There is a cafe in Tallinn, not far from the old city. There is a very generic worn-out sign on an apartment building, saying "Pizza Sushi", and then there is a flight of stairs leading down into the basement.
Once you take those stairs and walk through the double-doors, you find yourself in a small cafe: 5-6 tables covered in checkered table cloths, a counter with a line-up of alcohol behind it, a few menus. Familiar music may be playing in the background - you can't place it at first, but then you recognize it as a theme from an old Soviet TV show "Seventeen Moment of Spring."
This may or may not be important: "Seventeen Moments of Spring" is about a Soviet spy operating in Nazi Germany under the name "Stirlitz." Everyone from the USSR knows Stirlitz even if they've never seen the TV show - in part, because of numerous jokes [Stirlitz was out on a stroll when he heard a vehicle approaching from behind. "It will just have to go around me," shrugged Stirlitz, as he continued walking on the train track]. The music (beautiful and haunting) from the show is famous.
I digress.
Imagine, you and your family are tired and hungry, and you make a beeline for the counter and pick up a menu. There is a long list of pizzas and sushi and drinks and what-nots - but you dont' really get a chance to have a good look, because a man (possibly the owner?) comes to the counter, shakes his head, and proceeds to speak in rapid Estonian while carefully taking the menu out of your hands.
What would you do?
Dear Reader, I did what I usually do when in an unfamiliar situation and unsure of how to respond.
I froze.
The man then switched to perfect fluent Russian.
This, it turned out, was not a real menu - this was just Pizza and Sushi. If we were interested in eating, here were the options:
[And he proceeded to rapidly list a bunch of very Russian-sounding dishes]
I translated the options to my family.
The owner (let's call him Viktor) made recommendations: "Try this and this, the best things on the menu today!"
We sat down at one of the larger tables, and had one of the best meals ever. The food was absolutely amazing.
There were a couple of other people scattered at the tables - all having their meals alone. Some were looking at their phones. One person seemed to be watching a movie while eating. Everyone was studiously ignoring the big noisy American family.
They were all speaking Russian.
Viktor came out to ask how we liked the food. We loved it - the best food we've had all trip. But did he happen to have any Blinchiki?
Not today. But if we come back tomorrow, Viktor would make Blinchiki for us.
We came back the next day and had Blinchiki, and Pelmeni, and Fish Kotleti. Again, all absolutely delicious.
There were more Russian customers in the cafe on the second day. Viktor's son, Grisha, was helping out and chatting with the visitors.
I kept wondering: the Pizza Sushi menu - was that some kind of code? If one ordered "Pizza Marinara" - did that have a hidden meaning that was telegraphed over to Moscow from a hidden sub-basement full of spy equipment?
Is the cafe a front for the KGB?
Truth be told, I want more of those Fish Kotlieti. In fact, Viktor promised next time we come to Tallinn, he would make Zrazi for us.
Luckily, we are pretty much nobodies with no connections - so unlikely we need to worry about Novichok being slipped into our food.
Have you ever had run-ins with the secret police?
