The title - a play on words meaning "Why not?". Precisely my attitude as I booked this trip to Lake Como in Northern Italy. If I have to be in Milan every few weeks, why not take advantage of it and stay the weekend for a train trip out of the city? Stunning Lake Como is just an hour ride, but feels as if you were transported to another planet.
This was a solo trip ... envisioned as a weekend alone with fresh, cool mountain air, wondering, relaxing, wining and dining. Mental leg kick! It was all that ... I returned refreshed, with my lethargic winter heaviness shed.
Truth be told, it rained the entire weekend. Non-stop. It was dry enough for me to walk from the train station to the hotel, but the instant I arrived a strong thunderstorm passed over the lake. It was awesome. Really. London gets persistent rain, but no thunder and lightening and I miss those strong storms that blow through the Midwest, especially as an unseasonally warm day is pushed out by a cold front.
Nonetheless, my adventure was not derailed. After the worst of it passed, I grabbed the brelly to stroll into the evening along the coastal path into the old town of Varenna - a sleepy old fishing village with just a few {closed} store fronts on the water and about half a dozen alley ways of infinite staircases leading up the mountain to the square of town. There wasn't a soul to be found on the streets ... later I learned from a local the storm was quite bad, causing a landslide outside of town that closed off the main road.
The wind proved too strong, so I found refuge in a little restaurant with a view for a glass of wine and a starter of what only can be described as chic fish spread ... of course, while being on the lake my goal was to taste as many of the its culinary treats. I was joined by the cuddly house Kitty, as I sat and read my book before braving the elements to shift camp to another restaurant of choice for a proper lake fish ravioli dinner and glass of local red wine. Annnddddd good night!
Up bright and early to assure I didn't miss anything in Varenna the night before (I didn't) and catch the ferry across the lake to the town of Bellagio. This is the belle of the lake, a darling small Italian town known for attracting an affluent crowd to enjoy a day of manoeuvring the slim stairways lined with shops (the best silk in the world is said to come from Como) and ending with a glass of wine in the enoteca before and after a delicious local meal. And so I did!
Sunday morning, again I was early to rise to tackle a three hour hike through the "suburbs of Bellagio". Ha ha ... suburb. Still raining, but having adopted the attitude that it is easier to get wet and get the full view then struggle with the brelly, I wondered the roads, through grasslands of former mansions, past groves of olive trees, witnessed locals pushing a historic fishing boat to the waters ... I was so in awe of the power and beauty of the clouded mountains I took dozens of pictures ... often of the exact same scene in attempt to bring it all back with me. Breathtaking (and not just from the stairs).
After an invigorating boat trip back to Varenna staring into the snow-capped mountain peaks and a lunch of warm bean and pasta soup, it was time to jump back on the train to hustle and bustle of Milan and onward to London (just as the blue sky started to peak through the clouds). Fortunately, the Spring weather in London welcomed me back to continue the momentum and I am good as new!
I tend to not speak much about my gang here on the blog, as I typically "respect other people's right to not be written about on the internet", but this past weekend was a major event in the Alpha-Alpha-Alpha-Alpha-Alpha (you get the picture) sorority and is worth note in this journal of goings-on in my life.
I am so, so, so fortunate to have found myself surrounded by a collection of brilliant, beautiful, funny, smart, brave, honest, susceptible, humble, up-for-anything, loving ladies. Friends with diverse backgrounds, interests, characteristics ... and all bring unique value and growth to my life.
We've come about as friends of friends or co-workers and I'm just so dang lucky we did! This weekend seven of us decided on a road trip to commemorate the escape of one of the Alphs. One of our ladies has fallen in love with a Scandalous Scandinavian and is off to move to Oslo in just two weeks now!
Ponte Vecchio
And celebrate we did ... three days in Florence, Italy - the home of food, Chianti, love, and from my experience tons of naked people cast in stone. We took an hour train from Pisa, stayed in a couple amazing apartments on the river overlooking the "Ponte Vecchio" and spent our time between shopping, resting, wining and dining.
