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Most recent entries

• Suddenly, we’re in Paris.
• The Baltic Cruise 2010: Friday and Saturday, St. Petersburg
• The Baltic Cruise 2010: Thursday, Tallinn
• The Baltic Cruise 2010: Wednesday, Stockholm
• The Baltic Cruise 2010: Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday at Sea
• Minor Calamities
• The Summer of Us
• Valentine’s Day
• If You’re Ever in Cedar Rapids, Iowa …
• The Cowboy Star Restaurant and Butcher Shop
• Beginning the New Year With a New Kitchen
• Favorites from 2009
• On My Not Getting Lucky Last Night
• And I’ve Decided That Close Enough, Is Enough
• A Little Closer

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Saturday, August 21, 2010

Suddenly, we’re in Paris.

Helsinki came and went quickly--a tram tour introducing us to the city in a figure-eight route starting and ending at the senate square. And while we loved Copenhagen, the standout city of our cruise, the persistent rain drove us back to the ship earlier than we’d planned. Both days, we sought the comfort of lamb burgers on the Lido. The days at sea, we passed in a blissful peace of reading through the morning and afternoon (I finished ”A Visit From the Goon Squad,” ”Heat Stroke,” ”Chill Factor,” and ”Spies of the Balkans”) with an occasional visit to Neptune’s Lounge for canapes or espressos.

Thursday, a long travel day from Amsterdam to Paris. We arrive in the late afternoon, quickly settle into our apartment in the Palais Royale, pop to the local Monoprix for provisions, and then endure a truly bad dinner (one of only two horrible meals I’ve ever had in this city) at the restaurant across the courtyard. The next morning, most likely because of that meal, I’m sick, and Buck’s sicker--he stays in bed our first day, while I pump myself up with antibiotics and other drugs for our first full day in the city.

It’s August, vacation time for Parisians, so many good restaurants--as well as, to my heartbreak, my favorite stationery store on the Rue Louis Phillipe--are closed. But Honey P. and Jeff and Marc (who arrived by train from Frankfurt and joined us midday) find some lovely clothes in Melchior. Six hours later, we return to the apartment, get some stuff for Buck who’s thankfully on the mend, change for dinner, and head back to the Marais.

Le Coude Fou. The man who seated us was owner’s son--he was pleased when we told him that we had come here for the first time almost 10 years ago and we returned to the restaurant every time we visited. He explained that the restaurant had been around for more than 25 years and that they still had the same chef. Another delicious meal at a wonderful price. It’s good to be back.

Saturday, August 14, 2010

The Baltic Cruise 2010: Friday and Saturday, St. Petersburg

Hello, Russia! For this port-of-call, we bought tickets for the formal excursions. We thought it would be easier than arranging for our own visas, and the itinerary listed a number of places we thought we wanted to see.

Day 1: a full-day trip starting with a bus ride to the Peterhoff, where we spent the morning snaking through the palace in the longest conga line of tourists I’ve ever seen. Then, a hydrofoil back to town, where we rendezvoused with our bus for a trip to the Church of the Spilled Blood. As a chaser, our tour guide Ruslan brought us to one of the seven sanctioned souvenir shops in the city where they guaranteed that every item we might purchase was truly Russian-made. Back to the ship through customs and straight to Neptune’s Lounge for canapes before dinner.

Day 2: a half-day excursion solely to St. Catherine’s palace in Pushkin. More crowds, more lines, more waiting, more walking through gold rooms and green rooms and pink rooms and the amber room (which was spectacular). Another shopportunity awaited us as we headed back to the bus. And back to the ship for lamb burgers.

On Saturday afternoon, we stood on our veranda and heckled fellow passengers who showed up an hour late for departure and yet insisted on stopping by the duty-free shop. Amateurs. We drank champagne and toasted our leaving a city that none of us had quite enjoyed.

Yes, I was disappointed ... in the tours, undoubtedly, and in the overall visit, but also a bit in myself.

As we hopped from spectacle to spectacle in our air-conditioned charter buses, the most interesting pockets of the city went by us in unidentified blurs. I wish I had taken the time to research St. Petersburg, apply for personal visas, and visit the parts of town alive with people and commerce and culture. I wish we’d had dinner in one of the best restaurants the city had to offer. Gone to a museum or a church for which there was no surcharge for taking a picture of the ceiling. Shopped in stores that didn’t sell lacquered boxes, nesting Santa dolls, or shirts that read “Vodka, Uniting People.”

Our experience of St. Petersburg was akin to going from the United Center to the Shedd Aquarium to Great America and then back to the best hotel at O’Hare and having dinner at Gibson’s. For some, that would be great. But for me, in retrospect seeing the biggest things a place has to offer isn’t really seeing the city at all.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

The Baltic Cruise 2010: Thursday, Tallinn

The part of Tallinn inside walls of the fortress walls reportedly held all of the charms necessary for us to see. That area was also home to Old Hanse, recommended to us by both a friend who grew up in Tallinn and the ship’s cruise director. So away we went, in the morning rain, up the cobblestone path and into the town square, where we searched the nearby sidestreets for the restaurant’s sign.

We hadn’t made a reservation, but they found room for us in the back, up a half flight of stairs, it what was the hottest and darkest area of the restaurant. How dark? My iPhone shed just enough light to make my menu legible.

The restaurant itself on the whole was cool in an upscale Medieval Times sort of way. Heavy wood tables, tapestries, menus written in old-world language-ish and calligraphy, lute music, and cute young waiters and waitresses dressed in tunics and tights and milkmaid dresses.

