| Title | : | Mastering the Art of Soviet CookingHebrew book for Adults |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 9655457362 |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9789655457360 |
| Language | : | Hebrew |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 432 |
| Publication | : | First published January 1, 2013 |
Mastering the Art of Soviet CookingHebrew book for Adults Reviews
-
This is not a cookbook, though it does have a couple recipes. Think "Julie and Julia" with Stalin and Brezhnev in place of Julia Child. Sort of. What Anya von Bremzen has written here is an insider's look at daily life in the Soviet Union as expressed in food.
I grew up believing that life in the Soviet Union must have been terrible, and this book mostly confirms that it was. von Bremzen traces how, as the Soviet Union left its imperial past and transformed itself into a (mythical) socialist worker's paradise, the food the Soviet people ate gradually deteriorated, improved a bit, then completely fell apart as the Union itself began to crumble. von Bremzen tells the story mostly through the experiences of her mother Larisa and grandparents Naum and Liza.
There is humor and heartbreak in their stories. The account of the siege of Leningrad and what the Soviet people were reduced to eating during World War II left me wondering how anyone survived. The stories of the different classes of citizens in the USSR and the wildly disparate quality of food available to them would be heartbreaking if it wasn't clear that the Soviet people knew they were being lied to about the fundamental nature of their society. The account of the infamous "kitchen debate" between then vice-president Nixon and Nikita Khrushchev at a Moscow international expo illustrates how Soviet citizens didn't trust their own economic system but also doubted that people in America actually had all the shiny automated gadgets on display. (Spoiler alert: of course they didn't, and still don't.)
The book really comes alive, though, when von Bremzen describes her own experiences. In a land of false abundance and real scarcity, small pleasures like little pieces of jam-filled candy take on incredible significance. Hearing how Soviet kids craved those candies so much that they ate them as slowly as possible and even shared them among one another -- as in "shared the same piece of candy" -- made the sense of longing seem very real to me. I grew up a block away from a convenience store and usually had a buck or two; I don't know what it's like to not have candy very often.
von Bremzen also describes being fed caviar at school in kindergarten and how it took everything she had not to throw it up. I am glad to know there is at least one other person in the world who thinks caviar is gross and is happy to leave it to the plutocrats.
Eventually von Bremzen and her mother emigrated to America, where her first encounters with American food left her disappointed. Those encounters were with Wonder Bread and Pop-Tarts. I really wish the rest of the world realized most Americans don't eat those products.
The book closes with the collapse of the Soviet Union and a return trip to a completely different Moscow, except for one aspect. There are still a lot of foodstuffs unavailable to the average Muscovite, but now it's only because they can't afford to buy them rather than not being allowed to.
As an American child of the 1970s and 1980s I treasured this book not so much because it affirmed my way of life but rather because it let me see things I hadn't seen before. We remember Khrushchev as the stubborn man who pounded a podium with his shoe and swore that the Soviet Union would bury us. The Russians remember him as a corn-obsessed lunatic. We think of Gorbachev as the reformer who brought us perestroika and glasnost. The Russians think of him as a wishy-washy leader whose unsteady hand wrecked the fragile economy and led to the destruction of the Soviet Union. (It's helpful to know that both Russians and the West think of Boris Yeltsin as essentially a drunken doofus.)
For all this and more, I loved this book. It was a compelling read that took me to somewhere I thought was a nice place to visit but I sure as heck wouldn't want to live there.
Now, if you actually want a book about food from the former Soviet Union, von Bremzen has written that as well. It's called Please to the Table and it's out of print but available for a king's ransom from the usual suspects. Maybe if this book sells well (which it deserves to) then Please to the Table will go back in print. -
First 5 star read of the year!
It’s no secret that I love food. It’s also obvious from a quick browse of my shelves that I am endlessly curious about Russia and it’s “you can’t make this shit up” history – so a food memoir about the Soviet Union? How was I supposed to resist this?
The only experience of Russian food I have is from a few Christmases spent with an ex-boyfriend’s family: his parents were Russian expats, and to be fair, the amount of vodka his father gave us has made the memories rather hazy, though I do remember thinking it was utterly alien but weirdly tasty.
Anya Von Bremzen’s mother moved them from Soviet Moscow to Philadelphia in the 1970s, and while food was only one of the cultural shocks that had to be dealt with, it clearly left a profound mark on her psyche.
“Inevitably, a story about Soviet food is a chronicle of longing, of unrequited desire.”
Each chapter in this surprising history book/memoir explores one decade in the history of Russia, and the food that particularly marked that decade, from the decadent “kulebiaka” (I’ve had the French version of this dish, but now I am so curious about the real deal!) to the tangy mayo and its ubiquitous jar, to vodka. Von Bremzen uses those themes to share with the reader her own story of growing up in Moscow in the 60s and 70s, but also her family’s history: her maternal grandfather the spy, her paternal grandmother the party girl – but mostly her mother, who never felt like she fitted in the tightly corseted society she was born into, until the discomfort was too unbearable to stay and raise her daughter there. The result is a very intimate view (what could possibly be more intimate than the contents of one’s kitchen?) of the history of 20th century Russia, it’s strange ambiguities discussed frankly, with the bittersweet affection that seems to come to expats with time and distance.
Parts of this book sometimes made me think of my husband’s grandfather, who grew up during the Great Depression, and who once told me that when he was younger, if food tasted good, it was considered a bonus. My French-Italian brain has a really hard time computing such statements – but I also remember that having lived through WWII shortages, my own grandparents hoarded cans and preserves in their basement like freaking squirrels. I teased them about it once, and the looks they gave me shut me up on that topic forever. We are spoiled to have the food options we do at our fingertips, and it’s not a bad thing to be reminded of it from time to time (even when grocery shopping has to be planned like a military operation in these strange times).
I found this book both very informative and deeply moving. If you like food memoirs, this is truly a gem – with a few recipes thrown at the end that I just might have to try. For David’s benefit, here is my sort-of-borscht recipe: my Russian ex enjoyed it, but he said it was way too fancy to be authentic (and judging by the borscht recipe in this book, he was right). I think it’s too delicious to worry about authenticity, but that’s just me. Enjoy!
