Ornate touches of great Russian wealth, and prices to match
Since beginning to write these restaurant reviews, I have always had free rein to choose whichever restaurant I felt like visiting with one exception. When Tsarina first opened, I made reservations for Chloe and I. But when Mr. Moo, my money man on these excursions, found out that a typical bill there could run zl. 200 per person, not including wine or cocktails, he quashed the idea so quickly and emphatically that I never dared raise the subject around him again.
The result, unfortunately, was that in the ensuing months I slummed around Warsaw visiting places like Van Bihn's Vietnamese slop shop and the toilet restaurant, all the while depriving my readers of the lowdown on a place at which they would actually imagine eating, such as Tsarina.
But then one day recently, without warning, Moo came to me and said: "It's time. Tsarina, next Wednesday, table for four. Book it." I was dialing before he finished the sentence, or had time to reconsider.
I found myself on ulica Jezuicka in the Old Town that night looking up and down for the restaurant, before I noticed a maitre d' step out of a doorway for some fresh air. Voila, Tsarina. He welcomed me inside, took my coat, and found my name in the big leather reservations book. A terrible cold snap had hit Warsaw that evening, but Tsarina's warm, candlelit interior did wonders for my icy fingers and feet. The gentleman led me down a wide, wooden staircase, past an enormous mirror at the bottom, and onto the set of a Chekhov play.
Actually it was the bar area, but it might as well have been Uncle Vanya's house. This Russian restaurant has done a stunning job in terms of design, which transports guests to something like a bourgeois Russian country home. The dining room is divided into several rooms, and each one is decorated differently, similar to the rooms of a house. The ceiling is criss-crossed by timber beams painted in Russian folk designs, and framed icons line the walls. Tin lamps hang from shelves, and candles placed everywhere give each small room a warm, intimate ambiance.
But before bringing me to my table, the maitre d' stopped me at the bar and handed me a shot glass. "This is a special treat," he said in English, "vodka plus black currant juice. Drink it like a Russian, like this" he mimed the action of downing the glass in one go. So, down the hatch! Drink gone, I was shown the table in a back room, the walls painted trompe l'oeil style with books. The library.
I was the first of the party to arrive. The waiter offered me a cocktail, and I figured another vodka couldn't hurt. "Russian vodka or Polish vodka?" he asked. "Polish, of course!" I responded, with a twinge of patriotism in my voice. He brought me a chilled glass of Chopin, which I was sipping when Moo and Blondie arrived. They were being served their cocktails, a Chopin and Lech for Moo, and a house specialty, the Tsarina's Cocktail, for Blondie. For that, the waiter placed a champagne glass in front of her, poured a shot of Hennessey cognac in the bottom, and filled the rest with Veuve Cliquot. Moo grimaced. "We're going to get tagged on that drink!" he whispered sotto voce. He was right the drinks, we later found out to our astonishment, were zl. 85 each.
Just then, the fourth member of our party arrived, Deep Throat. "That looks nice, I'll have what she's having," he told the waiter, pointing to Blondie's drink. We all began perusing the menu, which, it has to be said, is one of the most expensive in Warsaw. Starters and mains both average zl. 60-zl. 80, although one or two items can be found for zl. 30 as well. "Are we on any kind of budget?" Deep Throat asked me. "No way, order whatever you like," I said, happy that I was seated just out of kicking range from Moo.
After ordering, a waiter brought out a plate of garlic butter and a tray of bread to nibble on while we waited. Moo and Deep Throat lit up smokes and fell to gossiping, while Blondie and I exchanged nervous glances over the wine list. It's got something for everybody, I'd say, as long as everybody has thick wads of cash on them. We discreetly decided on a zl. 135 bottle of Chateau Toutigeac, 1997, from Bordeaux. It pleased everyone, so who needs to know that it was the cheapest on offer?
To start, Deep Throat tried the "Tsarina's Pierogis," (zl. 91), which are stuffed with smoked oysters. He had a plate of about 10, which looked just too delicious to imagine. Somehow I refused his kind offer to try one. I was content with my warm saucer of soup, a Russian specialty called "Granny Muraszew's Solianka" (zl. 49). To a base of slightly sweetened tomato soup the chef adds several tender chunks of beef and a variety of veggies. It was, to my taste, the perfect starter on a cold winter night. Blondie was raring to dig into her plate of four slices of liver pate (zl. 38), but there was a problem with Moo. "Somebody look at this " he said sheepishly, pointing to his starter of a tomato stuffed with Bieluga liver (zl. 36). "Is this fish?" Well, close enough for him not to be able to eat it. Blondie gallantly offered to swap plates, and they both seemed satisfied with the trade.
We ordered another bottle of the Bordeaux, and moved on to the main course. Deep Throat had the venison (zl. 120), three tender cuts, which came dressed in a nice brown sauce and served with salted Boletus mushrooms. I followed up my soup with something heartier, a long, grilled szaszlyk (zl. 75) of tender beef and violet onions, served with a sweet pomegranate sauce on the side. Moo finally got something he liked, a plate of lamb cutlets marinated in Georgian cognac and with a wild plum sauce (zl. 83). "It's unusual, but I like it," he declared. Only Blondie was less satisfied this time. Her plate held a huge, nearly complete roast chicken (zl. 61), but the standard taste of normal roast chicken wasn't entirely to her liking. "I prefer the smaller, baby chickens," she explained.
We ordered cappuccinos all around and asked for the dessert cart. Deep Throat tried the poppyseed cake, which he found a bit dry. "It could use a dollop of cream," he said. Moo and Blondie each had a slice of torte topped with raspberries, which were good enough to finish, while I tried the chocolate cream and nut sponge cake, soaked in rum. After spoonfuls were exchanged all around, my dish won the consensus vote for best dessert.
No one left the table unsatisfied, but you would expect a little more from a meal that cost an average month's salary. What our zl. 1,400 ($350) did buy us was absolutely flawless, professional service in one of the most fabulous restaurant settings in Poland. The meal, however, was worth about half the price. Moo summed it up best as we made for the exit around 11 p.m., the place still packed with guests: "Everyone here is on expense accounts."
