“I think cooking is very close to politics,” says Witold Szabrowski. he told the Moscow Times. “And politics is very similar to cooking. What do people eat before they send soldiers to war? What do they eat before they set the world on fire?”
“What is Kremlin Cuisine?” is the sixth book by prolific Polish journalist and author Witold Szabrowski and was shortlisted for the Andre Simon Food and Drink Book Award. I got it. His previous works How to Feed a Dictator and Dancing Bear won praise for their imaginative attacks on authoritarianism, and this latest work does not disappoint.
Throughout the country's history, starting with the descendants of imperial Russian chefs and continuing through the Putin era, Shabrovsky has fed the stomachs of the rich and powerful, as well as ordinary people. They are also tracking down the cooks (or those who tried to feed them). It includes personal stories of a cook at the Chernobyl nuclear power plant, a baker who survived the Siege of Leningrad, and a chef who helped create the Soviet Union's Last Supper at a dacha in Belarus.
Although the author downplays the interview's success as mere “stubbornness,” the level of detail is truly remarkable. Mr. Shabrowski said his own brief stint as a chef encouraged his more wary interviewees to open up by providing a common language. “Knowing how to chop, cut, quantities and spices makes a chef's job easier,” he explains.
Still, many Russians are suspicious that “Poles ask a lot of questions,” and Mr. Shabrowski has worked hard to gain access to sensitive locations such as the Roscosmos space station. I had to make an effort. The book took three years to write, 10 trips to Ukraine, eight to Belarus, and 15 trips to pre-war Russia, where the author was no longer welcome.
Recipes range from luxurious to authentic. Tsar Nicholas' favorite lunch was “pasta with turtledoves,” that soldiers on the Eastern Front grilled snails on skewers, and that Lenin's wife was given one, two, or three eggs. It turns out that there was a repertoire of three meals: scrambled eggs.
The book's most moving passages include “anti-recipes” from the famine era in Ukraine and Russia. Hanna Basaraba, one of the last survivors of the Holodomor, tells how she and her family subsisted on weeds during the man-made famine of the 1930s.
“Sometimes one of the children I played with would suddenly disappear. They stopped coming to nursery school. No one asked what happened – it was obvious.”
Mr. Shabrowski witnessed the final meeting between Hannah and her cousin Vera, another survivor who died shortly after telling her story. These historical accounts are especially poignant now as Russia continues to attack villages that endured the Great Famine.
There's plenty of humor in these pages, but the tone is never offensive. A standout is Viktor Belyaev, a chef who worked in the Kremlin for 40 years and served Brezhnev, Gorbachev, Yeltsin, Putin, and countless foreign leaders and dignitaries. In an interview with the Moscow Times, Shabrowski spoke warmly of his friendship with Belyaev, who died of coronavirus infection in 2022.
The author described the book's MasterChef as a “good spirit.”He dined as Belyaev's guest and singled out his autograph. Burinchiki “Incredible” These were Margaret Thatcher's favorite pancakes.
In a moving afterword, Mr. Szabrowski explains that some of the chefs he interviewed have stopped speaking to him since the full-scale invasion.
“That's how propaganda works,” he said. “I miss traveling to Russia and talking to Russians, but I wasn’t surprised. […] Russia must remove Lenin from Red Square: this country [the body of] There is a mass murderer in the heart of the capital. ”
The only drawback is the composition of the UK and US versions. The Polish original has the subtitle “How to Build an Empire with a Knife, Ladle, and Fork,” making it clear that this is a book about imperialism and all its follies. Ukrainians in 2024 may be hesitant to pick up this book with its blood-red “Kremlinology” cover, but the writing on Ukraine and Tatar Crimea is one of the author's best works. That's a shame, as it is.
From Chapter XII The first return of Viktor Belyaev
I cooked for Nixon for a few days and he was very happy, but one day he just walked by the kitchen. He asked from the doorway, “Who is the chef here?” I was summoned. “Good morning,” I said in English. He must have been expecting a big fat Ivan with a mustache. And here I was. A man from Izmailovo. He was so happy to talk to young Russians that he started going every day. And he asked me a question: What was the life of the young man like? How long did you wait to find an apartment? How much did this and that cost? It felt awkward coming to see me like that, but my boss said it was okay and there was nothing wrong. And I also said that if that's what he wants, I should talk to him.
One day I worked up the courage to say I was glad he liked my food. But in my opinion, he missed the biggest feature of Russian cuisine.
“Oh?” he said, intrigued. “what is that?”
“Mr. President, soup,” I said. Because he always leaves soup behind. “Russia is famous for its delicious soups. There is borscht, solyanka, ukha. All of them are very good for you, especially for men,” I said.
“It's too late,” he said with a shrug.
“Mr. President,” I replied, “it's not too late. The soup will give you energy. Give it a try.”
I knew he was an avid angler and loved to fish, so the next day I made him some uhah. He ate it, asked for a refill, and ate that too.
