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Through whatever mechanism Russian immigrants managed to make the Brighton Beach section of Brooklyn their own — be it demographic evolution or intelligent real estate design — things sure worked out well. They landed a prime section of beachfront, right near the subway but far enough away not to be overrun by gentrifying artistes, as happened in Puerto Rican Williamsburg.
You can do Russia in Manhattan, but the heart of any true Russian weekend here must be a trip on the B or Q train out to Brighton Beach. Or, preferably, two trips: one on a sunny day, the better to sit on the boardwalk and snack on your purchases from the markets, and one at night to visit the campy, cavernous and vodka-infused dinner clubs.
There are several such clubs in Brighton Beach, and they follow a general formula: huge parties of Russians (and Poles and Ukrainians and other Eastern Europeans) celebrate weddings, birthdays and other milestones by feasting on Russian food, drinking wine and vodka and watching a flashy stage show that some outsiders have compared to those in Las Vegas and others to cruise ship entertainment. Most are simply left speechless.
A Saturday night at Imperator, for example, is sort of like attending “Tony ‘n’ Tina’s Wedding” (except everyone’s speaking some Slavic language and no one’s acting), followed by a show that at times seems inspired by “Blades of Glory.”
Imperator, like the others, has banquet pricing for larger groups, but a smaller group — especially with finicky eaters — might want to stick with the à la carte menu, which has a minimum charge of $50 on Friday nights and $65 on Saturdays. Either price is enough for a shared bottle of vodka, appetizers, main courses and desserts. But be ready for surprises: Coke does not come with a diet option (“Russians don’t drink Diet Coke,” a waiter said). And there is no decaf. (The waiter’s wry look said, “See previous answer.”)
Rasputin, which is off the main Brighton Beach Avenue shopping strip, should be the choice of those with deeper pockets seeking a younger, more fashionable Russian crowd. But that’s why you go to Moscow.
The Imperator crowd is heavy on elegantly dressed grandmas, and the dance floor fills with couples of all ages. The music is in English, Russian and sometimes Spanish, though when a cover of the Ricky Martin pop tune “She Bangs” comes on and the singer urges “Everybody salsa!” you know this isn’t the Copa.
Shopping the main avenue can fill the better part of a day, and much more than a day’s recommended calorie intake. The food shops have seemingly endless varieties of sausages, breads and salads — and absolutely no signs in English. There are also often no signs in Russian. It’s lucky that just about everyone speaks at least a smattering of English.
M & I International is the most bustling of the shops, huge and thronged with customers, sort of like a Russian Zabar’s. Upstairs it has a serviceable cafeteria (O.K., it’s the Russian Fairway) serving classic Russian salads, fish and compote — a plum-tasting fruit punch. More intimate shops like Taste of Russia and Food Heaven, along the same strip, are less intimidating.
Other stores worth a visit include the St. Petersburg Trade House, a book, video and music emporium with just about nothing in English. But you can pick up a CCCP shirt, a selection from the impressive opera-on-DVD racks, or a Russian-speaking plush toy sure to confuse any toddler you know. Another store, RBC Video, has cool $5 posters from 1940s-era Soviet Union.
Those looking to get away from pure Russian cuisine can try the Georgian restaurant Primorski, which has an astonishing $5.49 lunch special on weekends, or even better, Cafe Adolat, a tiny side street spot that serves Uighur cuisine, where the lagman — or homemade noodle soup with a lamb broth, chunks of meat and a pungent mix of vegetables and spices — is as far from a cabbage knish as possible. (For an alternative Russian atmosphere, there’s Varenichnaya, which serves its namesake Russian raviolis.)
You should also spend a day exploring Russian Manhattan. For eating, Russian Samovar is popular (and expensive), but Uncle Vanya, hidden on a side street in Clinton, has traditional and inexpensive chicken Kiev, borshch and pelmeni.
The Russian Tea Room has reopened, of course, and Frank Bruni of The Times gave it one star in December, writing that the arrival of Greg Robins as its chef has “produced an engrossing tug-of-war: his culinary internationalism and contemporary sophistication versus the institution’s stodgy traditions and geographically constrained name.”
And Russian art is everywhere: The Guggenheim has works by Naum Gabo and Wassily Kandinsky; an exhibit at the New York Public Library at Fifth Avenue and 42nd Street examines “The Art and Impact of Fedor Solntsev” through June 16; and Tchaikovsky’s “Swan Lake” is at the Metropolitan Opera the last week of June.
It’s all much more sophisticated than the late-night shows at Brighton Beach, and much more convenient, but not nearly as much fun.
By Seth Kugel
The New York Times
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