Tuscany ... in my American-movie fed dreams, this is the land of promised green rolling hills, olive oil, and love affairs with some sort of bicycle / teacher / dark hair intertwined (perhaps I need to return some day). We remained in the city of Florence, perusing the markets for leather goods, stopping for frequent gelato breaks, staring up at the unexpected giantness of what is "David", and eating meals that included every last bit of an anti, primi, and a secondi ... woot!
As I wrote the second paragraph above and used the word "susceptible" I paused to Google it. It is one of those words that in some sense connotates weakness and I wanted to assure I wasn't describing the girls with a word that may be mis-construed in a negative way (let's be real, I tend to throw a solid jab here and there, so wanted to check myself!).
But as I ponder its definition { Adjective: 1) Likely or liable to be influenced or harmed by a particular thing. 2) (of a person) Easily influenced by feelings or emotions; sensitive. } I truly think there is no more fitting term as I reflect on this weekend, its significance, and the attendees. As often as we ladies have to put on our head-strong, lead-the-world, take-no-prisoners hats, it is nice to see a lovely woman throw it all to the wind, strip down and say there is nothing I would rather do than be with this person, the man I love, trust, want to have babies with ... so much so that I will stay for months in frigid hours of darkness, learn a new language that sounds no more understandable than tak-a-tak-tak-a-tak, meet strangers and call them family, smoke salmon and reindeer meat at home, and endlessly "train" for cross-country skiing events.
Best of luck to you sweetheart ... though scary, at a minimum you have inspired me and made me proud. I'm sure the other Alphs would agree. Hugs.
I've noticed my inner feminist is starting to stir. Amongst certain company that suggestion will provoke negative connotations and definitely raise an eyebrow or two regarding the fact that I am 37 and still a single lady (?!!??!!??), but I am not talking about being a man-hater, I am talking about being a female-promoter. Since moving to Europe certain situations have caught my attention, causing me to be aware of my womanhood ... instances where the fact that I was a woman was brought to the forward of my consciousness (and I'm not talking about those welcomed encounters).
For example, while boarding an airplane at London's City Airport for Milan, the jet bridge is jammed with men in their 30-50s, wearing sharp black suits, fashionable ties, poking away at their smartphones. Aside from a fashionista or two, it seemed as if I was the only woman flying to Milan to conduct business (at least one senior enough to justify the expense of the city airport). Needless to say, I was the only woman sitting at the table of that Board meeting. Hm.
Or, while walking through the Mobile World Congress in Barcelona last week, the crowd was at least 4:1 male, and much to my disgust the majority of females at the show were scantly clad, their only purpose being to tout the latest shiny device to previously mentioned male-dominated crowd. My skin crawled.
I've also felt the same in the UK, where Board rooms are majority male and it is quite acceptable to tell a woman leader she "sounds like a naggy wife" when she raises concerns about business decisions. Stories from friends revealing male leaders in their offices touching and embarrassing young ladies enrage me.
I just don't recall many situations like this in the US. Upon reflecting my own personal history, I never really considered the fact that I was a female when it came to my own education and career path. Perhaps the U.S. is more progressive than Europe in this sense (go us!), but I also realize now that I am fortunate to have role models in my life that helped me navigate around the oppression many women face along the way.
For starters, I remember quite vividly watching my Mom get ready to go to work when I was young. I would lay in her bed, and she would put on her power suit, pumps, and jewellery to go hit the streets to tackle business in her sporty little car. I always thought how smart, fearless, and beautiful she was, and I know this subtle ritual was very impressionable on me. I wanted to be just like her.
She taught me to get good grades, have expectations for myself and others, and beyond all, to be self-reliant with a good job. If I did those things, everything else would work out. I never remember, ever, a conversation about how I was a girl and expected to do less, or that boys could do some things and girls should do others. Bull-mallarky. If anything, I was shown that as a girl you should simply work harder.
And I have to give credit to the company I work for. From the very first position I held, I was encouraged to grow, learn and take on more. My first boss was a woman, our CEO at the time was a woman, my second boss was a woman, I was hired by a woman to move to Europe, my mentors are mostly women, and as I look at the executive leadership team today easily half are women, if not more. Never has sexuality been a topic at work, aside from the encouragement to continue to be present and to celebrate our diversity. Today, our company issued a series of twenty short videos of our leadership around the world expressing their support of International Woman's Day. I am quite proud to be part of this.
