Score one for the Russians...

You have two choices in Calgary. Hide inside and grumble for the entire winter - or attempt to keep your sanity through some creative planning. That's what we have chosen to do. I love to cook, and experiment with new recipes, ideas and techniques. I didn't say I was any good at it...but I do like to give it a good go.





Recently, my good friend and I came up with a plan to get us through the rest of the winter. We chose 8 different countries, put them in a hat and selected our picks. It was then formally agreed upon that we would take turns hosting an internationally themed dinner party based on our selected nation.

Now when I say "formally" agreed upon, let me be clear. Yes - we both became excited about the different possibilities and ideas we had churning...but deep down...we both knew the hidden agenda. It was an unannounced, informal declaration of WAR! Dinner party WAR was on, and we both secretly knew it! We parted ways with a friendly hug...securely grasping the Santoku knife behind our backs...and backing away...slowly...

First up - my dear friend. Country represented - Russia! Almost a guaranteed win for me, I mean come on...Russia? Who can cook Russian food, and what the heck do Russian's eat, anyway? My dear friend was hooped from the start with her "unlucky" draw from the hat!

The "guests" to the party were responsible for bringing the dessert - so I googled Russian desserts and came up with Pavlova - a meringue based cake covered in fruit. Easy peasy. I was going to rock this one, and blow everyone away with my culinary skills. Score one for me!

Ingredients purchased, recipe followed to the LETTER - watched in amazement as my creation rose and grew and browned as it baked into a picture perfect image of the perfect Pavlova. Did I mention how "perfect" everything was?

I took my pride and joy out of the oven to cool on the counter, and as I prepared the whip cream topping I heard a strange sound. It sounded like a slow leak from a balloon...followed by really thin ice cracking. I actually WATCHED this thing deflate in front of my eyes. Now - the recipe said it might fall and crack a bit...but by the time this thing was done...it looked like the Saddledome. Rather than panic...I was confident I would be able to fix this obvious defect by piling on the whipped cream and arranging the fruit in a very decorative manner - thus hiding the giant grand canyon looming in the middle of my otherwise perfect dessert.

The "Saddledome" a.k.a Pavolva

Well - it looked great - so I brought "The Saddledome" to the dinner party - head held high at my obvious pending victory. I even dressed the part as a slightly overweight Russian ballerina - complete with my hair pulled so tightly in a bun - I had trouble opening my eyes.

Walking into the party, my hopes began sinking faster than my Pavlova. Lights turned down low, blazing fire in the fireplace, Russian army marching music playing in the background - the smell of food was everywhere. Our male host was dressed like Russian Mafia - right down to gold chains and slicked down hair, and my friend...well...her green paisley print dress, hair pulled back and bright pink lipstick made me feel like I was standing on the streets of Moscow! The table was adorned with a lace tablecloth, place cards written in Russian, gold plates framed with various stemware along the plates of chilled capers, pickles and caviar. Dinner was nothing short of pure authentic, right down to the imported Russian Beer. They had translated the recipes from a true Russian cookbook - and apparently received a "family" traditional recipe from "grandma" who was born in Russia.

A sample of the table decor...note the handwritten place cards...in Russian...

I will admit, everything was fantastic, more than fantastic...and had to concede defeat once my "Saddledome" was served, covered in kiwi - which my host was mildly allergic too. To top it off - I couldn't even claim victory if I wanted too - Pavlova is actually an Australian dessert named after a famous Russian ballerina. It tasted great - but failed in comparison to the work my hosts had put into their event. As my friend smiled slyly at me across from her coffee...savoring her unspoken victory - I began formulating in my head my new menu for my upcoming "French" theme... that did NOT consist of french fries...

Score one for the Russians...