Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SATURDAY, July 21, 1990 TAG: 9007210088
SECTION: NATIONAL/INTERNATIONAL PAGE: A-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: ANN IMSE ASSOCIATED PRESS
DATELINE: MOSCOW LENGTH: Medium
Hundreds of young Soviets are selling "Beeg Maks" as fast as their hands can move, ricocheting off each other in the crush behind the counter at the McDonald's less than a mile from the Kremlin.
But even 5,000 sandwiches an hour is not enough to satisfy Soviet hunger for a taste of the West. The lunchtime line is 90 minutes and 1,200 people long.
Six months after opening, the Golden Arches have eclipsed the popularity of even Lenin's tomb, where a recent wait to see the preserved body of the Soviet founder took only 20 minutes.
" `Fee-lay-oh-feesh.' What's that?" asked a grandmother as she sounded out the Russian transliteration of a "filet-o'-fish" sandwich on a McDonald's brochure. A fresh-faced young McDonald's staffer had given her the brochure when she joined the end of the three-block line curling around the fountain and wrought-iron lampposts of Pushkin Square.
Entrepreneurs hawked their wares along the line. One ruble for a Latvian humor newspaper, just 25 times the price of Pravda. Or 25 rubles for an application to immigrate to the United States. The stack of blank paper work is available free to anyone willing to stand in another line at the Embassy.
Inside, the sheer volume has taken its toll. A milkshake is served melted, and the Big Mac is a bit flat because iceberg lettuce doesn't curl quite the same when grown under glass in these northern latitudes.
But the fries were salty and golden, a straw stood in a second shake, and Soviets found lettuce wondrous enough, without worrying about its ability to fluff up a sandwich.
Four hours into their day, few of the 250 young people cooking and manning 27 cash registers managed obligatory McDonald's smiles, but all were unfailingly polite. For Soviets accustomed to snarling clerks slopping out cafeteria hash, this is nothing short of unbelievable.
"We really like the service," said a smiling Irina Borunova, who came to Moscow from the town of Murom, 150 miles to the east, with her husband and small son.
"It's so clean! Not like a Soviet restaurant," marveled Nina Balitskaya, a student teacher who admitted to having braved the line 15 times.
For Galina Voyevodkina of Moscow, the queue and the prices were just too much.
"For this kind of money, I could sit in a real restaurant and be served," she pointed out. "And it's not fast. I had to stand in line for an hour and a half."
A Big Mac costs 3.75 rubles, or a little over two hours' pay for the average Soviet. Restaurants in state hotels charge two to three rubles for a entree, while private Soviet restaurants may demand 10 to 50 rubles.
Already, McDonald's has spawned a Soviet clone. Across town on Taganka Square, the same yellow and red colors spell out "Gamburger Kafe." That is the Russian transliteration of hamburger, because the language has no letter "H."
The small cafe abandons the usual Soviet restaurant gloom in favor of its competitor's idea of allowing sunlight to stream through the windows. The decor is typically Soviet with five clashing patterns of ceramic tile.
McDonald's figured the demand would be overwhelming when it opened Moscow's first taste of the West six months ago. But managers were stunned when the volume hit 30,000 meals a day. Now, it's more than 50,000. The restaurant is the chain's biggest and busiest.
The staff has nearly doubled from 630 to 1,110, said operations supervisor Glenn Steeves from mcDonald's of Canada, which operates the restaurant in a joint venture with the city of Moscow.
900721 SOVIET-MCDON STORY #17198 TOPIC KEYWORD DESK AUTHOR:APA059807/21/90 mansfield JUMP TYPE\ A1 MCDONALDS byline
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by CNB