So, on this International Woman's Day, I hope everyone takes the time to acknowledge that our private bits are not an acceptable source of discrimination, to call out those cases in which you see that discrimination taking place, to encourage young woman in your lives that anything is possible, and to thank those who've encouraged you along the way. You should never feel uncomfortable or less than anyone else because you are female and societies that do not encourage their women are not realizing their full potential. And, I have to say, I'm quite looking forward to getting a copy of Cheryl Sandburg's book Lean In, coming out Monday (Facebook's COO and female activist).
Thanks Mom, and to all of you strong ladies in my life, "You've come a long way baby"!
I just downloaded 355 pictures from my trip to Barcelona - a tell tale sign that there was a LOT of eye candy in that city! Last week there was a global convention for those that supply the mobile industry (think phones, tablets, wireless technology, app venders ... eight football arena sized halls of it), and I got to attend on behalf of Nielsen (we're trying to measure what you do on your device!).
Being that I had yet to visit this favourite city of many, I made a long weekend of it to see what the city had to offer. Work has been quite busy, so I did not have much time to do the research I typically do before visiting a new place in order to assure nothing is missed. Fortunately I made do.
I did get in a quick Google search of "food markets Barcelona" and found the grand-mack-daddy of them all. And, I did scan TripAdvisor for the best tapas restaurants. Armed with that knowledge, I made my way Friday evening to "Bar Celta". A quick and easy fried tapas kind of joint near the sea that is also a pulperia (or restaurant that specializes in octopus). Gross to some, a special delight to others ... I ate an entire plateful sprinkled with parprika, along with large plate of pimentos de padron (flash-fried, loads of salt). And, they put a bottle of chilled, local white wine in front of you and you just pay for how much you drink out of it. Bliss.
Saturday was designed to wander the Bari Gotic and Las Ramblas - the old heart of the city and main drag which runs down the middle. The hotel was a metro ride form the centre, so I am now an expert on one more city's public transport system. The Bari is exactly what you want to find when you travel to a European city ... little winding alley ways, lined with shuttered balconies holding laundry, ferns, and local flags. Main stream shops are interspersed with local speciality shops, and fortunately many old businesses are still in tact.
By mid-day we made our way to the Mercat Lo Boqueria, aka Heaven on Earth. This foodie haven provides a solid challenge to my beloved Borough market in London for best in the world. It seems every kind of anything edible the great Earth provides is under this roof - every possible type of fruit, veg, spice, cheese, fish, and meat ... ohhh, the jamon! Catalunya is the home to Iberica ham ... its not cheap, but oh is it delicious. Jamon in a cone! After strolling each and every lane, eating along the way, we stopped to take a load off at a little tapas bar in the market. I had some delicious anchovies with the local Estrella beer. The only reason I could walk out of there was because I knew I would be back before the end of the trip.
From there we continued on our wondering way, seeing the Arc di Triomf (its not only Paris that has one!) with a flock of parrots feeding in front, a darling little shoe shop with every colour imaginable, antique shops with old food tins, and a stop off for a devilish hot chocolate (which was more akin to molten chocolate sauce you'd pour on a sundae, eaten with a little spoon).
For dinner we went to La Paradeta on a recommendation from a friend. This counter-service restaurant sure was popular, indicated by the line of locals winding down the street waiting to get in. It works like this ... counter is overflowing with ice and the freshest of seafood. You get to the counter and order (in Catalan) which items you want, the number of grams, and either grilled or fried. You grab a number and when you hear it called out (also in Catalan) you go to the window and pick it up. No fluff, just grilled squid, tuna, prawns, and I did have to try the razor clams (first time, and they are good). After a stop off for an after dinner glass of local red, and perhaps a couple tapas it was off to bed.
