Vodka Was Only The Beginning...

Vodka. Mother's milk in Mother Russia. That's what we came for. That's what we expected when we got off the Q train in Brighton Beach to attend Elisabeth's birthday at the famous supper club The National.

We knew food would be included in the dinner price, but we figured the food was despite the point. Well, for being despite the point, there was quite a lot of it -- Blinis with Salmon Roe, a platter of Smoked Sturgeon, thin slices of Boiled Beef Tongue...

...Pickled Tomatoes, Cold Smoked Herring, Roasted Duck with Noodles and Gravy...

...Eggplant Stuffed with Goat Cheese, Beef Stroganoff and Fish with Mussels in Cream Sauce.

Thank goodness we had the vodka to settle our stomachs. The liquor was all the more necessary once the entertainment hit the stage.

It was surreal. It was the 70's. Russia in the 70's on crack cocaine.

We had no choice. We had to get up and dance.

And it was good.

And then the curtain closed.

And we were happy.

More vodka arrived. So did more food.

And it was good.

And then the curtain re-opened.

And it was bad. Very bad. So bad it was good.

A picture tells a thousands words...

From musical skits involving hoop skirts to singers in Hassidic costumes and Elvis impersonators to a belting black diva in skin-tight denim it was a hoot and a half. And just when we thought it was over, there was more...

Let me just say, that no one should have to witness grown women dressed as Mouseketeers at 2am -- unless it's a special order from a place like The Emperor's Club.

It was our cue to go home. And home we went, if only to dream of Blinis and Caviar, Russian ballet and a never-ending bottle of vodka.