As this article relates to the joys of restaurant life in Eastern Europe the title to this article is perhaps not appropriate, although my wife is understandably forcing me on to a diet before things get anymore out of hand than they already are.
This article was started on my 15th flight in less than three weeks with the total about to rise to 16 as I add the finishing touches in the business lounge at Heathrow airport. Come this evening (Thursday) I will have the pleasure of 10 days in Romania to reacquaint myself with the culinary offerings after spending most of the last month sampling what London and Kyiv has to offer.
Somewhat surprisingly, Kyiv has a phenomenal restaurant culture. Three main groups of restaurants (20-30 in each group) are owned by three wealthy individuals who clearly made plenty of money whilst developing appetites to match their wallets. As the wealthy of Kyiv exceed anything you can find in Bucharest, these restaurants are of London quality but with the unpleasant surprise of performing one of life's miracles: making London restaurants look reasonably priced.
Kyiv restaurants also differ from those in Bucharest in the type of clientele they attract. There are very few Expats in Kyiv save for Russians and a handful of westerners who help look after the minimal western investment Ukraine has so far attracted. One of the most high profile investments from the UK so far has been one of our more exotic recipients of political asylum in London, Boris Berezovsky. This billionaire is the former owner of Russia media interests plus oil and metals (formerly with Chelsea owner Abramovich). He has been discreetly funding the Yushencko campaign and he is now looking to collect his dividend by moving back to the Ukraine, no doubt to buy up some very reasonably priced state assets (he has some considerable experience in this field).
With investors like these, a typical restaurant atmosphere in Kyiv is normally made up of older men accompanied by women half their age and dressed to kill and a bodyguard just trained to. Our bodyguard normally sits on the table next to us sipping coffee whilst we knock back the vino in some attempt to make us look less like someone wants to pop us off. We otherwise differ from the rest of the tables by being under 40, lacking a gaggle of stunning blondes, not ordering the most expensive wine on the menu and paying with a credit card rather than a pile of cash.
Two weeks ago, a group of five of us travelled to the Ukraine and whilst there descended upon La Marche in Kyiv to enjoy a beautiful salmon and king prawn salad starter followed by lamb cutlets and roe. No puddings, no coffee, one bottle of water. This was washed down with a good Chablis (the cheapest on the menu at $150). The meal was a hair-raising $750 before I produced a colleagues discount card which took it down to an only slightly less frightening $650.
I popped back to Romania for 24 hrs following that Ukraine trip and was delighted to be offered a bottle of Chablis at Barka Saffron restaurant for 1 million lei. It was in fact the same Chablis I had drunk 24 hrs earlier in Kyiv that cost almost 4 million lei.
The clientele at Barka and almost all other Romanian restaurants is a good balance of "normal people" from a variety of backgrounds and nationalities (exception being La Fitze of course). The "mafia" style of dress and behaviour has blessedly not been taken to heart in Bucharest in the same way it has in Kyiv. In Ukraine if someone is buying something expensive from you, he owns you and you will be treated accordingly badly. Romania retains the civilising influence of European manners that means that a waiter or waitress is viewed as a human being to be chatted to rather than ordered around like a personal slave.
Romanian restaurants were not always so. I remember my first trip to Bucharest in 1993 when the only place I could find a gin and tonic with ice and lemon was the Intercontinental hotel and I had to share the bar with some ladies who mysteriously wanted to make friends with me and give me a tour of the rooms located in the upper floors of the hotel.
The only hot food outlet I found in Bucharest was a dubious looking Pizza "restaurant" off Piata Romana that stood out because the diners appeared to be following what I can only assume was a dress code of heavy leather coats, black trousers and cigarettes dangling from the corner of every mouth. I sadly had not been informed of the dress code in advance so was soon identified as a stupid foreigner. This lead to the final requirement for dining in that particular establishment being revealed, namely the need to work as a black market money changer. Whilst being fully aware of the hand trick that magically turns a large bundle of 5,000 lei notes (worth something in those days) into a single 5,000 lei note neatly hiding a pile of 500 and 100 lei bills I tried to outfox these masters of deceit. Of course I failed and left the restaurant humiliated and considerably poorer than when I walked in.
That has changed. There are now internationally credible French, Italian, Japanese, Chinese and of course Romanian restaurants to choose from, although Coliba Haiducilor and Vanatorul in Poiana Brasov have to remain my favourites for traditional local food.
Locations such as Benihana and Avalon in the Howard Johnson (Japanese and Modern European-Fusion (whatever that is) respectively) along with Balthazar (French-Oriental fusion) and Mesogios (great seafood and service) can deliver wonderful food at a fraction of London prices.
There are also more modest restaurants such as Uptown, Barka Saffron and The White Horse that serve good quality, if less fancy food at great prices. This makes it harder to fully understand some of the prices in some of the more Expat orientated markets. A lady in Piata Dorobanti recently offered me cherries at 1.2 million lei a kilo (surely the world's most expensive) and a shocking 500,000 lei a kilo for grapes.
I have since given up negotiating with these Dorobanti hustlers who would clearly be making fortunes trading shares and bonds in the City of London if they had been born in Chelsea rather than Colentina. My driver, Radu, instead negotiates on my behalf as I meekly hide in the background behind the black cherry and champagne grapes display (yours for US$5,000 at current Expat prices).
Happily I am too busy and lazy to shop for food too often which leaves plenty of time to continue the tour of Romanian restaurants that I need to rapidly complete before the patter of tiny feet forces me back to the strange object in the corner of my kitchen that spurts out gas at the push of a button. Pofta Buna!
Pentru alte știri, analize, articole și informații din business în timp real urmărește Ziarul Financiar pe WhatsApp Channels
