So borscht is a bridge, not a reason for quarrels.
I entered St. Andrew Hall in a mantle, my empress beside me. I read law number one: palaces must operate as museums five days a week, private quarters no more than two hundred square meters. I started with myself: I’m opening the Kremlin.…
I said nothing of being born in Chernihiv. Why mention a family recipe? The beets aren’t overcooked, that’s why the color. What the broth is made of, I won’t say. The main thing is that it tastes good.
I knew more about him than even his parents had told him. I won the duel with the patriarch in style: the Monomakh Cap ended up in my hands. I placed it and blessed him: “May the spirit of ancestors who feared no trial remain with him.”
At night he draws a table with amateur-radio prefixes, writes strengths in blue and dangers in red, and falls asleep. He wakes with a vision of the heavenly Jerusalem. And in the morning comes breakfast with the Chairman of China, where Taiwan will come up.
Read the complete story in “Putin in Freezer.” This page contains only a short excerpt; the book has the rest.
Read the full book