They mix Parmesan with “Russian”: after 10 years of food sanctions, sellers have a hard time

Very soon – in just six months, in the summer of 2024 – if we survive safely, we will celebrate a decade of food sanctions. In August 2014, it was decided to introduce a ban on the supply of vegetables and fruits, pork, beef, poultry, fish, cheeses, milk and dairy products to Russia from the European Union and the United States. The symbols of the ban were jamon and parmesan – the most obvious “sanction”.

True, Russian entrepreneurs still found ways to get out – it was not for nothing that then, in 2014, jokes about Belarusian mussels and Lithuanian parmesan produced in Argentina appeared, and “cheese tourism” to nearby European countries became a very popular entertainment. There are also small shops where you can still buy everything – at exorbitant prices! — buy European products brought to Moscow by roundabout routes. True, two years ago – after another jump in the euro exchange rate, another package of sanctions and the disappearance of direct flights with Europe – the number of such secret points decreased significantly, but still they did not disappear.

For example, real Italian cheeses – and the owner does not hide it at all, on the contrary, he proudly says that they are real – can be found on the menu of a small pizzeria on Presnya. You can take it as a snack or buy it to go.

Spicy Gorgonzola with blue mold is sold for 350 rubles per 50 grams, pecorino Romano or Parmesan, which has become a symbol of food sanctions, for 450 rubles. Meat delicacies can also be bought: prosciutto cotto (boiled pork ham) for 350 rubles for the same 50 grams, prosciutto crudo (smoked) for 690 rubles. Bresaola (smoked beef) costs the same, but salami will cost 350–370 rubles per 50 grams.

Of course, these prices are restaurant prices and should be treated as such. However, to the skeptical question – they really do take it? — the establishment’s employees respond with a condescending smile.

– How they take it. Not in kilograms, of course, but it’s not potatoes either. They take a little bit at a time: they eat it here and take it home. Will you take it?

If restaurant prices still confuse you (no wonder: a kilogram of Parmesan costs as much as 9 thousand rubles!), you can look for happiness in Moscow markets. Counters with European cheeses usually do not give themselves away – you need to come closer and carefully look at the assortment to understand: here you have the piquant moldy French “Saint-Agur”, and the delicate creamy German “Cambozola”, and the creamy Italian “Taleggio”… Sellers here they are experienced, and they have a well-trained eye: as soon as they understand that the client, in principle, is ready to part with some amount of money, they begin to envelop him.

— What style of cheese do you like in general? Try this one… Where from? This is France. I also recommend this one, it’s the freshest, just unpacked this morning…

– What is this?

“This is…” the saleswoman seems embarrassed, but then continues: “Well, this is, in general, cheese from Kostroma.” With fenugreek. But try it, it’s not bad! And the price, most importantly, is only 1400 rubles! And try this one: soft, similar to feta! This is Nizhny Novgorod.

Of course, all the salt is in context: on the counter, where the cost of European cheeses fluctuates between 5 and 8 thousand per kilo (depending on the variety!), one and a half thousand seems like pure charity. However, mixing French with Nizhny Novgorod on a cheese counter is an interesting phenomenon in itself: until recently, “sanctions” and “import-substituting” retail outlets were clear antagonists. But now – as the saleswoman explains, offering to try this cheese with fenugreek and a couple more – the range of European cheeses has been significantly reduced. If you sell only them in principle, the counters will remain half empty. But among the Russian ones there are some good cheeses, really… if you look for it, you can find it…

Not only has the assortment been reduced – prices, surprisingly, have also dropped slightly.

For example, a triangle of Parmesan cheese—it doesn’t matter whether it’s Grana Padano or Reggiano—now costs 1,500 rubles. The dynamics are obvious: just six months ago its cost fluctuated in the range of 2100–2300 rubles.

“If we don’t reduce prices, we won’t sell anything at all,” the merchant frankly admits already near another counter. “This is more profitable for us than closing the shop entirely: there are regular customers, although there are not many of them.” Did you see the lady just leaving in a red coat? She comes every Saturday. He always takes a little bit at a time: a hundred grams of one cheese, a hundred grams of another, a ball of mozzarella. But it is stable.

However, talk about reducing the price sounds quite ironic. Even if you don’t start the usual conversation a la “Do you know how much this Parmesan costs in Italy?!” – after all, taking into account the jumps in the euro exchange rate and the inaccessibility of travel to the European Union, the option of “buying at home” is becoming almost irrelevant – it is still obvious: the markup is off the charts. In almost any capital of post-Soviet states – in Yerevan, Baku or Bishkek – the same piece of Parmesan can be bought for the equivalent of 500 rubles. Well, everything is transparent – there are no sanctions there, but here there are. And you have to pay for a cocktail of sanctions and the desire to eat good cheese.

By the way, the answer to the question “where does the firewood come from?” everyone has an impeccable: “From San Marino.” Everything is correct – sanctions do not apply to this tiny country, so you can bring the devil back from there.

Packing the purchased cheeses into a beautiful bag, the saleswoman adds in a conspiratorial tone, slightly lowering her voice:

— We also have New Zealand beef… Good ribeye. If you need it, tell us 2-3 days in advance, we will deliver it.

These words seemed to smell of something inexorably vintage. Happily forgotten for thirty years, but preserved at the genetic level… Films by Eldar Ryazanov. Wonderful old wives’ tales about how you had to go into the bakery from the back door to get the freshest loaf. Grandfathers – about how it was necessary to flirt with the traders from the meat aisle at the market in order to snatch a piece of tenderloin for the holiday. And, of course, the amazing verb “get”.