That’s Miss Tzjcherkasskiijy to you!

Cezve

• Stopped by the Cosmopolitan Bakery and Cafe for lunch last week, and it was all it was cracked up to be and more. It may be a take-out, but we stayed in to soak up the atmosphere. There was no eaves-dropping for us because there was not a word of English spoken. Plenty of smoking by sturdy men in broad-shouldered coats.  
• When it comes to names, almost all of us have a cross to bear. Cherkasky looks so simple to me. Cher-kas-ky. Phonetic. Plenty of hard consonants to guide you. One glance, though, and people panic. Or, fresh ears hear t’s and j’s and extra s’s. After a trip to Moscow with my father I considered tarting up Cherkasky, Eastern European style, to Tzjcherkasskiijy. Give ’em what they’re looking for.  
• We compare ridiculous interpretations of Cherkasky in my family. Stuff you see on junk mail envelopes. Funniest to date IMHO – Cher Kasky. They ought to stick to “Resident”. You may call me Cher.
• Some of the menu items at the Cosmopolitan Cafe cause me to go blind actually. One glance and I panic. Cevapcici translates to “I’ll have the sausage thing.” 
• There is a grocery store attached to the cafe stocked with loads of intriguing stuff.  As I type I’m sipping a cup of Turkish-style coffee made with powder- fine grounds purchased there.  There is no drinking this without sugar. At the bottom, a sludge of wet coffee dust. 
• WordPress has revamped its system and I cannot figure out how to make paragraphs anymore, so I have resorted to these dumb dotty things. Ugh. I detest relearning some simple task that becomes a headache. 
• Also cannot figure out how to add words between the pictures. The bread you see below – flat and chewy.  So right for meat and an avalanche of raw onion. Cevapcici (damn, can’t spell it without checking) in the top photo and a slab of grilled veal scallopini below. The tomatoes were superfluous. Just wet and that’s about all. I closed my eyes, dreamed of the Bosnian countryside and pretended they were otherwise. Terrific sandwiches though. I could bathe in the sweet red pepper condiment that came with the veal. 
• Gave one last ditch effort to understanding the myriad of little symbols on this page for my convenience. Ha ha ha. All I can understand is bold,  italic and the dotty doodads. Ack. Ack. Ack. Excuse me while I pitch my computer out the window.