Sacred Haven of Debauchery

I already feel like a Russian bogatyr who has returned home from a campaign, with wounds and ailments, and sat down at the table to eat. He was given a large bowl of soup, he took a wooden spoon in one hand and a slice of black bread in the other. He scooped up some broth, inhaled the aroma, and said: Even in this simple soup, I can feel the Russian spirit!

I'm hungry, oh well.

get well soon

I'm trying to.