Food

Quite literally, the grease of Russian home life. From the cafeterias in Moscow to the Mongolian bread and meat “surprises” of Ulan Ude restaurants (it was literally a box of bread with said meat surprise within) to the exquisite omul fish we ate near Baikal to the borsch and fried cottage cheese of home, the food has grown increasingly delicious, I fatter. Not so fat that I didn’t need to head downtown the other day to go belt-shopping in the rynok, but still fat. I think my face is fatter. Anyway, I don’t have much of a choice. In Russia there’s something of a tacit militaristic system when it comes to eating, especially in someone home—you’ll eat it and you’ll like it. Also useful is don’t ask, don’t tell.