White Russian
Zhenya Kuida, 18 Sept. 2009
"Our patio has been open all summer - it's a pity that no one really wrote about it. But we still did a great job with it - even on weeknights there was a line for it, people were booking tables an hour in advance. I've been scolded for the fact that not enough people know about our patio, but I just didn't have time, we built it all ourselves in a month, practically with our own hands, Arkady didn't even know. I heard he was going to hire another director for this restaurant and was on his way here to talk about that with me, but when he saw our patio he decided to let me keep my job."
Alexei, the director of Novikov's latest restaurant Tatler, is showing me sketches of how the interior is supposed to look. Inside they're doing the work (changing it from the restaurant which currently occupies the space, I Fiori), and for now only the white-curtained summer patio is open.
At the next table over, someone is smoking a hookah. The sketches show wooden tables, an open kitchen, Ralph Lauren furniture and clocks set to London time.
"Tatler is, after all, first and foremost a London magazine, the most important one about celebrities. Arkady really wants to make this restaurant more democratic, American-style, to get people to come here for lunch - big portions, big plates, an eclectic menu. It's true that we have a French chef, so this is difficult for him. At the last tasting Arkady took a long time explaining to him that he needs to have fewer fashionable things, that everything should be simpler. Why don't you order something, try something, everything is delicious, we have a new menu!"
The waiter walking by drops a menu, and Alexei rushes to help him. "I remember well what it's like to be on your feet all day. I myself am not from Moscow, I worked my first few years here as a bartender in a casino and then as a waiter in GQ Bar. I always found it interesting to work at the bar - even when I was a kid, I dreamed of becoming a bartender and making cocktails."
Alexei's phone rings, and he has a long conversation about a car loan. "I want to buy a Volvo, maybe now they'll give me a loan, one of the co-owners [of the restaurant] is a banker, he promised to help, and now I have a decent salary. It was, of course, a big step for me to become a manager. Although I'm really young, I run pretty much everything in the restaurant - I hire the staff myself, I watch the till, I structure people's work. Arkady only looks after the chefs and other little things."
Two beefy Armenians sit down at the table next to us, and Alexei's face darkens.
"Of course this used to be a completely dead restaurant. When I became manager, I cam here and freaked out - the place was full of darkies ["черные"]. It's like that everywhere - as soon as the darkies start to come, that's it, the restaurant dies. Of course I try to fight it - I don't let them in, I tell them that the tables are occupied or reserved, there's no table for you here, but you can't control everything, they still get in. And then normal Russian people come up to you and say, 'What sort of a zoo are you running here?' They also feel uncomfortable when something like that is sitting at the table next to them, they just want to come have dinner at a place with their own people, without these darkies. But what can you do, in these times of crisis things have become very difficult, who comes to restaurants these days? Just the darkies, no one else has any money. Just watch how restaurants go bad before your very eyes, and the same thing happens with clubs. One must strictly maintain the proper ratio - you can let them in sometimes, but not too many, so that they don't ruin the look of the place."
Alexei notices the hookah attendant walking by and calls him over. "By the way, we have excellent hookahs - the best in the city. Try the apple-flavored one, people say they come back to try it again."
Saturday, October 10, 2009
A Racist Restauranteur - Routine in Russia?
This was a pretty amazing article - appeared a few weeks ago on the afisha.ru website and generated some reaction from the Moscow dining public. So I translated it:
Russian world
Every day, there's some new story about the misfortunes of the Russian language in the former Soviet republics. Here are just three recent examples.
Kazakhstan: starting in 2012, all movies will be required to be shown in the state language [Kazakh].
Tajikistan: now all official paperwork, correspondence and education must be conducted in Tajik. All citizens are required to know the state language - Tajik.
And finally, Ukraine: Yulia Tymoshenko has signed government order #1033, which requires all public-school teachers to speak only Ukrainian during work hours - including during breaks. Even in the school cafeteria.
How can all of this be assessed by someone who lives in Russia, speaks Russian and loves their language? Of course, such a person should feel pain, bitterness and disappointment - basically, a whole range of negative feelings. After all, we're talking about the language of Pushkin and Dostoevsky! After all, this is the language which we all used to speak together and in which we all seemed to understand each other wonderfully! The language of peace and friendship!... And so on and so forth.
I love my language. That's what I could say. But I won't. Because I perfectly understand that there's no way to separate a language from politics. Whether we like it or not, in the newly proclaimed states the Russian language is the most immediate (and daily!) reminder of the former empire. And attempts to preserve or promote it are judged as attempts to return the former state of relations - between the imperial center and the colonies.
The arguments of the now-independent states say the following: We have our own language, and this language should have an indisputable priority; anyone who wants to be a citizen of our country should first learn the national language, and all other languages are secondary. Do you have anything to say against this? I don't. Because this is exactly how Russia acts in relation to its own state language. And Russia is absolutely right!
But why does it deny others the same right? Just because "we used to be together"? That's why I won't say "how horrible" about the linguistic innovations of the former republics.
The real question is, what should Russia do about this - fight the situation or make peace with it? I have an answer, but I doubt you'll like it. We should make peace with it, I'd say. Fighting it is not only useless, it's dangerous, because all it does is generate increased aggression and firm opposition to the phrase "Russian language."
So, we need to accept the situation. And work out a new language policy. A NEW policy! One that will be, excuse the pun, free from politics. People shouldn't be afraid of Russian. They should love it. And love and fear do not go together.
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