John Mole - I Was a Potato Oligarch: Travels and Travails in the New Russia

I Was a Potato Oligarch

For Nuala, who is still amused.

And for Vladimir, Alex and Malcolm, who made the Big Idea possible.

With grateful thanks to Pippa Roberts and Neil McFarland, who turned sketches into pictures.

And to Nick Brealey, Sally Lansdell, Angie Tainsh and Victoria Fedorowicz, who made a book out ofa script.

Travels and Travails in the New Russia

John Mole

First published by
Nicholas Brealey Publishing in 2008

www.nicholasbrealey.com

www.johnmole.com

John Mole 2008
The right of John Mole to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Illustrations by the author, Pippa Roberts & Neil McFarland.

ISBN: 978-1-85788-509-5

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording and/or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publishers. This book may not be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise disposed of by way of trade in any form, binding or cover other than that in which it is published, without the prior consent of the publishers.

Printed in the UK by Clays Ltd on
Forest Stewardship Council certified paper.

I had my Russian Big One in a sauna on a missile base outside Moscow. When I have a great idea that is certain to make us rich I say to the family, This is the Big One. There have been many Big Ones over the years, all of which have shrunk into Little Ones.

That afternoon I was with my friend Misha, suffering fifteen minutes of torture in the hot room before going back to the main purpose of the afternoon, a pigeon and mushroom hotpot and a litre of vodka. We had already worked through several varieties of smoked sturgeon, a wild boar sausage and a dish of fresh vegetables, flown in from the south by military aircraft. The base commander had a sideline in hiring out planes to the Chechen traders who monopolized the city markets.

So, John, what do you think of our poor Russia?

I love it, Meesh. Ive never known anything like it. Its revolution. Anything is possible. Everything is changing. Theres such energy.

It is frenzy of fear. For you change is always good. For us change is always bad. To an optimist bedbugs smell like cognac. To a pessimist cognac smells like bedbugs.

Whatever. I wish I could get stuck in. Its so exciting.

He picked up a bucket of ice-cold water. I knew what he was going to do with it and I was keen to say something that would make him stop. I dont like saunas. I dont like the heat, the burning lungs, the eyes stinging with sweat, the hot wood on my bottom. I dont like staccato conversation made inane by the stewing of brains. I dont like macho men daring each other to pour water on the stove. And I especially dont like them pouring it over my head.

Misha, wait. I have an idea for a business. Its a brilliant idea.

It worked. He put the bucket down on his knee. I had to keep talking long enough for him to forget the water.

Whats Russia famous for?

Znachet, caviar. Znachet was a verbal tic, the equivalent of I mean or I guess.

Close.

Vodka.

Not what Im thinking of.

Tchaikovsky. Dostoevsky.

Get back to food.

Cabbage.

Closer. What goes with cabbage?

Cabbage soup and kasha, food for Russia. Kasha is buckwheat porridge, like semolina or American grits. The word alone was enough to start my stomach heaving.

Potatoes. Russia grows a third of the worlds potatoes

I must tell you there are already many people in potato growing business. Znachet, most of population.

I wasnt thinking of growing them. I was thinking of selling them.

Sell potatoes to Russians? Why not snow to Eskimos? You dont go to Tula with your samovar.

The British answer to McDonalds and Pizza Hut is baked potatoes. In their skin with cheese or baked beans or salad or stew. Potatoes are just a base for the filling. Its one of my favourites.

You are half Irish.

Cut the stereotypes. You know who eats the most potatoes in Europe?

Germany.

Portugal. They eat as many per head as Russians

Znachet, no Russian will go out for a potato. They can have that at home.

They can have chopped meat on a bun at home too. Russians dont go to McDonalds for the food, they go for a slice of the West. Lets open a baked potato restaurant. A taste of Britain. Tradition, sophistication, elegance, bobbies outside the door, servers in bowler hats, cricket bats on the wall...

... warm beer, rain, football hooligans...

... pictures of the Queen...

... and Fatcher...

I would rather have a blown-up colour photo of a salmonella bug in my restaurant than Her, but I let the comment pass. I wiped my sweaty face on my sodden sheet. At least in a Russian sauna you are spared nudity. Some men tie their sheet over their shoulder like a toga. Some tie it over their breasts like a woman coming out of the shower. Others tuck it under their bellies like Sumo wrestlers. I favour Death of Socrates, under the breasts and over the belly. I had to keep talking.

Everything is natural. Cheese and butter and sour cream and salad. And for the hot sauces we take a Russian stew and jazz it up with curry. Traditional English.

Znachet, where is the gimmick? Where is the difference?

The staff could smile at the customers. That would be a Unique Selling Proposition. Russians smile a lot but not in front of strangers.

The customers will think they are idiots.

Heres the gimmick. Youll love this, Misha. Well make it a franchise operation. Individuals. Mom and Pop. Cooperatives. Anyone. Youre in the small-business business, you tell me how it works.

In Russia it will be very difficult

You get paid to tell people how easy it is. Put your money where your mouth is. Pull this off and you can keep yourself in conferences for years. You might even get rich.

On potatoes?

Its not potatoes, Misha, its the value added. The concept. The image. Were dealing in aspirations. Were dealing in dreams.

Russians have had enough of dreams and aspirations. We had seventy years of them.

I dont mean the Russians. I mean the do-gooders in the West. The Eurocrats. The Bureaucrats. Brussels. The British Know-How Fund. Soros. Well have grants and subsidies coming out of our ears. Think of the feasibility studies. I sniff per diems in this, Misha. Per diems. So what do you think?

Znachet, not a snowballs chance.

He scowled into the bucket of water and tossed it onto the stove, where it exploded into steam. I hate that, but I had avoided the douche. And he liked the idea. If Russians tell you something is a good idea you might as well forget it. Theyre not taking it seriously. You want them to say it will be very, very difficult, full of insurmountable risks and problems. Then you know they are really considering it. Pessimism is not just a Russian attitude, it is a deeply ingrained conviction of how the world works.