Guest of the episode: celebrated chef, restaurateur, creative entrepreneur, and ambassador of Ukrainian cuisine, Yevhen Klopotenko.
Transcript of conversations
Nik Lysytskiy
Greetings! I’m Nik Lysytskiy, and this is Archetype of the Nation — a cultural project that explores the foundations of Ukrainian national identity: who we were, who we became, what we have, and who we can be.
We search for answers in folklore and in conversations with remarkable representatives of our nation. Today, our guest is Yevhen Klopotenko — a celebrated chef, restaurateur, creative entrepreneur, and ambassador of Ukrainian cuisine.
Good afternoon, Yevhen!
Yevhen Klopotenko
Good afternoon!
Nik Lysytskiy
Each episode of our project is devoted to one of the values that define the Ukrainian people. And today, I’d like to invite you to talk about a value we call “rootedness.”
It’s not a word we use every day, but it captures something deeply important — one of the fundamental qualities that has helped us survive through difficult times. Rootedness is about preserving our culture and traditions despite all the adversities Ukrainians have faced.
While preparing for this episode, we reflected on what “rootedness” means. It can be described as the continuity of cultural forms, customs, beliefs, and behaviors passed down from generation to generation, even in the hardest historical periods.
This idea of rootedness is closely tied to the sense of belonging to a nation — to preserving and passing on traditions, to our identity, which is exactly what we explore in this project.
So my first question is: what does “rootedness” mean to you, and how do you understand it?
Yevhen Klopotenko
You know, when I talk with you, you always manage to open familiar ideas in a new way. “Rootedness” — I’ve honestly never thought of it as a value. I would’ve called it continuity.
But it’s a great word, really. You always manage to show new sides of something that feels so essential for Ukraine.
For me, “rootedness” — well, if we go into the etymology, it’s about roots. The deeper the roots, the stronger and more expansive the growth. Like with a tree — its vast root system connects and interacts underground.
That’s probably the best metaphor for how I feel about it. It’s something you can’t really explain — you just sense it. You feel comfortable, at peace in a certain place, because somehow you belong there. That’s probably what rootedness is.
I think it’s tied to many things — the transfer of information through DNA, our genetic code, our collective social memory. Things we may not consciously remember, but we feel them. For me, it lies somewhere between reality and metaphysics — something we can’t fully study yet, but we can sense.
In many ways, it’s like myths — an attempt to describe what we can’t rationally explain. It’s a way to make sense of the world. And I think rootedness works the same way — it’s how we describe what we all, deep down, feel.
Nik Lysytskiy
Exactly — the word “rootedness” literally comes from “root,” and at its core, it’s about traditions. Traditions are what stay with us from childhood.
So let’s talk about your childhood. What traditions were part of your life growing up?
Yevhen Klopotenko
I think my family is a good example of how the Soviet Union — and before that, the Russian Empire — tried to erase or replace our roots.
When I was a kid, my parents were a typical post-Soviet family. We didn’t celebrate much — just the two of them, really. There were no real traditions. It all felt a bit… lost.
Then my mom, who was a schoolteacher, began teaching ethnography. She started learning and rediscovering things. Remembering how her own childhood celebrations looked.
And slowly, she brought them back — we’d make kutia (a traditional Christmas dish), prepare twelve dishes for Christmas Eve, make dumplings, hide wishes inside them. That became part of our family again.
My dad, meanwhile, taught me how to cook borshch — because his father had taught him.
So yes, the Soviet Union killed many traditions, but maybe that loss created a hunger — a desire to understand what we had once lost.
When I began asking questions, I learned things from my mom — how my grandmother used to bake a huge Easter loaf, share it with everyone, bake a leg of lamb or pork in clay.
So my mother had traditions as a child. But by the time I was born, they’d almost disappeared.
I’m rediscovering them now — through her memories, through food, through stories.
For instance, my grandfather used to say “kandyor.” He’d tell me, “You can’t cook kandyor.” I always wondered what that meant. Recently, I visited Cherkasy region, where my dad was born, and found out “kandyor” is actually a traditional dish, similar to kulish.
It’s a kind of porridge — a simple, hearty dish people used to eat across generations. My grandfather still said the word but didn’t even remember what it referred to. The meaning had faded.
So I cooked it again with my father — in the same place where he was born — and showed him how to make kandyor.
You realize traditions can survive as echoes — in old words, gestures, fragments. They live somewhere deep inside us.
That’s why I’m now learning to celebrate Christmas properly, to understand the meaning behind the dishes and customs, to create something that feels truly Ukrainian, but still relevant today.
We even started new traditions — like baking pies and sharing them on Independence Day.
It’s all part of reviving what was lost. I’ve always felt connected to the past, even if I couldn’t express it before. I used to speak Russian, but deep down I always felt I was a continuation of something Ukrainian.
