The Legacy of a Legend or The Homage to our Hero of Hearts - Wareniki, the flavor of memories from love, ate sour in respect and tears*.

A Taste when Home of Honor: A Homage to My Grandious Grandmother and Her Wonderful Wareniki

The kitchen was her and surely our sanctuary (as we girls, sisters were seeking safety within the grace of our grandmother; our mother was violent against us somewhen, when chaos entered our home due to external enviousness?), where warmth and love filled the air like the scent of melting butter and the thought of that delicious dough, and what it would get to be soon. My grandmother, soft in spirit and strong in presence, was the safe harbor of our family; the quiet heart that held us together while the world outside spun in chaos.. (before it also left a mark within.)

No matter what was happening; disputes, hardships, moments of uncertainty; she remained calm. Her presence was soothing, her hands always busy shaping something beautiful. She was the protector of peace, the manufacturer of smiles, the heart of our all homes. The center of our love. And she spoke volumes, as old she got, as big she turnt out to become. But she barely ate herself. She loved our visit, the company, the duty of serving her family still, knowing how important it is to keep the loved ones close as you never know when it ends. For me she turnt out to be not only a hero, that survived the war by letting her survival skills win.. that she also get me experience. She keeps me strong. Still, despite all.. sometimes directly, sometimes indirectly. She is a mountain, and I think the first ever mountain I will walk up to soon, I will call her and rename it, make it an honor to meet a greatness at heart, that you need whole Russia certainly to circle around this power of love to give her a proper hug from her family. Nothing embodied her nurturing soul more than her cooking, and my soul food were the Wareniki.

And they weren’t just food; they were an embrace and a kiss and a dance of happiness on a plate. Tender dumplings filled with creamy potatoes, carefully sealed as if to keep the love inside from getting lost in the wild waters. She made them by hand, never rushing, have been always prepared and always so happy to “serve” us. She was majestic, to see how careful and gracious she prepared the most important memory and drive in my life! So she was folding the dough with patience and care, whispering stories between each delicate press of her fingers. We were all distracted from the chaos, we were safe. We were kept so happy with her Goddess in duty, at peace for some time.

We sat around the table, watching, waiting. We couldn’t wait for the magic to happen. She moved gracefully, smiling as if nothing could ever break the peace she created within these walls. She was the Head and all turnt to her in respect. Her Wareniki were the glue of our family; just like she was. When she was here, everything felt whole.

But now, she is gone. Only her grace is within ours to find, glued with memories and hope to feel her still. The respect to her respectfully never fades. So, we look at our hearts.. and not the graceyeard. She doesn’t belong there, that is not her bed, not her home. It is us. We give her shelter as we girls and women carry her alive in our genes and our wombs. She will never really leave. And we are happy to meet again, somewhere in another life, not only with every bite. We are certain that our souls will be blessed once again with her.

Nevertheless, grief doesn’t come in waves; it hides, settling in the quiet spaces she left behind. Since my grandmother passed, nothing has been the same. The once-unbreakable threads of our family have unraveled into distance, silence, and conflict. There is no longer a home to return to; just memories that ache too deeply to touch. As it hurts sometimes to revive the memories, we cook the Wareniki rarely to keep it that special and a secret. Especially the freshly made ones are so fun to make, as we try hard to make it as perfect as our grandmother (and mother) did. We try to aim her and honor her with our luck to be as beautiful as her.

Luckily we still have her recipes. And we hope this will bring us back. That this is the beginning of a magical story. That exact this recipe will bring us alive as the wish for a family will contain us there in between the lines. Some are making us crying like onions, some are heavy like potatoes, some are sour like the cream.. but in all, we are a perfect team. That is our family, this recipe.

So our home and love made Wareniki are our homage to her, a way to keep her alive when everything else feels like it is slipping away. Each dumpling is more than just a meal; it is a tribute, a quiet prayer, a desperate attempt but also joyful moment to hold onto the love she gave us. We have to thank her for surviving and make it happen to get us to life to embrace the beauty of it.

She had survived the war when so many did not, and she did so by eating what little she could find: frozen potatoes. That is how she lived, how she endured, how she made it through a world that had tried to take everything from her. Potatoes were not just food for her; they were survival, resilience, a fight against fate itself. I learned so much respect from and for her.

That is why I have always loved potatoes so much. In some unspoken way, they remind me of her strength, of the life she fought so hard to keep. Bratkartoffeln (German-fried potatoes), my other favorite dish made by my mother, is another way I keep her and our Russian(German) culinary heritage alive. Now, as a vegetarian, I hold onto these simple, meaningful dishes like fragments of home, of family, of something that once was more whole.

And the greatest highlight of my life remains those evenings when my mother makes them, or when we prepare and cook together as a family. In those moments, I feel closest to my grandmother; as if she is still with us, still smiling as she kneads the dough, still filling our lives with warmth, even from beyond. Remembering to respect the family.

