Kazan — summer 2014

Today's dinner: pelmeni with sour cream, buckwheat with mushrooms (dressed with sour cream), and a cheese and garlic salad.

Damn. I hate to say it, but that cheese and garlic salad is freakin’ excellent.

Today I saw in the store a cookie called "Pancake." It's a pastry that consists of a slightly sweet dough with a filling made of cooked sweetened, condensed milk. I thought to myself that this was just another instance of when the Russians completely misunderstand an American word and apply to something of their own.

Wrong. The texture of the outer "pancake" parts is *exactly* like a very finely made American pancake. And the sweet filling is nice without being overpowering. These may be overpriced cookies, but they are very nice overpriced cookies.

Beef Stroganoff in the US is considered a classic Russian dish, so imagine my surprise this week when all of our teachers looked at me skeptically when I asked where to buy the right meat for Stroganoff. My surprise was even greater when Flyura asked me what kind of dish was Stroganoff.

Damn. I am an ignoramus among ignorami.

In the current American conception Stroganoff is a dish of beef accompanied by a sauce made of mushrooms and sour cream. Usually it is served over noodle in the US, but rice is also possible. I may have to do further research to pull it off here.

In Russia in addition to the regular grocery stores there are usually local farmers' markets, as well as stall-style markets where people sell everything from clothes to auto parts to household cleaners. In the past one could often bargain at the markets. That is, you could walk up to someone and ask how much the apples cost, and then bargain them down from the initial asking price.

That's much less true these days. Nowadays people often put up signs with a price, and if they have such a sign, they usually won't bargain with you. One of my acquaintances here really likes the change; she was never a good bargainer. Myself, also not a good bargainer, I am kind of saddened by the lack of that local color. Probably a silly emotion on my part.

Oddly enough, just because there is a price on something, even in the United States, that doesn't necessarily mean that there isn't room for bargaining. Some years back by mother was in an import store and found some chairs she liked. She approached the sales clerk and asked to see the manager. The manager came. Mom said, "I really like these chairs, but I really like the price on those ones." Go figure: he give her a discount. That blows me away. I am a conformist-rule-follower by nature, and this is one of those examples that just shows you that it is downright smart to go against expectations sometimes.

Note that above I wrote the the phrase “farmer’s market” with an apostrophe. Usually people write it without the apostrophe. See? Already I am boldly flying in the face of convention...

Sunday I had dinner again with the Osipovs, and as usual Flyura has made a feast. The picture is below; click for a larger version. I have to say, this time it had some curiousities.

On the far left is fried fish covered with kiwi fruit. To the right is sliced tomatoes covered with cheese salad. Above that is a type of meat salad garnished with red peppers and olives. Then up and to the right is roast beef, very tasty though a bit dry. Below that is baked squash covered with cheese salad. Below that another meet and cheese salad. Below that a glass of компот, which is homemade fruit punch made with real fruit... although on this occasion the punch had a side smell that reminded me of unwashed feet. And in the upper left is a dish of olives.

For dessert Flyura had made first off a smetannik, basically a large pastry of raised dough with a sour cream and sugar topping. Very tasty. Yes, she made the dough by hand.

She also made a Napoleon pastry. Basically this is many thin layers of dough, about as thin as phyllo, each layer of which is painted with melted butter and a bit of sweetened, condensed milk. The top layer is then covered with grated chocolate. This was freakin’ heavenly. Making that kind of uberthin dough has to be a lot of work. I asked whether that dough was store bought. She liked at me with withering disgust and responded that no, she had made it all by hand. I should have known better.