Calling this beetroot soup a Polish classic is as inflammatory as an evening on the sliwowica – for a start, the name we generally know it by in this country, borscht, is Russian. In Poland, it's barszcz, while in Lithuania, they call it barščiai. From Sevastopol to Szczecin, they claim the dish as their own, but I think Lesley Chamberlain, former Reuters correspondent for Moscow and a woman who's found the time to write two books on the food of the region in between works on Nietzsche, the river Volga and the downfall of communism, puts it best, and certainly most diplomatically, with her description of a "babble" of Eastern European recipes which makes it "difficult to say which dish belongs where".

What is certain is that beetroot soup is seen by many as "the pride of old Polish cooking" as Maria Lemnis, author of a work on traditional Polish cooking refers to it. The Old Warsaw Cookbook, meanwhile, stoutly asserts it is impossible to imagine a Pole welcoming a guest with anything but barszcz – which should give the aspiring traveller pause for thought.

Simple

Fermenting kvas. Photograph: Felicity Cloake for the Guardian

Even amongst themselves, these writers disagree as to what constitutes a barszc: it's generally acknowledged that there are as many different types as there are Poles in the diaspora, but according to Lemnis, there are two principal varieties, one vegetarian version for the Christmas Eve feast, and one made with meat stock for Easter. Both, however, are made with what she calls "naturally soured beet juice", a kind of kvas, or fermented liquor, which fits with the Polish (and Russian) taste for sweet and sour flavours identified by Lesley Chamberlain.

This isn't something I can lay my hands on, even after a tour of the many Polski Skleps in my neighbourhood, so thank goodness the process is, apparently "very simple". All you have to do is peel and thinly slice your beetroot, then cover them with lukewarm water, pop a slice of rye bread on top and leave somewhere warm for the best part of a week. (I'd add to that, warn your flatmate before going out for the evening.)

Maria Ochorowicz's barszcz. Photograph: Felicity Cloake for the Guardian

After four days on top of the water heater, my bowl of beets has developed a satisfying amount of foam, and a reassuringly unpleasant smell. Fortunately there's no sign of the mould Maria Ochorowicz breezily suggests I might need to scrape off before making her very simple take on barszcz.

After scooping the soggy bread out, I season the soup with salt, pepper and a pinch of sugar, and then ladle some of the malodorous water into a bowl. Maria reckons it's "sour and tasty". I'm surprised it's not worse, but it would require some confidence in one's ability to carry off peasant chic to serve this up to guests.

Fake kvas

Straining fake kvas. Photograph: Felicity Cloake for the Guardian

The other option, of course, is to fake it. Catherine Atkinson suggests in her survey of Polish and Russian cooking, From Borsch to Blinis, that a respectable alternative can be made by bringing a pan of grated beetroot, stock and lemon juice to the boil, allowing it to sit for half an hour, and then straining.

The resulting liquid has a less complex flavour than the real thing, but does the job of adding tang to Catherine's soup, and at considerably less cost to one's airing cupboard.

No kvas

Lesley Chamberlain's barszcz. Photograph: Felicity Cloake for the Guardian

Lesley Chamberlain gives a "modern Polish" recipe from Lwów, "attributed to what is now western Russia" – she loses me when she qualifies this by adding "in fact, therefore, it is Ukrainian" (apparently the city, now Lviv, became part of the Ukraine in 1944). Confusing as this may be, what's interesting is that, instead of the sour beetroot, she uses a mixture of sour cream and flour, added at the end of cooking time to thicken the soup. I'm not keen on the raw flour flavour, and the creaminess of the finished soup is at odds with my idea of borsch, however authentic it might be if you happen to find yourself in Lwów / Lviv / Russia.

Vinegar

Lindsay Bareham's borscht. Photograph: Felicity Cloake for the Guardian

To be fair, Lesley does suggest using the juice from pickled beetroot to improve the colour of the soup, which has the virtue of imparting a certain piquancy, but goes against Maria Lemnis' stern prohibition on the use of vinegar in borscht. Lindsay Bareham also throws tradition to the winds in the recipe she gives in her book, A Celebration of Soup – but then she also claims that borscht is "originally from the Ukraine," so her deployment of wine vinegar may be the least of Polish readers' worries. I actually find I prefer the more assertive, yeasty tartness of vinegar to the fresh citrussy note the lemon juice gave the soup, but after experimenting with Bridget Jones' (no, not that one) suggestion in her book, Recipes from a Polish Kitchen, I decide cider vinegar, with its slightly vegetal note, is even better.