1 1/2 pound beets
6 slices of bacon
1 red onion, finely sliced
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1 tablespoon fresh dill, chopped
2 russet potatoes, diced
4 carrots, chopped
4 cups beef broth
2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 lemon, juiced
1 tablespoon brown sugar
1/4 cup apple cider vinegar
Freshly ground black pepper
Sour cream, for garnish
Pine nuts, for garnish
Extra fresh dill, for garnish
Preheat the oven to 400. Wrap the beets in tin foil, put on a cookie sheet and roast in the oven for 50 to 60 minutes. Remove from the oven and when they are cool enough to handle, rub the peel off with a paper towel and chop. Preheat a 4-quart pot over medium heat. Cook the bacon in the pot until crispy. Reserve the bacon. Cook the onion in the bacon fat until the onion is translucent. Add the garlic and fresh dill, and cook for a minute, stirring constantly. Add the beets, potatoes and carrots; cook for about 5 minutes, then add the broth, salt, lemon juice, sugar and vinegar. Stir and bring to a boil. Lower the heat and simmer for 30 to 45 minutes until all the vegetables are tender. In the meantime, finely chop the reserved bacon. Remove the soup from the heat, and puree with an immersion blender until smooth (or leave as is, if you like it chunky!). Add freshly cracked black pepper, to taste. Serve, garnished with the crispy bacon crumbs, a dollop of sour cream, a small handful of pine nuts and some extra fresh dill. -
I read this back in 2013, and
my review at the time still holds true. I reread it for a book club and I'm looking forward to our discussion, and might add more afterwards.
What I found really striking this time through is the concept of nostalgia and how we can long for and idealize things or people or times that weren't necessarily good but they were known or our experience. In Soviet Russia, maybe this is the only thing to cling to. ;) -
Food memoirs are usually among my favorite books. Not this one. I toiled and pushed, really pushed to get to 35%, trying to give it a chance. Anya failed miserably in her attempt to articulate her genuine experiences and feelings. Her writing was all over the place. I’d pick up a tidbit of where she was going with her story and did everything in my power as a reader to stay engaged with where she was going, but then she’d veer off in another direction and would fall away from the through-line. It never felt like she was speaking to me. When she’s writing about food, history or family, she lacks real emotion. She seemed more conscious about sounding literary rather than actually sharing her true feelings with her reader. This book, for me, was hugely disappointing.
-
4.5*
"Arta bucatariei sovietice" e cea mai reusita carte de memorii culinare pe care am citit-o vreodata, imbinand istoria unui imperiu cu istoria unei familii, cu referinte literare si cu retete mai mult sau mai putin usor de reprodus in bucatarie, totul narat cu savoare de Anya von Bremzen.
Ma cam plictisisem de genul acesta de carti sau cel putin de americanii stramutati la Paris si extaziati de moelleux au chocolat si ratatouille, dar ma bucur ca i-am dat Anyei o sansa si datorita ei cred ca ii dau in curand si lui Stanley Tucci ocazia sa imi povesteasca despre familia si retetele lui italienesti. -
This book should be taught in school history courses. It is an exceptional resource for Soviet history, it's well-written and well-researched. But most of all, it's accessible, nostalgic without being cloying or overly-sentimental, and it's touching. It happens to cover some of the subjects that interest me most: food, Russian/Soviet history, mother-daughter relationships. This book could've been written for me. I first took it out from the library, but I saw immediately I wanted to own it.
Each chapter takes on a decade in the Soviet Union. Von Bremzen (where does the "von" come from?) chooses a dish that sort of symbolizes the events of that decade. Actually, there is less food-talk than I expected. I guess I thought it would be sprinkled with more recipes like Like Water for Chocolate or something. The recipes are instead collected at the end of the book before the (very valuable) bibliography. I learned so much. I've already checked out from my library one of the first books Von Bremzen mentions:
Classic Russian Cooking: Elena Molokhovets' a Gift to Young Housewives and there are many more I'd like to read.
Some things that stuck out:
the Immortalization Commission--the group concerned with embalming Lenin's corpse or Object No. 1, as it became known
"toska"--a word for which there is no English equivalent. "At its deepest and most painful," explains Vladimir Nabokov, "toska is a sensation of great spiritual anguish ... At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul."
This reminds me of a conversation I once had with the beautiful Lana W. when we were novices on a Soviet/American film production and she was trying to explain her childhood.
"mass song"--a vital tool in molding the new Soviet consciousness 1930s
more 1930s--Karl Schlögel sums up the atmosphere of the times in his description of Red Square. "Everything converges: a ticker-tape parade and a plebiscite on killing, the atmosphere of a folk festival and the thirst for revenge, a rollicking carnival and orgies of hate. Red Square ... at once fairground and gallows."
"non-sober"
"co-bottling"
1960s--Anna, Annushka, Anya, Anechka, the irreverent An'ka. The peasant-vernacular Anyuta and Anyutochka. Nyura and Nyurochka. Or Anetta, in a self-consciously ironic Russified French. Or the lovely and formal Anna Sergeevna (my name and patronymic)--straight out of Chekhov's "The Lady with the Dog." The inexhaustible stream of diminutive permutations of Anna, each with its own subtle semiotics, rolled sweetly off my mother's lips during pregnancy.
Larisa hoped for one thing now: a half-basement room of her own where she and I would have tea from folkloric cups she'd once seen at a farm market. Happiness to her was those cups, those artisanal cups of her own.
Humpty Dumpty translates as "Shaltai Baltai." In case you're curious.
Anna Akmatova's years at the Fountain House living in the same rooms as her lover's ex-wife and the new lovers he continued to bring through...
On Sundays Mom invariably ran out of money, which is when she cracked eggs into the skillet over cubes of fried black sourdough bread. It was, I think, the most delicious and eloquent expression of pauperism.
I would like to know, if I can find Provansal Mayonnaise here, if it tastes the same as she remembers it tasting. -
Ever since I read the starred review of Mastering the Art of Soviet Cooking in the 24 June issue of
Publishers Weekly, I knew I had to get my hands on this book! I was lucky to come across it in
NetGalley, which gave me a copy for review.
"Inevitably, a story about Soviet food is a chronicle of longing, of unrequited desire."
Anya Von Bremzen was born in the USSR and later emigrated to the United States with her mother. Her James Beard award winning cookbook,
Please To The Table: The Russian Cookbook, was published in 1990, so her knowledge of the food of Russia is not to be disputed. Instead of the regional focus that her cookbook had, this memoir is divided into decades of Soviet Russia. Each chapter takes a decade and discusses the historical events, the food, and how each impacted her personal story - her family, her ancestors, her memories - from 1910s into the twenty-first century.
