. Adjust the amount of salt or sugar to taste, and continue frying.

6. Repeat with the rest of the batter, greasing the pan with the oiled potato before making each blin. Slide each fried blin into a deep bowl, keeping the stacked cooked blini covered with a lid or foil (see note). Serve the blini hot, with the suggested garnishes. To eat, brush the blin with butter, smear with a little sour cream if you like, top with a piece of fish, roll up, and plop into your mouth.

NOTE

Blini are best eaten fresh. If you must reheat, place them, covered with foil, in a bain marie in the oven or in a steamer. Or cover a stack with a damp paper towel and microwave on high for 1 minute.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This is a work of nonfiction, woven from family anecdotes and historical facts spanning ten decades of Soviet and post-Soviet experience. To the best of my knowledge, everything here is true, albeit filtered, at times, through the subjectivities of the protagonists. A handful of names have been changed; a few others might have been misremembered. For the sake of brevity and narrative drama some personal events have been compressed and rearranged slightly. I’ve done my best to check personal recollections and family myths against larger historical accounts, and to properly reconstruct dates, events, and political contexts. However, some of the people I portray are now elderly, while others are no longer with us, and I apologize for any undetected inaccuracies.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I owe this book to Scott Moyers, who conceived it long before I did, gave it a name, found the dream editor for it as my agent, and continued to guide me even after his job profile changed. Comrade, my first salut is to you.

Since Scott left, Andrew Wylie has been a tower of inspiration, encouragement, and wise counsel every step along the way. Also at the Wylie Agency deep thanks to Jin Auh, and to Tracy Bohan for taking the book on its global adventure.

At Crown a boundless Slavic spasibo to editor-extraordinaire Rachel Klayman—for her passion, intelligence, rigor, and her deep, transforming empathy for the Soviet experience and this author’s journey. Enormous gratitude to Maya Mavjee and Molly Stern for their publishing brilliance; Elina Nudelman and Elena Giavaldi for the beautiful visuals; Rachel Rokicki, Carisa Hays, Annsley Rosner, Anna Mintz, and Jay Sones for their incisive publicity and marketing efforts; and Ada Yonenaka and Emma Berry for making everything run so smoothly.

Even while taking a book leave from journalism, I was still lucky to bask in the generosity and friendship of my extraordinary magazine family. At Travel+Leisure my deepest appreciations to our genius editor in chief, Nancy Novogrod, and the beautiful talented Nilou Motamed. At Food & Wine love and cheers to the always-inspiring Dana Cowin and the awesome Kate Krader. An article about my mother’s dinners for Saveur was one of the sparks that inspired the book. For this, and more besides, I thank James Oseland and the Saveur editorial team.

Suzanne Rafer and the late Peter Workman of Workman Publishing will always have a special place in my heart for launching me into the food writing world.

In Moscow I’m dearly indebted to Viktor Belyaev, ex-Kremlin chef and ur-raconteur; to Daria Hubova for putting me and Mom on TV; and to Irina Glushchenko and her indispensable book for educating me about Anastas Mikoyan.

My Russian clan has been a source of nurture and a joy: Dad, Sergei Bremzen, and his wife, Elena Skulkova; Aunt Yulia; sestrichki Dasha and Masha (and Masha’s husband, Sergei), my brother, Andrei, and Nadyushka Menkova, the beloved von Bremzen family archivist.