The Taste of Dreams: an obsession with Russia and caviar by Vanora Bennett

Russia's obsession with the price of eggs

Written by a former Moscow correspondent, this book suggests that the Russian appetite for sturgeon eggs is a significant element in the national character. It is a trait known as azart, "an extreme form of acute compulsion" that means "taking risks, and not giving a damn about anyone or anything as long as you get what you want". Caviar, according to Vanora Bennett, is "edible azart"; she got her first taste aged 18, when a Moscow waiter give her five jars as a generous, if fruitless, token of love.

Despite the title's promise, caviar is only a recurring theme in this bitty, though always readable book. We learn that sturgeon were once found in the Thames and other major rivers, but are now pretty much restricted to the Caspian Sea. Along with pollution, the fashion for caviar in the "cruel new Russia" has contributed to its precipitous decline.

Just as we are being hooked by the topic, Bennett switches tack. Her account becomes one of those rackety, action-packed memoirs correspondents feel obliged to produce on returning to dull old Blighty. She offers interesting insights into Russian life - complaining, for example, about the paucity of swearwords - and emerges as tough-tender, intelligent, spirited and egotistical.

Her major adventure was a coup in Azerbaijan, though the only real danger was from an amorous carpet salesman in Baku. Despite its seaside location, this city does not sound the ideal holiday spot: "The Caspian glitters magically with oil... Before they were Muslims, the Azerbaijanis who live along this stretch of the coast were fire-worshippers." Bennett writes well, sometimes wonderfully, though she is inclined to glibness.

An event in the Azerbaijani city of Kaspiisk brings the book back to caviar. When customs started hassling smugglers, the mafia responded by blowing up a customs accommodation block in 1996: 54 killed, including 18 children. Visiting soon afterwards, Bennett bought half a kilo of caviar at the bargain price of $50, but threw it away in disgust.

Two pages later, back with a desk job, these moral qualms have faded. She plans to spend her next birthday sharing a pot of caviar between "my mother, my husband, my little boys and myself, and dreaming dangerous dreams". Aside from feeling queasy at the self-satisfied cosiness of this vision, you can't help wishing Bennett would make her mind up whether she likes caviar or not. You occasionally glimpse the more substantial work that might have been: a glowing account of the Slavic world and the mysterious Caspian, illuminated by those priceless fish eggs.