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For many — Ukrainians and non-Ukrainians alike — Ukrainian cuisine might seem the antithesis of fine dining: greasy and meaty comfort food, the provenance of moms and grandmothers.
The owners of the Ukrainian neo-bistro Mriya, which means “dream” in Ukrainian, located in central London, share anything but this perspective. Opening after the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion, the restaurant is determined to show the world that Ukrainian cuisine can, and should, have a seat at the haute cuisine table.
“We didn’t want it to be the same old Ukrainian cuisine from the village or home. We wanted to make it more sophisticated, more fine dining,” says owner and co-founder Olha Tsybytovska.
This is no easy feat. For starters, the bistro has the task of balancing introducing its Londoner guests to Ukrainian food — some of which may know very little about the country’s fare — while experimenting with classic dishes and flavors.
And then there are their suspicious countryfolk at times reluctant to accept Ukrainian cuisine as anything besides what they’re used to.
“I've heard a lot of things in my life, even from Ukrainians themselves: "Ukrainian wines? Oh, what kind of wine can there be in Ukraine? And what do they make in Ukraine? And what is Ukrainian cuisine? It’s just dumplings, potatoes, bread, cabbage,” Tsybytovska tells the Kyiv Independent.
Some Ukrainian guests have complained about the price of borsch (14 pounds) or say their “mother’s (borsch) is better,” restaurant manager Zoya Narayevska, who left Ukraine after the start of the full-scale invasion says. But of course, the borsch isn’t supposed to be mom’s. It’s Mriya’s. For those familiar with the diversity of borsch and enjoy it on the sweeter side, this is the place to find a delicious bowl of it.
There are many perfectly fine Ukrainian restaurants around the world. New York’s iconic Veselka Ukrainian eatery is one. A recently opened Ukrainian cafe in Los Angeles called Mom, Please is another. In Ukraine, there are actually only a handful of restaurants that could be considered to be serving upscale Ukrainian food.
Mriya calls itself a neo-bistro, which means it is run by trained chefs looking to get away from low-brow bistro codes with inventive dishes using locally sourced ingredients.
Mriya checks all those boxes. Tsybytovska, herself a trained chef and the former owner of a boutique food tour agency in Kyiv, opened the restaurant in August 2022 with her then-partner Ukrainian chef Yurii Kovryzhenko. He left the project about six months later.
The rest of the staff is also made up entirely of Ukrainian refugees, with the exception of one employee. Most of them never worked in the restaurant industry before Mriya. One of their chefs used to work as an accountant before joining the team, starting as a pastry chef and working her way up.
Tsybytovska is proud the restaurant has become a place that has given refugees of Russia’s war the opportunity to “find themselves in a new country,” but wants the focus of the restaurant not to be on its humanitarian efforts, but “the gastronomy, the flavors, and the food.”
“I want people to not just come because they want to help Ukraine, but to want Ukrainian food, (to say), ‘I liked it so much the last time I was in a Ukrainian restaurant. I want to go back so badly,’” Narayevska adds.
At first sight, Mriya’s menu appears to offer classics, but as the food comes to the table, it’s clear it takes seriously its goal of bringing London — and the culinary world — something more modern, and memorable.
The forshmak, a usually pinkish-yellowish Odesan mackerel spread served in a bowl with rye bread on the side, at Mriya fills a lightly crunchy small tart pastry and is garnished with caviar and edible flowers. The salo, a salty cured pork fat generally found on the side of a bowl of borsch, comes as a ribbon neatly laid on top of a layer of dill aioli spread onto a bread soldier.
A Ukrainian meal in summer is unimaginable without tomatoes. Mriya has you covered with a fresh tomato salad on a bed of Bessarabian brynza cheese and a Ukrainian pesto.
Varenyky — Ukrainian national dumplings — are small and topped with seasonal vegetables. One offering is clearly an ode to the local diversity of flavors found in England these days: a filling of black pudding and nduja, topped with broccolini and a demi-glace. You’d be hard-pressed to find such a take in Ukraine or elsewhere.
Locals who aren’t fond of too much experimentation will also find Mriya’s take on a national dish — fish and chips. But instead of beer, the fish is battered in kvass (a sour fermented cereal-based low-alcohol beverage) and baby potatoes instead of french fries.
They’ll also find Chicken Kyiv on the menu — a beloved dish in the U.K. according to Mriya’s staff. Their version stays true to the classic (albeit not technically traditional) but is presented nicely with two crescent moons surrounding the chicken of mashed potatoes and green peas.
For dessert, a delectable take on the meringue and buttercream Kyiv Cake, made in-house by their pastry chef and served with ice cream.
Oh, and those Ukrainian wines no one has ever seemed to have heard of? They’re on Mriya’s menu, sourced from Ukraine’s budding wineries, such as the Beykush Winery from Ukraine’s Black Sea coast. A glass of white from the winery, recommended by the waiter, pairs perfectly with the above dishes.
What you will never find on the menu is olivier salad, or “Russian salad” as it’s often called on menus in the U.K. and elsewhere around the world. Despite constant requests for it, the restaurant says as a matter of principle, they will never serve the Soviet invention.
They admit the contradiction in serving Chicken Kyiv and Kyiv Cake — both popularized in the Soviet Union — but add that at least they come from the times of Soviet Kyiv (and according to one historian, even before). And childhood is childhood, and “sometimes we want to return to those memories.”
The restaurant isn’t just looking to change the world’s perception of Ukrainian cuisine.
“The idea of this institution has a missionary story behind it — to remind people of Ukraine, promote its culture, unite Ukrainians and become a kind of Ukrainian center in the British capital. Not only to feed (people) but to fall in love with Ukraine in various ways,” Tsybytovska says.
Olya Tsybytovska, owner and co-founder of Mriya. (Courtesy of Mriya Neo-Bistro)
The restaurant hosts Ukrainian wine tastings and cultural evenings, and through its decor wants to show the world what Ukrainians are made of. Its interior, designed by Replus, a Ukrainian bureau from Lviv, mixes the old with the new.
Paying homage to the craftsmanship of early 20th-century Ukrainians, they have refurbished 100-year-old wooden armoires and chairs made by the contemporary designer Kateryna Sokolova.
“We want to show a truly modern Ukraine that is moving forward, developing in line with modern trends, just like its cuisine. It doesn't stand still, it develops like any living organism under the influence of other cultures. It does not shy away from modern trends,” Tsybytovska says.
Mia Billetdeaux
