Sweet girl

The story of big-eyed Alenka from a chocolate wrapper, who managed to make millions of little Soviet citizens happy.

Sister Alyonushka

The history of Alenka began in February 1964 at the plenum of the CPSU Central Committee, where the development of agriculture was discussed. It was then that a call was made from the rostrum for Soviet confectioners to come up with tasty, but inexpensive chocolate. And definitely milky.

“Moscow confectionery factories took up the task of fulfilling the party order and began to work on the recipe,” says Lyudmila Numerova, director

Museum of the History of Chocolate and Cocoa Factory “Red October”, where “tasty but inexpensive” chocolate was eventually invented. – But the first experiments did not bring the required result: when there was too much milk, the chocolate did not form; when it was not added enough, there was no desired taste. In 1966, when the required ratio of ingredients was found, production of Alenka began.

There is a legend about the name. It is believed that the chocolate bar was named “Alenka” in honor of the daughter of either Tereshkova or Gagarin - both cosmonauts had Lenochka’s girls growing up by that time. At the factory, although they love this legend, they refute it.

There was a general confusion with the name. At first they decided to call the chocolate “Alyonushka” - a girl with that name wandered from one fairy tale to another, and every Soviet child was familiar with her. It was planned to transfer Vasnetsov’s painting of the same name onto the wrapper, but something terrible happened: chocolate with Vasnetsov’s Alyonushka on the label came out earlier at another Moscow factory. At Red October there was a lot of tension - just like Vasnetsov’s Alyonushka, but then it turned out that it was in vain. At the top, when they saw that wrapper, they grabbed their heads: “We have a happy childhood in our country, and the girl is barefoot.” The factory, which was ahead of Red October, was forced to redo the label. At “October” itself they decided not to give up the name, they only slightly adjusted it - it became “Alenka” instead of “Alyonushka”.

Alenka winter and Alenka summer



We’ve decided on the name, but what should the wrapper of the people’s chocolate be like? In 1965, a competition for the best girl photo was announced in “Evening Moscow”. From the photographs that came to the competition, the image of chocolate Alenka was invented. By the way, she was not always a big-eyed girl in a headscarf. The artists twisted the label this way and that: there was Alenka with “proletarian” carnations, Alenka the Snow Maiden. Then they braided her hair and sent her for a walk through the streets of Moscow. Depending on the time of year, she was dressed in a coat, jacket or dress. In 1999, the girl was given a friend, Kuzya. But the freckled boy somehow did not please the sweet tooth. In general, only Alenka in a headscarf turned out to be tenacious.

“Different artists worked on this picture, and each made some changes,” says Galina Boldina, who over 48 years of work at the factory has worked her way from the retail shop to the office of the deputy president. “Buyers didn’t notice, but the wrapper changed over the years: the background became paler, then brighter, even Alenka’s cheeks became rosy.

For a long time, poetry was printed on the wrapper, which was invented by the Soviet schoolgirl Sasha Egorova:

“Meet Alenka
Every one of the kids is happy.
Buy, buy,
buy chocolate."

In my Soviet childhood, I also had rare dates with this girl. In stores in the Siberian village, Alenka was sold out instantly, also because of its beautiful wrapper. Any other tile looked pale and tasteless in comparison. My mother would turn this chocolate into crumbs and decorate cakes with them. And on New Year’s Day, “Alenka” became the queen of the gift bag. It was eaten right there, near the Christmas tree.

Cupcake gallop

It seems that secretaries ate Alenka more than others in Soviet times - this chocolate was a decoration not only for children's gifts, but also for adult presents. In 2002, the Hermitage hosted the exhibition “Oh, Petersburg! What a life, really!”, dedicated to Gogol’s “The Inspector General”. They put on public display not only photos from performances, clothes, but also “greyhound puppies” - a shortage that was used for bribes. Among black caviar, Czech crystal and Brazilian coffee, Alenka was on display in the window.

Buyers worried about the girl in the headscarf as if they were their own. When the main Red October brand store on Povarskaya Street in Moscow closed for renovations in the early 2000s, the phone at the factory rang hot: “Where did Alenka go?” Few people were interested in the fate of the store itself. “Alenka” has not gone anywhere; every day at “Red October” they produce 185 thousand tiles!

Every day, butter is slowly melted in huge containers, mixed with milk and cocoa and squeezed out of funnels onto a conveyor belt. Machines divide each tile into the same tiles that we then happily break off. The chocolate then ends up in the refrigerator, where it cools instantly. It seems as if gnomes are working behind the massive door: the incessant knocking is hammers beating frozen chocolate from metal molds.

It’s a pity that now there is no such tradition as there was under Ferdinand Theodor Einem, who founded the factory - the predecessor of Red October. At his request, composer Karl Feldman composed musical works for all products produced at the factory. Sheets with notes were placed in the package, and a musically educated buyer could play “Waltz Montpensier,” “Cake Gallop,” or “Cocoa Dance” at home. I would also like to play music after buying “Alenka”. It seems that the melody of this milk chocolate should have been a lullaby, because both come from childhood.