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Sieve Magazine Monthly, August 14th issue 142, Featured Article The Firebird: The Most Infamous Dinner from the Most Famous Restaurant p.22-46

Elm, established in 1992, will forever be remembered by the many who dined there, worked there, and dreamed of the former two as the restaurant that revolutionized the fine dining world into what it is today, giving birth to the formats that so many others have copied and based their ideology around. This, of course, was due to the genius that was Elm’s owner, Barney Eaton, and his own dream that he made a reality after becoming a multimillionaire in the home cleaning production industry.

“Eaton and Eaton products can be found in most households worldwide,” said the founder in an interview that took place soon after Elm’s grand opening, “But after years of building a literal empire, I had the chance to look back on my life and figure out what I wanted to do. I realized that when I started to have the ability to live more comfortably, the first luxury I started to indulge in was fine dining (…) It was only natural I would come to create an establishment for the best chefs with the best ideas to come and explore the unknown and let them meld it into something that would be at the very least, extraordinary.”

His restaurant would go on to be considered the best restaurant in the world for decades to come, winning countless awards and accolades that would make it a household name and an institution that many aspired to emulate. That is until now that Eaton has decided to close Elm’s doors for the very last time later this month, a decision that he believes is the right choice after serving the world for the past thirty four years, saying, “All good things must come to an end. The culinary world has grown and flourished because of everyone that has been touched by us in some way. The impact we’ve had is insurmountable and I’m confident in passing the reins to every young and aspiring cook and lover of food.”

We at Sieve Magazine were all deeply saddened to learn of this news, albeit understanding of the decision made by their ownership and culinary team. Many, if not all, of us have been affected, inspired, or even employed by this institution. But instead of remembering Elm for what it was or how it changed the world, this author has decided to delve deeper into the most infamous and well forgotten dinner the restaurant had ever produced that lead to one of the largest financial losses any restaurant had ever seen from a singular event and the untimely death of it’s creator, Mikhail “Mikey” Kozlov.

I originally learned of Mkhail Kozlov when I myself worked in the front of house for Elm for a short season while building my resumé and portfolio to become a food writer some years ago. I was granted access to the world that Eaton had created and worked alongside countless incredibly talented chefs and servers that I had the absolute pleasure of befriending as well. When I first started, people would compare the difficulty to Kozlov’s dinner, always murmuring “At least it’s not Mikey’s.” After asking for details so that I, too, could be a part of the inside joke, I learned the very basic story of the most stressful and all consuming menu to ever come to Elm. No one dared go into detail, but mostly because this was simply a legend from times before, and no one besides Aiden Acosta and Barney Eaton were present for Kozlov’s concept.

If one was to know Elm solely from its name or reputation, they might not be familiar with its groundbreaking inner workings and its unique hierarchy. Instead of a traditional French brigade, Eaton opted to create an environment where everyone was equal and the menu would switch every month or so and along with it, the chef in charge. But since Eaton had no previous restaurant experience he hired Two Michelin Star Chef Aiden Acosta to be the “Head Facilitator,” or someone to make the restaurant run, but not need to contribute any ideas.

Every chef to work at Elm has been considered a master in their field, giving many of them the exposure needed to be picked up to start their own restaurants. This is all thanks to their rotating monthly menus and concepts. Eaton had a strong understanding of how art and culture influenced cuisine, and as such, created a program most chefs only dreamed of. When Eaton and the rest of the culinary team decided one of their own was ready, they were given one month paid sabbatical and the funds to travel anywhere in the world in order to stage at other restaurants as well as absorb the art and culture of the area in the hopes that each chef would return with fresh ideas for a tasting menu. After a proposal was written and approved, they would be given a month within the next year to essentially become the head of the restaurant and run their menu. This process would repeat itself for each chef every year or so until they decided to leave.

Kozlov was born in Indianapolis, Indiana to Ivan and Katya, two immigrants from the Soviet Union, his father a professor and his mother a homemaker. Cooking had always been an interest to Mikey Kozlov, his passions starting similarly the way most of ours did — by helping our mothers in the family kitchen. After graduating high school, he started work as a dishwasher but quickly climbed the ranks at a variety of different restaurants until he became one of the youngest CDCs in Indianapolis. By the time he was thirty years old, Mikey Kozlov had moved cities three different times, working as CDC at three different restaurants and retained a total of three stars between them.