Nik Lysytskiy
Speaking of that — you’ve mentioned before that your family spoke Ukrainian, then you switched to Russian, and later returned to Ukrainian. Was that a conscious decision, or something that came naturally — like your roots speaking through you?
Yevhen Klopotenko
Actually, when the television law was introduced back in 2016, it really worked — and I think we should keep making laws in that same spirit. It required that 80% of television content be in Ukrainian. But at the time, all the hosts still spoke Russian.
They asked, “So, who even speaks Ukrainian?”
And I said, “I do.”
Everyone looked at me — “Oh, you?”
Yes, me. There was one more person, and that was it.
So they said, “Then you’ll be the main host.” And that’s how it started.
A few months later, when the show finally aired, I saw myself on screen — speaking Ukrainian. And at that moment, I realized: that’s me.
That was the real me.
I looked at myself and thought, Why am I even speaking Russian? Who am I pretending to be?
It just hit me. I needed to see it from the outside to understand.
And after that — well, a long, complicated process began. But that was the turning point.
Nik Lysytskiy
That’s such an interesting moment — about rootedness itself. Those roots, that continuity — did they come to you through your parents? Was it the family traditions, the love for Ukrainian food, borshch, Christmas? Did you learn all that by talking to your parents?
Yevhen Klopotenko
Yes — bit by bit.
Nik Lysytskiy
Tell me this: can rootedness be lost and then rediscovered? Or must it always be with you, somewhere deep inside?
Yevhen Klopotenko
No, I think it’s always there. You can choose to explore it, nurture it, love it — or just ignore it. That’s all.
I believe everyone has it. It just takes different forms. It’s like researching your past, tracing your roots — it’s not that hard, really.
Once you start, you begin to understand where you come from, what you’re made of, and who you are. It’s an amazing feeling.
And when you go deeper into it, everything starts to make sense. You feel that continuity again — restored.
Many people never even think about it. But once they do, they change. They become who they were always meant to be.
And that’s beautiful.
It can fade or blur, but it never disappears — because it lives inside you.
Nik Lysytskiy
Which Ukrainian tradition feels closest to you? Maybe a holiday one?
Yevhen Klopotenko
Hmm… traditions. Which one? Let me think.
I’d say hospitality. That’s probably my favorite.
Because wherever you go in Ukraine, people immediately set the table for you.
Just recently — around Christmas and New Year’s — my friends called and said, “We’re coming over!”
I told them, “Don’t come, I don’t want to cook anything.”
An hour later — they were on their way.
So I got up, started cooking, and by the time they arrived, I had ten dishes ready.
They stayed five minutes. And I stood there thinking, Why did I do all this?
But that’s just how we are. It’s in our DNA — that need to treat guests, to share what we have.
It’s not just a habit — it’s something sacred. That act of giving, of sharing. It’s universal across every region.
When I visit my grandmother — she’s 95, lives in northern Zhytomyr region, in a small village near Ovruch — she always cooks for me. Eight different dishes in little clay pots.
I tell her, “Grandma, you didn’t have to.”
And she says, “How could I not?”
Whether you call it a tradition or a behavioral pattern, I don’t know — but it’s something real, something heartfelt. It’s the most sincere and genuine thing we have.
Nik Lysytskiy
And another tradition after every feast — singing. You must encounter that often during your expeditions. Do you sing yourself?
Yevhen Klopotenko
Honestly, not yet. I haven’t gotten to that stage.
There are so many traditions that were simply part of life back then.
People ate — and then asked, “What now?”
“Let’s sing.”
It was natural.
Or take Ivan Kupala — people gathered, celebrated, flirted, had fun. It was beautiful.
Nowadays, we tend to formalize everything — saying, “You should do it this way, exactly like this.”
But originally, singing was spontaneous — a way to talk, to share feelings, to express joy or pain.
It was communication.
Now, we don’t really have that need anymore.
Nik Lysytskiy
Because now everyone’s on their phones.
Yevhen Klopotenko
Exactly. Phones, TVs — that’s the new normal. And honestly, that’s fine. The world changes.
But I think we need a mix — to keep what’s valuable.
I don’t sing much, but when everyone else starts, I get emotional. Maybe too emotional.
You’re probably the quiet, calm one — but I get sentimental.
When someone starts singing, it hits me — sometimes even makes me sad.
Maybe that’s something I still need to work through.
But preserving this — passing it on in some form — that’s crucial.
I don’t yet know what form that should take, but it’s deeply important.
Nik Lysytskiy
By the way, since we’re talking about folklore—let’s jump ahead a little. One of the reasons folklore is what it is, is because there’s never a single, identical version of anything. There’s no identical song or identical fairy tale, because every storyteller adds something of their own.
And it’s the same with food. Every cook, every homemaker, has their own borshch recipe.
Yevhen Klopotenko
Absolutely. A hundred percent. Every household has its own version.
But it’s a bit like a singing tradition — that’s how I think of it. It’s so alive.
