A Ukrainian Dinner

Those of you who have taken the valuable 14 seconds out of your boring, mundane lives to email me know that I’ve been in Lviv, Ukraine for over a month. I have an apartment here, though I still don't have internet, and the internet cafes in this city leave MUCH to be desired. In fact, this is my third time trying to upload this story, and it still won't let me attach a picture for some reason. In any case, I love this city, and I’ve been having a hard time deciding how to adequately do this city justice in a blog entry that should be both informative and entertaining. Well, last Saturday night, I think I figured it out.

My friend Roman, who lives in Kiev, but is in Lviv on business quite often, invited me to a restaurant opening. I’d dropped in to the space earlier in the week while it was being renovated, and I knew it was at least different and the place would be more than a little cool. I would be quite surprised by just how cool, however.

Roman was given a key, an actual key, to present at the door to be allowed inside. We arrive at the address, where no sign and no light indicate the passageway off the Rynok Square one must follow to find the door. As we approach the door, and knock (!!!), a small, trapezoidal-shaped window opens where on the other side, a man awaits in a well-lit room. Roman says some Ukrainian words, and the door opens to reveal an armed guard (gun not loaded, but real WWII Russian issue), who again says some Ukrainian. Then, he pours us three shots of medovuha (explained later), and we all toast the republic before he opens a wall disguised as a shelf, revealing a staircase leading downstairs.

We enter the dining room, which is comprised of two rooms, each with about six large, square, unfinished wood tables, captured underground in what can only be described as a stone bunker, built to withstand pretty much any bomb attack I could fathom. The waitstaff is clad in authentic Ukrainian army uniforms, each with a different firearm either holstered to their belt, or slung over their shoulder. More guns are being passed around for each diner’s desired inspection. My skepticism that they are loaded with blanks increases parabolically with every shot of medovuha, despite the 9 year-old at our table firing off blank rounds towards the ceiling every time he feels neglected.

Next to me is seated Yuri. He is a General Partner of Ukraine’s 4th largest bank, which just got bought out, and the terms of which locked him up in a one-year noncompete clause. So, he’s just drinking and spending money now. It’s pretty much “the dream.”

And my dream? Yuri’s hand-feeding me all kinds of mysterious food items from the table. I’m not going to lie; it was quite nice to have an MD kowtowing to me for a change.

The food he’s giving me, on the other hand, fell quite short of the cherries and chocolate-dipped strawberries that would have fulfilled the fantasy. Not in a gay way, you fucking perverts!! It was more akin to an “I really care about you and your happiness” kind of fantasy.

Instead, there was “pork, no meat,” which is… you guessed it! Fat!!! It’s a spread comprised solely of the congealed grease left behind in the pan when smoked bacon is cooked. I’m serious. It was pretty foul. I think my facial expression when Yuri (my MD date) fed it to me may have made him think I was snobby. And I am SOOOO not like that, my GOD!!!

So, to make up for it, I pretended to really like the pig fat (uncooked fat part of our traditional bacon, seasoned with cayenne pepper). It wasn’t bad, but after about three slabs of this stuff, I had to pretend to take a phone call. I think Yuri was on to me, because after all, we were about five meters underground in a bomb shelter. There is no way anyone believed I had service down there… Nevertheless, I hoped Yuri still liked me. And really, if he can’t understand my needs, maybe he’s just not the right MD for me. [sigh]

As for what was good, the borscht at this place was the best I’ve had in Lviv. Many places insist on seasoning their borscht with parsley or dill, neither of which really fits when paired with the oily, salty sweetness of the beetroot. However, here they lightly sprinkled some chive onions, which made all the difference in the world. Having said that though, I still prefer the Polish borscht. And no, I don’t plan on saying that out loud anytime soon. (It is very common to hate anything Polish here. Or Russian too, for that matter). Other than that, the baked pork knee was great, but I still prefer the Czech pork knee, as it seems to be baked at a higher temperature (leaving the skin nice and crispy and locking in the moisture) and is served traditionally with horseradish. I’m starting to think I should put together a food entry all on its own. If anyone wants that, let me know. Ok, I’ll move on.

