Rollton cakes

Nothing, nothing, guys, if you try, you don’t like it – it will go for complementary foods …

On this day, there was no bite on Borovskaya, at least for spinners. But as soon as he put on a small yellow-orange twister, the line resiliently settles, and a living weight hangs on it. Perch! I take him to the boat and push my son:

– Roly, landing net! He fusses, pulling out the pressed landing net, then, happily in a hurry, brings him under the fish. The specimen, of course, is not a record one, and to put it bluntly, it is not large, but it weighs and it can break off the thin tip of the ultra-light. At least, I think so, looking at a whip, stunted to pity, thinner than a match …

Soon I took another perch. But we have already passed this. Such perches, no heavier than three hundred grams, I played on the lakes with each cast, tired of this monotonous fishing. How to surprise a pike? “Aglia” did not make any impression on the toothy ones, as if there was no golden triumphal glitter of “celebrities”. So – shaking the water … I cling to a jig with a chewed and once greenish in sequins ripper, similar either to a ruff, or to a bull … On the very first cast, the line becomes heavy and goes to the side. Soon, about twenty meters from the boat, a pike jumps out and shakes its head. Ultra-light softly dampens her jumps.

While we prolonged the pleasure, delighting ourselves with a highly aesthetic struggle with a pike tired of splashing, blue clouds piled up from somewhere, puffy like pillows, sprayed with a sluggish drizzle, blew with the wind, wrinkling a quiet backwater, and poured in a real downpour. The sky cracked, hurling neon lightning. Thunderstorm began. And then Sergei arrived with Yurkino. We smoked with him in the car, sat, cursing about the weather, and then the comrade began to conjure something. He boiled the water, gutted the Rollton packet into a plate, poured boiling water over it.

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– What are you doing, Seryoga? – I’m surprised. – Is there anything, shaking concentrates? There I cooked stewed meat soup, eat your fingers!

– Uh, wait, take your time. Let the rain stop … You will see …

Well, of course, when the cat has nothing to do … Ivan and I are waiting with interest.

Having thundered off, the storm fell over the horizon. Only rare heavy drops fell from the pines. Sergei got out of the car and, having rubbed resin from dead wood, lit a fire among the bricks that serve as a stove for the kettle and kettle. He heated a frying pan on the coals, added oil, poured a good handful of flour into the swollen Rollton, mixed everything, began to sculpt something, and, chanting into his beard, spank it into the frying pan.

– You haven’t eaten it yet … But when we were scourged in the forest, we had to go bad without bread. Sometimes there was nothing but vodka, as in “Peculiarities of the National Hunt”. Pasta cakes were the first grade.

I know that Sergey used to work as a geologist, or as a mine surveyor somewhere in the dense Lukomorye.

– So there is also bread and bagels for tea.

– Nothing, nothing, guys, if you try, you will not like it – it will go for complementary foods. Vanka will throw to the fishing rods, – Sergei said.

And I realized that this is not a matter of severe need or special delights, but this is the same nostalgic flight of the soul into a warm yesterday.

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Soon we were already enthusiastically crunching Seryogin’s pancakes, washed down with cold tea. Even Vanka ate. Actually, he is a desperate disgust, refined and scrupulous in food. Until recently, he believed that fried chicken legs shake from the trees like apples, and when he learned the bitter truth, he stopped eating meat, like a true Tolstoyan, except that he made an exception for two hundred and fifty “wooden” raw sausages.

Seryogin’s pancakes would also come off for a civilized breakfast in a private setting.

– Sergei, take note of your recipe, she-she!

– I told you …

And Sergei surprised again. He took Vankin’s catch, which probably consisted of hundreds of medium-sized reds, which his son caught with a bait from the shore, and was not too lazy to clean up all this trifle. Then, in the same frying pan, he fried in several steps all the red-finned small fry to the state of seeds, when numerous bones simply were not felt and crunched on his teeth along with fish frying. And then it only became clear how we needed beer from the refrigerator now …

At night a thunderstorm broke out with addiction. She walked until midnight in circles around the tent, hitting the ground with broken and branchy lightning, continuously and dazzlingly illuminating everything around, and, it seemed, was aiming at us. I thought that Vanka would be frightened, but he only clung to me like a mouse, looked sternly at the ceiling with shining eyes, and then calmly sniffled, putting his hands under his head.

Alexander Tokarev and fishx.org

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