“It’s really good,” he told me. “I think we need to find a Russian cook in America.'' He smiled.
But the most extraordinary event occurred on the last day of President Nixon's visit, when he asked me to show him around Moscow. His superiors agreed, so Nixon departed with only one bodyguard. He didn't want to see historical sights. He wanted to see how ordinary people live. We went to Cheryomushki district. Because he had been there with Brezhnev a few years earlier. When we got there, Nixon asked where the local market was. He remembered his last visit. He had no entourage, just his bodyguard and me, so I imagined no one would notice him and he would see a normal life. So he went to Cheryomushiki Market.
Of course, everyone there noticed him, and crowds of people came running and gave him flowers, fruits, vegetables, and honey. I had to carry it all and drag it around while Nixon was close to tears with emotion.
At one point a very elderly woman emerged from the crowd. She was the kind of woman who sat in the market selling a few garlic and sunflower seeds to supplement her pension. She gave him a whole head of sunflowers that she had for sale. And she said: Mr. President, I have nothing else to give. However, I would like to request one thing in return. I lost two sons in the war. War is the most terrifying event that can occur on earth. Please do your best to prevent further wars. ”
Nixon hugged her and gave her some answers, clearly very moved. We returned to the villa where he was staying, and he walked around the park for a long time, thinking about things in his head.
I then suggested that we say goodbye to Uka, take a picture together and leave.
7.
I've only ever overslept and been late for work once in my life, but that was the worst possible occasion as I was making breakfast for Margaret Thatcher that day. She was in Moscow with the entire delegation. They stayed up late and their flight home was at 5am. My boss invited me to spend the night on a couch in the Kremlin. But I can't stand sleeping away from home, Witold. So I thanked him and a Kremlin car drove me home. I left work at 1 a.m., but I have to be back at 3:30. I ordered a car from the Kremlin and set an alarm clock. . . And I didn't hear it ring.
I woke up at 3:30 and started to panic. I warned my whole family, my wife and children. My wife ironed my shirt, and my mother, who lived with me, helped me put on my pants. And I called the Kremlin housekeeper to explain what had happened, and she said, “I opened a can of peas, beat an egg for pancakes, so that it was boiling by the time I arrived.'' Please start boiling water.'' I asked.
But the worst was yet to come. It was a car. This he was in Moscow in the 1980s. There were no taxis, and it took him an hour to walk to the Kremlin. And the rule for Kremlin drivers driving around the city to collect staff was to wait up to 30 minutes. If you don't arrive by that time, that's your problem. You will explain it to your boss.
Then I thought there was no way the car could still be there. Heartbroken, I called the Kremlin dispatcher and prayed that my best friend Luba would be on duty.
Luba was the one who came to pick me up. Everything was fine now.
“Luba, I overslept!'' I cried. “And there's Margaret Thatcher! I have to help her somehow and make her breakfast!”
“Oh, that's bad,” Luba said.
And she sent me another car. I put on a shirt and tie, ran downstairs and got into my car. . . A second car arrived. It turned out that the driver had made an exception and was waiting for me.
So I got in one car and the other in the back and off we went. At the entrance to the Kremlin, the soldiers saluted us, I saluted back, and started laughing. Those guards looked at me like that.
“What, Victor, why are you so scared of us? I thought someone big might be coming in.”
“You'll get used to it soon, guys,” I replied. “From now on, I will always travel this way.'' That made them laugh.
Then I ran upstairs. We sliced blini, appetizers, cheese, sausage, ham, everything right away.
I made it just in time.
Thatcher came to thank me for the food, just as Nixon had done. In fact, it was funny. Because the first time she was scheduled to come, the other chefs told me she never ate anything we made so she didn't need to worry. She said there was no chef in her house, she cooked by herself, and she didn't like food cooked by others.
So, for our first breakfast in Moscow, I made a little of everything, but I was ready for her to either not eat at all or just stick her fork in the plate a little. Ta. I gave her two salads, some buckwheat, cold meat, toast, jam, and pancakes (blini) and started preparing her lunch.
Imagine my surprise when, 10 minutes later, the waiter came over with an empty plate. The blinis were gone.
“She wants a little more,” he said.
Even more? But I thought she wouldn't eat anything!
In a panic I cracked some eggs, mixed them with water, milk, and flour, and fried two more blini at top speed. The waiter served them and then returned.
“and again.”
I think she had eight of them. Her colleagues were also surprised at how much she liked it.
What's Cooking in the Kremlin: How Russia Built an Empire with Knives and Forks, from Rasputin to Putin (US version) or What's Cooking in the Kremlin: “Modern Russian History Through the Kitchen Door” (British edition), Written by Witold Szabłowski, translated into Polish by Antonia Lloyd-Jones, published by Penguin Random House Publishing Group. Copyright © 2021 by Witold Szabłowski, translation copyright © 2023 by Antonia Lloyd-Jones. Used with permission. All rights reserved. For more information about the author and this book, please visit the publisher's site. here.
