Архив рубрики: DAILY LIFE in KALININGRAD

Daily Life in Kaliningrad

Daily Life in Kaliningrad is a category of my blog expatkaliningrad.com. It is, as the title suggests, devoted to observations, thoughts and opinions of what it is like to live in Kaliningrad, and it is written from the point of view of an expat Englishman. Unlike my diary category, Kaliningrad: Mick Hart’s Diary, the posts featured in this category are not necessarily linked to any specific timeline or date but are topic or theme oriented. For example, at the time of writing this brief description the category DAILY LIFE IN KALININGRAD contains the following posts:

A Day at the Dentists
One of the first reactions I received when I divulged to friends and colleagues my intention to move to Russia, apart from perhaps the obvious one, was what is the health service like? A not unusual preoccupation, especially with older people, because, let’s face it, as we grow older we fall to bits. I wrote this article about a trip to a Russian dentist’s partly in response to this question and partly because the experience surprised me. Well, we all have our prejudices; take real-ale drinkers and Watney’s.

International Women’s Day Kaliningrad
Now you would not think that an old and proud chauvinist like me would want to go on record as saying that I enjoy something as seemingly PC and ism-oriented as International Women’s Day, but in these days of tats, butch, Its, Others and Old Uncle Tom Cobbley, Russia’s nationwide display of affection and sentimentality traditionally symbolised by the giving of flowers to the fairer sex pulls wonderfully at one’s conservative heartstrings. Whether flower power and a kind heart were influential enough to pull at my wallet strings with regards to treating my better half to flowers is revealed in this article.

Self-isolating in Kaliningrad
Rather self-explanatory don’t you think? This, I believe, was my first article as the world entered the coronavirus maelstrom, since when expressions like ‘self-isolating’, ‘social distancing’, ‘lockdown’, ‘masks’, ‘vaccines’, ‘New Normal’ and so on have become the defining lexicon of the 21^st century. I want my money back! When I was young, and I was once, I subscribed to a Sci-Fi magazine called TV 21. It was, as the title suggests, a preview of what it would be like to live in the 21^st century. It was all about cities on stilts, suspended monorails, hover cars, people with metallic-looking hair and all-in-one shimmering silver jumpsuits. I, as with my entire generation, have been had! There was nothing in this magazine’s Brave New World prediction of open borders, social engineered societies, political correctness, sect appeasement, streets too violent to walk down, globalisation and global warming, anti-patriotism, revisionist history, stage-managed free speech or coronavirus. We were had! And, as we continue to self-isolate, there are those out there who believe that we are still being had. But I prefer to self-isolate …

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Daily Life in Kaliningrad

I am aware that Daily Life in Kaliningrad is not exactly overpopulated with articles. You can blame this on coronavirus ~ I do. Since making its debut, I, like almost everyone else who writes things, has had their focus ~ nay their lives ~ shanghaied by the why’s, what’s and therefores of this life- and lifestyle-changing phenomenon. This, let us hope it is only a, detour, is reflected in the disproportional number of posts that appear in my Kaliningrad: Mick Hart’s Diary category (sub-categories Diary 2000 & Diary 2019/2020) and my exposition category, Meanwhile in the UK, which is devoted to events in my home country, England, oh and sometimes the other bits: analysis, comment and exposés on UK media content together with cultural, historical and nostalgic subjects which appeal to my idiosyncrasies or are taken from the barely legible pages of my old and initially handwritten diaries.

We live in peculiar and interesting times, and as I consider myself to be first and foremost a diarist, it is as impossible not to be waylaid by events as they unfold as it is not to time travel. When you take the two together and place it within the context of somebody’s life, in this case mine, the impetus to write expatkaliningrad.com is not difficult to understand.

Three Bears Crystal beer in Kaliningrad Russia

**Mick Hart’s totally biased review of bottled beers* in Kaliningrad (or how to live without British real ale!)**

Article 9: Three Bears Crystal beer

Published: 27 November 2020

Whenever I see a beer bottle or can in a Russian supermarket with three bears (tree meeshkee) on the label, I am smitten by a wave of nostalgia, as this was quite possibly the first bottled beer brand that I drank when I came to Kaliningrad.

Memory is a fallible thing, for mine suggests that I first drank Three Bears on my inaugural trip to Kaliningrad in the winter of 2000, whereas research indicates that the Three Bears made their Russian debut in 2002. Be this as it may, there is no denying that the brand has established itself as quintessentially Russian and could hardly have failed to do otherwise, as I cannot think of anything more emblematically Russian than a bear logo, except perhaps for a ooshanka, ~ come now, of course you know what I mean, one of those furry hats with a flap down either side.

Previous articles in this series:
Bottled Beer in Kaliningrad
Variety of Beer in Kaliningrad
Cedar Wood Beer in Kaliningrad
Gold Mine Beer in Kaliningrad
Zhigulevskoye Beer Kaliningrad Russia
Lidskae Aksamitnae Beer in Kaliningrad
Baltika 3 in Kaliningrad
Ostmark Beer in Kaliningrad

Typically Russian in appearance, the Three Bears brand is in fact brewed by international brewers Heineken, which, having penetrated the Russian beer market in 2002, is now reputed to be up there among the top 10 brewers in Russia.

Three Bears Crystal beer in Kaliningrad Russia

The Three Bears brand has four variants: Three Bears Classic; Three Bears Light; Three Bears Crystal; and Three Bears Strong. At 7% ABV the Three Bears Strong speaks for itself: it sort of goes, ‘Grrrr’; the Classic at 4.9% ABV is not so ‘Grrrr’, but it is still ‘Grrr’; the Three Bears Crystal at 4.4% is no pussy cat; but as you would expect Three Bears Light is a mere 4.7% ABV ~ er, wait a moment, am I missing something here? Perhaps when they say ‘Light’ they mean light colour?

I chose Three Bears Crystal beer because when I have a session I will normally drink a couple of 1.5 litre bottles of beer in one sitting. How much of a lush you judge me to be will be entirely predicated on your own consumption criteria, namely, “Woah, too much!” or “What! Call that a session! I’d have that for breakfast!” The difference lies somewhere between broadcast and boast; prohibition and politician; and promise and perversion ~ all three tinged by the ‘men will always be men’ and ‘men will always be boys’ maxims, which could cause controversy by the time they reach the end of the UK rainbow but garner some butch-like brownie points with feminists on the way.

Sorry, all this has about as much to do with Three Bears Crystal beer as Biden’s worldview has with reality and, unless you know a feminist called Goldilocks, and you might, as the name fits, you would be better off not going down to the woods today but staying at home with Crystal.

I did, and was I in for that Big Surprise?

In the bottle and in the glass, Three Bears Crystal has an attractive amber tone making it the empathic ale for amber-lands consumption. Its hoppy, bitter fragrance tends to waft away a few minutes after the beer has been decanted, enough in these troubled times to alarm you with the question, “Am I losing my sense of smell?”, but, needing no better excuse to quickly take the taste test, as soon as it hits your tongue you breathe a sigh of relief: “Ahhh, yes, it was worth every ruble of the 125 rubles I coughed up for it,” ~ whilst wearing my mask, of course.

