Kitchen Spanking

Kitchen Spanking

The Most Expensive Galician Restaurant. Let's not talk about the 600 pound car in the room

Every resident there is a recovering addict, and they make truly divine food

The classics, and where to find the best

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In Lviv, one of Ukraine’s most beautiful cities, theme restaurants are a thing. And you will be spanked
Lviv, I was pleasantly surprised to find, is not what one expects . Conversations about Ukraine tend to orbit around words like “bleak”, images of blank brutalist buildings against grey skies, and enormous concrete monuments. I confess, I too was hoodwinked into thinking a whole country could be just those three things.
Lviv, the largest city in western Ukraine, struck me as almost…well, ‘whimsical’ is really the best word to describe it. Soaring above the streets were enormous domed towers, hidden ornate archways led to tiny courtyards which showcased murals, that towered above me on the tall apartment building walls. Late at night buskers played guitar in the town square, their melodies overlapping harmoniously. Streets were lined with little candy shops, tiny espresso bars, and the occasional overwhelmingly enormous cathedral. It’s no surprise that Lviv is a Unesco-listed city, and that most of its buildings are protected as historical landmarks.
During my three days in Lviv , I somehow found myself in upwards of seven different theme-restaurants — just one more unpredictable thread in the tapestry of surprises Lviv holds. Like many people I know, this is six hundred percent more theme restaurants than I’ve ever been to.
Each time I entered one of these restaurants, I found myself thinking This cannot possibly be real . But, of course, it was very real. And so, I present to you, dear reader, five restaurants that you’d have to believe cannot possibly exist — and one that actually doesn’t.
Inside Lviv Coffee Mining Manufacture
What coffee in Hell must look like, and what it looks like at Lviv Coffee Mining Manufacture
The Lviv Coffee Mining Manufacture is based on a Ukranian lore that quite frankly I cannot remember — what I do remember, however, is being asked to wear a hard hat, being led down steep, dark stairs, and being told I was getting “the special coffee”. “The special coffee” it turned out, was a cappuccino topped with sugar and bruléed with a large flame thrower on the table in front of us.
In the low-ceilinged darkness, and through spurts of flames I saw the small tables occupied mostly by couples, heads close together, tucking into their pastries and coffee. Not somewhere I’d expect for a date, but I suppose that’s part of the draw.
Was I worried about singing my eyebrows? Yes. Was the coffee good… yes.
The Most Expensive Galician Restaurant
At The Most Expensive Galician Restaurant I was immediately presented with questions. Exactly how expensive is this Galician restaurant, and why? Why is the bathroom decorated with piles of American dollars behind plexiglass? What is Galician food, again?
Dining al fresco at The Most Expensive Galician Restaurant! Patrons being being served through the window
This restaurant is entered through the apartment of an old man who will ask you to recite him some poetry — Longfellow, Keats, whatever you can remember off the top of your head, he’s not picky.
When you stare at him blankly while your brain sparks and short circuits, he’ll take pity on you and show you to a door that leads to the restaurant. Diners are granted a special discount from the printed menu prices, which, at full price, would indeed amount to the most expensive Galician restaurant. In the world? This author was too dumbstruck to do the research, but we’ll take their word for it.
The First Lviv Grill Restaurant of Meat and Justice
Dinner is served. And so is justice! (Don’t give this place a bad review on Yelp…)
“First” implies the possibility, or actuality, of a second, and that is disconcerting. Because medieval torture is not a theme one expects in a dining experience, or in any experience for that matter, but that’s just what I found one frosty night in Lviv.
Even on a Wednesday night, tables were packed. Diners seemed to enjoy examining the torture equipment that lined the walls, and everyone came with an apetite judging by the pounds of ribeyes and piles of sausage that were making their way to tables.
Before you can even ask – yes! There was an executioner that stops by tables! Yes! He does lock you in a cage! Yes! They do cut enormous rounds of sausage with a slightly miniaturized guillotine! And, no, they wouldn’t actually execute me, no matter how politely I asked.
The Masoch Cafe — looks normal, right? This is where they spank you
Is spanking a theme? Many people would say no, and until I entered Masoch Café I counted myself as one of them. This restaurant is inspired by the well known author of “romance novels” (read: 19th century literotica) named Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, and it is not , I was assured, a strip club.
Everyone who enters gets at least a light spanking. Dignitaries, ambassadors, the terminally ill — no one is above getting a gentle tap on the cheeks. Masoch Cafe is popular, even amongst the locals, and it seemed lively inside every time I passed by. Typical pub fare is offered, and the cocktails are strong and good, but it’s the spanking that really keep ‘em coming back for more.
I was dubious of the demand there might be for a softcore BDSM restaurant, but imagine my delight when I learned that the cafe had been successful enough to spawn a hotel of the same theme.
Pretty High Kitchen doesn’t adhere to a theme per se, but it’s certainly not a traditional eatery either. I suppose the theme of the restaurant could be called bespoke, because this was certainly the most customized dining experience I’ve ever had.
Upon sitting down and ordering a cocktail, a gruff Ukranian server arrived. “What do you want?” he asked our table abruptly. We looked at each other, collectively floundering at his question as we hadn’t been given a menu. At our confused looks he explained to us that there were no menus. “We have everything. You tell us what you like.” We mentioned flavors, cuisines, and ingredients we loved while our enormous server scribbled on a pad with a furrowed brow.
Pretty High Kitchen goes through this process with every table. No set menu, but we could see a flurry of activity in the open kitchen, and what followed was a parade of borscht, varenyky, Ukranian soups, stews, and vegetables. We’d asked for traditional Ukranian dishes, and they were all delicious — hearty and warm, but what they were precisely, I couldn’t possibly say.
This is where the dollar’s going anyway, at this rate… The toilet at The Most Expensive Galician Restaurant
Just when I thought I couldn’t be shocked they told me we’d be going to Chernobyl Cafe — a restaurant themed after Ukraine’s 1980’s nuclear disaster, the site of which has now become one of their most popular tourist destinations. Control panels on the walls, sirens wailing every few minutes, and — Oh God, I can’t do this. This is the fake restaurant, ok? This doesn’t exist, but can you imagine?
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I was born and brought up in the south of Germany during the 70s in a middle class family, where the husbands worked hard and the women raised their children.
Until I was seven years old, spanking was no more than a threat by my mother, with warnings such as: “I know what you need – a sound spanking on your bare bottom” or “Another word from you, and you will get a very sore behind!”
In some situations, the threat increased: my mother went to the kitchen drawer, took out the wooden spoon and placed it on the kitchen table. Just the presence of that spoon was, for a while, enough to make me behave again.
The wooden spoon was mom’s favourite implement for spankings – I think it was because most of her day was spent in the kitchen, so she had a quick access ‘in an emergency’ to a very handy and very effective instrument. I had had some swats on my rear end with her hand before this, but I wouldn’t call it a spanking, even if it was always on the bare.
The first time I received a real spanking when I was seven. I was back from school, resting in the kitchen with my mother. She was preparing dinner for the family and asked some questions concerning the school day. What she got were very naughty answers.
We got into a dispute, I began to shout and the next moment she had grabbed me by the arm, unzipped my pants and pulled down my underpants.
I remember her words: “That’s enough – you will soon have a very sore, crimson bottom and we’ll keep doing this until you behave!”
With that, I was put on the kitchen bench. I heard her feet marching to the cupboard, and I remember the noise as she searched for the wooden spoon in a drawer. Again, the sound of slippers on the floor.
“I will show you!” I cried, begged and sobbed as she spanked me, all to no avail – she applied the wooden spoon furiously on my bare buttocks, and the sound of loud smacks filled the air.
I had never felt such a pain as those 20 strokes. When she stopped, I turned around and saw a deep red behind, in some locations already becoming blue and welted. I cried like hell. My mother warned me: “You stay here on the bench with your pants and panties down, and you don’t move or rub your rear end.”
With that, she took the wooden spoon off the kitchen table next to me and I heard her as she continued preparing the family dinner, me crying, sobbing and silently cursing – although not silently enough, because mom returned to me, grabbed the wooden spoon and applied it five more times to my sore buttocks. I think I had to stay on the bench for about an hour.
Later she put my sore bottom in the bathtub, carried me to bed and gave me a warm and lovely hug. With that, she turned off the light and marched out.
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Maman is an adult website containing recollections of corporal punishment experienced during the contributors' childhoods. By proceeding, you are asserting that you are over the age of majority for the country in which you reside, and you further agree to the use of cookies on this website. Note that although this website contains only legal content, Maman is nevertheless a fetish site and should be considered Not Safe For Work (NSFW). Maman does not advocate corporal punishment for today's children. If you are a minor or likely to be upset by the subject matter, please do not proceed any further.