I love listening to people sing, especially the funny ones — the playful songs. There are so many! Some are shamelessly funny, but so real. People blush when they sing them — they start with something tender, something about a girl, about pain… but the truly fun ones are for those who aren’t afraid to let go. There’s a whole world in those songs.
Nik Lysytskiy
We couldn’t possibly skip the topic of borshch in this episode, because it’s one of the key symbols of our traditions and roots.
Every nation has certain dishes that define its identity: pasta and pizza for Italy, sushi for Japan, burgers for the U.S.
For Ukraine — it’s borshch. Now it’s even on UNESCO’s list of intangible cultural heritage, thanks in large part to your efforts to popularize Ukrainian cuisine — and borshch in particular. Why borshch?
Yevhen Klopotenko
Because borshch reflects us.
We’re all different — yet united by borshch. And that’s the beauty of it. We all make it differently, but it’s still the same borshch.
It’s funny — you can argue with someone, disagree completely, and then both of you go home and eat borshch. It brings us together, whether we realize it or not.
If we go deeper, I’ve been studying the roots of borshch. I want to understand its historical continuity — how it began in Kyivan Rus, how it evolved with new ingredients, new technologies, through wars and upheavals — and what it became today.
The earliest versions were simple — water or fermented broth with herbs or wild plants like hogweed. It was called “borshch” from the Old Slavic word for shoots or greens. According to one theory, it came from borshchivnyk — hogweed — which people used to boil and eat.
That was long before potatoes or beets appeared here. Over time, new ingredients changed the dish — green borshch with sorrel, later red borshch with beets and tomatoes. But the essence stayed the same.
Generations passed, ingredients changed — but borshch remained. It’s always been with us.
The problem was that we didn’t fully value it. For a long time, Ukrainians couldn’t love something until it was validated abroad.
Once borshch was recognized by UNESCO, suddenly everyone rediscovered it — as if saying, “Now it’s official, now it matters.”
That’s how it’s always been — we often wait for others to acknowledge what we already have.
After UNESCO recognition, Ukraine added around 25–30 more dishes to its intangible heritage list — before that, there wasn’t even a proper process. Communities across the regions started reviving their culinary traditions.
So borshch became our flagship. It opened the door for everything else.
And it’s not just food anymore — it’s a cultural code, a symbol.
Look at pizza in Naples — it’s a few hundred years old. Borshch, meanwhile, goes back a thousand. It’s ancient, fundamental, and uniquely ours.
Nik Lysytskiy
And what about other Ukrainian dishes? Which ones do you think are underrated and deserve more recognition in the world?
Yevhen Klopotenko
There are hundreds!
For example, varenyky with cherries — people often think they’re made with sour cherries, but actually they’re with sweet cherries, and that’s a completely different taste.
Bureks — from Crimean Tatar cuisine — are another masterpiece, absolutely beautiful in their simplicity.
And syrnyky — cottage cheese pancakes — also deserve attention. I’m still researching their origins. There’s evidence of fermented cheese (nabіl) in the 18th century, but not syrnyky themselves. So I think the tradition of using fermented cheese is much older than the dish we know now.
Honestly, you’ve just pulled me into my favorite topic — I could talk about it for hours!
But at this stage, I’d rather not flood the world with hundreds of Ukrainian dishes at once. Let everyone just eat borshch for now — and remember it.
That’s enough to start with. Once they fall in love with borshch, the rest will follow.
Nik Lysytskiy
And what do people abroad say about it?
Yevhen Klopotenko
When people first try it? Oh, they’re shocked, of course. Italians, for example — they don’t eat beets at all. So it’s no surprise.
In warm countries, it’s even stranger. I always laugh when I explain it — imagine this: everyone boils beets, drains the water, peels them, and eats the beets. And we, Ukrainians — we boil the beets and eat the water!
Everyone else throws it out, but we make it the main dish. It blows people’s minds. It’s a whole new experience for them — new emotions, a new flavor universe.
In the North, yes, they eat beets, but not in this form. So for them it’s fascinating — this idea that you can eat the broth from the beets.
It’s like how in Denmark they eat herring with milk — completely normal there, but here we’d say, “Ew, no way!” Yet if you try it, it’s actually amazing.
It’s the same with borshch. Foreigners know all the ingredients — beets, cabbage, potatoes — but when they taste them together, it’s something entirely new.
That’s the beauty of it. It’s a reflection of a nation’s uniqueness. A hundred percent.
It’s not yet as globally famous as ramen, but we’re getting there. One day, borshch will stand right beside ramen — or maybe ramen will have to stand beside us. It’s that powerful.
Nik Lysytskiy
When studying Ukrainian traditions, I’ve noticed something interesting — the way our traditions are similar across regions. It’s one of the things that truly unites Ukrainians.
I once read an ethnographic study by Fedir Vovk — early 20th century. He described the layout of traditional Ukrainian houses, and concluded that no matter the region — east, west, north, or south — the structure was the same. The stove, the table, the benches, even the way furniture was arranged — identical.
