How to Build a Cheese Pyramid

Nothing in Russia is a medium-sized deal.

The options are twofold:

• huge, glitzy and over-the-top
• bare-bones, dirty and offensively underwhelming

For example, it’s perfectly acceptable to walk on the street in 8 inch platform rhinestone stilettos and a mini dress when it’s snowing. Preferred, even. This last week alone I saw a Bentley stretch limo, a neon orange Cadillac Escalade and a sleek matte-textured Jaguar. Today I saw a lady at the gym wiping her butt sweat with a Louis Vuitton towel. There’s a chance that once a tiny child next to me on the bus had a grill, though it could have been something else, it all happened very fast.

I’ve been told that the average Russian would choose a nice car and a crappy apartment over the reverse any day of the week. I would not say that Russians are materialistic outright (okay, maybe) but rather they really really appreciate the aesthetic. That’s why I was only moderately surprised when the Russian Orthodox Easter rolled around this year and people went ape wild for beautiful food preparation, eccentric egg dying and very public Jesus lovin’. I was touched when my babushka offered (forced) me to help make (singlehandedly make) the “paskha”— literally an enormous pyramid of cream cheese, butter, sugar, and raisins. Well sure, I said! Since those are my favorite foods and I eat them all the time.

Before I came to Russia I made a deal with myself that if quintessential Russian cultural experiences came up I would consider trying non-vegan foods. In almost 2.5 years of veganism I haven’t broken it for anything so I was kind of nervous at the prospect (re: nervous for my bowels [re: this is my blog and I don’t care if everyone is grossed out at me talking about my bowels]) of trying something so rich. In the end I tried enough to taste the flavors (rich and sweet) and to not offend my babushka. She clearly took this as an opportunity to hint at eating dairy full time (cuz I will not be able to birth children if I stay vegan, or something), but at the end of the day seemed pretty pleased I was part of the tradition.

So I know this is a vegan blog. But it’s called VeganIZZM which in this case means this is a little more about my life and all of the ridiculous things it involves. If you’re interested in learned a bit about Russia or want to create a really Egyptian looking pile of cheese read further.

My Babushka’s Paskha

If you can find a way to veganize this and make it not disgusting I will be impressed.

• 5 cups tvorog (Russian cottage/cream cheese, available in Russian stores)
• 1 cup butter, softened
• 1 cup sugar
• 1/2 cup raisins (soaked overnight to soften)
• 1/4 cup chopped apricots
• zest of 1 lemon

1. Push the tvorog through a sieve with the back of the spoon. This will take forever and make you very cynical about the whole experience.

2. Mix it up real good with softened butter, fruits and sugar. Pour into a cheese cloth-lined mould* and place in the fridge overnight.

*your mould should be pyramid shaped, made of cardboard, held together by string and at least 25 years old.

In the mean time, dye eggs. If you’re vegan don’t eat them.

3. On the day of your celebration carefully flip and remove from the mould.

Enjoy with a lovely Easter spread (those cakes are called “kulich” and they’re basically like spongey bread/challah with dried fruits inside.

Like I said. When Russians do it up, they do it right.

My Babushka’s Borscht

Some things are inevitable.

It is inevitable that when I buy a new item of white clothing it will be dirty within four minutes of purchase.

It is inevitable that I will spill many a tear on my tacky 80’s pillow when in Russia because I miss kale and nutritional yeast.

It is inevitable that when I go to a club in a back alley in Russia by the name of “Jesus” I will dance with a guy and he will spin me over his shoulder (can someone please explain to me why this keeps happening?).

Most inevitable of all (inevitable-est) is the fact that I am posting a borscht recipe straight from my babushka’s top-secret old Russian woman vault.

Before I left for Russia I made my own borscht, which I liked but knew was far from authentic. My heart skipped a beet (punzzz) the day I came to the kitchen table and my Bab set a bowl of steamy hot borscht down at my place. Cabbage, beets, and the possibility of pink pee? Nothing better. Besides, her borscht is absolutely delicious. Can’t be beet. Alright, I’m done.

I finally got her to spill the juicy details of how to make this soup so damn good. I offered (begged) to help prepare it once but she promptly declined and demoted me to photographer/kitchen stalker while she sliced and diced her way to the masterpiece. My babushka believes her kitchen is her kingdom and my trying to help will cramp her style. We talk a lot about the importance of food as a means of bringing people together and how sitting around enjoying a meal is a tradition which we need to fiercely protect. I still haven’t gotten her to agree to let me help her but her resistance is futile. We will be the greatest cooking team there ever was. It’s inevitable.

