“I’m afraid I have bad news”, said the waiter, explaining that neither of our appetizers were available from the kitchen. So we went with pelmeni dumplings instead.

My friend and I did something profoundly un-Russian and showed up early Saturday evening. Consequently, we were the first at Rasputin Vodka Bar on Queen St. East. Not that we were complaining. The tsarist Russian theme, mood lighting, comfortable couches and tasteful techno music (can’t think of a better way to describe it) enabled conversation that a crowded stand-up setting would not have.

The setting also enabled a vodka tasting session. Usually, 80-proof grain alcohol is fired down gullets with bravado or drowned in Seven-Up. My drinking companion and I decided tonight would be different. And so along with the pelmeni, the waiter brought bottles of Icelandic, Polish and Texan vodka, pouring shots of each in different glasses. After sipping rather than gulping, we pronounced Poland smoothest and sweetest, Iceland most aggressive in “bouquet”, and Texas to have the most sting on the lips.

“I’m afraid I have more bad news”, sad the waiter. Our chosen mains were also unavailable from the kitchen. But we were in an agreeable mood and went with latkas and a cheese platter. My friend, who knows of scientific things, determined that a properly conclusive taste test would have involved at least 15 more shots in different order, and removal of the labels to eliminate the nationality bias. Mercifully, we simply finished off the last of our top choice bottle instead. A friend arrived, and talk gently devolved into rowing, cycling and other bad decisions.

All in all, not the most authentic Russian experience (no hangover to report!) but for that I’m certain we would have to go to Russia.