Hot Chocolate at the Pushkin Café

So we got up today again at 9 a.m. It’s a lovely, sunny Moscow day and the Lenins and Stalins are still hanging out in the area of Red Square, which, sadly is still closed.

I swung into the post office to buy a stamp. Each trip I try to buy a random stamp for my daughter and her teacher. They are usually cheap, unique and don’t take up room in a suitcase. My daughter now has France, Djibouti, Tunisia and will soon add Russia. I walked in, and without having any clue for the Russian words for mailing something, merely said the Russian word for “two” and I suppose she sold me two Russian airmail stamps. It cost me a little more than a dollar. But I paid with the equivalent of a twenty, so the clerk “huffed” under her breath and had to leave the room to make change. She made it a point to huff a second time as she counted it out to me. I was very
pleased with myself.

I went to a souvenir shop to buy a little something for my daughter. I won’t say what because she does like her surprises. It cost 150 rubles. I put 200 rubles up and the clerk shook her head. I sorted through my coins. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty… she counted as I counted. But I didn’t have another. I only have forty. She waved at me and said in Russian that ten rubles was nothing to worry about.

That also seemed like a win.

Red Square will definitely be closed all week. But we have gone down every day to see what we can see.

From there, we decided to begin our daily walk. We tend to wander with a loose goal in mind. Pushkin Café has been on M’s list because of the 1964 French song, “Nathalie.”

Today we finally found it.

This is not it.

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Neither is this, but this was next door.

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And then voilà, this IS it.

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The menu

Of course all we wanted was chocolate. And it was heavenly.

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Khachapuri: More First of May adventures in Moscow

This afternoon, we left the hotel and decided to wander toward Pushkin Café, with its hot chocolate and Nathalie fame. We never made it. We wandered into some sort of children’s shopping center with kids’ activities and just started walking.

We walked the park around the Kremlin, toured the World War II monument (and even watched an Asian tourist hog the monument as we tried to take pictures and my favorite, watched the soldier on guard whistle at folks who sat on the walls), and went for coffee.

In one of the pedestrian tunnels that connects to the underground/metro, I did some shopping. I bought water, a plastic bangle bracelet in leopard for a work colleague, and a small piece of bread with sauce and cheese that tasted a lot like Elios pizza.

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In our travels, we saw some Lenin and Stalin impersonators in full military dress and a tsar. There were also opportunities to wave the Soviet flag.

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But, by far, the real excitement happened in the evening. M had some trouble decided what he wanted for dinner. He had his guidebook (a French tour book on Moscow) and I had mine (a DK book on all of Russia). We read back and forth until he asked about Georgian cuisine and I had a place listed in mine called Khachapuri. He was all over it.

But for some reason, the listing didn’t have a map coordinate under the name. So, we entered the address into google maps. And the directions came up in Russian. And no matter what we did, we couldn’t get the anglicized names to read the map in the guidebook. So M read the names out loud and I marked the map. But some of the streets were too small to be on the map in the guidebook. I copied those (Yes, in cyrillic letters) into my notebook. And off we went.

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With M sounding out the street names and my notes, we found the place with no problem. I have linked to their web site: http://www.hacha.ru/en/menu/6/

I had an incredible pumpkin soup with smoked cheese on it.
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M ordered an herb khachapuri, but didn’t get the traditional one with raw egg on top. So that saddened him a tad, but I think his mandarin lemonade may have compensated. They made lemonade and put large pieces of orange in it. Very delightful.

This man came in and played accordion in front of us, including “Yesterday,” yes, as in the Beatles tune.

Then my dinner came. On that web site, it’s the third row down. First item. Baturi-style beef cooked in Georgian candori spice. Now I had told M that the soup was so good I wanted to eat a bowl every day for the rest of my life. The beef came out in this delicate paper wrapped, and the spices were both exotic and familiar. The beef was perfectly cooked and I cut it with a butter knife. There was roasted garlic and roasted onion on the side. I devoured the garlic. The food was so good I also tried the onion. AND I HATE ONION. It was fairly edible. But I just don’t like onions.

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M and I both knew we wanted to eat here again. So we made a reservation for tomorrow night. I actually mourned the end of my meal, because despite the fact that I was happy and satiated I didn’t want it to end.

We couldn’t believe our bill. Less than 1600 rubles. Or about $30.

There was a downpour on the way home. I ended up hanging my shoes and jeans on the heated towel rack. I can’t stop thinking about that meal.

Rainy First of May in Moscow

So, M was quite distraught last night that Red Square was closed in preparation for First of May today. We woke late. I rose at 8 and studied Russian until 9 when M roused. We headed to the hotel breakfast, which was a strange assortment of items. You could see the hotel’s efforts to serve multi-national fare. We are staying at Hotel Peter I.

