When I moved to New York in the late 80's, one of the first things I had to do was to get a telephone line. I headed up to what was the New York Telephone buildning on East 13th street. The lines were long and gray and oh, so slow. When you have to spend the better part of the day standing in a line like that, you either languish on your own, or try to make some friends. Are you nice enough, the person in front of you will save your spot when you make a deli- or bathroom run, or even better, invite you to share their packed lunch. Behind me was a couple that spoke no english, but in front of me there was this russian family with a son that spoke some english. We immediately struck up conversation and at the end of the day we had swopped our first phone numbers. A few days later I get a phone call from my new found friends. I am invited to their house for dinner - would I come? I am a sucker for everything foreign and have never met any russians earlier. I immediately accept the invitation.

A few days later I am greeted by the son as I arrive to what must have been Brighton Beach or Sheepshead Bay subway station. We walk to the apartment in an adjacent complex where we meet the rest of the family. As we enter the building I am overcome by all sorts of wonderful smells of boiling pots, and immediately feel at home. I have yet to learn how to cook and I appreciate every time I eat a real homecooked meal. This proves to be a real treat. I remember sitting around the table, plastic covered chairs, pink table cloth, the mother with her big russian bleach blond hairdo and me gulping down my very first real bortsch. I don't remember the conversation much, but although it definitely was a struggle we had lots of laughs and it was a wonderful evening.

Since then, I've made many russian friends and had many more wonderful russian eating experinces. I so wished to re-visit this part of the city, so of course we had to come down to what is called Odessa by the sea.

Being a sunday, the boardwalk was packed with people. The older generation occupying the seats facing the wonderful stretch of sandy beach, women with stern faces and hats and men playing chess. Now, eating out in one of the restaurants along the boardwalk is not a budget travellers option so we continued along the boardwalk all the way to Coney Island and instead had the must have frank at Nathans. These days I make a killer bortsch myself.