It wasn’t until a former colleague, Milo Mueller, now owner and operator of James Beard award winning Sandra’s in Austin Texas, invited Mikey to join him at his new job in New York that Kozlov joined the Elm team. Kozlov followed in the footsteps of all the chefs that preceded him, living the same process of working at Elm for a year, which granted him his sabbatical. He decided to go back to his ancestral home and visit both Moscow and St. Petersburg for his trip. Many of his colleagues showed no surprise with his choice, but nevertheless showed concern.

“We thought he was insane to go,” said Acosta, “Russia was just rebuilding after the collapse of the Soviet Union. People had very little money and it didn’t seem like they had much in the way of fine dining, but no matter what we told him, he always had some kind of rebuttal. His mind was set on it.”

Eaton shed some light on the situation of his sabbatical and the difficulty of making it a reality. “Thankfully the larger cities of Russia were trying to make a decent amount of money through tourism, so there was still a demand for culture. But typically we choose the restaurants that our chefs stage at, usually because one of us had worked there before or we knew someone that had or even I would know the owners. In a way it was so we could have some kind of quality control on where we were sending our chefs (…) We didn’t want them to waste time at a subpar restaurant. But in Mikey’s case, we had zero connections in Moscow and only one questionable link in St. Petersburg.”

Eaton went on to tell us that thankfully, Kozlov had made the initiative to connect with restaurants in both cities and supposedly ended up being able to stage at a couple very incredible places that sadly no longer exist, but were well loved in their time. But other than that, very little was known about the time he spent in his motherland. Kozlov mostly declined to speak about his time there beyond niceties to his colleagues.

“You have to understand,” explained Lina Finch, Chef of London based Michelin Star restaurant Twin Lakes, who also worked closely with Kozlov at Elm, “That Mikey was a very secretive person. He didn’t talk much about his personal life or anything that didn’t do with food. Even his demeanor was stoic during even the most hectic of services. (He) would shrug off questions or give very broad descriptions whenever you asked him anything about himself. It was kind of like working with a machine who was programmed solely to cook. I don’t think it’s because he didn’t want people to know who he was on the inside, he just never thought he was interesting enough or that it mattered, because to him, the only thing that mattered was food.”

Finch went on to describe his process when it came to creating the infamous menu, which everyone referred to at the time as The Firebird Dinner, but as many people would come to call it “that G*ddamn ballet dinner.” Where most chefs would develop their menu within a couple months after their leave and then be given their slotted time to host their dinner not too long after, Kozlov took seven months to finally write his proposal and then another ten to fully execute it, which only culminated in two nights of service, let alone a whole month. It took a vast amount of research and experimentation. “Most nights Mikey would be the last person to leave because he’d stay late trying to perfect his recipes, which none of us got to see. Whenever we asked him about it, he would just stare blankly at us say it wasn’t ready yet.”

“At one point, I could have sworn I saw him trying to ferment octopus with slices of black truffle and strawberries,” recounted Mueller. “I couldn’t even imagine what it tasted like, but I think that idea was completely scrapped because I don’t remember seeing any tentacles.”

“To be fair, he wanted to do something that no one in their right mind had ever thought to do before. He created an experience that people who helped him hated him for it, but the people who got to be there praised him as a genius,” said Finch. When he returned from Russia, all Kozlov could think of was Russian Ballet and for the most part he would only play Russian symphonic music when it was his turn to pick what to listen to during prepping hours. Shostakovich, Rachmaninov, Tchaikovsky, and Stravinsky would regularly grace the ears of the chefs for months and no longer would Kozlov just talk about food, but music theory as well. Everyone was excited to see what he would propose, but no one expected the menu he came up with.

“I thought a lot of the chefs would just walk out when he finally made his proposal,” laughed Mueller, “At least, after we found out he wasn’t joking.” What Kozlov had created was a ten course dinner menu with each course mimicking each movement to the Firebird Suite (1945) by Stravinsky. “But the thing you have to realize is that Mikey didn’t use the music as inspiration for each plate. He instead wanted each dish to replicate the same emotion that the music was intended to evoke,” explained Mueller, “Which, to us, was an incredible idea. Mikey only ever alluded to this concept and for months we were wondering if he had given up on the idea, but one day we came into work and (He) had the entire menu prepared and laid out for us. I don’t think he went home the night before, he just stayed and cooked.”

