What was a public catering?the Culture of the Soviet public catering, certainly, was directed to fight against the person, against all kind and light that was in his soul. It seems, the public catering was quintessence of cynicism of the Soviet power, her hatred to own citizens. In general, if to look at history of seventy years of existence of the Soviet state, then it will turn out that all it is connected with an acute shortage of food. But amazing image today the last “ points “ where it is possible to feel taste and aroma being “ rygalovka “ are appreciated worth its weight in gold.
At the sight of a plastic cube with tomato juice which has a capacity with spoons for salt stirring in the course of eating of boiled sausages the atmosphere of a universal brotherhood and self-confidence settles in you. It is almost mystical act of a touch to the whole layer of experiences and events which is absent in glamourous cafes where in the menu is “ tequila sanrayz “ dead oysters, and also the juice and nectars which are squeezed out on your eyes from even live fruit. And in all this, undoubtedly, powerful political implication is hidden.
Disgusting quality of food pursued the Soviet citizen since kindergarten. Well, who does not remember vile gray kissel which moved during the lunchtime, or amusing cutlets which some threw out for a case. Cutlets from there smelled then of a corpse. This power supply system by all means including potatoes - mashed potatoes, watered with brown substance of obviously unearthly origin, extended everywhere: school, pioneer camp, technician, higher education institution, departmental dining rooms. Defenders of the Homeland in large numbers consumed the well-known army compound lard which is holding down lips and cementing interiors.
It was cruel daily fight in which specially trained personnel differed in special ruthlessness. Well-known “ aunts “ the menus throwing in a face and opinion on the visitor. “ Criminal “ the waiters and administrators always possessing a powerful arsenal of means for suppression of fans to order “ veal cutting of an average prozharennost with a garnish from vegetables on a grill “. Schnitzel of times!
As do not forget the first love, it is impossible to forget hardened, gray color contents of saltcellars, aluminum forks without teeths and the diluted beer. It is amusing to remember the adult uncles furtively adding the vodka brought with itself in beer glasses. Already nobody will understand a joke about Zmey Gorynych to whom the man explained that such real happiness: in one pivbar there were no toilets.
But it is a public catering. And still there was a problem of house food. One of the brightest childhood memories is a queue for meat in which parents got since night. Considering limited norm of holiday per customer, our family dispersed in a turn subsoil (“ you stand behind that man, and I borrowed for the woman in a scarf, still the girl faced her “) . I remained one in this medley of human passions.
I looked at a metal counter on which there were razmetana equally sinewy and bony pieces of flesh, and did not know what of them to demand. To ask there was nobody, and as a result I fatefully specified on “ " shank;. Situation was saved by suddenly appeared mother disguised under the sympathizing woman from the people. I crashed out with feeling that I was passed by terrible trouble. Since then game in “ Russian roulette “ it seems to me the most boring and most stupid occupation.
All life of ordinary people without “ hairy paw “ and the person in a warehouse consisted of an eternal pursuit of deficiency. Import products in bright packings seemed something fantastic, as well as stories about foreign sausage abundance. Though it is necessary to recognize: darling father`s zelts with the bristle which is sticking out of him was surprisingly tasty. Sausage, by the way, as well as many other products, turned in packing paper. Cellophane bags were in economy worth its weight in gold, erased them and dried on a string. But in the yard it was pure and accurate, and to children always was what to be engaged.
… My companion, the artist and the fine judge of refined experiences, somehow brought me to a small epicure where the past by miracle escaped. In its end the peregorodochka on which there was that cube of tomato juice and ancient coffee - the car covered with a brown raid, bitter even on appearance remained authentic to a shiver. Little tables were standing, with stains from a dirty rag on a brown table-top. Behind a peregorodochka two aunts, dispute spilling " were active; two on fifty “ and getting the next portion of sausages from the boiling water.
Any background music, but the contingent in quiet and slow turn specific and motley. Here to you and uncles in trenik with bubbles on a lap, and pensioners who have nothing to do houses, and quite solid uncles in expensive coats. There the class world reigned, and talk on the most ostropolitichesky subjects was carried on quietly and yours faithfully to the interlocutor. The youth does not come here - through the road there is couple of cafes on a modern harmony and the candy store still shining. On a TV set twist a telok on a podium there. But there it is not thought of destinies of the homeland, thought there of money which is not enough to go to cafe more expensively. And behind money no idea is necessary …