Russians put ketchup in all the wrong places.

Eggs. Rice. Vegetables. Pizza. All places ketchup should not be.

But I expected that. I knew when I came to Russia that I wasn’t doing it for the food. I mean, it’s Russian food! They eat beats and cabbage and potatoes and mushrooms and all those other things that grow underground and survive long winters and heavy snows. Heck, if I wanted delicious food and good weather I would’ve gone to Italy [someone please remind me: why didn’t I go to Italy??].

I was wrong. Russian food is delicious, and a testament to the saying that limitations inspire innovation. Borsch, blini, pickled tomatoes, “salads” (which generally contain meat and potato, no lettuce), jam, fresh bread and Russian cheese, yum.

Fine fine pickle brine,
Salt and sweet intertwine!
Together we can dine divine..
I’ll be yours if you’ll be pickle

Update: 8/19/2015 — this would not be the first poem I wrote about pickles. Pickle poems, if you will.

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