The general consensus between the chefs we interviewed who were there to experience the food Kozlov prepared that morning was that the menu was groundbreaking to say the least, an insightful and revolutionary blend of traditional Russian recipes with nouveau- haute couture fine dining, but with only what could be described as magic realism sprinkled over every detail. And of course, it was all set to music — the Firebird Suite, playing off a small CD player they kept in the back, cycled through each movement while the crew tasted each dish silently. Just as he had planned it, each dish conjured the same emotions one was expected to feel for each movement.

“It was indescribable, like some of the dishes had negative elements in it, but they were intentional to make you feel sad or angry or even scared. But then it would harmonize in your mouth or your gut and then suddenly, you’d feel complete,” reminisced Finch. “We were all excited to work on this project with him and serve The Firebird dinner. We all believed he was going to revolutionize how we created food and experiences – that is until he told us how he needed it to be cooked.”

“He wouldn’t tell us exactly what was in each dish, and before we could ask him how he expected us to make everything he just started to hand out handwritten recipes, (with the) most insane instructions. I remember a few of mine like ‘start poaching the pears on the left front burner on range number three, turn to medium high heat when you hear the violins crescendo, step away, turn behind you and stir the pot on the middle back star until the powder is fully incorporated’ and so on and so forth,” Finch explained. After Kozlov had a chance to describe his thinking process, the rest of it became clear. He wanted to put on a dinner that would stimulate all five senses, he wanted a full orchestra to play the piece live, each movement while the cooks prepared each dish, their instructions part sheet music, part choreography, and part recipe. What he really envisioned was that instead of a ballerinas prancing and spinning about on a stage, the process of cooking would instead be the show to focus on and Elm’s kitchen would be the stage in which they performed — all in synchronicity, all contributing to each dish in ways they would never be able to put together without everyone else doing their part at the correct time it needed to be done.

“So yeah, bat shit insane,” commented Acosta, who was in charge of facilitating all of the changes to make this a reality. “We tried talking to Barney (Eaton) about how impossible it seemed, but he believed in Mikey and said that this would be truly pushing the envelope for what fine dining could be. So we had to make it work. The only problem was, you know, making it work.”

There was a strict rehearsal schedule imposed on the chefs. Every other day, the chefs were expected to stay late after service in order to go through a section of the Firebird menu. Kozlov would stand at the front atop a ladder, almost like a conductor, shouting out instructions and pointers to the chefs turning and twisting below him. From a bird’s eye view, he watched his ballerinas dance and if someone was a little off or too slow, he’d stop, make notes in a journal, and then keep it going.

The first of many real problems that arose was the way Elm was structured. Many chefs came and went during this time period, so those who had been practicing and rehearsing for months would suddenly leave, being replaced by new ones, who had no idea what they were doing. Celine Dubois, author of best selling cookbooks Alive in Time and So Your Parents Never Taught You How to Cook, was one such chef that came aboard the Elm team about three months before the premier of the dinner.

“I remember coming in for my stage before I got hired on, excited and nervous to be working in the best restaurant in the world, and while being trained that first day by all of the chefs, each one would pass me off to the next with the reminder, ‘don’t forget about rehearsal tonight’ and the next would groan out a ‘Yes Chef.’ I was too scared to ask about what rehearsal was, but when I found out what was happening later that night, I almost turned around and quit my dream,” reminisced Dubois. “But everyone there, albeit grumpily, would tell me that it was worth it. After I got hired on and took my spot on the line, I only grew more weary of the situation. It felt hopeless. The dishes never captured the same feeling that Mikey was looking for. I didn’t think it was possible, and I actually blew up at him in the middle of one rehearsal, calling him a lunatic and a sociopath for putting his friends and coworkers through this torment.”

Kozlov tried to make it right by calling her later that evening asking if she would come in early the next day so that he could explain everything. “When he said he’d explain everything, I didn’t think he meant everything,” said Dubois. When she came into the restaurant early the next day, Kozlov was waiting for her with a full spread of the mise required to create The Firebird menu. “Without greeting me or even letting me put my knife roll away, he just turned on the music and started to cook, just as he wanted all of us to do. But as he moved around the kitchen, he was also describing all of the ingredients and the full recipes to me, something no one else had the privilege to know,” she recounted, “And after each dish was complete, I would taste it and realize exactly how he needed each step, each turn, to be perfect, because none of us had been able to recreate what he had made just yet. It was magic — annoying, confusing, hectic, beautiful magic.”

