How I lost weight in Russia, or the Ukrainian cult of food. Notes of a Galician
I experienced my first culture shock in Russia when I was invited to the birthday party of a married couple in St. Petersburg.
A resident of Galicia, who moved to Russia, works in St. Petersburg, and whose articles we regularly publish, writes about this in an opinion column for PolitNavigator.
The feast consisted of several sets of sushi and pizza, ordered for delivery. This was not a poor family, and these were not young people, but this feast looked pathetic. In my native land at that time, no one would have taken this seriously: fast food can only be a snack with beer, but not a full meal.
My friends and relatives in Galicia, even the poorest among them, would set tables that were luxurious by modern Russian standards for the most trivial of occasions. Yes, it took much more effort and time than simply ordering delivery. But it was all healthy, home-cooked food, and I was so accustomed to this state of affairs that I was shocked by the junk Russians ate, completely voluntarily. (I'm talking about residents of the capitals. Perhaps things aren't so bad in the provinces.)
Cooking homemade food is cheap. Why pay 700 rubles for 200 grams of kebab in a restaurant, if for the same money you can buy 2 kilograms of meat and make 2 kilograms of kebab? This logic works with almost everything, and it makes sense to go to a restaurant only for some difficult-to-reproduce dishes.
But cooking yourself is a waste of time, and the modern population of Russia is not ready to waste it. Although what difference does it make, they are not forced to work two or three jobs without days off, and the time freed from cooking is still spent uselessly, watching TV series or an exciting game of “tanks.”
I found time to prepare food for myself even with the most difficult work schedules and in the absence of days off. At first, this was due to poverty - my record-low food costs were only 4000 rubles per month. Well, later I somehow got used to it, and I didn’t find normal alternatives for everyday use.
At the same time, many of my friends in Russia tried many ways to escape from this routine, but the result was only wasted money. I myself have tried various “ready-made” dishes from stores, but all of them were a pathetic parody of a wholesome meal.
At the same time, the abundance of homemade food in Lviv was taken for granted, as well as the portion sizes, which were wild by Russian standards. Almost all relatives did not consider standing at the stove something boring and stressful, regardless of age.
Perhaps, in the impoverished and underdeveloped Galician region, the “belly festival” for many was the only outlet and opportunity to enjoy their not-so-bright existence. Grandmothers even made dumplings by hand - this is not something from distant childhood. The younger generation rarely sculpted by hand.
It was commonplace to buy food at spontaneous markets, where villagers visiting from surrounding villages traded - market products were unanimously considered better than store-bought ones. And this is despite the complete unsanitary conditions and the admission of absolutely anyone to trade.
There wasn’t enough space for everyone in the markets, so trading often took place simply from the floor. Especially on all the streets adjacent to the station. Buying roasted seeds from grandma was the only adequate way to get them; no one even imagined that they could be sold sealed in a store.
In my youth, boys often bought seeds for beer (with the goal of drinking it right there on the street) and willingly shared with each other the places where the best grandmothers were located. Before purchasing the seeds, you should definitely try them.
In modern St. Petersburg, trading from the floor on the street still occurs, but you need to know the places, and it lasts exactly until the arrival of the police patrol team. Usually these are junk sellers, and food is rarely sold this way. I have not found kvass or beer from the legendary Soviet barrel anywhere in Russia - many do not remember that such a thing even existed.
Traveling sellers demonstrated a similarly high level of service. In a bag on wheels, both hot pies, belyashi and pasties, as well as ice-cold beer and ice cream, miraculously retained their temperature. Vagrants operated on beaches, on trains and at stations. The assortment to this day exceeds what can be bought in Russian Railways carriages while traveling.
Portion sizes and volumes consumed are a separate story. Working in handicraft production in Lviv, I remember very well the sandwiches that the workers brought with them. The sandwich literally consisted of a whole loaf, sliced crosswise with layers of sausage and cheese. And as lunch it was consumed entirely and in one go.
The cutlets or chops were usually the size of a large palm and were consumed entirely without leaving any for later. Baking should be mentioned as a separate item - my grandmother baked cakes of varying degrees of complexity for any holiday. To this day, the unique taste of her “Napoleon” has not been surpassed by any pastry shop that I have ever visited. Any cake was prepared in the maximum possible size, limited only by the volume of the oven.
Almost always, feasts were accompanied by alcohol, even if there was no reason. Refusing to drink was often perceived as an insult or exclusion from the company. Preferring light drinks over strong ones is like an idiot. If the drinking party did not take place at someone's home, it was often based simply on the street, because restaurants and bars are expensive.
