It was a real Russo-American New Year's festival here. Besides my wife and her son and daughter, her mama and sister have been here for a six-week stay.
Joining us for dinner were my younger son, my stepdaughter's boyfriend, and a fraternity brother with wife driving through to Key Largo.
It was a fusion, not clashing, of American and Russian cultures.
Alcohol had flowed freely through the day, starting in the afternoon as calls were made to home. Then live television of Moscow celebrations (hooked up the computer to the big screen) including Putin's somber speech. Then came the American TV shows, all the time circulating and having a good time. The Ruskies remarked that my friend is a funny "alcohol man."
One side passed a tray of praline pecans while the other served a variety of chocolates.
The pool table was spoken of as a billiards table. And sides squared off. I was off in my setup and definitely proved to be the worst player, perhaps distracted by the commands from wifey to get into the kitchen and start cooking.
One side prepared a roast tenderloin with steamed asparagus and the other had made three different salads plus salty salmon. The roast tenderloin was a clear line a demarcation - cut into two halves, one for medium rare the other for medium-well done.
Champagne was common but the Americans had written too long of a wish when it came time to light and place the wish into the champagne when toasting at the drop of the ball. They got it down the hatch but it wasn't pretty.
I had silly hats and horns but I guess my wife hid those as I could not find them.
Then came the fireworks. I set up two mortars and dropped one shell in each. I then placed the two boxes of remaining mortar shells in a pile nearby for easy feeding. My stepson lite the first and handed the lighter to me so I could fire the second mortar. Somehow a spark flew into the pile of shells to be loaded and BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! Shells of various colors were whistling and exploding everywhere. No one hurt. The shock was so great that no one could remember exactly what happened. Further proof that fireworks are dangerous, especially in the hands of the inebriated.
My son made a photo of my wine glass that I sat down near the mortars. It did not break but is covered in black streaks of spent explosives!
I had a $35 display to shoot and it took a while to get the wifey to consent to firing it. It was magnificent.
Then more rounds of talking and wishing and hugging and kissing, and off to sleep.
Morning came. I am an early riser so I made coffee, two espresso shots at a time. Babushka and the sister were up next. So began a series of gestures, as there were few common words, to help them find everything to make blini.
We have a crepe maker and I showed the sister how it could be used without masla or oil. They would have nothing to do with it, so out came the frying pan, butter and oil.
One could call them "village women," yet their city is not small. Or one could call them "traditional." The best term is "old fashioned" and there is nothing wrong with that, especially at their age. Their blini were delicious although having more fat than the crepe maker would produce.
Happy New Year to All!