Three Bears Crystal has, what I like to refer to, as a ‘straw taste’ ~ and I seriously do not mean this derogatively. I know that it does not sound shampers or even Merlot, and most probably imparts itself from my days as a teenage farmer, but whatever the derivative, this term to me captures a specific beer experience in which the initial bitterness is offset by a blunt edge, a saturating mellowness. This is not to say that Three Bears Crystal does not pack a zing, although my suspicions are that it is the carbonation that does it, which is the ‘also source’ of the illusory bitter tang that retains itself after consumption, but for all that the essence of this beer is decidedly Matt Monro ~ an easy-on-the palate version of easy listening on the ears.

Three Bears Crystal beer is a session beer

In words that every beer-quaffing Englishman will readily understand, Three Bears Crystal is in my judgement a sound-as-a-pound (and as right-as-a-ruble) session beer.

It goes down lovely with a packet of crisps and a handful of nuts, which you would not be able to enjoy it with in an English pub at present owing to the latest virus curfew laws, which seem to imply that coronavirus hides in pubs waiting to pounce predatorily on those who would rather snack with their pint than eat a ‘substantial meal’, ie a large plate of burgers, frozen peas and reconstituted chips ~ the pub-grub answer to the vaccine.

Conclusion: The message is Crystal clear. You don’t have to get a Vaccine Passport and fly to the UK for a ‘substantial meal’. Three Bears Crystal can be found in most Kaliningrad supermarkets in 1.5 litre bottles at a price you cannot growl at. Why not buy two bottles! Should you over do it, there is always the hair of the bear!

Three Bears Crystal beer in Kaliningrad — Three Bears Crystal beer

😁TRAINSPOTTING & ANORAKS
Name of Beer: Three Bears Crystal
Brewer: Heineken
Where it is brewed: St Petersburg and in other Russian locations
Bottle capacity: 1.5 litres
Strength: 4.4%
Price: It cost me about 125 rubles (£1.23)
Appearance: Light amber
Aroma: Not much
Taste: Light bitterness, the equivalent of a British light or pale ale
Fizz amplitude: 5/10
Label/Marketing: Traditional Russian
Would you buy it again? I have, on several occasions

*Note that the beers that feature in this review series only include bottled beer types that are routinely sold through supermarket outlets and in no way reflect the variety of beer and/or quality available in Kaliningrad from speciality outlets and/or through bars and restaurants.

An Autumn Walk in Kaliningrad

A walk to Max Aschmann Park

Published: 31 October 2020

We never did keep that appointment we promised ourselves and go for a picnic this summer in Königsberg’s Max Aschmann Park, but prompted by the delightful autumnal weather, all sun and blue skies, we did walk to the park today and, because it covers a large area, managed at least to stroll through one section of it.

Autumn in Kaliningrad

Our route to the park would take us through some of the most quiet and atmospheric streets of the old city. These are cobbled streets lined with great trees on either side. In spring and summer these trees are a silent explosion of green leaves, and although they have begun to shed them profusely in anticipation of winter’s dawn, sufficient remain to act as a filter to the last rays of the summer sun, which scattering through them illuminate their various hues and shades like a giant back bulb behind an origami screen.

Below the sunburst, across the humpty dumpty road surface, the grass verges ~ neat or overgrown ~ and on the pavements, where there are some, the leaves lay strewn like so much wedding confetti ~ yellow, brown, auburn and gold. They would form carpets were it not for the hardworking road sweepers, who are out and about at the crack of dawn piling the leaves into heaps ready for the administrations of the follow-up leaf-sucking lorries.

The street we are walking along is, like many in this neighbourhood and in other parts of remnant Königsberg, a cavalcade of architectural opposites. We pass by the Konigsberg signature flats, a series of long but detached blocks, three or four storeys in height, each one re-equipped with its Soviet steel door and, in this particular instance, curiously clad in wood.

If you know Kaliningrad you are ready for contrasts, but ready does not mean less surprised. In two steps we go from the scene I have just described to another quite improbable, yet not quite so improbable in the light of the status quo.

A large bushy tree rolls back at the side of us and there, of course, they are ~ the new-builds. We were half-expecting them, but not at any moment. They are three or four in number, big brand-spankers; demure-brick faced in parts but striking in their adaptation of Neoclassical principles. They shine and they sparkle with pride in the sun; the sun polishes them and casts an autumnal eye along the neat, trimmed verge evenly planted with shrubs, the upright expensive fence and the ever-imposing gate. The sun seems to wink at me, but perhaps in my admiration I failed to notice the slightest breeze and the way it secretly shifted the branches across my line of vision.

Some of the houses along this street conform to the more conventional and some, which must be flats, are hefty great slabs, albeit with nice arched windows. And then, just when you have stopped thinking ‘phhheww they must have cost a bit’, you reach the end of the road, and there in the corner, at the junction, you immediately fall in love with what once would have been an almost-villa ~ a lovely, lovely property, with its original pan-tiled roof virtually conical in form and with one of those small arched windows typical in Königsberg peering out of its rooftop like the hooded eye of an octopus.

For a few moments I stand in the road looking from my present, as its past looks back at me.

Original Königsberg house with pan-tiled roof and octopuseye window — Königsberg house on the corner, autumn 2020

We have no choice but to leave Königsberg at this junction, making our way along a busy thoroughfare where the concrete battery of flats left us in little doubt that we were back in Kaliningrad ~ they in the 1970s and we, by the sight of a facemask or two, again in 2020.

We instinctively knew that we were on the right track for Max Aschmann. We did have to stop and ask someone, but immediately afterwards landmarks from our previous excursion remembered themselves to us, and it was not long before we recognised the lemon church and one of the entrances to the park, the one we had used before.

On our previous visit, we only had time to venture as far as the first group of lakes, but today we wanted to broaden our horizons, so we pressed on. We had not gone far when Olga, always on my left side, relinked her arm through mine.

The broad swathed track curved and as it did another expanse of water opened up to us on our right, set against a verdant backdrop of trees, some still green, others in autumnal garb. The leaves were thick on the ground, but not all of them had fallen, and those that were still aloft painted autumn across the skyline in nature’s soft and mellow brush strokes. It was as if we were walking into the heart of a picture.

At the front of a lake stood a fir tree, anchored to the ground by three or four ropes. It was a Christmas tree, bracing itself for the world’s first coronavirus Christmas. Close by, there was a great pile of tree trunk sections. We wanted one of these for our garden. We had the samovar, the juniper twigs and each other, all we needed now was the log, so that we could sit on it and count the stars like Meeshka and Yorshik in Hedgehog in the Fog (Russian: Ёжик в тумане, Yozhik v tumane)

A Christmas tree, Max Aschmann Park, Kaliningrad 2020 — Christmas comes early to Max Aschmann Park ~ Kaliningrad, October 2020

We walked on. Whatever Max Aschmann Park had been, and it was really something in its day, for all intents and purposes, its modern incarnation is more Max Aschmann forest.

On the hard-surface paths, long and straight that criss-cross the woodland, lots of people were walking. They were people of all ages, babushkas and derdushkas, family groups and teenagers, but no matter who they were or how old they were, a peaceful unification prevailed. There was nothing fast, nothing loud, nothing out of place or obtrusive, certainly no coronavirus madness or any other menace to interfere with the calm repose. And yet here we were in the midst of dense woodland, itself in the midst of a bustling city. The experience was simple but memorable. There was something wonderfully alien about it, not only by what there was but thankfully by what there was not.

An Autumn Walk in Kaliningrad

It does not matter where I roam; wherever I am, something old, something from the past comes forward and makes itself known to me, and that something this afternoon was the remains of a building, here, in the centre of the park. I had read somewhere that in its day the Max Aschmann Park had been a haven for the German well-to-do and a holiday destination for those who by virtue of wealth and status qualified for its privileges, so the sight of this leftover dwelling did not entirely surprise me.

