On this date 36 years ago — January 31, 1990 — the first McDonald’s opened its doors on Pushkin Square in central Moscow, to a rousing welcome.

For the average Russian worker in those days, a Big Mac, a shake and an order of fries could cost several days’ wages. But this was the West — this was America! — coming to the USSR. And it brought, not only good food and friendly service, but hope for a brighter future.

It wasn’t until three and a half years later that I finally gave in and agreed to eat at a Moscow McDonald’s; I mean, who travels halfway around the world from the U.S. to do that, when the local cuisine is so fantastic? But it was at the request of some Russian and American friends that I finally surrendered. I was outnumbered, after all.

It was the beginning of July, 1993. I had been working in Moscow for a couple of months with an American humanitarian aid foundation, providing healthy food for children in orphanages and hospitals. When I received a call from an American friend, Mary, telling me she and her teenaged son would be in Moscow for a few days, I was thrilled, and invited them to stay with me rather than the Russian hotel they had been booked into.

Mary’s son Colin had done a little research on sights to see while in Moscow, and one thing that had piqued his interest was the Military Museum. My neighbors — all of them — were military officers and their families, as the building in which we had rented our office/apartment belonged to the Ministry of Defense. And one couple on my floor had become my good friends and guardian angels.

So I went to them to inquire about access to the Military Museum, and they offered to take us there and make a day of it. In return, I said I would treat everyone to lunch . . . and they chose McDonald’s. Mary and Colin were also curious to compare it to the ones back home, so — not being a huge fan of grease — I nevertheless gritted my teeth, forced a smile, and said, “Great.”

And it was there that I received one of the biggest surprises of my time in Moscow. In addition to being incredibly inexpensive (by U.S. standards), that was the best fast-food meal I had ever eaten, or expected to. Everything — the meat, the fries, the lettuce and tomatoes — was fresh from local farms, perfectly seasoned and prepared, and served piping hot. Even the buns were freshly baked at a local bakery.

By 1993, more U.S. and other Western businesses had begun popping up, particularly in the larger cities like Moscow and St. Petersburg: I recall Pizza Hut being next. The Soviet Union had collapsed under its own weight in December of ‘91, and Russia was in the midst of an economic and social boom.

But in another six years, it would all begin to slide backwards when Boris Yeltsin — old, sickly, and pickled in alcohol — resigned as President, and Vladimir Putin stepped into the breach. The burgeoning market economy gradually gave way to an oligarchy; Putin became increasingly authoritarian; and finally, on February 24, 2022, his army invaded Ukraine.

The world first recoiled in horror, then reacted with sanctions. Western businesses began pulling out of Russia — some selling out at prices ridiculously below market value, others simply abandoning their holdings completely.

One that sold quickly was the still-popular McDonald’s — purchased by Russian businessman Aleksandr Govor, who changed the name to “Vkusno i Tochka” (“Tasty and That’s It”), added a logo faintly reminiscent of the McDonald’s “M,” and offered a “Big Hit” in place of the Big Mac.

I haven’t been back to Russia since 2009, so I can’t tell you how the new burger joints are doing. Russians are deservedly proud of their cuisine; but I don’t know whether the owners of these successor establishments feel the same way about fast food. My guess would be that, even if the quality of the food has remained high, the service has probably slipped back to the surly attitude of Soviet times, when the popular meme of the workers was: “They pretend to pay us, and we pretend to work.”

I prefer to remember it as it was in 1993, when five of us piled into my neighbors’ little Lada automobile, shared a most congenial feast at an exotic restaurant, and went on to inspect the Military Museum, where I was nearly arrested — or possibly shot — by the security guards when . . .

Oh, but that’s a tale for another day.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
1/31/26