An Aristocratic Appetizer

O

ne of the most famous scenes in Russian literature takes place in Chapter 10 of Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, when Levin, a salt-of-the-earth character, and Oblonsky, an urbane sophisticate, meet at the Angleterre, a chic St. Petersburg restaurant. Levin is highly uncomfortable in this milieu. Not only does he see a “painted Frenchwoman” and learn that Prince Golitsyn is dining privately with a lady, but the menu confounds him. Oblonsky orders an extravagant French meal of fresh oysters, potage printanier, turbot with sauce Beaumarchais, poularde à l’estragon, and macédoine de fruits, and suggests that they wash it down with Champagne and Chablis. Tolstoyan character that he is, all Levin really wants is some cabbage soup and kasha, and he says so. Oblonsky famously counters that “The aim of civilization is to enable us to get enjoyment out of everything.” 

Oblonsky’s motto could just as well be St. Petersburg’s, a city that from the first was designed for aesthetic delight, at least for its wealthy residents. When Peter the Great took up residence there in the early 18th century, he decided, among other indulgences, to expand the Russian palate, and so he hired Russia’s first foreign chefs, from Austria, Bavaria, and Saxony. Still, Peter’s taste was not particularly refined. He was known to appear suddenly in any odd corner of Petersburg, drop into a house at random, sit down at the table and enjoy the simplest meal. At other times he contentedly stayed at home with his favorite Limburger cheese, which he apparently measured with a compass before eating. Peter did not especially like to host ceremonial feasts and generally left grand entertaining to his favorite, Prince Alexander Menshikov, who staged magnificent dinners at his palace on the embankment of Vasilevsky Ostrov. Menshikov’s kitchen was equipped with a large, open hearth with a spit for roasting—a real innovation in Russia, where most houses still relied on the massive Russian masonry stove for cooking. 

After Peter’s death in 1725, the Russian court became increasingly enamored of French style, rather than German, and by the end of the 18th century St. Petersburg was decidedly Francophile. Some noble families even went so far as to order baguettes from Parisian bakeries (though it’s hard to imagine bread worse than a six-day-old baguette). St. Petersburg’s love affair with things French reached a peak in the 19th century, when most wealthy families employed French chefs. Some of these chefs remained in Russia and opened elegant restaurants, such as the one where Oblonsky and Levin dined. Unlike Moscow, which at the end of the 19th century celebrated the neo-nationalist Muscovite style in such restaurants as Slavyansky Bazar (the Slavonic Bazaar, where Stanislavsky and Chekhov discussed the Moscow Art Theater while dining on good Russian food), Petersburg boasted restaurants with names like Angleterre, Astoria, and Café Chinois. St. Petersburg cuisine was all about sophistication and style, not comfort food.

Even at home, 19th-century Russians emulated French style. Lady Londonderry of England lived in St. Petersburg between 1836 and 1837, and her diaries describe French-style dinners at four or five in the afternoon. She writes that the Russians called this meal diner or déjeuner dînatoire—dinner at lunchtime. Supper followed at eleven p.m., with tea and cakes served late in the night if a ball or other social event were held.

The Soviet era saw a tremendous decline in restaurant culture, but today St. Petersburg is once again cosmopolitan, with many restaurants bespeaking the glory days of the tsars, when French food was ascendant. Now, of course, other cuisines are also represented, such as Turkish, Korean, Japanese, Mexican, and even Brazilian. 

The recipe at left is for a rich and elegant French appetizer, the sort of dish that would have been served in a silver cocotte at one of St. Petersburg’s finest restaurants. Luckily, it’s easy to make at home. And it’s just comforting enough that even Levin could have enjoyed it.

— Darra Goldstein

Zhulyen

¹/2 pound cooked chicken

1 large onion

¹/4 pound mushrooms, trimmed

4 tablespoons butter

Salt, freshly ground white pepper to taste

3 tablespoons sour cream

Freshly grated nutmeg

¹/2 cup grated Swiss-style cheese

1 tablespoon butter

Mince the chicken and set aside. Mince the onion and mushrooms.

In a frying pan melt the 4 tablespoons butter. Cook the onion for about 5 minutes, until it begins to soften, then stir in the mushrooms and chicken. Continue to cook for about 5 minutes more, adding salt and pepper to taste.

Remove the pan from the heat and stir in the sour cream. Add nutmeg to taste.

Preheat the oven to 400oF. Divide the chicken mixture among four greased ramekins. Top each ramekin with 2 tablespoons of grated cheese and a dab of butter. Bake for 10 minutes, or until bubbly. Serve hot.

Serves 4.