Lunching in Dublin

What do you do when you have a transatlantic flight and you are pretty sure you don’t want to eat the airplane food?  If you’re me, you bake two batches of cookies in anticipation of mid-flight snackiness.  If you’re Nick, you book your flight such that you have a three-hour layover in Dublin where you can fuel up with some (hopefully) authentic pub grub and a pint or two of Guinness.  Luckily for both of us, we travel together.

Naturally, our plane from Paris to Dublin arrived late, and with all the customs and security holdups, we ended up having much less time than we had hoped for lunch.  Add to that the time spent wandering around the airport looking for something that wasn’t just fast food, and the fact that the only real restaurant we could find refused to take food orders until 12 noon, and it was nearly a stressful experience.  Thank goodness for Guinness.

I was heartened by this note on the menu as well – just because you’re in an airport doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a good meal.

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Worthwhile French Beers: La Mandubienne Blonde

This is pretty much the last post I expected to write in Burgundy Month.  But yes, Nick and I did stumble across a locally made beer while in Dijon.

When we go on these weekend jaunts, I research the dining options, and Nick finds out about the beer scene.  He found a neat-looking place called Le Cappuccino that he wanted to check out, so we headed to a less-touristed part of town for a little local flavor.  Inside, we found that they even had a local beer on tap – La Mandubienne.  They even had brochures from the brewery, Brasserie des Trois Fontaines, which we unfortunately did not have time to visit.  In any case, we enjoyed the beer, and Nick wrote up a review for the website Beer Advocate.  He writes:

Color is opalescent wheaty-yellow to dark straw. Good high head that eventually settles into a nice lace over the beer. Aroma is rather full of esters (banana & pear mostly), but not over-the-top Jolly Rancher by any stretch.

Read the rest here.

Originally published on Croque-Camille.

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My Dijon Photo Album

Sadly, we are running out of October.  Don’t get me wrong, I love Halloween, and Thanksgiving even more, but I wish I had more time to explore the rich culinary heritage of Bourgogne.  There were two pretty stellar lunches, featuring Burgundian classics like kir, oeufs meurette, and all kinds of mushroom dishes (we picked the right time to go to Burgundy – just as mushroom season was getting into full swing!); and one rather disappointing dinner, which I didn’t bother photographing.  We did a lot of walking around the city, admiring the timbered houses and colorful tiled roofs.  Since I’d be here all night if I tried to cover it all in one post, instead I have built a mosaic of my favorite pictures from the trip.  Click on the title of the photo at the bottom if you want a better view or a little more info.  Enjoy!

1. Kir in its Natural Habitat, 2. St-Begnigne Cathedral, Dijon, 3. Velouté de Poireaux, 4. Lentil Salad with Ham at L’O, 5. L’O – Chicken in Mushroom Sauce, 6. Entrecôte at L’O, 7. Pear “Biscuit” at L’O, 8. Boules de Glace at L’O, 9. Hôtel de Vogüe, 10. Place de la Libération, 11. L’Eau d’Origine Contrôlée, 12. Oeufs Meurette at Café Gourmand, 13. Mushroom Tatin at Café Gourmand, 14. Crumble au Potiron at Café Gourmand, 15. Veal Burger, 16. Pompon Boar, 17. L’Assommoir, 18. Gargoyles

Originally published on Croque-Camille.

A City Known for Mustard in a Region Known for Wine

Dijon, located in the Côte d’Or département, is a city full of great food, wine, and shopping opportunities.  Nick and I arrived in town Saturday morning and headed straight for the market, which was packed with local and regional cheeses, charcuterie, wines, and produce.  If the weather had been nicer, we would have picked up some goodies and found a picturesque spot to enjoy a picnic.  Alas, it being October, we got gray skies and intermittent rain.  Nonetheless, we did not go hungry.  After a long lunch in a restaurant near the market, we wandered over to the rue de la Liberté, the city’s main shopping street (in fact, it is what I remember most about my last visit to Dijon, in 2000, particularly the H&M).  This time, though, I was shopping for mustard.  The Maille boutique features dozens of flavors of mustard, from cassis to herbes de Provence to marc de Bourgogne.  I wanted to try them all, but feared for my sinuses.

My favorite feature of the shop is the mustard taps, where you can have a stoneware mustard pot filled with your choice of fresh mustard.  Apparently Maille has one other boutique in France, located in Paris – D’oh! – so when I run out, I can go there to get my pot refilled.

And then we were off in search of wine…

Bienvenue en Normandie

As it turned out, I got a three-day “weekend” for Bastille Day.  I put “weekend” in quotes because the three days were Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday.  But no matter.  I found this out on Saturday, and by the time I got home from work, Nick was already researching last-minute getaways.  (Isn’t he the best?)

We found ourselves in Rouen Monday morning.  Rouen is known for its cathedral, which was the subject of a large series of paintings by Claude Monet.  Rouen is also famous for being the site of the burning at the stake of Joan of Arc.  (Incidentally, she was born in Orléans, where I went for a weekend last summer.  I swear I’m not doing the Joan of Arc tour on purpose!)