What remains is little more than a great slab of concrete, but closer inspection reveals metal reinforcing rods and the remnants of one or two steps that lead down into a small recess beneath the concrete floor, now silted up with earth and woodland debris but which would presumably once have been a cellar or, perhaps, a subterranean garage, as these are standard features of houses in this region.

Mick Hart in Max Aschmann Park ~ An Autumn Walk in Kaliningrad — Mick Hart sitting on and surrounded by history in Max Aschmann Park, Kaliningrad, October 2020

Before I sat down on the concrete remains to have my photograph taken, as thousands had done before me and would continue to do so afterwards, I discovered one of the house gate piers lying prostrate among the leaves. There would have been a time when it was doing something practical, but it was doing nothing practical now, having relinquished its incipient function for matters of mind and heart.

Next on the voyage of discovery was another lake, this one more expansive than those we had passed already. The ground tapering gently to the water’s edge made an approach quite possible, and three or four people were gathered there feeding a bevy of swans. There were also two or three trees, not many, but just enough to satisfy the idyl along this picturesque border.

A walk to Max Aschmann Park — Olga Hart at the side of the lake in Max Aschmann Park, October 2020

Waterside trees always possess an anachronistic architecture, and these were no exception. Complementing the natural contours of the lake, and with the trees and bushes in their variegated shades rolling and billowing around it and into the distance, they and the scene they belonged to put me in mind of a 19^th century lithograph, which, if it was mine to own, I would hang on a wall, preferably in my personal bar, in Mick’s Place, where I could sit and savour the view whilst sipping a glass of beer.

A beautiful autumn-leaf hat in Max Aschmann Park, Kaliningrad

But time was ticking on, as it has the habit of doing, and it was time to be making tracks. For this purpose, we chose instead to return through the woodland itself, at least for a short distance before we re-joined the path.

Under the trees, the ground was a little bit squelchy, but this natural hazard of woodland walking was only objectionable as far as our boots were concerned, and it had certainly made no difference to a small group of woodland wanderers who had removed themselves into the fringe of the wood for a spot of al a carte lunch. I wondered, had they carried that old metal barbecue on stilts with them, or had it been donated by an unknown benefactor who had staked out that spot on a previous occasion?

Even deeper into the wood and perched on wooden roundels cut from sizeable trees were people enjoying a picnic. Now that’s an idea, I thought, we really must do that and do that one day soon: go for a picnic, here, in Max Aschmann Park.

Autumn trees, Kaliningrad, Russia — Olga Hart ~ Kaliningrad sunlight

Olga Hart Kaliningrad sunlight — Olga Hart ~ Kaliningrad sunlight

Before autumn:

Kaliningrad Green & Adorned with Flowers

Kaliningrad Green & Adorned with Flowers

Link to> Kaliningrad in Autumn Leaves it Out

Ostmark Beer in Kaliningrad is Top Quality

Top Marks for Ostmark

Published: 15 October 2020 ~ Ostmark Beer in Kaliningrad is Top Quality

**Mick Hart’s totally biased review of bottled beers* in Kaliningrad (or how to live without British real ale!)**

Article 8: Ostmark Strong

My previous review of bottled beer in Kaliningrad, sampled from the brands that can be purchased every day from most supermarkets, was written on 2 September 2020. I could claim that I have not written anything about beer since 2 September 2020 since that is the last time that I had a bottle, but that would be about as believable, not to say as ridiculous, as declaring that I voted to remain in the European Union.

Mick’s Place (aka, Mick’s Attic Bar) has been functioning as normal, but I have drunk elsewhere ~ on the outside seating areas of various bars and hotels and at friends’ houses ~ calculating that as the dark days of winter approach, with them cometh more grim coronavirus news and consequent restrictions, all of which will mean more Attic Bar and less drinking on location.

So, what have I been drinking at home, and have I enjoyed it?

Out of the beers that I have sampled so far, the Belarus beer Lidskae Aksamitnae is my beer of choice. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it wins hands down. Nevertheless, if you were to ask me, and I am sure you will, have I discovered another beer that in taste and quality equals Lidskae Aksamitnae then I would have to say yes ~ and that beer is Ostmark.

Ostmark beer in Kaliningrad

Now, as far as I can tell there are several popular variants of Ostmark. The one that is the subject of my reverence, however, is Ostmark Strong, the ABV (Alcohol by Volume) of which comes in at a not insignificant 7.1%.

I do not buy beers for their strength and, as a matter of fact, when I drink real ale in the UK I usually choose something that is within the range of 4–4.2%. I am happy with that. But Ostmark Strong appeals to me because, whilst it may be a strong-by-alcohol-content beer, it is also strong on taste.

The first test for any beer is the olfactory one. Ostmark Strong has a strong aroma. It hits you as soon as you take the top from the bottle. There is nothing limp-wristed about this brew. It is deep, dark and smokey. If it could wear tattoos, it would be the kind that real men wore, not the arty-farty slate-grey type that are everywhere today and to which even women resort to violate their bodies, as if forgetting that they and their tats will not stay young forever. Alas, for the fleeting fads of fashion and the relentless indifference of the march of time …

Ostmark beer in Kaliningrad

But enough of this idle banter! Into the glass with Ostmark, and what have you got?

You’ve got a dark-coloured beer that settles nicely into the bacal (glass) and whose head does not immediately die, but neither does it sit on top like a foaming ice cream sundae.

The first sip is yummy. It is so yummy that I have to take several more before I can ask myself, flavour? Its caramel and malts, plus a good toasty aftertaste, the type of aftertaste best described as moreish. And this is not an insuperable problem, because once you have finished one glass you can simply pour another.

Ostmark Strong has a good strong label ~ no wishy-washy rainbow colours here! Dark brown, deep red and silver tones complement each other. The design is simple, instantly recognisable and carries with it the hallmark of history.

Ostmark beer in Kaliningrad

Now, Ostmark made its debut in 1910 and was originally brewed in Königsberg, which was, of course, Kaliningrad’s predecessor, but be that as it may, and for all my love for Königsberg, as I had no knowledge of Ostmark’s pedigree when first I purchased and quaffed it, I refute any implication that my judgement may have been swayed by where it was born and when. But, since its history is no longer the mystery that it was when I started out, it would be remiss of me if I did not mention that Ostmark was first brewed at the Brauerei Ostmark Brewery and that after passing through various hands is now produced by the Heineken Group.

Rumour has it that throughout its change of ownership the brew retained its original recipe, and we who love beer and history have no contention with that. But as to where it is brewed today, I am not at liberty to say, because in October 2016 the trail runs cold. It was then that Heineken announced that come the following year its Kaliningrad brewery would close.

Some folk here in Kaliningrad who I have interviewed swear ~ usually at me ~ that Ostmark is still brewed here, and in the same brewery where it has always been brewed, that is here in the city of Kaliningrad, but some say otherwise, others don’t know and still others don’t seem to care, they just buy it and then they drink it.

As Ostmark is not a phantom, as phantoms as a rule do not come with hangovers, wherever Ostmark is secretly brewed I can recommend it, so much so that as I sit here reviewing it, I can honestly say that I would rather be sitting here drinking it.

A word of warning to the uncautious, however: The enticing taste and session-like character of this very fine quality beer belies its superior strength. “Everything in moderation, including moderation,” said Oscar Wilde. And who can doubt his wisdom? But how much of a good thing is too much? Until you try it, you will never know.

