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fabrisseMany of you know the "it looks just like Minnesota" story. You can skip the next paragraph or two and get to the food, if you like.
When my sister graduated high school, we went on a month long InterRail trip. This is like Eurrail, but cheaper, and, at the time, involving more potential countries. Somewhere along the line, my mother volunteered me (and Sis to a lesser extent) to accompany the daughters of one of my former teachers. They wanted to go to Norway, Sis wanted to go to Sweden, and I wanted to go to Greece. It was agreed that Sis and I would accompany them from Brussels to Oslo. Then we were to go with them to Voss, Bergen, and Trondheim before hanging a right and hitting Stockholm without them. Essentially we were due to be with them for ten days of their fourteen day trip -- about a third of our thirty day trip.
We knew we were in trouble on the night train to Copenhagen. They had each packed one extra pair of jeans, a rain poncho, and seven t-shirts. It never occurred to them to pack a dress or skirt, a sweater, or even a nice pair of pants. Most restaurants, other than tourist traps, would be out of the question.
Worse, when we got to Oslo, they wanted hotdogs. It was late; we'd been traveling, and the hotdog stand was right there. Sis and I said fine.
They wanted hotdogs for every meal. They complained about breakfast -- free with our rooms at the hostels -- because the white bread tasted funny. It was sourdough. They wouldn't try any of the brown or black breads. They wouldn't even try the jams because they weren't grape or strawberry.
Also, every street, fjord, and beach looked "just like Minnesota." Trust me when I say, the stories of the time spent with these two could fill several posts. And you'd think I was making them up.
Sis and I lasted a week. We've never seen Trondheim. My sister wanted more than anything else in the world to see Stockholm, and to this day still hasn't been there because getting away from those two and their dull eating habits became such a priority.
We couldn't get to Stockholm easily, but we could take a night train to Copenhagen. We elected to spend the day at Tivoli and take a night train to Salzburg.
After spending a day going on rides and just generally having fun at Tivoli, Sis and I changed in to dresses -- something Sis usually didn't do willingly, and sat down to dinner at Divan 2. It would have been nice to afford a three star Michelin restaurant, but Divan 2 had (still has, I believe) traditional smorrebrod. We wanted regional food. We wanted vegetables. We wanted to eat something other than a fucking hotdog.
They had asparagus soup on special that night, and we started with a cup of it. I'd expected a cream soup, but this just tasted of fresh young asparagus with a hint of dill and a dollop of creme fraiche (or possibly yogurt) on it. Sis licked every drop off her spoon and only the fact that we were well brought up young ladies kept us from licking the bowls clean.
My sister was beginning to show signs of the anemia that plagues her from time to time. Her choice was a roast beef smorrebrod. I chose salmon.
What Sis got was a slice of home baked white bread with a microscopically thin layer of fresh butter. It was then piled high with thin slices of rare roast beef. The waiter had asked Sis whether she preferred rare or well done and the meat was perfect. Sis was handed a grater and a horseradish. She was told if she grated from the edges, it would be mild and from the center would be hot.
My smorrebrod had a light wheat bread with a similarly thin smear of butter on it. The poached salmon was firm fleshed, cool but not cold. There were fresh mushrooms and even fresher mayonnaise garnishing the top. To one side, was a small dish filled with fresh chopped dill.
I can say without hesitation this was the best meal I've ever had.
There have been more expensive meals, meals with more elaborate preparations, meals with unusual flavors. But nothing compares to the tang of fresh asparagus soup and perfectly cooked salmon with fresh dill after a week of hotdogs.
When my sister graduated high school, we went on a month long InterRail trip. This is like Eurrail, but cheaper, and, at the time, involving more potential countries. Somewhere along the line, my mother volunteered me (and Sis to a lesser extent) to accompany the daughters of one of my former teachers. They wanted to go to Norway, Sis wanted to go to Sweden, and I wanted to go to Greece. It was agreed that Sis and I would accompany them from Brussels to Oslo. Then we were to go with them to Voss, Bergen, and Trondheim before hanging a right and hitting Stockholm without them. Essentially we were due to be with them for ten days of their fourteen day trip -- about a third of our thirty day trip.
We knew we were in trouble on the night train to Copenhagen. They had each packed one extra pair of jeans, a rain poncho, and seven t-shirts. It never occurred to them to pack a dress or skirt, a sweater, or even a nice pair of pants. Most restaurants, other than tourist traps, would be out of the question.
Worse, when we got to Oslo, they wanted hotdogs. It was late; we'd been traveling, and the hotdog stand was right there. Sis and I said fine.
They wanted hotdogs for every meal. They complained about breakfast -- free with our rooms at the hostels -- because the white bread tasted funny. It was sourdough. They wouldn't try any of the brown or black breads. They wouldn't even try the jams because they weren't grape or strawberry.
Also, every street, fjord, and beach looked "just like Minnesota." Trust me when I say, the stories of the time spent with these two could fill several posts. And you'd think I was making them up.
Sis and I lasted a week. We've never seen Trondheim. My sister wanted more than anything else in the world to see Stockholm, and to this day still hasn't been there because getting away from those two and their dull eating habits became such a priority.
We couldn't get to Stockholm easily, but we could take a night train to Copenhagen. We elected to spend the day at Tivoli and take a night train to Salzburg.
After spending a day going on rides and just generally having fun at Tivoli, Sis and I changed in to dresses -- something Sis usually didn't do willingly, and sat down to dinner at Divan 2. It would have been nice to afford a three star Michelin restaurant, but Divan 2 had (still has, I believe) traditional smorrebrod. We wanted regional food. We wanted vegetables. We wanted to eat something other than a fucking hotdog.
They had asparagus soup on special that night, and we started with a cup of it. I'd expected a cream soup, but this just tasted of fresh young asparagus with a hint of dill and a dollop of creme fraiche (or possibly yogurt) on it. Sis licked every drop off her spoon and only the fact that we were well brought up young ladies kept us from licking the bowls clean.
My sister was beginning to show signs of the anemia that plagues her from time to time. Her choice was a roast beef smorrebrod. I chose salmon.
What Sis got was a slice of home baked white bread with a microscopically thin layer of fresh butter. It was then piled high with thin slices of rare roast beef. The waiter had asked Sis whether she preferred rare or well done and the meat was perfect. Sis was handed a grater and a horseradish. She was told if she grated from the edges, it would be mild and from the center would be hot.
My smorrebrod had a light wheat bread with a similarly thin smear of butter on it. The poached salmon was firm fleshed, cool but not cold. There were fresh mushrooms and even fresher mayonnaise garnishing the top. To one side, was a small dish filled with fresh chopped dill.
I can say without hesitation this was the best meal I've ever had.
There have been more expensive meals, meals with more elaborate preparations, meals with unusual flavors. But nothing compares to the tang of fresh asparagus soup and perfectly cooked salmon with fresh dill after a week of hotdogs.
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no subject
Date: 2008-06-06 06:22 pm (UTC)Trust me, if you and I travelled together, you would NEVER touch a hotdog at my request. Even as a kid, I couldn't stand hotdogs. Besides, what's the point of travelling if you never try anything new?
I'd heard the story before, but I still shuddered reading it again.
no subject
Date: 2008-06-07 04:11 pm (UTC)Yes, in the circumstances, I think you might have fallen on that asparagus soup like manna from heaven. It was a vegetable! Green food to go in the body! Sis and I managed a few things without them, but it was tough.