Later, when I visited old houses in different parts of Ukraine, I saw it myself — the same planning, down to the smallest details.
So I’m curious — in your food expeditions, have you found something similar? Something that connects every region — a truly Ukrainian element?
Yevhen Klopotenko
Yes — food. And right now, that’s exactly what I’m researching.
It’s going to sound strange, but… it’s cabbage.
I know, it sounds funny — “Cabbage? Really?”
But yes. The one thing that unites all Ukrainians is cabbage.
Think about it — bread used to be placed on cabbage leaves. Cabbage is in borshch. In the north, people bake cabbage in the oven — it’s called husak in Chernihiv region, snidynska kapusta in Volyn, and so on.
In Rivne, they slow-bake it overnight and serve it in the morning. In central Ukraine — Cherkasy, Dnipropetrovsk, Kirovohrad — there’s kapusniak (cabbage and millet stew).
And of course, sauerkraut — everyone eats it. Everywhere.
Then holubtsi — stuffed cabbage rolls — every region has them, but each makes them differently. In Odesa, they mix cabbage leaves with corn grits. In Halychyna, the rolls are small, delicate; in the north — huge and hearty. Some make them with sauerkraut, others with potatoes. But always — cabbage.
Even in old recipes, the word kapusta (cabbage) was used as the name of a dish, not just the ingredient. Like borshch once was called burak (beetroot).
So yes — cabbage. Simple, ancient, universal.
Interestingly, carrots weren’t part of the picture — the modern orange carrot appeared only about 150 years ago. But cabbage — it’s everywhere in every era, every text, every recipe.
And alongside cabbage — millet.
Before potatoes came to Ukraine, millet was the main carbohydrate. People made kulish (millet porridge), kapusniak (millet and cabbage soup), even dumplings stuffed with millet. Later, when potatoes appeared, millet started disappearing, but the older recipes still survived — like hartanachka in the north, where they mix millet and potatoes.
So yes — cabbage and millet. Two humble ingredients that unite the entire country.
You could even say it’s our national slogan:
“Ukrainians are united by cabbage — and by the borshch we put it in.”
Nik Lysytskiy
The 19th-century historian and ethnographer Mykola Kostomarov also noted that Ukrainians have a deep attachment to their past — to the traditions passed down from their grandparents and great-grandparents.
And Ivan Ohienko wrote that many of our pre-Christian myths merged with Christian traditions to form a unique folk religion — one deeply tied to the cult of ancestors.
For example, kutia (the ritual wheat dish) isn’t just festive — it’s also memorial, linked to ancient rites of remembrance.
Yevhen Klopotenko
Exactly. There’s even a belief that kutia was one of the very first dishes humanity ever made.
Originally, it was just boiled wheat — simple and pure.
Over time, people began adding honey, nuts, poppy seeds — but at its core, it’s still that same boiled wheat.
It’s basically the story of civilization: as people settled, they cultivated new crops, discovered new flavors, and began mixing them.
So yes, kutia might truly be our oldest surviving dish — the most ancient of all Ukrainian foods.
Nik Lysytskiy
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Now, speaking of traditions — their preservation through centuries — it’s fascinating that they’ve been passed down almost unchanged. And it was probably this immutability, this rootedness, that helped ensure our cultural continuity.
But today, in such a fast-changing world — with constant shifts in economy, culture, and technology — many say that traditions need to be adapted. What do you think? Is it even possible to renew traditions?
Yevhen Klopotenko
Absolutely. And that’s exactly what I try to do.
See, if you treat tradition like a stone — something you just set down and never touch again — it’ll eventually disappear. Give it fifty years, and it’ll end up behind glass in a museum.
But tradition should live and breathe — it has to reflect its time. So if you want to keep it alive, you need to reinterpret it.
Like, imagine singing Ukrainian songs — but through karaoke at a party. You’re still singing, still keeping that tradition alive, just in a modern format.
I really believe that in the past, religion and the church played that role — they united people. People would come together for temple feasts, for weddings, for holidays. These weren’t just rituals — they were opportunities to connect.
People didn’t work five days a week then. Life was structured differently. The church was a place to rest, to meet, to talk.
It was like our modern gas stations before COVID — where people would come late at night for coffee, chat in the parking lot, hang out. That was the community hub.
So when people say, “We can’t change tradition,” I don’t agree. It has always changed — it just takes different forms.
Like, take the old “leading the goat” ritual — you can’t literally walk a goat through Kyiv today! But you can dress up, sing, make it playful. That’s the point — adapt it to how people live now.
If we force people to memorize 25 old songs word-for-word, no one will do it. But if we make it fun, interactive — people will join in. Otherwise, it’ll just die out from boredom.
Nik Lysytskiy
It seems technology has made that harder — before, people had to socialize face to face. Now, you can just comment under a video and feel connected.
So how do we keep that balance — between authenticity and reinterpretation — when popularizing traditions?
