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Tuesday, March 27, 2007Travelogue: Refugium
Sunday, March 25, 2007Travelogue: Berlin
We left Vienna on Friday morning and made our way to by car to the cliffside town of Melk and then to Regensburg. Regensburg dates back to 500 B.C. and is apparently a pristine example of medieval architecture--it managed to make it through WWII without much damage. From Regensburg by car to Berlin, where we’ve been since last night and will be until Tuesday afternoon, when we make our way back to Frankfurt for a flight home on Wednesday morning. Last night we had a wonderful dinner at Miseria & Nobilla, a small Italian restaurant in Berlin’s equivalent of Wicker Park. Today we took our last walkabout together for our vacation--P.’s work began earlier tonight with a business dinner and continues until Tuesday. I’m starting to get back into the swing of things, making good on some even-though-I’m-on-vacation promises that I’ve made to clients. The last few days have been a blur. Part of it, I’m sure, due to the 12 elapsed hours we’ve spent in the car--six, on the autobahn where we, going 150kph, were routinely passed by VWs, Audis, Mercedes, BMWs. (Every time I go to Paris, I am convinced of the necessity of having a pied-a-terre in the 11th. Every time I go to Germany, I return thinking I must have a performance driving machine.) Reentry. It’s that time in the vacation when I start thinking about everything I’m looking forward to when I get home: the spring flower planting, my own kitchen, our comfy bed, one or two more evenings by the fireplace before we clean it out and close it up for the season, seeing our friends and family. And regret. Mostly, the piddly little shit that couldn’t escape mentally, regardless of continent. There’s an old German proverb that says “you must celebrate the holidays as they come.” (P. says it a lot, and while it’s quite lyrical in German, it sounds very much to me in English like “Mephisto’s busy filing...") Well, the holiday’s coming to an end, and there’s no place like home. Thursday, March 22, 2007Travelogue: Vienna, last nightOne of the many reasons that I love my business partner Rob is that he and I (and for the record, Michael) share a great love for food and drink. That, and the quiet optimism that we’ll be able to sway the other politically. OK, right. Let’s focus on food for now, the great equalizer. So, Plauchutta. Rob’s recommendation, and on our last night in Vienna I was tired of food and especially tired of beef. And yet, we ended up at the restaurant that critics call the place for serious carnivores. I was still full from my late lunch of calamari salad, cranky, and all I wanted was a drink. I got tons more. Tafelspitz. Did you know that there are at least 16 cuts of beef that can be used for it? I had no idea! The goose liver pate was really yummy, but the main dishes were even better! The tafelspitz, OMIGOD. The broth. The potatoes. The spaetzle that came with P’s goulash that by marriage laws are common property. OMIGOD. The only ambivalent thing about the dinner was the waiter, who realized early one that less was more and who stayed away from our table as much as possible. Thankfully, four others filled in happily. If you come to Vienna, come here. After the Altwienerhof. And stay at The King of Hungary, which has large rooms, helpful staff, and is located in the heart of the old town. Travelogue: Vienna, Last DayIt’s sunny and warmer, the best day we’ve had in Vienna, and perfect weather for our last foray into the city. We start out at 11:30 a.m., past the Stephansdom and through the square that was once part of Imperial Vienna. Up, to the right of a Julius Minl, is a small sidestreet that leads us to our first destination, the Freyung Passage, an enclosed arcade of boutique shops where I find Xocolat, an artisan chocolate shop that helps me fulfill my mission to bring back to Devon some fabulous German sweets. We peek into a hotel courtyard and a local church on our way to Freud’s Museum, where I resist the urge to by the entire team shirts that read “analyze me.” From here, we walk the Ringstrasse past City Hall and up to the Parliament building. Then, a taxi to Schonbrunn, where we tour the summer residence of the imperial family. Interesting tidbit: Napoleon’s one son died of consumption at the age of 21. He lived most of his life under house arrest in this palace (daddy was a bad, bad, dead man). And we saw his pet bird, a crested lark, his only friend during his short and unhappy life, also dead. Cab back to the hotel, around the corner to Cafe Diglas, where I have a terrific calamari salad. Stop at Vinotek St. Stephan for a new bottle of cognac, and back to the hotel to relax for the margin of the afternoon. Wednesday, March 21, 2007Travelogue: Salzamt, Vienna
The restaurant is located in the Jewish Quarter, across the path from what is supposed to be the oldest church in the city. Awnings imprinted with Salzamt tell you that you’ve reached the right place. Their outdoor tables and chairs are stacked and chained together--it’s still going to be a few weeks, at least, before sidewalk (or in this case, cobblestone) dining will be attractive. Salzamt’s space is divided in railcar fashion: here we have the bar, and down further, the smoking section, and down further, the non-smoking section, and at the end of the one long room, the kitchen. By virtue of the half-glass swinging doors, you can peer in and see the gleaming steel pots and pans and the restaurant’s chef. When we arrived, the only other people in the place were three American couples. Forgive me, I always take that as a bad sign (it’s like eating at the Hard Rock Cafe, anywhere). The menu itself was spare: one page written out by hand in German, xeroxed, and wedged into a battered two-page winelist on which several of the most appealing options (mostly French, red) had been crossed out by hand. In different colors of ink. Over time. (This reminded me of our first night in Prague, when we ate in Peklo (translated, hell, a former monastery wine cellar) and were advised that despite their pages and pages of French, Italian, and Australian wine entries, the only wines they carried were now Moravian. We ordered the most expensive one out of necessity and optimism and drank it out of pity, it was horrible.) But back to Salzamt. Did I mention the plain walls and paper napkins? I order a plate of vegetables to start and the wiener schnitzel, honey P. orders avocado and tomatoes, and the fillet. We choose a 2004 Austrian, and order double vodkas to tide us over until the bread comes. Their double vodkas weren’t. By any stretch of the imagination. Two tilts of the glass, and I was done. No comments, please. The bread comes. Fresh, thickly sliced rye. No butter, no oil. But it was really good bread. They pour the wine. It’s not bad, especially with the rye (I’ve found that most of the wine we’ve had tastes better with food than when sipped alone). The appetizers arrive, and they were yummy. Granted, the tomatoes tasted slightly, how do you say, out of season, but the rest of the veggies were delicious, particularly the beets. And then the main courses. The schnitzel was moist, subtly seasoned, terrific (and marginally better than Figlimuller’s). The fillet, finished with the horseradish cream, is tender, juicy, beefy. And the potato and mache salad was served in a bowl of shallot vinaigrette so good I wanted to drink it. There was, mind you, three times as much vinaigrette in the bowl and there was vodka in my first drink. Honestly. And wee drank the wine delicious by the end of the meal. We left full and happy and thinking that this is exactly what what a bistro ought to be. No pretense of being the best meal you’ll have in Vienna. No fashionable crowd. No dazzling array of options. Just a little wear around the edges to show that people have been here before you, and some well-prepared and reasonably priced comfort food. And that’s something to write home about. |
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We’d been here once before, my third time to Germany, I believe, and it was a wonderfully memorable meal. 
