The brand name itself refers to Zakuski: the traditional spreads of light snacks intended to be consumed with vodka. This guy (who, to raise hackles further, appears via a photo whose quality noticeably clashes with that of the illustrated onion domes behind him) also shows up on two horseradish mustard variants as well as horseradish beets, which to me indicates a possible (linguistic?) association between blackness and horseradish itself, especially since this mustard/mayo mix also has a noticeable horseradish zing. The brand's other jars typically feature a more ordinary Russian babushka, with the version shown here specifically described as “Teshchina Gorchitsa,” or mustard from Teschin (a bridge in Odessa). This indicates these spreads may not even be Russian to begin with, although another source does transliterate the word to Tyosha. The latter makes a bit more sense, since Teschin Bridge does not seem nearly impressive enough to have a mustard named after it (assuming, of course, it never served as a site where famous home-made mustards were sold). There’s only so far you can go, however, without a knowledge of the language the item is originally printed in, and so I must call off the search before I go insane. The mustard/mayo (mustardo?) itself is pretty good, at the very least.
Following up on the Russian theme of the previous post, it seems as good a time as any to delve into this mysterious mayo/mustard combination, bought at not-great cost from the great NetCost supermarket in Sheepshead Bay. The use of a black man as a logo (silent spokesman?), one whose connection to either mustard or mayonnaise seems highly tenuous, seems to be aiming for humorous (perhaps through the overall oddness of this goofy-faced fellow touting a characteristically Russian product?), but lands closer to cringe-inducing. I could, perhaps, leave it at that, writing this one off to a poor choice made from the remove of an often not-so-tolerant culture, but as always I feel impelled to push further, toward the exact set of circumstances that led to this specific abomination of design. Despite heavy Googling (over 30 minutes logged, at least), I found only scant information online about this product, although one clue is that the spokesman appears (at least from my barely-informed outsider perspective) to be dressed like a robe-cloaked Orthodox priest, albeit one clad in an ushanka while gripping a hammer and sickle mounted on what might be a crosier. Or a crucifix? Specifically a blessing cross?
The brand name itself refers to Zakuski: the traditional spreads of light snacks intended to be consumed with vodka. This guy (who, to raise hackles further, appears via a photo whose quality noticeably clashes with that of the illustrated onion domes behind him) also shows up on two horseradish mustard variants as well as horseradish beets, which to me indicates a possible (linguistic?) association between blackness and horseradish itself, especially since this mustard/mayo mix also has a noticeable horseradish zing. The brand's other jars typically feature a more ordinary Russian babushka, with the version shown here specifically described as “Teshchina Gorchitsa,” or mustard from Teschin (a bridge in Odessa). This indicates these spreads may not even be Russian to begin with, although another source does transliterate the word to Tyosha. The latter makes a bit more sense, since Teschin Bridge does not seem nearly impressive enough to have a mustard named after it (assuming, of course, it never served as a site where famous home-made mustards were sold). There’s only so far you can go, however, without a knowledge of the language the item is originally printed in, and so I must call off the search before I go insane. The mustard/mayo (mustardo?) itself is pretty good, at the very least.
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Not just meat, but tushenka, a stewed, canned Russian delicacy, that like many packaged goods, originated as a military ration. I was mostly drawn in by the red and green color scheme, which is strangely un-Christmas-y in this context, instead landing somewhere between soothing and post-apocalyptic.
Mass market mineral waters like Perrier and San Pellegrino act as a high-end counterpart to artificially carbonated seltzers and club sodas, their naturally occurring fizz and smattering of calcium connoting freshness and vitality. It’s therefore easy to forget that the drink’s original focus wasn’t elegant thirst quenching but health, with most of the major brands originating as bainological boutique products from 18th century spa towns. Case in point is Russian mineral water Yessentuki, which like its French cousin Vichy, focuses more on its healing powers than any refreshing qualities, pretty much necessary since it tastes like salt water. It basically is salt water, although this isn’t just any salinous stuff scooped straight from the ocean, it’s a magnesium rich mineral broth prized for its supposedly salutary properties. This brand claims that the spring from which it’s drawn has uniquely restorative abilities, growing hair on the head of a sickly bald child, thus explaining the name of the river and surrounding town, which means ‘living hair.’ The bottle was mistakenly purchased at a Georgian bakery in Sheepshead Bay - I thought it was this elusive tarragon soda - and no, I did not actually drink the entire thing.
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The coded language of snacks, sandwiches and seasonings, in NYC and beyond.
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