Olga. O-llll-ga. The O is round, the L soft, the GA trails off into mysterious, distant realms. And her voice—it issues from some hidden, bubbling spring deep beneath the earth. Olga, late-week hostess of the Samovar, who are you, what secrets lie veiled behind your dark eyes (in this photo modestly averted)??
The Russian Samovar (website here) can similarly be defined in very different ways. It is the glowing heart and soul of the Russian/world cultural scene, located in New York City’s theater district. It is the glowing heart and soul of one of its three founders, Roman Kaplan (the other two are Joseph Brodsky and Mikhail Baryshnikov). If you’ve ever wondered what it might be like to inhabit the being of a survivor of the Siege of Leningrad whose devotion to poetry, art and all things beautiful and satisfying is beyond measure, you can now find out by spending your evening at the Russian Samovar, Roman's work-in-progress of life-creation (жизнетворчество). Moreover, Roman and his wife Larissa consider the Samovar an extension of their living room, where every guest is welcome and treated like a favored friend. Prosaically speaking, it is a restaurant that serves tasty and elegant Russian food with a European flair, and home-made flavored vodkas by the glass or carafe (try the cranberry first, I swear it is the elixir of life).
Unprosaically speaking, the Russian Samovar is more like an ongoing event, anchored in place on 52nd Street west of Broadway. It is a multi-faceted gem, the description of which is the purpose of this blog. It is a space through which pass luminaries of art and culture. It is where exiled Russian poet Joseph Brodsky argued with Susan Sontag about the nature of Communism until she changed her mind. (Look for Brodsky’s niche in the back corner of the Samovar, marked prominently by his photo.) Anything can happen at the Samovar! Early on any evening, it is one of the only restaurants in New York City where you can carry on a conversation without shouting. There might be a poetry reading or book party upstairs in the “Cigar Room” or the “Petersburg Room.” Later, it could happen (and in fact has) that a Russian baritone, in nyc to sing with the Met, suddenly sings from where he sits, joining the pianist who is playing a popular dark, sad song about being on the road alone under the stars. Or, it can be a kind of bacchanal. You never know, but you can always hope.
Well you might ask. I was born and raised in Anchorage, Alaska, where I survived the 1964 Earthquake, during which I was too young to experiment with gravity like my brothers did (click here to see an animation of this, I’m the one with pigtails) and instead hung onto the leg of my father’s desk and cried. That’s pretty much what I’ve been doing since, aside from raising my own two children, writing and translating (my favorites: a neat discovery about the opera scene in War and Peace; and a book of translations of Anatoly Naiman’s poetry, done with F. D. Reeve), and teaching literature and Russian at Columbia University while writing a dissertation on poetry in the Soviet era. I used to play the viola. I’ve lived in New York City for a while now, and there are two special places within the beast where I always feel welcome and at home. One of them is the Samovar.
Disclaimer and copyright info: I am not affiliated with the Samovar in any way except by inclination, and am not being compensated for writing this blog in any way, unless you count the rivers of vodka I always have to decline because I’m driving home. However, I do hope to frequently feature Roman Kaplan in his own words and also let you know about upcoming events at the Sammy, because I believe you deserve access to this unique phenomenon as it lives.
All blog text copyright Margo Shohl Rosen. All photos property of Roman Kaplan unless otherwise specified, all used by permission. Blog banner by Peter Dunlap-Shohl.
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