Daddy is doing quite a bit better today! Yay! And I’m about to book tickets to come home for Spring Break so I can see him myself. (Because clearly, my professional medical opinion is a VITAL CONTRIBUTION to the situation, what with the only seven or eight doctors that he has on his case.) I’m excited, and glad I can give mama a bit of a break, too. I have no idea where he will be at the time, but at peak performance, Daddy and I are high-maintenance people. We need near constant entertainment or we get noisy. Sometimes, we’re noisy even when we’re entertained. In sum: Mama needs a nap or twelve. And a new Lab puppy. She’s going to be so surprised!
(I kid, Mama. Call the locksmith back.)
So the other night, we went out to dinner after classes ended to a restaurant here whose name translates to, depending on who you ask, “Fiddlesticks”, or I think I’ve heard it translated to “Hokey-Pokey”, too? Or maybe I’m just transliterating that. (I’m exhausted-is “transliterated” even a word?) Anyway-it’s decorated in a way as to please nobody’s aesthetic and has an authentic-ish Russian salad bar featuring all manner of mayonnaise-based salads and other delights. The only pickles on it, however, were pickled garlic and garlic shoots. To wit:
1. Pickled garlic shoots look a LOT like pickled green beans.
2. They are delicious. But they do NOT taste like pickled green beans.
3. They, erm, stay with you for a L-O-N-G time. Do NOT, and I cannot stress this enough, plan on pickled garlic shoots for your Valentine’s Day dinner. Unless you are trying to communicate a fantastically unsubtle message to your soon-to-be-former beloved.
4. They would be, however, AMAZE-BALLS in a Bloody Mary. Like, I’m fantasizing about it now. Mmmmm. Someone go try it and report back to the group, m’kay?
So anyway, after deciding to order the salad bar, we were then trying to decide the rest of our order. Which took awhile. First, two of us decided we needed booze. (Why do you automatically assume I was one of them???)
Vodka was ordered.
They were out.
(Give that a minute to marinate, there.)
Moonshine was ordered. (The Russian equivalent-I have no idea…) (Perhaps, in a country with no recognizable tort law, I should be more discerning, but I was thirsty…)
They were out.
Beverage abandoned, we moved on to food.
They were out of one of the soups.
They were out of the stroganoff.
They were out of the lamb.
At this point, the waiter was asked what they DID have. And we all had the pork shashlik. (Which is what I had planned on ordering all along, FTW!)
At that point, the night was reaching surreal, and so we ended it. But please do not start hashtagging things with “porkshashlik” or “canweeat” or anything. Because hasn’t every restaurant had a bad night? I just got SO TICKLED that a Russian restaurant/bar ran out of vodka…and then even the Moonshine…
Maybe it was really tasty Moonshine, B?
Anyway-just a brief interlude on our tour of Red Square to tell you about dinner on Saturday. (hashtag lamelikethat)