Change Is Coming To Moscow

- Chris Leadbeater

Inside the moodily lit Moskovsky Bar in the Four Seasons hotel, Ilya, the barman, is making me a Moscow Mule. It’s a quiet evening and the ground-floor watering hole is almost empty, but Ilya is performing with a panache that suggests an audience. In goes the vodka with an arc of the arm, lifting the bottle like a ballerina in flight. The ginger beer is added with a splash. Then, like a magician unveiling an assistant who, it transpires, has not been sawn in half, he reveals the secret ingredient: kvas, the Russian version of coca cola, glugged from St Petersburg to Vladivostok in the Soviet era. The final touch has come from just as far. “The ice is from Lake Baikal, in Siberia,” he tells me, producing a cube the size of a brick. As he hands me the copper mug I half expect him to say “ta-dah!”

I take the cocktail from him, noticing his tattoos as I do so. Snakes coil their way around his wrist, poking out from underneath his crisp white shirt. For a moment, they throw me, seeming to posit this cool cat of a cocktail maker in Shoreditch, Brooklyn, Kreuzberg or some other hip area of a city that has embraced the 21st century. Not in the Russian capital, where, some might argue, the 20th century is still alive and glowering.