My Babushka’s Borscht 

The taste of Russia in your mouth. 

• 1/2 head large cabbage, sliced thinly
• 1 large carrot, grated
• 1 small onion, chopped more finely than you think possible
• 3 potatoes, boiled, peeled, and sliced more finely than you think possible
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 5-6 cups water or vegetable stock
• 3 beets, boiled and shredded (pickled work best!)
• 3 teaspoons salt, or to taste
• 1 Tablespoon fresh dill
• 1 Tablespoon fresh parsley
• chopped green onion to garnish

1. Do all of the chopping. Combine cabbage, carrot, onion, potatoes, garlic, salt and water in a large pot. Bring to a boil then reduce to a simmer and cook for 25-30 minutes. Note: use pre-boiled potatoes and beets or the time will be a bunch longer and much redder.

2. About halfway through add the fresh herbs and shredded beets. Salt to taste. If not using pickled beets and want it to be bitter (the Russian way!), add the juice of 1/2 a lemon.

3. Garnish with green onion and fresh dill. Enjoy the feeling of real Russianness.

My Babushka’s Veggie Fried Rice

In our household, things run like clockwork. No, hold on, I said that wrong. Rather, clocks run like things in our household. There’s no joking around here on 4th Soviet Street, never, no way. [Particularly not when I wear my sparkly kitty sweater].

I come into the kitchen for breakfast sharply at 8:30. Breakfast table conversation can range from my dreams to whatever news is broadcasting on the TV to the weather. Yesterday we talked about her theory that aliens exist and are undoubtedly going to smite earth soon because humans suck (really). I leave for class at 9:00 and if I’m not ready my babushka stands outside my door and waits. If I can’t zip the janky zipper on my boots fast enough she hikes up her bathrobe, bends at the hips, squats on her 74 year old knees and does it for me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I come home between 18:00 and 18:30 (that’s 6:00 and 6:30 PM, noobs) and within two minutes a pot of soup is on the stove heating up. I put on my slippers, wash my hands, and take my place at the table. My babushka commands information out of me regarding my day, which can vary from the weather to my classes to recounting my misadventures dealing with people in public. Yesterday she told me that women lose their ability to have babies after 25. By the time my soup is hot I have been thoroughly quizzed and am thrilled to have something to put in my mouth to turn it from a two-sided conversation to a monologue (hers).

Dinner in Russia a two-part ordeal. After soup there is always a second course. This is one of the most simple and delicious ones my Bab makes. No joking around.

My Babushka’s Veggie Fried Rice

• 1 large onion, chopped very finely
• 1 carrot, shredded
• 2-3 cloves garlic, chopped very finely
• 3 cups cold prepared rice (brown, white, wild)
• 2 Tablespoons sunflower or vegetable oil
• salt and ground black pepper to taste
• fresh dill and green onion to garnish! (optional)

As with all of my babushka’s recipes, everything is done by taste. If she knew how the internet worked and were writing this herself she would stress the importance of doing things “по вкусу.” Nothing should be rigid, you should add as much salt as you like (if you are her, this is a lot). That being said;

1. Heat a skillet over a medium-low flame. Add 1 Tablespoon oil + chopped onion and garlic. Sauté until the onions are lightly browned and smell delicious (~8 mins). Push this to the side of the skillet.

2. Add grated carrot and add a bit more oil to the skillet. Cook 5 minutes or so, stirring occasionally until lightly brown and wilted. Push to the side.

3. Add cooked rice and 1 Tablespoon oil or enough to lightly coat the rice. Cook 5 minutes, mixing occasionally, then mix to combine with the vegetables on the side of the skillet. Cook the rice and veggies all together another 5-10 minutes until lightly browned and smelling delish.

Garnish with fresh herbs and agree with your Babushka that aliens definitely exist.

My Babushka’s Split Pea Soup

You guys know that my babushka is my BFF.

You’ve heard she’s bossy and understand that she’s full of bizarre homeopathic Russian remedies. But did you know she’s an amazing vegan cook? Before I got here I don’t think she knew either.

