Since
1986 I have earned my living as a professional Chef in various
aspects of the catering industry including films and TV advertising,
weddings and outside catering, event catering, delicatessen and
cheese purveyor, patisserie and wedding cakes. Two top class
restaurants as well as a private Chef. For a few glorious years
my husband and myself were the proud owners of a beautiful and
well known restaurant in Northamptonshire. We are now both in
private service...yes its a long story! However it has been a
happy and fulfilling experience, and sometimes an hilarious one.
In 1991 after our first batch of unsolicited publicity for our
restaurant, we were approached by persons claiming to be able
to increase our profits considerably. They were shareholders in
an abattoir and offered us meat at incredibly low prices. It was
late at night and the restaurant was closed so my husband got
out the real Russian vodka and we all sat down to talk about it....he
was naturally suspicious... but trusted the effects of the vodka
to reveal the truth! The abattoir was working illegal midnight
shifts and processing animals that had been sick, severely injured
or those that had died en-route in the lorries.
We declined the offer of a contract to buy meat at ridiculously
low prices. The people concerned claimed that we were the only
restaurant in the area that had refused them and that we would
be sorry. Shortly after that the local pubs were offering
10oz steak meals at £3.50. We could not compete and earned
the reputation of being 'expensive' even to the point of 'ripping
off'. This is easy to overcome if you run a London or big town
based business, but for a remote little business like ours that
was only a few years old it was fatal.
Under much pressure I refused to compromise on quality of ingredients.
I felt responsible to my clients and could not bring myself to
inflict inferior and dubious produce on them at any cost. I was
also aware of the chemicals that were being injected into old
cattle prior to killing that rendered their, otherwise stringy,
flesh tender as butter. I knew that this process was in
question and was not prepared to take the risks. Recession hit
the Midlands hard and we could no longer compete with the £3.50
meals. We lost everything, including our home. However in view
of the consequences that are only just coming to light I feel
it was a small price to pay in order not to be partly responsible
for the horrors that these people have inflicted upon our nation.
Greed is a terrible thing, its benefits are short lived, its sufferings
are forever.
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I remain a purist
and will never compromise on quality or good service. My promise
is to do my best to provide the best.
Fay Olinsky
Some of our reviews:-
First published in the Northamptonshire Chronicle & Echo on
Saturday, July 27.1991
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Glas-nosh!
There's a Soviet surprise in deepest Northamptonshire
Our writers
never identify themselves and they pay for their meals in full which
means their verdict is purely personal and unbiased. We accept that,
as in any business, standards at restaurants may vary from day-to-day
as a result of
circumstances outside the restaurant's control Occasionally, therefore
an unfavourable review may result from factors of which we have
no knowledge. However, our writers are not sent out to dwell on
the negative... when they see
(and taste!) things they like, they will say so.
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BY IAN HURRELL
BLESS their little cotton sockskis.
Just when you thought there were no surprises left in life, one
smacks you straight in the noseski. A Russian restaurant no less.
Right in the boondocks of deepest, darkest Northampton-shire. So
far, in fact, that our taxi driver was reduced to a gibbering wreck
by the time we found it. Of course, the very suggestion of eating
Russian brought howls of derision from colleagues. You'll- have
to book three years in advance and form and orderly queue, one bright
spark suggested. Then when you get there you'll probably only get
a lump of sausage and a hank of dried bread. But, undeterred, we
pressed on. I got madam's stays out of the oven where I'd left
them on a low heat (you cannot in any way say that I'm an inconsiderate
husband), brushed down her Pensioner's bus pass, and sorted out
her electric Zimmer frame. Then I thought "what the hell" and
phoned a taxi. which is where the trouble started. Major problem
was that no-one had told me where Byfield was. On the face of it,
we hit every village in Northamptonshire and then turned left at
Pensance before we found it. Memo to finance director - please sir,
put it down to ignorance and not an overwhelming urge to get a close
dekko at a P45. Meanwhile, grovelling over and done with, back to
the plot ... two hungry people are adrift in the Northamptonshire
outback. One is looking at the taxi cash meter anxiously. Will he
still have a job at the end of the week? Will Kylie marry Jason
and live happily ever after, running a burger bar in Semillong?