When Dubois asked the chef why she was chosen to see behind the curtain, not anyone else, Kozlov had been reported saying If you make the village nonbeliever understand and see the light, no one else will question it. Selfishly, we at the magazine asked if she would be able to recreate the menu by herself, to which Dubois said that if she really needed to, she could, but she never would, “It would be a dishonor to (Mikey’s) legacy.”

Eventually, Eaton and Acosta suggested they pull the plug on the operation. “We had spent thousands of dollars on ingredients alone over the course of the rehearsals, everyone was feeling burnt out on the project, and Mikey was proving harder and harder to work with. But Mikey said they were almost ready, that they could do it the next month, that he would even use his own money for the rehearsals,” said Acosta. Eaton agreed to give it a chance, but if it failed or it wasn’t ready, Kozlov would be the first person to be fired from Elm.

The next big problem was that for Kozlov’s vision to work, Acosta next had to find an orchestra that was willing to play five nights a week for a month inside of a restaurant. “Thank god that the kitchen was already an open concept, we didn’t have to tear down a wall. But the fact that the orchestra was a twenty five piece, it took up such a large portion of the restaurant and so we had to cut seating by half.” Considering the original instrumentation for the Firebird Suite was over fifty, a lot of concessions had to be made from Kozlovs original dream.

“The ticket price we had to charge was astronomical compared to our other dinners,” laughed Eaton, “Since we had to go under contract with the orchestra, we had to make sure we were paying them for the full month no matter what. The ingredients were expensive and esoteric, so the price that we came up with was about $700 a person, which was a lot for the 90s.” Adjusting for inflation, the same dinner would cost about $1,350 for the same dinner today. Between the two days that the menu ran, only about forty people got to experience it.

Former T.V personality and financier Linda Shale was among the esteemed guests that got to experience the Firebird Dinner, who graciously gave us a detailed account of what it was like. “We had no idea what any of us were walking into. I remember getting to the front of the restaurant and seeing they had blacked out all of the large windows where normally a passersby would look in with envy. I was with my husband at the time … our table was front and center to the open kitchen, with only candles lighting the table. The most shocking thing was that we were greeted by a full orchestra just ten yards away from where we were seated, all tuning their instruments and chatting among themselves. And then after all the tables were full and the pre dinner cocktail was served, the cooks all emerged from the back and the orchestra stood up to greet them. We didn’t really know what to do but clap, just like a normal audience.”

It was then when Kozlov and the famous conductor James Layman walked through the front door, both wearing matching tuxedos. They shook hands, and as the conductor made his way to the front of the orchestra, the chef addressed the guests. Kozlov talked about the inspiration behind this menu and all the work he had to put into it from experimentation and learning about music theory to the hard and arduous journey that he put his crew through. He thanked every one of them, the orchestra, and the guests for giving him a chance to try to make their lives a little more magical.

“Magical? Magical doesn’t even begin to describe the dinner. Maybe transcendent would be a better word,” scoffed Shale, “I still dream about that night.”

Barney Eaton was also in attendance as he always dined the first night of a new menu. “It was the first time that I got to really taste the menu. Mikey kept it kind of under lock and key for me because he wanted my first time to be somewhat of a surprise. The start of it was a little awkward to say the least, since none of the other guests really knew what was going on. As the overture started to play and the chefs started to move in strange, fluid and robotic ways, a couple of the guests couldn’t help but chuckle a little bit, most likely due to being uncomfortable. But as the music went on and people realized what was going on in the kitchen, they started to gasp and ooh and ahh quietly to each other.”

“It was like I was watching a ballet, which none of us knew then, but was exactly what the Chef had wanted,” Shale recounted, “It was like they were dancing all around each other, dropping one project to go to the next which would then be passed to another and finally be plated on an antique, ornate dish, where the servers waiting on the sides would take it out to us. Normally before eating a course, the chef will tell you what you will be eating, but (Kozlov) instead told us none of the ingredients and instead, the emotions he was trying to recreate.

This first dish is meant for you to feel anticipation, it should conjure feelings of excitement, foreshadowing, and an overall sense of adventure, since that is what we are all embarking on.