From time to time she makes fun of me for my bizarre tastes (I brought a smuggled bag of chia seeds out the other day and she had to get on a ladder and tear her raised eyebrows down from the ceiling), but on the whole she’s great at adapting her favorite traditional Russian recipes to my vegan guidelines. Split pea soup (Гороховой суп) is a Russki classic typically chock full of ham and served topped with enough dill to feed a Red Army. Fortunately for me, my babushka’s variation includes only the latter (dill is the new parsley, haven’t your heard?) and is DELICIOUS.

She uses onions and garlic from her husband Igor Konstantinovich’s granddaughter’s dacha (cottage) garden in the country and chops it up so fine it blows my mind. I always tell her my soups never turn out as well because I’m too impatient in my chopping and she looks and me with her glasses on the bridge of her nose and says “well, be more patient.”

That’s the trick to this and all of my Bab’s dishes: patience. I’m learning quickly that the most delicious things in life take time and the best recipes on this blog will never be quick-fixes. She told me earlier this week that she talks to all of her plants so they feel love and don’t get lonely. She cited an incident with a certain aloe plant where she overwatered it then repented for weeks with many a monologue. The point is that she brings care and attention to her food and everything in her life. Tonight I went to her great-grandson Danya’s violin concert with her. Danya is 13 and has a few concerts a month and my babushka doesn’t miss a single one. She takes two buses to get there (about 45 minutes of transit with the waits) and sits through an hour of other kids’ pieces for about 6 minutes of Danya fame. Her patience and willingness to put in time continue to impress me and I’m sure I’ll think back on her fondly some day when I’m eating raw oats with a spoon because I’m too lazy to even microwave them.

My Babushka’s Split Pea Soup

Fresh herbs and patience make this soup. The ingredient list is short so it’s worth investing in both.

• 2 cups dried split peas (горох)
• 2 medium potatoes, diced finely (картошка)
• 2 medium carrots, grated (марков)
• 2 small onions, diced finely (лук)
• a few cloves garlic, minced (чеснок)
• 1-2 teaspoons fresh dill, chopped (укроп)
• 1-2 teaspoons fresh celery, chopped (петрушка)
• 1-2 teaspoons fresh sorrel, chopped (щавель)
• 2 bay leaves (лавровые листи)
• 2-3 teaspoons salt, or to taste (соль)
• black pepper to taste (черный перец)

1. Pour the dried peas in a medium pot and cover with about two times as much water. Place over a medium flame, bring to a boil, then allow to simmer 30-40 minutes, stirring often to avoid burning.

2. Add the potatoes, grated carrot, onions, garlic, and herbs. Add another 2-3 cups water and bring to a boil once again. Boil 10-15 minutes or until potatoes are soft. Soup can be served at this stage but I recommend letting it simmer another 30 minutes or so on a low flame. Once the soup cools it thickens and has the greatest texture. Add water and stir as necessary to avoid burning.

Garnish with more dill (you’re Russian, after all) and devour at least 3 bowls a day. Your babushka would want you to.

Nose Soup

As I write this I have two chunk of onion wedged up my nostrils.

According to my babushka, this is a surefire way to get rid of a cold. According to me, this is a surefire way to make soup in my nose. Either way, everything in St. Petersburg is going to smell like raw onion for the next several days which may or may not be a nice change of pace from damp fur coat stench.

This past weekend I took a trip to Moscow. I would say it was “chill” but at this point cold weather jokes just make me kind of sad, it’s better not to go there. I left Petersburg on the midnight train with my friend Abra and arrived at Leningrad Station around 7 AM Wednesday. Cold and disoriented, we made a beeline to Red Square (pro: deserted and saw the sunrise. con: awake 7 am).

We spent the day wandering around the Kremlin, St. Basil’s Cathedral, and Church of Christ the Savior. Fun fact: the aforementioned church was destroyed in the 1812 war with Napoleon and was made into a swimming pool under Stalin. The church was reconstructed in its original form and place in the late 90′s. My babushka told me that she swam in said pool in the 60′s. Reason #264 why my babushka is the shit.

Thursday we went to the RUSSIAN SPACE MUSEUM. I was incredibly excited because a) I have a huge not-creepy-okay-kinda-creepy crush on young astronaut Yuri Gagarin [first man in space! c'mon, sexy!] b) I clearly love all things nerdy and Russian. The nerdier and the Russianer, the better. c) I am fascinated by space and would be on my way to becoming an astronaut if not for b.

[floating fruits, jumpsuits, Soviet hugs-this is everything I like.]