Is there life before death? Does anyone care? After an in-depth
look at rural Northamptonshire, we eventually got there to find
a lovely old farmhouse sort of place surrounded by woods and
fields. Idyllic, I think poets would call it. Blooming marvellous
would be my expression. I'm going to make no bones about it. Don't
bother to look at the ratings guide because this particular
eatery gets a fives tar rating all the way down the line. Dead frustrating
really for a professional nitpicker. For how on earth can
you be nasty to a restaurant when the only thing you can find to
criticise is a dead gnat on the menu? And I think we swatted that
one. Yes, this was class with a capital K. The sort of place
you'd take a doddery aged uncle for a meal if you had half a chance
of inheriting his loot. In short - a pearler. Even madam had tilt
lights across her eyes -as -she stared in fascination at a menu,
which even made steak, and chips sound romantic. It was a genuine
case of "where do we start"? But start we had to, so I plumped
for Ikra, three varieties of vegetable and fish mock caviars. Not
exactly the poetic type, me, but as a dish it conjures up something
a little more lyrical that the sort of thing, which starts "There
was a young lady from Crewe." The CO purred her way through
Bliny - a mountain of mini-pan-cakes with smoked salmon, caviar
and soured cream, I haven't seen that - broad a smile on her face
since the cat fell into the dishwasher. Kotlety Po Kieyvski. No,
that is not another expression derived from the Russian for abusing
traffic wardens but Olinjkis own way of labelling its own particular
brand of Chicken Kiev, which I hoovered through with considerable
relish. If you can keep your mitts off melt-in-the mouth chicken
stuffed with garlic and unsalted butter for any length of time,
you're a better man than me Gunga Din. The nearest and dearest was
definitely into her fishy phase -must be her age - and opted for
Kulebiaka, salmon and assorted fish poached in white wine with tarragon
and cloaked in filo pastry. She didn't talk all the way through
it. Must have been good, I thought. Adrian Olinsky, who runs this
little gem, had apologized to us because he didn't have much of
a wine cellar. if the 1986 Abbaye de Valmagne dry red he served
us is his idea of just adequate, heaven knows what he would label
as superb. I'm a sucker for fresh raspberries so I jumped at the
chance of a brimming bowl full. As for the CO, she ordered rumbaba
which came complete with a wicked line in spirit-based sauce. We
were two very contented people when we clambered into our taxi for
the trek back to Northampton. Our advice - pawn the family jewels,
sell the cat, get part time jobs. Anything to give this restaurant
a try.. Glas nosh. Long may it thrive.
OPENING HOURS: Noon to 2pm; 7pm onwards. DISABLED: Two steps
leading toward lavatories, but otherwise no real problems. Guide
dogs~ welcome. PRICE: Allow around £45 to £50 for your meal. Fixed
three-course menu at £18.50 and six course at £25 - both excluding
VAT.
STYLISH: Olinjkis
Restaurant gets five stars on all counts
RATINGS
VERDICT
***** Unbeatable
Food *****
**** Excellent
Service *****
*** Good
Atmosphere *****
** Fair
Parking *****
* Poor
Value *****
_________________________________________
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September,
30,1991
Johansens
Recommended
Since opening in June 1990, Olinjkis
has established a good reputation for its superb cooking, based
on authentic Russian recipes, although concessions are made to the
English palate. Two large, well-equipped bedrooms have recently
been created and both overlook peaceful farmland. Chef-patron Fay
Olinsky has an enviable enthusiasm for cooking, while her husband
Adrian Olinsky makes a very genial wine host. Dishes featured on
the menu reflect seasonal fresh ingredients and Fay also uses herbs,
salad leaves, fruit and vegetables grown in the restaurant's 4-acre
gardens. The menus, which change daily, give guests background details
to Russian cooking. There are starters and small main courses such
as forshmak - a combination of smoked haddock, potato, onions, apples
and sour cream. The main attraction is the traditional Russian banquet
- six courses of delightful dishes, starting with zakuska (resembling
the Finnish smorgasbord). A separate list of soups includes favourites
like borscht (made from beetroot or sorrel and nettles) and an interesting
range of bar snacks and light meals. Try the stack of hot pancakes
served with ikra, smoked salmon or pickled fish. An outside catering
service is available. Closed Mondays.
Guests can enjoy
walks around the grounds and surrounding countryside. Horse riding
and stabling facilities are available on site.
CHEF'S SPECIALS
Baklayzania farshirovany
Aubergines baked
in their skins and stuffed with ikra of aubergine, herbs and spices,
tomatoes, coating of ewe's milk cheese and browned under the grill
Chakhobili
Chicken vegetables,
beans chick peas, okra, cilantro tomato, etc, cooked in a clay
pot
Paklava
Almond and pistachio
paklava
As
seen on The Food Guide, Anglia and Central TV
The
Sunday Telegraph May 24 1992
Where 'Glas-nosh' rules
Byron Rogers enjoys the taste of Tsarist Russia In the Northant's
countryside.
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| CONSIDER THE village of Byfield in Northamptonshire. The main Banbury-to-Daventry
road tears through, and the village writhes about it like a transfixed
snake, being just somewhere on the way to somewhere else. It has one
pub (where once there were 11), two general stores, one petrol
station and one post office. Ah yes, and one restaurant (Russian).