😁TRAINSPOTTING & ANORAKS
Name of Beer: Ostmark Strong
Brewer: Heineken Group
Where it is brewed: Somewhere
Bottle capacity: 1.35 litres
Strength: 7.1%
Price: It cost me about 136 rubles (£1.36) from our local shop
Appearance: Darky
Aroma: Divinely smoky
Taste: Subtle blend of caramel & malts with an after allegiance
Fizz amplitude: 4/10
Label/Marketing: Just so right
Would you buy it again? As soon as the opportunity arises (update February 2022 ~ bought many times!)
Marks out of 10: 8.5

Ostmark Beer in Kaliningrad

Woodoo Barber Shop Kaliningrad

Get Your Haircut!!

Woodoo Barber Shop Kaliningrad. Cut along for a close shave with urban chic, 21st century style and razor-sharp professionalism

Published: 5 October 2020

It had been more than nine months since my last haircut. I remember it well. I was in Bedford, England, at the time, preparing to return to Russia for New Year. I chose D’Arcys out of the myriad hairdressers available, as I had used their services once before and because they are one of Bedford’s better barbers, established in 1998 no less.

Within three months of having returned to Kaliningrad, the coronavirus balloon went up and normal things, such as going to restaurants and bars, including going for a haircut, first took on a sinister character and quickly thereafter, as pandemic panic took root, became widely regarded as no-go areas.

Restaurants were forsaken, bars boycotted and hair was left to grow. Six months later, and looking like Robinson Crusoe on one of his least flattering days, my jenarr (wife) turned into a za nooder (moaner), complaining about how awful my hair looked and that it was high time that I should have a haircut. It had not helped any that in the meantime I had also grown a couple of Victorian sideburns, the legacy of watching one too many episodes of the old TV series The Onedin Line, but, whilst I agreed with the haircut bit, the daily tally of coronavirus cases argued robustly against trips to the barbers.

Summer came and summer went and hair continued to grow and then, on the 3 October, amidst world-media rumblings of a second wave and lockdowns, I bit the bullet, so to speak, and went off in search of hairdressers.

We left the house without really knowing where we were going, but after a short confab decided to head (pun intended) for a hairdressers that we had passed several times, and which we both liked the look of, situated on Nevsky Street.

Knowing that I would have to go barbering sooner or later, I had peeped through the open door on a couple of occasions when passing the shop and liked what I had seen.

Woodoo Barber Kaliningrad

The interior had a modern look (not something that I would normally go for in England, being a gent of a certain age), but there was something about the wooden-clad décor that resonated with me. Wood is good.

Approaching the building on this historic day ~ this would be my first haircut in Kaliningrad ~ we took out our coro masks and applied them accordingly, then Olga went into the building ahead of me to reconnoitre the tariff.

This precaution was endearingly old-fashioned of her, and she soon learnt that the tariffs for the various hairdressing services, although not quite set in stone, were clearly itemised in a book that had been handed to her by a young chap, who I assumed was one of the staff but who, it transpired, was the owner.

I already had my jacket off ready to jump into one of the vacant chairs. There were four or five of these, all clientless, so I could not understand what it was that Olga and the owner were taking so long to debate. I soon learnt, however, that although clippers were not whirring and scissors not chattering, they soon would be, as all the chairs had been booked.

This is something that I am not used to encountering in the UK, at least not in the barbers I use. The normal procedure is to look through the window and if the chairs are full and three or four people waiting, go elsewhere. Conversely, an empty room is a green light.

Nevertheless, just when I thought we would have to book or walk, I worked out (my, how my Russian language is improving!) that the young owner was offering me a lift to another establishment that he owns. This was a new one on me: being chauffeur driven by the hairdresser to a second venue.

Woodoo Barber Kaliningrad

The second establishment met with my approval immediately. It was situated in an old Khrushchev building, typically accessible via a set of metal steps.

Steampunk & Jim Beam at Woodoo Barbers, Kaliningrad

You cannot beat an old building; neither, if you are or were once a Jim Beam bourbon drinker, could you fault the entrance hall, whose dark brick-clad walls are festooned with Jim Beam bottles as well as yankee number plates and retro metal signs. The steampunk pipe shelves on which the Jim Beam bottles sit and the whacky cream and red pop-art settee, with its erotic caryatid framework of leggy nude-women, were just two of an eclectic number of inventive design features which, together with a long ‘bar’ constructed from new ‘old’ pallets and bottles of booze on a shelving unit behind it, confused me ~ happily, I might add: Was this a hairdressers or a trendy 21^st century bar?

Haircut clock in Kaliningrad barbers, Russia — **No doubt about it ~ Time for a Haircut!**

We entered the building in regulation light-blue cotton masks and disinfected our hands with the appliance laid on for this purpose.

After a brief conversation with his staff, which probably went something like “This is the famous British spy, Mick Hart, he needs a haircut so that not even he will recognize who he isn’t”, the owner allocated a barber to me by the name of Andrey, and I was shown to a chair.

I had taken the precaution earlier of removing my mutton-chop sideboards, since I had the notion that they would look thrice-times more strange with short hair than they had when it was long, the other reason being that I had been led to believe that this would be the first time that I would have my haircut whilst wearing a face mask, and the mask sat more easily without the facial hair.

This latter precaution turned out to be unnecessary, however, for I removed the mask before the barber started to alter my appearance. I simply could not see how one’s hair could be cut with one of these things flapping around one’s face and ears.

First, however, as I sat in the chair wearing a monographed chair cloth, I was asked to choose my new hairstyle from a catalogue containing numerous thumbnail photographs of men with modern styles (although, of course, the crux of the modern lad’s hairstyle is a clever fusion of what has already been ~ selecting and mixing elements from the early 20^th century, the 1940s’ and punk eras).

Spoilt for choice if not overwhelmed, it certainly had not been like this in my young days.

I recalled one specific trip to a hairdressers in Fletton, Peterborough. I had gone to the barbers with one of my brothers, David, who also needed his ‘barnet’ trimming. The barber’s shop was as basic as basic. Three kitchen chairs, a small table with a couple of newspapers on it and, of course, the barber’s chair. In those days, you could not distinguish barbers from doctors, dentists and scientists as they all wore white smocks. There was no catalogue of different styles; what choice there was, was written on a chalk board hanging on the wall. In this particular establishment you could have a trim, a skinhead, a short back and sides, or ‘an over the ears’, which leads me to the conclusion that some things really do change for the better!

Woodoo’s catalogue exploded with every kind of hairstyle imaginable, although I cannot recall seeing ‘an over the ears’ among them. But, as there was the very real risk that in choosing one of these hairstyles I would instantly look 30 years younger, I decided that it was not the way to go, and settled for a haircut similar to that of Andrey, the barber, himself ~ who is 40 or more years younger.

Phase 1 taken care of, choosing the look, the cutting and styling commenced.

The second welcome surprise was that I was asked to up-seat and move into a chair next to a sink unit. I was going to have a ‘wet cut’. I had not had this done since I lived and worked in London about 14 years ago. In ‘the sticks’, at least in the barbers I used, they did not offer this option in spite of the fact that it was the easiest and most effective way of cutting and styling my kind of hair, which is difficult (wife: “Just like the rest of you!”).

I hardly dare say it, but say it I must, this young barber had a soft touch and talented hands, quite different from the Boston Strangler-type jobs I had experienced at barbers in the past.