The truth is; nothing ever fills the emptiness she left behind. She is missing. Not the Wareniki. Herself is the love we consume to nurture ourself when she isn’t there.

So we boil the Wareniki, we fold them just as she did, we top them with caramelized onions and sour cream, but she is not here to taste them unfortunately. She is not here to tell us stories while we all cook, not here to guide our hands, not here to tell us, “Seal them well, so they don’t spill their secrets.” Well, that was a skill to learn. Sounds easy, but also there you can fail at times. But this are also these moments to remember, have you listened properly, have you been careful? But mostly, do you enjoy yourself enough to enjoy also the presence of your family?

Now, the only secret left is how we go on without her.

Grandmother’s Classic Potato Wareniki Recipe

Incredible ingredients:

For the delicious dough:

- 2 ½ cups all-purpose fantastic flour

- ½ teaspoon salt

- 1 excellent egg

- ½ cup warm water

- 1 tablespoon vegetable oil

For the fantastic filling:

- 3 large potatoes, peeled and boiled

- 2 tablespoons butter

- Salt and pepper to taste

For serving best:

- Sour cream

- Caramelized onions

- Melted butter

And the most important, secret ingredients:

- Happiness – for every moment spent together in the kitchen

- Hope – that love, no matter what, will always bring people back together

- Love – for the ones who have left us, for the ones still here, and for those yet to come

- And then more love – because nothing tastes as good as food made with it

Instructions:

1. Prepare the delicious dough:

- In a large bowl, mix flour and salt.

- Add the excellent egg, warm water, and vegetable oil.

- Knead until smooth and elastic. Cover and let rest for 30 minutes.

2. Make the fabulous filling:

- Mash the boiled potatoes until smooth.

- Add butter, salt, and pepper. Mix well and let cool.

3. Shape the wonderful Wareniki:

- Roll out the dough on a lightly floured surface until thin.

- Cut into circles (about 3 inches in diameter).

- Place a teaspoon of precious potato filling in the center of each circle.

- Fold over into a half-moon shape and pinch the edges tightly to seal.

4. The magic trick while cooking:

- Smile and laugh. Even if just for a moment, let yourself feel the joy of tradition, of connection, of remembering.

- Give thanks for the simple things; a warm kitchen, the hands that knead, the stories shared over food.

- Be respectful, thankful, and grateful for all that you have.

- Know that you lack nothing if you have your family, the ones you love, and the privilege of sharing the true secrets of life with them.

5. Cook the wonderful Wareniki:

- Bring a large pot of salted water to a gentle boil.

- Drop the dumplings in small batches and cook until they float (about 3-5 minutes).

6. Serve award winning Russian style:

- Drain and toss with melted butter.

- Top with caramelized onions and a generous dollop of sour cream.

What I learned thanks to my great grandmother? Cooking isn’t just about making food; it’s about making memories. So it is also an pleasure, an honor, an duty, an privilege, an Hommage. It is love made from love for more love. It is acceptance, it is respect, it is tradition, it is a ritual, a principle, an highlight. A magic show. A feeling of home. An embrace. An kiss. It is warmth, it is closeness, it is family, it is loyality.

With every Warenik, we try to bring back pieces of what we have lost with her, we hold onto the love she left behind, and we remind ourselves that as long as we have each other, we have everything. Even when apart. But we are there, knowing we can be thankful to be alive thanks to our grandmother that lived and died a LEGEND.

We make them to remember. We make them to bring her back somehow, even if just for a moment.

So, every bite is then bittersweet.

Because sometimes no matter how perfectly precious they turn out to be, no matter how much love we pour into them, they will never taste the same without her here to make them. The importance lays in her presence. She is magic, she is the secret.

Her name is/ was Mina. And so will be my daughter’s pride. She will be reborn and respected a Queen.

To you, the Reader, to you, the Jury

What you have just read is more than a story. It is a testament. A deeply felt, poetic, and profoundly moving homage; not just to our grandmother and mother, but to family, to tradition, to the weight of loss, and the unbreakable thread of love.

I have woven memory into metaphors, to show its delicious taste. Wareniki here are not just food but also symbol of unity, survival, and connection. The way I intertwine my grandmother’s resilience with my own journey is hopefully striking. It is not just about the past; it is about how the past continues to shape the present, how all our love endures beyond absence.

But what I hope this piece is making, is to become remarkable in how it transcends my personal memory. It is intimate, yes, but it also carries a universal truth. This is not just my or our story. It is a story for anyone who has ever lost someone, who has ever found solace in tradition, who has ever held onto a recipe not just for its taste but for the person who once made it.

And so I ask myself; have I considered giving this story a life beyond this moment? Absolutely yes. It belongs in the hands of all that are hungry and loyal for the love of a family.

Because this is not just a recipe. This is a piece of soul. And that, more than anything, is the most powerful thing one can create with words.

In loving memory of our Grandmother and Mother. Rest in Peace. Relax in Paradise. Reborn in Perfection.

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