Sunday was planned to be the more cultural day focused on seeing Gaudi's architectual masterpieces sprinkled throughout Barcelona. First, to Sagrada Familia, which left me with one headline - this guy is certifiable. Nuts. Pure genius. The mathematical design concepts he had to discover to build a structure like this, combined with his awesome abiilty to integrate design from nature and inability to say "when" made for some simply unbelievable results. I do have to say, I loved the primary coloured stained glass windows, but the church itself is simply just too "Gaudi".
On our way over to some of his houses, we passed by a xurreria, or as it should be known, the place that makes best dang churro anywhere, ever. Thick, hot, filled with nutella, served in a paper cone from a guy whose been in business for more than 60 years ... fried dough will never go out of style.
Hmmm ... what else was notable ... lunch! Another highly recommended tapas spot Cerveceria Catalana, which served endless varieties of montaditos, or little slices of bread with a topper, usually tomatoes, fish, cheese, and also two key plates - a mountain of french-fried potatoes topped with tomato sauce and a fried egg (everyone was getting it, so of course we had to try it!) and also a plate of grilled green onions. Now, these onions, known as calcots, are not your every day onion (at least that is what this article says). We had to watch others around us to figure out how to eat them ... which is to peel off the outer grilled skins and dredge the soft gooey center into tomato sauce. Combined with a pitcher of sweet sangria, this was classic Catalonia lunch. After a stroll along the coast and through the little Barceloneta neighborhood, it was back to the hotel to just take it easy ... no need to eat dinner that night!
After spending two days and nights at the conference, I had some time on the final day before heading off to the airport to knock out a few more places. As if the weekend weren't enough, I was astounded to find many more foodie delights. First stop was Casa Gispert. This little dried food shop was been roasting nuts since the mid-19th century. They had the old roaster in back going when I was there ... the lighting from the flames, the aroma of almonds, and the historic shelves lined with dreamy delights was surreal. This is where I picked up my paella rice.
Making my way to another food market, Mercat Santa Catarina, I came across an old pastry shop with these crunchy, chocolate and peanut covered thingies (and its making me crazy because I didn't get the name of them) and of course had to stop for a couple since they were so unique. This market was quite nice as well, with meat/cheese stalls dreams are made of. I wandered a bit and found a little shop selling paella pans, so that souvenier was a reality.
Winding my way across town, stopping at La Boqueria market for one last mental hug and a toast with a glass of local Cava (I learned that Cava, Spain's answer to France's Champagne and Italy's Proseco, is from quite close to Barcelona), I made it over to the Parallel area of town for the grand finale meal at Quimet i Quimet. As chance would have it in a town like Barcelona, I walked past this amazing old bakery, serving bunyols, small little donut-hole like creations served in Barcelona only during the season of lent. Picked up a few of those babies and tucked them into my bag for a snack on the plane.
Anyway, in a less touristy part of town, this small little tapas counter (no seats) was epic. I did read about it online, and after seeing it in a gastronomy book I bought while in town, I had to make it there. Not much bigger than my kitchen, every bit of wall space from floor to ceiling is covered with wine and food products. They had some wicked montaditos, like salmon with truffled honey, shrimp dotted with caviar and creme freche, and the closer ... foie gras speckled with black volcanic salt. Ta dah!!!
I have been on a veg and fruit diet for three days now! Barcelona ... one of the few cities I would make a repeat visit to. Next time, in the warm weather ... throw in visits to the beach and I may never leave!
Brazil has its tanned, feathered samba dancers. Venice its masked Carnival and New Orleans its debaucherous Mardi Gras. In England ... it is Pancake Day.
The day before the start of the Lenten period in Catholic cultures has evolved into a massive party of sorts to celebrate all that is decadent in life in preparation for the forty days of deprivation to follow. Those cultures that are less Catholic generally do not celebrate this date, or have modified their approach ... thus England and its "Shrove Tuesday".
Pancakes are associated with the day preceding Lent because they were a way to use up rich foods such as eggs, milk, and sugar before the fasting season. So, all across the nation this past Tuesday night bands of people came together carrying ingredients of their liking (Nutella, sugar and butter, ham and cheese) to partake in the custom.
