Opening the musical “Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812” on Broadway this fall involves several challenges for its creative team. Among them are: bringing in banquettes and dining tables to the Imperial Theatre; restaging an intimate musical in a much larger house; and incorporating singer Josh Groban into the company.
But there is also the issue of pierogies.
The show, loosely based on Tolstoy’s “War and Peace,” originated when creator Dave Malloy was visiting Moscow on a sound designer grant. Though he was writing a different show at the time, he found himself at a place called Café Margarita, a pub that had a string orchestra of musicians spread out around the room, dumplings and vodka on every table, and shakers with which to play music, too.
“It was just the most perfect night,” he said. “Comet” was only a glimmer in his eye then, “but I knew this is how it should be done,” Mr. Malloy explained, “where the audience is part of the evening.”
When the show opened at Ars Nova in 2012, the space was transformed into a kind of modern Russian supper club, complete with free-flowing vodka and pierogies. The show proved popular enough that it transferred to a tent in the Meatpacking District in May 2013, then to another in Midtown later that year, before being remounted, in 2015, in a proscenium theater at the American Repertory Theater in Cambridge, Mass.
It is that production, with Mr. Groban added, that will be performed on Broadway.
“Every time we’ve moved the show, there have been pierogies,” saidRachel Chavkin, the director. Food was given to welcome guests to the experience, as “an opening gesture,” she said. “It’s literally a breaking bread.”
“It’s hearty, comfort food and it makes you feel at home,” said Mr. Malloy.
The pierogies at Ars Nova came frozen, from Costco, Ms. Chavkin recalled.
“And I love a Costco pierogi,” she added.
“They were fine,” said Mr. Malloy, “but nothing like the thing I had at Café Margarita in Moscow.”
Guests at the tented productions sat at tables and were served even more food than just pierogies, which sometimes came with onions.
“They were wet,” Ms. Chavkin said, “but at the tent there were lots of napkins.”
At ART, the pierogies came from a local restaurant.
“They were good, and they were filling,” said Mr. Malloy.
“But they were also a little slimy,” said Ms. Chavkin. “There was an oil that was delicious that made for a messy experience.”
But there were also questions that arose at ART. Among them, did everyone, in fact, need a pierogi for the act of serving them to be successful? Did everyone even want a pierogi?
“We worked very hard so that everyone had access to a dumpling,” said Ms. Chavkin. But the last people receiving them were often getting their pierogies lukewarm or even cold.
Which brings us to the issue at hand: how to feed the thousand-plus audience members on West 45th Street at the Imperial? The job of solving the pierogi conundrum has fallen to Howard Kagan, a lead producer of the show.
The other day, Ms. Chavkin and Messrs. Malloy and Kagan gathered at the Russian Samovar on West 52nd Street to discuss the issue and have a casual taste test of some options.
The first kind that was brought out was a pastry of sorts, with spinach. The consensus was they tasted good, but “ladies hate when spinach gets in their teeth,” said Mr. Kagan, so they were factored out. A meat option was also denied because a lot of people are vegetarians. The thought was a knife and fork should not be necessary.
But Mr. Kagan had planned ahead. He had asked the kitchen to prepare a potato pastry called “piroshki,” which Mr. Malloy and Ms. Chavkin proceeded to eat with relish.
“They’re beautiful,” said Ms. Chavkin as she looked at the plate.
“It’s like a Russian Hot Pocket,” said Mr. Malloy, as he took another one.
Mr. Kagan said he wanted the piroshkis to be a little smaller, but the plan was for the Samovar to deliver an order for each performance—about one per three audience members. The pastries would come to the prop crew in warming envelopes or miniature boxes not long before showtime. They would then be given to the actors, who would then burst through the show’s red curtains to start the show and ask: “Who wants a piroshki?”
The individualized boxes were important, he said, “because they can be eaten then or they can be eaten later if they want to.”
And this way, Mr. Kagan explained, “the room will not be filled with the smell of pierogies.”