So, one of the first days of teaching, right after I had just finished my fifth meal of the day with Natalya Mikhailovna, my benevolent, beneficent, and generally benign benefactress gets a call from one of her former students. After the call ends, she turns to me and says, "Hey, do you want to get barbecue at the house of one of my former students?" I look at my half-eaten plate of boiled cabbage, pat my stomach, find it responds with a surprisingly robust growl, and nod affirmatively. She lowers the receiver and lowers her voice correspondingly; "they're Armenians," she says with the sort of whisper and questioning glance that almost makes me feel like I should reconsider. "Sure!" I say, "I prefer them to Russians anyway!" Those who know me personally and not merely virtually (or even those who know me virtually in even greater depth) might recall that I've already had a series of nothing but pleasant experiences with Armenian hosts in Rostov-na-Donu. And generally speaking, although I often find that Americans and Russians have more in common than either does with your average Pietro, Bjorn, or Jean from Europe proper (side note: funny that Russians don't consider themselves "Europe" in the motherland, but, the moment they come to the US, they start having "European parties" or opening "European bakeries" and the like, where "European" is just a trendy euphemism for "Russian"), I find Armenians to be much more like my family: dark-skinned, family-oriented types whose idea of a good time is sitting around the table, talking and eating all night.
So off we went, meeting David (NM's former pupil) along the way, until we came upon a huge rectangular grill, situated next to a large, covered table, which, in turn, was situated in the middle of a large group of seated people. Natalya Mikhailovna and I were received very warmly by the group, which included David's parents, his brother, his aunt and uncles, and several cousins who all appeared to still be in their 20s. Someone at the table introduced his/herself with an Americanized name, to which David's aunt responded that her American name was Julia Roberts, which was then Russified to Dzhulietta Robertovna. I took my seat and was immediately greeted by a table covered with barbecued chicken and vegetables, bread, lavash (a type of Armenian flatbread -- I've seen it in the US before though), cheese, herbs (including cilantro, which I'm always shocked to encounter in Russia -- between that and the sour cream, I could probably whip up some decent Mexican food), vodka, and some very tasty Moldovan (Moldavian?) wine, which my hosts proceeded to pour me.
The occasion turned out to have something having to do with one of the cousin's infant daughter, who had the distinction of bearing the incomparably awesome name "Gwar" (just like that shitty rock band!). Although only seven-months old, the precocious Baby Gwar (doesn't that just roll off the tongue!), could already dance б la Armeniene, flipping her palms out and moving her outstretched arms rhythmically to the singing of Uncle Agassi (who not only shares a name with the famous tennis player, but is also just as bald). After a desert course of home-made cake, madzon (an Armenian sour yogurt resembling Russian kefir'), and tea from wild strawberries, it was time for the ritual around which the whole celebration centered. A carpet was brought out, and a variety of different objects were spread across it. Baby Gwar was then placed in the middle and showered with something that resembled grain or seeds (although it might have been a product made from beets that I've encountered around here). The object Baby Gwar picked first, it was explained to me, would portend her future calling. We all watched in anticipation, although Baby Gwar, without the least hesitation, reached out and picked up the pencil. Everyone rejoiced: a scholar! Who could imagine a more noble calling! "Maybe she'll be a linguist," Agassi noted to me by way of aside.
The night went on, with my hosts graciously continuing to pour me more Moldovan wine. Finally, somebody brought their car around and cranked up the stereo, that we might all bask in the music of Tata Simonyan (an ьber-famous Armenian singer who now resides in Los Angeles). At this point, some of David's relatives (notably Dzhulietta Robertovna and David's cousin Hagop) got up and started dancing, roughly the same way as Baby Gwar had, but with some fancy footwork thrown in for good measure. Someone invited me out there, and I too started to dance, trying to mimic the others. After a couple pointers, I got the hang of it but decided to sit down soon after... dancing can be quite strenuous exercise, and this holds especially true if you've just eaten your sixth meal of the day. At this point, I realized that I had drunken almost the entire bottle of wine myself, while Natalya Mikhailovna had had absolutely nothing (figures -- I get stuck with the one teetotaler in all of the Russias). The night ends, and the next morning, I get up to have breakfast at Natalya Mikhailovna's. "Does your head hurt?" she asks me with a look of genuine concern. No, as a matter of fact, it most assuredly did not.
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