Wednesday, 25 May 2016

The food speaks

The modern Russian salad
My stepfather loves food. Although we were a humble family, food was always abundant even if that meant not paying the telephone bill our borrowing money from a friend. My mother was definitively the best cook at home, but I always thought my stepfather’s Russian salad was unmatched by any of my mom’s salads. It would only be prepared for especial occasions, proudly announced by stepfather “I will make a Russian salad for our nephew’s baptism”.



In Venezuela, things are often named after nationalities, but most likely that doesn’t mean that they are actually related to that place. For example “Russian hide and seek” involves kicking the first person to be found and “Chinese chop suei” is completely unknown to my Chinese friends in Australia.

Inside the Hermitage restaurant, 1864
I was surprised to find out that “Russian salad” is actually a Russian salad. Originally created by Lucien Olivier, the Salat Olivye was the signature dish of the Hermitage, a famous Moscow restaurant during the 1860s. However, in the post-revolutionary Russia and subsequent times, many of the original fancy ingredients were substituted by cheaper versions: grouse was replaced with chicken and crayfish by eggs, for example. The modern Olivier Salad only somewhat resembles the original recipe, but it is the version commonly known as Russian salad around the world.


Russian winter
For me, eating what people would normally eat is a crucial ritual to begin to understand a place one is visiting. I find it fascinating how the dishes whisper a story of my surroundings. They speak of geography, the potatoes and pickled vegetables in the Olivye tell a story about the harsh Russian winter. Their evolution in time, from fine ingredients to cheaper ones, telling the story of the fallen Russian empire. Sometimes they whisper their history far away and they end up on a table, thousands of kilometres away from its place of birth, served on a special occasion on a modest Venezuelan table.    

Wednesday, 18 May 2016

Russian charm

Russian charm

I met a Russian last month. She’s a brilliant Spanish student in one of my classes and from the first day she's struck me as a very friendly and outgoing person. In one of our conversations she said: "you see, I know we (Russians) have a reputation of being unfriendly, but you will find it is not so once you get to know us well."

At the time I had no idea  what she was talking about. Then I resorted to pop-culture references, one of the best sources of symbols at our disposition and there I found the stereotype of the Russian. Often portrayed as an extremely intelligent rocket scientist or chess player by the movies, the stereotypical Russian is also a blunt person who doesn’t smile much and loves vodka.

There’s probably some degree of truth in this stereotype, after all, all well-known stereotypes reflect some of the reality.  Based on what expatriates working in Russia have written on the internet, I can also see that this is a cultural shock catalyzer for many foreigners visiting Russia for the first time.


People are often shocked by the Russian’s lack of smiles towards the tourist. This is often mistaken as a rejection towards the tourist, but the truth is Russians don’t smile at people (including other Russians) for no reason. It is simply considered a sign of hypocrisy and those who smile for no reason are considered  untrustworthy and false. However, we are not Russians, some might say. Since we are visitors, shouldn’t we be treated nicely?


That is precisely the question, should we be treated differently by natives to avoid culturally shocking us? Or maybe should we try to understand the reasons for certain behaviors that we consider "shocking"?


I can only speak for myself in this regard but I expect, in fact thrive, for cultural differences in my travelling experiences. Treat me as you would normally treat another human, I want to have a glimpse of your world through your eyes. Then, instead of bringing back mementos that after all won’t look that great at my home, I might bring something unique and rather invaluable: a new, broadened view of the world.