When I got to the end of the chapter on the Czars and there were no recipes, I panicked. Surely I couldn't move on from this book without a chance to make Kulebiaka! She quotes Chekhov's description of the dish from "The Siren" and then goes on to talk about the significance of the dish in her own family. I wanted to try it immediately! Thankfully, Part V of the book features recipes from each chapter, removed to the end for the sake of a continual narrative.
Even the decades of Communism-driven scarcity create a sort of nostalgia for Soviet sausages and dense bread that I was surprised to be feeling along with her. The comparison she makes between those foods and the only food they could afford right after entering the country - hot dogs and Wonderbread - I had to wonder if they really are so different?
From reading how Lenin had a fondness for apple cake to the puzzling "luxury" of Salat Olivier, I enjoyed reading about the very Russian foods and stories. Highly recommended!
Here is a bit that made me giggle - a poster from the 1920s when housewives were being encouraged to stop cooking for their families, and families were being forced to live communally. The translation is "Down with Kitchen Slavery!"
-
So much more than the memoir of its title; this is part family history, part socio-political history, part cookbook. The author traces the rise and fall of the USSR by decade, from the 1910s to the 2010s, using food as the milestone markers of the journey. Von Bremzen's writing has an engaging, fairly irreverent style, allowing her to deliver both the tragedy and the comedy of the era in such a way that the reader can choose whether to laugh or cry. I am in awe of how much I learned from reading this book.
A few things I will take away from it:
* a desire to try kulebiaka (it seems almost sacrilegious to categorise this as a 'fish pie' dish)
* Russian salad is actually called salat Olivier
* recognition that we (the universal we) have a long way to go in terms of sustainable repurposing of consumer packaging materials
* a thirst to understand what happened during those early Putin years, to turn Russia's fortunes around so dramatically (research required).
However, while I admire the author, her family and the book itself, I wouldn't say any of it has ignited any grand passion in me for Russian cuisine! -
This book combines the diverse cuisines of the USSR, and the story of Soviet communism, through the lens of the author's family experience. I can't recommend this book highly enough: you want to learn about totalitarianism, Russia's relationship with other soviet countries and food, then you need this book in your life.
The writing is superb so just dive in! -
Rare is the book that hits so many different intellectual and emotional notes.... Rare is the book that can discuss the ideologies of food at all, never mind its semiotics and psychoemotional registers, too, all while critiquing not one but two economic-political systems. This book is masterful. My only reservation with it is that its attention to emotional detail makes it at times a heavy read. I find this point quite interesting because I own one of her cookbooks, and part of what I appreciate about That book is how little emotional detail is given in the recipe preambles---it's all about the food. This time, it's all about what the food Means. I have never learned so much from a food memoir-- in part because I have been largely ignorant of the details --the real gritty details-- of daily life in Russia in the Soviet period--and the thing is, you don't realize how little you know and how much there was to know about surviving those years.
The contradictions stay with me--Anya selling Western treasures such as Juicy Fruit gum to other children (gum she receives from the children of diplomats) and uses the cash to skip ballet lessons and order luxurious small meals for herself, oblivious to her mother's struggles and humiliations in order to feed her. (I'll never forget the scene with the bloody stumps of meat in the purse.) Her mother's efforts to feed her, to try to raise her amidst the surreal madness are the stuff of daily heroism. The bananas. The new years' trees. And of course the kulebiake-- kasha stuffed fish plus dried sturgeon spine encased in pastry dough, a dish that has received inordinate attention this year thanks to the New Yorker piece on Buford's food sleuthing with Daniel Boulud. (That was a terrific article, but it's seems they need not have worked so hard--they could have called Von Bremzen!)
All smart people must read this book if only to remind themselves of the limits of that descriptor, but I also recommend it on audio, where Von Bremzen's voicing conveys buckets of disdain for "American peanut butter" and the other mass produced grotesqueries that the very poor wind up designating as "food." I'm not sure when I'll stop hearing her say in my head "American peanut butter." Which is fine. This is a book that will stay with me for a long while. -
I really felt this was three different books, one about her family, one about her and her food, and one about Russia's history. I really don't like how they ran together. I found some sections confusing. The history was dry and the food secondary to the story. I wish she had written one great book about her trip back to Moscow to do the TV show and incorporated stories from the past that related to the food. I felt that the chronological order really hampered the showcasing of the food. In the least she should have put the recipes for each chapter in the chapter. That might have helped to make the whole thing come together a little better.
-
Mastering the Art of Soviet Cooking is a memoir and a family’s reflection on the 80 years of Soviet Union history. Anya von Bremzen was born in Moscow, USSR in 1963. She emigrated to the United States with her Jewish dissident mother in 1974. In Mastering the Art of Soviet Cooking, she tells stories of her childhood, her mother Larisa, maternal grandparents Naum and Liza and her father Sergei.
The writing is humorous, even though the stories are dark at times. She writes about scarcity and hunger, the WWII soldiers’ amputated arms and legs frozen in snow, as hard as tree trunks, the siege of Leningrad, Ukraine famine in the 1930s, and Stalin’s cleanse and Gulag. A lot of Soviet jokes. "A Soviet begins her life at the long line of birth registry and ends at the equally long burial line." The ridiculous anti-parasite law. What it really means by socialist equality, and the 27 shades of "comrade".
Quotes:
“Six paradoxes of Mature Socialism: 1) There’s no unemployment, but no one works; 2) no one works, but productivity goes up; 3) productivity goes up, but stores are empty; 4) stores are empty, but fridges are full; 5) fridges are full, but no one is satisfied; 6) no one is satisfied, but everyone votes yes.”
History in this book is intimate, filled with details of food, scarcity of food, and longing for food.
Quotes:
“On Sundays Mom invariably ran out of money, which is when she cracked eggs into the skillet over cubes of fried black sourdough bread. It was, I think, the most delicious and eloquent expression of pauperism.”
"Dreaming of food, I already knew, is just as rewarding as eating it."
In a land of false abundance and real scarcity, small pleasures like little pieces of jam-filled candy leave permanent imprints on one’s memory. At the age of 10, Anya became a self-claimed “black-marketer”--she made friends with kids from foreign embassies, got invited to their fancy homes, secretly saved up the candies, cut each into small pieces and sold them to her classmates in the school bathroom.
Patriotism is fiction. What "motherland" means to the three generations of Soviets is presented well in the book. Her grandparents were the idealists, her mother the dissident, and herself who knew everything was farce. Yet, years later she can still recall her childhood fantasies induced by propaganda, because the “raw emotional grip of a totalitarian personality cult” is hard to escape.
