Russian wine

Russian wine It must have been a winter when the old tanker sailed through the Dardanelles into the Black Sea that was full of ice flakes  the tanker was loading black gold at a town I have forgotten the name of, but I recall how spare the street lighting was on a wide boulevard  We found a restaurant in a stern-looking building possibly built with Stalin as architect, we had caviar  and drank excellent white whine the nomenclature sat there in their suit that  appeared to have too much fabric, friendly sorts who smoked all the time The dull Soviet Union still existed in its dullness and general sadness that is over now, people who makes good wine can't be kept down