Yevhen Klopotenko
Honestly? You don’t.
Traditions don’t care what we say about them — they evolve naturally. You can’t “control” a tradition. It lives its own life.
Who decides what’s authentic or what’s changed too much? No one. Everyone just does what feels right.
Tradition is like a root — it connects you to something essential. You can change the surface, but the root stays the same.
For example, the vyshyvanka — the embroidered shirt. People used to wear it only for special occasions. Now, we can make modern versions you can wear every day.
For me, it’s not a symbol — it’s just clothes I live in. Some are fancy, some are casual, but all of them carry meaning. That’s how you make tradition real — by living it, not just wearing it on Independence Day or Vyshyvanka Day.
When I cook a Ukrainian dish, I don’t need to wear an embroidered shirt just because it’s “traditional.” That’s symbolic, but it’s not the essence. The essence is that I live it.
So no — there’s no fixed balance. Everyone should just do what they can. The main thing is to preserve and pass on the tradition.
Learn what it was — and then make it your own.
Nik Lysytskiy
That’s true. Especially today, when everything competes for attention — even traditions are part of the content race.
So how do we get young people interested in them? How do we make traditions appealing — not just something from our grandparents’ time or ancient history?
Yevhen Klopotenko
Exactly. You can’t inspire anyone with something dull, lifeless, or humorless.
Traditions have to feel alive — they should be fun, engaging, joyful.
Look at Halloween — it’s not really an ancient “tradition,” it’s just a fun social event that everyone enjoys, and because of that, it works.
We have similar things — like caroling, but somehow it’s treated differently here. People sometimes see it as “asking for money,” which is completely wrong. It’s a joyful, symbolic act — sharing energy, singing, wishing well.
Right now, we’re in a period of rethinking traditions. Some will remain, some will evolve, others may fade — and that’s natural.
The most important thing is to talk about them, to practice them, to keep them present. What happens next — we’ll figure it out later.
Nik Lysytskiy
I’d like to remind our audience that today on Archetype of the Nation we’re talking about rootedness with Yevhen Klopotenko.
If we imagine Ukraine fifty or even a hundred years from now — a bit of futurism here — which traditions, in your opinion, will definitely survive?
Yevhen Klopotenko
Weddings — definitely.
Funerals — definitely.
Christmas and Easter — for sure.
Those will stay with us, no question.
Nik Lysytskiy
But weddings today are nothing like they were a hundred years ago — back then, they lasted several days and followed a strict ritual sequence.
Yevhen Klopotenko
That’s true — but in some ways, not much has changed. I know people who spend three months planning their weddings! (laughs)
Of course, the form has evolved, but the essence remains. The tradition will stay, just in a modern version.
Some customs like Malanka — the New Year’s masquerade — might fade or transform, but others could be revived. I actually think we’ll see the return of many old traditions gaining new strength.
But if we speak pragmatically, holidays like Christmas and Easter — those are here to stay. They’re more than religious; they’re social glue.
For two thousand years, faith has been part of our identity — it’s deeply rooted in people’s consciousness. I don’t think that can disappear, not even in a hundred years. It’s a fundamental layer of who we are.
Nik Lysytskiy
Exactly. And even before Christianity, there were centuries of older spiritual practices — and somehow, they too survived and transformed.
Yevhen Klopotenko
Right. I think traditions will continue to evolve with the times. For example, harvest festivals — once, everyone knew when the harvest began and ended.
Now, you tell someone to “go harvest at the end of August,” and they say, “What do you mean? Harvest was over in mid-July!”
Life changes, timing changes — but the meaning remains.
And of course, the war is changing everything. It’s reshaping our culture and daily life. Many traditions will adapt, and new ones will be born out of this experience.
[Nik Lysytskiy
Most of the traditions that survived were preserved through folklore — passed down through ritual songs, epic tales, fairy tales, and proverbs.
I know that mythology often inspires your cooking — that you even create dishes influenced by ancient myths.
But tell me — have any specific works of folklore or folk motifs inspired you in your creative process?
Yevhen Klopotenko
Myths, yes — they’re incredibly powerful. They’re full of hidden meanings, codes, connections. You can spend your whole life exploring them.
As for folklore — there’s one funny song I always remember:
“The fish danced with the crayfish, the parsley with the parsnip.”
No one knows where it came from — some say it first appeared in a cartoon about the Cossacks.
But honestly, if you ask me whether there’s a lot of food in Ukrainian folklore — I’d say, not really. Not directly.
The work that truly pushed me to start reviving our cuisine wasn’t folklore itself, but something that felt like folklore — something that carried that same spirit of collective creativity and authenticity.
And from there, it just grew.
But I wouldn’t say I’m “inspired” by folklore in a direct way.
It’s more like — I live inside it.
It’s in the air, in the rhythm, in how people talk, cook, and tell stories.
And maybe that’s what folklore really is — not just songs or tales, but the living pulse of a people.
