Dumpling flavour, stripped down to its essence

Afew years ago, I made the Russian baths a regular part of my New York life. The ritual of the shvitz — steaming, sweating and rinsing — is why I go (health!), but if I’m being honest, I also am very much there for the food (pleasure!).

I eat there not out of necessity, but because it’s low-key and one of my favourite restaurants in town. (I am reluctant to even mention how good the food can be because I still find it to be one of the best-kept secrets in town. That said, I imagine it’s not everyone’s cup of tea to eat sour cream from small plastic cups in a bathing suit and towel, so maybe I have nothing to worry about.)

My order changes every time — pickles, cabbage, soup, pickled cabbage soup — but I always get the pelmeni, tortellini-size dumplings filled with pork, served in a squat ramekin, coated in melted butter and a splash of the cooking liquid. Finished with caramelised onions, lots of dill and a generous portion of sour cream alongside, they are kind of the opposite of a healthy trip to the spa — unless you consider mental health a part of that journey. (I do.)

Every time I eat those little miracles, I can’t stop thinking about how I could write a recipe that approximates them without asking someone to make dumplings (I’d never do that to you) or take a trip to Brighton Bazaar in Brooklyn to buy them. (If you get the chance, the frozen ones are excellent.)

I thought about the chewiness of the dumpling wrapper, the delicately meaty taste of the filling and slight brothiness of the liquid they come in. I thought about how necessary the dill is, and about how I always wanted a squeeze of lemon but wouldn’t dare ask.

And that’s how I got here: Creamy farro with crispy mushrooms, sour cream and lots of dill. Yes, there is also a side of lemon.

OK, so, no: A bowl of farro and mushrooms isn’t exactly a plate of dumplings, but hear me out. The way the mushrooms are cooked and crisped alongside the thinly sliced, caramelising leeks gives them such a delightfully meaty flavour that they’re almost better than meat itself. The farro, toasted in the pot before it’s cooked, reinforces that vague meatiness. (Chicken broth helps, but you can use vegetable broth or even water to keep it vegetarian.) In the end, the squeaky chew of each grain coupled with the porridgy consistency reminds me of the dumplings swimming in that buttery broth.

Topped with sour cream and a sprinkle of a lemony dill mixture, made better with the addition of chives, it hits the spot, even without the shvitz.