Back in Moscow, they have haphazardly declared the 500th anniversary of vodka. The native Russians at the St. Petersburg, a new restaurant in Robbinsdale, greet this news with skepticism. After all, they put 8,000 miles between themselves and the motherland for a reason. Besides, it’s not like Russians have lacked for excuses to knock a few back, through each of the previous 499 anniversaries.
“We have two basic place settings for receptions,” explained Andrey Shmykov, showing off the banquet facilities at the St. Petersburg. “One is a 750 of Absolut. The other is a liter.” At each setting, as in per person? “That’s the Russian way,” shrugged Shmykov.
The St. Petersburg has more than 100 varieties of vodka. The menu is vast as well, but it’s all a part of a pattern. In creating his little Russian satellite, Shmykov tried to get everything in the house. The cinderblock building, which harbors an American Legion downstairs, is decorated in the maudlin style of a mid-70s Eastern bloc club: rococo chandeliers, blue-on-white velour wallpaper, black velvet drapes tied back with golden braids, a stage-lit dance floor, and a house band that puts out Russian pop, James Brown standards, and Earth Wind and Fire covers—all with spectacular aplomb.
Non-Russians seem to be catching on, too. The other night, a metro dating club monopolized the bar, and made advances on the dance floor. The regulars welcomed them with open arms and decanters. Though braced as bitter rivals for a half-century, America and Russia are essentially about the same things: too much space, too much power, too much appetite. No matter what their politics, all humans instinctively know that such psychological tyrannies can easily be medicated with an excess of food and drink.
To that end, we ordered liberally from both the beverage and the dinner menus. Nalivka, a deep red cranberry version of the house vodka, arrived like a ruby in a glass. It was smooth and sweet, and good for sipping with an appetizer. A strong, clear Polish vodka cut the salty tang of red salmon caviar nicely. We also tried the mythic pelmeni, with sour cream and vinegar. The borscht was above reproach (with vodka), and the chicken Kiev was a competent nod to American tastes (with vodka). For its symbolic value and its gem-like appearance, there are also several types of caviar, including Caspian beluga (with vodka).
A spicy lamb soup of south Russian provenance was especially good. It might have been the vodka, but shortly thereafter, I loudly challenged to a duel any wretched serf who dared to call any other soup better than this one. Pavel, who wields a lemon-yellow Telecaster, was nominated as second. The house band’s guitar player says Americans are more comfortable calling him Paul, but from my vantage point, I’d say they’re already about as comfortable as they ever will be. —Joe Pastoor
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