Enter, two naked demons, pointed tails and horns, black fur
So you come in and it’s pretty nice, this place, Boris, the one with the wild boar’s head, starts saying to no one in particular, a deep brown wood interior, and a menu that changes daily written in colored chalk on a big blackboard in Russian – which we like – heh-heh-heh-heh – and the counter is crowded with all of these different types of pirogs, which are cleverly used to form the basis of what appears to be a health-food concept for the place, called Nikolai, which is the Russian version of the name Nicholas – which we like – heh-heh-heh-heh, and the –
Hey, says an annoyed Heinrich, the one who looks like a hyena, who the hell (forgive me, O, Infernal One) are you talking to? We already got the best table next to a window looking out on Bohdana Khmelnitskoho Street, named after the great Bohdan Khmelnitsky, who turned from a disgruntled Polish noble into a Moscow darling in 1654, selling this land we’re in – of which Kyiv – ah, that’s Kiev – calls itself the capital – hook, line, and sinker, with all the bells and whistles, for a song. Heh-heh-heh-heh.
Note to readers: The Ferret is not the only one, or thing, that goes: heh-heh-heh-heh, including a limited number of variations and combinations thereof. There are other entities, beings, things, that make their appearance in our world from time to time that emit sounds which are eerily similar in their… um… sound. Might there be a connection? Read on into the future with Kyiv Unedited, intrepid idler, and you may just find out – heh-heh-heh-heh…
Now back to our story. Heh.
Yeah, so what, says Boris – answering Heinrich, as we remind our readers – there are other tables that look out the windows.
That’s not what I asked, says Heinrich, lying, or thinking he was.
Well, what did you ask me, asks Boris, who knows Heinrich is lying and secretly admires him for this, but Heinrich knows Boris knows, and Boris knows Heinrich knows Boris knows. There are no secrets in Hell. They’re just a lot harder not to keep.
Hey, you’re not going to get anywhere with that kind of writing. Postmodernism’s been over for a while. We’re into anti-post now.
Who are you talking to? I’m not writing anything.
Aha! That was the original question.
What was? Who asked it?
I don’t remember. At this point neither of us even knows which of us is talking in this strange and unlikely dialogue.
Haven’t you ever heard of suspended disbelief? I’m doing a restaurant review of this joint, you big ugly dummy. I don’t have to write anything. All you do is talk, and the words come out of the Internet screen through Kyiv Unedited.
Really? How does that work?
I don’t know – it’s automatic.
Hey, let me try.
Go ahead. Who’s stopping you?
Okay, here goes. Ahem. So, if you pull yourself up by your ass from the central Khreshchatyk street along Bohdana Khmelnytskoho for about 15 minutes, this place will appear on your left. Heh-heh-heh-heh. Ah, if you get out at the Teatralna metro station and go up the same street, the walk’s shorter. But the fastest way of all is to get out one stop later, at Universytet Metro, and cross the boulevard to the street perpendicular to it and directly opposite the metro station, called Pyrogova, and take it over its entire length of one block where it meets Bohdana Khmelnytskoho, and Nikolai is right there, on the corner. Mysteriously, Nikolai is subtitled Pirogovaya – a place where pirogs might be eaten. Now, if the name of this side street were in Russian, rather than that made-up language of Ukrainian, it would also be Pirogovaya. Is this a coincidence, or was it planned? Heh-heh. Hey, how was that?
It was okay; a little longwinded. Your Pirogovaya food-street theory falls apart, nincompoop, as their card here not only says they’re at 35 Bohdana Khmelnytskoho, but also at 26 Saksahanskoho. You’d better let me take over. Meanwhile, eat your tasty cream of cauliflower soup for UAH 28 from today’s blackboard offerings, as well as your healthful and delicious salad of chopped beets, greens, onion shoots and feta cheese sprinkled with cedar nuts, also off today’s chalked menu for 39 hryvnias, and I’ll round this bad boy out.
Now, continues the one called Boris (we think), a pirog – in Russian, of course – heh-heh-heh-heh – is a dough-crust pie with some kind of filling – just about any kind – and a large variety of pirogs are displayed along the Nikolai counter, filled with spinach and salmon, or spinach and feta cheese, or one, or several types of meat, and you get a slice calculated at 0.125 grams; the spinach and feta for UAH 22, for example; a ground-beef-filled one for 25. There’s no doubt that they’re all good. They have boxes for takeout, so you can come in and point at the pirogs you want and they’ll pack the slices for you, but if you call, you can’t choose pirog slices over the phone – you have to order the whole pie.
Yeah, interrupts Heinrich, and since you pay for everything upfront when you order it, you don’t have to leave a tip – heh-heh-heh-heh. You take the pirogs to the table with you, as well as cutlery, while they bring you the rest if you order off the blackboard menu.
Yeah, says Boris, and we’re drinking kisel – at 18 hryvnias for 200 or 250 g. per glass.
What’s kisel, Heinrich asks.
It’s like compote, say based on cherries, except thickened and sweetened to a cool dessert drink by adding starch and waving your claws over it a few times.
What’s compote?
Well, that’s when you boil fresh fruit to make a juice.
Oh, yeah? What happens if you boil dried fruit?
You get uzvar.
Heh. What’s mors?
Shut up. Read Kyiv Unedited. It’s all there.
Hey, why don’t you two characters take a hike?
Who’s that?
I don’t know – looks like a Hunched Cornish.
I’m not A Hunched Cornish, I’m THE Hunched Cornish. Now beat it.
You think he can take us?
I don’t know – something tells me he’s more evil.
The Hunched Cornish goes up to the boar-headed one and flicks his finger at his right tusk, breaking it off.
Hey, what did you do that for?
Uh, Boris, I think we’d better leave.
A minute later, enter, John Smith, The Hunched Cornish’s largely silent foil. He says:
Hey, The Hunched Cornish, you won’t believe what I just saw: these two huge beasts, covered in black fur, with tails and horns, and one looked like a wild boar with a broken tusk, and the other, like a hyena I guess, flipping up a manhole cover in the street with their claws, and almost unbelievably they managed to squeeze themselves into it, saying:
‘The Infernal One’s going to change you into a lizard and snap your scales off,’ and ‘Oh, yeah, well he’s going to turn you into a huge spider and break your legs off,’ and, ‘So where are we going: to Moscow, or Hell,’ which was answered by, ‘Moscow’s bigger and easier to find; and it’s a little closer. Anyway, didn’t you know, repulsive imbecile, that’s The Infernal One’s headquarters. Hell’s just for vacations.’
And you believed them, asks The Hunched Cornish.
Well… John Smith begins answering hesitantly.
The Hunched Cornish, May 20, 2013