asked for a gooseburger in the form of a patty. without accompaniment – no buns, no salad spreads. I sit and wait.  I carefully pick at my multicolored tomato salad.  still, I cough a little as I make my debut.  bkha-bkha.  suddenly, a rough decorated hand appears from the side and along with it a large man. subsequently, it turned out to be chef Zhurkin. so I immediately made myself humble, because I’m disarmed by the white chef’s jacket.

“would you like just a plain patty?”

“I’m curious, how is it, the goose patty”

“would you like salad with it?”

“just the one patty for me, please…”

“you don’t care for salad? what do you like?”

“tomatoes.”

a silent scene // border lights on the face

and then they brought us deskinned tomatoes, lightly singed with a kind of smart-ass pesto, bold and easy-going.  well, right away I was ready to kiss the ground you walked on.  from thankfulness.

and then still they brought a leg of confit.  and they brought a goose patty.  and still tea a number of times.  and I just couldn’t leave.  the temperature was rising.  and together the two of us had been sitting a long time.  and we had a few casual encounters.  and they even brought us hare kidneys, there was just no going anywhere!

the kidneys, I will point out, were of a pure and simple trap.  all of this cunningness with temperature curtseys, turning the texture of the colored cabbage into a forest hazelnut, and allowing the kidneys to open their flavors “page-by-page”, in layers, leading up to a distinct sugary finale – there it is. hello. where are you going to get away to?

and still they brought leafy lettuce with simmered goose inside.  then tomatoes with anchovies (this is not shocking) and crème fraiche (this is shocking).  gazpacho with watermelon scoops, not artisan, as I figure, not meant for an overall rustic quality, but tender and silken.  and still there was another soup, a grape one, that was candy-creamy with alarm bells of smoked goose.

then anya-the-waitress said, “how about I make you tea with lemon, honey, and ginger, so you don’t go straight belly up here!?” and she brought us a fucking flawless ginger tea.  it wasn’t hellishly atomic, nor overly sweet, and not eye-popping.  I couldn’t wish for anything better.  just couldn’t!  and more pies.  millions of pies.  In general, it was this line that completely captured me.

in the end, we took home almost every pie on the menu.  I cried over two-of-six, no joke.  I wanted to hug the pies because they were glorious.  understand, they were invented and cooked up like a complete work of art.  pies!  your noggin cannot contain all that is said within, although it is so.

there’s a pie with mutton core that’s a small triangle: minced lamb with spices, but without overpowering cumin, wrapped in extremely thin and transparent batter.  and roasted.

I will not write about the pie with duck and pear.  that would be a spoiler if I did.  you must get it, it goes with wine (I’d take it with a semi-dry rosé, but there’s a particular approach with the wines there), and go to a park.

on the whole, these pies combine with the park like pieces of a puzzle.  and the place combines like a puzzle, for example, with me. it’s just Tsvetnoy boulevard that doesn’t combine well. but that I can tolerate.