Hi, it’s still Navalny! Only now I’m writing not from the “Kremlin Central,” but from Pre-Trial Detention Center No. 3, “Kolchugino,” in the Vladimir region. When a prisoner being transferred is told, “Vladimir region,” it usually makes him gloomy—that’s the reputation the local facilities have. But I’m doing fine; there’s even a pull-up bar in the exercise yard here. I’m not receiving letters yet, and I know even less about what’s happening in the outside world than I did when I was in Moscow. I haven’t managed to get to the library yet either, so my only entertainment is experimenting in the realm of haute cuisine, helped along by the fact that food from the prison commissary is also unavailable for now. Believe it or not, we’re making croutons, and I never thought it could be so fascinating. Right now we have a contest between two schools of cooking: street food and molecular gastronomy. Representing the street-food school is Dmitry (Article 158, “Theft”). He insists that the bread should be cut into rectangles, put into a plastic bag, then two seasoning packets from Rolton instant noodles should be poured in (his supply, brought along during the prison transfer), after which the bag must be shaken thoroughly and placed on the radiator. Molecular cuisine, meanwhile, is represented by Sergei (Article 159, “Fraud”), who cuts the bread into perfect cubes and places a few grains of seasoning on each one by hand. Only then come the bag and the radiator. The same Sergei insists that perfect croutons can be made only if you cut them to the soundtrack of TV shows explaining that I am a powerful agent of the West. He finds this delightful, and as he dices the bread into cubes, he says: “If someone had told me a year ago that I’d be drying croutons with Navalny...” I hope you’re all doing well and not getting bored. Don’t forget about healthy eating 😉