Pissed off in London: The Angry Russian on vodka literacy

Rant II: Vodka literacy

The other day I met up with a friend from Moscow. We spent the morning in quirky Broadway market bookshops, had a nice lunch in a Thai place in Islington, then went to a Afrojazz gig in Notting Hill. Then I walked him to his hotel on Tottenham Court Rd – but how can two Russians part without a farewell drink?

Now, I must note that we both can be qualified as ‘pretty boring’ on the party animal scale. I had my share of wild clubbing in my early 20s, while he just hates it altogether. So we wanted just a nice, quiet place to drink a couple of pints over a laid back talk. Oh, did I mention that it was midnight on a Saturday?

It took us half an hour of aimlessly wandering around Soho with its hordes of bike rickshaws and annoying promoters to realize that our choices were limited to the direct opposite of our goal: incredibly noisy and crowded ‘clubs’.

The pubs were closed already (why, by the way?). OK, we thought, let’s call it a day, buy a bottle and drink it in my friend’s hotel room. But guess what? The stores wouldn’t sell booze after 11PM! How come there were so many people around us barfing and pissing on the walls? Seriously, I partied pretty hard in the early Noughties in Moscow, but I’ve never seen so many teenagers drunk beyond the ability to walk, speak and look human.

Not only teenagers – I saw a woman well past menopause in a gorgeous evening gown leaning her head against the wall, pool of puke under her feet, high heels and handbag lying around. This was a truly horrifying sight. We went to bed sober.

Now let’s get to the point. There was a comment to my last column from another Angry Russian complaining about this ever-present stereotype: vodka. Indeed, in at least one in three cases of talking to Brits, this topic invariably comes up (the other two are, of course, Putin and polonium).

‘Oh, you’re Russian? So you must drink a lot of vodka!’ Ha. Ha. Ha. Here’s some groundbreaking news for you: Brits drink more than us. Please refer to WHO statistics if you don’t believe me (for a quite concise list of Russia- and vodka-related stereotypes, please refer to this VBS.TV ‘documentary’).

So please read this carefully: Smirnoff is NOT Russian vodka. Absolut is NOT vodka. Polish v(w)odka tastes like glass cleaner. Vodka on the rocks: WRONG. Downing shot after shot at a party until you collapse: no. Mixing it with Red Bull: sheer blasphemy and an insult to the memory of Dmitry Mendeleyev, the guy who invented it (and who, in a freak drinking accident, also invented the periodic table of elements).

Vodka must be drunk with dignity and it must be Russian (although we are perfectly content with some Ukrainian brands as well). Finns and Poles will definitely disagree, but who cares?

There are several schools of thought on this matter, but the prevailing one is that vodka has no taste of its own and is drunk to intensify the taste of the meal it accompanies. So in Russia it’s all about the snacks. The classic is soup. Please keep in mind that we in Russia eat proper soups, with lots of solid pieces and big chunks of meat, quite unlike these pathetic little cups of processed snot that pass for soup around here.

The perfect Russian meal goes like this: before you is a huge, steamy bowl of borsch, the kind of beetroot, cabbage and beef soup which is also the subject of fierce debates between Russians, Ukrainians and Poles (shchi, another cabbage variety, or spicy Caucasian hartcho will also do perfectly). For real class, garnish it with cracklings, pressed garlic cloves, chopped fresh parsley and sour cream (smetana). Brined mushrooms and cucumbers, chunks of salted herring, paper-thin slices of salo (smoked and spiced lard) on coarse black bread and dill-sprinkled cooked potatoes humbly await their fate.

An (almost) perfectly laid table

Shot glasses filled to the brim with chilled (but not frozen) vodka, cloudy with perspiration, are already on the table, but don’t drink just yet. Now, wait for others to settle at the table, take the glass in your left hand and the spoon in the right one, scoop a nice, generous spoonful, look around solemnly, exhale, sip and then, not giving your taste buds a chance to come to their senses – mind the timing! – put the spoon in your mouth.

This will also do

Oh, this cathartic moment! Then follows a minute of contemplation and ponderous chewing. Somebody must get busy pouring a second round. No, it’s not too soon: there’s a golden rule that says “There’s only a small gap between the first one and the second”. And never pour into a glass in midair! We are not the most superstitious nation in the world, but pouring in midair is almost as grave an offense as whistling indoors (bad, bad, bad luck).

After those first two things take their pace, there are lots of hearty and elaborate toasts (remember: we never say ‘Na zdorovye’; it means “to your health” which doesn’t make much sense in case of drinking vodka), compliments to the hosts and general camaraderie. In some sense vodka is the essence of alcohol, crystal-clear and chemically perfect, so please drink it with the respect it deserves. And quit these stupid jokes, for God’s sake.

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