The Juicy Story of Cherry Dumplings

Of course, there are better ways to tell a story - with intelligent characters, sophisticated dialogue, and a well-designed plot.

This little tale, though, is all about dumplings. Tender pastry morsels filled with cherries.

Back in Kiev, growing up, they were too lavish to have at any other time but cherry season, when the summer sun gave its abundance.

At holiday houses, it was a family affair - hours around the garden table, folding small pockets of pastry, sometimes with blueberries, but mostly cherries, the favorite and the affordable.

Fresh from the markets, they came in rattan baskets, carrying the sun in their burgundy weight. You’d split the flesh, prise out the stone, and carefully collect the thick, sweet juice for sauce. Each cherry was wrapped in a delicate pastry floret, sealing in its nectar.

Allowed to eat with my hands, cherry juice streaked my face and dripped down my fingers.

That’s how I learned: the messy things in life are often the best.