Rouen is located in France’s Normandy region, and since I haven’t written any Regional French Cuisine posts yet this month, it seemed like a good idea to name July Normandy Month.  (I was originally saving Normandy for September, seeing as it’s famous for its apples, but there we were, so I went with it.)  After finding our way to our hotel and getting a couple of maps from the tourist office, Nick and I set out in search of some lunch.  And by “set out,” I mean “got some beers at a café and made some phone calls.”  Holiday weekends can be tough in France, and a lot of restaurants are closed on Mondays anyway, so I wanted to make sure we’d have somewhere to go before hitting the cobblestone streets.  An affirmative response from Le P’tit Bec, which specializes in traditional cuisine prepared with fresh, seasonal products, and we were off to the incredibly charming Rue Eau de Robec.

When in Alsace…

You absolutely MUST eat in at least one winstub.  This should not be a problem, given the sheer preponderance of them in the towns of the region.  I think we would have been hard pressed to eat three meals in Strasbourg without at least one of them being in a winstub.

We found ourselves ensconced in the cozy warmth of Chez Yvonneon Sunday night.  In business since 1873, the place was touted by our guidebook as a “classic among classics.”  Since we were looking for an authentic taste of Alsace, that sounded just about right.  Chez Yvonne is located at the end of a cute little side street (if the town seems to consist mainly of tiny side streets, do they cease to be side streets?), and, like many of the establishments we visited in Strasbourg, has a heavy curtain inside the door to keep out the cold.

As we stepped in the door, I said something to Nick about how I hoped they had red-checked tablecloths (that being one of Alec Lobrano’s barometer readings indicating a good restaurant, and this seemed like the sort of place where they would be right at home).  They didn’t, but I think the brightly colored, ornately patterned linens were even better.  Upon being seated, the smiling waitress brought us a small dish of head cheese cubes.  They somehow managed to be both toothsome and tender enough to melt in your mouth.  Another hint that we would be dining well that night.  We ordered a couple of glasses of crémant d’Alsace (the local sparkling wine) as our apéritif, and toasted the meal to come.

When I saw foie gras crème brûlée on the menu, there was no question as to what I would be ordering for my first course.

It was served with a thick slice of fig and hazelnut bread, which complemented the rich, savory-sweet cream perfectly.  Nick went for the herring, which came napped in a delicate cream sauce.

He cleaned his plate and we eagerly anticipated our main courses, accompanied by a bottle of Sylvaner, a dry Alsatian white wine.  I couldn’t pass up the choucroute garnie, and my plate arrived piled high with some of the tastiest sauerkraut I’ve ever had, surrounded by half a dozen different pork products.  (They take their charcuterie seriously in Alsace.)

Worthwhile French Beers: Strasbourg Edition

Like I mentioned last week, Nick and I spent a weekend in Strasbourg, the largest city in Alsace.  Alsace is France’s most important beer-producing region, and by “important” I mean that in terms of volume.  Kronenbourg and Fischer, two of the country’s largest breweries, are based in Alsace, the former being the biggest-selling brewer in France.  We tried unsuccessfully to get a tour of the Kronenbourg brewery, located just outside Strasbourg, but we were probably better off hunting down the local microbreweries anyway.

Finding La Lanterne was a bit of a challenge.  The place is tucked away on a side street of a side street, and from the outside looks like a complete dive.  Inside, though, it’s inviting, and the beer is freshly brewed on the premises.  It was a real treat to sit in a brewpub and sip a tasty beer while enjoying the ambiance.

The Kohler-Rehm Brewery, on the other hand, is centrally located with a grandiose façade that belies the generic interior.

One Last Bulgaria Post

On our last night in Sofia, Nick and I had two restaurants picked out, in case of summer closures or difficulty with reservations.  One was a traditional Bulgarian place, the other was what I would call “New Bulgarian,” (like New American, but with a different set of traditions to build on and different local foodstuffs to choose from).  To be honest, I was leaning toward the latter.  Since we weren’t about to attempt a phone call in Bulgarian (a phrasebook only gets you so far), we brought our list down to the lobby of our hotel and asked the woman at the desk if she could make reservations for us, which she was more than happy to do.  When she saw the first place on the list (Pod Lipite – the traditional Bulgarian one), her face lit up.  “This is a Bulgarian place!” She exclaimed, excited and a little surprised.  We took that as a good sign, so when she was able to get us reservations, we eagerly accepted.

Pod Lipite, it turns out, is something of an institution in Sofia.  Founded in the 1920’s, it used to be a haunt for the city’s journalists and writers.  These days it plays host to Bulgarians young and old, usually when they have something to celebrate.

(A short aside – as I write this, I’ve got a batch of rhubarb-Reine Claude jam going, so I’ve been getting up every couple of minutes to stir it and check the temperature.  Now it’s done, but I find those jars of jam cooling on the counter very distracting.  My mouth is watering just imagining how good it’s going to be on buttered pain de céréales in the morning, baked into a jam tart, stirred into yogurt, or, hell, spooned over ice cream.  Of course we don’t have any ice cream at the moment, and there’s no room in the freezer anyway, or you know what I’d be eating right now.  But back to Bulgaria…)

That helps.  We started out by ordering a bottle of Bulgarian rosé, which we definitely preferred to the red.  The table was set with an array of spices, we assumed for both bread-dipping and seasoning purposes.