Personal identity is another theme in the book. As a daughter of a Jewish mother and a Russian father, by moving to the US, she escaped the choice of which “ethnic”--Jewish or Russian--to “officially'' identify herself, the former would cast her as a lesser member of the society and restrict her social standing. The unmade choice haunted her. After having arrived in the United States, she soon discovered Jewish was not only an “ethnic”, but also a religion she knew nothing about. Back in the USSR, her rebellious mother secretly celebrated Christmas because Christmas was banned. Ironically, putting up a Christmas tree in their Philadelphia apartment offended their zealous Jewish American sponsors, because it was un-Jewish. At a banquet hosted by a Russian Royal from the Romanov era whose name “too grand to pronounce”, she discovered their Russia and her USSR had nothing in common.
The last chapter is the author's visit to Moscow in the early 2010s. In the Putin Land, the official history of Russia, as the author puts it, is a "tightly scripted remembering". In Moscow, the author attended a reading of Anna Akhmatova by one of the great poet's "ancient" friends. Anna Akhmatova's Requiem, a poem lamenting those brutally purged, was read right under the picture of Stalin. The author burst out, "Ladies, have you lost your mind?!" To her, the scene was an “insane asylum where history has been dismantled and photoshopped into a pastiche of victims, murderers, dictators and dissidents, all rubbing sentimental shoulders together.” But she soon realized she had no rights howling at these frail survivors of a terrible era. Yet, the frail woman did not blame her, instead, she only gave her a mischievous half-smile. Perhaps it is true that "the bystanders see most of the game, while the players get limited vision", or perhaps the players simply just play along.
"All happy food memories are alike; all unhappy food memories are unhappy in its own fashion." Deep down, Anya von Bremzen will always feel the pull from the fantasy land of her childhood, a world existed in propaganda, and yes, in the Kremlin's banquets. -
This one is a stunner. Bremzen and her mother, who emigrated from Moscow in 1974, recreate a dinner for each decade from 1910 to 2000, weaving in the story of her family--Jewish-categorized Naval Intelligence officers on one side, Baltic aristocrats on the other, as they move in and out of privileged positions and survive Soviet history with vivid food experiences. From the frequently reprinted and edited Book of Healthy and Tasty Food (which disappeared discredited capitalist kepchup as well as politicians from subsequent Stalinist editions), WWII ration books, 1970s Globus peas from Hungary, 80s vodka restrictions and creative moonshine, the Uzbek stew recipe from great grandma who helped pioneer the unveiling of Central Asian women and disappeared into a gulag in the 1950s, 1930s hamburgers championed by food expert Mikoyan, the Putin excesses of the new consumer world and the lost czarist cooking of pre-Revolutionary (with lots of servant labor) kitchens. I genuinely couldn't put this down.
-
This book is about cooking in the way that Moby Dick is about a sailing trip. The search for the whale gives structure to the story, providing a narrative hook for Melville to tell his stories of history, biology, culture, and madness. In a similar manner this book uses cooking to describe life in the Soviet Union, from its earliest days of hope and deprivation, to the anxieties of the Great Terror, the Second World War, the end of Stalin and the Khruschev era, and the slow decay under Brezhnev followed by collapse under Gobachev.
In Sheila Fitzpatrick’s book Everyday Stalinism she writes that one of the first things people notice about communism wherever it is implemented is that there are shortages of everything, not just the essentials like food, clothing, and housing, but paper, shoelaces, soap, thread, everything; it was either rationed or simply unavailable. In Anya Von Bremzen’s words, “Your average Homo sovieticus spent a third to half of his nonworking time queuing for something. The ochered’ (line) served as an existential footbridge across an abyss – the one between private desire and a collective availability dictated by the whims of centralized distribution.” (p. 139)
The book starts with the decadent pre-Revolutionary cuisine under the Czars. The elite lived in comfort and luxury while everyone else was either barely holding on or living in poverty and despair, and if that sounds uncomfortably like modern society, well then think about that, tovarishch. It is worth remembering the words of John F. Kennedy, that “those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable."
Moving beyond the revolution, the 1920s were a decade of hard times, with chaos, insecurity, and radical restructuring of the economy, but it was also a time when people still believed in the promise of communism, that soon there would be peace, plenty, and a world ordered around “from each according to his abilities to each according to his needs.” By the 30s the great socialist dream was receding farther and farther into the future, and people began to wonder if Stalin was the right leader to take them to the glorious new age. Stalin had no intention of allowing himself to be replaced, and unleashed the Great Terror, telling the people that it was traitors and saboteurs who were delaying the golden dawn, that it had nothing to do with his own vacillating and failed policies. Everyone was at risk of arbitrary arrest, torture, and execution or long sentences of slave labor in the gulags, but the Old Bolsheviks were special targets, because they remembered what communism was supposed to represent, how it was supposed to act. They had to be swept away, and this book shows a few examples from the millions of lost souls, of lives committed to the communist ideal who were nevertheless destroyed by false accusations of traitorous conduct.
Eventually, Stalin would die in 1953, and no doubt all of hell turned out for his arrival. By that time the structural weaknesses which would eventually overwhelm the Soviet Union were evident. As David Christian writes in Maps of Time,
For a while...it seemed as if these new, state-managed structures might generate a dynamism to match that of capitalism. What they lacked in entrepreneurial flair they made up for in systematic commitment to high levels of education, in the introduction of modern technologies, and in the massive organizational capacity of powerful and ruthless states using modern technologies of communication. But in time their innovatory sluggishness...ensured that they would fall behind their capitalist rivals in productivity levels, in innovation, and eventually in military capability.
Khrushchev attempted to address these issues with the traditional Soviet mindset that anything can be made to work if it was pushed hard enough, with the right rewards for success, the right punishments for failure. After seeing the vast cornfields of the American Midwest he decided that corn was the solution to the Soviet Union’s already struggling agriculture, but not enough research was put into growing conditions and crop management, and the project turned out to be yet another debacle.
Brezhnev overthrew Khrushchev, and addressed the country’s systemic problems by not addressing them at all, either through an unwillingness to take on difficult issues, or an understanding that the situation was already beyond fixing. He settled for a policy of increasing consumer goods while cracking down on dissent, and tried to distract the people with parades and propaganda.
