Before & After

Whenever I have a couple of days off I take to flipping through outdated newspapers and magazines. I find it unfair to not consume the editions that I selected myself in the first place: unfair to authors and unfair towards the money spent on them. Doing so, I usually notice some things I missed before, or see them with a fresh pair of eyes.

You know, how there are places around the world that everyone longs to go to? Venice, New York, Paris, Rome, Cairo, Sydney to just name a few. The places that have grown for centuries and developed a certain type of attraction, a vibe in a modern language, but managed to keep and maintain the connection with their history, residents, visitors. Places where locals tend to be annoyed by hordes of tourists.

I come from a mid-sized Mittel Europa town and have never really understood the anti-tourist lament. I never believed it existed, actually. Mostly, I thought it more of a PR move. Until I started on purpose to try to sense my vacation destinations as if I lived there. It’s a whole new attitude, people. I recommend it highly. Not only does it make the travelling and staying in a foreign place more humble and modest (and therefore the richer in experience), perception of your hometown changes: you evaluate the pros and cons more self-confidently and you gain the understanding of that before mentioned lament. That not only exists but is true and by all means completely (mostly) justified.

As travellers the humans act as conquerors. As if the fact that we can afford to travel gives us the right to expect that everything must be done to serve us. I used to despise the fact that on a Sunday every shop in Vienna is closed. I thought them downright crazy to leave the thousands of strollers on died-out shopping arteries unattended. Recently, I started to appreciate that fact. Let them have their way, its on them to have it their way. It is I who should adapt.

So, when I spotted this:

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Paul Signac Maisons du Port, Saint Tropez, 1892; taken from Sotheby’s ad in FT Weekend 30 April/1 May 2016

I reached for my phone to find this:

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My iPhone shot of the place on 2 October 2011

What do you think? Did this place survive and earn the notorious reputation because of the tourists or in spite of them? What changed significantly is the density, quality and value of the moored fleet. The old town hasn’t changed that much, has it? I bet the locals lament over stupid tourists all the time.

The Simplest Tastes

We knew what lay ahead so we actually planned that meal the day before. We had bought the ingredients and before we went to bed I fixed the marinade and he prepared the meat. We had bought the already boned chicken thighs so only the skins had got to be removed. No hard work. The marinade ingredients were mixed together before everything was put into a glass container with a tight lid and stored in the refrigerator.

So, the following afternoon, after the whole day of fixing, tidying, clearing and cleaning, both indoors and outdoors, he made the fire and manned the grill while I prepared the crisp spring green salad to go with the meat. We were lucky to get our hands on Gernika peppers, so they were grilled alongside the meat.

I’m happy to report that in true David Lebovitz spirit we didn’t fuss about the authenticity of the recipe. Genuinely Korean or not, this dish was fantastic. Tasty, spicy, tender. I omitted the sesame seeds for the simple reason I stock none and added a tablespoon of concentrated tomato paste to the marinade. To me, to us, it was the perfect inaugural adventure in Korean food.

Chicken bulgogi, ladies and gentlemen:

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And the green accompaniments:

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The day was rounded off with an easy and delightful walk by the beach. Everything around us turned pink and seemed to glow in warmth although it was quite chilly.

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Man, the sun setting was a pure joy to watch.

For the recipe please go to Chicken Bulgogi by David Lebovitz. His photos and descriptions are marvelous.

The Spring Delights

It’s odd how we all wait rather impatiently for springtime year in, year out although, when it finally arrives, it’s not as pleasant a time as it seems when we’re knee deep in bleakness and greyness and darkness of autumn and winter that seem to last forever.

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First, you’re hit by summer time. Over night, you’re left bereft of one whole hour of sleep.

Then, there’s the spring fever that translates into unexpected loss of energy. Everything around you bursts to life again, revived and all, whereas you couldn’t feel more oxymoronic about it.

And, if you’re lucky, there’s more: a seasonal allergy. (I refuse to refer to it as hay fever: it’s months to the stage of hay.) It’s been a real pain in the arse – for the lack of a more illustrative word, and it’s been my first one, too, so I can’t really imagine how other people cope with it for a lifetime. There’s no other way, I know, but to endure.

In spite of all that, I force myself to go running. Thankfully, I’m grown up enough to appreciate the fact that once I’m out there it’s all good, it’s just the initial push that makes it so hard.

I drag my legs behind me as if they were made of stone. I’m as slow as a snail but I do carry on with it. Kilometre after kilometre. As much as I’m looking forward to finish it off, truth be told, it’s not only torturous. I tend to look out for nice things along the way too. I’m in utter awe, for example, at Mrs Nature’s and her daughter Miss Flora’s capabilities to provide wonders day by day.

I stop to smell this beauty. Pure essence of spring. Makes me feel a tad bit more energetic.

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When I return home I make myself a nice nourishing bowl of yoghurt to replenish. It is not only good for me, my body, it’s a delight for the eye as well.

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This little meal is all I need after a run and it’s easy to prepare. Basically, I add a couple of spoonfuls of yoghurt to a couple of spoonfuls of ricotta and top it up with a spoonful of homemade preserved cranberries. I always have a jar of preserved wild cranberries at hand. I simply love them. I guess it’s a combination of sweet and sour and a hint of tart that makes the preserve special. Apart from the fact that I make it myself. I buy them fresh in late summer when they’re available at our local market. Some are cooked to a preserve immediately, some are frozen and used up throughout the winter and spring when needed.

Depending on the mood (and the amount of hunger) I might add some rolled oats and/or linseed. Since I’m crazy about lemons right now  I add a couple of strings of lemon zest. More colour and more aroma. Yum.

