During my tour of Europe in 1990, I promised myself to try a local beer at every overnight stop — not an arduous task at all.
I settled down to a meal at a restaurant in Moscow and, as was my custom, asked the waiter for a local beer. He offered me typical black market goods — caviar, watches, military items — but seemed reluctant to bring me beer.
I persisted. I had been looking forward to a beer; it had been a full day touring and I was parched. ‘Light beer,’ I said, with my best Russian accent.
‘Will you buy watch?’ asked my entrepreneurial waiter — and I agreed.
That did the trick.
He brought to the table a 500ml bottle of Baltika No 9, which I thought was by far the finest light beer I’d tried. So good that I ordered three more. More than satisfied with my waiter’s recommendation and in such a jolly mood, I purchased about $270 of the black market goods from him.
He too was obviously happy and shouted me one for the road.
Later I told our State tour guide that the waiter had put me on to this great light beer, but that it had a kick to it. I probably sounded a little Russian at that stage.
Boris the State tour guide (I kid you not) looked at the bottle, gave me a wry smile and told me that it was light in colour only — it had an alcohol content of eight per cent and then some!
I look back on that night with fond (if a little hazy) memories and to this day I have my Russian mementos (worth about ten dollars) as a reminder.