Back in the barber’s chair, I was amused to see Andrey fasten two or three clips to his sleeve, which, with my hair now wet, he proceeded to apply to my hair, scooping it this way and that until I ended up looking like my Chinese top knot had migrated above my forehead. Then the trimming commenced.

A coronavirus haircut in Kaliningrad 2020 — Time for a haircut: Kaliningrad, Russia, 2020

Englishman has haircut in Kaliningrad 2020

Now, please note, as I said earlier, that I have never frequented a modern, I mean a really modern barbers, so all this was new to me. I had graduated somewhat from the chair outside on the pavement with a guzunder on my head, but, generally speaking, over the last 14 years the barbers that I have used have been rather less than ‘cutting edge’.

About five minutes into the scissors work, I was offered a drink. I do not mean a glass of water, I mean a proper drink. There was a choice of alcoholic beverages; I opted for vodka. The drink was complementary, on the house, and was brought out in a good-sized glass with two slices of lemon on a saucer. Andrey gave me a couple of minutes to savour the vodka and chew the lemon. “Now we’re cooking!!” I thought. And “How civilized is this!”

Drinking Vodka at Woodoo Barber — Mick Hart drinking vodka at Woodoo

Mick Hart at Woodoo Kaliningrad — Mick Hart drinking vodka at Woodoo

Andrey went back to work again, carefully adjusting the chair cloth so that it covered my legs as it should, and, five minutes later, when he brought the electric shaver into play, he allowed me another break for a second swig of vodka.

A smaller battery-operated shaver made its debut, then it was back to the scissors and 10 minutes into the cut an old-fashioned sharp blade razor was waved above my head. An interesting touch here was that after Andrey had used some sterilising solution on it, he whipped out a flame-thrower and gave the blade a fiery blast. It was enough to make Sweeney Todd jealous and me to reach for the vodka!

There was a little more scissor-work to do; he used a small clipper to trim around my Brezhnev-style eyebrows and remove any lingering reminders of my mutton chops and a few minutes later my transformation was complete. There had been one frightening moment when, in combing my fringe forward when it was still at its original length but after the sides of my head had been shaved, I looked into the mirror and thought I saw Adolf Hitler staring back at me, but we had gone past that stage, and it was now time to pay.

I downed the remains of my complementary vodka and took the glass back to the ‘bar’ (counter). “Thanks very much,” I said, and before you could say ‘the wife was giving me a reproving look’, the attractive woman behind the counter had offered to top up my glass. Well, how could I refuse!

The haircut cost me, in English money, £12, and I left the hairdressers well-pleased with the professionalism of the service, the end ~ or rather top ~ result, as well as feeling gratefully tipsy. A small gift of a bottle of shampoo was also a nice touch.

Complementary shampoo from Woodoo Barber, Kaliningrad

You have possibly already worked out that in my opinion this place gets the absolute thumbs up. It is highly recommended. Try it yourself and see!

Mick Hart at Woodoo Barber, Kaliningrad, Russia — **Mick Hart at Woodoo Barbers, Kaliningrad, October 2020**

Essential details:

Woodoo Barber Shop

75 Proletarian Street, Kaliningrad

and

44 Nevsky Street, Kaliiningrad

Tel: 903-444

Web: https://woodoobarbershop.com/

Open daily 10am to 9pm

Baltika 3 in Kaliningrad

**Mick Hart’s totally biased review of bottled beers* in Kaliningrad (or how to live without British real ale!)**

Published: 2 September 2020

Article 7: Baltika 3

It is, alas, customary for reviewers of almost anything these days that when confronted with something that they judge negatively to pan the product/experience with such acidity that you might well suspect that they own a moped and live somewhere like Streatham.

Subscribing to the modern misconception that recourse to expletives is the new humour rather than a substitute for lack thereof, these would-be social-media wits ‘gobshite’ it out as if there was no tomorrow, when the real pity is that that they were with us yesterday and are still with us today.

With this misfortune in mind, I shall, like the true English gentleman that I aspire to be, exercise restraint when I say that so far Baltika 3 is, in my opinion, not the best beer that I have drunk since coming to Kaliningrad.

“You don’t want to drink that,” snorted an acquaintance of ours, whilst driving us to the seaside, “It’s traction oil!!”

I used to work in publishing so, naturally, I never believe anything I read or anything anybody says, so when next I went to the supermarket to buy a bottle of beer, what did I do? Exactly, I bought Baltika.

First off, I did not like the bottle, well, not the bottle exactly, rather the label design. It said ‘Baltika 3’, which we will not carp about because that is what it is, but the shimmering blue and steel silver hues made me wonder if the graphic designers had not filched their ‘modern’ look from a motor vehicle advert.

I thought, “this is going to be very metallic, like that other lager ~ how does the advert go? ‘Possibly the nastiest and most metallic lager in the world’”.

It wasn’t. But guess who it is brewed by?

I took the cap off, mainly because I have not yet found an easier way to get to the contents of a bottle ~ as I have said, the bottle was fine ~ and took a poser’s sniff. Even if I had not smelt it before, and I had, because I used to work with heavy-plant machinery, I would recognise traction oil. It would not be fair to say that it did smell like this, but I struggled to determine what it did smell like.

I poured my premiere sample into an old Soviet bacal ~ a dimpled glass tankard ~ recently acquired, and tentatively, and with great trepidation, took my inaugural sip!

Not wanting to be scathing, the beer I had drunk previously, Lidskae Aksamitnae, had been so delectable that the inferior flavour of Baltika 3 could have suffered a severe case of amplification in consequence.

Being the nice chap that I am, I am willing to give Baltika 3 the benefit of this doubt. But I still cannot believe that Baltika is Russia’s most popular beer, and that this claim is out there. In 2018, Baltika 3 Classic received the silver medal in the Pilsner category of the British International Beer Challenge, so not all of my fellow countrymen agree with me on this one.

All I can say is, and all I am willing to say is, that if Baltika 3 is anything to go by, I dread to think what the higher numbers of Baltika beer are like.

I suppose the only way to find out is to drink them.

Life, as they say, is a lottery!

😁TRAINSPOTTING & ANORAKS
Name of Beer: Baltika 3
Brewer: Carlsberg Group
Where it is brewed: St Petersburg, Russia
Bottle capacity: 1.5 litres
Strength: 4.8%
Price: It cost me about 160 rubles (£1.62)
Appearance: Pale to light brown
Aroma: Barley malt (I think)
Taste: I am still working on it
Fizz amplitude: 7/10
Label/Marketing: Modernistic
Would you buy it again? I would drink it if it was bought for me

Lidskae Aksamitnae Beer in Kaliningrad

**Mick Hart’s totally biased review of bottled beers* in Kaliningrad (or how to live without British real ale!)**

Published: 20 August 2020 ~ Lidskae Aksamitnae Beer in Kaliningrad

Article 6: Lidskae Aksamitnae

I am most concerned about what is happening in Belarussia (I mean, Belarus) at the moment, not least because I have just discovered Lidskae Aksamitnae, a dark, rich, full-bodied beer with a deeply refreshing flavour.

**Lidskae Aksamitnae Beer in Kaliningrad**

Prejudiced against dark beers, with a proud aversion to the twangy-harp taste of Guinness and generally unseated by the intensified sweetness that seems to be the signature of dark, strong, British ales, I hesitated both in the purchase of Lidskae and, once that threshold had been crossed, the subsequent quaffing of it.

