A great restaurant of traditional Russian cuisine composed by chef Vlad Piskunov. You can go there on your own or you can bring there your guests from overseas, if they want to taste the real stewed shci, ukha, Russian dumplings and other specialties prepared according to the historically accurate recipes.

The interior is very smart, despite the disturbing presence of matryoshkas (how could you do without them?), samovars, etc. The designers did manage not to end up with something vulgarly national. It resembles some kind of a patrimonial nest of a Russian nobleman from the middle of the 19^th century who knows what he’s worth of. Besides, they have a very steampunk cast-iron stairs that occupy half of the hall. Superb. Obviously there’s a summer verandah, this is Taras Shevchenko Quay, after all, so a verandah is inevitable there, and it’s nice and cozy.

The waiters know the menu by heart and easily decompose dishes. They’re affable and prompt.

Ukha is absolutely great, as well as herring under a fur coat (with ivasi), and Russian dumplings with pork and duck… I have to admit, I was able to hold back, I didn’t order vodka – I was driving.

Again, there’s pretty much nothing to talk about. In respect of food Astana has got stuck deeply in the 2000s – stuck to such an extent that it’s like in the Russian fairy tale about the turnip: you pull it, then you pull it again, but it just won’t come out, and that’s pretty much it.

Now we aren’t taking in consideration the traditional stuff – shashlik/pilaf/beshbarmak – which is always on top.

I’m speaking of what is called “contemporary grub” (c).

Therefore, the emergence of Selfie™ in here is like a certain type of educational attraction.

Actually, the entire Ritz cluster with a super mall and a panoramic restaurant at the top reminds of the best traditions of Tokyo/Singapore/Hong Kong and kind of looks like an artifact. But at the same time it seems very well-established in these steppes – think of Almaty for instance.

Overall, it’s a Moscow restaurant of the new formation with all that follows. Please, read the article about the Moscow Selfie.

Though the local dishes, which are marked here with the small azure letters KZ, are a different story. Of course, it was them we immediately ordered.

Foal steak (a portion is 500 grams, the price is about 15 Eros) is EXCELLENT. It’s prepared in josper and it’s juicy, bright, textured and not too spicy so that some pantywaist won’t feel uncomfortable (if he isn’t already bummed by the mere word “foal”, of course).

Foal’s cheek with gratin is ok, there’s the same dish in Moscow, but with beef.

And the tongue with a thin layer of fat from under the foal’s withers is superb! Texture, taste, and savory are totally different. Probably, foals use their tongue in a somehow different way.

I should also mention kumis in the wooden bowl. It looks like some liquid processed cheese churned into soft foam. And did you know that kumis has a more hardcore brother shubat, made of camel milk?

There’s a type of “bruschetta” made of smoked kazy – the bomb!

This is obviously the light version of local cuisine. It is very different from what you may find below in the real steppe. If you want the super authentic food with 2-kilo portions and the like, you have to go there. That food is wonderful, indeed, Kazakh authentic is wildly tasty, although afterwards you’ll hardly fit through the door. But this Kazakh food is for jet-set people who stay in Ritz/Mandarin/Aman and jump from one plane to another, but not for the snobs who aren’t ready to try and appreciate something new outside “the foie gras zone”™.

Oh yeah, of course, the Moscow megahits are still there (by the way, they go even better with ayran).

Do enjoy!

It’s a very strange place. A very special one. A shelter. An uncompromising place.

No Italian subtleties there – it’s Japanese Japan only.

Made up your mind?

Let’s go, then. Enter coordinates «41.782076, 12.874318» in your GPS. Forget the address, it won’t help.

Get off A1, and then go all along those twisting roads, through the single-track railway bridge, along the forest avenues, which accrete and form tunnels, right to the sign. You’ve arrived.

There’s a concrete mansion on the hill, or rather under the hill. It’s built-in, it has firmly grown into the hill. Lazy rye’s licking its concrete platform (if they haven’t mown it yet).

The only thing that’s missing is the black sky with the scattering of stars, which would form an amber dome and be seen during the day, as it happens only in the center of the Galaxy. If so, it would be the place from my childhood dreams. Though there (in my dreams) some unpleasant brothers of mine used to come to see me, they were with black eyes and four white button pupils. In fact, I’ve never had any brothers.

It’s an independent project of the chef.

Once very long time ago I was lost in the contemplation of Tadao Ando’s books, going crazy about his Church of the Light, the one with the cross. Then, while hanging out in Tokyo, I finally got a chance to see his architecture, touch the silk concrete with my own hands and watch the light lay down on it. Ever since I’ve always dreamed of house like that.

