'My Soviet Kitchen'

I banged the jar of salted cucumbers sideways on the table covered with patterned kleyonka - the lid easily came off. He cut off three thick slices of servelat, dense with fat and a memory of pig, and placed them sparingly onto oblongs of black bread. Vodka glasses were ready, all warm, bitter and heaven-promising. We threw back our heads - not too far, mind you, the space didn't allow - and gulped in one go...

'Soviet kitchen', photo by Andriy Bychay

Good old, old days, eh? Done by millions of (ex) Soviet people, in tiny spaces of their kitchens, shared by neighbours, friends, families, passer-bys..

Never, however, shared with crowds of gallery visitors, whilst sitting on a taburetka, on and as a display, in an alcove of the church crypt!

This is exactly what happened to me the other day at the launch of Amy Spurling's book 'My Soviet Kitchen. Ivy's guide to life in the ex-USSR' published by Roastbooks.

Amy's newly-published book

Described by some as a 'neo chick lit with a darker side, a vodka twist, recipe’s galore and a generous slice of post-Soviet living', the book (and its companion guide as a free bonus) is, from what I can make, a fictionalised story of the author's journey as a Phd student in Russia (as well as Georgia, Estonia, Uzbekistan) in the years soon after the collapse of the USSR.

Having only read a few pages so far, I can say that Amy's writing style is snappy, light, and witty, with the most dead pan English understatement you can imagine. This combined with Russian over-flowing love for drama and exaggeration, makes for a rather entertaining read (note, am practising English understatement). Some compared the book to Bridget Jones's dairy - Soviet style - and I can imagine why (especially with Amy's weakness for omitting pronouns at the beginning of sentences - am liking the style;)).

'The book cover', photo by Andriy Bychay

Amorous adventures, cultural clashes, awkward encounters with foreigners - the book you can easily swallow up in a few hours whilst lying on a beach (or in bed, whilst nursing vodka-induced hang-over). However, 'My soviet Kitchen' is so well-researched and full of such precise - and hilarious - description of all the kitsch Soviet detail, such as the composition of komunalkas (communal flats, housing several families, and one kitchen) and how to shop in a ex-USSR supermarket (queue 1 to choose, queue 2 to pay, queue 3 to pick up), that it will be fun to read for the most macho of us.

I would give out copies of the accompanying little book 'The guide to life, post-soviet style' to any non-Soviet person who is either:

a) married to a Rus
b) interested in being married to a Rus
c) or ever finds oneself in a company of Russians.

The guide has recipes (such as Estonian Kama drink or Georgian feast), Mayakovsky's Lilya Brik muse and their menage a trois, Properties of Soviet Snow (slyakot, parosha, purga, etcetc), and even the band DDT and Viktor Tsoi!


...Back to the launch.

As in Amy's book, we were taken on the journey through the Estonian banya, sauna, complete with Estonian beers and beech venik:

'Estonian sauna', photo by Andriy Bychay

A proper Georgian feast (thanks to Iberia, a Georgian restaurant in North London and the Georgian wine society), which later served as a real-life snack table, all eaten to the bone:

'Georgian feast' , photo by Andriy Bychay

A Soviet train, with real train-y chukh-chuch sounds (i-pod, behind the red curtain) and vodka:

'Soviet train' , photo by Andriy Bychay

...3 hours later, we were dancing to DDT jauntily, doing khorovods (holding hands in circles) and were very, very drunk.

From Amy's 'companion guide to life':

'Soviet-man stages of drunkenness:

Man disappears to the toilet and comes back with wet hair. At attempt to revive himself and regain lost ground.

Man slumped against the wall.

Man slumped against the front door when you open it.'

Meze - to be eaten with or without underwear

Ever heard of a 'panty-dropping' cake? 'come-hither' milkshare? or a 'backhandspring' sandwich (oh, thank you, my dear Gastroanthropoligist)?

'The Backhandspring sandwich' by Gastroanthropologist

These are just some dishes that have been given special names for their state 'inducing' properties: conditions of a great variety, all having something rather physical and sexual about them nevertheless.

The tiresome doctrine of food being an entry into a man's soul is given an uplift here and taken beyond the rather sexist notion of a sweet, little (and cunning) woman attempting to win a heart of a serious, strong (and aloof) man. It's about a gesture of will, a hint, an exercise of both love and power.


As you can imagine, I have my own version, or versions of foods that leave no choice... The chocolate and chestnut brownies would certainly be just that, ranging from 'cuddle me all over' to 'take me all the way'... But there are foods in my repertoire (oh, believe me, not often that I get a chance to say this about myself!) that are about, shall we say, sensual sharing; foods that have to be eaten in coupledom, leisurely reclining on a sofa; lights dimmed to the point when you have to rely on the senses of your hands more than sensibilities of your eyes.

'Assortment, sensual' by me

'Assortment, sensual' - I call this dish in an austere Soviet fashion, just to highlight its very capitalist lusciousness. I gather the word 'assortment' has not been used in Britain to indicate a selection of meats, cheeses and other tit bids, for some time now; which for me is even more of a reason to bring the word back now, in the age of austerity and deep longing for all things retro.

And so this is what my assortment had on this occasion:

Manchego cheese (La Mancha, Spain)
Free-range ham, cut thickly (British, of course)
Hummus of chickpeas and borlotti beans, home-made
Carrot salad, sliced thinly, with French dressing
Watercress
Caperberries (Spanish, of course)
Soughdour bread, a chunk

Gorged with a helping of Bordeaux, whatever year

Manchego cheese - names are important for a well put-together 'assortment'

The dish (or rather a plate) is best consumed on a dull weekday, when both parties are tired, slightly bored and in a mood that is neither inspired or inspiring. Eaten slowly (plenty of time, after all you have no strength to do much else that evening), whilst chatting about matters essentially unimportant, the plate will gradually start restoring your frightened, tired spirits and the evening will lead to one thing or another...

p.s. What is your 'named' dish? Let's have a little collection of these: from naive little pick-me-up nibbles to full-blown marry-me-now suppers!