We ordered the local beer, which came to us ice cold in earthenware mugs. We placed our order. And waited. And waited. And waited. An hour later, the meal arrived. Parts of it, amazingly good--the spelt bread and fresh cheese, the barley and lentils, yummy. But by then, we were sweaty, cranky, in need of fresh air, and desperate to see the rest of the town before the ship again set sail. We asked for the checks immediately, ate quickly, and bolted for fresh air and the early afternoon sun.

Cobblestone streets led us up up up to the two cathedrals in the town, as well as the ramparts from which we could get a view of the city below. At least theoretically--we found the entrance to the rampart cafe. Search, search, search, give up, head back down to the square to look for a pharmacy. When ask for a topical antiseptic (Neosporin or the like) The woman behind the counter offered our friends something that looked suspiciously like a feminine hygiene kit. Uhm, pass.

Back to the ship, no lamb burgers necessary today. Ye nobleman’s smoked fillet mignon, in fact, remained with me a jolly long time.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

The Baltic Cruise 2010: Wednesday, Stockholm

First stop of the cruise. The shuttle dropped us at the Opera House, and we headed for Gamla Stan, the oldest part of the city, and a most charming place. Most of the shops were still closed, but we amused ourselves by wandering through the side streets and snapping pictures. Honey P. found a wonderful Dale of Norway crewneck sweater (picture a Christmas print, but with viking-type clasps instead of buttons. We had pastries midday in the town square, and then we headed into working downtown and made our way to the Absolut Ice Bar, where Buck and Jeff had a drink while we watched our gear. The idea of going in seemed really cool until we got there, at which point we’d cooled to the idea. Cooled. Get it? I slay me.

We weren’t due back to the ship until 4:00 p.m., but by lunchtime we were ready to return to the Eurodam--lamb burgers on the Lido!

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

The Baltic Cruise 2010: Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday at Sea

Buck and Jeff and Petey and I arrived, tired and sleepy but in good spirits, in Amsterdam three days ago at 9:00 a.m.. Even with the unforeseen upgrade to business class for P. and me, we’re wrecked. Early check-in at the Fusion Suites--a wonderful place with four rooms (of which we have two grand suites), impossibly steep and narrow stairs (which one can avoid by using the three-person lift), and a charming and hospitable innkeeper couple. The four of us need a shower and several cups of coffee to stay awake through the day in the hopes of resetting our body-clocks for the trip.

The Dutch and their bikes. And their french fries. Biking in the rain, with an umbrella and a cigarette, while talking in your mobile--that takes skill. Brick sidewalks bruised my heels as, in two hours, we covered a small part of the city in the intermittent rain. It’s Pride in Amsterdam. Pink balloons and boas, Lady Gaga blaring from the canals, and crowds of partygoers at each bridge and along the canal. The rain doesn’t dissuade people from coming out to celebrate, pride floats.

We eat dinner, at Solo, a few blocks away from our hotel, and retire early as well. Until 2:30 a.m., at which point we’re awake again. Read, rest, reset.

Sunday morning. We have breakfast in the kitchen, a warm and inviting space suffused with the scents of the meal and beautiful flowers. A fantastic spread of everything from mini-croissants to freshly made crepes, breakfast meats and cheese, thick and sweet organic yogurt from glass jars, and strong espresso from a high-end Jura. The eggs are saltier, pepper-ier, drier, and the chives paler, than I’m used to, but the meal is rich and filling and perfect for another morning of wandering around the city while waiting to board the Eurodam.

Check-in is a cluster. No one knows what’s going on. The land crew is uncommunicative, mis-informed, and green. “No, you may not carry that box of expensive wine with you, it must be checked.” “Boarding number, what boarding number?” “I see you’re in a deluxe veranda suite, but I can’t find your keys, are you in a suite?” (Duh.) “Smiles, everyone, smiles!” And the number of blue-haired women and wheelchairs! After an interminable 30 minutes, we’re on board.  Sweet, brackish bliss.

Muster takes place at 4:15 p.m. Or rather, it’s supposed to, but two tour buses of passengers are late, so we’re dismissed for 15 minutes to await their arrival. At the bar, of course, where Peter and I have our first drinks of the voyage and our friends Mikey and John find us (like swallows to Capistrano ...) . A woman passes us and mutters to her husband about people drinking martinis at this hour of the day. “Amateur,” I think to myself, as I wonder whether two would be excessive before the safety briefing--like it helped the folks on the Titanic.

The six of us gather in our suite for champagne and canapes as the ship leaves the harbor--a two-hour journey to the open sea. Along the way, we wave at people who snap pictures and hold banners reading “bon voyage” at the shore--I’m not quite sure whether they’re seeing off friends and family or simply bored on a Sunday afternoon, but I think to myself that it’s a sweet custom. Even from our high deck, we’re close enough to make out faces--I would recognize mom and dad, or Sam, or Jen, or Michael, or Marty and Katie, from the distance, and I’d be touched to see them waving farewell.

Monday. The first day at sea, quiet. I wake up, mid-night, while Peter sleeps quietly. And then Monday passes in a progression of sleep then sleeplessness then sleep, spa, reading, snacks in the private lounge, walking the Lido deck for the equivalent of three miles, more reading (by the end of the day I’ve finished two books, “Blood Sucking Fiends” and “Comedy in a Minor Key"), dinner en suite, a replaying of “Kinky Boots,” our nightly martinis, and then sleep.

Until now. It’s 4:00 a.m., Tuesday (I’ve been up since 1:50 a.m.) Now, Alan Furst’s newest novel while I wait for tired to return. But I have a second full day at sea to recover before our first stop, Stockholm.