We Need To Talk About Sergei

The typical Russian is a hospitable and welcoming host, forever acting with your best interests at heart. He is a generous, caring gentleman, delighted to have met you, the exotic Englishman, and aiming to give you the ultimate Russian experience: cuisine, banya, a stroll among the silver birch trees and various other demonstrations of national pride. Despite this, there is often a severe, cultural miscommunication that renders me both confused and, occasionally, concerned.

I have been ‘set up’ with a lovely man called Sergei, an educator, travel enthusiast and a true Russian chap. He has welcomed me into his home and I’ve enjoyed our conversations, but I was slightly thrown when he asked me to move in with him. It was a classic mix up: he thought I wanted to sleep on his sofa and stay with him, whereas I didn’t. Despite this initial setback, our relationship has blossomed. Sergei will stroll around his apartment in nothing but y-fronts, as I avert my eyes and intensely examine every other corner of the room; he will unashamedly rest his hand on my leg as I show him pictures of England on the computer; he will even forget the Russian word for microwave and call his mother during dinner to check. On the one hand, I assume that this sort of behaviour is absolutely normal out here and I’m more than happy to allow him these Russian eccentricities. On the other hand, some of them are too peculiar. I feel fairly confident that spreading yourself out on the living room floor in a vest and tight shorts, for your friend to pop round and administer an injection into your right buttock is not normal in any culture, time period, or in fact, species. Worryingly, I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before I’m asked to step in…

What Sergei does fantastically well is offer me a Russian experience that I can’t get from younger citizens. It is very interesting to hear him fondly reminisce about the Soviet Union, or to just to hear him talk about his beloved country from an older, traditionalist point of view. Also, he has also given me a taste of Russian cuisine. On my first visit, we ate pelmeny, my favourite dish here. Imagine a cross between dumplings and ravioli, filled with whatever meat you can get your hands on. It is stodgy, filling food at it’s best, an absolute necessity here. Another favourite food of mine is the pasty-type pirozhki, again filled with an indiscriminate amount of indiscriminate meat. Lovely old ladies will sell these on the roadside for tuppence; I am in heaven.

pirozhki and samsa (glorified cornish pasties)

My second visit to Sergei’s was less enjoyable. He prepared potatoes and herring. Now, I have never been a huge admirer of seafood, but will eat it regardless. Alas, Sergei’s herring was on another level. I was actually quite scared when he pulled this fish out of the fridge and slapped it down on the counter. For a moment I was genuinely contemplating jumping out of his sixth floor window. He chopped the head off and then started slicing it into smaller chunks. It was around this time that I realised he wasn’t going to cook it. Surely he had to though! We weren’t just going to eat this raw fish were we? But no, onto a plate it went with some onion slices and several titanic waves of olive oil. “Eat! Eat!” was the cry and sure enough he did. I was quaking with fear, but could see no way of escaping. Bear in mind that the skin was still on, there were hundreds of bones inside and IT HADN’T BEEN COOKED!! Just a minute in a frying pan is all I ask for Sergei! Anyway, true to my word, I gave it a go… Nauseating would be a little strong, but it was far from enjoyable: slimy, fishy, rubbery (skin) and crunchy (bones). Perhaps I’m being fussy, but it really wasn’t my cup of tea…

Speaking of tea, the common practice here is to drink our beloved beverage with lemon. It’s actually rather nice so if you’re out of sugar or milk, but have a lemon lying around then it’s worth a gander. Western fast-food chains haven’t yet made it to Tomsk, so no Macdonalds, Burger King, KFC etc.. Instead, on almost every corner is a branch of ‘Sibirskiy Bliny’ (Сибирские Блины), which sells sweet, and savoury pancakes/ crepes.  They go for about £2 and are a necessary, warm snack. Culinary peculiarities are aplenty in this part of the world, but the winner for the most ridiculous snack has to be crab-flavoured crisps. I of course had to try them, but they were sadly, and predictably, vile. I’m sure Sergei absolutely loves them…

stuffed rabbit clutching crab crisps