Culinary Journey: National Dishes of HSE Students
We are excited to present the culinary stories of HSE students, who share their cherished national dishes and the cultural significance behind them. From Belarusian draniki to Nigerian Pounded Yam with Egusi Soup, these narratives highlight how food connects them to their heritage, family traditions, and sense of home. Join us on this flavorful journey as we explore how students adapt their beloved recipes while studying in Russia and introduce their cultures through the universal language of food.
Polina Filinovich, Belarus
When I think about a national dish that represents my culture and family, it’s definitely draniki. This is the quintessential Belarusian dish. It’s tasty and filling, though it takes some effort to prepare. There’s a stereotype that Belarusians are all about potatoes, and well, draniki are made from potatoes, so it fits.
As for the history, draniki are deeply rooted in Belarusian cuisine. The name comes from the word "drats," meaning to grate, which refers to how the potatoes are prepared. Potatoes became a staple in Belarus in the 19th century, and draniki emerged as a practical, hearty meal for rural families, especially in central and western regions. While not tied to a specific holiday, they’ve long been an everyday dish, often served with sour cream, and are now a symbol of Belarusian identity.
In terms of preparation, the recipe for draniki is quite simple but labor-intensive. The main ingredient is potatoes, which are peeled and grated. The excess liquid is squeezed out, and the grated potatoes are mixed with a bit of flour and salt, sometimes with an egg for binding. The mixture is then fried in oil until crispy and golden, usually served with sour cream or other accompaniments like meat or mushrooms.
There’s no particular occasion for eating draniki in my family. My mom just makes them sometimes, and it’s always delicious and a pleasant surprise. I also remember having them at school, and now I sometimes find them in the university cafeteria here in Russia. It always feels like a little celebration because they’re inexpensive, and making them yourself is quite a hassle.
I did try making draniki once while studying in Russia, but I went for a “lazy” version. Finding the ingredients wasn’t an issue, but in my opinion, Belarusian potatoes are the best. I think they just taste better back home, though my attempt here was still nice.
Shamsudeen Odunlami Hammed, Nigeria
When I think of a dish that truly represents my culture and heritage, it has to be Pounded Yam and Egusi Soup. This is a classic Nigerian meal, especially cherished among the Yoruba people of the southwestern region, where I come from. It’s not just food; it’s a symbol of togetherness, tradition, and the warmth of home. The smooth, stretchy texture of pounded yam paired with the rich, nutty flavor of egusi soup is pure comfort in every bite.
Historically, pounded yam has been a staple in Nigeria for centuries, particularly among the Yoruba. It’s believed to have originated as a fundamental part of the diet in West Africa, where yams were one of the earliest cultivated crops. Preparing pounded yam was traditionally a communal activity, often done with a large mortar and pestle, symbolizing unity and shared labor. Egusi soup, made from ground melon seeds, also has deep roots in Nigerian cuisine, with variations across different ethnic groups. The combination of these two dishes showcases the diversity and richness of Nigerian flavors, often served during family gatherings, celebrations, and important cultural events like weddings or festivals.
As for how it’s made, the preparation of pounded yam and egusi soup is both an art and a labor of love. For pounded yam, you start with fresh yams—typically a specific variety like Puna Yam, which is ideal for its starchy texture. The yams are peeled, boiled until soft, and then pounded into a smooth, elastic dough using a mortar and pestle or a modern yam pounder. It’s a physically demanding process, but the result is incredibly satisfying. Egusi soup, on the other hand, begins with ground melon seeds, which form the base of the dish. These are cooked with oil—often palm oil for authenticity—along with onions, garlic, and traditional spices like ground crayfish and pepper. Meat, such as beef or goat, and stockfish are added for heartiness, simmered in a flavorful broth or stock. Some people toss in leafy greens like spinach toward the end for extra nutrition and color. The soup is thick, savory, and pairs perfectly with the neutral, doughy pounded yam, which you scoop up with your hands to soak up the broth.
This dish holds a special place in Nigerian culture, often associated with joy and festivity. It’s a meal that brings people together, whether at home with family or during big celebrations. The act of eating pounded yam and egusi soup is almost ritualistic—you don’t just eat it; you experience it, often with laughter and stories shared around the table. It’s a reminder of our roots, our resilience, and the importance of community in Nigerian life.
While studying in Russia, I’ve managed to cook egusi soup in my dormitory, as I brought the key ingredients and recipes with me from Nigeria. I love recreating that taste of home, even if it’s just the soup part. However, I’ve never tried making pounded yam here. It’s challenging to find the right type of yam, like Puna Yam, which is essential for the authentic texture. Without it, the dish just wouldn’t feel the same. Still, preparing egusi soup keeps me connected to my culture, and sharing it with friends here is a small way to introduce them to the vibrant flavors of Nigeria.
Passalis Bernardo Nicolaos, Greece and Italy
I’m thrilled to share a bit about my background and the foods that represent my heritage. I’m Greek on my mother’s side and Italian on my father’s, having lived in both countries. Today, I want to talk about my favorite dishes from Greece and Italy, reflecting the rich cuisines of these Mediterranean cultures.
