Sheep Testicles, Vodka and The Dead
An Ireland/Soviet Union cultural exchange
We had been living in the USA a year and a half before we were invited to our first party! By real live Americans! An actual grown-up party. We’d already had our fill of ballet-themed, super-hero themed, Frozen-themed, unicorn-themed, mermaid-themed birthday parties for kids. Always taking place in a window-less function room or hired event space. 10am pizza and paid-for entertainers. Not a homemade rice krispie bun in sight. Men in half-zip sweaters talking about things like “the SEC”, which they seem to know about outside of simply hearing it mentioned on Succession. Other parents outdo each other bragging about how their 2 year old didn’t even know the word “juice” until they started daycare, before picking up the juicebox right in front of their kid to discuss how many grams of sugar are in it (8 grams).
I was apprehensive about the grown-up party, thinking it would be populated by the grown-ups from the kids’ parties but it was not. We met so many fun and interesting people including a couple who had separately immigrated to the United States from Ukraine, one as a child in the 70s and one as a teenager in the 80s. We all said we must grab dinner some time and in a most unusual turn of events, we quickly arranged a dinner that actually came to pass! A few Brooklyn restaurants were mooted but then a second option was tentatively suggested: more of a “cultural expedition” than a run-of-the-mill Saturday night in Brooklyn. “If you dare….”, was sort of how it was presented to us, so of course we picked Option B.
Walking into the Village Cafe, an Azerbaijani restaurant in South Brooklyn, was immediately relaxing. Instant, welcome relief from the pretentiousness of Manhattan that I didn’t realise I needed. You won't have to stay up until midnight, set an alarm for 5am, have a personal assistant or a particular brand of credit card just to get a booking here. There was no discernible vibe or scene, no one taking photos of themselves or of their food. In the best possible way, it felt like a community centre. Literally, a centre where members of the community come together to catch up and relax.
This community was the Russian-American community but I knew that similar scenes were taking place all around the country, in the hubs of the various nationalities that have come to set up their lives here. Looking around the room, it was clear that immigrants from the former Soviet Union, and now their American children and grandchildren, come here to celebrate their birthdays, their wedding anniversaries, their graduations, the fact that it was Saturday night.
Des Bishop said New York is more like a pie than a melting pot and that you could slice up the city pretty neatly with distinct communities on each slice. The Irish have banded together in Woodlawn in the Bronx. Walking down McLean Avenue, you wouldn’t stop someone because you heard their Irish accent or because they are wearing GAA shorts (because everyone there has an Irish accent and is wearing GAA shorts). The pubs are Irish, the shops are Irish, the butchers are Irish. The coffee shop is called “The Irish Coffee Shop” and not only do they have a breakfast roll on their menu but they have four different types of fry: a full Irish, a mini-Irish (half a full Irish), an Ulster fry (full Irish with beans) and a Friday fry (full Irish, no meat).
The largest Russian-American community was in the part of the city we were in this night, a part of South Brooklyn nicknamed ‘Little Odessa’.
The Village Cafe doesn’t have a wine list but it’s BYO so the men went next door and picked up a bottle of vodka to go with our ‘Djiz Biz’ (a dish on the menu described as “Azerbaijani style roasted kidneys, heart, sheep testicles, liver, potatoes and onions”). We were the only table in the restaurant speaking English but our hosts spoke Russian and they guided us through the meal with a running commentary on which foods they ate in their childhood, who made it for them, when they would eat it. They told us how they came to live to America, how they met (their parents set them up), about their first date (in the Russian Tea Room), how one of their mothers wants to go back to visit the old country but the other definitely does not (“Do you know how hard I tried to get out of that country?”)
The Village Cafe felt like a hidden gem. It was fun, it was relaxing, it was real. But of course, there’s no such thing as a hidden gem anymore and it was deservedly named on the New York Times’ list of top 100 restaurants last year.
The Dead
We wanted to get them back with an Irish cultural night and pondered what that would look like. Irish bars are ten a penny and a bit too like any other bar to constitute a cultural exchange. We wondered about bringing them to a game in Gaelic Park but an hour and a half standing in the cold in the Bronx, (while extremely Irish), might be a bit much if they didn't like sport.
David and I had gone to an Irish storytelling night, Seanchoíche, in March around Saint Patrick’s Day. It is the perfect Irish night out: in a pub, storytelling, craic. But you’d have to sell your granny to get a ticket to Seanchoíche and getting four tickets wasn't a runner. When it came back round in October , I had to tell a story myself just to get in the door.
And then the perfect opportunity popped up. A chance to show off Irish culture, the history of the Irish in New York AND have a great night out. The Irish Repertory’s immersive production of James Joyce’s ‘The Dead’. Festive and fun, a perfect way to round out the year.
The Dead is set in 1904 and is the last story of James Joyce’s 1914 collection of short stories, ‘Dubliners’. It is set in a house on Usher’s Island, where two sisters are hosting a Christmas party. The party tonight was taking place in the American Irish Historical Society on Fifth Avenue, a townhouse opposite the Metropolitan Museum of Art in which the scenes for Logan Roy’s home were filmed for the aforementioned Succession.
My only other experience of immersive theatre was seeing The Great Gatsby at the Gate Theatre in Dublin in 2019. Jay Gatsby was played by a local college student (Paul Mescal). The audience dressed in 1920s costume while the actors walked amongst us and on a few occasions, I overhead whispers of “Is that Mark Huberman?” while people nudged each other and pointed to my husband. It was my turn for a compliment though and walking in the door to the Christmas party being hosted in the Dead, one of the actors said to my husband “Is that your daughter?” which was very kind because my botox was at the very end of its life cycle and I was starting to resemble what a 39 year old woman might actually have looked like in 1904 (gasp!).
As a teenager of the late nineties and early noughties, one cast member in particular stood out to me and that was Grams from Dawson’s Creek! I was starstruck! I looked up the programme and she (Mary Beth Peil) had listed loads of things she has worked on but curiously, not Dawson’s Creek. Maybe it's too far back? (Note to self: take my Junior Cert results off my CV).
We were greeted with a glass of whiskey punch on arrival, and the scene of the Christmas gathering in a Dublin city home unfolded around us. Later, we sat down to a dinner of turkey, mashed potato, green beans and gravy served on a white plate with a red and gold rim that my grandmother had. There was bread and butter pudding for dessert and other 1904 treats like mandarin oranges and sticks of celery were available in bowls at the table. Afterwards, we retired to one of the reception rooms for a glass of port and a sing-song before a final scene in a Gresham Hotel bedroom, where the main couple in the story were treating themselves to a night away from their kids (hard relate). I tried to personalise the experience, like our guests had done for us, so when the Gresham got a mention I said “David and I used to go for a drink there every Friday after work” but it just didn’t land the way their stories of growing up Jewish in the Soviet Union in the 70s and 80s had done.
The Dead had all the best components of a party (food, drink and merriment) with all the worst bits taken away (you weren’t allowed to talk and no one was allowed to talk to you). The entire cast gave outstanding performances and the whole experience was so warm and inviting. Intimate, moving, thought-provoking, Dublin.