This is completely out of chronological order, but I felt it was worth mentioning: back in January, our friend Nanda mentioned something about a "Rijstaffel" at an Indonesian restaurant a little outside the city center. Having had Indonesian food exactly once before--at the same restaurant, no less--I was fully on board, whatever the mysterious "Rijstaffel" turned out to be. Good news, everyone: it's like a giant tasting menu of exotic and spicy foods. Apparently, it's actually a Dutch tradition in which wealthy Dutch landlords (i.e., colonizers...) in Indonesia would host parties and have their cooks make a ton of dishes in order to show off how good their culinary skills were. Despite its un-PC colonial origins, it turned out to be an amazing spread and a really good meal. We rounded up 8 or 9 of us and headed out to Dapur Indonesia for one giant course each of:
- spicy fish;
- shredded beef;
- chopped beef;
- chicken satay;
- chopped chicken;
- duck;
- tofu (it's definitely growing on me, this concept of tofu, especially when it's drowned in something spicy);
- eggplant;
- green beans and greens;
- lakhsa soup (yum!);
- fried veggie wheels;
- rice on the side; and
- coconut cake in mango sauce.
Everything was marinated in varying sauces of varying spiciness, with accents of peanut or garlic or just plain red chile...and DELICIOUS. (Except for the eggplant: I don't think I'll ever reconcile with it, much like raw tomatoes and mushrooms. Ick.) Sadly, I've been remiss this year in taking photos of my food, so there ain't any, but at least I have my memories. And if the opportunity ever arises in which you, dear readers, may participate in such an event, go for it. Good times.
Second order of business: sledding in the Alps! Our friends Jess and Mike relocated to Paris last month, and we were fortunate enough to be the first Europe-based friends they visited. Jess was the one who originally told us about Swiss sledding, and we all decided to head east to Bergün (...and Romansch-speaking territory!*) to give it a try. The Swiss do not joke around when it comes to sledding: many people wear helmets, and the sledding runs are loooong. As in, the one we tried is 6 kilometers long, and you have to take a train--and/or ski lift, depending on which part of the run--to get to the top. The sleds are the old-school wooden kind, with runners and an attached rope for steering (which is much easier if you just drag your heels, rather than trying to actually use the runners and rope). The family-friendly part of the run isn't too steep...there are portions where you actually have to get off of the sled and walk. The ski lift-accessible portion (which you can only reach by sledding down most of the family-friendly bit), however, is quite steep and narrow and twisty and, admittedly, a little bit harrowing. (Plus, it has giant potholes, which make trying to stay on your sled generally a losing proposition.) We got a late start and only wound up getting to go down the friendlier track to the ski lift, then taking it up and riding back down the steep run...which turned out to be a good thing. (And took a couple of hours, as it was, anyway!) The mountain completely fogged in about halfway down, and I don't know if my knees could have taken any more bruising from the jolts created by hitting the potholes. It was fun, but my poor little knees paid for it. At any rate, to the photos, kindly provided by our dear friends Mike L. and Jess. Who were not too lazy to carry a camera. (Warning: this particular set is rather heavy on photos of myself. Apologies.)
Stop light for the sledding run. There were several of these.
That's me...all bundled up and ready to hit the (sledging) slopes.
It felt like we walked for a half-hour to get to the top of the sled run...but once we finally got to sled, this is what it looked like. (I greatly admire Mike L.'s ability to take photos while sledding.)
A post-sledding snack at the on-your-honor, help-yourself snack shack. (If you need change, ring the bell of the house next door; otherwise, leave your money in the box and sign the guest book. We bought some utterly fantastic spicy salami and a little wrapped set complete with cutting board, knife, salami, and cheese. My Mike couldn't help himself.)
Mike and I dragging our sleds back to the return. Note the A) super deep snow, and B) amazing old buildings...just what you imagine you'd find in an Alpine village. Bergün was downright charming.
Enjoying the ice chair next to the ice bar. Thankfully, they served hot drinks there.
We couldn't find four seats together on the train home, so we ended up in the super fancy dining car and went a little nuts on the meat-and-cheese plates. It wasn't the cheapest option, but really a good time.
What I'm reading: just finished The Man Who Ate Everything, by Jeffrey Steingarten, who has been Vogue's food critic since 1989. The book is a little dated, since it is a compilation of various articles dating back to the late 1980s and extending into the 1990s...but it's a fun, if miscellaneous, read. I'm fairly certain that the man is, quite literally, crazy about food, and while he's a bit of a snob (I'm sure it's an occupational hazard), he's funny and includes lots of tips and a recipe here and there. In my constant ventures to cook and eat good things, it's a fitting read and one I'd recommend to anyone interested in food. I'm looking forward to reading its sequel, but until I get there, next up is a bit of a change: A History of the World in 6 Glasses, by Tom Standage. It's an interesting concept--the way six classes of drink (beer, wine, spirits, coffee, tea, and cola) have influenced and, sometimes, determined, the course of human history and societal evolution. I've only just started it, but it's well written for the history-nerd crowd (ahem...myself included...), and by that I mean a bit dry. I'm willing to give it a chance, though, and I'll report back.
My favorite things: this particular item feels a bit untimely (if that's even a word...), considering how arm and sunny and gloriously blossom-y everything is outside right now, but I feel that it's only fair that I extol the virtues of glühwein. It did, after all, play a small, if seminal, role in my survival during our first Swiss winter. Glühwein, for the uninitiated, is a delicious concoction of red wine, lemon or orange juice and slices, sugar, brandy or sherry (optional), and spices, which usually include cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg. Among other things. Essentially, you dump it all in a giant pot on the stove and let it simmer for an hour or so, and voila, a delicious (and super warming!) winter beverage is born. Best when served in small styrofoam cups by street vendors, since out on the street is usually where it's the coldest. It may not sound that exciting, but this stuff gives you hope that warmth is still a thing, and can, eventually, even in the depths of the February doldrums, be achieved. If that's not magic, I don't know what is.
My other favorite thing, in our house: CHECK THIS OUT.
Yep, that's a ping pong table (Tischtennis Tisch, for the German speakers). We actually have room for it if we push the table against the wall and slide the couch back. Wooo! Ping pong! Woooo!
Next up: southern-ish Italy...Rome and the Amalfi Coast. Holy smokes, was it awesome. Stay tuned.
*How Swiss is this bag o' pastries?? It's got all four of Switzerland's national languages on it...and the bottom one is Romansch.
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