Monday, Jul. 27, 1987
Capitalism On Kropotkinskaya Street
By James O. Jackson/Moscow
It is 11 a.m., an hour before opening time. Already the queue at 36 Kropotkinskaya Street extends around the corner of the elegant green-and-cream 19th century building. People are waiting patiently for a chance to experience one of the first visible signs of economic reform, a free-enterprise restaurant. "We've got a big problem here," Manager Andrei Fyodorov says. "Too many customers."
Some problem. Fyodorov, 44, is co-chairman of the eight-member cooperative that opened Moscow's first such venture last March. He and his seven partners, most of them experienced cooks or waiters, are investing in a business that will prosper -- or fail -- without government interference. "We never imagined we would do this well," says the energetic, chain-smoking co- chairman. Cafe 36 Kropotkinskaya, as they named the restaurant (bureaucrats wanted it to be called Cafe Cooperator), is a consequence of Mikhail Gorbachev's reforms legalizing small-scale private enterprise. One of the goals is to improve the country's service sector, and nowhere is improvement needed more than in Soviet restaurants, which are notorious for rude service and poor food.
"Three of us put up a total of 4,500 rubles ($6,750) of our own savings," says Fyodorov, a former hotel food-service director. "The state bank loaned us 50,000 rubles (($75,000)) interest-free to pay for renovating and furnishing this building. We have to pay that back over five years. We got another 10,000 rubles' (($15,000)) credit at 3% interest for start-up costs, but we've only needed 5,000." The loans paid for the restoration and redecoration of an elegant old building in turn-of-the-century style, including damask wall coverings and antique light fixtures. Although the part- time waitresses and kitchen help must be paid salaries no less than they would earn in public catering jobs, Fyodorov says the partners expect to earn a minimum of 350 rubles ($525) a month each and possibly more than 500 rubles ($750). The average Soviet salary is about 190 rubles ($285).
During the hectic start-up, the partners put in 16-hour days, which began early in the morning at farmers' markets and collective farms, where they paid premium prices for top-quality meat and produce. Says Fyodorov: "Before, we were accustomed to having somebody tell us everything. Now we have to think for ourselves." Despite the long line outside, Fyodorov worries. "Who knows how it will be a year from now? There are 50 other cooperatives planning to open restaurants in Moscow, and soon we'll face harsh old capitalist competition."
One way the Kropotkinskaya Cafe is already competing is by serving the rarest thing in the Moscow restaurant world: courtesy. Customers are greeted by a courtly doorman who apologizes for the delay. The waiters startle women by holding chairs for them. In the evenings two Moldavian musicians serenade diners with folk and gypsy tunes. Fyodorov strolls among the tables greeting customers and topping up glasses of chilled fruit juice. The restaurant so far is nonalcoholic, but the partners hope to obtain permission to serve wine. The menu, chalked on a blackboard, offers hors d'oeuvres of cold tongue, crudites and home-pickled vegetables. The main courses range from 2.20 rubles ($3.30) for liver fried with cucumbers to 60 rubles ($90) for roast suckling pig.
Fyodorov has been in the food-service business since 1964, starting as a busboy and working his way up to become director at the Metropol, one of Moscow's leading hotels. He dreamed of having his own restaurant for 15 years. "But until Gorbachev came along," he says, "it wasn't possible." Fyodorov surveys the restaurant with a happy, proprietary air. The chef is at the bar discussing the day's menu with a waiter. A waitress is arranging the silverware. The line outside is growing longer. Fyodorov smiles and says, "This is perestroika."