海角大神

They called it 鈥渇ive minutes in the West鈥� 鈥� a meal at McDonald鈥檚. In 1990, that dream became a reality for countless Russians, when the nation鈥檚 first McDonald鈥檚 opened in Moscow鈥檚 Pushkin Square. The line snaked for blocks, and by the end of Day One, 30,000 people had been served.

I was the Monitor鈥檚 Moscow correspondent then, and still have my souvenir sweatshirt featuring the golden arches juxtaposed against the onion domes of St. Basil鈥檚 Cathedral. And what a day it was: Musicians and actors performed. Speeches were delivered. Once inside, customers shoved their way to one of 27 cash registers 鈥� all for the privilege of overspending on a 鈥淏eeg Mek.鈥� .

Perhaps most remarkable were the legions of cheerful young Russian employees taking orders and wishing everyone a nice day 鈥� a far cry from the usual surly Soviet 鈥渃ustomer service.鈥�

The food itself was a hit, tastier than the U.S. version, it seemed. Russians said, of course their McDonald鈥檚 was better, because their ingredients were locally sourced and not 鈥渇ull of chemicals鈥� 鈥� the party line on American food.

But that day wasn鈥檛 even about the food. It was about being part of the wider world, about the lowering of the Iron Curtain that would soon disappear.

McDonald鈥檚 has now suspended operations in Russia 鈥� shuttering 847 restaurants 鈥� as have many other Western companies, in protest of Russia鈥檚 brutal invasion of Ukraine.

Will this form of sanction make a difference? Some observers are hopeful.

鈥淢illions of Russians have very personal memories about that first McDonald鈥檚, and the others that opened later,鈥� says an American friend who lived there in the 1990s. 鈥淭he symbolism of this closure is resonating deep in Russian society. The closing will have more of an impact than the opening, just watch.鈥