Coke Salad — A Recipe Preserved, Like the Notebook That Survived the Journey

A letter arrived this week from a woman in Portland named Sarah — not Sarah Lieberman the editor, a different Sarah — who read the book and who wrote me four handwritten pages about her grandmother's kitchen in Minsk, about the borscht her grandmother made, about the immigration and the loss and the preservation of recipes in a notebook that survived the journey from Belarus to Oregon. Sarah's letter is the chain in postal form — the chain extending from my kitchen to her kitchen, from Sylvia's borscht to her grandmother's borscht, from the Grand Concourse to Portland, and the extending is the book's purpose, the book's reason for existing, the book's answer to the question "why did you write this?" — I wrote it so Sarah in Portland would know that her grandmother's borscht matters, that the notebook matters, that the journey matters, that the preservation matters.

I wrote Sarah back. I told her about the borscht — about Sylvia's borscht, about the beets and the sour cream and the dill, about the color that is the color of memory. I told her to keep the notebook. I told her to cook from it. I told her that every time she makes the borscht, she is standing in her grandmother's kitchen in Minsk, and the standing is real, and the kitchen is real, even if the kitchen no longer exists, because the recipe is the kitchen, and the recipe survives.

I made borscht — the cold summer version, Sylvia's recipe, chilled, served with sour cream. The borscht was garnet-red and tasted like Portland and Minsk and the Grand Concourse and every kitchen where a woman stood and stirred beets and remembered. The chain extends. The borscht proves it.

After writing back to Sarah in Portland — after thinking about her grandmother’s notebook, about every recipe that crossed a border tucked inside something ordinary — I wanted to make something cold and old and preserved, something that existed because someone wrote it down and refused to let it disappear. This Coke Salad is that kind of recipe: chilled, a little unexpected, the sort of thing that lives in notebooks passed between women who understood that writing a recipe down is an act of love across time. It isn’t Sylvia’s borscht, but it belongs to the same chain — the chain of kept things, carried things, things that prove the kitchen survives.

Coke Salad

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 2 hours 15 minutes (includes chilling) | Servings: 10

Ingredients

• 1 can (15 oz) dark sweet cherries, drained (juice reserved)
• 1 can (8 oz) crushed pineapple, drained (juice reserved)
• 1 package (3 oz) black cherry gelatin
• 1 package (3 oz) cherry gelatin
• 1 cup Coca-Cola (not diet)
• 1 package (8 oz) cream cheese, softened
• 1/2 cup chopped pecans

Instructions

1. Combine reserved juices. Pour the reserved cherry and pineapple juices into a small saucepan and bring to a boil over medium heat. Remove from heat.
2. Dissolve the gelatin. Add both packages of gelatin to the hot juice mixture and stir until fully dissolved, about 2 minutes.
3. Add the Coca-Cola. Slowly stir in the Coca-Cola — the mixture will fizz. Stir gently until combined, then let cool to room temperature, about 20 minutes.
4. Blend in the cream cheese. Beat the softened cream cheese in a large bowl until smooth. Gradually whisk in the cooled gelatin mixture until fully incorporated and no lumps remain.
5. Fold in the fruit and nuts. Gently fold in the drained cherries, crushed pineapple, and chopped pecans until evenly distributed.
6. Chill until set. Pour the mixture into a 9x13-inch dish or a decorative mold. Refrigerate for at least 2 hours, or until firm. Serve cold, sliced into squares or unmolded onto a platter.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 210 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 11g | Carbs: 27g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 130mg