Manic Bookstore Cafe

I haven't been to Georgia in forever. But I have several scholars coming from Tbilisi to a symposium I've organized at Ohio State, and one of my favorite former students has been living there for some time, so it's on my mind. The symposium, because of a variety of complicated scheduling factors, is actually set for November 7 and 8. November 7, for those of you living in a truly post-Soviet world, is the anniversary of the October (Bolshevik) Revolution of 1917. We are thinking of another anniversary these days: this autumn marks 25 years since the fall of the Berlin Wall. A quarter of a century since the sphere of Soviet influence began to disintegrate. But in November 1988, 26 years ago, it was not self-evident that the Soviet system was failing. I was studying in Moscow at the Pushkin Institute of Language and Culture, on the south-west side of the city, and the group of Americans at our institute--under the leadership of our American professor--headed to Georgia in ...

I'm not sure what came over me. It could be that it looked like it might start raining, and might even settle in for 24 hours or more (which it did). Or maybe because it was the day before school started for my kids. Or because I've only recently returned to my beloved kitchen with its marble pastry board and welcoming orange walls. Or because we had invited some friends over for dinner. Whatever the reason, I had a truly manic baking day yesterday. It was supposed to be hot out, but I had bought the muenster I usually use for Georgian Cheese Breads ( Khachapuri ), and that was the center of my meal plan. Khachapuri  are always a crowd pleaser, and I figured I would make cold soup to go with them. I had also grabbed an eggplant at the store in case I felt up to making eggplant caviar, though some people in the family thought that Russian food would be too heavy for this sudden warm weather. I was doubtful myself, since really good eggplant caviar requires standing at t...

In everyone's life there is a teacher who motivated her to try harder, strive for more, reach beyond. Or in my case, a teacher who teased, goaded, poked, pried, laughed, lampooned, and somehow created an atmosphere where I was ready to work my tail off to make him proud. Randy Nolde, we will miss you. Mr. Nolde was my Russian teacher in high school. I first got to know him as a younger person -- the Russian Club Banquet was quite the event in my home town, and my grandmother used to take us regularly even before my sister enrolled in Russian language class. Every year, the high school cafeteria underwent a magical metamorphosis. Huge murals of scenes from Russia -- fantastic, colorful onion-domed churches, and young peasants reaping wheat, and Armenian maidens with long braids and colorful costumes -- hung all around the edges of the room. On the menu: chicken Kiev made by the cafeteria ladies, supplemented with cafeteria salad, but also khachapuri  and piroshki  made b...