Removing the lid from my 1.5 litre bottle, I sniffed at it gingerly. It did not have a strong treacly smell and, I am glad to say, there were no twangy notes of a suspect brogue nature. What was this aroma that was hurtling up my hooter? Chocolate? Toasty? Someone’s nuts roasting? Whatever it was, I liked it.

Out of the bottle and into my glass it was as black as Brickstun (the name of my neighbour’s cat). But, within seconds of pouring it, an effervescence occurred that brought to the surface a white head, which stood out in stark contrast to the mass from whence it had come. I eyed it with the cautious way one would before entering Taste Alley. Dark beers had always been no-go areas for me, and I knew I was taking a risk. I recalled a stormy night in Portland. I had drunk black beer there and had felt bad for about 80 days.

I took my first sip. What was the verdict? Guilty!! It had only been a thought, but I was clearly inciting beery hatred. Contrary to my expectations, this brew had a rich, malty taste. It was not a riot, not even demonstrative on one’s taste buds. It did not try to sell you something you would rather not have, nor did it mug you. I felt that feeling one must get in taking one’s case to the European Court of Beery Rights and having it ruled in my flavour. I was not just relieved but rewarded ~ disproportionately compensated, for so I secretly thought, by a richness I did not deserve ~ well not for £1.40, which is what the beer had cost.

Lidskae Aksamitnae Beer Belarus — **Belarus beer at its best!** **Lidskae Aksamitnae**

Lidskae Aksamitnae Beer in Kaliningrad

Like most things of value, Lidskae Aksamitnae’s pedigree is firmly rooted in history and in heritage.

As the date on the label testifies, the Lida Beer Brewery began life in 1876. It is one of the oldest breweries in Belarus, the brainchild of Nosel Pupko, and it remained within his family for three generations.

By the turn of the 20^th century, Lidskoe beer, as it was then known, was already a winner in Europe, garnering various awards at respected exhibitions. Come the Soviet period, GOST standards meant standard beer; regional beers were restricted to the republic of its origin. But good news travel fast, as they say, and Lida’s reputation for producing tasty, quality brews somehow got out.

Today, with investment, ideas and technological input from companies in Finland and the Czech Republic, Lidskae beer continues to flourish, collecting international awards as high-class products and, more importantly, retaining and making old fans and new (such as me, the drinking Englishman) who certainly have no qualms when it comes to putting money where their mouths are.

They say you live and learn, and if I have learnt one thing and one thing only from buying and drinking this beer, it is BBM ~ Black Beers Matter!

Quality Belarus Beer — **Lidskae Aksamitnae** – **Gone but not forgotten ..**.

😁TRAINSPOTTING & ANORAKS
Name of Beer: Lidskae Aksamitnae
Brewer: Lidskoe Pivo
Where it is brewed: Belarus
Bottle capacity: 1.5 litres
Strength: 4.8%
Price: It cost me about 136 rubles (£1.40) from Spa (so near and also so far!)
Appearance: As black as your hoody
Aroma: Nutty and toasted
Taste: Smooth, rich, malty with a little sweetness and light bitterness
Fizz amplitude: 4/10
Label/Marketing: Proud heritage
Would you buy it again? Too right!

Brewery website> Lidskoe beer – Official site of Lidskoe Pivo company (lidskae.by)

Zhigulevskoye Beer Kaliningrad Russia

**Mick Hart’s totally biased review of bottled beers* in Kaliningrad (or how to live without British real ale!)**

Article 5: Zhigulevskoye Beer

As stated in my last beer review, my choice of supermarket-bought bottled beer in Kaliningrad is not influenced in any way by recommendation of any kind, which includes word of mouth. Neither do I purchase beer on the basis of its strength. The only selection criteria that I use is (i) have I drunk it before? (ii) do I like the label? As I know my Russian A Б B, I can sometimes cobble the name of the beer together. Not that it means very much, but as you might guess that was not the case with this particular brand, which when translated into English spells ‘Zhigulevskoye’.

Previous articles in this series:
Bottled Beer in Kaliningrad
Variety of Beer in Kaliningrad
Cedar Wood Beer in Kaliningrad
Gold Mine Beer in Kaliningrad

I was attracted to this particular beer, as opposed to the many others on offer, as the label has a distinctly nostalgic resonance. Look at it: The lower half of the label is the colour of ripe corn, the upper a bright blue sky. In the foreground, stationed on the yellow bed, stands one of those old Soviet roadside tankers, the ones that used to dispense peeva (beer) but which, in later years, were phased out as mobile meeting points with the greater uptake of conventional bars.

When I first came to Kaliningrad in the year 2000, there were still quite a few of these little yellow containers on wheels in evidence, but as the popularity of bars and licensed restaurants increased they were put out to pasture, making a comeback in later years for the dispensation of one of Russia’s most popular drinks, Kvass, an unusual beverage with an acquired taste made from fermented rye bread. Not that this would interest you lushes, as Kvass is alcohol-free.

In this pictorial incarnation, the one on the beer bottle, the little two-wheeled tanker proudly displays the word ‘beer’, peeva, in Cyrillic script. At the dispensing end, a young lady sits, a small shelf in front of her on which can be seen two ‘pint’ glasses. There are trees in the background and peeping through them the red pantiled rooftops and tall rustic chimneys of small cottages. The scene is one of perfect idyll. It captures superbly the Soviet concept of harmonic relationship between people and Mother Earth, and the impression is made complete by one of the USSR’s most simple but potent symbols, the yellow ear of wheat.

The name of the beer (which, as history denotes, is fairly unpronounceable in English) is written at a sloping angle across the front of the label in a deep-blue flowing Cyrillic script and the whole ensemble edified by an award-winning stamp of quality, a circular medallion containing a strong and manly thumbs-up symbol.

When I asked my wife, Olga, what the unpronounceable name of the beer meant in English, she was unable to translate, but, after several attempts to solve the riddle with the help of the internet, it turned out that the name equated to a motor vehicle! So, here I was sitting in my Russian attic drinking a pint of Lada!

As my friend John Hynes would say, and does say, “You couldn’t make it up!” Actually, he would say, and does say, “You couldn’t make this shit up!” but as the expletive can only confer an inapplicable derogation, for the sake of propriety and for accuracy we will dispense with this unfortunate word and focus instead on dispensing the beer.

Intrigued by the vehicle anomaly, Olga took to the internet via her mobile phone and connecting with a Russian site she was soon able to supply me with some interesting background information.

History of Zhigulevskoye Beer Kaliningrad Russia

The story goes that originally Zhigulevskoye was called ‘Viennese Beer’. It first saw life when Austrian aristocrat and businessman Alfred von Vacano established his Zhiguli Brewery in Samara in the early 1880s. The beer proved to be extremely popular but unfortunately for Alfred, come the Russian revolution in 1917, he was not. He ended up in Austria, his brewery confiscated, passed into the hands of the new Russian state.

Thus captured, Alfred’s extremely popular beer fell victim to the communist zeal for outlawing anything and everything that had a suspect bourgeoisie ring to it, and this was reflected in the beer’s name change from something that once could have been very well easy to say to Zhigulevskoye ~ proudly named after a Soviet car.

In Soviet times the brand had the best kind of monopoly that any beer can have ~ it was almost if not exclusive. At the height of its popularity, it was dispensed from 700 breweries and was exported to a number of different countries. Ironically, its international success was hampered by its name, which was not only difficult to pronounce but in some countries resembled words of a vulgar or impolite nature. The crude connotations of similar sounding words did not apply in England, where the beer was exported for a short while but simply did not catch on. How could it when we had Watney’s Pale Ale!!

