Russian supermarkets taste like home
By Dori Molozanov
Growing up as a first-generation American born to Russian immigrants meant that Eastern European food was a defining feature of my upbringing. Unfortunately, this led to some embarrassing cafeteria moments.
Each afternoon, my classmates congregated at the lunch tables, exchanging Dunkaroos for Snack Packs with the confidence and tenacity of Wall Street traders. I, on the other hand, rarely had something worth bartering. My Russian-style lunch created a force field that my classmates wouldn't penetrate. Sitting alone in the cafeteria was just one side effect of being a proverbial bowl of steaming borscht in a Wonderbread world.
Despite my childhood lunchroom status as an outsider, I'm no longer ashamed to admit that I prefer pickled herring to pizza. Nostalgia really kicked in when I moved away from home to Philadelphia for college. The accessibility of Northeast Philly, the so-called "Russian neighborhood" of Philadelphia, has made it easy to keep that part of my identity alive.
Even if you aren't of Russian descent, Northeast Philly makes for a fun food field trip - provided you don't scare easy at the sight of sour watermelon, pickled cheese, salt-cured fat, and fermented milk. Recently, I took a curious non-Russian friend with me to experience this little slice of the homeland right here in Philadelphia.
We began our journey at Bell's Market, a far cry from standard American grocery stores. One does see the occasional bewildered Anglophone floating around, as the shelves are stocked with a considerable supply of goods generally found in your run-of-the-mill grocery store, and the prices are competitive.
However, most of Bell's' inventory consists of Eastern European fare, and a majority of the clientele is from the heavily Russian-populated areas in Northeast Philadelphia and Bucks County. The employees speak English, but a large portion of the Russian products has no English on the packaging. Despite the culture shock, Bell's is well worth the trip – you'd be hard-pressed to find a selection of Eastern European foods this extensive anywhere between here and Brooklyn. I never leave without stocking on fresh-baked pumpernickel bread, frozen pelmeni, stuffed or plain blini, a cold-smoked fish, dried taranka, doctorskaya bologna, and some dry salami.
NetCost, just up the street, is part of a small chain with New York locations in Russian-dense areas of Brooklyn and Staten Island. NetCost is more aptly described as an American store with some Russian inventory, and is therefore a little less intimidating for non-Eastern Europeans. However, it's less authentic than some of the other Northeast options. Grocery stores of this magnitude are a markedly American invention, and they've been adopted into Russian-American culture. Large supermarkets have only recently started cropping up in Russia, and are usually found in urban centers such as Moscow and St. Petersburg.
Petrovsky Market may not be able to compete with the inventory at Bell's or the Americanized feel of NetCost, but it is the most authentic option in Philly's Northeast in terms of size and atmosphere. The small, slightly overcrowded store feels like a real Russian bazaar in comparison with the others, but non-Russophones may have more trouble navigating the shelves and communicating with employees here.
The deli is easily one of my favorite sections of any Russian supermarket. Most American stores will carry a few Hebrew National and Boar's Head options, but at Bell's Market or NetCost, you can map the world with deli meats – there are at least 70 different types of salamis alone, from all corners of the globe. The sandwiches I ate as a kid could also have been used as a lesson in Eastern bloc geography, with cold cuts from the Czech Republic, Estonia, Moldova, Georgia, and more. Lunch was not the only meal in my household characterized by unconventional meat choices. My dad used to fry slices of doctorskaya bologna with breakfast on Sunday mornings, in place of more standard American options such as bacon or sausage links.
The fish department, in Russian markets generally and at Bell's in particular, is in serious competition with the deli for my favorite section of the store. I was introduced to the likes of moiva and herring at a young age and I have loved fish, in all shapes and sizes, for as long as I can remember. When I got to the fish department at Bell's Market, my inner Russian did a serious happy dance. This is not, to put it mildly, your average fish department. Very little of the fish at Bell's Market is raw, and almost all of it is either pickled or smoked. This is in keeping with the spirit of Russian grocery shopping, which is characterized by a predominance of pre-cooked foods that allow for quick meals.
My shopping partner was particularly excited to buy smoked fish. I handed him a cold-smoked mackerel, one of my favorites. He looked down at the vacuum-sealed, whole fish in his hands, and then, quizzically, up at me.
"Oh right. You'll need to chop the head and tail off yourself." I remember eating chubs for breakfast as a child, and learning to rip off the heads and tails with my hands before peeling back the skin to reveal chunks of salty meat, which I lifted from the bones with dexterity. But, I suppose fish heads are not something most people become desensitized to in early childhood.
Many years ago, I may have coveted my classmate's all-American lunches. But it turns out I prefer a nice big plate of olivier over a Wonder Bread sandwich any day of the week. And thanks to these markets, Russian food is always within reach.
Table Matters is an online magazine at the intersection of food, drink, and culture, published by Drexel University's Center for Cultural Outreach.