It was during these years that Anya Von Bremzen was born, in 1963, and this book comes into sharper focus as she relates her own story of growing up in the last decades of Soviet rule. She herself navigated the society easily, learning every trick of how to take advantage of loopholes, like turning herself into an elementary school profiteer selling candies to her schoolmates. Her mother, however, never grew into the idea of Homo sovieticus, and was always searching for a way out. Eventually, during one of the periodic thaws with the West in the 1970s, when the Soviets were selling Jewish exit visas for hard cash, she and her mother were able to emigrate, and moved to Philadelphia.
It was not a happy time for Anya. They were given a small apartment in a rundown neighborhood, and were expected by their sponsors to embrace Jewishness, even though they knew nothing about it as religion or culture. And for someone raised on thick, chewy Russian black bread, Wonderbread was barely bread at all.
Eventually she adapted. She had trained for years to be a pianist, but gave it up and found that cooking was her true love, which she has made her career and her passion. The final chapter of this book is a return to Moscow in the early aughts, when everything is once again available, as it was under the Czars, but prices are so high that for many people life is still a matter of scarcity and deprivation.
For me, one of the more interesting vignettes in this book was a brief discussion on privacy, when she writes, “Please note that there is no word for ‘privacy’ in Russian.” (p. 182) This sounded to me like a tall tale, so I looked for more information, and indeed, she is correct. Not only is there no word for privacy, but none of the workarounds that are used for things like ‘privacy policy’ come close to what English speakers mean when they say it. I found a website with a good discussion of the term at sashamapsDOTnet/docs/writings/russian-privacy/
If you grew up in the West, and always had enough to wear and eat, with a roof over your head that you did not have to share with strangers, and could say what you felt, think what you wished, and pursue your ambitions, consider yourself lucky. Anya Von Bemzen’s book shows what it was like on the other side of the Iron Curtain, of circumscribed lives, carefully monitored thoughts, and constant shortages of the necessities of life. Her story left me deeply impressed with the toughness and resilience of the Russian people. -
"כל הזיכרונות המאושרים הקשורים לאוכל דומים זה לזה; כל הזיכרונות האומללים הקשורים לאוכל אומללים בדרכם שלהם."
אניה פון ברמזן נולדה בברית המועצות ב- 1963. היא היגרה עם אימא שלה לארה"ב בשנת 1974 כשהיתה בת 10. לאחר שנים בהם היתה פסנתרנית, עקב גידול ביד נאלצה לחפש מחדש את יעודה. כשמצאה את יעודה באמצע שנות ה - 20, כתבה ספר מתכונים עב כרס שהפך לרב מכר היסטרי ומאז היא עוסקת בעיקר בקולינריה ברחבי העולם.
"סיפור על אוכל סובייטי הוא בהכרח כרוניקה של כמיהה, של תשוקה שלא באה על סיפוקה."
בממואר מרהיב, משעשע ורווי אנקדוטות היסטוריות, מתארת אניה פון ברמזן את ההיסטוריה הרוסית והפרטית שלה דרך געגועיה לאוכל אותו היא זוכרת מימי ילדותה. מסעה הקולינרי עובר בצמתים מרכזיים ומתחיל בסוף עידן הצארים בערך בשנות ה- 20 של המאה ה- 20. עשור - עשור מתארת פון ברמזן את מצבו החברתי והכלכלי של ההומו סובייטיקוס (כפי שהיא מכנה אותו) שעל פניו נראה שתמיד היה רעב לאוכל ושיכור כלוט. אירועים היסטוריים כבדי משקל נבחנים תחת זכוכית המגדלת הקולינרית כשהמזון הוא סמן ימיני למצב האומה הרוסית. היא פותחת בפני הקורא המערבי צוהר לחיו של האזרח הסובייטי מאחורי דלתות הברזל הקומוניסטיות .
"כל אזרח לשעבר של מעצמת־העל הסובייטית שכללה שלוש־מאות מיליון איש לעולם לא יראה באוכל עניין אישי בלבד. המהומות ב־1917 עקב המחסור בלחם הביאו להפלת הצאר. מחסור חמור במזון זירז כעבור שבעים וארבע שנים את קריסת האימפריה המתפוררת של גורבצ'וב. בין שתי נקודות ציון הללו גוועו שבעה מליוני איש ברעב במהלך הקולקטיביזציה של החקלאות שסטלין כפה. ארבעה מיליונים נוספים מתו מרעב בשנות המלחמה בהיטלר. אפילו בתקופות שלוות יותר, בימי שלטונם של חרושצ'וב וברז'נייב, המשימה היומית המטרידה ביותר הייתה להניח ארוחה על השולחן. באחד־עשר אזורי זמן חלקו אזרחים מחמש־עשרה הרפובליקות האתניות של ברית המועצות את הגורל הסוציאליסטי המשותף של עמידה בתורים לחלוקת מזון. האוכל היה נושא קבוע בהיסטוריה הפוליטית הסובייטית"
בהומור שחור פרוע ומודע לעצמו, שוברת פון ברמזן מיתוס אחר מיתוס ומתארת את הסבל והרעב האינסופיים מהם סבל העם הרוסי. היא חולפת על פני תקופות אפלות בהיסטוריה הרוסית ובכתיבה חיננית לא חוסכת שיבטה וביקורתה מבכירי הממשל והמפלגה. למרות שהיא מודעת לנוסטלגיה המתעתעת שאופפת את זיכרונה, היא לא נכנעת לכמיהה שלה אל העבר. הדיסוננס הזה בין המצב הקיומי האמיתי של האזרחים בברית המועצות הקומוניסטית, בה לא היה דבר לאכול (אלא אם השתייכת לנומנקולטורה) ובין התיאורים הקולינריים מזילי הריר מאפשר חוויה חד פעמית לקורא בספר: מצד אחד תיאורי זוועה על הרעב הגדול במצור על לנינגרד ומסעות רצח וטיהורים של סטאלין ומצד שני הקניגה, ספר בישול מפואר שהיה חובה בכל בית סובייטי מן השורה.
"הצרות באימפריה האלכוהוליסטית התחילו במאי 1985. אחרי חודשיים בלבד בתפקיד פרסם גורבץ (ה״גיבן״) צו שכותרתו ״צעדים לפתרון בעיית השכרות והאלכוהוליזם״. זו הייתה היוזמה הפוליטית המשמעותית הראשונה שלו, והיא הייתה הרת אסון עד כדי כך שהמוניטין שלו בקרב אזרחי ברית המועצות ניזוק ללא תקנה."
הפרק האלמותי על מגפת האלכוהוליזם בברית המועצות הוציא ממני פרצי גיחוך רמים. הסרקזם שבו פון ברמזן מתקיפה את בעיית המים הקטנים (וודקה=מים קטנים) פשוט הורס.