While in Moscow, Abra and I made a pact to spend as little money as possible and only indulge in necessary items (beer). We ended up eating grechka (buckwheat groats) for dinner all three nights. A 900 gram bag (2 lbs) costs 50 rubles ($1.60) and when cooked makes a huge ass pot filled to the brim. We had an eating contest which I promptly won then resolved never to eat grechka again. Until the next day.

Friday we went to the Tretyakov Gallery and the Park of Fallen Heroes. The Park is this nuts sculpture garden where they deposited a bunch of old and suddenly unwanted Soviet statues after the collapse of the Soviet Union. Basically there are a million statues/busts of Lenin, Stalin and ol’ man Gorbachev. I obviously took the opportunity to go around and pick each of their stony noses.

Obviously.

As for me, I’m off bed so this sniffle doesn’t turn into something worse. Or so it’ll turn into something better. That is, if onion soup is your thing.

St. Petersburg is Melting

St. Petersburg is melting.

The roofs are dripping, puddles are becoming lakes, my feet are soaked. The temperature is a whopping +2 C (36ºF) and I’m wearing a T-shirt. There is sweat on my lower back. Is it actually possible that springtime is around the corner? While my babushka and her fur coat would point to no my cotton gloves and single pair of pants point to yes. Today I felt the warmth of the sun on my skin and lemme tell ya, ladies and gentlemen, it felt GREAT. All of you in warm climates (Wisconsin this season, jigga whaaat) can enjoy your year-long nice weather but I can assure that when 40º comes in Russia I will be dancing in the streets and hanging from the Bronze Horseman in a bikini. St. Petersburg: brace yoself.

Since my brush with giardia last Monday (okay, exaggeration of the century, don’t care) this week has taken a turn for the better. Wednesday we had a 10 AM tour and tasting at the Baltika beer factory which ensured sloppy drunkenness by noon. When I stumbled home I was delighted to find that my babushka made кислый щи (“sh-chi,” sour cabbage soup). I am not sure whether she noticed when I spilled half of my bowl and proceeded to slurp it off the table but she did offer me seconds.

Since then I’ve been enjoying the soup leftovers with сушки (“sushki”) galore. Sushki are the miniature bagel crackers seen below. I like to bite them off of my fingers one by one (edible jewelry is very high on my list of things everyone should enjoy, along with interpretive dance battles, kale, yelling Nelly lyrics at people, swimming places you’re not supposed to, and discussing the end of the world with babushkas).

You may have heard that elections are tomorrow or maybe you even sawPutin’s big ol’ head in the NYT. Aside from the ridiculous(ly sexual) ads that have been circulating recently the Russians I know aren’t too worked up about it all. In fact, 99% of them have said that they’re 99% sure Putin will win and think it’s probably for the best. The other candidates are lamer than the Everybody Loves Raymond rerun I saw playing in a Fidel Castro-themed bar yesterday. [Seriously, Russia?]

Anyway, while springtime may not be imminent in Russian politics I personally am closer every day to remembering shorts and weening myself off of vitamin D pills (gotta say, I love the D). Maybe next week I’ll even swim in the Neva.

That is, if the ice has melted.

New Words

It was bound to happen eventually.

This love affair of metro rides, 30 ruble beers, snowdrifts and sunflower seed halva I’ve been having lately with St. Petersburg has just been too sweet. (Seriously, have you ever tried halva? It’s what 6 future cavities taste like in the present).

Walking on the frozen Neva, ballet, cheap elektrichka rides up north to see the Bay of Finland – none of it seems entirely real and pretty much all of it seems too sophisticated and classy for my “laps are as good as napkins” self. Everything is exploding with beautiful and when free time rolls around I’m always a little flustered about what to visit. Recently I’ve been to Peter the Great’s “Cabinet of Curiosities” at Kunstkamera (proving, once again, Russia is normal and not creepy), the northern town of Vyborg, ice skating in the park at Pavlovsk, and jumping around at a ramble-rousin’ Maslenitsa celebration by Tsarskoe Selo in Pushkin.

When I said “it was bound to happen” I meant get sick. The water in St. Petersburg is notoriously bad (my host grandparents have this funky system where they collect drops from the bathroom faucet with a funnel, pour it through a filter, then boil it). I woke up this morning, downed my normal kasha* with banana and tea and hopped on the trolleybus to school. Five minutes into my first class I felt the wrath of 100,000 angry gremlins punching at my stomach and knew I wasn’t going to last there. I ended up getting sick and went home. Today I learned that “меня рвало”/”menya rvalo” means I puked! See how much I’m getting out of this experience? (Additionally “я блюю” means something a bit more crude like I’m yuking and is pronounced “ya blew-you.” Thanks, Mom and Dad for these education dollaz.

