Well, here I am again, sipping away at some Russian "coffee" at a cafe where the lights have just been dimmed and a mullet-clad waiter is setting romantic candles on the table. It's okay. Who needs romance when you have Mama Masha waiting for you in the nude?
Let me tell you a little bit about how that came to be. So, the other day, I waddled in the door after a day of Russian Adventures. As I am a growing girl, I was famished, so I decided to go and ask Mama Masha if she could start dinner.
So, I go into the family room where she's watching TV, thinking that nothing would be especially out of the norm. Because it's the family room, right? And unless you're a nudist clan, you'd probably be inclined to keep your clothes on in the family room. At least, that was my thought process.
Nope.
I walk into the family room to see Mama Masha spread out starfish-style on the sofa, staring at the ceiling with a contemplative look on her face, like she's really thinking about something. Also, there is not a single piece of clothing on that woman--she might as well have been one of Jack's French girls. Hearing me come in, she turned her head, and we made eye contact. After several very uncomfortable seconds in which no words were exchanged, I booked it out of that room as fast as my small feet could take me. And that was my Saturday night.
In case you don’t know what Mama Masha looks like, just
picture your grandmother in a wig plus twenty pounds. Also without clothes.
Anyway, now that I have placed that image in your head, let’s move onto a
subject that has remained very near and dear to my heart since my first days
out of the womb:
FOOD!!!!!!
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| I know this has already been used, but I figured that it could pretty easily be applied. |
Before I got here, I was planning to let the creativity pour
and do “A Week in the (Russian Food) Life of Alyssa Lindley,” but that dream
was quickly snuffed out when I discovered that most of Mama Masha’s meals
consist of nothing but cabbage and hot dogs. So instead, I will create a blog
post dedicated to “An (Imaginary) Week in the (Russian Food) Life of Alyssa
Lindley,” in which I can fulfill my long-running fantasies concerning an
all-you-can-eat blini buffet and dancing men in tights. So, without any further
ado, let’s get this party started.
Monday
Breakfast: We
will kick the week off with some kasha (каша,) which is basically like oatmeal
but better. As my eating habits resemble those of Paula Dean, I tend to (and by
‘tend to’ I mean ‘only’) eat it with butter and sugar. (On a side note,
Russians LOVE butter. Aside from the happiness and diabetes, Paula Dean has
everything it takes to be a top-notch Russian.) If you’re one of those crazy
kids who’s too cool to stay in one place for too long, you better make kasha
your new BFF, because there are about nine varieties. And I’m not talking
flavors—I mean varieties. The oatmeal-like consistency of kasha has proved to
be optimal for me, as it slides easily down my throat and allows for me to eat
it with two spoons at once while Mama Masha continues to pour more into my
bowl.
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| Who wouldn't be able to resist this? |
Lunch: It’s time
for buterbrod (бутерброд,) y’all! Buterbrod technically means sandwich, but if you have a
steady relationship with your triple-deck provolone and roast beef sub with
extra mayo and pickles, don’t come to Russia, since a Slavic sandwich generally
consists of a slice of bread, cheese, maybe ham, and, of course, dill. In my
time here, I have grown to become one with the buterbrods and now eat them on a
daily basis. Last Friday, as I was in a bit o’a’funk, I made a trip to the
produkti and bought a hunk of cheese and bread, intending to make some
buterbrod. I spent about half an hour sitting on my bed in my underwear eating
my hunk of cheese. The bread remained untouched. It was not a proud moment.
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| My general expression when I see buterbrod. |
Dinner: IT’S
CULETS AND POTATO TIME, CUTLETS AND POTATO TIME! That was to the tune of Peanut
Butter Jelly Time, in case you just thought I was going crazy with the caps
lock. I can’t think of a good way to describe cutlets, so I will just say that
they are like the Russian version of meatloaf. Like meatloaf, it’s hard to tell
exactly what the meat is, but I like
to think that it’s that of the small trembling Chihuahuas that pretty much run
the city of St. Petersburg. Realistically, it’s probably chicken. Or something.
Potatoes are potatoes; I don’t think you need an explanation. However, I will
leave you with this clip from Everything
is Illuminated, which is quite the comical book/movie and comes highly
recommended by me.
Tuesday
Breakfast: Omelet.
With a lot of butter. As mentioned before, Russians seem to eat a lot of hot
dogs, so naturally, my omelets are often filled with them. I usually slurp down
some green or black tea, as well. I burn my tongue roughly 9 out of every 10
breakfasts. Perhaps someday I will learn.
Snack: Although I
eat a breakfast too large for any normal human being to finish, I’m usually
hungry within an hour. If you are one of the wonderful people in Group 3, then
you are probably all too accustomed to the sight of me waddling in (late) to
our second class with a cup of hot chocolate or coffee with whipped cream and a
yogurt or tvorok (творог)-filled pastry. (Tvorok is a Russian dairy creation that looks
like cottage cheese but feels and tastes a little drier. It can be sweet or
savory. Naturally, I prefer it sweet.) I’ve done it probably every day since
we’ve been here, and I do not plan on stopping. I even heard one of my
comrades, while purchasing a (significantly smaller) cup of coffee, say that
she was “pulling an Elle” and bringing a drink to class. I’ve never been
prouder. I have yet to learn the Russian word for whipped cream, so usually I
just say “Coffee with…” and follow it with frantic swirling motions with my
hand. I should probably learn the word for it one of these days, but at this
point my good friend Nadezhda knows my order by heart (JK LAWLZ Nadezhda
actually hates me.)