As the guests would eat each course, the orchestra would play the same movement again, but slightly quieter so that everyone could remember the motifs and measures that were to evoke the same emotions as the dish. During the dining period, the chefs would reset the kitchen for the next course. And when both the orchestra and the kitchen were ready, they would start the process all over again.

“In all reality, I had such a different experience than everyone else that night,” said Eaton, “Because every single course I felt every feeling that Mikey was trying to convey, but also a tinge of guilt that I ever doubted him, which I guess I had coming to me anyway.”

The first night ended with a final dessert, the explosive “Final Hymn,” and a standing ovation from the audience. “I still consider it to be the best meal I’ve ever had,” admitted Shale, “A couple of the other attendees and ourselves actually got drinks at a nearby bar right afterwards because we felt like we had just bonded over something incredible. A lot of us are still on an emailing list together just to catch up and see what life is like, give dinner recommendations and such. But nothing any of us have experienced since hasn’t held a finger to the firebird dinner.”

Behind the scenes people were feeling a bit different from their guests. “We never did every movement all together,” remembered Mueller, “We only ever did one movement at a time so after that first night, we all felt like we had just finished a marathon. None of us thought we could last all month doing this every night of service.” And the crew let Kozlov know exactly how they were feeling.

“It was like a screaming match,” Finch told us, “It was like months upon months of resentment and feelings had been bottled up from all of us and it just finally exploded. We never expected to be worked that hard and since everything had to be rushed, we didn’t have enough time to really process how insane the service was going to be. But we pulled through.”

The next night was an almost exact copy of the first, with even more guests shouting their praises to everyone involved and even more exhaustion coming from the crew with even more grievances that had to be aired. Acosta revealed that “Mikey was a lot more sensitive than he let on. I think just with everything crashing down he felt personally responsible for the well being of his friends and colleagues. I just remember that after that second night and after being berated again by the other chefs, he grabbed Barney to have a discussion outside. We could hear Barney shouting a lot, but no one knew what he was saying. After it was done, Mikey just walked inside, told us that it was done, and left.”

“He told me that we had to stop,” sighed Eaton, “That what he thought was possible was only meant to happen once. I tried to reach a compromise with him, that maybe everyone would be happier if they just knew the recipes and could cook them normally, like any other menu. I of course got incredibly angry with him because of all the … money we had spent on this one dinner alone. I told him that he would be financially ruining the restaurant to the point where I didn’t know if we could bounce back from it. I think I had every right to be angry at him, because Elm was my dream, but I just regret what I did next.”

With that short conversation, Mikhail Kozlov was the first and last person to be fired from Elm. Over the years, Eaton has expressed many times that he wishes he hadn’t, that he feels personally responsible for what occurred later that night.

The next morning, Kozlov was found dead on a bench in central park by the local authorities. The toxicology reports released said that the cause of death was an overdose of painkillers and alcohol poisoning, but it is unclear if Kozlov meant to take his own life or if it was an accident of overconsumption. Most of his colleagues and friends told us that he died of a broken heart.

“I honestly think that this was going to be Mikey’s magnum opus, you know,” explained Mueller, “Like in his mind, this was going to be the peak of his career. I have no idea what his plan was after he was done. He even told me he had no idea what he would do after. He suggested leaving the service industry altogether. I don’t think he killed himself on purpose, but at the same time, he would never open up to any of us about how he was feeling so there’s no way of knowing anyway.”

To try and understand the full context of Mikey Kozlov’s time at Elm, we met up with his former roommate and former chef of such restaurants as Blue Tuesday, Baltic Song, and the famous Notre Belle Epoque, T.V personality Calvin Elderman. “I left Elm about a month before Mikey came on board. He needed a place to stay and Aiden (Acosta) knew I had a room available and since that was after the third time I vowed never to work in a kitchen again, I needed the money.”

“I really liked Mikey, honestly the best roommate I ever had. He was quiet and mostly stayed inside his room, which was obviously great. We would watch TV together every once in a while or grab a bite to eat, but for the most part, I never really knew him. When we did talk, it was almost always about food. He’d pick my brain for recipes and at the time I wanted nothing to do with the kitchen, so our conversations tended to be brief,” said Elderman.

