It seems that some readers have come to think that I’m having a miserable time cowering in fear of skinheads in Moscow. Now, I do worry about the бон-хеды. And about getting stopped by the militia who have really been cracking down on people who look like me after the train-bombing a few weeks ago and in preparation for this weekend’s celebration of the 860th anniversary of Moscow’s founding. And yeah, sure, when I read reviews of the new Caribbean art exhibition at the Brooklyn Museum, it makes me miss home.
The food's supposedly pretty good here as well. Come for the swine, stay for the mime. Or vice versa, as your boat floats.
But Buster, let's get down to the most important counter, you say? What will throw the beer/wine lady for a loop? Just you try asking for a bottle of a beer that only comes in cans!
Oh ladies, I look forward to your antics every afternoon. Americans who only go to supermarkets in Moscow don’t know what they are missing.
p.s. But the very best part, you ask? A category unto itself? Candy, shaped like a toilet, called “Hot Pot.”
Beat that, chumps.