Let’s start with Greece. I don’t have a specific dish tied to a family memory because Greek cuisine, often referred to as the Mediterranean Diet, is so vast, and we cooked all sorts of random things at home. I could mention a summer salad like the classic Greek Salad, but I think gyro or souvlaki is a better representation of Greek food. It’s widely recognized as a national dish, both in Greece and abroad, thanks to Greek immigrants. It might be a bit cliché, but it’s loved for a reason. Gyro and souvlaki are essentially meat—pork, beef, or chicken—cooked on a spit or skewer, with variations in spices like paprika and toppings like tomatoes or tzatziki sauce.
The concept of “meat on a stick” is ancient in the Mediterranean, shared by Greeks, Arabs, Romans, and others for thousands of years. The modern gyro emerged in the 19th century, spreading through the Balkans before the fall of the Ottoman Sultanate, and especially after the 1923 population exchange that brought many Anatolian Greeks, like the Pontiacs, to the region. For my family, gyro isn’t tied to a specific occasion; it’s more of an everyday treat. However, in Greek villages, you’ll often see whole pigs roasted on spits during big celebrations like weddings, where the community gathers, brings equipment, and coordinates a huge feast.
Moving to Italy, the obvious choice is pizza, but I also want to highlight a cherished tradition from the South—making ragu on Sundays. Ragu is a slow-cooked meat sauce with carrots, onions, garlic, basil, and tomato sauce, boiled for hours to intensify the flavor. The longer it simmers, the better it gets, and it’s usually enjoyed with pasta like rigatoni. My father taught me the Neapolitan style he learned from his mother, using thick pieces of beef cooked in olive oil with chopped vegetables, simmered in sauce for hours with seasonings like salt, pepper, and cinnamon, which I personally enjoy. There are variations of ragu across Italy, and even in Greece, where ground beef is often used instead of whole cuts. If you’re curious, you can look up Neapolitan Ragu for specifics.
Another Italian dish I love is frittata di spaghetti, a heavy dish made by frying leftover pasta with eggs, cheese, and whatever meat or extras are around. Pizza, originating in Naples as a fast, cheap, and convenient food much like gyro, spread across Italy and the world as fast food, with the classic Pizza Margherita being the universal recipe. Ragu is more regional with different variations, while frittata is a Southern dish. In my family, ragu is the classic Sunday dish, pizza is more of a “let’s order out” or “let’s go out” option since it’s hard to make without a proper oven and pizza dough, and frittata is a practical meal made with leftovers and whatever’s in the kitchen.
As for cooking these dishes myself, I’ll be honest—I don’t cook much! I’ve never made gyro, and it’s such a personal dish anyway; everyone likes it differently, and it often requires specialized equipment like a rotisserie, especially for large cuts of meat. In Greek villages, people still cook whole pigs for events, but I haven’t tried that. Ragu is something I could probably make, as my father showed me the process, though it takes a lot of time, two pans, and hours of simmering. I’ve made plenty of pasta with sauce before, and here in Russia, I’ve found great ingredients—Barilla pasta, a fantastic tomato sauce by Кухмастер at my local Dixie, and great parmesan cheese at a nearby supermarket called Сезон, which, funnily enough, no Russian I’ve mentioned it to seems to have heard of! I can even get ingredients for gyro, like a whole pig, but the equipment is a challenge. Pizza is also tricky without the right setup, so I haven’t attempted it. I do want to make ragu at some point, though—it’s a connection to my Italian roots, even if it means dedicating a whole Sunday to the process.
Dong Min, China
I’m happy to share a dish that I believe represents our Chinese culture and carries deep meaning for my family and country. I think fish, specifically a dish called "Nian Nian You Yu," best symbolizes our culture. Fish often carries very positive meanings, representing people’s hopes for a better year ahead and symbolizing wealth and surplus.
The history of this dish goes back to the Spring and Autumn Period. Confucius once hosted a banquet for distinguished guests at his home, where he served a special fish dish. He believed that "fish" and "surplus" are homophones in Chinese, embodying the idea of abundance. Inspired by this, he named the dish "Nian Nian You Yu," which means "surplus every year." From then on, this dish became more than just food; it came to represent people’s yearning for a better life and their wishes for the new year. Every time the new year arrives, households across China prepare this dish to signify surplus and to hope that life will improve year by year.
In my family, the preparation of this dish involves a specific process. We choose a fresh live sea bass weighing about 1.5 kg, rub salt on the fish body, and stuff it with ginger slices. Then, we steam it for 8 minutes over high heat after the water boils. The secret lies in heating the soy sauce for steaming fish in advance, so it makes a "sizzling" sound when poured over the fish. Finally, we sprinkle a handful of green and red pepper shreds, alternating the colors for a vibrant look.
Our family often cooks this dish, though I wouldn’t say it’s tied to a specific memory or occasion beyond its cultural significance, especially during the new year. It’s more of a regular tradition that brings a sense of hope and continuity to our meals.
As for cooking this dish while studying in Russia, I haven’t tried it. First of all, dealing with fish is very difficult, and secondly, I’m not very skilled at cooking. These challenges have kept me from attempting to recreate "Nian Nian You Yu" here.
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