I’ve gotten a lot of criticism about a piece I recently wrote for the Atlantic Monthly entitled “Russia is Finished.” In it I concluded, as the title implies, that Russia is doomed and will soon be nothing but a “Zaire with permafrost.”

But now I feel as though I should amend that rather brash statement. You see, I wrote that article before I ate at CRAZY MILK. What of the “Byzantine nature of Russia’s legal environment” or the “terror, violence, and deceit that have since the late Middle Ages characterized” Russia? All of that means nothing in light of my experience at this unorthodox little cafÈ now occupying the abandoned Canadian bar Moosehead’s. I see the emergence of Crazy Milk as a metaphor of Russia’s current state of development. And, as the recordings of birds chirping that play in the bathrooms imply, I believe Russia may be on the road to renewal.

While I do not intend to present an unqualified apology— in fact there is much that Crazy Milk could improve upon, both gastronomically and decoratively— I hope to retract my unnecessarily hasty claim that contemporary Russia is nothing but a “tuberculosis-ridden pre-trial detention center.”

Lead by chef Andreas of Poncho Villa and Azteka fame, Crazy Milk attempts to integrate Russia into the emerging Europe, where the United States will play a diminished role in the Continent’s security. Thus, we find a rather Continental selection awaiting us in the menu.

Take, for example, the inclusion of Perrier carbonated water (85R). Or, if you prefer, the Alpine Hunter’s salad (203R), which combined tomato, a delightfully delicate chevre, Spanish olives, petite toasts and p‚tÈ. Simple, yet cosmopolitan.

Other Continental fare included the lamb soup (130R), which was unfortunately heavy on the parsley, and the duck breast (435R) smothered in cherry sauce, reminding me of the fine tradition of English gamesmanship. The rib-eye steak (406R), braised as it was in a stellar red wine sauce and seared to perfection, also had European undercurrents.

Nonetheless, Crazy Milk’s menu also reflects the fact that, as the sole remaining superpower, the United States will continue to exert its influence throughout the entire region. This geopolitical reality was nodded to by the presence of Buffalo wings (10 pieces for 203R), which, with its traditional blue cheese sauce and carrot sticks, lacked only celery to complete the illusion of full-on Americanization. The Crazy Milk salad (174R) may or may not be seen as an American intervention— it was a fair imitation of a Caesar salad (actually a Mexican dish appropriated by the US) with bacon.

In a subtle statement acknowledging the impossibility of a secure Europe that precludes Russian participation, Crazy Milk also includes various Russian cuisine among the choices. Among these, I tried only the home fries (203R), which bare precious little relation to the US dish of the same name. This potato dish comes in a “gorshok” and is blessed with abundant beef tips and mushrooms. For supporters of the domestic beer industry, there is Zolotaya Bochka (90R).

Other drinks include a strong cup of espresso (60R), fresh squeezed OJ (120R) and Heineken (0.5l for 145R). Various enticing marketing techniques, such as 40 percent discounts from 12 am to 6 am on Monday through Wednesday and Sunday, reflect a willingness to compromise that the current realist approach to foreign policy emphasizes.

Crazy Milk offers several seafood dishes, including sweet and sour shrimp (609R) and grilled salmon (495R), but as I failed to see how they might fit into a geopolitical context I did not try them.

However, due to the charming meal — as well as the dynamic duo that served my guest and me— I feel obligated to retract various statements of mine. I wish I had never gone on record saying “given the logic and propensities of Russian history, there appears to be no end in sight to the country’s decay,” and other unnecessarily severe predictions. For, with Crazy Milk as an anchor to Russia’s developing multi-polar policy, I believe the decay can be definitively averted. Indeed, after such a fine meal, I feel some of that optimism for Mother Russia I haven’t felt since ‘93 creeping back into my old bones.