אהבתי את הספר. אומנם הכתיבה עמוסה ולמי שאינו מתעניין בהיסטוריה אני לא בטוחה שהספר יהיה מעניין, אבל השילוב בין הסיפורים המשפחתיים הכוללים סבא שהועסק בביון הקומוניסטי, סבתא אמיצה שחצתה את הכפור והמצור בלנינגרד רק משום ששמעה כי בעלה עומד בפני פיתויים נשיים מסוכנים, אב אלכוהליסט בוגדן ונעדר, אם דיסידנטית שהתנגדה לאידיאולוגיה הקומוניסטית וניסתה לשמור את הבת משטיפת המח המתמדת ובין ההיסטוריה הקולקטיבית והקולינרית הוא שילוב מנצח בעיניי. -
Jolka palki! Jag har ÄNTLIGEN fått uppleva Ryssland, och Sovjetunionen till och med. En sån här lyckad tripp har jag inte varit iväg på sedan Kankimäki tog med mig till Tanzania. Jag har erfarit den ryska kylan, mörkret, kösystemen och klaustrofobin. Jag har smakat den feta kaviaren, andats in doften av lamm, prövat vodkaruset, deltagit i skålandet och hört det ryska skrålandet. Vilken fantastisk resa, läsupplevelse och historielektion Anya von Bremzen bjuder på. Jag visste inte att jag älskar att läsa om mat.
1974, som elvaåring migrerade hon tillsammans med sin mamma, till USA från Sovjetunionen. Det forna imperiet täckte som mest en sjättedel av jordens yta, elva tidszoner, innefattade femton etniska republiker och en folkmängd på trehundra miljoner. Boken behandlar von Bremzens judiska släktingar i tre generationer och hela rysk/sovjetiska 1900-talet med ett kapitel för varje decennium.
Det handlar om maten (inklusive recept), drycken (den ryska champagnen Sovetskoje šampanskoje som fanns på tappkran i vissa mataffärer), svälten (bröd med sågspån), ledarna (bla Lenin, Stalin, Brezjnev, Gorbatjov, Jeltsin, Putin), språket (vodka är en diminutivform av voda som betyder vatten, det finns inget ord för privatliv på ryska), författarna (själens ingenjörer), musiken (propagandasånger), krigen (inbördeskriget där bolsjevikerna i Röda armén segrade och Ryssland blev Sovjet). Äsch jag kan ju inte rada upp allt även om jag skulle vilja. Allt som står i den här är intressant.
Det handlar också om realistiskt idylliskt (obs ej paradox) moderskap. Författarens fantastiska mamma blev en homo sovjeticus med det egendomligt dubbla stalinistiska medvetandet:
”’Du förstår’, förklarade mamma, ’jag var antisovjetisk från det ögonblick jag föddes – i maggropen, i hjärtat. Men i huvudet var jag på något psykologiskt sätt… en ung stalinist. Men efter hans [Stalins] död’, fortsatte hon, ’kunde jag tänka klart’.”
Anya von Bremzen är en enastående skribent som lyckas beröra, utbilda och underhålla med sin välkomponerade prosa. Jag har läst den här boken som i ett rus, fast att det handlar om hemska saker är det ändå för mig 420 sidor dröm och epifani. Beskrivningen av hur livet kunde te sig för medborgarna i Sovjetunionen är imponerande nyanserad. Hamnade man inte i lägren i Gulag var man troligen med i det kollektiva lyriska delirium som trettiotalets Sovjetunionen var för många av invånarna samtidigt som miljoner svalt ihjäl.
”Mamma uppför sig alltid oklanderligt, uppträder alltid som en dam av värld. Men än i denna dag äter hon som en utsvulten varg, som en överlevare från kriget som kastar i sig maten på tallriken innan de andra runt bordet ens har hunnit lyfta sina bestick. Ibland när vi går på flotta restauranger skäms jag över hennes sätt att äta – sedan skäms jag över mig själv för att jag skäms. ’Mamma, det sägs att det är bra att tugga maten ordentligt’, försöker jag försiktigt tillrättavisa henne. Då stirrar hon för det mesta bara på mig. ’Vad vet du om det?’” -
never in my life have did I thought that I will enjoy a non fiction this much. you see nf is not my cup of tea, but this book- is SPECTACULAR.
it is everything- gentle, sad, beautiful, informative, strong. I was gripped by the narrative voice of the author, she writes with so much ease which made this book more engaging for such an otherwise dry topic.
hands down my favorite non fiction book EVER. -
I'm so happy that I had the opportunity to read an early copy of this book. The title might mislead those unwilling to give it more than a shallow glance, as they'll assume it's a cookbook. It's actually the best kind of history book - a wonderfully written, rich cultural history told through the prism of personal experiences of the author and her family. The fact that most of those experiences use food as an anchoring point is splendid, I think, simply because food is so universal. Food is a topic to which everyone can relate in one way or another. Rarely have I felt a sense of "lived history" more palpably than in this book.
There is heartbreak, tragedy, and dark humor here. A particular mix -- a recipe, if you will -- that seems common among post-Soviets, and which is itself touched upon throughout the book.
The only places that miss a beat, perhaps, are the final chapters on the 1980s, 1990s and now. I think this is largely because the author left the USSR for the USA as a child in the 1970s, so her own personal experiences of life on the other side of the Iron Curtain during those times become more limited and abstract, and because many of the older family members whose lives took up so much of the earlier chapters begin to pass on at that point. Also, the early-1990s "tour of the crumbling empire" section feels a little show-offy and is not very well fleshed out.
But on the whole, this is a real tour-de-force that could be recommended reading for pretty much anyone, but especially those interested in cultural history, personal narrative, or food studies. -
Weeeeellll, it made for a good book club because the host presented lots of examples of the food and there was vodka, of course! However, the writing was absolutely tedious! Beyond. Painfully. I actually found myself counting how many times she used the word bourgeois (it was way too many, by the way)! I kept asking myself what point was the author trying to present? Get to the point...get to the point. I chanted that in my head sometimes. The point was muddled. I still don't know what the author's primary focus was in writing the book. Was a political commentary? Was it about her family life? Was it about what led up to her life now? It got more readable towards the end. Seems like she gave up trying to be a descriptive ninja. She was like a pathetic show off in the beginning. So many unnecessary adjectives! It made me laugh out loud. I'm sorry if I'm being mean here...she seems like a funny, smart, very successful woman, for sure. I'm sure she's swell! The book got rave reviews all over the place. I just didn't personally like her book! If I didn't love my book club babe who chose the book, I wouldn't have forced myself through it. The reason for two stars is because of the way that babe presented the food at book club. That was really fun and yummy!