A question of stock

Most recipes I find call for beef stock – Lesley Chamberlain's makes use of the water one cooks the soup's beans in, and Bridget Jones suggests that on Christmas Eve, fish stock would be used instead, to honour the customary fast. The Old Warsaw Cookbook, however, mentions a Lenten borscht based on a homemade vegetable stock, flavoured with dried mushrooms. I'm not keen on the texture of the finished soup, which is thickened with a roux, but I do like the foresty flavour the fungi bring to the table – beetroot needs something richer and more savoury than mere water to counteract its sweetness. For those keeping Lenten fasts (as I'll be by the time you read this) it's a nice alternative – simply substitute a simple vegetable stock, made with dried mushrooms, for the same amount of beef stock in the recipe below.

Vegetables

Catherine Atkinson's barszcz. Photograph: Felicity Cloake for the Guardian

As we've seen, borscht recipes range from very simple beetroot broths to elaborate preparations involving beans, potatoes and all sorts. I prefer the recipes which, like Lindsay Bareham's, use potato to give the soup body; it seems to soak up the flavour better than Lesley Chamberlain's white beans. I also approve of Lindsay's use of cabbage, which not only gives the soup a bit of colour, but, to my mind, adds an air of Eastern Bloc authenticity to proceedings.

Sweet, earthy parsnips, as suggested in some recipes, are too much with the beetroot, and one has to be careful not to overload the dish with carrots for the same reason – using leeks and celery makes for a more interesting bowl of soup. Many recipes use tomatoes (in fact, Lesley Chamberlain puts in a whole large tin, which robs her soup of its vibrant pink colour), but I notice the older ones tend not to, and, on reflection I don't think the dish gains much from these defiantly summery fruits.

Flavourings

The six cloves of garlic that go into Lindsay Bareham's soup are a very welcome addition, as far as I'm concerned – because they're tossed into the pan raw, they add the kind of fiery heat which I associate with other typically Eastern European favourites, like vodka and horseradish, both of which would make a fine accompaniment to the finished dish. Maria Lemnis suggests black peppercorns, allspice and a bay leaf; a mixture of hot and sweet flavours which seems appropriate; beetroot has such an assertive flavour that it will take over the entire meal given half a chance, which I think would be a shame. It should be the star here, but it needs some supporting actors to point up its virtues.

Borscht should be a hearty, yet sophisticated dish: a bowlful of sweet, sour and savoury flavours, rather than simply a vehicle for beetroot. It takes a bit of work – but with a dollop of rich sour cream, and a sprig of aromatic dill, it's one of the world's great soups. No wonder everyone wants to claim it as their own. Serve with thick sour cream, sweet dill, and mushroom dumplings or hunks of black bread.

Perfect borscht

Felicity's perfect barszcz. Photograph: Felicity Cloake for the Guardian

Serves 4

300g beetroot, peeled

50g butter

1 small onion, 1 small carrot, 1 stick of celery, 1 small leek, all peeled where necessary and cut into small dice or rings

2 grains allspice

½ bay leaf

1.5l gelatinous beef stock

2 medium floury potatoes, eg Maris Piper, peeled and cut into small dice

½ small cabbage, shredded

4 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed

2 tbsp cider vinegar

1 tsp sugar

½ tsp ground black pepper

Sour cream and fresh dill, to serve (preferably Polish sour cream, which has a richer flavour)

1. Cut ¾ of the peeled beetroot into small dice (you may want to wear rubber gloves to do this) and set the rest aside. Melt the butter in a large pan, and then soften the onion over a gentle heat for 5 minutes.

2. Add the carrot, leek, celery, diced beetroot, allspice and bay leaf and stir well to coat with butter. Cook for another 10 minutes, adding a little stock if the vegetables begin to look dry. Meanwhile, grate the remaining beetroot.

3. Pour in the rest of the stock and the potatoes and simmer for 15 minutes, then add the cabbage, garlic and grated beetroot. Cook until all the vegetables are tender (about 10 minutes).

4. Add the vinegar, sugar, pepper and a pinch of salt and taste. Add a little more of any of these if necessary, then serve with a dollop of sour cream, a sprig of dill, and some Polish bread on the side.

Is barszcz the best thing ever to come out of a beetroot, or a waste of a pair of Marigolds? Does it need meat, or are simple vegetarian versions truer to the spirit of the dish? And (deep breath) which country makes the best?