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I grew up in the 1980s and 1990s, and while spanking was, I think, still in common practice in my neighborhood, it had already gotten a certain stigma attached to it, mainly from well-intentioned liberals who could not differentiate between abuse and discipline that came from a loving place. My folks were, and are, progressive liberals with strong social consciences, but they also are very old-fashioned in their beliefs on raising kids.
All of us, I am the oldest of four, with a younger sister and two younger brothers, were spanked into our mid-teens. To be clear, our parents were heavily involved in our lives and provided, sometimes at great sacrifice from them, all that we could ask, both materially and emotionally. We were always cared for and knew that we were loved. Equally, they were clear on expectations and consequences, and there was no ambiguity or inconsistency in either.
As I said, the stigma attached to parental spanking meant that it was not discussed in the open and never outside the family. I often felt like I was the only teen in the world who was still getting her bare bottom spanked, and that often felt very lonely and isolating. It was comforting, at least, that I had a set of cousins, the children of my mom’s sister, who also grew up in a spanking household and whose parents shared the same views on it as my parents did.

There were six kids in that house: My cousin, Judith, known as Judi, was a couple months older than me. We were, and are, extremely close and often shared our experiences and feelings on being spanked and were frequent consolers, each of the other. I got my last spanking at 16 1/2, but Judi was still getting them as a high school senior. Judi is actually my uncle’s niece. My aunt and uncle took her in when she was 8 or 9 and formally adopted her when she was 10 (long story). She grew up in that house and thinks of my aunt and uncle as her parents. The oldest of my aunt and uncle’s biological kids are twins, Jackson and Jordan, two years younger than Judi, followed closely by Julia, a year younger, and Jason, a year younger than Julia. My aunt and uncle later added another boy, Jeremiah, who is about 5 years younger than Jason.
Like my mom, my aunt was a first-response spanker. Though she tended to let more things slide than my mom did, probably because of the sheer number of kids there, spankings were not rare there, and, unlike my house, were always done in the open in front of whatever family happened to be there. With the exception of the youngest boy, I’d seen each of my cousins on the receiving end at least once, bent over getting the paddle applied to their bare bottoms. My aunt also believed in ‘while you are a guest here, I expect you to follow the rules’ and I had found myself in that bent-over position a handful of times when I stayed there over the years.
When this recollection took place, I was 18, already married, and living with my husband in a studio apartment over my in-laws’ garage. My mom called me on a Friday and asked if I wanted to spend the weekend at her house. My husband was in the Reserves and was away on some training exercise. At first, I thought she wanted to offer me some company so I wouldn’t be all by myself, and while that may have been in true in part, I came to find out she was watching three of my cousins that weekend, in
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