While I’m explaining things however, medovuha (pronounced Med-EE-ov-ka) is a honey infused vodka, but with the slightly syrupy texture of a more viscous schnapps. Here at this restaurant, they brew it to order. It comes out steaming hot in clay pitchers, and smells delicious. The other people at my table (well, the only ones speaking English anyway) warn me that medovuha “clears your head, but destroys your feet.” I’m told to wait until I stand up next, and I’ll know what they’re talking about. Nervous!!!!

Meanwhile, the conversation meanders to 9/11 conspiracy theories. Naturally, I think these theories to be absurd, but in light of my 9th, 10th, and 15th shot of medovuha, I’m prepared to entertain virtually any cockamamie idea someone throws at me. Colonizing the moon? Sure… Great idea! Israel the 51st state? Awesome! Makes perfect sense!! Drop-kicking babies for sport? Awesome!! I tried it once in high school and LOVED it!!!

At one point, I take a look around the rather large table (seated for about 10-12 people). There is NOT ONE non-alcoholic beverage anywhere on the table. We’d been sitting there eating an enormous meal, drinking a ton, and no one thought to order a coke or a water. Well, I was about to be the first. Let Yuri think I’m a pussy; I don’t care. I order a water, and I turn my head away from Yuri to avoid his disappointed stare.

Sure enough, I stand up to walk to the bathroom at some point. Roman and I are completely shitfaced, as is pretty much everyone else at the table. The time = 11pm. Two more pitchers of medovuha have been ordered. The look on my face is a cross between terror and utter confusion. My feet aren’t cooperating at all with my desire to traverse the dining room on my way to the bathroom. However, I make it there eventually, and after catching myself from swaying my stream away from the bowl, I try to operate the rather confusing contraption hovering over the sink emitting water. Somehow, I break it, and cast iron pieces clash on the tile floor, no doubt signaling to everyone in the restaurant that I’ve had an “incident.” Still not embarrassed!!!!

However, I emerge from the bathroom, and I see exactly no one remaining in the first dining room. Could it be I imagined there were people to avoid on my way to the bathroom? Or could it be I spent an hour in the bathroom picking up the pieces to this mysterious water-spitting device over the sink? I stop trying to understand anything, as I back go to our table to continue doing shots of whatever is put in front of me. I don’t want another shot AT ALL, but I’m not about to punk out and not represent. In over my head!!!!!

I lose some time. My next memory is this guy Andre (who is the grandson of the founder of the Ukrainian nationalist movement) handing me a gun that looked exactly like a Chicago gangster-style Tommy gun. I’m too drunk to know what to do with this thing. Hand me a water, a burrito, or a taxi. Definitely not a gun. Give it to the 9 year-old.

I end up going out to the disco, and having a great night to finish, although no one at dinner came with me. Which is just as well. Though I am going to dinner again tonight with a couple people from that night, and I’m understandably apprehensive. The last thing I need is another 750 mL of booze. Turning over a new leaf!!!!!!

Other than that, I took an apartment in Center so I could clean up my act a bit. I should have internet access over the weekend, for those of you who have noticed I’ve been a bit more absent online lately. If you’re reading between the lines, you may have guess that it looks as though I’ll be staying in Lviv for some time. Updates on that are around the corner. As are more pictures.

Sadly, I don’t have pictures of A) Independence Day, B) Temoshenko’s political rally, or C) Yevchenko’s political rally. Too bad too, really cool stuff, leading up to the election on Sept. 30.
Beyond that, I should mention (especially before my luck changes) that I made a run to the casino here for a couple nights a few weeks ago. Night one = $900US cash money. Night two = $1700US cash motherfuckin’ money. Sadly, half that money went to buy warm clothing (all I had when I arrived in Ukraine was short-sleeved shirts) and the other half to a month plus realtor fees for this apartment. Good times.

Even though I’ll be staying in Lviv for the next few months, I will obviously still be logging some travel to neighboring cities. I am already planning a return to Krakow, a run to Minsk, and at least a weekend (probably more) in Kiev. Clearly, updates on each will follow, along with more on Lviv. Sit tight bitches.