Felix had eaten the last of the gluten-free bread. Which bothered me not at all as it was, of course, his gluten-free bread.
But that didn't stop him from apologizing (profusely) and offering to cook an omelet for me.
When I think omelet, I think the typical American omelet. I think three or four eggs, some sauteed onions and garlic and vegetables + cheese and bacon (always bacon). I don't think of grinding my own spices with a pestle and mortar and whipping up my own mayonnaise to serve with the finished product.
But this is what Felix thinks.
"How can I make it more interesting?" he murmured to himself as he puttered around the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards and contemplating the contents of his fridge.
I met a rather unique Macedonian during my stay in Skopje. This fellow didn't/doesn't believe human beings actually need food to survive (yes, you read that correctly). During his past lives (you also read that correctly) he learned that our "need" for food is an illusion that ties us to our animal nature (it took all the self-control I could muster to refrain from asking him how long his past lives were).
I don't think I believe in reincarnation. That being said, had I lived a life before this one, it must have been tirelessly toiled away in soup kitchens, feeding the homeless and taking care of the sick and all that jazz. How else can I account for my eight day stay with a Viennese chef who uses a pestle and mortar when making an omelet?
I must have served so much soup.
The reason I was only peckish (as opposed to famished) last night was because I'd spent the entire day digesting the astronomical Austrian feast Felix had prepared the night before.
Dumplings.
I've always turned up my nose at dumplings. To me, they appeared to be flavorless bits of starch used to soak up flavorful pools of sauce.
But then I met Felix. And my nose completely forgot that it was supposed to turn up because it was too busy deciphering the tantalizing smells of sizzling spices in smoking skillets.
"Don't eat a lot today," my host warned me as he donned his blood orange apron. "I'm going to start cooking now. It will take hours," he smiled happily and sighed.
Maybe I spent TWO of my past lives serving soup. Maybe I WAS the soup.
So I spent the afternoon lazily painting watercolor flowers and listening to the rain, the cool, damp air making my room feel soft and the wet weather making my laziness somehow justifiable.
I wandered back upstairs around six pm and was mercilessly blitzed with indescribably good smells (although I think I could pick out bacon. I can always pick out bacon). Music was playing and Felix was contentedly whirling around the kitchen, lifting lids of steaming pots, slicing onions and sauteing chanterelle mushrooms.
He apologized for the first dish. Because it wasn't as warm as he'd hoped.
I looked at him in utter disbelief.
"You're apologizing for this?"
This was tafelspitzsulze topped with poached egg and salad and homemade vinaigrette.
Accompanied by gluten-free bread spread with marrow.
"Don't you dare apologize for this."
Tafelspitzsulze was a new experience for me (as I assume it would be for many of my readers), and it's an experience that I wouldn't mind having more often. It's the Viennese version of aspic, so slow-cooked, cubed beef with vegetables and gelatin and some manner of alcohol.
The second dish was liver dumpling soup.
Leberknodlesuppe.
And this is where I let my readers (and perhaps Felix) down. I couldn't stop enjoying the food long enough to photograph it.
He'd added bacon to his leberknodlesuppe. Because he'd read (I wonder where) that I have a slight obsession with this fatty meat and knew I'd be pleased to see it in a dumpling.
The main course was NAPKIN DUMPLINGS with creamed chanterelles.
I wanted those mushrooms to last forever (and Felix piled my plate so high that they nearly could have).
Poppy seed cherry ice cream was for dessert.
I think I'm in love with Vienna. Why does food make it so easy for me to fall in love with a place?
But good food does make me fall in love with places. I look at my lengthy list of countries I need to visit and my eye wanders back to the situations wherein I've dined well.
I can go to Switzerland some other time... I want to go back to Italy and eat more prosciutto.
Thanks to Felix, my eye might wander back to Vienna. Accompanied by the rest of me, of course.
Authentic Viennese dinner was followed by a night of sleeping like a pineapple (eat a gigantic meal of knodle and you are bound to sleep like a pineapple). So with dumplings and aspic checked off the list and a sunny new day before us, it was time to venture into a Viennese cafe.