I had Russian pancakes, meatballs, yogurt, pastry, cranberry mors, and the best coffee I’ve had in days. Three cups. Water is scarce, which is a tad annoying. Small markets are closed for the holiday, also annoying but bearable. We purchased water at an upscale grocery store in the fancy mall.

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We came back to the room so M could shower. The weather is low 40s, breezy and sporadically raining. M googled the status of Red Square and discovered the worker’s rights parade was going on right now. We hustled a bit and arrived in time to see the end: people dispersing, flags, flowers, red first of May t-shirts (I want one) and the military band playing. (See my Instagram account if you want video: angelackerman.)

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I loved watching these women dismantle their signs.
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We had an amazing time looking at the military folk wandering around and old Soviet pins. We meandered the city, covering five miles. There were many, many people out. I saw blocks upon blocks of portable toilets.
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There’s some beautifully wrapped chocolate, but I’m told it’s not tasty so I took a photo:
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Now we’re relaxing and drying off from the rain, so let me leave you with a shot of Moscow on the river.

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The illiterate have reached Moscow

Before I begin with our adventures in Russia, let me summarize a few things from our last hours in France. I have a habit of following eateries from around the world on Instagram. It usually begins because I make an ethnic dish and post a picture on Instagram. Then, I check photos of other people’s versions of the same dish. On an African food kick recently, I discovered La Riziere in Paris.

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I had a hard time sorting out the menu, but I decided, with much assistance, to have a beef dish in peanut sauce.

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My companion got chicken.

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I had a great night’s sleep and in the morning we quasi-enjoyed our final Paris breakfast. It had started to rain (we had great weather while there) and had decided that the coffee kept getting worse every day. I did enjoy the rattle and hum of the metro train as it passed beneath the building. I have mixed feelings about our hotel room on the sixth floor that was at the top of a spiral staircase. With all the miles we walked yesterday, the stairs were tiring.

We flew from CDG to Moscow. The flight was uneventful. My scarf, MacBook Air and toiletries were pulled aside for a security check. Which is funny when you consider I’m not a big toiletries girl and I don’t wear make-up. Then in Moscow, customs pulled me to the side. Again, a seemingly random check.

We almost thought we broke Russia like we broke France. Oh, wait, France was broken. We didn’t do it. They had technical issues getting the bags off the plane.

And then we decided to use public transport into town. First, we withdrew rubles from the ATM. M forgot their was a terminal-to-terminal shuttle that we could have taken from where we landed to the other side of the airport where the train departed. He had me jogging for about 1/2 to 2/3 of a mile. He has a longer stride than I do. He used the machine to purchase tickets.

And we were fine coming into Moscow. The outskirts of Moscow looked very industrial and full of identical highrise apartment buildings. The initial views of Moscow were basic. We followed the crowd to the subway. We even got tickets. When the seller heard M speak English she even held up a calculator so he could read the price.

But we realized, as we went down this fast and clunky escalator in this gorgeously clean and gleaming tunnel, that we can’t read or speak Russian. I thought I had learned to speak some. He had tried to learn to read some. Our grown up boring lives intervened and we have realized our Russian language skills are useless.

But we did it! We did ask for some help, but I think we could have done it on our own. We also think we’ve determined how the system works. I suppose tomorrow will tell.

We also asked for help finding our street. But we got here!

And the hotel is way fancier than anything M usually stays in, only because of the falling value of the ruble when he booked it. When we turned the corner from a side street into the main area of downtown Moscow, I could not believe how visually stunning Moscow is. Prettier than Paris.

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We’re a tad concerned because it looks like Red Square might be closed for next week’s parade. This was as close as we can get:
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But hey, thank goodness for zoom function on the old iPhone 5c:
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After a brief walk, we went for dinner at an Italian cafe. They did feature Russian food so I had pelmeni (Russian ravioli with meat filling, in a butter sauce with sour cream) and redberry mors (a very tart and sweet homemade juice). It was extremely yummy.

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France is broken

The past 28 or so hours in Paris have been… unusual. I am sitting in a dark hallway, because the lights in the hotel are on a timer and only stay on in the hall for about a minute. We’re having a problem with electricity. We’re not sure how it happened, but either my new travel adapter blew a fuse and caused a surge that burnt out M’s phone charger OR something in the hotel wiring keeps causing a fuse to blow in our room. The only electronic items we have our his iPhone 4, my borrowed iPhone 5c (left the six at home), an old French cell phone and my two year old MacBook Air.