-
Nel mio passato di carnivora, durante un viaggio in Armenia mi capitò di mangiare uno stufato di agnello alla georgiana. Lo trovai buonissimo.
Scopro ora che si chiama canachi e che era il piatto preferito di Stalin.
Gulp
A parte i miei trascorsi carnivori-stalinisti, il libro è interessante e divertente al tempo stesso, e consiglio di leggerlo. -
Very, very good. The author emigrated from the Soviet Union to the US as a child with her mother and later became a food writer, with her first book focusing on food from the various cultures of the USSR. Each chapter of her memoir focuses on a different decade, from the 1910s through to Putin’s Russia, discussing both food and her family’s history. Beautifully written and so interesting.
-
Priznám hneď na začiatku, že obálka tejto knihy sa k nej vôbec nehodí. Ale to je asi jediná výčitka, ktorú k nej mám, lebo inak je úžasná. Už dávno som mala vo wishliste jej český preklad, ktorý vyšiel pod názvom Kukuřice, komunismus a kaviár, a vôbec som netušila, že ide o tú istú knihu. (A teda, český názov ju vystihuje oveľa lepšie, a mimochodom je to aj názov šiestej kapitoly). V slovenskom preklade nesklamala, čítala som druhé vydanie s dopracovanou redakciou, a hoci som mala v minulosti zopár výčitiek k prekladom Igora Otčenáša, teraz nemám absolútne žiadne, perfektne to preložil, perfektne vystihol ducha knihy, odporúčam čítať všetkými desiatimi.
Ak teda neviete, o čom to presne je: matka a dcéra, emigrantky zo Sovietskeho zväzu žijúce v Amerike, sa rozhodnú pripraviť zásadné jedlo každej dekády ZSSR od začiatku 20. storočia, a popri tom dcéra (Anya, autorka) spomína na detstvo, vyrastanie a dospievanie v prostredí homo sovieticus. Poznámkami z knihy mám zapísaných niekoľko strán, ale v skratke: kulebiaka, extravagantný ruský závin, ktorý kraľuje moskovskému striebornému veku; čierny trh a úplatky počas veselej beztriednej spoločnosti, boľševický prístup propagujúci asketické stravovanie, ideologicky reakčná súkromná kuchyňa, Stalin priateľ všetkých detí a budovateľské piesne; kolektívna schizofrénia 30. rokov; vojna, trh, prídely, kartočky; chutne a zdravo po Stalinovej smrti a stalinistické rozdvojenie vedomia; kultúra státia v radoch a americká výstava, Mikojan a chruščobovky, šalát Olivier ako výnimočné socialistické jedlo, aké dôležité boli poháre od majonézy pre sovietske zdravotníctvo, glasnosť a perestrojka, „radšej zomrieť od vodky ako od nudy“, nekonečné vtipy na všetko (MIG25, lietajúca reštaurácia)... a to všetko korunované momentkami z rúcajúceho sa impéria – zo Samarkandu, Taškentu, a nakoniec: vitajte v Putinlande.
A už som spomenula, že je to napísané veľmi, VEĽMI sugestívne? Naozaj precítite ponurosť sídlisk a stretnutia, kde to razí 80% autenticitou.
Krásny text, popretkávaný nostalgiou po svete detstva, ale nie slepou voči miliónom stratených životov, čistkám, hladomoru, deportáciám etnických menším. Ku každej dekáde dostanete aj recept, ktorý ju najviac vystihoval (až na roky 40-te, ktoré si vystačia s prídelovým lístkom). Aj keď to tak možno na prvý pohľad nevyzerá, toto nie je kniha o jedle, teda je, ale nie len. Je to kniha o socialistickej nostalgii, ktorú veľmi dobre chápeme aj my, ale nezaslepená. Človek si nevyberie, kde vyrastie, ale keď už vyrastie, vie si vybrať, ako sa k svetu postaví. Veľmi odporúčam, má to čo povedať aj nám s našou nevyliečiteľnou socialistickou nostalgiou.
„Ak by ste v Nemecku vyvesili niekde Hitlerov portrét, šli by ste do väzenia. Tu? Tu žena recituje spaľujúci žalospev nad obeťami čistiek – a priamo pod portrétom ich kata! Niečo sa vo mne zlomilo. Chcelo sa mi zavýjať, búchať si hlavu o vyleštený stôl sovietskeho štýlu, utiecť z tohto šialeného priestoru, kde sa kriví história a fotošopuje zátišie z obetí a vrahov, diktátorov a disidentov, pričom sa všetci sentimentálne, v priateľskej atmosfére stretávajú na jednom mieste.“ -
It's hard to describe this mesmerizing book because it is so many different things. The overlying premise involves food writer and Soviet emigre Anya von Bremzen's idea to trace the history of the Soviet Union through the food (or lack thereof) that dominated each decade of its 70-plus year existence. But as she describes her and her mother's attempts to prepare her country's classic dishes, familial, social and cultural history flavor each and every page.
I found this incredibly intimate view inside the now defunct USSR uniquely fascinating. Part of the reason is that Von Bremzen has such a diverse family history, including a great, great grandmother who attempted to bring Soviet ideals of feminist equality to Muslim women just after the revolution, a Jewish grandfather who was a KGB spy during the war, and dissident mother appalled by the abuses of the central government whose longing for another world ultimately carried the 9 year-old von Bremzen away from her budding career as a black marketeer specializing in evil capitalist Juicy Fruit gum and into the US.
There are parts of this book that are not easy to read, as Von Bremzen details in unflinching prose what it's like to live in a world where people regularly disappeared into the gulags, and starvation was so widespread that men would steal bread from the hands of children.
But despite the multiple horrors of the Soviet state, von Bremzen's account is rich with nostalgia. Like people everywhere, her family found their own ways of salvaging hope from widespread despair. In reading her account of encountering an America rich in Pop Tarts and Velveeta cheese, I came to understand that a life lived standing in bread lines can have its own satisfactions.
Von Bremzen's writing is also flavored with a healthy dose of very dry Soviet humor. This, combined with her compelling storytelling and tantalizing food descriptions, made this book one that I regret having finished so soon. -
Il libro mi ha sorpreso: è bello, da qualsiasi parte lo si guardi.
