Hungry for blogging

I've been back in Moscow for a month already and it's time for a new post. I love posts, don't you? This one is about my favourite thing in Moscow: Food. It's a constant adventure. A step into the unknown. I feel like Laika that dog that they shot into space that died and often I am taking the same risks with my life. So me and Tim are looking for a place to get a decent meal, a 'business lunch': 3 courses for a decent price. The place we found had like a BILLION staff leaning against the bar. (It's always too many or too little) and we sat down to enjoy a delicious meal of some fishy thing, some soup and some goulash. Well, my friends, it was poor. On a scale of one to shit it came out as shit. The goulash was cold so we had to send it back. When it finally came back mine was hot, but Tim's was STILL cold. So he had to send it back again. There was also a cat in the restaurant.

All that was just a preamble to the awesomeness to come: So we went for a nice breakfast at Chokoladnitsa. A basic chain of coffee shops. Think Costa with table service. We have had the 'city-fm' breakfast a number of times: Juice, Coffee 3 slices of toast, ham, cheese and jam. Nice. They have pictures of it on the poster outside and on the menu. It's like dairy-lea lunchables or something. You can construct it anyway you like. It's like stickle-bricks. So I have this weird pancake thing and Tim waits for this breakfast. He gets the juice and the coffee but no food. 15 minutes passes by.

Now I don't know whether you've made toast before but the recipe is fairly simple. 1. Take some bread. 2. Add fire. It doesn't take 25 minutes, does it? So after asking Gdye Eta? and pointing at the picture the food comes.

It's a toasted sandwich.

So Tim gets the menu and points at the picture and then at the sandwich, and the waiter is confused. HE THINKS THEY ARE THE SAME THING! He must think the photograph is some kind of instruction manual. Take these ingredients and then combine them into a sandwich shape. Despite the fact there is no friggin' jam in the sandwich. Only in Russia my friends, only in Russia. And usually to Tim, thinking about it. He has bad luck when it comes to restaurants, I think it's bad karma from taking too long to fucking order.

So I tore out a page in my sketchbook, drew the breakfast and the sandwich and wrote the name of the breakfast in Russian on the top. Then in big letters I wrote DA under one picture and NYET under the other.

We did have a nice italian the other night, though. So it's not all bad.

Tune in again next week. Same bat-time, same bat-URL.