Of Pagans and Pancakes

By Kelly Raftery

«Блин!» “Darn it!”  That Russian expression eloquently describes my feelings having spent the morning drooling over recipes and photos of food. You see, now I want блины. A blin is one Russian pancake and a mild expletive.

Blini are many, many Russian pancakes, as many as you can eat in one sitting. But, until I find a suitable gluten-free recipe, they are not on my personal menu. Note that I am heaving a rather unattractive sigh of frustration as I write these words.   

Blini are not your typical puffy, over-sweet American pancake. More resembling French crepes or Jewish blintzes blini are simply paper-thin golden circles of goodness that are such a part of Russian culture that they have their own week-long festival in the springtime. Lina Zeldovcih wrote about Масленица (Maslenitsa, or “butter week”) last spring and you can read her post here.

Lady Maslenitsa now.
Photo by Andrew Butko.

Lady Maslenitsa then.

Essentially, Maslenitsa is Russia’s version of Mardi Gras, a celebration to welcome Spring and get in as much fun and celebration as possible before Lent sets in for the subsequent month and a half. Maslenitsa pre-dates Christianity in Russia and has deep pagan roots throughout the Slavic world. After long, dark winters, people would prepare blini soaked in butter, the round shape reminiscent of the sun, their sacrifices made to remind that orb to warm their fields. Maslenitsa is a time to make merry with sledding, singing, dancing and consuming copious quantities of fattening food and alcoholic drink. At the end of the week, a straw effigy of Lady Maslenitsa, who represents winter, is burned in an enormous bonfire. Today, Maslenitsa celebrations can be found all over Russia, Belaus and Ukraine and it’s still a time to mark the end of winter and the arrival of spring.

Blini are not restricted to this week-long festival, though--they are a staple of Russian cuisine year-round and play a key role in numerous life events. A new mother is given blini and they are also a staple at funerals. Even in the hardest of Soviet times, the ingredients for blini were always easily available pantry staples: flour, milk, eggs, butter. Blini can be eaten plain or filled and folded into delicious and filling origami-like pockets. The most common traditional fillings for blini are jam, творог (farmer’s cheese), salmon, mushrooms, meat and cabbage. An additional use for blini is to create a multi-layered stacked tort with meat or mushrooms, a handy use for any rare blini leftovers. A fantastic recipe with photos can be found here.   

And while we are talking recipes, the absolute best cookbook for former Soviet cuisine is Anya von Bremzen and John Welchman’s “Please to the Table.”  My copy lies open in front of my keyboard, its spine cracked, its pages stained and yellowing, a book well-used and well-loved. The blini recipe from that book can be found here. Please note that this link is just to make blini, the recipes for fillings were left off in this version, but can likely be found elsewhere online. Just keep in mind the sign of a masterful blini cook is that the end product should be delicately thin, yet tough enough to be stuffed. If attempting blini for the first time, also remember the following Russian proverb, “Пе́рвый блин всегда́ ко́мом” – That is “the first blin always turns out lumpy” or essentially, the Russian version of “try, try again.”

Today, blini can be found everywhere from the elegance of New York’s Russian Tea Room to any of the hundreds of Teremok outlets strategically placed next to metro stops in both Moscow and St. Petersburg. Teremok is Russia’s homegrown fast food chain which features blini with traditional and modern fillings as well as other Russian favorites such as pelmeni, borscht and vinegret salad.  Teremok’s owner, Mikhail Goncharov is often hailed as a Russian Ray Kroc, founder of McDonald’s. 

Teremok, the Russian McDonald's
Photo by Natalia Melnikova

So, as the days slowly lengthen for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, send up a greeting to the sun gods with sledding, singing, dancing and some delightful, round blini.