Following the dissolution of the USSR, former satellite countries continued to brew Zhigulevskoye, most notably Carlsberg and Baltika brewers from their outlets in the Ukraine. Nevertheless, purists, romanticists and nostalgic drinkers stick firmly to their revolutionary guns where Zhigulevskoye is concerned, refusing to acknowledge true Zhigulevskoye unless it is brewed in Samara.

Voice off stage: Get on with it!

So, how did I find my 2020 version of Zhigulevskoye?

For all that I have read and for all that I have said, I am afraid to say that I cannot commit myself to use any other evaluative word other than that of ‘moderate’. The beer has a golden hue, a soft, mellow, traditional lager taste, is light on the palate, with a distant scent of hops, is easy to drink and quite refreshing, but what Alfred von Vacano would make of it, is anybody’s guess.

Call me an old (no, that’s reserved for people who really know me and liberals who think they do), old sentimentalist, but what I could not discern in flavour I derived more, as I supped away at Zhigulevskoye, from the label on the bottle. Even had there been nothing to recommend it, and this is not true, I could never bring myself to trash such an emblem of historic import. I know this lacks impartiality, but then this is why I named this series of posts, Mick Hart’s totally biased review of bottled beers in Kaliningrad.

😁TRAINSPOTTING & ANORAKS
Name of Beer: Zhigulevskoye (after 2 x 1.5 litre bottles you can pronounce it)
Brewer: More than one, including Baltika and Carlsberg
Where it is brewed: Lots of places but Samara is its original birth place
Bottle capacity: 1.5 litres
Strength: 4.5% (strength varies depending on brewery)
Price: It cost me about 112 rubles (£1.16)
Appearance: A lovely yellow corn
Aroma: Faint this ‘n’ that
Taste: Light, traditional pale lager taste
Fizz amplitude: 5/10
Label/Marketing: Nostalgists heaven
Would you buy it again? Yes, whenever I am in a Soviet mood

Gold Mine Beer in Kaliningrad

**Mick Hart’s totally biased review of bottled beers* in Kaliningrad (or how to live without British real ale!)**

Article 4: Gold Mine Beer

Published: 24 July 2020

The bottled beer that I am reviewing today goes by the very enticing name of Gold Mine. As with all beers in this series of reviews, they are widely available throughout Kaliningrad, Russia, from most supermarkets, and, as with all of the beers that I intend to review here, they have been selected on an ad-hoc basis. Why did I choose Gold Mine? Because I liked the name and the label.

Previous articles in this series:
Bottled Beer in Kaliningrad
Variety of Beer in Kaliningrad
Cedar Wood Beer in Kaliningrad

Labelling and product presentation plays a crucial role in leveraging purchasing decisions at every level, but is particularly important when it comes to impulse purchasing an unknown, untried and untested brand of, in this case, beer without recommendation or information to act as a guide.

The seductability value of a bottled beer’s label design is especially important if you are operating on a quick-decision buy-it-now basis. Nowhere is this more true if you are buying a beer that is produced in a country that is not your home country, where you may have no knowledge of, or only an elementary grasp of, the written language of that country. In this case, your purchasing decision will almost certainly be made according to visual appeal. In my case, as my command of the Russian language is limited, as is the time that we have on this Earth, making a purchasing decision from what is written on the bottle would leave me little time to drink it before its sell by date expired. So, for me here in Russia, labelling, as well as beer strength (since even I can read the percentage on the bottle), are the two criteria that I use before parting with my rubles.

Marketing wise, Gold Mine is great. The label has a retro feel to it, which is bound to be attractive to an old vintage and antique dealer like myself who has never moved out of the past. The label, which is unsurprisingly gold coloured, has an American bias. The words Gold Mine Beer (in English) romp brassily across the front of a dark-blue and gold-rimmed shield, reminiscent of a 1960s’ US police officer’s badge. The shield is surmounted by a New York City skyscape, a group of sketched skyscrapers and big city office blocks, one bearing the word ‘Urban’ written sideways and travelling vertically and another, in bold, ‘Light’. The US city design continues as a series of abstract shapes and line-drawn tower blocks that fade in and out of the golden background. The collar label above wears a complementary image, denoting skyscraper and suspension bridge together with the words ‘100% Light Beer’ and ‘fresh’, ‘premium’. What does all this mean? Well, nothing much, but the words are in different weights and scripts and as my Russian wife would say, when she gets her words in a mucking fuddle, it good looks.

We do not buy beer to look at the label, do we? That is about as daft as suggesting that we buy anything with alcohol in it to drink sensibly, because if we wanted to do that we would confine ourselves to mineral water, but, at the risk of repeating myself and sounding vaguely sexist, when it comes to trying something new appearance is everything and a bit more besides.

Leering at it in the supermarket cooler it occurred to me that if the product delivered as much as the labelling, it would be a darn good drink.

So, I bought it. Took it home. Retired with it to my gentleman’s drinking room, Mick’s Place, secreted in the attic, and plumbed the depths.

Gold Mine Beer in Kaliningrad

Verdict: Gold Mine Beer does have a colour that lives up to its name. It is a light, golden, lager beer. I have seen it described as crisp, but I would disagree with that: it has a soft, mellow taste with a standard, traditional lager finish. There is also a faint after taste, but not exciting enough for me to want to write home about it. Having said that, the texture is quite full bodied. It suits my palate in that its carbonation soon gives out, so it does not fizz up one’s nose like a glass of Andrew’s Liver Salts (sorry for mentioning the liver in a beer review).

Would I drink it again?

Yes. A 1.35 litre bottle retails in our local store for about 90 rubles (just over a quid). It is not the bees’ knees of beers but then neither is it the roadman’s wellingtons. It is drinkable and more. Real ale connoisseurs may well have a problem with it, but I suspect seasoned lager drinkers used to finding less ‘gold in them thar pilsners’ than they would like, might reasonably discover when prospecting this brand that it was good enough to bottle it.

😁TRAINSPOTTING & ANORAKS
Name of Beer: Gold Mine Beer
Brewer: World Beers
Where it is brewed: California, USA
Bottle capacity: 1.35 litres
Strength: 4.5%
Price: It cost me about 90 rubles (98 pence)
Appearance: You won’t believe it ~ Gold
Aroma: Corny
Taste: Soft, traditional, light-coloured lager tang with one or two hops struggling to the surface
Fizz amplitude: 6/10
Label/Marketing: As good as, if not better than, gold
Would you buy it again? Yes. But I wouldn’t go looking for it

Cedar Wood Beer in Kaliningrad

**Mick Hart’s totally biased review of bottled beers* in Kaliningrad (or how to live without British real ale!)**

Article 3: Cedar Wood beer

Published: 20 July 2020

Would you Adam and Eve it, the name of this beer is Wood? Well, to be more precise Cedar Wood. And no, I am sorry to disappoint you, I am not about to make comparisons between the smell and taste of this ‘Russian-brewed’ beer and a cheap, tacky aftershave of the same name that was rife in the UK back in the 1970s, if only because Cedar Wood aftershave did stink strongly of cedar wood (whatever that smells like) and may have tasted like it too, although, contrary to legend, I never did drink it.

Previous articles in this series:
Bottled Beer in Kaliningrad
Variety of Beer in Kaliningrad

I bought this beer not for its strength, which comes in at a not-to-be-sniffed-at 4.8% (not considered to be a strong beer in this part of the world), but on the strength of its label, which at first site is its selling point and some Wood say its last.

