Eastside deli has become labor of 'Love' for its owner

Ask Sergey Dunayev what he likes to do in his spare time, and he's stumped by the question.

He admits to enjoying reading and the outdoors, mentions an interest in computers, but since he became his own boss, he's had little time for a personal life.

"Last year I took my first day off in three years," says the slim, soft-spoken 35-year-old. "I woke up in the morning and didn't know what to do."

Just being able to take a day off was an achievement akin to climbing Mount Rainier for Dunayev, who always dreamed of owning his own business.

The dream came true four years ago when he bought From Russia With Love, a tiny Bellevue deli and grocery that he has stuffed like a cabbage roll with the foods of Eastern Europe.

Despite the name, which came with the business, the Vladivostok native doesn't just cater to a Russian contingent. "We serve many communities. Our customers might be Ukrainian, Romanian, Bulgarian, Bosnian, Serb, Christian or Jewish," he says.

They come in search of buckwheat groats and rye bread, pickles and cheese, candy and conversation. "People come to tell their stories, to chit-chat as much as to buy," Dunayev says.

Many come for the impressive array of smoked fish and herring. "We sell a lot of herring," he acknowledges, and his customers are as demanding about their fish as others are about their coffee drinks. "They don't just say, 'Give me some herring,' they say, 'I want it raw, with a fat back, not very big, but not too small.' And sometimes I'll joke, 'Do you want one with blue eyes, too?' "

In the kitchen, Tanya Dzhafarova turns out fresh soups and salads, tender blintzes filled with sweetened farmer cheese, and handmade pelmeny and vareniki, meat or cheese-filled dumplings best enjoyed with a generous dollop of wickedly rich Russian sour cream.

Dzhafarova engages customers with her personality as much as her cooking. Born in Azerbaijan on the Caspian Sea, she has until recently been Dunayev's sole employee. "I couldn't do this without her," he says.

Since Dunayev took over, he has made steady improvements. "We carry 1,200 items now, 10 times as many as when I bought the place. We make more things fresh. The improvement is ongoing.

"It took time to build trust. ... If we recommend something, they'll buy it. We also established a good return policy. If anything is unsatisfactory, customers know they can always get a credit. They don't even have to return it. I trust my customers, and they trust me."

Sourcing products proved to be another hurdle for Dunayev. From several years working in the import/export business, he knew a little about food, but had a lot to learn.

"I had help from friends, from the Russian community, from distributors. I had people around me that would support and advise," he says.

For the last two years he's attended the "fancy food" show in San Francisco, a convention of specialty wholesalers, scouting for new products others don't have. "Differentiating ourselves from other stores is important," he said. "We try to have more variety."

Growing up on the Sea of Japan, Dunayev honed a love of seafood. Though he still makes a pilaf recipe he learned from his father, his home life didn't revolve around food. Both parents worked: his father as a policeman and his mother as a high-school principal who taught physics. His older brother became a fisherman, but Dunayev had a facility for languages. In addition to English, which he says every Russian student was taught, he studied Chinese, German and Vietnamese, hoping to be sent abroad. "In the Soviet Union," he explains, "the decision wasn't yours."

At age 21, Dunayev got his wish and went to China. He studied business at Liaoning University in Shenyang and later worked at a trading company. He had lots of free time in those days, and there was no lack of diversion for a single, young man.

During seven years in the country, he visited almost every province, and collected some vivid food memories.

"In China every town has its own cuisine — some exotic, some disgusting," he says with a grin.

Among his favorite recollections: eating deep-fried grasshoppers. "They're crunchy, like chips," he says.

A job brought him to the Seattle area eight years ago, and he decided to stay. "I like the city, I like the people. The climate," he pauses, "is OK."

Reflecting on how he ended up owning a deli, he says, "There's something about food. It makes people happy."

He would like to think expansion is in his future, but he's wary of growing too fast. Recently he took on two part-time employees, and now both he and Dzhafarova get at least a day off a week.

Still, the recent installation of an 8-foot dairy case necessitated another revamping of the floor plan in the crowded, 1,200-square-foot store, where two cafe tables cut like a ravine through the canyon of groceries stacked on stainless steel shelves.

"I joke with my customers," says Dunayev, "that soon I'll be hanging things on ropes from the ceiling."

Providence Cicero: providencecicero@aol.com