The Spouse Went to Moscow This Weekend
Below are random emails, composed on his Blackberry.
Take carrots. Put them in the cuisinart. Put them on a plate. Drop some cheese -- not too much-- in and grate that. Put on top of the carrots. Take a big serving spoon of mayonnaise and put that on top in a big glop. Sprinkle with grated walnut dust. Garnish with parsley. Wash whole thing down with mineral water from Georgia. Which tastes like dirt.
Be in the window of a Georgian restaurant in pedestrian zone of Arbat street. Sun on table is bright, and you are baking in the heat but outside the pedestrians are slipping on the icy patches of slush. It is 3 pm and the shadows are long. The light is a cold color but it warms as it comes sideways through the window. It seems like evening with this really northern light.
The door opens and you welcome the blast of cold. But only for a moment. CLOSE THE DOOR!!
They sing of unrequited love in Russian on the radio in here. Slow and yearningly.
Waitress hates her job. Hates the food. Hates you. It's nothing personal. She knows you hate her back, so "what is difference?"
Beef in a pot comes in a pot the size of one of those bowls we use for bacon grease. But it is clay, very hot. Beef chunks, eggplant, peppers and pieces of crinkle-cut potatoes. It takes five bites to finish, but not bad. Costs 8 dollars, but not bad. Coffee is nice.
Rested. Fed. Ready to face Arbat street again. Carrot salad, dirt water, beef pot, espresso. All for 16 bucks. Cheaper than a trip to Tblisi.
Think the soot and the traffic and the roar and the dirt of Taichung, the cheap glitz of Atlantic City, the brown and gray architecture of BA or the ugly parts of Blava and put it all at -2 degrees with icy patches and you get the picture.
Below are random emails, composed on his Blackberry.
Take carrots. Put them in the cuisinart. Put them on a plate. Drop some cheese -- not too much-- in and grate that. Put on top of the carrots. Take a big serving spoon of mayonnaise and put that on top in a big glop. Sprinkle with grated walnut dust. Garnish with parsley. Wash whole thing down with mineral water from Georgia. Which tastes like dirt.
Be in the window of a Georgian restaurant in pedestrian zone of Arbat street. Sun on table is bright, and you are baking in the heat but outside the pedestrians are slipping on the icy patches of slush. It is 3 pm and the shadows are long. The light is a cold color but it warms as it comes sideways through the window. It seems like evening with this really northern light.
The door opens and you welcome the blast of cold. But only for a moment. CLOSE THE DOOR!!
They sing of unrequited love in Russian on the radio in here. Slow and yearningly.
Waitress hates her job. Hates the food. Hates you. It's nothing personal. She knows you hate her back, so "what is difference?"
Beef in a pot comes in a pot the size of one of those bowls we use for bacon grease. But it is clay, very hot. Beef chunks, eggplant, peppers and pieces of crinkle-cut potatoes. It takes five bites to finish, but not bad. Costs 8 dollars, but not bad. Coffee is nice.
Rested. Fed. Ready to face Arbat street again. Carrot salad, dirt water, beef pot, espresso. All for 16 bucks. Cheaper than a trip to Tblisi.
Think the soot and the traffic and the roar and the dirt of Taichung, the cheap glitz of Atlantic City, the brown and gray architecture of BA or the ugly parts of Blava and put it all at -2 degrees with icy patches and you get the picture.
posted by The Expatresse at 1:12 PM
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