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I
remember the opening, for it is only 10 miles from where I live. I
drove by sniggering, and who wouldn't? When one day a man in the middle
of England gets up and decides to open a Russian restaurant in his
house, 'there is no knowing what form next week's whim will take.
But time passed, and to my surprise I found the restaurant had not
become a Hindu temple or even a cat-food superstore. The Nine-Day
Wonder of Byfield ("Glas-Nosh" burped the local evening
paper) is now 18 months old, and Olinjkis is very much in business.
There are some odd ironies to this tale. The first is that a Russian
restaurant opens in Europe just as Europe is ferrying food aid into
Russia. As one satisfied customer said earlier this year, "I
am now returning to Moscow where my mother and I will put garlic into
water and call it soup. The second is that Adrian Olinjkis is the
grandson of Tsarist refugees from Kiev, so the recipes are based on
what they ate in that bad old world which they were lucky to flee.
"The recipes are all pre-Revolution," he said.
"No, you are wrong," said · his wife, Fay, who does the
cooking.
"Well, it's not all potato soup, is it?"
"No, but these dishes are the ones they would make now if they
had the ingredients."
The third irony is the oddest of all. Fay Olinjkis's father was Field
Marshal Haig's chef and cooked banquets for him in quiet chateaux
far behind the mud. and murder of the Western Front. The unreality
of that will be over-taken when the first: takeaway opens on the moon.
Even the Russian restaurant in Byfield does not come close.
The family moved to the village 10 years ago. Adrian was making TV
commercials then, while' Fay bred Gloucester Old Spot pigs and did
con-tract catering for local firms: just two more exotics becalmed
in rural England. The restaurant was her idea, an old ambition shelved
but not forgotten.
They opened on a Thursday in a converted stable, and their friends
from London came. The following night they waited and waited but the
only person who came was an old farmer who had walked over the fields
to see if they were all right; they gave him a bowl of soup. Only
about four families of the village have ever come.
With the exception of the wine list, everything is Russian, except
that nothing, apart from vodka and caviar, actually comes from Russia.
And the vodka they flavour themselves, not even trusting the former
comrades with pepper or cherries or buffalo grass. Fay smokes her
own salmon, marinates herring, makes Georgian sausages (not for the
faint-hearted), and bakes her own flat bread as well. You get the
impression these are castaways in Northamptonshire. She has now found
a dealer in game who, when encouraged, produces things - like wild
boar. But to her alarm the man went on to produce squab ("It
took me days to get rid of the blood") and then on St Valentine's
Day called round with a dead ostrich. "And how do you make an
ostrich Russian? .1 did my best; but whatever I did the ostrich tasted
of pig-feed. In the end I curried the lot."
Chicken Kiev and beef Stroganoff are on the menu but as a concession
to those who are too shy to ask about the zharenrniy porosyonok and
the basturma mtsuadi (the sucking pig and the grilled beef). Even
the greediest find themselves off all known maps when they come to
this place. "But really there is some' thing for everyone here,
from the pickled herrings of the Baltic to the dumplings and noodles
of the Chinese border to the pilafs of Persia - and it couldn't be
otherwise, given the sheer size of Russia. In the cities some French
influence survives; and then there is the Jewish food of the Ukraine."
As she has gained confidence, so she has tried to cook as though this
were a Russian home and guests had just turned up. The elaborate dishes
like salmon with vermicelli have gone. Now, she plays for time, hoping
that most people will start with a mixed hors d'oeuvre. This gives
her 20 minutes to prepare the main course, which is an amazing dish
in itself. At £13~50 for two, it consists of deep fried squid; ikra
(the fish and vegetable mock caviar, stuffed vine leaves and forshmak,
a sort of kedgeree made with potato, apple and sour cream and the
famous smoked salmon liberally dressed with caviar.
Main dishes start at £11 (mixed sweet fish served with horseradish
and beetroot sauce) and go on up to roast goose served with apple
and buckwheat at £l6~50. The buckwheat, like an old character actor,
makes many appearances. There is also whole baby chicken Georgian-
style, which I had, cooked in sweet butter and served with a plum
sauce. It was delicious. You can, if hungry opt for the six-course
banquet at £29-50, starting with the hors d'oeuvre, after which you
proceed through soup, shaslik (fish or lamb), kissel (a sorbet) before
the main course looms up before you. At Christmas there are Caucasian
and Baltic banquets. Occasionally the old world calls: a Polish
gentleman wildly adding black pepper to his vodka - and now even the
first Russians have come. A
party of engineers recently chain-smoked through the entire meal,
and in that nostalgic fug Byfield floated even further away. As they
were leaving they presented their hosts with a single rouble note
which, at the current rate of exchange, would be part payment on a bread roll. |
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