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For this blog post, I watched a Soviet advertisement for corn that I was able to find on YouTube. When I heard about the ‘dancing corn’ in class, I assumed it would be animated, however, the corn was actual physical cans of corn that the chef interacted with. My Russian isn’t very good and I couldn’t find a translation, but the corn seemed to want people to buy it. I was surprised to see that the corn in the ad was canned, rather than fresh or on the cob, but I suppose this makes sense – factory production was popular, and fresh corn also might have been hard to get for the average person, like other fresh foods at the time. Overall, the ad was strange, but probably no stranger than American ads for foods from this time, and it seemed reflective of the point in the Soviet timeline at which it was made.

The ‘bread’ proclamation of October 1917 that we were able to view an original copy of in the Thompson Rare Books Room highlights the role of food as both a literal point of contention and as a representation of class in the Russian Revolution. Bread in particular would have played an important role both in the diet and the culture of ordinary Russian peasants, as well as many merchant families and less wealthy nobles, while perhaps playing a smaller role in the lives of the Russian elite. While wealthier nobles would have had a more varied diet, with daily access to meat and fish, as well as fresh fruits and vegetables, a Russian peasant would have relied much more on black or whole-grain bread to get them through the day. Because of this role of bread as an important staple in the ordinary Russian’s diet, it came to be regarded as representative of more than just a simple food – bread to a Russian peasant meant life, sustenance and generosity (the Russian word for hospitality, хлебосольство, literally includes the words for ‘bread’ and ‘salt’). To give a Russian bread was to give them life, both literally and metaphorically, so it makes sense that revolutionaries would want to depict themselves as delivering ‘life’ to the people. In addition, the greater role of bread in the lives of ordinary Russians than in the lives of nobles allowed revolutionaries to use bread as a symbol of commonality and of a simple kind of strength – bread was the food of the workers, not the nobles with their fancy meals; the people ate bread, and like bread, they were humble, hearty, simple and strong. More practically speaking, it’s also important to note that, in times of famine, nobles would likely have taken most of the food (including bread) for themselves, while the peasants went hungry, so the promise of ‘bread to the starving’ would have been literal as well as symbolic – if you’re used to going hungry, a group that promises an abundance of your staple food would probably sound like a good deal. All in all, the promise of bread served to highlight the simple strength of the Russian people, to convey a sense of new life brought by the revolution, and to literally promise the people that they would no longer go hungry. Considering this, it’s little wonder that the revolutionaries would choose to include bread in their proclamation.

The cookbook that I read on our class trip to the Thompson Rare Books Reading Room was called Russian Cooking, and was written and published in English in the US in the 1960s by a Georgian expat who had also spent time living in the Soviet Union (it seemed like he had been living in St. Petersburg/Leningrad, as he mentioned the city frequently throughout the book, but it’s possible that he lived somewhere else and visited the city as a tourist), and his American wife. In the introduction, he makes a point of mentioning his wife as a partner in writing the book, explaining that her unexpected interest in Georgian and Russian foods was what inspired him to compile a book of regional Russian recipes for an American audience. The book begins with an explanation of food in the Age of the Tsars (served on plates intricately decorated with silver and gold), but from then on is divided into chapters by region. It’s filled with beautiful full-page images, including photographs and, in the case of the Soviet chapter, illustrations I assume were taken from the Book of Tasty and Healthy Food, as they closely matched its style. Each chapter begins with a description of the region being covered, its culinary history as well as influences from nearby countries/cultures, and some of the author’s experiences with food from that region (this is particularly interesting in the chapter about Georgia, the author’s birthplace). The chapters end with about three or four recipes from the region, usually with a brief explanation of each recipe’s significance. While the author makes a point of including all the iconic Soviet regional recipes that American readers would have heard about (Salat Olivier, beef stroganoff, khachapuri, chebureki), he also includes the typical American, rather than Russian, ingredients that would be used to prepare each dish – for example, he substitutes American active yeast packets for Soviet yeast cakes. Overall, the book was a good introduction to the different regional styles of cooking in the Soviet Union for American readers, and was written in a style that was informative, approachable, and entertaining.

For this blog post, I chose to read Chapters 41, 42, and 43, or ‘What to Do with Goods From Faraway Lands’, ‘How Someone Who Has No Villages Should Buy Supplies for Summer and Winter’, and ‘How Order Depends on Storing Supplies’. While the Domostroi is, obviously, a medieval text (I definitely don’t have a village and wouldn’t know how to get one) the basic principles put forth in these chapters are really ones that are still universal today, both in Russia and in the US.

Chapter 41 talks about what you should do when you happen across something unusual – in those days, something from far away. Its advice is basically to buy whatever it is and as much as you can (even if you’re not really sure what it is or what you’ll do with it), and then store it until you need it. This is typical of the time, as I would imagine that imported goods were more of a novelty then than they are now – but it also speaks a bit to the Russian view of consumer goods in general. As we discussed in class, many Soviet emigres initially coming into contact with American stores (especially in the 80s or 90s) had a tendency to buy anything new they noticed, even if they weren’t sure what it was. This speaks a bit to the cultural side of the economy of scarcity – if you don’t know when something will be available again (or if it ever will), it makes a lot of sense to buy it, even if you’re not sure when you’ll use it. For my part, I would consider this to more of a Russian mentality than an American one – my mother, who never expected an extreme shortage because there had never really been one, always taught me never to buy things unless I knew exactly what I would do with them, to avoid waste.

Chapters 42 and 43 put forth ideas that I think are pretty common even today in both Russia and the US. Chapter 42 discusses the idea that every household should plan ahead for coming seasons and store goods accordingly – that way, you could plan meals with items that are out of season without having to go to the market and pay high prices for them. While some of the ideas, like buying a whole cow and storing it, might seem outdated, I’m not really sure they are; I have neighbors even now that are part of farm-sharing programs that send them whole cows once a year or so (they usually throw all the parts in a freezer in the basement or garage, and use them when needed to save money). The idea of buying things when they’re in season is coming back too – it’s not something my family ever really did, but the idea of shopping local and buying foods in season is now a pretty popular one for environmental reasons, if not financial ones. Chapter 43 continues in much the same way, talking about the importance of storing items ahead of time so that you’ll have them when you need them. While the chapter talks about this in terms of planning for fast days, the methods it suggests – buying in bulk, maintaining pantry staples like flour, oats and oil – are nothing new to modern Russians or to Americans. For the most part, while these chapters set their advice in the context of medieval Russia, the actual advice they give is relevant and common to both Russians and Americans. The biggest difference, in my opinion, would be the inclusion of buckwheat as a pantry staple – Americans still don’t really eat this, and probably never will.

I’ve actually seen this video before! Overall, I feel like Russian snacks tend to be more salty but also more healthy and place more emphasis on quality, while American snacks can be more sugary and are generally more processed – many Russian snacks also seem to be baked goods, which aside from cookies America does not really count as snacks. Also, there seem to be way more Russian snacks with fish.

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