Here is what I learned about Russian vodka during our trip:

• You don’t have to look for it. It will find you.
• Only your host will decide when you are finished drinking- not you.
• “No” never really means “no”.

Drinking/tasting/enjoying vodka was never a priority for us on this trip, but somehow it just kept happening…again…and again…and again.

We did go to the Russian Vodka Museum in St. Petersburg, but mainly because it was open relatively late on a Sunday. Our visit didn’t take very long because ALL of the information was written in Russian…except one thing. In the corner, there was one bottle of wine and a sign written on bright white paper with the following description in English: “It’s an old German wine of 1826, taken from the cellar of Gering during the Nazi retreat. Is it poisoned wine? Hard to say. We keep it as a trophy of the war.” Very strange. Very strange indeed. Clearly they wanted the international population to know about this special piece of loot.

In the back of the museum was a bar where two plates and six vodka shots were waiting for us. The various fish appetizers were a surprise, as well as the horrific-ness of the vodka. It was so awful. Maybe it is an acquired taste…that I don’t have.

Several days later, still in St. Petersburg, we walked into a store to pick up a few souvenirs. An employee offered me tea or coffee and when I declined he told me that I could help myself at the bar if I wanted. Presumably Joe saw this as a perfect opportunity to avoid shopping and followed the salesman to get himself some coffee.

Fifteen to twenty minutes later, after I had thoroughly perused the shop, I started to look for Joe. I headed back to the “bar”, which I assumed would be a self-serve table with some hot water, instant coffee, and tea bags. Oh how wrong I was! In the back of the shop was a full-service vodka bar. There must have been at least thirty different options and Joe had already sampled at least half a dozen with his new friend Mischa, the bar keeper. Apparently there is a very complicated ritual of deep breathing, exhaling, yoga poses, and praying to God that must be completed prior to shooting Russian vodka. This was all new to us and apparently the reason for the wretched experience at the Vodka Museum.

So, I agreed to sample a few different brands, armed with new skills that would surely make it all taste like heaven. It didn’t. The special exhaling technique cut the bite a bit, but it was still awful.

Joe = having fun, Me = struggling

I made it through two or three before I started to adamantly refuse. This was only partially successful. I was given some cowberry liqueurs instead. The word cowberry makes me think of an unfortunate mixture of cow pies and dingle berries, so that didn’t last long either. I left Joe to consume at his leisure while I finished the shopping. 2.25 hours later…we finally walked out of the shop…with our souvies, some vodka to enjoy at home (super not excited about this!), and a Russian hangover in the making!

We made it all the way to Moscow without too much more damage, except for the horseradish vodka shots. I am usually game to try anything “local”, but a line had to be drawn somewhere. Henceforth, I have no comment on the horseradish beverage.

On our last day in Moscow, our hotel hosts asked us to join them later in the evening for “coffee and a little vodka”. They said it was a present for us. That sounds great…my two least favorite drinks in the world…sign me up! Mind you, they barely spoke English. I mean…very barely! We tried to avoid the entire encounter by staying out relatively late. I figured anything past 11pm was safe. Nope. How wrong I was again!

So, sometime after 11pm we were taken upstairs to the tiny kitchen of the hotel and told to sit down on the couch. I was given a choice between vodka and cognac. I chose cognac, so the wife had some as well. Vodka for the men, cognac for the ladies. The husband poured the drinks and the wife explained the treats that were laid out on the table. Pickles and coleslaw (which was eaten with your hands) for the vodka/men, lemon slices with coffee grounds and granulated sugar for the cognac/ladies.

Yup…that’s right. After shooting the cognac, I ate a lemon slice…WITH the rind…covered in coffee and sugar. Ridiculous, right? I was successful three times, although I know my face experienced some new contortions that had never been seen before. After politely refusing the next round, my glass was filled again and I was told just to toast but not to drink. Oh geez. As midnight came and went and the hour of our departure grew dangerously close, the coffee came out. Piping hot espresso with a heavy helping of tar at the bottom! Honestly, I would rather have been served the coffee all night than vodka and cognac! To top it off… post-coffee vodka shots, of course! “Just one more, just one more.” Famous last words.

I’ll hand it to Joe. Not only did he manage to keep up with the husband, but he finished off a few of my shot glasses as well, all whilst maintaining an exceptionally entertaining conversation with two Russians, despite huge language barriers. I guess that is the good thing about Russian vodka: no one cares what anyone else is really saying! I was a little surprised when Joe asked the following question, probably fueled with some liquid courage: “So…this is all right, us being Americans and all?” The response went something like, “You American, we Russian. We people. The rest politics. You two good people. You two good people.” Ummm…I think being called a “good person” by a Russian is a compliment?! Right?

We managed to get up the next morning and make it to the airport on time, so I guess the night was a success.

Here is what else I learned about Russian vodka during our trip:

• Vodka is shared amongst people, not nations.
• Smiles, laughs, gratitude, and vodka need no common language.
• Maybe politics would go a lot smoother if everyone just had some shots!

(Grandpa Y. – don’t forget to click on “Older Posts” here in the lower left corner!)