Barszcz, barščiai or borscht – whatever you call it, does it need meat, or are simple vegetarian versions truer to the spirit of the dish? What is certain is that beetroot soup is seen by many as “the pride of old Polish cooking” as Maria Lemnis, author of a work on traditional Polish cooking refers to it. This isn’t something I can lay my hands on, even after a tour of the many Polski Skleps in my neighbourhood, so thank goodness the process is, apparently “very simple”. All you have to do is peel and thinly slice your beetroot, then cover them with lukewarm water, borsch kochen a slice of rye bread on top and leave somewhere warm for the best part of a week.

After four days on top of the water heater, my bowl of beets has developed a satisfying amount of foam, and a reassuringly unpleasant smell. Fortunately there’s no sign of the mould Maria Ochorowicz breezily suggests I might need to scrape off before making her very simple take on barszcz. After scooping the soggy bread out, I season the soup with salt, pepper and a pinch of sugar, and then ladle some of the malodorous water into a bowl. Maria reckons it’s “sour and tasty”.

I’m surprised it’s not worse, but it would require some confidence in one’s ability to carry off peasant chic to serve this up to guests. The other option, of course, is to fake it. Catherine Atkinson suggests in her survey of Polish and Russian cooking, From Borsch to Blinis, that a respectable alternative can be made by bringing a pan of grated beetroot, stock and lemon juice to the boil, allowing it to sit for half an hour, and then straining. The resulting liquid has a less complex flavour than the real thing, but does the job of adding tang to Catherine’s soup, and at considerably less cost to one’s airing cupboard. Confusing as this may be, what’s interesting is that, instead of the sour beetroot, she uses a mixture of sour cream and flour, added at the end of cooking time to thicken the soup. To be fair, Lesley does suggest using the juice from pickled beetroot to improve the colour of the soup, which has the virtue of imparting a certain piquancy, but goes against Maria Lemnis’ stern prohibition on the use of vinegar in borscht. Lesley Chamberlain’s makes use of the water one cooks the soup’s beans in, and Bridget Jones suggests that on Christmas Eve, fish stock would be used instead, to honour the customary fast.

The Old Warsaw Cookbook, however, mentions a Lenten borscht based on a homemade vegetable stock, flavoured with dried mushrooms. As we’ve seen, borscht recipes range from very simple beetroot broths to elaborate preparations involving beans, potatoes and all sorts. I associate with other typically Eastern European favourites, like vodka and horseradish, both of which would make a fine accompaniment to the finished dish. Borscht should be a hearty, yet sophisticated dish: a bowlful of sweet, sour and savoury flavours, rather than simply a vehicle for beetroot.

No wonder everyone wants to claim it as their own. Melt the butter in a large pan, and then soften the onion over a gentle heat for 5 minutes. Add the carrot, leek, celery, diced beetroot, allspice and bay leaf and stir well to coat with butter. Cook for another 10 minutes, adding a little stock if the vegetables begin to look dry. Pour in the rest of the stock and the potatoes and simmer for 15 minutes, then add the cabbage, garlic and grated beetroot. Add the vinegar, sugar, pepper and a pinch of salt and taste. Add a little more of any of these if necessary, then serve with a dollop of sour cream, a sprig of dill, and some Polish bread on the side.