These indulgent blokes are eating/drinking Wiener Eiskaffee.
Espresso.
Over ice cream.
Topped with whipped cream.
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| I think he could win the Andy Sandberg vs Ben Stiller V-neck competition. I also want his hair. |
Traditional Viennese coffee menu.
Kleiner Mocca = Small mocha
Kleiner Brauner = Small mocha with milk or cream
Melange = Half coffee and half frothy milk (this is the most popular amongst the Viennese themselves)
Großer Mocca = Big mocha
Großer Brauner = Big mocha with milk or cream
Weiner Eiskaffee = Ice cream with espresso and WHIPPED CREAM
Oma Kaffee = ?
Einspanner = Small mocha with lots of WHIPPED CREAM
Franziskaner = the melange topped with WHIPPED CREAM
Kapuziner = black coffee with a shot of cream
Oranginkapuziner =?
Kaffe verkehrt = 2/3 milk and 1/3 coffee. English translation on Wikipedia? Coffee wrong. Hilarious.
Maria Theresia = Mocha with a shot of orange liqueur
Meister Kaffee =
Flaker = Large mocha with sugar and plum brandy or rum
Obermayer = ?
Ubersturtzer Neumann = WHIPPED CREAM rushed to customer's table with coffee on the side. I think.
Irish Coffee = You all know what Irish coffee is.
Pharisaer = Black coffee with rum and WHIPPED CREAM
Kannchen Kaffee = a pot of coffee
I've concluded that the Viennese have a fascination with whipped cream.
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Sperlshnittte = I don't know what this one is. When I typed it into google, I was asked if I meant "Super Shuttle". I assume that super shuttle is not a common Viennese dessert.
Zwetschkenfleck = Plum cake
Marillenkuchen =Apricot cake
Salzburger Topfenschnitte
Apfelstrudel = Apple strudel
Topfenstrudel = Sweetened curd cheese strudel
Mohnschnitte = Sweet cherry and poppy seed strudel
Sachertorte = Chocolate, apricot cake with WHIPPED CREAM
Gugelhupf = Bundt cake
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| The inside of a traditional Viennese cafe. Complete with newspapers and pool tables. |
Did I mention that Felix used to be a tour guide?
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| Felix says that this is where the best sausages in all of Vienna are to be found. So when you visit, keep an eye out for the green rabbit. |
Felix is a wonderful tour guide. I learned about the Hapsburgs and Austria's tradition of journeymen and saw the penguins in Stadtpark.
I'll probably forget everything he told me in a year or so. Not because he wasn't an animated, interesting guide, but because my brain only has so much space and the Balkans are currently occupying the majority of cranial real estate I reserve for history.
But something I will never forget?
Kugelmugel.
The Republic of Kugelmugel. To be found at 2, Antifaschismplatz 1.
(my American accent makes kooglemoogle sound even more ridiculous. By the time I get to "Antifaschismplatz", I'm in hysterics. I'm laughing right now. Kooglemoogle. KOOGLEMOOGLE. BAHAHAHAHA)
Apparently, there is a law in Austria that says a structure must have more than one point touching the ground in order to be considered IN the country.
People in Croatia were always finding loopholes in the "no smoking indoors" law.
People in Austria find loopholes in the "living in Austria" law.
Edwin Lipburger (yes. Lipburger) decided that he no longer wanted to live in Austria. So he built a dumpling shaped house that rested on one point and called it the Republik of Kugelmugel.
Kooglemoogle. KOOGLEMOOGLE.
hahahaha. God. I can't stop chuckling. I can't remember a time I've laughed... this... hard... BAHA.
And Lipburger promptly set about building a border for his republic (which proclaimed its independence in 1984), designing his own stamps and refusing to pay taxes.
During my next life (or next placement) when I'm working in soup kitchens or volunteering on organic farms (to restore balance to the universe for people like Felix), I will remember kooglemoogle.
And whenever I get tired of pulling up beetroot or eating leeks for the seventeenth time that week, I will laugh.
And perhaps I'll rebel and create my own republic in the shape of a liver dumpling.
And it shall be called the Republic of Leberknodle.
And it's flag will be in the shape of bacon.
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