Enjoyment level upgraded from Hell to Purgatory
Trip Start
Jun 30, 2006
1
6
42
Trip End
Jun 30, 2007
Moscow,
Russian Federation
Monday, July 10, 2006
On the 4th we were booked in at 8pm on level 2 (the Library) of Café Puskin, that old
Moscow institution
Apollo Belvedere in a Suit
. It is here that I would realize that Moscow really is a great and fun and interesting city to hang out in, but only if you are willing to pay at least $150 for every meal and at least $600 for each night's accommodation. God only knows how much decent cocaine goes for. Obviously we are still too diminutively poor to afford staying anywhere at $600 a night, much less cocaine, but we still managed to go to two of the very nicest restaurants the city had to offer. Well, as can be expected, even though we had about 3 hours between getting home from sight-seeing and having to leave for the restaurant, we still managed to be over an hour late. At least at once it was transportation issues rather than mucking around trying on 10 different outfits...I asked Charis if we were going to take metro or a cab, since I had to order it an hour in advance if we wanted one. Metro was the choice, since it would be the cheapest and quickest and we wouldn't have to deal with the dreaded traffic. I went to have a nap, I woke up from my nap, started getting ready, my dad asked how we were getting there and I said metro, he then didn't say anything until ten minutes before we had to leave, 25 to 8, when he said we had to take a taxi.
That's all well and good in Australia, where you can ring up and get a taxi in 5 minutes time, but this is Moscow for gods' sake
Awesome Building
. So, 20 to 8 it is, we've ordered the taxi, they say it will take 40 minutes to get here. We get to leave 20 minutes after we're meant to be there, and struggle through the middle of the city in peak traffic. At this point I just wanted to kill the bloody both of them and alternately sniped bitchily and then refused to speak to anyone, certainly convinced that now the only thing that could save Moscow in the slightest would be fucked up, and that I would miss my birthday dinner which had been booked more than a month ago (It probably says something, that every time I travel I book restaurants a month ahead and yet don't bother to book any accommodation at all). One day I really must just learn to be on time, given the amount of stressing out that I do when I'm late. Last time was at the airport for the trip over to Tokyo, where we arrived an hour before the flight and then were held up by an idiotic bitch that tried to tell us we had to give her our Russian tourist vouchers to prove we had some. How, pray tell, would we have gotten the VISAS IN OUR PASSPORTS if we didn't have tourist vouchers?! I think the goddamn embassy would have noticed their abscence. Then, after she was told by a superior that she was wrong, she refused to let us check in our 29kg suitcases and we had to repack, and then we had to go through a passport control line that took 35 minutes. By the time I got to the gate, and the Tourist Refund Scheme counter I needed to go to to get the $300 tax refund on my laptop, it was 10 minutes before the flight, 20 minutes after the cut-off point to get your refunds
Cathedral
. Whereupon I went to the counter, twice, and absolutely BEGGED and GROVELLED that I needed the money and I had been held up and PLEASE would they give me the money because as they could see my gate was right in front of the counter and as they could see the queue for my flight was literally 150 people long and only growing. He absolutely refused, twice, without even being apologetic about it. I stalked off and swore and burst out crying in my frustration that the wanker wouldn't give me my $300 (which was impossible to get any other way) even though there was obviously hoards of time, and no other people even lined up at his counter. In the end he ended up leaving his counter and coming to get me where I was lined up 30m away and saying that he would do it, which just proves the moronic fact that if you act pathetic and start crying everything will get accomplished.But back to Café Pushkin. We made it in the end, and of course no-one had any issue with us showing up so awfully late, since Charis had called ahead. I'm sure the doormen were quite bemused at three people power-walking down the street, when most of their clientele calmly step out of 4wd limos no matter how late they are. We of course had an English-speaking waiter assigned to us for the evening - which I at random points forgot, like when I asked another waiter in English how much their wicked-looking Café Puskin-embossed steak knives cost. At 8000 roubles, I'm afraid I couldn't justify it, no matter how great they were. I felt a bit bad, the organization of the service staff was absolutely perfect and only flawed when I went and mucked with the system. How can you not love a restaurant whose staff bring you an antique stand for your handbag?