Nik Lysytskiy
Dances? Fairy tales?
Yevhen Klopotenko
Fairy tales… not really my thing. They’re more about a way of life, a reflection of behavior.
Rituals, though — yes. For example, we started celebrating Olia from Airu — a holiday named after herbs (airu means sweet flag, a marsh plant used in folk rituals). Those kinds of things inspire me more.
Because myths — they’re like living people. Characters with emotions, choices, and destinies. Through them, you can understand how people once lived — what they did, where they went, what they believed.
If you take, for instance, a myth about sleep or dreams, you might discover herbs used for better sleep, go find them in the forest, cook something from them — and suddenly, you’re continuing that ancient practice in a modern way.
Fairy tales, on the other hand, are different. Someone once invented them — they’re mostly symbolic, not literal.
If a myth is half true and half imagined, a fairy tale is mostly imagined.
Nik Lysytskiy
A myth explains the world, and a fairy tale is often just a fragment of a myth.
Yevhen Klopotenko
Exactly. Myths are the foundation. They carry a lot of hidden knowledge — moral, natural, cosmic.
Everything else — songs, dances — those are fragments, reflections.
Take “Kryvyi Tanets” (The Crooked Dance) — it’s both a dance and a song. Beautiful, but I can’t really extract information from it, not the way I can from a myth.
Myths feel much more powerful — stronger, deeper.
Of course, we have songs about everything. But I’ve never really looked for “culinary folklore” in songs. If anything, I’ve found mentions of popular dishes — dumplings with cherries, borshch, porridge — but nothing detailed.
Proverbs and sayings, yes — there’s some wisdom there. I look into them sometimes, but not too deeply.
And then there are the molfars — Carpathian folk healers and seers. I wouldn’t call that “folklore” exactly, but the way they interact with nature — using herbs, fire, water — that’s incredibly inspiring. It’s a real, living tradition.
Nik Lysytskiy
Speaking of proverbs — perfect timing. It’s time for our traditional game — the Folklore Chest.
Today’s theme is Ukrainian proverbs and sayings. The rules are simple: I’ll start a proverb, and you finish it — either the traditional way or however you like. Ready?
Yevhen Klopotenko
I’m definitely losing this one.
Nik Lysytskiy
Let’s see!
“What roots, such and…”
Yevhen Klopotenko
“…husk.”
Nik Lysytskiy
Close enough. “Remember the old, and the new…”
Yevhen Klopotenko
“…love.”
Nik Lysytskiy
Exactly. “Our parents would say: cracklings need…”
Yevhen Klopotenko
“…porridge.”
Nik Lysytskiy
Correct! “Without salt, without bread, there is no…”
Yevhen Klopotenko
“…borshch.”
Nik Lysytskiy
Almost — “no lunch.”
“When there’s bread in abundance, then under the willow…”
“…paradise.” And now — about borshch: “Eat borshch with mushrooms, hold your tongue…”
Yevhen Klopotenko
“…behind your teeth.”
Nik Lysytskiy
Exactly! And without willow and viburnum, there is no…
Yevhen Klopotenko
“…Ukraine.”
Nik Lysytskiy
Perfect.
Let’s circle back to folklore. You often go on expeditions, searching for food traditions. I imagine you must also encounter rituals, local songs, maybe even stories. Do those experiences inspire you too — and how do they influence what you do to popularize Ukrainian culture globally?
Yevhen Klopotenko
It’s a huge, complex process — a real ethnographic journey.
Each expedition feels like stepping into another world. Every region has its own rhythm, its own habits. In one place, people pray before eating; in another, they don’t even think about it. Somewhere, there’s a rule that the first man must enter the house — in another, no one cares.
It’s fascinating. And yes, these details inspire me.
For me, the table is the center of all traditions. Everything — every song, ritual, celebration — somehow leads to the table, or begins there.
Food is where traditions live.
For example, at Christmas we found a custom where kutia (sweet wheat pudding) is thrown at the ceiling — if it sticks, it’s a good omen. Even that simple act connects food to ritual, to belief, to joy.
That’s what inspires me — not just as a chef, but as a Ukrainian. Seeing how deeply our people connect food with meaning.
Every village has its own way, its own “trick,” its own philosophy. That’s the beauty of it.
Nik Lysytskiy
Time for a quick blitz round — seven short questions, seven short answers.
What character trait do you value most in people?
Yevhen Klopotenko
Kindness. Always kindness.
It’s the root of everything good. If a person is kind, everything else falls into place.
Nik Lysytskiy
And the worst trait?
Yevhen Klopotenko
Vanity. The need to show off, to prove how great you are.
Ego, basically. You can’t live without some ego, but too much of it ruins people — causes conflicts, scandals, competition where it’s not needed.
Nik Lysytskiy
What inspires you?
Yevhen Klopotenko
People.
They drive me crazy sometimes — but they inspire me too.
When someone comes up and simply says, “Thank you for what you do,” or smiles, or shares their story — it fuels me.
