There wasn't a single private cafe in the USSR—until 1988. Everything where people could eat outside the home, from a pie shop by the entrance to a restaurant with mirrors and a doorman, was state-owned and operated according to standard quotas. Formally, it was one level industry. In reality, it was a rigid six-step ladder, on which everyone knew their place without a single sign.

In this film, we examine the mechanics of Soviet public catering without nostalgia or revealing pathos: how the system worked from the inside and why it worked the way it did.

What's inside:
— why there were no chairs in the pie shop, and this wasn't a case of skimping on furniture;
— pelmeni as a semi-finished product: no one made them in the pelmeni shop;
— a pelmeni shop during the day and a pelmeni shop in the evening—two different establishments within the same walls;
— why the state itself opened drinking establishments while fighting for sobriety;
— Underfilling, foam, and watered-down beer: how it worked technically;
— why there were no women in the pub, even though there was no ban;
— serving lines, set lunches, fish day, sanitary day, coupons;
— stocking standards, underfilling, mis-sorting, "shrinkage and loss," and the work of the OBKhSS;
— ice cream parlors: the only place in the country where men were in the minority;
— the Soviet ice cream standard: why plombirs were exactly like that;
— doorman, "No seats" when the place is empty, and a three-ruble note in the palm of your hand;
— a menu that's half-empty, and the logic behind this "no";
— a VIA on stage, paying for a song and closing at exactly 11:00 PM;
— what remained of this whole staircase after 1985 and 1988.

We'd like to point out that prices and selection varied greatly across cities and years, and the Moscow picture wasn't uniform across the entire Soviet Union. Everything that was common practice, rather than the rule, is labeled as such.

If you experienced these halls, please share in the comments which city you visited and what you remember best: the food dispenser, the dried fruit compote, the ice-cream bowl, or the line at the keg. Such memories are more valuable than any numbers.

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⚠️ Attention!
This story is a work of fiction based on open sources, the author's conjecture, and elements of fiction.

This material is not a documentary and does not claim to be historically accurate. Any similarities with actual events, individuals, or organizations are purely coincidental or used within the bounds of acceptable artistic generalization.

This video was created solely for the purpose of artistic reflection on the era and is not intended to discredit anyone's honor, dignity, or historical memory.

This material is intended for an adult audience.