Mastering the Art of Soviet Cooking, by Anya von Bremzen – review

The early 1990s in Russia were hungry years. At the time, I was a student, too idle to barter and hustle for food, and the collapse of the planned economy had left the shops empty. Instead, we staved off hunger- pangs with cigarettes, and if edible matter came our way, we fell upon it like locusts. More often than not, it took the form of the Soviet staple, Salat Olivier — Russian salad, plastered so thickly with mayonnaise that the ingredients were unidentifiable. (I notice that even the act of typing these words makes my mouth water; a complicated rush of nostalgia, anxiety and greed.)

Like most aspects of late Soviet Russia, the Salat Olivier had a dual identity. In canteens it had a public life, monotonous and shot through with suspicion — it seemed probable that the mayo disguised unpleasant secrets. In private houses it was another thing entirely, crunchy and delicious, a triumph of ingenuity over poor ingredients.