I think that I might have been a wee bit tipsy when I came here. I did not have any food, but I got all squeenty-eyed drinking a potato vodka flight. I'll admit that it was a bit weird having Lenin's head staring at me from behind the bar, having grown up in a time when we were taught that the Russians were just one itchy trigger finger away from blowing all of us up. I kinda felt like he wanted me to rise up and revolt or something. I think we chose to catch a cab back to the hotel instead. We'll save the revolt for another day.