I didn't get a chance to see the third level, but the first floor (the 24hr café) was nice enough, and the 2nd, which we were dining on, was absolutely charming
Charis and a Lamp
. It's decked out like an 18th century Russian noblemen's mansion library, and the waiters are all dressed like period servants. A bit elitist to be sure, but comfortable and understated elitist - Russian mafia and the old rich, with little of the ostentatious pretension that abounded in other Moscow Restaurants (which is not to say awful fashion mistakes didn't exist - I'm talking to you, man with the loud, aqua-striped polo shirt. Just because you're rich doesn't mean you can wear whatever you like). Unfortunately there aren't any photos of the interior online, and we certainly weren't going to pull out the camera and start flash photography, so you'll have to take my word on how pretty and atmospheric it was inside, all dim gas-like lighting and rows upon rows of old Russian books, antique timber and embossed walls. I always have an issue with aperitifs, so I was a bit totally indecisive when asked for what I wanted. Usually I would get champagne but given that at the best of times it costs at least $100 a bottle, I was in mortal dread that if I ordered champagne my poor father would be stuck with an $800 bill. Well my father took change and declared we would be drinking shots of vodka. Very large shots of vodka. Luckily, the range was large and the type of Vodka the waiter recommended managed to taste very nice. I always thought that a vodka that tasted nice and went down very smoothly (I abhor the taste of alcohol, which is a bit of a problem when something is 50% alcohol or whatever it is) was an impossibility, so thank you Mr. Waiter for suitably impressing me. However, despite their varied water selection they didn't have Badoit, which made me a little grumpy. I had a Russian sparkling water(can't remember its name) instead, which cost, I believe, 400 roubles, upping the ante on the most I've ever paid for a bottle of water, up from 45 dirhams at Al Mahara in Dubai - I think I now have a macabre quest to find ridiculously priced bottles of water around the world
Corn with Guns
.I was even more indecisive when it came to the menu - the range was amazing which was a pleasant surprise, given that in most restaurants I can't even really find one new thing I would like to try. The menu is focused on traditional Russian cuisine, so I decided on a pretty traditional range of courses: Caviar with Buckwheat Blini, Borscht, and rabbit. Charis had mushrooms in an edible cup (although at first we weren't too sure of this, and the head waiter seemed quite bemused at her hesitant picking up and nibbling of the bowl) and Beef Stroganoff, and my father had some manner of cold soup, and I can't for the life of me remember his main. I certainly wouldn't be the best restaurant reviewer in the world, seeing as I can't even remember the proper names of my own dishes.
The caviar, in any case, as quite nice, but I don't find it that amazing with blini and sour cream. Still, I don't really understand the popularity of caviar, and the mad rush to get as much as possible despite the decrease in sturgeon numbers. I more enjoyed my rabbit, and it had the added benefit of being 5 times cheaper :p.
Even more of a surprise than palatable vodka was the size of the dishes
Crazyperson in Cafe Pushkin Basement
. Every single upscale restaurant I've even been to has served, shall I say, dishes very restrained in size. My borscht, a half-portion, was a giant bowl, as full of meat as it was of soup. My father, who had gotten a full-portion, couldn't even begin to contemplate finishing his - it was practically the size of a washbasin. And good the borscht was, the best soup I've ever had the fortune to have. A small note though: Long Island Ice Tea is probably not the best drink to accompany Borscht, and tastes intrinsically awful anyway - but I'd never tried it and somehow deluded myself into thinking this was an appropriate opportunity.Alas, when my main came I was so full I only managed to eat about a third of it, if that. I felt very upset about this at the time, as it was the best meal I'd had in years and here I was having to leave most of it behind. Of the rabbit pastry I had only a single spoonful! Also, I have to mention, the raspberries atop the pastry were probably the best things I've ever eaten in my life. So far surpassing every raspberry I had ever eaten was the first one, that upon consuming it and sitting in respectful silence for a full 30 seconds, I was totally convinced it was a fluke. But then the 2nd, and last, was in every way identical. It stands to show how full I actually was, that after these natural miracles I didn't even request some sort of raspberry dessert. Charis tells me I should have asked what type they were and where they came from, but I was so unconscious of the fact that obviously a restaurant like this would know EXACTLY where their produce came from, that I didn't think to ask.
Unfortunately I did ask about the steak knife (well, more one of those fold-up small hunting knives) I so admired though, and given that it was too dear for me to afford (damn you precious metals), my asking now precluded me attempting to make away with it through slight of hand
Freaks!
. Of course, I would have been much too scared of embarrassment to try and steal it anyway - though it would have been interesting to see how the perfectly-mannered waiting staff dealt with a crazy Australian trying to make off with their 400 dollar cutlery. Anyway, they were very considerate anyway, and gave us a lovely souvenier anyway - a reproduction of one of their very old menus, printed on card and utterly indecipherable too me, which too is part of its quaintness.I enjoyed all the food and the atmosphere and the service so immensely that I fully intend to return to Moscow one day, despite how much I hated everything else, in order to stay a week doing nothing but eating on the three levels of Café Pushkin everyday and otherwise doing nothing but sitting in my hotel spa pretending that the world of atrociously-mannered ticket ladies doesn't exist.
The restaurants-we-can't-really-afford-but-fuck-it journey continued on to Turandot, run by the same man (Andrei Dellos) as Café Pushkin, and situated only 50m down the street. It's a newer place, and from all accounts the service wasn't anywhere near as refined as at Pushkin, but the incredible interior (to the tune of costing $60million US) done in the style of a Baroque palace with period furniture, custom china and a vast sky-painted dome with creeping delicate gold tendrils, meant that it was a must-visit.