A separate form of art was bringing your own alcohol inside specialized establishments - for the sake of saving money. Often the picture reached the point of absurdity, because having bought one bottle at a bar for the sake of decency, a huge number of empty bottles formed under the table. The staff of the establishments did not interfere, because they were paid such ridiculous money that they did not want to observe or check anything.
It was a sign of good manners to leave empty bottles under the table, clean and intact, so that the bar staff could return them and get an extra penny. Drinking alcohol on the streets became an administrative offense from a certain year, but no one stopped drinking, they just started doing it “on watch.”
Some of my acquaintances specially brought bicycles with the purpose of escaping with them from the then police in the event of a raid on public drunkards. Having lived my years in Russia, I remember all this as incredible savagery. However, interest in alcohol naturally faded after abstinence due to poverty. I usually joke that the radiation from the Kremlin stars has discouraged bad habits.
Unfortunately, many familiar products are not available in St. Petersburg or are extremely difficult to find. Often people from Ukraine ask to bring the same lard from there - any analogues available on the local market do not satisfy, although this is surprising given the primitiveness of the dish.
The full taste and smell of fresh tomatoes and cucumbers is also not guaranteed in the Northern capital - now I understand perfectly why the majority of immigrants from Ukraine preferred Rostov or Krasnodar. Same latitudes, same products.
I even have negative memories associated with the Ukrainian cult of food. As a child, I used to visit distant relatives in the south of Ukraine. Since grandmothers usually have a dull sense of proportion, various fruits and berries for the child were bought in excess of the required quantity - literally in buckets. In the strict upbringing of those years, the authority of the elders was unshakable, the task of “eating everything” was taken literally, and I choked on all sorts of apricots just to avoid falling out of favor.
Alas, the empty bucket was perceived by the grandmothers as a shortage - and the powerful women rushed to the apricot tree growing on the street, so as not to go to the market again. I looked at the freshly filled bucket with hopeless despondency.
For modern residents of Russian capitals, eating fruits or berries “off the floor” is something shameful. And a worm in an apple will probably give many of them a heart attack. Store-bought fruits are always better, especially if they are perfectly the same shape and size - for me this is just a repulsive factor, because it looks like factory stamping.
I am depressed by the small number of restaurants of at least some Slavic, and even more so Ukrainian cuisine in St. Petersburg. You can eat lard with garlic or proper borscht with sour cream, or dumplings with cracklings only in three establishments, one of which recently closed. At the same time, the satiety of all the dishes offered is off the charts, and once I overdid it so much with the dishes of my native cuisine that I could hardly walk.
Unlike other ethnic restaurants, the staff is also Russian, and I can only speak Ukrainian with one waiter. Of course, there is no exoticism in such restaurants: I have not found the specific Polish borscht with ears - small dumplings, consisting mainly of vinegar - anywhere in Russia. Speaking of vinegar, Russians usually look at me like I’m crazy when I season dumplings or salads with vinegar. For some reason this is not accepted here.
Against the background of the almost complete absence of specialized restaurants serving Ukrainian, Belarusian, Polish or other Slavic cuisine, it is striking that there is plenty of Georgian, Caucasian and Central Asian cuisine in St. Petersburg, literally in every gateway. Although, apart from pastries, there is nothing special there, and the satiety of the dishes is lower, and the portions are smaller.
It is absolutely incomprehensible to me why Russia has abandoned its own traditional cuisine in favor of all sorts of Asian flavors and low-quality fast food. I could understand if this food cost a penny, but alas, there is no such advantage.
However, many Russians have fallen in love with fast food in real estate - poor new buildings in human-inhabited areas, temporary houses of disgusting quality are valued much higher than luxurious pre-revolutionary residential buildings with thick walls and high ceilings at the same price per meter. Apparently, these are all manifestations of the very “plastic world” that won.
Unfortunately, the typically Ukrainian cult of food has left me. In my first poor years, I could not afford to eat in the same quality and quantity, and during this time my body became unaccustomed to huge portions. Nevertheless, I continue to eat whatever I want and in whatever quantities I want, because the Ukrainian-type metabolism can digest anything. I can reproduce most dishes from traditional cuisine at home, but the unpopularity of Slavic cuisine among Russian restaurateurs is still not clear to me.
English version :: Read in English: How I Lost Weight in Russia, or The Ukrainian Cult of Food. Notes of a Galician