That sincerity, that gratitude — it reminds me that I’m not alone. That what I do matters.
Every trip across Ukraine renews me. It’s hard to explain — it’s like breathing in the country itself.
Nik Lysytskiy
What scares you?
Yevhen Klopotenko
My own thoughts.
They’re constantly moving, restless — creating, analyzing, doubting.
Sometimes they get too loud, too intense.
But then they pass, and I breathe again. So yes — my thoughts are what scare me most.
Nik Lysytskiy
What helps you stay in the moment — truly present in life?
Yevhen Klopotenko
Food. Always food.
When things go wrong, I think back — maybe five days ago — to a simple piece of halloumi cheese with oregano and olive oil. Or a tomato my mom picked — not perfect-looking, but real.
When I think about food, everything becomes lighter. Food brings me back to reality. It grounds me.
Nik Lysytskiy
And what’s the main goal or mission of your life?
Yevhen Klopotenko
It’s very simple.
My mission is to help people see the world more broadly through food — not just to discover new flavors, but to realize that the world itself is kinder, brighter, simpler, and tastier than it seems.
For me, cooking is a form of service. I want to serve people, help them feel something real.
If I can do that, I’m happy. That’s my number one purpose.
Nik Lysytskiy
If you had to describe Ukrainians in three words, what would they be?
Yevhen Klopotenko
Sincerity. Generosity. Love of freedom.
And… borscht. (laughs)
That’s four, but it has to be there.
Nik Lysytskiy
(laughs) Thank you.
I saw on your social media that you were recently in Japan.
Japan seems like one of those countries that’s managed to balance ancient traditions with modern life.
From your experience, do they really succeed in keeping that harmony — and how?
Yevhen Klopotenko
It feels like they’ve built a system where tradition flows naturally into everything else.
In Ukraine, we often try to attach tradition to modern life — like, here’s our Tesla, our smartphones, our tech — and then, somewhere apart, an old man in an embroidered shirt stirring borscht by a fire.
But in Japan, it’s seamless.
They can live surrounded by neon lights, bullet trains, and digital everything — and still, right next to that, someone sits in traditional clothes, eating quietly, practicing something ancient. It’s natural for them.
They don’t see a contradiction between the past and the present — we often do.
Even small details show it. For example: they have no trash cans on the streets — and no trash either. They simply decided, if there are no bins, people will take their trash home.
It sounds small, but it changes everything — behavior, mindset, respect.
And that philosophy applies to everything — food, time, work, culture.
If a restaurant closes at 9:00, you can’t stay until 9:01.
At first, it feels harsh, even aggressive. But then you realize — it’s just discipline.
If they say they’ll meet you at 7:30, they’ll be there at 7:30. Exactly. Not earlier, not later.
Their whole system works that way.
And traditions too — they don’t separate them from modern life. They simply live them.
Nik Lysytskiy
So rootedness and tradition are part of their values — just like ours, but maybe expressed differently.
And probably that’s what helped them build such a strong cultural identity — something recognizable all over the world.
Take anime, for example — it’s not just entertainment, it’s a whole aesthetic.
Yevhen Klopotenko
Exactly.
For us, anime is “a genre.” For them — it’s just everyday culture.
They didn’t invent it as a “trend.” It’s just what they do — their natural form of storytelling.
And then the world picked it up.
They never said, “We’ll make anime to promote Japan.”
They just made what they loved — and it became global.
Nik Lysytskiy
So, in a sense, what we see — the samurai image, anime, sushi — these are all simplified symbols that the world adopted. But they became global because, in Japan, those things are part of daily life.
Yevhen Klopotenko
Yes. That’s the key difference.
In Ukraine, we often try to show our best side — to make it look perfect, polished.
We dig up an old dish, like mandryky (little dumplings), and bring it to the world as a cultural exhibit.
The Japanese don’t do that. They just show what they already have.
It doesn’t have to be “the best” — it just has to be theirs.
I once visited a restaurant abroad, and the chef hesitated to show me the kitchen because it wasn’t spotless.
I told him, “No, I don’t want you to clean it. I want to see it as it is.”
But he couldn’t — because we’ve all been taught to hide imperfection.
Meanwhile, Japan proudly shows rice with pickles — nothing fancy — and the world admires it.
We have bread and lard — the same simplicity — but we hide it.
They say, “This is who we are.”
And we say, “No, wait, let’s tidy up first.”
That’s the difference.
Nik Lysytskiy
So first we have to accept ourselves — get comfortable with our own culture, traditions, and roots — before showing them to the world.
Yevhen Klopotenko
Exactly. That’s the starting point.
Because now, many Ukrainians abroad are trying to open “Ukrainian restaurants” — and they struggle.
Why? Because they don’t fully understand what Ukrainian cuisine is to them personally.
They all start with the same list — borscht, dumplings, varenyky, holubtsi — and then get stuck.
