Southern Comforts

Mention the year 1918 in Russia, and images of revolution immediately come to mind: mass demonstrations; Red Army soldiers wielding bayonets; posters with brash slogans and bold, geometric lines. But Boris Kustodiev’s dreamy 1918 painting Merchant’s Wife at Tea (which readers of my cookbook, A Taste of Russia, will recognize from its cover) offers a very different picture, one of peace and tranquility. He has captured the merchant’s wife in a summer idyll; we sense neither political urgency nor even the passage of time in the painting. It is a nostalgic portrayal of the world the artist knew from his childhood in Astrakhan.

Astrakhan had a large and colorful merchant community, thanks to its location at the confluence of the Volga and the Caspian Sea. The region had long been renowned for its melons; in the eighteenth century, Peter the Great recognized the excellence of the climate and sought to establish viticulture there. The caviar industry, too, was centered in Astrakhan, since the sturgeon swim up the Volga from the Caspian to spawn.

Kustodiev knew the city’s provincial life well. After his father’s death, he and his mother moved into the house of a wealthy merchant family, so from an early age he was able to closely observe their daily routines. Russian merchants were a largely conservative lot who adhered to an old-fashioned way of life, as we see in several of Kustodiev’s paintings, including the vivid Moscow Tavern from 1916, where the merchants appear with bowl-shaped haircuts, long beards, and long blue kaftans.

With its history of domination by the Mongols and Tatars, Astrakhan was a vibrant meeting place of East and West. In Kustodiev’s painting the eastern influence is clearly seen in the pialy, or shallow bowl, from which the merchant’s wife drinks her tea. Given her elegance, it is notable that she does not use a western-style teacup, especially since she is affluent enough to afford the fine porcelain tea service visible in the sugar canister, creamer, and teapot perched atop the samovar. These pieces are fashioned in classical style, with fine gilding, floral motifs, and, on the teapot, a painted miniature.

Both the merchant’s wife and her tea table are lavish and ample. The woman, a buxom beauty, has a broad expanse of flesh that recalls Chekhov’s description of bliny in his humorous sketch On Mortality: A Carnival Tale: “plump as the shoulders of a merchant’s daughter.” The associations between food and the feminine are reinforced by Kustodiev’s representation of fruit and bread on the table; the woman’s ample shoulders and the abundant repast are both wonderfully symbolic of fecundity. The watermelon is depicted at its peak of ripeness, split open to reveal the treasured flesh within. Its seeds, along with the bunch of grapes, the fruits spilling out of the bowl, and the bread, are all age-old symbols of fertility.

The entire composition bespeaks opulence, from the lush folds of the merchant’s wife’s dress to the richly painted woodwork behind her. There is nothing spare in Kustodiev’s painting; neither is there any revolutionary rhetoric. Everything is for visual delectation. The eye lingers especially on the basket of cakes and pastries on the table; here Europe trumps Asia. We see a classic teacake studded with raisins; rogaliki (small, crescent-shaped pastries); a jam-filled tart; miniature krendelki, made by fashioning slightly sweet yeast dough into pretzel shapes; and—peeking up in the background—thin, dry baked rounds known as sushki. A footed glass jam jar makes the Russian tea service complete.

The objects in Kustodiev’s painting are forthright and beckoning. By contrast, the merchant’s wife has a dreamy gaze as she pauses over tea in the late afternoon. In this work, painted at a time of revolutionary turmoil, Kustodiev recalls and celebrates the oblivious calm of a vanished world.

Rogaliki

(Walnut Crescents)

These “little horns” are a specialty of southern Russia, where walnuts are plentiful.

Pastry

2 cups flour

1 package active dry yeast

14 tablespoons unsalted butter (1¾ sticks)

2 egg yolks

1 cup (scant) sour cream

Filling

1½ heaping cups walnut pieces

¾ cup sugar

2 egg whites

Pinch of salt

In a medium bowl, mix together the flour and the yeast. Cut in the butter until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Stir in the egg yolks and sour cream and, with your fingers, mix just until the dough holds together. The dough will be sticky; try not to work it too much, to keep it tender. Shape into a ball, wrap in waxed paper, and refrigerate for at least two hours.

Meanwhile, prepare the filling. Heat the walnuts in a frying pan over low heat for about five minutes to release their flavor, being careful not to burn them. Then grind them coarsely along with the sugar.

Beat the egg whites with the salt until stiff but not dry. Fold into the nut mixture.

Preheat the oven to 350° F. Divide the dough into 3 parts. With a floured rolling pin, on a well-floured board, roll out each part into a circle
1⁄8-inch thick. Cut 12 pie-shaped wedges from each circle. Spread the wedges with the filling, then roll them up like croissants, starting at the wide end. (You may also spread the filling on the rounds, then cut into wedges, but this will cause the filling to ooze out the edges when cooked.)

Place the pastries point side down on a lightly greased baking sheet, turning the edges in slightly to form crescents. Bake for 15 to 20 minutes, until puffed and golden. Makes 3 dozen pastries.

Adapted from A Taste of Russia