As a child growing up in the Soviet Union, the winter months always conjure the image of vinegrette salad laid out on our modest but comforting family table. It was a dish that embodied both simplicity and resourcefulness, a reminder that even in the humblest of times, we could find room for something special.

I remember the stolovye (canteens) where a bowl of vinegrette awaited behind the glass counter, promising a delicious meal that was both savory and sweet. The clamor of heavy trays, the steam of hot soups, the sturdy faces of the cafeteria ladies in their white aprons — it’s all stitched together in my memory.

Though distinctly Russian, the dish carries the echo of French influence through its name. Derived from the French vinaigrette dressing — a blend of vinegar, oil, and mustard — the term traveled across borders, evolving into something entirely its own.

Over the centuries, vinegrette shrugged off its aristocratic origins. Gone were the elaborate game meats and fine oils, replaced by the practical bounty of the Russian countryside: beets, carrots, potatoes, pickles, and sometimes a handful of sauerkraut or a slice of herring. In this way, vinegrette became a salad of the people — a symbol of resilience, adaptability, and the collective memory of a nation.

In Soviet times, growing your own root vegetables on a small garden plot or dacha was common. Beets, carrots, and potatoes stored easily through the long winter, and every home had its stash of pickled cucumbers or cabbage.

Vinegrette fit seamlessly into daily life, served on ordinary evenings or at grand New Year’s celebrations. No matter the occasion, it brought a pop of color and zing to the table, pairing beautifully with a shot of vodka or a plate of warm rye bread. Each forkful told a story of seasonality, sustenance, and shared culinary heritage.

Today, when I toss diced beets and boiled potatoes into a bowl and watch the salad’s color transform into a vibrant magenta, I remember my childhood home on the busy main street of Kiev. I recall the gentle hum of the city outside, the distant laughter of my sister, and the soft lamp glow illuminating our apartment, that we shared with our grandfather Pyotr and my grandmother Lyubov. Vinegrette is made with love, each ingredient thoughtfully chosen, each stir echoing the traditions passed down through generations.

Like Olivier salad, vinegrette has adapted over time — sometimes beans replace peas, sometimes you slip in a tart apple or pickled mushrooms. But its core essence remains: a resourceful, comforting, distinctly Russian dish that has carried us through difficult times and joyful gatherings alike.

Simple Vinegrette Recipe

Serves: 2-4

Ingredients:

• 2 medium beets
• 2 medium potatoes
• 2 medium carrots
• 1–2 medium pickled cucumbers (to taste)
• 1 small onion (optional)
• 1 cup sauerkraut or a handful of canned peas or beans (optional)
• 2–3 tablespoons vegetable oil (such as sunflower)
• 1 teaspoon mustard (optional)
• Salt and pepper to taste

Instructions:

1. Cook the Vegetables:
   Thoroughly wash the beets, potatoes, and carrots. Boil or roast them until just tender. (Roasting in foil intensifies their flavor: wrap each vegetable in foil and bake at 200°C/400°F until fork-tender, about 30–60 minutes depending on size.) Allow them to cool completely.
2. Chop the Ingredients:
   Peel and dice the beets, potatoes, and carrots into small, even cubes. Dice the pickled cucumber, and if using, finely chop the onion. Add canned peas, or throw in some other ingredient if you have something you like.
3. Dress the Salad:
   In a small bowl, whisk together the oil (sunflower oil is commonly used), vinegar, mustard (if using), salt, and pepper. Taste and adjust the seasoning as desired.
4. Combine and Serve:
   Place all chopped vegetables in a large bowl. Pour the dressing over them and gently toss until everything is well combined. Let the salad sit for 10–15 minutes to allow the flavors to meld. Serve cool or at room temperature, as a zesty side dish or a hearty winter snack.

This vinegrette is adaptable, simple, and made with love. It’s a direct link to Russia’s culinary heritage and a subtle salute to the Soviet childhoods defined by warmth, ingenuity, and the quiet joy of something delicious on the family table.