Breaking Bread

[OblivionWalker 289]

“Hello?”

 

The sound of his baba Irina’s voice on the other end of the phone call made Slava Kovalenko smile to himself as he stepped into the grocery store and snagged a shopping cart for himself, pushing it quickly back toward the meat department.

 

“Hello, baba.” he answered warmly.

 

“Slavochka!” The name that only she called him made something in his chest warm as he paused by the beef, looking at the different cuts of meat. “Why are you calling today? It’s not our usual day.”

 

Slava called his Dido Artem and Baba Irina every Sunday, just to check in on them and chat. They were proud of how well he was doing in the Junior Showcase Tournament and they told him so often (which embarrassed him a little bit but that was just how Slava was).

 

“I know. But the boys and I are tired of going out to eat all the time so I thought I could maybe make them some borscht but I need to know what to get and how much.”

 

There was silence for a moment before Slava heard his baba laughing. “An entire team of people, Slavochka?! You don’t pick small battles.”

 

“Is it a bad idea?” Slava asked, unable to keep a note of anxiety out of his voice and his baba’s own tone shifted as well.

 

“No, Slavochka. You’ll want to quadruple everything and make sure to buy lots of French bread loafs to cut up. Having bread to dip in the stew will help everything stretch farther as well. You can do this.” she said comfortingly and if his baba said it? Slava believed it.

 

With the help of his baba, Slava collected seven pounds of beef stew meat, a bag of carrots, two whole cabbages and five large beets. He also stocked up on six loaves of French bread that he could cut up as his baba had suggested and also a large tub of sour cream and a small bottle of dill weed for a garnish.

 

As he worked in the arena kitchen, Slava couldn’t help the nerves that were building but he was reassured when River Harrington, one of his good friends, poked his head into the kitchen. “Smelling good in here! Brandon and I were wondering if you needed help with anything.”

 

Waving a hand toward the loaves of French bread and a large metal bowl Slava had found, he snorted softly. “If the two of you could take care of getting all that bread sliced up, that would be a huge help honestly.”

 

Brandon gave him a playful salute. “We’re on it!”

 

That was definitely a help and with Alagsantere Groenvold and Bret Weier willing to grate beets for him and Carl Erhardt and David VanHousen chopping cabbage, Slava gave the task of peeling and grating a bunch of carrots to Feka Ohi Kau and Narnia Shaw. Quentin Musty, Michael Schmichael and Xhekajs Middletoe decided they would comprise the main cleanup crew once everyone was done and that was fair in Slava’s eyes.

 

They all laughed and joked as they worked, the stew needing three different large pots to cook but Slava was sure his baba would know how much was needed to feed hungry hockey players. 

 

“So what is this called, anyway?” Carl asked as he grabbed another large piece of cabbage to chop.

 

“This is borscht. It’s pretty popular in most Slavic countries like Russia, Ukraine, Bosnia, places like that.” Slava explained. “My Dido Artem and Baba Irina came to Canada from Ukraine so this is something that I grew up eating and it’s one of my favorite things ever.”

 

“Well thanks for sharing it with us! It’s much nicer than eating out. Again.” Brandon huffed and there were murmurs of agreement from everyone else on the team.

 

“I was tired of eating out too and thankfully I was able to call Baba and she helped me figure out how much of everything I needed.” Slava shrugged. To him, it wasn’t a huge deal, He had just wanted to do something nice for his teammates and making borscht with the Rush had ended up being weirdly fun.

 

Once everything had simmered together, everyone helped get bowls and napkins and spoons set out at a couple of large tables they had pushed together. “You don’t have to have it, but a little sour cream and a sprinkle of dill makes it, in my opinion.” Slava said as he got the first bowlful (at the boys’ insistence since he’d made it and all), adding a dollop of sour cream and a sprinkle of dill.

 

He waited to take a bite, nervous as the others began to eat but with the number of thumbs up being thrown his way and the fact that everyone was eating and not talking at all (which was unusual for this group), Slava figured he could count borscht a success, especially when everyone started getting seconds.

 

There was no way to know where any of them would end up after this tournament and the dispersal draft. But at least right here and right now, they were a team and they were going to make every day together count.