Brighten the Corners

Ginza Project opens food park with more than 20 corners at Mercury Shopping Mall near Begovaya subway station 🍲🥤
Bumaga
September 26, 2021

Ginza Project restaurant group has launched its first food hall in Petersburg. This week, a food park was opened in the Mercury shopping and entertainment complex near the Begovaya subway station. It is a joint project of Ginza Project and Adamant, according to the restaurant group’s website.

The gastronomic space occupies 3,000 square meters. In addition to restaurant concepts [sic], there is a grocery market and a children’s entertainment center.

There are more than 20 corners with food and drinks in the food park. Among the residents are Koreana Light, Bo and Bao Mochi, Easy Hummus, Pa Pa Power, British Bakeries, Buro and Salad Bar. You can try the French grill at The Vixen Has Come, smoothies at Simple Blend and French baked potatoes at Potato Papa.

In addition, Ginza Project has opened three of its own corners in the food park: I Want Kharcho and Khachapuri, featuring Georgian cuisine; Ginza Small, featuring Japanese food; and Pancake and Dumpling, feature Russian fare.

The food park is located on the third floor of the Mercury Shopping Mall. You can learn more about it on the project’s website and its group page on VKontakte.

The image, above, is a screenshot of Ginza Project’s promo video for Food Park Mercury on VKontakte. All underlined words are in Rusglish or Latin characters in the original. Translated by the Russian Reader

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At 12 p.m. on Sunday, October 3, a Last Address plaque in memory of the schoolboy Boris Bumagin, who died in exile, will be installed at 20 English Embankment in  Petersburg.

Boris Grigoryevich Bumagin was born in 1935, the son of the Leningrad Communist Party leader Grigory Kharitonovich Bumagin, who led guerrilla forces in the occupied areas of the Leningrad Region during the Second World War. In October 1949, Grigory Kharitonovich was arrested as part of the Leningrad Affair and sentenced to 25 years in prison.

Fifteen-year-old eighth-grader Boris Bumagin was arrested on 14 March 1951 as the “son of a convicted member of the G.Kh. Bumagin anti-Soviet wreckers group.” Boris and his sister were exiled for five years to Krasnoyarsk Territory, where their mother was already in exile. In August 1952, Boris tragically drowned in the Taseyeva River. His father, who was in prison, learned about his son’s death a year later in a letter from his wife.

Two years after his death, Boris Bumagin was exonerated for lack of evidence of a crime. His father was released at the same time, in 1954, and exonerated in 1956.  A plaque in memory of Grigory Bumagin was installed at 20 English Embankment in 1985. Now a memorial plaque for his son Boris will be installed at the same house. Boris’s great-niece Alina Tukkalo has arranged for the installation.

We invite you to attend the installation ceremony and remind you of the need to practice social distancing and to wear masks when socializing. Stay healthy!

Source: Last Address Petersburg email newsletter, 27 September 2021. Translated by the Russian Reader

Russian Is Easy: Bans for Brekkers

ban-s-rostbifom

One reason Russian has become a lot easier over the past ten or twenty years is that Russia’s creative classes have been strenuously churning their native tongue into a Russified variety of English.

Here’s a great example, as suggested to me just now by one of Mark Zuckerberg’s algorithms, which know I adore this ghastly self-hating twee monster called Rusglish.

At one of Chef Aram Mnatsakanov’s tiny empire of restaurants in Petersburg, Jérôme (don’t ask), you can order something called ban s rostbifom and ban s svininoi for brekkers.

menu

It’s not the rostbif and svinina (“roast beef” and “pork”) that caught my eye. They’ve long been part of the great and mighty Russian language.

What caught me eye was the word ban (bun). Why were “Russia’s Jamie Oliver” (not my coinage) and Co. unable to condescend to the perfectly Russian, extremely ordinary, and utterly comprehensible word bulochka (“bun”) when writing up the menu?

Because that would have sounded too common. For €6.77 a pop Mnatsakanov’s diners expect something “fancier” (as Mum would have put it) than a plain old bulochka their babushkas could have baked for them out of the kindness of their lonely hearts.

Mnatskanov’s customers don’t want kindness. They want conspicuous consumption. And they want it labeled, at least partly, in English, even if that English is as supremely common and humble as “bun” (ban). TRR

Images courtesy of Jérôme