 Old America By Glen Willard |
He was thin, angular and of slight build. The harmonica brace freed his hands to play his guitar. He had brown hair, just medium cut neat and sideburns just below his ear lobes. Sitting on the tall stool he played for his audience, mostly a young group and large for the restaurant room he was playing in.
And he was singing the blues, earnestly... a word hardly necessary when we speak of the blues.
Early in the morning and I can't get it right... the words came forth... had a date with my baby last night... Van Morrison I confirmed later... Now it's early in the morning. And I ain't got nothing but the blues.
Pretty good, I thought as I sipped my beverage. The crowd seemed appreciative but clearly everyone was not totally attentive as they continued to eat and make conversation. A pleasant crowd, a pleasing atmosphere.
The bluesman was young, like the crowd. I liked his music. I'm partial to a blues harmonica.
To the kid's right and above the bar in a corner but prominently displayed in red neon was a sign that read Old America.
I'd been coming to this place for several weeks. The first time with another person we sat in a room that had pictures of Elvis and Marilyn Monroe. Later I explored other rooms in the restaurant. One seems dedicated to American football. It has large Green Bay Packers and Cleveland Browns banners and other football paraphernalia. Throughout the restaurant one sees other bits of American miscellany. From old photos of Mexican banditos, including one with Poncho Villa, to American Indian artifacts (fake, but a nice touch). Artists' renderings of Civil War scenes are prominent with pictures of Lee, Grant, Jackson (I think) and others. Of course there are pictures of American automobiles, a motorcycle or two along with the customary hanging of state auto license plates and such.
The place has a darkened appearance as the furnishings are mostly wooden and the large ceiling beams are stained brown. But, it is large, open and light in feel. With all the rooms and two entrances, the place is large. Most nights there is a good-sized crowd and live music for a couple of hours, though I've only seen the blues kid once.
Now to me the most intriguing thing about the place is that it's not American at all. The patrons are it seems predominately Ukrainian. The waitresses, of course, one expects to be Ukrainian and named Natasha, Tanya, Ella, Luda, Maryna and such. And they are and those are some of their names. But unlike most places that have expat patronage, none seem to speak any English.
The menu is strictly Ukrainian. Not a hamburger in view. No European sausages, no lamb chops, no Shepherd's Pie. Save for the chicken wings (which can't be described as Buffalo-style) I don't recollect any concessions to a foreigner's tastes. But, the menu is varied, modestly priced and good.
The exception to the Ukrainian Rule.
The beer. Along with Ukrainian and Russian beer, they have a fairly wide assortment of foreign brews. And I reckon that the bar has the usual complement and variety of whiskeys, brandies, cordials and such. The beer, like the food, is moderately priced.
The place is the Cynduk Pub. Pronounced as 'soon duk'. It's on Myhailovska on the left near Maidan as one walks towards Khreschatyk from St. Michael's. It advertises itself as a pub, which it is, but it is at least as much or more a restaurant.
There are large wooden chests in the two main rooms that one enters from either street side door. These are the cynduks from which the place takes its name. One's check is brought in a miniature chest instead of the usual faux leather folder.
Connecting again with the Western motif, the music played throughout the day is Western. I find the sound tracks great: From rock to blues to a little country and some jazz, popular oldies dominate. The sounds range from Elvis to Clampton to Crosby (Bing, for those too young). Bing and Satchmo combine on a great “Gone Fishing”. Crosby's smooth melds with Satchmo's rasp, and that horn - great. It's mood music, memory music...heck, even a couple soft Muddy Waters and one real oldie, “You Are My Sunshine”, by Gov. Jimmy Davis way back in about '49.
The Cynduk Pub is a good place to visit. The people are nice. The crowd's young and sharp-looking, business suits mixing with casual togs. Being language-challenged, I don't catch too much of the going's-on, but I feel comfortable nonetheless.
Old America, huh? I doubt that blues kid spoke a bit of American.
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More in the section:
Little League catching on across Ukraine
Viktor Pianikh, A Baseball Man
Read also previous issue' articles:
THE EAR: Time to Stop Traffic Terror
The USSR: What was it?
Socialist Realism From One Collector's Viewpoint
Weak Laws Make Ukraine Europe's Dumping Ground
Social Entrepreneurship Expands in Ukraine
Lenin and Ukraine
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