The real context we got from the former chef was a shoebox of Kozlov’s belongings that Elderman had kept with him over the past couple years. It was filled with letters going back and forth from Mikey to a former lover, Natalya Abromov, nee Volkov, now married to Russian Oligarch, Andrey Abromov. After getting in touch with her, Natalya declined to comment on her relationship to Kozlov, but agreed to let us use her letters. To our knowledge, this is what actually happened during the young chef’s sabbatical to his ancestral homeland.

Mikey Kozlov had lied to Elm about the restaurants he was going to be staging at. One of them never existed and the other, the one in St. Petersburg, never received Kozlov to begin with. Instead, Kozlov spent all of his time in Moscow working at a strip club owned by a distant cousin as a cook, serving up greasy food and soup to the patrons. As we were described to, the name of the place was a pun on “The Winter Palace,” but the pun didn’t translate well. There he met a young dancer, Natalya Volkov.

Natalya, who not only worked at the Winter Palace, was also a ballerina but due to the economy at the time, she needed the second job in order to make ends meet. They spent most of their days together, knowing that the time they had was short. Before he left, though, he had a chance to go see her perform in “The Nutcracker Suite” by Tchaikovsky. Considering Kozlov had never really experienced the arts this way, never having been to a concert or seen a live performance of dancers or even a play at this time of his life, he really was in for something he’d never seen before. The only problem was that he had to be sneaked in as they didn’t have enough money for a ticket.

The only place that he could watch the performance was in the back corner of the orchestra pit, standing completely still so as to not disturb the performers or the conductor. They for the most part would pay him no mind beyond the knowing glance or wink, something he would construe as not being the first boy Natalya has brought to stand in the same place. But as the lights dimmed and as Mikey watched the stage and orchestra, something inside of him changed. I feel like that was the first time I understood what magic was, he wrote to his former lover, like for my entire life I only saw the world in black and white, and after that night, you showed me a world in color.

He would write to Natalya about the restaurant and his menu and how he planned on making it just as magical as how he felt that night in the orchestra pit. Every other week he would go see another show, ballet, musical, or opera just to try and capture those magical moments a little more. He regularly sent updates and used Natalya as a springboard for ideas, asking her how certain pieces made her feel and sharing with her the most recent performance he got to witness. It was even her suggestion to do the Firebird Suite by Stravinsky as it was the first ballet she performed in. She was one of the princesses.

Halfway through their correspondence, she had told him that if he were to ever return to Russia, she would marry him, and then they could go wherever they wanted in the world. He promised her that after his menu was over, he would. This was of course prolonged over and over again, making Natalya impatient. Misha, you know my heart still burns for you, but I fear that you will never return. A new man has been coming to see me dance, and not at the club, but at the ballet. He’s brought me extravagant gifts and has promised me a life without work. I don’t know how much longer I can keep telling him my heart belongs to another. It always will, but if you don’t come back soon, I don’t know if my body will be yours anymore, she wrote to him in a letter the same month he passed away.

Months later with no returning letter, not knowing what had happened to Kozlov, and now heartbroken, she sent over all the letters he had written over the past couple years, partly to tell him that he didn’t matter to her anymore, partly so that he would remember that he still could. The only person to receive this was Calvin Elderman, who didn’t read Russian. He simply mailed a letter back in English telling her the news without knowing who she was or what she meant to him. Less than a year later she was married to Andrey Abromov.

The death of Mikhail Kozlov was felt by those closest to him, his parents, his colleagues and the woman who showed him a world full of color. There is no other way to view his passing as anything else than tragic, which begs the question of how much should we sacrifice for the art that we create?

To Elm, Mikey is remembered as having the most infamous menu and service throughout their entire run as a restaurant, being considered by the small public that got to experience it as the best meal most of them ever had. To us here at Sieve Magazine, we have decided to remember Mikey as one of the greatest chefs to ever walk this earth, but what made him great was his deep and intense desire to make the world around him and the people who he served believe that magic was real, all someone had to do was open their eyes and taste buds to it.

Elm will be closing its doors next Friday the 21st with its final service reserved for those who used to work there.

If you or a loved one struggles with depression or suicidal thoughts, know that there are people out there that love you and want you to believe in magic once again. Help is just a phone call away. National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-TALK

#cooking #shortstory #shortfiction #article #magazine #ballet #russian #the firebird #fine dining

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