The house is the project of another architect – not Ando – but the ideology is obviously the same.

The radicalism of the place can be scary at first. Even for me! Though everything’s fine: a flat house under a hill, sinking in the rye, concrete, incredible, beautiful, but… self-leveling floor? Seriously? 1200 square meters of empty void? Merely plain loft, without any compromises, without the slightest attempt to play to the crowd/guests?

Indeed.

A flat concrete mansion, only one floor (the house can be any type if it is one storey high (c)), 2/3 of which is … Void™.

The public spaces are full of museum-quality furniture, some items of which cost tens of thousands Euro. There’s no reception, the kitchen flows into the bar, through the fireplaces you can shoot. There’re chairs/armchairs/sofas everywhere: Mackintosh/Corbusier/Vitra. Anywhere you’d take a seat, there’s a reception, a work place, a dinner. If you like, you’re welcome to sleep in the gallery on a huge empty Chester or watch the rye. The shop is right here, with any kind of food. There’s a wardrobe-room with wine.

Void.

Glass is everywhere, from the floor up to the ceiling, instead of walls, cut into the yellow mown rye. You can open any door and come out straight into the grass, climb up the hill to the roof along the concrete board towards the swimming pool, “infinity” shear of which abuts the vineyard.

Such architecture is extremely addicted to light, which sometimes makes it insufferably beautiful.

For example, when wandering around in the morning, you can see this, and this, and this, and this, and this. It’s a pity that we seldom manage to dwell in such a place. Usually we just stop by for an hour or so like visiting a museum.

But only if you stay for several days and get a chance to observe the positions of light on the concrete which during the day transform the space a bit more than entirely, dissolving in the plasticity, in the concrete paraffin that is punctured clean through by light, you’ll finally understand the actual reason why this architecture is unique. And there’s no other way to see it, no catalogues will ever help: only with your own eyes.

In the evening, to your surprise, you start to realize that the number of staff and of the guests are approximately the same. The guests are accommodated by couples/small groups all around the Void, and as there’s only one floor, no stairs, no elevators, the journey from one end to another, 80 meters at most is to be made on foot.

So, at some point you suddenly get the feeling that you’re not in a hotel, but that you’ve rather come to visit someone’s huge apartment, which is by some reason forgotten in the rye field. So here is the chef smoking cigarettes with guests. All of a sudden, cinema can be organized IN ANY PLACE, the gallery is over there, and right here you turn to your bedroom.

There’re only 12 rooms.

Shadows are all around, someone’s laughter can be heard in the corridor at a distance, suddenly you find a SPA with a pool under a small roof; then there’s again glass up to the ceiling, right into the rye: move it and you’ll see a hill, bass, figs, bulb tomatoes.

Fall into the Corbusier’s chair and flip through the 7-pages champagne list, in which Krug costs only 190 Euros and Dom – 210 (geez, what the fuck?!); or just like that you can wander between small houses such as Philipponnat and monsters like Salon. You get a bottle, some local salamis with it, some kind of goose blood, and the thinnest prosciutto’s fat, thawing like ice cream, which indeed goes perfectly with Krug™.

Time to sleep.

In my «childhood» I would practically die of happiness after seeing such a house in the rye à la Tado Ando . Now I take it easier – just observe, just observe (c) – but all the same it still makes me slightly high.

Here they have a very funny Michelin/craft breakfast. Because of the “flatness” of the hotel, it takes 40 meters at most to reach the place where the breakfast is served and this fact actually increases the feeling that you move around in a huge apartment: you just put on your swimwear and a singlet, slip into your sandals, rub your eyes and walk…

… and then quite unexpectedly you come and see a fancy table all set up.

Everything is prepared in place including juice and eggs, and fruit, which comes from the local garden. Everything’s hot right from the kitchen behind the corner.

Ricotta with apricot/pear/peach comfiture is awesome as fuck. Well, the general atmosphere is of something madly aristocratic, kind of.

There’s again more staff than guests, twice as much. Everyone’s at the seacoast, ha! But we’ve seen it all! The staff runs like an electronic clock: they are invisible / you can’t hear them, don’t even tick, but everything does function.

Time on its own kind of smooths here in this shelter: light on the walls, a pool, a pigeon, Château d’Yquem in glasses, dry grass, you can secretly have some tomatoes from the garden…

Khmmm ….

Stop. A few words about the food.

This is a  one-star Michelin restaurant. At first we kind of didn’t like it, but! We did fulfil our duty, we gobbled up everything from the menu, and here you have our selection of a few really excellent dishes. The indisputable victory goes to the “turned inside out” carbonara, the pigeon gets 5 points out of 5, the meat is great, ravioli in bloody Mary are nice, the pork is crunchy and good, then there come: smoky pasta with white beans, soup in a cocktail glass, and codfish. They can also make any simple dish like classic pizza/pasta there, so you won’t be starving.