After this I just might feel more in favour of spring.

Vienna Calling

There are many good reasons why visit Vienna. These two were a big draw for us this spring:

Two posters announcing great exhibitions in Albertina Gallery in Vienna

The grand imperial city, poetically located in a draught position between the East and the West, saluted us with grey skies and clear, cool air washed by spring rain that we, as it seemed, have just luckily avoided. Not that we cared, really, we came to have a good time. And were served accordingly.

Doors leading to Palmenhaus in Vienna

I dare you to open the door.

It was on one of our walks that I detected my first peonies this year, not really altogether there yet but showing great potential.

View of Burggarten in Vienna: first peonies in bloom

Our every trip gets latticed by food and Vienna has some lovely offerings, I can tell you that:

Delicious meal of tafelspitz in restaurant Plachutta in Vienna, Austria

I start craving the Tafelspitz as soon as we set the date for a Vienna trip. There’s something homely about it but very Austrian indeed: freshly made from local produce, very filling but definitely unskippable. I’d like my horseradish sauce more piquant but I don’t complain at all. I down four servings of delicious broth before you can say Jack Robinson. Then, the rest of the meal.

You’d have to be downright crazy to miss the wonderful Esterhazy cake or Milchrahmstrudel at Demel’s afterwards.

Cakes and coffee at Demel, Vienna

The quintessential coffee served the old-fashioned way (and the only proper way for that matter) at Meinl’s am Graben will spruce you up again.

Coffee break at Meinl am Graben in Vienna

Back to business, both exhibitions are just wonderful. Each of them gave me a light headache, in a good sense. The Russians’ works of art are clearly beautiful and powerful, the German’s clearly huge and impressive. The stories the art tells are universal: the past lurks from behind the present however much we try to pretend to ignore it, influences it heavily, always using the language of art as a vehicle to prod in our faces, and our intellect, to stimulate our brain and cast the light on the path we’re treading now. We’ve been here before, the humankind, we should know better.

 

Wonderful painted ceiling at Museumsquartier, Vienna

Since Vienna has always been artistically and culturally savvy there are many choices. It’s down to your tastes and wallet condition (highly acclaimed classical musicians and artist, that are the essence of Vienna, come at a price) and how far in advance you start to plan (Staatsoper and Musikverein events sell our quite fast). Anyway, there are always very good exhibitions, national (Klimt anyone? Schiele? Kokoschka?) or international, taking place in the many fabulous museums and galleries. The MuseumsQuartier is an example of how well art can be incorporated into city’s everyday. So, there are always many options to explore.

There’s obviously more to Vienna than this but, mind you, it’s only been a sleepover. We’ll be back soon enough.

 

More info (selected):

www.albertina.at

http://www.mqw.at/en/

https://www.plachutta.at/en/home/

www.demel.at

http://www.meinlamgraben.at/Home

www.wiener-staatsoper.at

https://www.musikverein.at

http://www.kameel.at/

PS

When planning a weekend in Vienna please consider that everything, and I mean everything, is closed on Sundays. The Austrians still have it the old way: they work up to 6 PM on Saturdays, after that it’s weekend for all. So, Saturday is for shopping and eating, Sunday for art and outdoors.

 

 

The Land Where Lemons Grow

I read some very good books in the past few months but the first prize, so far, goes to The Land Where Lemons Grow by Helena Attlee. The way by which I was pulled into its contents is to put it mildly empowering.

Lemons in a bowl

Using the TV analogy, it’s the grandest documentary on such a prosaic subject as citrus growing. Well, as prosaic as a book on growing anything might be, actually, to a person not deeply connected with soil and its produce but only (or at least) caring about the simple facts of life: one has to drink, one has to eat, one has to sleep.

It’s much more than this; it is a monument to citrus and to Italy and what it represents. It is about the long and hard travels of the fruit, its holistic meaning through the eras of wealth and despair on every leg of the journey and how valuable it’s been to people.

There are thousands of different varieties of citrus but they all evolved out of three respectable ancestors. A few of the varieties have had a very special place within culturally and economically diverse parts of Italy and they still do. Citrus is an essential part of Italy, now I’m certain of it. Some of the most magical places in Italy are home to a child of a citrus family: Amalfi coast, Liguria, Sicily, Calabria, Garda, Tuscany. To every true lover of Italy this book is a must-read.

A book cover of The Land Where Lemons Grow

In practically every bar in Italy you can have a spremuta d’arancia, a freshly squeezed orange juice. There’s no doubt Italians have a very special relationship with them. Citrus rulz.

The writing is very gentle and well-balanced. The reader immerses in jaw-droppingly interesting stories about the Arabs, the Normans, the Jews, the Mafia, the Austrians and the Medici among others, and about the actual people of now, living their hard working lives surrounded by fabulous smell of zagara and delicious food. The book is also very informative: there are many historical and scientific facts along with the tender details about the food (rare ice-cream find in Turin or pasta with Amalfi lemons) and the landscape – it is certainly not your typical food book.

I will never again take poor old lemons or blood oranges & co. for granted. Before, I never really truly thought about them, consider them, you know. They’re simply always there at your disposal, omnipresent. But now I find myself even looking at them at the greengrocers’ with an attitude. I wonder about their provenance, the smell of their pre-fruit blossom, the vivid colours of their bumpy skins.

I’m a faithful reader of books: I never go on a trip without one and there is always more than one on my bedside cabinet. I cannot imagine going to sleep without reading at least half a page (I’m being joked about my waning reading stamina before turning in), I suppose reading is a sleeping pill to me, in a good sense, it makes my dreams more colourful. This book was a very pleasant companion and it takes a special place on the shelf.