Special thanks to Natalia Melikova, who provided  photos of Teremok. When not taking fabulous photos of food, she blogs at The Constructivist Project at http://theconstructivistproject.com

The Ballade of Oleg The Seer

Once upon a time in the 10^th century there was Oleg the Seer, also known as Oleg the Wise or Oleg of Novgorod. A semi-legendary warrior, he was considered to be the founder of the Kievan Rus’ state, which later became Russia. Originally a Viking leader, he united the local Slavic and Finnish tribes under his rule and moved the capital of Rus’ from Novgorod the Great to Kiev. That move was strategic: Kiev’s location allowed launching attacks to the East. Oleg proved to be a great and nearly invincible military commander: he fought the Khazar tribes who often raided the border villages of the young Rus’ and waged war on the Byzantine Empire, aiming at no less than Constantinople, which in Russian was called Tsargrad – The Tsar’s City. Oleg fixed his shield to the gate of the Tsargrad to symbolize his victory.

 

Oleg’s uncanny abilities earned him the title of The Seer. As the legend goes, the Byzantines attempted to poison Oleg, but thanks to his oracular powers, he sensed the betrayal and refused to drink the cup of poisoned wine. Still, like every mortal, he feared death and asked a prophet to foretell his destiny. A warrior, Oleg was prepared to meet his noble end from a sword, yet the pagan oracle prophesized him a death much more mysterious than that.

Inspired by this old legend, the famous Russian poet, Alexander Pushkin, wrote The Ballade of Oleg the Seer, much quoted to this day.  Oleg the Seer has also been one of the emost painted Russian historical characters.

 

“Oleg, the wise Prince, roused to arm,
Cried: ‘Vengeance on the ruthless horde
Of raiding Khazars! Field and farm
My men shall put to fire and sword!'
And when his faithful horse was brought,
He rode out with his knights and men,
In damascened gold armour, wrought,
By some deviceful Saracen."

On the way to his battle, Oleg came across an old prophet white from age, and asked him,

 

“'What woe or weal shall me betide?
How soon shall I, beneath the sods,
Lie buried, while my foes rejoice?
Fear naught; nor speak with faltering words.'”

The man predicted Oleg’s many victories. He promised that his lucky fate will shield him in battles for years. Yet the betrayal would come from someone very dear.

 

"'Thy horse, that dreads no furious fray,
Hath borne thee well in many lands;
And like a rock amid the spray
Among the whistling shafts he stands,
Or bears thee through the brunt of spears,
Obedient to thy lightest breath:
Nor frost, nor fight, with thee he fears:
Yet even he shall be thy death.'"

Determined to win the ultimate battle with his destiny, Oleg held his grief and parted with his steed.

 

"The brave prince beard the strange discourse,
With smiling lips, but gloomy brow:
Then, sadly, lighting from his horse,
He spake: 'And must we two part now?'"

Years had passed. One day, as Oleg and his friends recalled their many crusades, he asked about his horse and was shocked to hear the answer.

“'One answered: By the river-shore,
On a high hill-top, sound asleep
He lies; and will awake no more.'

Musing, Oleg bent low his head,
Remembering the days of old;
And sadly to himself he said:
“'Had I not feared the doom foretold
By that old fashioner of lies,
My old friend had been with me still!'”
And then he bade his lords arise;
And seek with him the burial hill."

Escorted by his retinue, Oleg found his steed’s bones and gently touched its white skull as he spoke to his departed friend.

 

"With gentle foot, and bowed with grief,
Touching the skull, Oleg then said:
'Sleep well, my friend! Our day is brief;
Though I live; thou art with the dead:
Nor, at my funeral feast, full nigh,
Sword-spilt shall thy warm life-blood fall
Upon me dead, when even I
Drop to the dust that ends us all.'

And, even as these words he spake,
From out the eyeless skull there shot
A ribbon-like black deadly snake,
Which stung his foot. “'Is this my lot
By that old wizard prophesied?
Death ambushed in a lifeless bone!
Then, welcome death!' the brave Prince cried:
And sank to earth without a moan."

And thus, many Russians firmly believe one cannot escape his destiny. Do you?