Serhii Kovalov doesn’t like sushi. Nor does the sushi chef at his restaurant in eastern Ukraine.
But when customers started asking for it, Mr. Kovalov navigated both enemy shelling and ordinary supply-chain issues to get fresh fish for Philadelphia rolls to his frontline town, Sloviansk.
Now, as Russian forces have drawn closer and life gets more bleak, many Sloviansk residents are weighing whether to flee. Not Mr. Kovalov. He’s determined to keep serving sushi to soldiers and civilians who are seeking comfort, sustenance or a taste of something special after more than three years of war.
“I know I’m needed here,” the 30-year-old Mr. Kovalov said, gesturing at the restaurant and the town outside that has long been in Russia’s cross hairs. “So I stay.”
Sushi has long been wildly popular in Ukraine, and for people in Sloviansk, this treat provides a sense of much-needed normalcy.
When Sloviansk came under attack in February 2022 when Russia’s full-scale invasion began, sushi wasn’t even on the menu at Mr. Kovalov’s restaurant, Slavnyi Horod, or “Glorious City.”
His was the only restaurant in town that stayed open in the early days of the war, and suppliers would not deliver.
“So we began building entirely new logistics routes,” Mr. Kovalov said. Colleagues relocated to central and western Ukraine, setting up new vendor relationships. To get goods back across the active front line to Sloviansk, Mr. Kovalov sometimes drove round-trip himself.
As people fled, the restaurant’s staff dwindled from 35 to seven and became a “family,” Mr. Kovalov said.
With no water or electricity, meals were cooked outside on a fire. Eventually, the restaurant purchased a generator and drilled a well, with Mr. Kovalov intent on keeping its doors open.
Even after a missile destroyed his apartment, Mr. Kovalov headed to the restaurant — with a concussion.
“That was probably the toughest day, having to pull myself together while walking to work. I had to quickly decide: either leave, or stay and lead the team through this,” he said. “I walked in with a smile and said, ‘It’s fine. We got lucky this time — second birthday. Let’s keep working.’”
Amid all that hardship, why would he introduce sushi — which requires special storage and refrigeration — to the menu?
“It started with demand,” he said simply, betraying his business school degree. “There were no sushi restaurants in the city, and guests began asking.”
“Whether I enjoy it or not doesn’t matter,” he insisted.
Today, he has partners in Kyiv who inspect and select “very fresh” raw fish, which is then shock-frozen and packed into cooled containers for the eight-hour overland journey to Sloviansk.
The road weaves through Kharkiv, then Izium, cities whose smashed buildings tell the tale of Russian bombardment, occupation and bitter fights for liberation. It passes a snow-covered forest once filled with mass graves of the invasion’s victims, and it runs close enough to occupied territory to pick up Russian stations on the radio.
From Izium, it’s about 40 minutes down the highway and into Donetsk, the region that is home to Sloviansk. Russian forces have captured a large part of Donetsk and aim to seize all of it.
The fish trucks enter Sloviansk on the north edge of town, where a salt lake in better times drew tourists seeking spa treatments. Many of the spa buildings have been reduced to rubble, and soldiers mill around in the ruins.
Anti-tank barriers line the road into the city center as one-story brick houses give way to apartment blocks, some disfigured from attacks.
Despite the scars, Sloviansk is bustling. Cars honk, soldiers shop for groceries and children wave at ducks in the park.
But pressure is mounting from heavy fighting nearby. Russian forces are pushing to capture Chasiv Yar, a city 30 miles away. Doing so could help clear the way to take Kramatorsk — putting neighboring Sloviansk next in line, residents fear.
Zoya Trubytsyna, 68, said her suitcase was already packed.
“The front line is coming closer,” she said while walking to work. “If something happens in Kramatorsk, we will all leave.”
Life is already getting more difficult, she said, with power cuts and near-nightly explosions.
But Mr. Kovalov still manages to keep his restaurant open for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
As he stirred a coffee and chatted with servers, a morning crowd filled the seats. No one stopped eating when an air-raid warning wailed.
Blue takeout bags decorated with handwritten hearts were lined up behind the cashier for when the lunch rush started about an hour later.
A long deli counter featured hot food, salads and sweets. The sushi station sat at the end, with photos of maki and tempura hanging above.
A soldier added a Philadelphia roll to his loaded tray of sauerkraut, blood sausage and lasagna.
“Honestly, the sushi here isn’t that tasty,” the 33-year-old soldier, who goes by the call sign “Siesta,” said after polishing off his plates. But “it’s a way to feel something familiar, like being at home.”
As a civilian, Siesta said, he would go for sushi with friends in Kyiv. But with his mechanized battalion defending the nearby city of Lyman, the food options are basic. Coming to Sloviansk for “that little bit of soy sauce,” he said, was a rare treat.
Slavnyi Horod is no longer the only sushi spot in town; there are several. Three blocks away is “Big Roll,” which was closed for months after the full-scale invasion. Since reopening, business has been unsteady, said its owner, Nataliia Gordienko, who now keeps only a short-term supply of fish.
“We don’t know what will happen next,” she said while boxing salmon rolls. “What’s the point of stockpiling if power gets cut off?”
People are also scared of Russian strikes, she added, ordering “quickly, quickly” when they come in for takeout.
Of 21 rolls on offer at Mr. Kovalov’s restaurant, the Philadelphia roll — with salmon and cream cheese — is the most popular, according to the sushi master, Dmytro. He seems baffled by its popularity — “it doesn’t really exist in nature” — but has never been a sushi fan himself.
“Raw fish always raises suspicion,” he said, smirking.
Still, Dmytro, who asked that only his first name be used for security reasons, finds the work gratifying, and he watches YouTube videos to learn new techniques. But he is not sure he will stick with sushi forever.
“At this point, I don’t feel like planning anything,” he said as a waitress whispered that an order was waiting. “There’s a war in our country, and it’s hard to know what tomorrow or the day after will bring.”
His boss, Mr. Kovalov, is not immune to the uncertainty. He’s aware the front line in Donetsk is under pressure, saying, “We are afraid every day.”
For now though, he said, leaving is not an option.
“Elsewhere just doesn’t make sense,” he said. “I’ve already found my purpose right here.”
Oleksandr Chubko contributed reporting.