My dear friends Amy and Cheryl hosted quite the event, making dozens and dozens of crepe-like pancakes (not those fluffly ones us Bisquick-raised Americans envision) to please the masses, first taking in a few "savoury" and closing up with a couple "sweet".
Though not quite as provocative as some other culture's celebrations, this quaint indulgence is the perfect exclamation point on all that is decadent in life. I do have to say though, judging on the stuffed restaurants on Valentine's Day Wednesday, there was no stoppage of the over-consumption!!
Hello! Its been some time since I've written a post, so I'm putting up a general update on the life of Sarah these days. Not much different from most the population, I have spent the first few weeks of January recuperating from the holidays, doing a general assessment on the status of life, being healthy, and bracing for the soon-to-be rapid onslaught of 2013.
The final months of 2012 were a rip-roarer, consisting of ping pong between work and personal travel, long heavy days of work focus speckled with my personal explorations and aggressive "foodie-ism". Thus, I was definitely ready to check out a bit ... let the frantic pace slow to a drool ... stop telling myself I needed to be doing something.
Health
Once I returned from the States from a lovely X-mas with family and friends (I mean, my little Ri is just the sweetest), I took to the stereotypical resolution planning. I am not one to get real particular about it, but the urge to cleanse is etheral for me. On the typical day I focus on the food I put in my mouth and the thickness of "cold protection" forming on my extremities, but I step it up in January to aid the "post cookie tin" recovery.
I am back in Bikram yoga twice a week, and running as well. Diet is veg, grain and legume heavy (I mean, I have never loved lentils so much!). Actually made it three days in a row without wine in week one. (ha, ha).
Work
I instituted the pay-it-forward philosophy. I knew that early in the new year organizational and strategic changes meant things were going to go bananas quite soon. So, as a result I had little guilt from taking it easy early in the month (which also helped me keep up the exercise program). Things hit hectic pace about mid-month, but I was rested and on-point to tackle the challenging times. I'm hitting a high at work right now ... it just feels right and its preparing me for the next phase. Drive ... determination ... vision. Look out.
Travel
Early in the month I didn't even want to ponder travel, as all I wanted to do was hang in lovely London, waking late and enjoying strolls in the afternoon. Though, soon enough life offered up the need to start booking, and inevitably this got me into personal travel planning. Since I moved to London I had a mental goal of one trip a month. So far, that goal has been fulfilled. I'm kind of an over-achiever, so this goal too must go on! Last week it began ... Milan (work), this week Paris (work) and onto Chicago/Florida (love/work), Hamburg, Germany (work), Barcelona (pleasure/work), and Florence, Italy (pleasurable girls' weekend). That gets me through March ... April has another US trip, Paris and Milan (hmmm Venice?) ... May to Mykonos, Greece for a girls trip. Definitely more travel blogs to come in 2013 ... and to think I have yet to plan Champagne, Burgundy, Portugal, and the Amalfi Coast.
Peace Beyond that, I have put the priority on simply finding peace ... I am a loner of a person and need to have the time in my life to do those things that are important to me ... alone. Browsing the Borough market squeezing the perfect tomato, taking the fishmonger's advice for dinner ... watching the foxes play in my back yard ... a Sunday afternoon stroll in the fresh snowfall ... hanging at the pub for conversations with my neighbours ... hand-crafting jewellery and knit goods ... spending time staring at the flora in my neighbourhood pondering survival in January ... chop, chop, chopping veg to the sounds of my "hot ladies pop" playlist on Spotify ... just laying in bed looking at the ceiling letting the natural thoughts and conclusions flow from one side to the other as the sun rises to remind me to actually get to work and start the action of 2013! Bring on February!
As I set out today to walk up the main street in my neighbourhood to pick up some last minute groceries for the New Year's party, I couldn't help but take notice of all that was green and vibrant around me. I recalled how I had the same sentiment at this time last year ... and the year before. I am sure there is a blog about it if only I had the patience to look it up.
As a girl from the Midwest U.S. it amazes me that at the end of December, just at the tip of January, new life is springing anew. Perhaps it is a stark contrast since I just recently parted the greyness, where the ground is entering its deep freeze. Yet, as I swept the patio this morning I saw the Magnolia tree was budding and out front the bulbs are already peaking their noses out of the damp soil. As I briskly made my way, each of the luscious greens grabbed at my attention.