Sì, è un romanzo storico: racconta la Russia, dalla caduta degli zar alla costituzione dell'URSS, da Stalin a El'cin fino all'onnipresente Putin, ma attraverso le tavole imbandite e i supermercati vuoti.
Sì, è un'autobiografia, un memoriale e una saga famigliare. I parenti dell'autrice hanno avuto carriere interessanti e lei stessa si è reinventata autrice di libri di cucina quando un'infortunio ha fermato la sua carriera di pianista (storia molto americana: la figlia dell'immigrata che si mantiene facendo le pulizie finisce a seguire i corsi della Juilliard).
Sì, è un basico libro di cucina: per ogni periodo storico analizzato abbiamo la ricetta per riprodurne il piatto tipico. Proverò, prima o poi, nell'angolo cottura del mio monolocale grande quanto una cucina sovietica (così avrò anche l'ebbrezza di immedesimarmi in una babushka russa).
L'autrice è riuscita a comunicarmi la sua nostalgia per sapori, tempi e luoghi che hanno fatto la storia.
---
La versione di Byron
Ma per me non è avanzato proprio niente da mangiare?
-
Not strictly a memoir, and certainly not a cookbook, Mastering the Art of Soviet Cooking is an original. Anya Von Bremzen has told the history of the Soviet Union through the story of her grandparents, her mother, and herself, with a special emphasis on food.
It may sound like a goulash with too many ingredients, but the result is wonderful. In addition to enjoying an entertaining memoir about a memorable bunch of people, I learned a lot about what it was like to live in the Soviet Union at different times. In any number of books I've read about various aspects of the Soviet Union, I'd never come across Salat Olivier, a sort of potato salad. According to Von Bremzen, it's the salad that appears at every holiday and special occasion. It's taken for granted and it isn't the sort of thing people mention in letters or diaries or histories. But you'll learn about it here.
Von Bremzen and her mother came to the United States in 1974 when Von Bremzen was eleven years old. She was old enough to have vivid memories of the Soviet Union and young enough to be able to completely adapt to life in the United States. Further travels in the Soviet Union and post-Soviet Union gave her even more points of view to round out the book.
In addition to knowing her onions about food, Von Bremzen has an unusual story to tell, and is a terrific writer. I even enjoyed the bibliography! -
Fascinujúce, smutné i veselé, šokojúce i objasňujúce.... Náhľad autorky na Ródinu, teda vlasť nielen cez vzťah k jedlu a históriu jednej rodiny i celého národa počas 20. storočia.
Táto kniha má proste moc chytiť presne na tom správnom mieste. Aj keď veľa z veci poznáme z histórie či hodín dejepisu, je prekvapením čítať ich z pohľadu niekoho kto bol priamo pri tom... tie vysvetlenia za tým, ten reálny pohľad do kuchýň i obchodov, do kastrólov i špajzí a v neposlednom rade i sŕdc Sovietov... Rusov? Nie, kniha je venovaná všetkým etnikám a národom, ktoré niekedy tvorili časť Sovietskeho zväzu a určite je prínosom pre každého kto by chcel vedieť viac o živote...
Nie je to totiž len obraz pádu cárskej veľkrajiny, nástup boľševikov, déduška Lenina, generalissima Stalina, hladomory medzi vojnami, KukuruzaChruščova, Brežneva, Gorbačova, Jelcina až po dnešnú Moskvu pod Putinom. Ó nie, toto nie je len o tom, je to o Kníge, Knihe chutnej a zdravej výživy Je to proste pohľad do kuchyne kde je pre niektorých dostatok a pre väčšinu menej ako nič.
Prvá veta:
Kedykoľvek s matkou varíme, rozpráva mi o svojich snoch.
Posledná veta:
"Iďiotka", zavrčala mama napokon, no potom urobila dvakrát cmuk-cmuk do telefónu a šla znovu do postele. -
Túto knihu odporúčam každému, kto by sa chcel nad absurditami nášho post-sovietsko-satelitného bloku radšej zasmiať, než nasrať. Lebo podobnými aj OVEĽA absurdnejšími bizarnosťami sa táto kniha priam hemží. Možno práve podobnosť a zároveň nepodobnosť s našou históriou je tým, čo z tejto knihy, okrem neskutočne šťavnatého, vtipného jazyka, robí klenot. Zemiakový majonézový šalát proste nie je jediné, čo máme s Rusmi spoločné. Akurát ten ich je omnoho pikantnejší.
-
La cucina russa e la cucina sovietica sono solo lontane parenti.
Mentre la prima è un tripudio di sapori e di sensualità ( secondo Čechov i bliny ben fatti devono essere " porosi e paffuti come la spalla della figlia di un mercante"), la cucina sovietica si nutre per lo più di ricordi e di pallide eco di quel che si mangiava ai tempi dello zar ( di quel che alcuni mangiavano ai tempi dello zar, ma si sa, la storia la fanno i vincitori).
In mezzo ci sono le terribili carestie belliche, la fame ai tempi di Stalin e poi la lenta risalita e l'instaurarsi della cucina di regime negli anni della stagnazione, una cucina scialba e spartana, lontanissima da quella che la propaganda istituzionale descrive e da quella che gli uomini di regime frequentano.
E infine si arriva alla cucina attuale, quella degli oligarchi che fanno arrivare giornalmente il sushi in volo da Tokyo.
Questo libro è allo stesso tempo un memoir familiare vivace e pieno di ironia, ed una analisi dei cambiamenti della società russa nell'ultimo secolo attraverso il suo rapporto col cibo ( e, com'è inestricabile per i russi, naturalmente anche con l'alcol ).
Ed è anche un tributo pieno di tenerezza alla madre dell'autrice, donna intelligente e volitiva che nella metà degli anni '70 lascia la Russia, sola con la figlia bambina, per crearsi una nuova vita negli Stati Uniti. La donna che fantasticava sul cibo per trasfigurare la realtà e così poterla sopportare, attribuendo nomi francesi agli umili piatti che può preparare nella Russia anni '70, affronta con sgomento gli interminabili scaffali dei supermercati di Philadelphia.
Ci vorranno anni perché Anya e sua madre imparino a vivere in una patria alimentare multietnica quale è quella americana, con occasionali rimpatriate sentimentali nella cucina russa.
Anya Vom Bremzen è diventata una giornalista esperta di cucina internazionale.
A causa/nonostante la sua infanzia sovietica, come lei stessa precisa.