The label shows three men, two sitting on top of a log and one standing nearby, which, one would logically (pun intended [or was it!]) conclude, is from the eponymous tree genus, cedar, as it would not make sense if it was something else. The three men are, supposedly, jolly Siberian peasants ~ the bottle states that the beer is brewed in Siberia, although I have since found out that it isn’t. One man has a foaming ‘pint’ in his hand, which must be any other beer but Wood, as although Wood does have a big head on it, it is rather wishy-washy. A second man has his chopper over his shoulder. Yet another boast, I suspect, that Wood cannot live up to. And I am not quite sure what the third man has in his hand or where his hand is. Ahhh, it appears to be in his pocket, possibly holding his wallet intact because he has no intention to pay for such a beer as this. Come to think of it, he does look a bit like my brother …

Cedar Wood Beer in Kaliningrad

That the marketing profile has good, old-fashioned masculine appeal ~ you can almost smell the pheromones ~ cannot be disputed. This beer is aimed at and drunk by hard-grafting manly men ~ none of your skinny-arsed trousers and nerdy spectacles here! Indeed, when I first saw the label I thought, I bet this comes from Canada, but I quickly remembered that the Canada of my youth and earlier ~ the Canada of fur trappers, mountain men, cattle ranchers, lumberjacks and the good old Canadian Mountie ~ was now, like John Wayne, an anachronism, replaced by new man, woke man, limp-wristed and Guardian-reading, the sort that would make Bob Hope look like Tyson Furry.

I suppose this is why when I took my first sip I won’t say that I was disappointed, as this might suggest all kinds of acceptable things by today’s gender-depleted standards, but it certainly was not what I had expected. Unlike the Mountie I thought it was, it never got its man.

In other words, it was not as manly as the label suggested. It did not have to be infused with the sweat of honest toil and reeking of rancid pipe tobacco, and neither, just because it was called ‘Wood’, did I anticipate that it would make me feel 30 years younger at half-past six in the morning, but a little more oomph Wood have been appreciated.

I am in no way attempting to criticise the alcohol strength, 4.8% is good enough for me; no, the missing ingredient was taste.

Here you have a light, golden-looking beer, with a hoppy taste and straw-like aroma. There is a touch of the aromatics about it, which conforms to the cedar name, and this ingredient loiters happily at the back of your throat after the beer has been quaffed. It is a fizz beer, with plenty of carbonation, but as both taste and aroma lacks clout, and is fairly bland, the effervescence compensates for the rest and does propel what vague distinction there is high up into the back of your hooter, which is by no means novel if, like me, you have the distinction of having belonged to the Andrews Liver Salts generation.

With Wood, you need patience, for you have to wait for the taste to come through, but it eventually does in a very eventual way.

In summary, Wood is a light, golden, traditional lager beer. The aroma and taste are hardly as memorable as the vintage aftershave of the same name, but at 4.8% by volume, it is deceptively strong. I purchased my bottle of Wood, 1.35 litres, for about 137 rubles (£1.50) from our local supermarket.

As standard supermarket retailed fare goes, it was not that bad, and the price speaks for itself. Would I buy Wood again? To answer that question, I will borrow that singularly important loaded word from the long-running Carlsberg advertising campaign ‘probably’, if only to enjoy the Pythonesque label!

Note that the beers that feature in this review series only include bottled beer types that are routinely sold through supermarket outlets and in no way reflect the variety of beer and/or quality available in Kaliningrad from speciality outlets and/or through bars and restaurants.

😁TRAINSPOTTING & ANORAKS
Name of Beer: Cedar Wood
Brewer: Baltika-Samara
Where it is brewed: Everywhere but Siberia
Bottle capacity: 1.35 litres
Strength: 4.8%
Price: I got it for 136 rubles (£1.50)
Appearance: Light, traditional lager beer
Aroma: Still working on it
Taste: A bit of this and that ~ hoppy, slightly bitter, tinge of herbs but no cedar
Fizz amplitude: 7/10
Label/Marketing: Michael Palin and the Lumberjack song
Would you buy it again? Probably

Mick Hart drinking beer in Kaliningrad — **MIck Hart secretly drinking ‘Siberian’ beer in Kaliningrad, where no one suspects that he is English**

Self-isolating in Kaliningrad

Published: 17 March 2020

With no broadcast TV, no social media accounts, no newspapers and trying to ween myself off Google News, I was, as the lyrics say, “Happy in the haze of a drunken hour …”, until, that is, our neighbour asked my wife, in the context of coronavirus, whether I was still frequenting Kaliningrad’s bars. I came down to earth with a jolt.

I have no problem with self-isolating or social distancing, I have always been anti-social, but after all these years, a lifetime in fact, of shunning at-home drinking for the unparalleled joy of the pub or bar, it is more than one can bear.

As far as I am aware, to date we have five cases of coro in Kaliningrad, and about 450 self-isolating, some at home some under observation. Many schools here have switched from attendance-learning to distance-learning. The Polish and Lithuanian borders are closed, except for freight*, and there will be ‘no entry for foreigners from 18 March to 1 May’ . So, apart from a transit corridor through Lithuania, allowing people to return to their homes, which is scheduled to close on 19 March**, this small tract of land will be virtually cut off from the rest of the world.

Whilst there seems to be less people on the streets and on public transport, I have yet to hear of anything akin to the bizarre events unfolding in the UK, namely hordes of people descending on shops like locusts on laxatives to devour the shelves of toilet paper. I can only imagine how these people’s mind’s work. Perhaps they are thinking, he who laughs last laughs longest, and when the dire moments comes (let’s hope it is not the diarrhoea moment!), when the rest of the nation is down to its last piece of tissue, begging and imploring them to sell at any cost a 2-inch square, they will turn the other cheek. What an absolute bummer!

We have two small supermarkets in our locale, which I usually let my wife use, as I would not want to impinge on her leisure time, but, out of curiosity, I accompanied her recently. And when I got there the shelves were not bare (I feel a touch of poetry coming on.).

I have noticed, however, a funny thing. Your reflection in the window, you all cry. Well, that too, but more unprecedented is that whenever I go to these shops (which, as I have said, I don’t do very often because it’s a woman’s job, isn’t it), security always sidle off to form a cordon around the bog-roll shelves. Hmmm, they must know I am from England.

This blockade was unnecessary, however, as my only purchase interest was in medicine, which I was able to snap up, using my 25% discount sticker⁺, for the bargain price of two quid.

Self-isolating in Kaliningrad — **Self-isolating First Aid kit**

Prevention is better than cure, as they say, but just in case I bought some beats as well, as Russian borsch is highly recommended as an effective ‘morning after’ pill.

Sources
Accessed 17 March 2020:

*https://www.dw.com/ru/закрытый-калининград-из-за-коронавируса-российский-эксклав-оказался-в-изоляции/a-52796414
**https://www.newkaliningrad.ru/news/briefs/community/23609508-na-karantine-po-koronavirusu-v-kaliningradskoy-oblasti-nakhoditsya-450-chelovek.html

Note
⁺Some supermarkets in Kaliningrad present you at checkout with a little slip of paper on which are adhered reusable sticky labels. These are discount stickers, each sticker marked with varying percentage discounts. Off you go with your stickers and the next time you visit the shop, you can run round and stick these on the items of your choice, thus cutting the cost of your favourite drinks, I mean products. Promotions don’t usually work on me, but this one does!