One evening in 1971 I found myself on a street in Kathamandu with three acquaintances discussing where to go for dinner. We chose the Yak & Yeti, a restaurant that has since morphed into a hotel. The restaurant itself is now called The Chimney.
The Yak & Yeti was founded by Boris Lissanevitch, who came to Kathmandu from Russia via the Russian Army, Diaghllev’s Ballets Russes, the Opera Monte Carlo, a cabaret stint in Shanghai, and an elite social club. Open and gregarious, Boris had a great impact on tourism in Nepal. In 1976 a New York Times article said of the restaurant “its Russian fare, prepared from Mr. Lissanevitch’s 100-year-old family recipes, has made it one of the most talked about restaurants among travelers in south Asia.”
At the time, I was completely ignorant of all this and when someone said to me “You’ve got to have the borscht,” I turned up my nose and said “No, I really don’t like beets.”
“Oh, but this borscht doesn’t have any beets in it; it’s Ukranian borscht,” was the reply.
The restaurant was busy that evening and before we got to the borscht, we were seated at a round fireplace with a circular copper chimney above it. I was enchanted by the ambiance of the small room, somewhat dim so you tended to focus on the round fireplace.
Seated opposite us were two British guys and one of our number got involved in a conversation with them. It was about contemporary poetry, and as a former English major, I listened carefully trying to recognize the names of poets. I was mildly humiliated when I didn’t; it was about contemporary poetry that had not yet made it into college anthologies. So I sat back and enjoyed the conversation and the enthusiasm of the participants.
Eventually we were seated in the restaurant and a bowl of the famed borscht was placed before me. It was not red, or even pink; it was an inviting yellow beige and it was super delicious. I was in hog heaven.
For many years since, I have searched for a borscht like the magic one I had had at the Yak & Yeti. Borscht was a peasant food popular in many Eastern European countries; and, as an article in 2005 Himalayan Times reported, “It is said that there are as many versions of borscht as there are Russians but [Boris Lissanevitch’s] version has carrots, potatoes and onions in addition to the beetroot. It is as as hearty as Boris was.”
Now I wonder if I was lied to about the absence of beets. Very few people have heard of a beetless borscht; but if you Google “beetless borscht” you will find some recipes for it, mostly using cabbage as a main ingredient. However, the recipe for Boris’s borscht remains a mystery.