Balsam—Curing Russians since Catherine the Great

By Kelly Raftery

It was mid-October 1992 and a group of grad students were going to see the Presidential candidate speaking outside that cold Michigan night. We were all bundled up with scarves, gloves and hats to stand in the cold and as we headed out the door, one of my Latvian classmates showed us all a flask, which she slipped into coat pocket, informing us that it was “balsam, it is like a mitten for your tummy.”  And, as the evening went on the flask was emptied and indeed, we all stayed quite warm.   

Balsam is good for what ails you—no matter what that might be. Cold, flu, low blood pressure, digestive ailments,

Catherine the Great, cured by balsam.

all cured with a hearty dose of balsam. Bottled into ceramic flasks since the 1700s, balsam is rumored to have gained its reputation as a healing elixir from a visit that Catherine the Great made to Latvia. The Empress fell ill with stomach complaints and was given balsam, brewed by a local pharmacist named Abraham Kunze. Catherine’s illness subsided, she was saved (supposedly) from death and balsam became known as an effective remedy.

The recipe for balsam has been and is a closely held secret. Once you open the special ceramic bottle and pour a dram, you will see that it is a thick, black liquid that pours more like molasses than vodka. Balsam is 90 proof alcohol with anywhere from 17 to 23 other natural ingredients mixed in. Among the botanicals that can make up a balsam are grasses, herbs, roots, berries and other fruits. The actual mix is proprietary and varies from brand to brand, but can include linden blossom, mint, ginseng, black peppercorn, birch bud, bilberry, valerian, raspberry, and honey. The taste is bitter and sweet all at the same time, somewhat like drinking cough syrup. Regardless, balsam is on the menu in many a Latvian restaurant, served over ice cream, in cola, or as shots. Apparently, it is a “must do” for the brave and hearty tourist seeking to experience the “real Latvia.”

Riga Black Balzam
photo by Fanny Schertzer

The most popular (and most frequently exported) brand of balsam is Riga Black Balsam that can be found in many well-stocked liquor stores, particularly those in Russian speaking enclaves such as Brighton Beach in New York.

A number of years ago I suffered from digestive issues that took me from doctor to doctor seeking relief. In frustration, I finally consulted a Chinese traditional medicine practitioner, who began my treatment by poking me with needles and then handing me a tiny bottle of medicine that she sold off the shelf of her office. Always a skeptic, I took the bottle home, where it laid in a drawer for a while, until I finally talked myself into measuring out the required droppers of liquid into some water. I lifted the cup to my nose, sniffed delicately, breathed out and then took all the brackish brown liquid in to my mouth and downed it with a quick swallow. I stood in my kitchen dumbstruck and then called out to my husband, “Hey, you know what this stuff is?  It’s balsam!”  It did not have the alcohol content of the balsam that I knew, but it certainly was a similar combination of botanicals.

My stomach issues eventually resolved and that tiny bottle of plants and herbs marked a turning point, a start on the road towards healing for me. I don’t know if it was the healing properties of the herbs and roots or the fact that the taste reminded me of all the times I had drunk balsam over the years. I seem to recall drinking balsam at my wedding in Kyrgyzstan, a local brew made from wild herbs picked in the mountains. With each sip of that medicine, I was reminded of a different time in my life, from that cold night watching candidate Bill Clinton introduce Hillary to my Kyrgyz wedding surrounded by my new family. I have this cough I can’t shake; I wonder where I can buy a bottle of balsam?

Saveur Savors My Old-Time Favorite

A northern country with a long-lasting winter, Russia has never been known for an abundance of fresh fruit and vegetables. When it snows nine months out of the year, baby greens are a rare commodity. Therefore, much of Russian cuisine is based on carbs and fats that can generate energy and warmth, pickled and salted produce that preserve well, and root vegetables that, if properly stored, can last through spring. A salad dish won’t have spinach sprinkled with lemon juice, but rather potatoes, carrots, pickled cucumbers,and hard-boiled eggs swimming in sour cream.

So would you ever think herring and beetroots go well together? Yes, when joined in a multi-layered, chilled cake with a slew of other unlikely ingredients. Russians are creative, and they give their creations interesting names – like Herring in Fur Coat (Selyodka Pod Shuboy)

Herring in Fur Coat is a winter favorite every Russian cook makes with his or her own twist. It is essentially a stratified cake of root veggies with barrel-salted fish buried underneath. It has always been my favorite too, although in the past ten years, I hardly ever made it and almost forgot the recipe. The salty raw fish didn’t take well in my American family and neither did the blood-red beets that make the colorful top. The picturesque, juicy Shuba was almost a thing of the past – until I was stunned to see its picture on the page of Saveur. I could barely believe my eyes, but the photo looked authentic, although it had a multi-colored striped top sprinkled with fresh chopped dill – must’ve been a nouveau, summer twist. Intrigued, I kept flipping the pages wondering how Saveur called my childhood dish until I found the recipe. It was called Selyodka Pod Shuboy. And it listed the right ingredients. Almost.

From grandma’s kitchen to Saveur’s pages! I knew it had to be an American writer with Russian heritage. And I was right.

Anna Gershenson, whose parents immigrated to the United States thirty-five years ago from Riga, Latvia, back then a Soviet republic and now a small country wedged between Russia and the Baltic Sea, had gone back to rediscover her heritage. And to write about Latvia’s people, markets, and food. Over the centuries, Latvia experienced many cultural influences – from German to Polish and from Russian to Swiss. The Herring in Fur Coat has definitely been the Slavic legacy.

So without further ado, here’s the recipe. Not Saveur’s, but my own. Apparently, the Riga folk decided to add Granny Smith apples to it, but I beg to differ. There were no Granny Smith apples in Russia, and certainly not amidst the eight-foot tall snow piles in January.

 

2 Large carrots, boiled

3 Large potatoes, boiled and peeled

2 Medium-sized beets, boiled
3-4 eggs, hard-boiled
1/2 onion, finely chopped
2-3 filets of salted herring (can be marinated in oil and vinegar)
1 ½ cup sour cream
1 ½ cup mayonnaise
Salt to taste.

Grate the vegetables and the eggs. Combine mayo and sour cream in a mixing bowl, set aside. Chop the herring and place it in the bottom of a bowl, cover with onions. Add a layer of grated potatoes, cover with 1/4 of the mayo-cream dressing. Add a layer of carrots, cover with 1/4 of the dressing. Add a layer of eggs and another 1/4 of the dressing. Make sure the veggies soaked through; otherwise Shuba will taste a little dry. Finally, top it with grated beets and spread the remaining quarter of the dressing on top, which will give it that yummy reddish color. Variations include adding a layer of walnuts and, according to Saveur, a strata of apples to the mix.

To create especially impressive, tall, and memorable Shuba – double the layers and use the dressing to draw snowflakes on the top. I usually did.

Like the Russian winter, Shuba is best experienced chilled.