DIY Coffee

I am thinking of writing a play.

Customer enters coffee house.

[Customer] A cappucinno please.

[Staff] No.

[Customer] Why ?

[Staff] There is no milk.

[Customer] Umm, but there is a shop next door that sells milk.

[Staff] Yes there is.

[Customer] Umm, so couldn’t you go and buy some ?

[Staff] No.

Exit customer.

Today I asked the administrator ( Russian for the manager of a restaurant, normally female, who sits and does no administrating all day) why they have no milk. She says as the supplier has not arrived, and there is no method to buy milk from the money in the till. But today I had my revenge ! I went and bought my own milk and for the reward I received a free coffee! I wonder if I should start taking my own food to restaurants now ….

Addendum: I return in the evening on the way home. The wonderful Anastasia has preserved my milk in the fridge. It is my milk. Moloko Marka ! Hooray, cappucinnos for me. Oh. What’s this, they have run ot of coffee ??? A coffee shop with no milk and no coffee !! Sacre Bleur ! This is almost as bad as the pivo bar that ran out of beer last week…

The flames grow higher

Ukraine likes its upscale references. One of which is ‘our chef has trained in Paris/Rome/Poltava’. Fidele had a special strawberry creme brulee in the recent strawberry season. When it arrived it resembled, ok it was, an angel delight moussey thing. I enquired where was the brulee? The waitress said, that’s a creme brulee, our chef trained in Paris. Fortunately , it was a short strawberry season.

Lessons I don’t learn #454

The football season is upon us. The Ukrainian teams are on a roll; Dinamo and Shaktar in the Champion’s Liga, and the local team Metallist in the UEFA cup. So last night was Dinamo vs Roma, my girlfriend’s fave team for a reason I do not comprehend. I think it is the manager’s bald head but when it comes to Ukrainian girls I am sure I am wrong. So this funky bar come cinema Pintagon is showing the game on their big screen; a bar you can sit on orange beanbags and watch arty movies can’t be bad. So running late as always; I have no idea where my time goes to; we get a taxi (Lada) to the bar, with me directing as usual (I can always become a cab driver here). Plenty of Lexus 4×4s outside, a good sign! We enter. There’s a band playing ! Who is it? Private party, the scourge of the town. So we need another sports bar. My mind (after the branch incident) plays tricks on me; the sports bar Birja.

I tell the next taxi driver Birja. You know, near Sovietskaya! No he doesn’t know. Beeer-jer. Nyet. Just drive. Then he asks the controller. They say beeer-Jer. Of course he understands now. I was speaking some bizarre foreign language. Ah sometimes I hate stressed syllables and sounds my mother never taught me. I hope you are listening mother.

We get to beer-Jer. No spare tables. What about those ones? No. Reserved. I don’t argue anymore. Girlfriend sits on a horse whilst we wait. After 20 minutes a table comes free. They lead us to another table. One of the reserved ones. Sigh.

The waiter appears. It’s him. The rude bastard. Him of the 20 kopecks. He is still unpleasant. No smile here. He leaves the menus. I talk with Anya; we don’t really look at menus. He returns. A second please. He returns. Not ready. Third time he appears we decide it’s best to order. Ok, a Pina Colada for the sweet toothed Anya and a margarita for me. The blender is broken. Ok, fruit juice. The margarita will take 30 minutes. OK, I’ll try the french wine. How much? A glass. Order a sausage (short) and fries ( I am mortal).

The football is a bit dull. The bar is smoky. Really smoky. The wine arrives. Cold, a miracle, I forgot to ask. Food arrives at the normal random intervals. Not so bad. At 74 minutes played I decide we should ask for the bill. Finally at 88minutes it arrives. 133 UAH. What ! The wine was charged for 4 units, the menu was 12UAH for 75ml. Hmm, that was not 300ml was it? I just want to escape from this hellhole. Put 150UAH. He brings no change. I take out my shotgun and blow the f**ker’s head off.

NEVER IN MY LIFE WILL I GO TO BIRJA AGAIN.

I would rather eat sushi in Ukraine.

Disclaimer: I really like this town.

the broken washing machine

3M went to the swanky glass boxed Sushi restaurant on Lenina. Definitely the place to go if you own a huge 4×4 with tinted windows and/or can muster at least 3 girls on your arm.

Another restaurant where the Ukrainian beer comes in a bottle labelled Stella Artois.

In attempting to be typically japanese they bring round those little hot flannels with which to clean your hands before you eat. Except for us. The second time we went that week (our normal stop before a Misto night), we had finished eating when I noticed another table had just been given their hot flannels. This reminded me that we did not get our hot flannels, today or the previous visit.

Being with a couple of locals (getting the ratio wrong; 1 girl to 5 guys) I asked if they could ask why we did not get the towels. Ukrainians are not the best at complaining so looked distinctly uncomfortable having to ask but I insisted. Well, the waitress replied the washing machine was broken. Just for us? Everyone else has towels? Only broken for five minutes. And two days ago the same. Yes. Oh heavens above. Why don’t they just have a sign outside saying we spit on foreign scum?

And 4UAH to use the soy sauce on the table’s a bit much.

The Jam Incident

There is one coffee house I go to all the time. It reminds me of those fine Viennese coffee houses with the tasty tortes. As a connoisseur of London’s fine cafes; Starbucks, Caffe Nero et al; ok I really mean Patisserie Valerie, Lauderee et al -  I do miss the coffee a bit, so often I will be found here sipping my milky cappuccinos.

Anyways, opposite the big Shevchenko monument, the one with all the toiling peasants who clearly were not mending potholes in the road, is гостиная (pronounced Gastinaya sort of).

This is a very pleasant place though the waitress quality is highly variable. Some are really nice, some look like they wish they were dead; or I was dead. Seems to be a strange capitalist system here. Spend lots of money doing a nice restaurant / bar etc, then be so hopeless at pleasing customers it can only be a tax dodge.

Luckily we’re there before 12 as breakfast cannot be served after 12, full stop. In the same way it’s open 24 hours but is closed till 10am. So we order our normal random selection of dubious breakfast delights. I order some apricot jam to go with my toast, along with the cold meats and cheese and coffees etc.

Of course we get 2 big plates of meats and cheese and a tiny plate of toast. Order more. Eat food. Chat about Misto. More coffee. Ready to leave. The jam arrives. Forgot all about that. Max says no, take it away. Doesn’t work. Max puts jam into waitresses’ hand. She puts it back. Max explains the jam is now no good as there is no toast. She puts it back. She walks away. We get the bill and do not leave the 2UAH for the jam. We just leave as we know what happens next. We see her go to the manageress.

Next day for breakfast of course we return as we’re scared of no waitress. The manageress serves us, and is quite pleasant. She is also training 3 new waitresses. So Max is responsible for those poor unemployed girls you see in Kharkov.