Russian Lunch

When my mother invites friends over for lunch in a Russian household, the process is not simple. It doesn’t begin with food, nor does it end with food though you can argue it revolves around it. 

Even the invitation process isn’t particularly simple. First, my mother has to call Dina. Dina is the person you have to call first or else she will tell her husband Misha that they were slighted by being called last and must have been an afterthought.

With Dina, you have to talk about history in Moldova, and then in Moscow and then you have to talk about nicknames and call her Dinutsya or Koza (goat) and roast her but jokingly. It’s imperative to ask about her kids Sam (Samik or Samulya to us) and her beloved Rachel (Reya or Reyichka). Do they have preferences? Allergies? Phobias?

A 25-minute conversation later, your mom can call Marchela. This call will be different. Marchela will talk about all the gossip, from Alyona sipping on wine at 2 PM to the fact that Sarachka brought in her son to the synagogue and he lost weight!

Alright, Marchela is coming. She says 2 so she might be here by 8. Good.

Next, Marchela and Dina will invite everyone else, now my mom and I can cook.

We boil some potatoes for Olivye. My mom’s Olivye is to die for. Everyone says so.

She makes sure not to add peas because I hate peas, but really because Dina says peas stunt growth.

Some Jarkoya served in nifty pots is a must of course. 

Then, we have to boil some beets, because we have to make some Vinegret and the leftover beets are going to get shredded, mixed with some mayo and garlic and served as another side.

We also have to prepare a soup to start with. We decide to run with someKharcho. It’s spicy and my mom prefers the way I make it, so I take that over. While I am whizzing about making it in my corner, my mom somehow managed to prepare literally everything else, neatly wrap it up in Tupperware with some plastic wrap over it, and start chatting with my little brother Yasha about how he is to behave around Dina’s kids. They never ever curse and Yasha has a mouth on him. (A really really sharp mouth, the kid’s a demon)

Alright, the preparations are made. The next day we wake up bright and early, clean everything up, and make sure the walls are so shiny they start reflecting off of each other. Then, we sit down together, and, typically, I make everyone breakfast.

I have the art of the grilled cheese down to a perfectly golden science. I would probably make some cranberry tea too, or shipovnik (rosehip, I think) if we are feeling healthy.

The first car pulls up 1 hour early. It’s Dina. Right behind her is the second and third car. We only have two parking spots. A brief 20-minute conversation about who goes into our parking spot and who parks out front ensues usually over a pack of cigarettes and cheek kisses. My mom comes out and greets everyone. Our Siberian Husky Alya runs after her. Our cats try to follow but I shoo them away. 

Eventually, everything settles into a sort of haze. The adults start chatting in the kitchen. My mom sets the table but nobody dares touch it until every single person is sitting down. Eventually, my mom would probably bring out Ikra (salmon roe) and toasted bread with butter, so people can snack on something without touching the feast she created on the main table.

Finally, everyone but Marchela comes, and the feasting begins. The children are called, and it is now my job to marshall the children, and bring things to the adults. I am the middleman between the children’s table and the adult’s. The tequila, vodka, and whiskey haven’t begun flowing yet. We start with the wine. Eventually, the lunch turns into desert, and Marchela comes around. When she comes, all the children run into her and start hugging her. She is like a lovable Santa Claus every time she comes. She always carries 101 bags. She always has ice cream or cake. She always has a special surprise for everyone. I swear, when I was little, my reaction to Marchela’s arrival was akin to Frodo’s reaction to Gandalf.

Eventually, everything settles down and by 11PM the gossip has ended, and the alcohol has been shelved. The beverage of choice is tea now. Dina and Misha leave. Their friends leave soon thereafter. Marchela is the only one left. My mom and her chat for what seems like hours (maybe because she typically leaves at 3 AM). They talk about everything. Literally, zero boundaries. Eventually, Marchela settles down at our place and falls asleep.

Another “lunch” party done.