This is the time of the year when the right kind of cucumbers is available at the City Market and elsewhere to make pickles.



If you buy too much old dill just hang the leftovers in a dry place, it will dry up nicely and will be usable later on.
While you are at the market make sure to pick up a case of mangoes at the Little Saigon on 3rd and Grand.

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The recording of this poem used to play every hour (maybe still does) near the Monument to the Unknown Sailor in Odessa, Ukraine. After few times I instinctively tuned out the somber voice of the announcer. Today, many years after the World War II, it has a different meaning.

Remember!
Through the centuries
through the years –
Remember!
Those
who will never return –
Remember!

Do not cry!
Stifle your moans,
bitter moans.
Be worthy
Of the memory
of the fallen!
Worthy for the eternity!

In bread and in song,
In dream and in poem,
In life without boundaries
With every second
With every breath
Be
worthy!

People!
While hearts are
beating –
Remember!
What price was paid for
the happiness, –
please
Remember!

In a song
that comes from your heart –
Remember!
Those
who will never
sing again, –
Remember!

Tell your children
about them,
so they will remember!
Tell the children of your
Children
about them,
so they too
will remember!
At all times
on the immortal
Earth
Remember!
While flying spaceships to
the flickering stars –
Remember!
Meet
the quivering spring,
people of the Earth.
Kill
the war,
curse
the war,
People of the Earth!

Carry your dream
through the years
and fill it with
life! ..
But those
who will never return –
I implore you-
Remember!

Requiem by Robert Rozhdestvensky (1962) Translated by me.

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… when I am eating red borscht again. Since my daughter is unlikely to inherit any money, this recipe is probably all she is going to get, so she can cook it for some unlucky schmuck who will get me for a father-in-law.

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Some of you might have noticed that I mostly retired from writing about restaurants, not that it was a large part of this blog anyway. There are many food blogs out there, ranging from awesome to annoying (no links here), and even more reviews posted on a variety of special sites, so I have no interest in being just another one. However, sometimes I find something new, exciting and not beaten to death by everyone with a smartphone and a greasy finger, something that I feel needs to be shared. A while ago I wrote about my favorite hot dog dealer vendor Clay’s Curbside Grill and today’s post is about the Indios Carbonsitos – a Mexican food truck roaming the neighborhoods in Kansas City, KS and the only one I know of (could be wrong) to be registered on the Kansas side.

I first learned about Indios from a comment on one of the Fat City posts and tracked down their twitter and facebook pages. From there on, it was a just a matter of time before I got my hands on and in one of their tortas ahogadas.

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Last year I wrote about the day I was drafted in the military. I tried to convey the atmosphere of that day, the feeling of getting into something scary and unknown, leaving one’s home and family, and realizing that there is no way back after one crosses the gate. Yesterday, when the photos of a modern day military draft in Ukraine went around the Internet, I realized that besides the new uniform not much has changed since the day when I showed up at the draft processing location.
The military didn’t allow to keep the civilian clothes, so whatever possessions we had were either thrown away or taken by older soldiers who were allowed to bend the rules a little. I thought I was being clever when I showed up with a short but not bald haircut, like some of the recruits on this photo. Clever wasn’t one of the desired qualities in the military, so I was told to cut my hair again.

Here we see a group of “fresh meat” and a group of soldiers already processed. Typical barracks on the left.

I never looked this good, nor was I ever a fan of walking around naked around people I don’t know. When I was taking my pre-draft medical test, I was lined up together with 5 or 6 more recruits in front of the table with several doctors; we were told to drop our pants down all at once. I guess they were trying to see that all of us had correct equipment down there, they were sitting a few yards away and couldn’t have possibly determined anything else. The arrow-sign on the wall says “doctor”.

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In this shot the recruits are united with their new long underwear. In summer it was usually blue boxers and who-knows-what-color tank top. Winter season came with long underpants and long-sleeve undershirt. Every week at the showers the dirty underwear was taken away and the clean underwear was brought in a big stack. If you were slow you’d end up with a wrong size underwear for the whole week or even worse – see the streaks from the previous owner.

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Somewhere along the way they were issued a piece of soap.


Now on to the uniform.

Boots are a definite improvement from what I had to wear.

Hats stayed the same but there is mo emblem on the front.

Last look at the old life.

And now all ready to go. I have no idea what’s in these boxes.


What stands out in all these images is a scared look in these kids’ eyes. Some things never change.

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