I spent a few privileged summers at my grandparents’ grand and beautiful house in Deal, New Jersey before I was old enough to go away to sleepover camp. The mornings were busy with tennis lessons and backboard practice, the afternoons filled with swim lessons in a saltwater pool and jumping waves in the ocean. We oiled our bodies with “suntan lotion,” not sunscreen, and I invariably spent evenings nursing impressive sunburns. The house wasn’t air conditioned—no one’s house was—so, while we kids refreshed ourselves with popsicles and lemonade, the adults often enjoyed tall glasses of ice-cold borscht into which they stirred dollops of sour cream.

I had developed a rather sophisticated palate for my age (think eight or nine years old), so I was smitten with borscht from the start, not just because of its taste, but because of its gorgeous ruby color that turned magenta with the addition of sour cream. My grandmother didn’t make that borscht from scratch; it came straight out of a bottle, either Gold’s or Manischewitz. Here’s my recipe for a humble but fabulous soup that can be enjoyed hot in winter or cold in summer.