But unlike Manastirska Magernitsa, the bread wasn’t brought out immediately.  We ordered two servings of bread, and out this came:

Manastirska Magernitsa

Upon arrival at our hotel, we immediately asked the guy at the front desk where to go for a good, traditional Bulgarian meal.  He recommended two places and showed us where they were on a map.  One of these, just down the street from the hotel, was noted as being particularly good.  He started to write the name of it and gave up about halfway through, telling us “It doesn’t matter what the name is.”  And he was kind of right, as it turned out to be the only restaurant (other than the rather characterless one attached to the Hotel Diter next door) on the block.  But mainly, I think he didn’t feel like saying or writing the name, which is the title of this post.  It’s a mouthful.  “Manastirska Magernitsa” translates to “The Monastery Kitchen,” and the place is known for its in-depth coverage of obscure Bulgarian dishes.

When we showed up the next evening, sans reservation, we nearly didn’t get seated.  Luckily for us, there was a last-minute cancellation and we got a great table on the patio.  The restaurant was absolutely charming, and the patio was a prime location with its candlelight and lush foliage adding to the bucolic coziness.  We were handed massive menus – seriously, these things had at least 50 pages – and almost immediately we were greeted by a server bearing a wooden stand with bread and spices.

The bread was soft and airy, not unlike challah, and we dipped it in the salt-spice mixture in the top level of the stand.  The waiter explained that this was the traditional way to begin a Bulgarian meal.  Most importantly, it gave us the quick energy we needed to get through the menu.

Nick quickly found a dish he’d been looking for: a sort of Bulgarian chile relleno, if you will.

Chushki byurek, as they call in in those parts, consists of a roasted pepper stuffed with the ever-present sireneh cheese, battered and deep fried.  It was served with a garlicky yogurt sauce and was every bit as delicious as you might imagine.  We also got a salad, piled high with fresh vegetables, olives, and cured meats.  Yum.

When offered the wine list, we deferred to the waiter.  We explained that we wanted to try some Bulgarian wine, but that we didn’t know much about it and would really appreciate his opinion.  He suggested a couple of different red wines, and we ended up selecting a bottle of the “reserve.”  It cost a little more than we expected, but could by no means be considered expensive.

The bottle came out, complete with religious icon, and I was offered a taste.  It wasn’t bad, but I guess living in France is starting to spoil me.

Choosing our main courses was a little more difficult. 

A Traditional Bulgarian Lunch

Or, to be more specific, a lunch composed of traditional Bulgarian dishes.  But let’s not get caught up in semantics.  That first morning, after ogling beers and changing money, Nick and I took a walk up Boulevard Vitosha, Sofia’s most upscale shopping street.  (I was disappointed that things weren’t ridiculously cheap, but I did get a cool pair of Diefel [sic] sunglasses, upside-down logo and all.)  We wandered through the older part of town, stopping in a couple of churches along the way.  The highlight of the morning was definitely the St. George Rotunda.

Originally built in the 4th century, this is the oldest building in Sofia.  Inside the Rotunda (which has been, over the course of history, a church, a mosque, and a museum, among other things) you can see three layers of frescoes.  The Roman ruins surrounding it date from the 2nd century.  Around this historic site sits a large, modern building housing a fancy hotel and the Presidency.  Bulgaria seems to be very industrious that way.  They manage to preserve their history while at the same time progressing with the modern world.  In the corner of this courtyard (behind the tree in the photo) there is a cozy little cafe where Nick and I spent one afternoon writing postcards.  Outside the Presidency, there are two guards who do a ritual march every hour, and across the square there’s a guy pontificating over the strains of “Ride of the Valkyries.”  All day long.  (Nick pointed out that no moderate political group has ever adopted that song as their theme.)

Moving on, andtrying to get away from the loudspeakers, we found ourselves walking through a park.  We came out in front of the National Theater.  By this time we were getting pretty hungry, so when we saw a shady patio and a sign that said “PECTOPAHT” (that’s what “restaurant” looks like in Cyrillic), we walked right in.  This was the first of several restaurants we visited that had no menu in English.  Feeling like children learning to read, we managed to decipher “water,” “beer,” and “salads,” as well as a couple of traditional dishes that were listed in our phrasebook.  And we were even successful in communicating our desires to the waitress!  (Of course, she spoke some English, which made it easier.)

First we got a couple of large, unpronounceable beers and a bottle of mineral water.  Bulgaria is quite mountainous and is full of natural springs, so mineral water is as popular there as it is in France.  And it’s good, too.  Better than most French waters (except Volvic) in my opinion.  Soon our first courses arrived.  I had a bowl of TAPATOP (tarator), a chilled soup made of yogurt, cucumber, and dill.

It was very refreshing in the afternoon heat.  Like a thin tzatziki, I believe this dish is made in many countries around the Mediterranean Sea.  This one, too: