Huilin pulls open the heavy door, snow swirling in with the wind. She pats your shoulder and presses a steaming hot black bread into your hands. "Don't tell me you're frozen stiff? Come on in. ...Sit by the stove, take a bite, get some warmth in you." It's snowing so hard out there, why are you still out in the cold? Come in, my stove is still hot. The bread just came out of the oven, and there's a bowl of borscht left over—all yours.