I am sitting in the hall because I have blown a fuse for the second time and we’re trying to determine what works, what doesn’t and what caused the problem. We’re also too embarrassed to alert the front desk (just in case we did it). So I am on the floor in the hall. Funny part is, that being in the hall in the dark isn’t even the end of the story. I tried to move into a lit area of the hall and realized if I move even a fraction of an inch, everything falls out of the wall and I lose connection. And it’s not easy to get everything plugged in again.

I won’t mention the name of the hotel, because it is a decent place and I don’t want you to think it’s their fault. I don’t know whose fault it is. The toilet doesn’t flush very well. The coffee was fairly terrible but hey, it was reasonably priced in Paris and has wifi. M had some intestinal difficulties so all in all I think France is turning out more Third World than Djibouti last year.

So, we went to the catacombs last night. After 17+ hours in transit. I had a fancy blog entry planned but then I blew that fuse. Instead we used the power remaining in my laptop to charge our phones. And I was exhausted.

But the catacombs were amazing. I didn’t realize that the bones were so artfully and carefully arranged, nor that they were piled and labeled by the cemetery of origin. Saint Nicholas de Champs was one of the first heaps.

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We walked about two miles looking at bones. For dinner we visited our favorite shawarma place and had ourselves in bed by nine. I had a delightful night’s sleep, even despite my daughter accidentally texting me at 3 a.m. Paris time thinking she was texting her father. After all, we did switch phones.

Breakfast here at the hotel. Followed by a trip to some pharmacies looking for a medical device for migraines that is supposed to be available here in France, then a stop at an internet café while we waited for the mall at Les Halles to open. At Les Halles, we ended up taking the train from one side of the station to the mall because with construction we could not find the right door.

I wanted to go to FNAC for French military history books. Bought a memoir of one French soldier’s experience in Afghanistan. We finally made it to the sewers, which were a bit of a disappointment because M remembered them being more. But he was young the last time he visited. (I might be thankful they were a disappointment. I don’t share M’s passion for poop.) From there we went to the museum of the French Health Services (Service de Santé des Armées). That was so fun. Hopefully more on some of these individual events later.

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Then we visited some Muslim bookstores. And it made me want to increase my hijab accessories. And visiting the more multicultural sections of Paris makes me want an African dress.

The church above is Saint Denis. We went out there and the area had a very diverse feel and reminded me a lot of Marseille. There were many women covered. Churros for sale in front of the post office. We searched the area and found M his dream man purse but he’s too cheap and uncertain to buy it. Eventually, we decided to go for coffee and I found a cheap coffee house. It was 2.50 euros for a coffee cream. The server was a woman of color, the men beside us drank espresso and spoke arabic. The discarded wrappers from sugar packets littered the floor. Some men exited the tram outside and the server automatically placed their coffee on the counter. The whole area had the atmosphere of a street fair.

We walked a total of 11.25 miles so far today and we have dinner yet to go…

First flight down

 
We left Dulles on an Aeroflot flight for Moscow around 3 pm Monday. It’s now 2 am NY time, 9 am Tuesday Moscow time. Almost 5,000 miles crossed in 9 1/2 hours. 

I have issues with my ears so descent from 37,000 feet on a A330 can be very painful. I didn’t even notice that we had made it to the ground until the plane bounced that little jiggle it does. The fog was so thick I had no idea there was an airport out there.

I saw the sunrise over some gorgeous snow covered mountains. 

When we arrived at the transfer desk, we discovered our 10 am flight to Paris had been canceled due to fog. I slept about 90 minutes on the plane and will now have an additional 3 hours in the Moscow airport.

Activities in Paris tonight will probably be minimal.

The adventure begins: Russia 2015

  
If you don’t already know, my spring vacation is a jaunt to Paris, Moscow and Novoibirsk in Siberia. It came about, in part, because I follow PizzasInIzza on Instagram. The pizza looked so good I have to try it.

On Tuesday, my traveling companion M ran the website through Google translate so he could pick his pizza. We discovered the pizzeria is delivery only and verified it with some friends who can read Russian.

I contacted the folks at PizzasInIzza (via Instagram) and they apparently speak English (or at least more English than my pitiful Russian). Someone responded to me and invited us to see how they make pizza.

I packed a quick suitcase on Wednesday before my grandfather’s funeral.

I worked Friday and yesterday I had one of those “let’s have a nice family day” days that ends in everyone getting on everyone else’s nerves. Luckily we solved our differences with a hike to a rocky outlook over the Delaware River and soft ice cream.

This morning we headed to the train station and encountered no traffic, no wrong turns, even no issues parking. 

