Last night was my second visit to the Russian House restaurant in Austin. The first time I went was to celebrate Marcus's birthday last summer. We took the kids and had the extreme luck to eat in the private room. Being in a dark room with ornately decorated rugs covering the walls, interrupted occasionally by serious men refilling our waters and our over-attentive waiter bringing too many courses of food, the experience was unique and memorable. Marcus and I loved tasting several samples of their infused vodkas. The kids ate beef tongue for the first time. Marcus fell in love with the hot and savory borscht. Though our voices were often drowned out by the fact that a small band was performing just on the other side of the wall, it was an awesome way to celebrate Marcus's birthday and helped make a crucial emotional connection to downtown Austin. Some of the most memorable celebrations in our marriage are attached to small and beloved restaurants, and we cherish opportunities to find new special locations.
That is why we decided to take Bennion to the Russian House last night. We were looking to share that same experience with a friend visiting Austin for the first time. It was a Friday night, and the restaurant was busy, but not overcrowded, which was great because we were 20 minutes late. The hostess had the appropriate amount of disregard and annoyance for us that I would expect for a restaurant with a Russian theme, and though I'm sure she would have felt some satisfaction in turning us away because a more responsible patron would have taken our coveted seats, she begrudgingly sat us at one of the few remaining open tables in the main dining room. No special room for us tonight...they had notified us when we made the reservation that 3 people are not enough for that experience.
The main dining room was decorated like the inside of a home, with small framed photos covering the walls, furniture with nesting dolls and other trinkets to the side, and a TV silently playing Russian television from the early 1990s for effect. Our water man was once again was a large and very serious looking man, and he kept himself very busy refilling our waters any time we took more than a few drinks. The vodkas were once again numerous, and with a third adult in our party, we tried even more infusions, although I would have preferred being there during Happy Hour so we could have had a flight of them instead of paying for each serving outright.
We had all made the serendipitous decisions to eat earlier that afternoon at separate locations, so none of us were hungry enough for entrees, leaving our attention focused on the vodkas, which I preferred. We all chose different options, and shared tastes of everything. We had basil, cactus and honey, pineapple and raspberry, saffron, mint and lime, and other infusions. It's a great way to spend the meal, and I would highly recommend anyone play around with the vodkas at the Russian House.
Ben wanted an appetizer, so we got the meat plate. On it were thin slices of two types of salami, smoked pork, smoked beef, smoked chicken, and beef tongue, along with a generous dollop of horseradish and apparently the hottest mustard on earth, though I wasn't brave enough to try it. A side plate of insanely delicious bread accompanied the meats. I could have eaten just the bread all night.
Marcus and Ben ate the borscht, and I had the wild mushroom soup. The bowls were served with tortillas on top, which had curled around the top of the bowl from the heat of the soup, creating a perfect seal. We discussed the choice of the tortilla as the topper for the soup, and Ben decided it was probably an employee of Mexican descent working in the kitchen who brought the idea to the restaurant, as none of us had ever heard of tortillas in any Russian menus. We decided that the tortilla soup topper was cleverly Austin, and left it at that.
The lifeless waitress, apparently annoyed because we were not ordering entrees, came over to offer dessert. My guilty conscience overcame me, perhaps aided by 4 infused vodkas, and I told her we wanted both of the new dessert cakes. One was, according to the waitress, best translated as "bird milk cake" and had a wonderful marshmallowy layer on top of two other layers of cake. The other cake was a dry chocolate blah. I ate one bite. The boys had the rest. Marcus, being the snack master that he is, would have eaten it no matter what, so I felt no remorse eating the majority of the bird milk cake.
Overall, though my experience this second time can't touch the connection I created from our first visit, it was still well worth the $140 it cost, which at any other restaurant, would have caused us to never consider visiting again. $48 for vodka just seems criminal anywhere else, right? Fortunately for the Russian House, they're the only game in town for the borscht that Marcus is in love with, and an endless variety of infused vodkas that we will continue to try and try and try.