Anyway, I’m feeling a lot better and am taking this time at home to sleep and catch up on things like bloggin’. I’ve downed some crackers and am waiting for my babushka to come home from her weekly outing to feed me potions from a cauldron or rub mustard on me or something. Apparently that’s a thing.

With love and crackers crumbs,

Izzy

PS. I now have a flickr for loads more Mothaland shots!

*I am planning to do a post entirely devoted to kasha (porridge). Try to contain your excitement.

My Babushka’s Vegan Blini (Russian Pancakes! Happy Maslenitsa!)

Living with my Babushka, Marina Nikolaevna, has been замечательно so far. (Awesome). I have woken up on more than one occasion to her watching Russia’s answer to the Home Shopping Network and yelling at the TV whether she thought the prices were fair. From what I’ve gathered, they really aren’t.

Aside from being a highly opinionated shopper, my Bab is a great cook. She has exhibited every day since my arrival in the ice box we call Russia a characteristic which I value above all else in the kitchen: flexibility. Russia, as I have said before, is not a country for vegetarians. I’m fairly sure that smetana (sour cream) courses through Russians’ veins instead of blood (either that or vodka). My babushka has made delicious vegan meals for me day after day, noting what she leaves out from their meaty/eggy/cottage cheese-y equivalents. Still, when Maslenitsa arrived on the horizon she looked at me skeptically. You see, Maslenitsa is a week-long folk carnival with pagan/Orthodox roots that revolves mainly around eating these skinny pancakes called blini. Blini resemble French crêpes and are typically made with milk and eggs. When I assured her that it could be done my babushka gave me this look usually reserved for when I try to leave the house without a hat but agreed to try it out.

The result? Amazing. I had seven of them tonight and plan on having at least another dozen tomorrow morning. The secrets to the perfect blini are as follows:

• a very hot skillet. Cast iron. Small if you have/can find one! My babushka has one she uses exclusively for blini. Heat until it starts to smoke
• a very thin layer of oil. She uses sunflower and I recommend it, though coconut would probably be delicious too
• a thin, flat knife for flipping. I have attempted similar endeavors with a spatula and it will. not. work.
• take a small ladle and spoon it onto the skillet. Pick the skillet up and swivel your wrist to spread a thin layer all over the base. Don’t worry if they’re not perfectly round but aim to reach the edges
• patience! the first one will always suck. The second one will almost always suck. The third one will be a little burnt but good. By the end they’ll be perfect and golden like sunshine.

My Babushka’s Blini

She refuses to give me measurements for anything so this is from observing. Basically you want to achieve a loose batter which is much more watery than that of “pancakes” but has some girth to it when you pick it up with a spoon. Add flour and water as necessary plus salt/sugar to taste.

• 4 cups water
• 2 cups wheat flour
• 3 Tablespoons sugar
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 2 Tablespoons sunflower oil, plus more for the pan

1. Combine all of the ingredients in a large bowl and use a handheld mixer to stir. I would say just use a spoon but you reallllly want it to be smooth so borrow one from a friend or your grandma. Mix until all ingredients are incorporated.

2. Heat a small skillet over medium heat. Once it starts to smoke reduce to a low flame. Add a bit of oil to your skillet. Holding the pan in your hand, spoon in a medium ladle’s worth of batter and swivel with your wrist to spread the batter over the base. Cook until the center solidifies and bubbles a bit, 3-4 minutes or longer. Pop any large bubbles with a knife.

3. Flip! Use your flat knife to loosen the edges then lift from the center. As my Bab said infinity times “the second side cooks quickly!” so you’ll only need to cook it another minute or so.

Enjoy with: jam, fruit, vegan nutella, nut butters, maple syrup, chocolate, whatever! They’re also amazing with savory so take that wherever your heart desires. As long as you’re wearing your hat.

Extremely Russian and Incredibly Close

So today I went to my first yoga class in Russia. Unrelated, here’s a church.

