Steppe To It

PAUL STAMMERS goes all Russian to sample some hearty comfort food.

PLOV… it’s not a Slavic oath, nor a small town in Tintin and King Ottokar’s Sceptre – a top yarn in which the Belgian quiffmeister outwits secret agents.

No. Plov is our old comrade, pilaf – a rice dish which has spread its aroma across the globe. And if it was good enough for Alexander the Great, it was good enough for my friend, who tucked into it at Arbat.

Arbat – formerly the Polish restaurant Hajduczek – shares its name with a famous street in Moscow, a former hangout for artists and academics.

However, the sepia-toned snaps above the tables are of churches. And without those onion-domes, Arbat’s ethnicity might not be immediately obvious.

When we visited, there were no wooden dolls, fur hats or babushkas, nor signs of the ‘new’ Russia’s gangsters, bling and Eurovision crooning.

We and our young fellow diners were served a soundtrack of eastern Europop, not balalaika.

Talking of serving, the chef – in a tall hat – on occasion came out of the kitchen with the food, which was unexpected.

WHAT WAS THE MENU LIKE?

Reassuringly hearty – spuds, cream, dumplings, cabbage, herring. And more cream. This was man’s scoff, for folk about to hibernate.

By contrast, our beer was mildly pretentious – the lager (sadly, dark beers weren’t available that night) featured finger grip-shaped indents on the bottles.

I’d decided that one of us should order borsch, to compare it with the Polish version. Instead of the small bowl of Ribena-coloured broth I’d supped at Hajduczek, my friend’s starter was a scarlet stew with vegetables and meat floating on a cream slick.

Meanwhile I plumped for a plate of halved eggs topped with ‘red caviar’ (salmon’s roe) and smoked salmon. A winning combo.

DON’T TELL ME YOU ORDERED CHICKEN KIEV NEXT.

No, though it was on the menu (which has been altered since we visited).

Yes, Kiev is the capital of Ukraine, but Arbat’s something of a broad church when it comes to food and drink, which is why our Italian waiter informed us that some of the wine was Georgian.

I nearly asked for the Siberian dumplings, but ended up ordering braided fillets of baked salmon and cod with oodles of cream.

The fish proved salty and a little dry, but fortifying, as was my side of fragrant buckwheat porridge.

My friend’s lamb plov was a tad smaller than he’d hoped, but rich and oily, while he described his side dish of grilled veg (peppers) as “excellent – none of that bitter burn you sometimes get”.

AND DESSERT?

Unlike some countries, Russia knows how to whip up a decent pudding.

My moist wedge of honey cake came with ice cream and cream, but my friend was even more impressed with his oreshki cookies – a hefty pile of nutshaped biscuity shells oozing condensed milk, also served with ice cream.

VERDICT: Not overly refined, but cracking comfort food.

TYPICAL PRICES: Starters £4-5, main courses £7-10 (including side dish), desserts £4, beer £3.