Dream ticket: Olga Tsybytovska and Yurii Kovryzhenko have opened Mriya on Old Brompton Road
(Picture: Photography by Natasha Pszenicki, assisted by Monty Vann)While brushing leaves off a table in his new restaurant’s courtyard, Yurii Kovryzhenko points out a wooden bannister in the corner. The celebrated Ukrainian chef tells me that it was salvaged from an affluent home in Lviv that is now rubble. Presented without pomp or grandeur, it is just one of the things which has found refuge at Kovryzhenko’s first London restaurant, Mriya. The Chelsea bistro is set to be the capital’s new focal point for celebrating Ukrainian culture, both a spot for discovering the country’s cuisine and a home away from home for displaced nationals. But for the stranded chef, it is a source of purpose and salvation.
Kovryzhenko has spent the last 12 years travelling the world as a cultural diplomat. He came to London in February to run a cookery masterclass for Ukrainian students but plans changed overnight when war broke out. “We made around 700 dumplings for the students and then the next day, we were feeding them to volunteers,” he remembers. Since that first shift of gears, Kovryzhenko and his partner Olga Tsybytovska have worked non-stop to support Ukraine.
The pinnacle of their efforts is this new opening on Old Brompton Road. Mriya — which means “the dream” in Ukrainian — which will unite Kovryzhenko’s dedication to celebrating his country’s culinary history with the urgent need to connect displaced Ukrainians in London.
It is a dream both Kovryzhenko and Tsybytovska, a food educator, take seriously, referring to it as their “mission”.
“We see terrible pictures from the front line every day,” Kovryzhenko says, gravely. “Food is a great instrument to show another part of Ukraine.”
Tsybytovska adds: “Really, food is the opposite of war. It unites people and brings joy and pleasure.
“So I want other people to come and be surprised. I want them to discover new combinations of food and be impressed with Ukraine.”
But by offering elevated traditional Ukrainian cooking on the menu and decorating the restaurant with salvaged objects, the pair have also created a safe harbour for Ukrainians in the capital. The restaurant is set to open in the coming weeks — last week’s planned launch was waylaid by an administrative hurdle — but has already had a successful soft launch. “People came and told us this place feels like their mother’s house. That’s exactly [the feeling] we want to create.” One guest came up to report that the forshmak, a herring paté, had triggered a Proustian moment and stirred memories of holidaying in Crimea as a child.
The menu offers recognisable favourites such as zucchini pancakes and chicken Kyiv, but there are also contemporary takes on familiar Ukrainian flavours and options such as wheat with ceps, herbs and beef tongue, as well as the likes of celeriac steak, to cater for modern preferences.
Tsybytovska says any meal should always start with bread. “We greet guests with bread and salt. There are still many people who think that if there is no bread on the table, then there is no meal.” Expect the bread to come with home-made pickles — the likes of fermented cabbage, apple, cucumber and plums — and, says Kovryzhenko, it’s all best paired with a vodka that should be shot, not sipped. But however it’s drunk, be sure to cheers fellow diners with “budmo!” — “let us be!”. The upbeat phrase seems to have more poignancy, given the circumstances.
Elsewhere on the menu are smoked trout, and aubergine caviar with feta cheese. A classic borsch is present and correct too.
“I think it is one of the most difficult dishes you can make,” Kovryzhenko says of the soup, He explains the painstaking process to get it right, and the importance of doing so. The dish is both labour-intensive and symbolic of their country, with every recipe’s variations capturing Ukraine’s diverse landscape and harsh seasons. Tsybytovska agrees — “it is a legend.” But Kovryzhenko darts back that his borsch isn’t her favourite: “It is not as good as her mother’s.” He lets out a sigh.
Jamie Oliver was amazing. He wasn’t just cooking, though, he volunteered to be a waiter for our dinner
Kovryzhenko’s own mother fled her home in Kyiv in the first weeks of the war and made a gruelling journey to relative safety in Lviv. Tsybytovska’s family have stayed in their home south of Kyiv and it is clear she lives with constant worry. “I remember one day I had a call with my parents and we said goodnight to one another. Then in five minutes they are calling me back and saying they are now being bombed, and the house is shaking.”
Tsybytovska laughs softly when she recalls always pining for home — even on holiday: “I was always thinking about the home I am missing. My teacup, my own big bed linen.” But as their 10-day trip snowballs into a five-month visit, Tsybytovska grieves deeply for everything about home, “every corner.”
Here the restaurant is proving a welcome distraction. Tsybytovska says her longing to be with her family was temporarily eased at last night’s trial opening. Her family cook and eat together without fail and having friends and guests at Mriya came close to the feeling of hosting with them in Ukraine. For a brief few hours, she says she felt like herself again. There is a pause. “Right now, this restaurant is the closest thing I have to home.”
The restaurant will undoubtedly be a home to many fellow Ukrainians, but it has also created jobs for the displaced. The entire workforce is made up of forced migrants fleeing the war, and all are all overqualified. There is a lawyer behind the bar; waiting staff are maths teachers and entrepreneurs.
Despite their changed circumstances, all of them say they are happy to contribute to Kovryzhenko and Tsybytovska’s mission.
It’s a mission that started soon after feeding volunteers in the first days of the war. Kovryzhenko says he uses cooking on a personal level to feel “less powerless” and he and Tsybytovska teamed up with the likes of Tom Kitchin to raise more than £500,000 through charitable dinners for charities including Cook for Ukraine and UNICEF.
One thing I’ve learnt in the past five months is that it is in the nature of British people to help
Another was with Jamie Oliver. “It was so great. Jamie was absolutely amazing. He wasn’t just cooking, though, he volunteered to be a waiter for our dinner.” Tsybytovska says. “When he first mentioned he would be the waiter I thought he was joking. But the next minute, he appeared at the table asking, ‘would you like white or red wine?’ and introducing guests to pampushky.”
Despite this success, Kovryzhenko and Tsybytovska are aware that the initial gush of support is dwindling. Their plan is to use the restaurant revenue to create a steadier means of fundraising. Depending on the margin, five to 10 per cent of profits will be going to charity.
Both are aware that British concerns have become more insular, with the cost-of-living crisis. Does the waning attention for Ukraine upset them?
Tsybytovska immediately responds with unflinching positivity. “The focus can be shifted but what I know now, and it is something that I have learnt in the past five months, is that it is in the nature of British people to help, and to give, and be open-hearted. So I think the British will continue to support us in the way they can.”
It is striking to hear such optimism from someone who, moments before, mentions that 120 bombs were dropped just the night before near her family home.
Given the ‘dream’ meaning of the name Mriya, I tentatively wonder if they have allowed themselves to think about the future of the restaurant. Tsybytovska acknowledges that it is a privilege to be able to do so.
“There were so many Ukrainians who were planning something, who were dreaming, and then their life was torn apart.”
But Tsybytovska and Kovryzhenko agree that they when they let their dreams stretch beyond the wish to return home, they dream of opening a second Mriya in Kyiv and creating a permanent “bridge” between the two cities. A bridge that connects two restaurants, yes, but also two homes.