We bought some watermelon for my daughter and the green juice that got left at home… For me. A friend swears by it for his pre-flying ritual.

I write this now from Amtrak’s Northeast Regional train half way between Wilmington DE and Baltimore MD.

Next stop for me: Washington DC

Preparations for France and Russia

 
Sunday my vacation begins…

And do I ever need it.

Life has been hectic, and isn’t it always? Daughter spilled water on husband’s laptop and fried it. Husband drove through nasty pot hole and did $1400 worth of damage to the front end of the car.

I can’t find my sunglasses (prescription) and I just got a new crown that the insurance company is fighting. But hey, we’re surviving. 

Then my grandfather died Saturday night. He hasn’t spoken to me in 25 years, but it’s my father’s father and my father is one of the central people in my universe so seeing him struggle is hard.

He had considered not having a funeral, but now we’re having the traditional viewing, funeral and taking Grandpa to the cemetery. It’s going to be a long day, especially since the cemetary isn’t even in this state. 

It will be the first time I’ve ever seen the family plot, as my grandmother died when I was a baby.

And in the midst of this craziness, there’s the upcoming trip to France and Russia. So I’m thrilled to be traveling again, but part of me is simply desperate to escape. 

Traveling via the Food on my Plate

One of my newspaper bosses, my favorite newsroom personality ever, liked to bet on horses at the racetrack or play some cards in Vegas. He said he gave himself a budget, and since he didn’t smoke or go to the movies or play video games or have an expensive car, that this was his hobby.

I have a similar past-time that overwhelms me with guilt sometimes. I love to go out to eat. It’s my stress relief. I also love to cook, so you think I’d spend more on groceries and less on restaurants.

I’ve tried. I’ve cut the landline, canceled the Internet, lowered the thermostat, only bought meat on clearance and cat food when on sale. I can run a lean household. But I can’t resist the allure of a family meal in a fun restaurant.

Twice this week I was reminded why. A great meal is a lot like a mini-vacation. Without jet lag or clogged ears or piles of dirty laundry or traveler’s diarrhea.

And sometimes, you’re a mile away from home.

Like this penne with vodka sauce:

 

We all have that neighborhood restaurant we’ve been meaning to try. For me, it was George’s Pizzeria. I never really noticed it until my daughter moved from the elementary school to the intermediate school.  We finally checked it out and were impressed by the prices, the quality of the food, and the efficient but understated soft sell of the staff as they met our needs.

Once we left, I couldn’t stop thinking about trying their penne with vodka sauce. So, I returned this week after a long pre-Easter day in retail. 

You notice things the second time to visit a restaurant. I anticipated this and looked forward to discovering some nuances to this small, plain pizzeria. It was unexpectedly busy for the before-dinner hour. My daughter and I ordered drinks. We watched the hustle and bustle and customers came, some stayed and some picked up their food and left.

After a few minutes, a staff member ran to us. “Did anyone take your food order?”

No. He apologized so genuinely and honestly I didn’t mind because the atmosphere was like hanging out in someone’s kitchen. My daughter adores calimari. I ordered her an appetizer. I ordered my pasta, which is a $10 dish, asking if they could add chicken and broccoli.

It was the best meal I’ve had in a long time. The broccoli was fresh, not frozen. The chicken was real, not processed. (And they put so much in there I kept joking that I couldn’t find the noodles.) The sauce was smooth and no one ingredient overpowered. The texture was creamy but amazingly light.

My daughter devoured the calimari, despite the fact that it was the “hoops” kind and not the baby squid shape that she prefers. I enjoy calimari, but I still can’t bring myself to eat anything breaded in its original full-size form and shape.

My husband joined us late, so my daughter and I had dessert. I asked for coffee and they brought it in a New Orleans mug from the French coffee market. The Francophile in me was tickled.

 

When I went to pay the bill, they asked if I wanted more coffee. I declined as I do need to sleep eventually. They offered to prepare some “to go” since they had brewed me a fresh pot!

We were there two hours. I chatted with my family and enjoyed three courses. It was the most at ease I’d felt in a long time. It was the same feeling I get when my traveling companion and I find a special restaurant overseas. Like vacation.

I had a similar experience today. I finally visited Full of Crêpe in South Bethlehem. I had some delightful concoction of Brie, ham, and raspberry jam. Soooo good. 

 

It was like being in Paris. Except the staff was helpful. And crêpe was served in a restaurant not on the street. We shared a dessert crêpe.