But! — for the fans of simple/tasty food, there is a secret: the chief recommended us to drive 20 minutes and get some superb fishy/shells/armor-plated grill — simple and wildly delicious.

I will return.

PS: Man, now again I want this kind of house, lost in pines on a hill.

Here everything is simple. The chef of «the concrete Michelin ship» gave us the coordinates.

Just enter, talk to the waiter and tell him what you’d like to have. Right near the polystyrene boxes with fish/seafood. No need to read the menu.

Then you get some grill that is fucking awesome, very briefly flame broiled, nothing queer about it. Wildly delicious.

The rest of the menu is as usual: meat, pasta, porcini.

The seafood is beyond any praise.

This plate + the Sicilian ruby ones on a side = €140.

Do enjoy.

As though I visited my Chinese grandmother (if I had one). They are very welcoming, the portions are huge and they are also eager to give you some takeaway food.

Moreover, administrator Anna, when asked on phone if parking was available, answered affirmatively only after having checked personally that indeed there was a place (she’s really a nice girl). The owner of the restaurant, mister He, came to talk to me to make sure that I enjoyed everything. According to Anna, he is almost always at his restaurant monitoring the process and communicating with guests.

The cuisine (evidently, Sichuan) is excellent. Spicy, not too much. The spiciest dishes in the menu are marked with one, two or three peppers.

Five qualified cooks, brought here from Sichuan province by mister He, are working in the kitchen. Spices are also brought directly from China.

The only weak point of the restaurant (for me) is that it is located in St. Petersburg. In Moscow I know no such authentic places, which would be set up by a Chinese, with Chinese cooks and spices, and, mostly important, with Chinese visitors (the fact that speaks for itself).

In general, the restaurant is quite democratic, without any kitsch and heavy luxury interior, which definitely adds to the atmosphere of Chinese realism.

Pork ears are awesome. I had one huge portion in place, another I’ve taken away to Moscow and it was enough for the whole family.

I want a similar restaurant in Moscow!

It is so strange, and it gets even “stranger and stranger” (c) to visit in Italy, in Rome, the restaurant of a Moscow chef!

But, following the principles of the same great text, then everything became “curiouser and curiouser” (c).

Nino is well-known to all the gastro-Moscow and I don’t know any chefs, either fashionable or tasty ones, who don’t truly respect him and consider his restaurant “Semifreddo” at least respectable.

And to my taste, those who don’t agree, if any, should definitely go fuck themselves.

Here in Via Condotti, overlooking Fendi, in the den of luxury and untamed tourists he has suddenly opened his Osteria Siciliana. A tiny, hypercozy restaurant, as white as the Moscow snow two days a year.

We enter. The place is full at nine o’clock.

Laughter, hubbub, the darting of little glances. Everything is as it should be in a regular Italian restaurant in Italy.

We sit down.

Only two people, Nino’s wife and his daughter, serve. In person. No hostess/waiters. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be stylish enough.

The menu is such that you wish to have half of it at once and this is a real problem. Fortunately, for example, pastas are traditionally served half portion, so you can try many kinds at a time.

For appetizers we had Sicilian ruby shrimp crudo (how can you do without it?), octopus salad and cod-chickpeas mousse with a hardly pronounced name.

Everything was wildly delicious. Starting from the shrimps, which were initially fucking awesome, in a very nice sauce, up to an obscure cod mousse, with a stop at the excellent, not sluggish or over tortured as usual, but quite a vigorous octopus, snow-white on cuts/fissures.

In favor of pasta, I’d say that it is a completely thing here. Everything the way I love it, high-class: there is almost no sauce, nothing is floating in it, but the spaghetti itself has absorbed so much taste that you can eat it on its own. Langouste pasta was perfect, as well as a really good pasta with bottarga (for those who love bottarga, of course).

Then there were a couple of fish plates, Sicilian-style, simple and understandable, which didn’t make them less tasty: tuna tornado with comfiture and swordfish with vegetables.

For dessert, instead of something sweet, we traditionally had another half pasta each, black with cuttlefish and white with grouper, to which there was only one claim: they were not as fucking delicious as scampi pasta, but simply damn good.

P.S. One more bonus: by some reason any super champagne Krug costs here 240 Euro, which is almost a duty free price.

P.P.S. Before you decide whether it is expensive/not expensive, subtract 240eur from the check, look at the pictures with all we had below and keep in mind the bottle of white wine.