During my trip to St.Louis I made my annual visit to McDonald’s because my daughter requested McSalad. I was disappointed that inflation continues to devastate McValue “dollar” menu. You used to be able to get medium French fries in a cardboard package, and now it’s downgraded to small fries in a little paper bag.
Very old people would be able to recite McDonald’s original prices:
hamburgers–15 cents; cheeseburgers–19 cents; fries–10 cents; soft drinks–10 cents and 15 cents; coffee–5 cents; and shakes–20 cents.
With higher prices and crappy food there shouldn’t be any reason to go to McDonald’s, while we have plenty of local hamburger joints such as Town Topic, Harold’s and Winstead’s.

One of the reasons I visit the Russian store so rarely is my complete inability to stay away from Russian candy. They have chocolates, boxed and bulk, non-chocolate candy and other sweets. No matter how much I buy, they are gone within few days and no gimmicks or rationing tricks work to keep me from eating handfuls of chocolates until they are all gone. The only souvenir I brought from my last trip to New York was a suitcase full of Russian chocolates. Russian chocolates are tastier and more creative than their American mass-produced counterparts, they seem to use real chocolate and at $5.69/lb are a bargain. At the store you can grab a few pieces out of every bin, they are all conveniently priced the same.

Another favorite of mine is Zefir. Calling it a marshmallow is a blasphemy but there is no better English word to describe this airy, light, sweet and slightly tart dessert, which doesn’t need to be melted, burned or otherwise abused to make it edible.

There are two Russian stores in the area: European Delights and Taste of Russia. Note that European Delights moved to the shopping center on the Southwest corner of the 95th street and Antioch, pretty much across the Antioch street from where it used to be and Google maps may not be current.

UPDATE: DLC, the eating force behind Kansas City Lunch Spots, visited one of the stores in this post and bravely ate lunch there. Please read his review and my comments there.

Nineteen years ago today an otherwise routine TWA flight landed in the Kansas City International Airport with me, my family and all of our possessions on board. We walked out into a 70F day wearing winter jackets and fur hats to start our lives in this country with a few hundred dollars and our broken English.

To mark this date I will answer the question I’ve been asked the most during these years – How do you say “fuck” in Russian? What part of Russia is Ukraine? Do you miss the old country?

Do I miss the old country? The short answer is no. I really don’t. I don’t long for the streets and the beaches; don’t miss the sound of a familiar language; don’t care to mingle with the people; don’t feel like I belong there.

There is a long answer though, to a slightly different question: do I miss the old country between 1969 and 1992? Yes, I do.

I had plenty of time to think about nostalgia and even test it out by going back several times. I think that places don’t mean much without the memories. Memories is the difference between the place that means something in one’s life  and just another tourist attraction. You walk down the streets and remember a place where you first walked next to a girl; or a spot where you stood on your first day of school with a giant bouquet of flowers; a storefront that used to sell the best ice cream in the city; a toy store where you wandered in without any money; a street where you got punched in the nose (and still have a crooked nose as a reminder); a park you used to go to with your parents; a place where you learned to ride a bike; a building where you first love used to live; a street where you walked wearing a gas mask to win a bet; many other things, probably not that important in the big picture but still somehow stored in your head all these years. These things I miss, but they are no longer there, they were just a brief moments of my life and there is no way to go back and relive them. Maybe it’s better that way; that’s what makes these memories unique and a huge part of who I am.

I don’t have to go back to a specific place to reminisce. The place since moved on anyway – rebuilt, reinvented, repainted, renamed, refurbished, re-branded, repopulated, recycled and replaced. I no longer feel like I am a part of it. I feel like I am going back to the old country when I talk with my childhood friend in Argentina, or call my old neighbor in Boston, or catch up with my army buddy in New York. Old country is us. Old country is our memories. Old country is these photographs. Fuzzy and oddly vivid, just like I remember.

I had to do a double-take on this billboard today, it looked too much like graffiti frequently seen around the area.

A vicious ham-handed attack was recently perpetrated on the troubadour of the knife and fork and minstrel of all things food – Charles Ferruzza by the humorless militant organized fat people.

I hate to break it to the fat people, but sitting around and reading the Pitch in search of things to be offended at is not a healthy activity you should be engaging in to become less fat.
I don’t have any use for organized anything – labor, religion or fat people. No matter how many politically correct titles you invent for yourselves or how much you lobby to be considered normal size, all you have managed to do so far is to take the livelihood away from the people who made a living working for freak shows.

There are two kinds of fat people – the ones who have a sense of humor about their size and the ones who are angry and bitter. The ones who can laugh at “yo mama” joke and the ones who are offended at a drop of a cupcake. I belong to and know plenty of the former but have no desire to associate with any of the latter.

So the next time you are sitting with another chubby young woman “who seems mortified at having to spend another Friday night with (you) instead of being on a real date”, don’t blame Ferruzza for noticing, with this attitude you’ll spend every Friday night there for the rest of your sad life.

Order some broccoli and lighten up.