Because beyond that, they’ve never explored what they truly eat, what feels authentic to them.
People serve borscht with pampushky (garlic rolls) everywhere — but when was the last time they did that at home? They don’t.
So I ask, “Why show it that way abroad if it’s not how you actually eat it here?”
Tradition isn’t about pretending — it’s about being real.
When we can show our truth — even if it’s imperfect — that’s when the world will really see Ukraine.
Nik Lysytskiy
At its core, it’s about what’s inside.
Yevhen Klopotenko
Right—and that’s exactly the process we’re going through as a country. So it’s good we’re talking about it.
Nik Lysytskiy
If you had to put it in percentages, where are we on this journey toward truly understanding who we are?
Yevhen Klopotenko
Give it another 25–30 years. By around 2050, God willing, we’ll be where we want to be.
That’s just how change works: a generation needs about 20 years to grow up with new ideas for them to become the norm. Think about avocados—basically unknown here until around 2010. Fifteen years later, totally normal.
It’s the same with culture: if business and media keep pushing something, it accelerates. If, say, the whole world talked about mandryky—and we did too—ten years might be enough. If not, it takes longer. For our cuisine and culture to become widely used and loved, everyone around has to talk about it. Then it’s ten years; otherwise, it’s twenty-five.
Nik Lysytskiy
In recent years, many Ukrainians moved abroad; some came back, others stayed and built new lives. We’ve had waves of emigration since the 19th century. With regard to traditions and rootedness—is this a plus or a minus? Will we lose something, or will we discover something?
Yevhen Klopotenko
That’s a topic for hours, but simply put: earlier waves—say the 1950s and early 1990s—left with a set of traditions and froze them in time. Visit those communities today and it often feels like nothing has changed since they left. That’s not a criticism; they preserved what they had.
Now, ask what people took with them in 2022. Whatever they left with is what they’ll preserve. But here at home, a huge cultural revival has been happening—new music every week, new books, new conversations about values, mythology, food, clothing, style. We’re arguing, experimenting, creating. It’s alive.
Someone who left in March 2022 and hasn’t been back will return to a completely different country. Ask them about new slang, new artists, new cultural references—they might not know them. They’ll feel like part of a “third wave” diaspora that, culturally, may be the smallest—because they didn’t bring much with them and missed what’s been maturing here.
That’s why our job now is to create and systematize: develop content, codify what matters, let go of what doesn’t, and build values. So when any diaspora—first, second, third wave—comes back, they see: “Ah, this is Ukraine. This is what I always felt but couldn’t name.” That will be powerful.
Nik Lysytskiy
That was the problem with Soviet and Russian rule—they tried to replace traditions and dishes, to rewrite memory and erase what was truly ours. Now we have to restore the original—like cleaning an old painting.
Yevhen Klopotenko
Exactly. And in a way, the empire can now sit and watch the results of its own meddling—because we see it clearly and we’re undoing it.
Nik Lysytskiy
Thank you.
Yevhen Klopotenko
Thank you.
Nik Lysytskiy
And now, our “Artifact” segment, where we ask guests to leave a small memento. Yevhen is known for dishes that aren’t just interesting, but genuinely delicious—and his website has many beautiful, flavorful recipes. You also run “Guest Dinners,” where you create special dishes inspired by mythic characters. So for this episode, I’d like to ask you to compose a special “Recipe for Rootedness.”
Here’s paper and a pen.
Yevhen Klopotenko
Let’s do it. “Recipe for Rootedness.”
Nik Lysytskiy
Since we’re also a podcast, please comment as you write.
Yevhen Klopotenko
Alright. We start with “Parents,” “Our Memories,” and “Our Desires.” Add “Emotional Anchors.” Then fold in “Imagination about the Future.”
First, put “Parents, our memories, and our desires” into a pot. Mix thoroughly. Pour in the emotional anchors—that means choosing a feeling or image you love (say, a festive outfit, a song, a smell) that ties your desires to your family memories. Then glaze it all with thoughts about the future—so the mix can shape you, and maybe even your community, going forward.
That’s it: remember what you loved, what your parents loved, what you want now—tie it to strong emotions—and let it point you toward the future.
Nik Lysytskiy
Thank you. We’ll share this recipe in the link below the video. Friends, try it—and tell us whether it helped you feel more rooted in your life.
Yevhen Klopotenko
Thank you.
Nik Lysytskiy
Bon appétit. Friends, today our guest was Yevhen Klopotenko—chef, restaurateur, creative entrepreneur, and ambassador of Ukrainian cuisine. Tell us in the comments what you discovered today. Do you believe rootedness is one of the key values of the Ukrainian people? Did you enjoy the episode?
You can watch Archetype of the Nation on YouTube, listen on your favorite podcast platforms, and read on magicworld.com.ua, where you’ll also find popular science essays by folklorist Maryna Demediuk and recordings of folklore performed by well-known actors.
Thank you for your attention—and see you next time.