Dinner: Macaroni
and cheese. And by macaroni and cheese, I mean noodles with shredded cheese on
top. I’m never truly pleased with the cheese-to-noodle ratio (the perfect one
is 17:2,) but hey, cheese is cheese and I will take what I can get. I finish it
up with a cup of black tea and some strange gelatinous apple treat.
Wednesday
Breakfast: More
kasha and YOGURT! However, this is no ordinary yogurt. This is yogurt made from
the tender love and care of Mama Masha and canned strawberries. Also, it’s not
actually yogurt. In Russia, there’s this special milk-dairy-yogurt-maybe
substance called Kefir (кефир) that I drink pretty much by the gallon. They actually
have it in the US; it’s slightly Americanified (and by Americanified I mean
that it comes in birthday cake flavor,) but it’s still a pretty decent treat.
Mama Masha usually makes mine with strawberries. I don’t exactly know where she
finds these strawberries, since I have yet to see any actual strawberries in
the house, but I have learned not to question Mama Masha. Or Russia in general.
Kefir has the consistency and appearance of thick milk, which is unfortunate
when you confuse it for actual milk and pour it on your cornflakes. In my
opinion, it tastes kind of like frozen yogurt.
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| Another how-can-you-resist it Russian delicacy |
Lunch: Borscht (борщ).
Lots of borscht. If there were an America’s (Russia’s?) Next Top Soup Model,
borscht would take the prize and the six-page 17 Magazine spread, because it’s
actually the most beautiful soup I’ve ever laid eyes on. Also, it’s
scrum-diddly-umptious. It’s made from beets, beets, meat (beef), assorted
vegetables, and beets. A lot of people mix it with sour cream (Smetana, or сметана,) but I
prefer to mix sour cream with borscht. Also, bread (khleb, or хлеб.) Russians prefer to
eat this dark rye bread that weighs as much as a newborn baby goat. If bread
could go to school, Russian khlep would be that kid who took up the whole
hallway and pushed America’s wimpy white bread into lockers and gave it
wedgies. In other words, it is also scrum-diddly-umptious.
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| Another half an hour on Paint. |
Dinner: Well, I
might as well devote a section to cabbage (kapusta, or капуста.) If you recall from one of
my earlier blog posts (I assume all of you are loyal followers whose sole
purpose of using the internet is to check my blog,) Mama Masha recently bought
about ten cabbages which covered the table and windowsill. Well, this week, we
ate them. All of them. Just the two of us. This past Tuesday, which was a
particularly bad day, I came home from school, put on my pajamas (naturally,)
and shuffled on into the kitchen in the hopes of finding solace in a delicious
and carb-filled dinner. What did I get instead? Ketchup-soaked cabbage, a
cabbage salad, cabbage-filled bread, and two hot dogs. I actually cried. I kid
you not. We now only have half a cabbage left. I plan to throw an hors
d’oeuvres party when it’s gone.
Thursday
Snack: As
Thursday is a pretty tough day to get through (10 am to 5 pm, including 1.5
hours of my literature teacher Vladimir Shatshev and another 1.5 hours with my
tsivilisatsiya teacher who hates the world and has a large gap in his teeth,)
my friends and I sometimes make a trip to the ever-faithful bar. While I wish
to drown my sorrows in vodka, I usually treat myself to an embarrassingly girly
cocktail and some garlic-fried bread. The Greeks say that the food of the gods
was nectar and ambrosia, but given their “go hard or go home” attitude, I
like to think that they finished up their hearty dish of offspring with a plate
of this delicious Russian treat. It’s basically strips/short slices of black
bread soaked in garlic and fried and covered with more garlic. Health freaks
may wrinkle their noses and shake their heads while nibbling on some kale chips
and drinking carrot juice, but you know what? I am too busy stuffing my mouth
with this fried delicacy to justify myself.
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| ERMAHGERD BRERDSTICKS |
Dinner: Creamy
mushroom soup and пелмени, or pelmeni;. It’s kind of like ravioli but smaller and
filled with meat (again of the mystery variety.) This isn’t my favorite dish,
but unfortunately, it’s Mama Masha’s. She covers it with sour cream, but I
prefer mine with butter. She actually scolds me when I ask for her to leave off
the Smetana, but whatever, I do what I want!
Friday
BLINI. The crème de la crème of Russian food (I was going to
say “the golden goose of Russian food,” but somewhere my instincts were telling
me that wasn’t an expression. If it is, then it’s the golden goose of Russian
food.) For those of you who have somehow missed my many explanations of blini,
it’s basically a bread that’s somewhere between an American pancake and a
French crepe. Also, it’s delicious. Mama Masha has promised me a feast of blini
at 9:00 am tomorrow, and I get the giggles just thinking about it. It will take
me some time to fall asleep tonight. People generally eat breakfast blini with
jam and Smetana, but really, you can put pretty much anything you want in
blini. The only thing limiting you is your imagination, and your imagination
has no limits. (I made that up. I am quite proud.) Sladki (сладкий,) or sweet, blini can
include chocolate and bananas, Nutella, condensed milk, jam, or sweet cream,
and savory blini can include ham, cheese, mushrooms, cabbage,
Smetana, or chicken.
Me every day of my life:
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