We cook in mourning

This book is a great gift for the holidays after a difficult year. You are not buying texts and pictures, but a feeling of home, where we are comfortable and funny.

We feed the guest like a goose for foie gras, at the same time convincing him that what we have prepared is of no use: "Take, take more, only it's not like this! Take."

We are devoted to our own principles to the death, especially when it comes to cabbage rolls or jerky. We easily replace béchamel with lard, but we firmly believe that only our grandmother cooks borscht, and the rest is not borscht. We look for the dead bodies of our neighbors in the sauna of fodder corn and meditatively draw hearts on the windows closed from the cold.

We don't respect food that shouldn't be touched, but we are justifiably ashamed of our love for Olivier.

We are excited by the sticks of Kherson tomatoes and we know how to slowly undress the cabbage.

Because we cook in Zhurba.