The wait staff this time were far from the perfection of Café Pushkin. The ones at the counter were milling about, seeming like they were gossiping, and weren't very enthused
Giant Cannon
. Given, we were 40 minutes late for our 9.30 booking, but I assume it was general job indifference. Also, there wasn't really a single waiter assigned to us, and consequently we had to deal with a couple whose grasp of English was rudimentary at best, and weren't able to adequately answer question, having to go off and get someone else instead. Given that the prices here are higher even than Café Pushkin, its only fair to expect immaculate service.But as soon as we were seated, the lackings of the service staff were momentarily dimmed by the magnificence of the interior. It looks a little over-done in online photos, which being of such small resolution produce an image of over-done gold upon gold, but the intricate detail and contrast to the delicately-painted walls and furniture and crockery was quite stunning. I would have to say I was more impressed by the room in which we dined than another other room of this type in any other palace in Russia, or Europe for that matter. The music was quite pleasant as well, played by performers down below, clad in quaint white wigs and period attire (we were seated on the 2nd level, right next to the balcony). It made one quite happy, to be dining in a place as beautiful as this, and made me again very cross that I wasn't a 17th century aristocrat that could sit around all day dining and going to balls.
God I Take Photos of Crap
The unparalleled beauty of the environment however, was marred a little by some disappointing flaws that shouldn't have otherwise existed. Given that the owner spent 60 million dollars, had English china custom-made, had perfect replicas created of antique oriental pottery, and splashed out on beautiful frescoes, I don't think it would have killed someone to realize that visible zippers look horribly out of place on 17th century servant girls' dresses. Even more bizarre was the fact that all the wait staff communicated by mobile phone- even the lady playing the piano, clad in a fine dress and bouffant wig, had one sitting next to her on the edge of the harpsichord. I don't see how you aren't meant to get a little weirded out, when a 17th century dandy suddenly pulls out a mobile phone. Again, after all he effort and money put in, there must be a better way of organizing staff than this. Also, they didn't give me bag stand. I now expect antique bag stands, goddammit!
The food this time was Asian-influenced, and the menu again was extensive. I eventually settled on a foie gras salad and Kamchatka Crab in XO sauce. Charis got miso soup, and a mushroom main. The dishes were quite nice (the Kamchatka crab especially) but I wouldn't say they were on par with Café Pushkin, and the servings were quite miniscule in comparison. We weren't really full in the slightest after 2 beers, an entrée and a main each, and got dessert: raspberry and lemon sorbet.
One of the waiters was quite amusing during our meal, if a bit impertinent - Charis and I had been tasting each other's dishes throughout the meal, by eating off each other's outstretched forks - and at one point a waiter came over with a slight grin and asked 'Could I help you?'
GUM
. Now gods only know I can't think of any reasonable explanation of how he was supposed to help us, and that leaves only a waiter that has just come up to two innocent customers proposing some sort of lurid sexual exploit. I mean, I don't really care, but it is a bit impertinent for this kind of place!Still, I probably brought it on myself. I sat there for half the night totally unaware that when I had sat down my short short kimono had gone off to the site, exposing my side from knee to waist. Only when I finally looked down and yelped in surprise, yanking it down, did Charis go 'Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh, THAT's what those four waiters were looking at, standing in a row and smiling'. Thanks for the heads up, bitch! :p
Throughout the evening we got bored at times waiting for the next course, and made a total of 3 joint trips to the bathroom (I imagine they thought we were snorting cocaine or amphetamines, even though that makes no sense because we kept eating), filming our thoughts while we were there. There bathroom memories are our only visual remembrance of these places (we took photos in Café Pushkin's bathroom, too :p), given that we refused to do what no-one had done in Pushkin, but what everyone seemed to be doing in Turandot, and take flash photography inside the restaurant
I am the revolution!
.Now, fair enough that you take flash photos at Sizzlers if you want, or one quick photo at a place like this, but there were these hideous women going around on some sort of tour of the place, taking flash photos of themselves every 5 metres. Maybe I'm in the minority, but when I'm at a place where a bit of crab costs a hundred dollars, I don't want wankers walking around like its some sort of theme park. God knows if they were random middle-class tourists or if they owned the orange Lambourghini parked outside (and if they weren't the ones that owned it, the person who did should have gotten them kicked out), there is no reason to act so common and vulgar when someone else is trying to sit and eat a nice meal listening to the dandy on the harp. I eventually got so irate, after drinking a few beers, that if it wouldn't have been the start of even more disturbance I would have gone up to the retarded trollops and told her where to go.
But still, I'm glad I went, even though the service and food was sub-par in relation to Café Pushkin - the interior was still absolutely incredible, and the atmosphere, though little things could have been improved, was relaxing.
We went out afterwards, but I suppose the least that can be said of that the better. Lonely Planet led us through 3km of side streets to a club that didn't exist, during which we got harassed by drunken men stalking us in cars trying to grab us until Charis shoved one in the face, and then led by taxi to another club that didn't exist. That was the extent to which we attempted to go to one gay club and one face club, and we were so disillusioned by this time (around 2am) that we just gave up and took a take back to our hotel, where we randomly took pictures of ourselves next to the tacky curtain and mirror.