 

The crêpes came in a fancy cardboard sleeve with perforations so you could eat in without having it flop all over. Each time you ate more, you tore down the sleeve. I couldn’t get the hang of it. I took the sleeve off and ate out of the tissue paper. Like Paris. Except I didn’t drip cheese all over myself. 

Day Trip to Hershey

I woke up yesterday frustrated by the freshly fallen snow that had ruined my plans to get out the bikes— daughter has a new bike, a grown-up bike, that she received for Christmas from her grandparents— and go for a long, first-ride-of-spring trip down the rail-to-trail path. 

I didn’t have to work, and that only happens rarely on the weekends, so I wanted to do something with my family. My daughter suggested watching a movie. I wanted something better than sitting on the couch. 

So, at noon yesterday, we hopped in the car and headed to Hershey. I last visited Hershey circa 1991. While I can technically say “I’ve been to Hershey before,” it has changed. It’s crazy amazing now. I think I stumbled upon the right age to take a child, since my daughter is ten-and-a-half and a full-fledged preteen know-it-all. Hershey reverted her to a spastic young ‘un full of wide-eyed awe. 

I had done a quick web search from my phone as we were walking to the car. I knew there were multiple attractions of multiple prices ranging from free to $14.95 per person. I also knew Hersheypark was not yet open for the season. Roller coasters would have to wait for another day (and a bigger budget). It’s a nice 90 minute drive from our home to Hershey. I also viewed this as a way to practice spontaneity. 

I’m very fortunate in a way. My mother is very frugal, knows how to budget, pays off her credit cards every month, and hides a little bit of cash somewhere for a rainy day. My father has a somewhat looser attitude towards money. He spends more generously than my mother, buys a lot of motorcycles and never balances his checkbook. I ended up a healthy blend of the two. I budget. I pay my credit cards every month. I also tend to spend when the occasion calls for it. Like on a good suit. Or, in this case, a family day trip.

We didn’t arrive at Hershey Chocolate World until 2 p.m. They close at 6 p.m. This meant we couldn’t do everything. (And honestly this kept the expense down AND the level of saying “no.”) We worked with the staff member at the ticket desk and booked the Trolley Works tour of Hershey ($14.95/adult; $10.95 child) and the Create-Your-Own-Chocolate-Bar ($14.95/person). 

To be honest, I insisted we do the Create-Your-Own-Chocolate-Bar. My husband and daughter seemed to pick the trolley. The other options were cheaper, the 4D mystery show and the Chocolate Tasting. My daughter originally suggested that, but the staff member pointed out that it was primarily a lecture with a lot of samples of dark chocolate from around the world. I was drooling, but chocolate school did not appeal to her. The staff member was very adapt at timing things so we could move from place to place without rushing but didn’t have too much free time.

I reminded my daughter that this is why she needed to be thankful that she didn’t have siblings because at these prices with more than one child I couldn’t afford to leave the house. 

  

I insisted we do the Chocolate Tour first. The Chocolate Tour is free, and though I don’t remember singing cows, it is the only part of Hershey Chocolate World that I remember existing from my other visit. The ride itself is like a Tilt-A-Whirl used as a transport device (without the spinning) that explains how Hershey makes chocolate. I thought my preteen would fine this lame. She adored it. We had to ride it twice. (I did make her wait until the end of the day for the second go.)

The trolley tour was an hour and fifteen minutes. I think the child lost interest after about 45. The history is extremely well done and the tour guides appropriately funny. Every time I started to get bored, they passed out chocolate samples. You eat a lot of free chocolate at Hershey.

  

The trolley tour chocolate samples started with Lancaster Caramels, what Milton Hershey made before chocolate, moved to Hershey Kisses, then flavored Hershey Kisses, then Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. When we disembarked, we received a full-sized Hershey Bar.

 

But, from a child’s perspective, I imagine the Create-Your-Own-Chocolate-Bar topped everything. They coded your name into your ticket, gave you a paper apron and hat, and sent you to some touch screens to select your options. First the chocolate innards: milk, white or dark chocolate. Then, up to three add-ins: crisped rice, toffee, pretzels, cookies, chocolate chips or butterscotch chips. Finally, whether or not you wanted sprinkles on top. From there, you went into the mini-factory. 

  

You scanned your ticket and pushed a button and your bar was placed on the production line. A screen displayed your name every time your bar reached that part of the process and you watched your bar receive its guts, its chocolate coating, everything. Eventually, it slid into a chute where a machine inserted it into a box and laser-printed your name on the side of the box. 

  

While it cooled and hardened, you designed the package. It was printed and a staff member boxed your bar in a Hershey tin and used your package as the outer sleeve. 

  

We ate a portion of our bars for breakfast today. We hope to make a summer trip to Hershey.