I suppose it goes without saying that this class was, in fact, taught in Russian. For many people yoga classes are a test of mimicry to begin with; figuring out how to twist and contort your body can be straight up confusing in your native language. Add to that a different set of moves, classmates (Russian women wearing push up bras and enough makeup to paint a family of matrioshka?) and a language barrier and you might find yourself toppling out of an awkward crab inverted one-hand handstand into the person next to you.

For a while I played it cool. When the instructor acknowledged my struggles I pretended I was just really bad at yoga and not functionally slow in the head. I got in my поза собаки мордой вниз (downward facing dog) and minded my own business and smiled smugly to myself cuz none of doze bitches wuz on to me. It was only when the instructor came and said выпрямите ноги! 65 times then went ahead and straightened my legs for me, damnit, that I realized I wasn’t playing it as cool as I’d hoped. By the end of the class the dude was holding me upside down and off the ground by my feet. Seriously. I thought of all the people I would never see again when he dropped me on my head and I died in my bizarre, contorted, B.O.-stenched Russian hell.

But I survived. The rest of the class looked something like this and this  with a little bit of this. By the time the broski turned off the lights I had already settled into the floor and made the firm decision to never get up. When I finally peeled myself off of the yoga mat (OK, they had to peel the yoga mat off of me) I left with a weird sense of satisfaction. One day I’ll go to yoga and understand everything. Or at least, like, 30%.

After yoga I moved on to the bookstore and had two amazing finds:

(I tweeted about that emphatically this morning) &

!!!!!!! Two of my favs in Russki!! Opa!

I have to go write an essay about the importance of hockey in Russia’s history. Is this real life?

St. P.Diddysburg

Hello my comrads.

I am writing to you with one week of Russia under my belt. I have there also under said belt a stomach full of delicious cabbage soup (щи – “shchi”), buckwheat, (гречка – “grechka”) and some fried conglomerate of mushrooms, eggplant, and carrots. I just Googled mushroom eggplant russia soviet mushy to see if this dish has a name. It doesn’t.

My time in Russia so far has been baller. In a recent message to my friends I described it the following way:

Russia is awesome as fuck. Coldest I’ve ever been. Everything is gorgeous and sparkly. More stilettos and fur than I thought possible. Tonight we went to a club and I danced with a guy in leather pants. He picked me up and spun me around on his shoulder. I love this country.

My host family is great. I live with a set of Russian grandparents (Marina Nikolaevna and Igor Konstantinovich) in a two-bedroom apartment where nothing matches or is less than 50 years old on a street literally called Soviet Street. My room looks straight out of 1979 and per Russian custom I wear slippers in the house at all times. Marina Nikolaevna makes awesome vegan food and has only once twice thus far passive aggressively lectured me on how the body needs meat and delicious milk products. I expect many more of these lectures. I told her I sometimes eat metal to get necessary minerals. Sometimes conversation doesn’t flow super smoothly.

Petersburg itself is gorgeous. It’s hard to accurately encapsulate in some dumb blog post but basically everything seems like the best thing you’ve ever seen and absolutely larger than life. I can’t use that expression without thinking of boy bands and blonde tips but that also seems pretty relevant here. I live just off of Nevsky Prospekt which is kinda the main drag of the city and convenient for transportation and exploringtimes. I am studying at a university and have classes four days a week taught in Russian. We have excursions on Wednesdays, next week we’re going to the ballet Eugene Onegin and I am going to get dolled up. (Think this:

)

I’m also trying to swing an internship/volunteer job with the St. Petersburg Vegetarian Society, The St. Petersburg Times, or some kind of after school program with kids. I try to speak Russian with my friends here, of which I have some!!! (Сашинка, это ты?) and speak exclusively in Russian with my host babushka. [Before I go any further it’s pronounced BAH-booshka, contrary to whatever you were reading in your head.] My babushka and I speak on a variety of topics ranging from Soviet history to crosswords and the *correct* way to peel and apple. More steps than you think.

Once again, if you’re interesting in knowing what veganism is like in Russia, what Russia is like, what it’s like for snot to freeze mid-drip, or just think I’m cute and charming feel free to check out my twitter which I’m calling “St. Tweetersburg” for the next 4 months.

[amazing split pea soup my babushka makes for me. Recipe soon, in English if you’re lucky.]

Well, it’s currently -26ºC = -8ºF so I figure it’s as good a time as any to go to sleep. Sorry for the lack of pictures, I’ll get to that as soon as it seems possible to take my hands from my pockets when I’m outside.

Love and boiled beets,

Izzy