Bulgakov's gourmand professor

"Thin slices of salmon and pickled eel were laid on black-rimmed plates adorned with painted exotic flowers. A heavy wooden board bore a head of glistening Swiss cheese; a silver bowl with caviar was chilled in a bucket filled with snow. Among the plates stood a couple of slender vodka glasses and three crystal decanters containing vodka of different colours"(here and further on - my translation).

This is a regular prelude to dinner in the apartment of Professor Preobrazhensky from Mikhail Bulgakov's "Heart of a Dog". This novella is, in fact, full of such mouthwatering descriptions. I do guarantee that this will be an equivalent of pornography for any food-lover.

The story takes place in Moscow in the 1920s, during the notorious NEP (New Economic Policy) years, when Lenin proclaimed that the Soviet society was not ready for socialism, so small amounts of private ownership and 'capitalist' enterprise were allowed. This policy was vigorously adopted by Bukharin after Lenin's death, but then abandoned by Stalin (surprise surprise) in 1929 . That put an end to such beautifully decadent food luxuries as salmon, pickled eel and honey/cranberry infused vodka. In fact, even in the 1920s our professor was only able to live in such extravagance because he presumably operated on and hence had connections with some of the biggest party leaders.

Preobrazhensky symbolises the last of the few food connoisseurs and epicures, as the following long, dreary years of queuing for bread and mayonnaise put an end to gastronomic culture in Russia.

Some of the mains enjoyed by the Professor and his associates in his home include such delicacies ad sturgeon, lobster and the scrumptious veal cutlets. The dinner is usually followed by rum cakes and coffee, and elegantly rounded up with savouring of digestive liqueurs or brandy and smoking cigars.

"Food, Ivan Arnoldovich, is a tricky thing. One must know how to eat and most people do not have such knowledge. We must know not only what to eat but also how to eat and when" (Prof. Preobrazhensky).

The art of gastronomy played an extremely important role for Bulgakov himself. The culture of food was a norm to him, just like knowledge in music or literature. One of Bulgakov's letters to P.S. Popov states: "So, my dear friend, you ask how to snack? With cured ham. But this is not suffice either. One must snack during twilight, sitting on an old shabby couch among one's old trusted objects. The dog should be lying on the floor next to a chair, and the noise of the passing trams should not be heard."

I find it quite sad that such wonderfully chic and specific way of enjoying one's snack is now reduced to stuffing yourself feverishly with a BLT on the tube...well M & S cous-cous at best.

I did say that I will try to recreate some of the dishes we find in literature. However, pickled eel being a mission, leave alone an expensive affair, I've decided to stick to pickles as they (apart from eel) are the perfect companion to vodka (which believe me, if of exceptional quality and straight out of a freezer may be an amazing/fashionably decadent accompaniment to dinner). So, as it is almost impossible to get decent gherkins in London, I will supply you with my grandma Lusia's recipe for pickling cucumbers in my next post.
I must add I cannot survive without gherkins and pickled tomatoes. As vegetables were not available in winter during the good old Soviet years, we stocked our cellars with huge jars (or sometimes barrels) of various pickles. (Which is actually a very good idea, eating seasonally that is). The acidic vinegar fiascoes one can find in most British supermarkets burn your insides...The Polish imported gherkins are a hit and miss, sometimes they turn out being far from crunchy. So if you are interested in the Babushka Lusia Gherkin Brine Recipe, please check the next post.