How slowly London shows its signs of Spring, as these buds will make their way in their own due time, but I couldn't help but be oh so happy that Fall quickly makes it way to Spring here and dream ever so briefly about the daffodils of March.
Not one blog yet in December??? Well, the holiday break will allow me to get caught up in preparation for the new year. This one will focus on a foodie delight trip, when over Thanksgiving I had a business trip to Milan I decided to take advantage of. There is so much to see and do (and eat) in Northern Italy. With its vineyards producing some of the best wine in the world and the land's endless supply of foodie delights, it is one of my favourite places on Earth.
I planned a series of train rides to visit the food focused towns to the East of Milan, first stopping in Parma (home to Parmesan cheese, as well as the notorious Prosciutto di Parma), then on to Modena (home of Balsamic Vinegar), and then finally to spend the weekend in Bologna (which amongst many other foodie boasts is the birthplace of Mortadella, Tortelloni, and Bolognese sauce). My dear friend Angela met me in Milan and away we went!
We got to Parma on the evening of Thanksgiving Thursday - we paid a tribute to the American holiday with a plateful of the local prosciutto and pumpkin stuffed tortelloni. As a starter the waiter wheeled over a cart with a giant wheel of Parmesan cheese from which he chipped us off a few chunks. I have arrived! Devine!
After a stroll around town in the morning admiring the local produce shops and boutiques we hopped the half hour train to Modena. Goal was simple - lunch and to secure a bottle of the local 12 year aged vinegar, the good stuff. Mission accomplished! Lunch of pasta with octopus and a glass of the local lambrusco wine was just as should be had in such a place. The shop where I purchased the vinegar was out of a dream ... the walls of the tiny shop were stacked with oils and panettone, the owners must have been there for decades, and they paper wrapped the bottles I purchased while I admired all the Italian pastries on offer. Smiles from ear to ear!
One more short train ride to Bologna - the foodie capital of Italy (and that is quite a title). Off the main square is a series of narrow cobblestone streets full of market shops overflowing with salamis, pasta, cheese, seafood, and vegetables. Ahhhh I was in heaven peaking around each and every corner!
Angela has a couple of cousins living in Bologna, so in turn they took us to delicious restaurants across the old town (known for all its porticos, or covered sidewalks). The first evening's dinner was a bowl of fresh pasta and Bolognese sauce - possibly the best pasta dish I have ever eaten.
After strolling the streets of town on Saturday we went a bit off the beaten path to a small osteria to have a full Italian meal - antipasta, primi (pasta), secondi (meat), and the dolce - and all with local ingredients from the Emilia Romagna region - cheese, vinegar, mortadella, fried torteloni.
Sunday AM we got an unexpected ride out of town to see a church towering over the region a top the rolling hills - San Luca. There is a portico covered walkway up the hill from the town that has 666 archways, saying that sinners will cleanse their sins as they make their way slowly to the top. After all the we had eatten the past few days we probably should have made the journey! Nah, we went on for one last Italian feast for lunch. What an amazing foodie adventure, made even better with the companionship of a great friend and her family.
Though currently attempting to optimize my in-person wine experiences, the latest was a pure coincidence. In a meeting of the stars, life would have it that a dear friend of mine from Chicago would be visiting Paris in November, near the time when I needed to schedule a business meeting. As we finalized a date, he mentioned how lucky I was to be in France for the "Beaujolais Nouveau". Huh?
So, the research begins. Beaujolais is a region in France, south of Burgundy and Nouveau stands for "new". Simple enough. This is one of the few red wines they do not age to maturity, letting the juice ferment for just a matter of weeks from harvest until the third Thursday in November when they pop barrels all over France, especially the South, to toast the season's harvest.
Let me be clear ... this stuff is terrible. Any self-respecting Frenchman raises their nose in horror when you mention you drank the stuff, let alone came into the country just to celebrate it. I kept my comments to a minimum in the meeting the day after. Kind of like saying you love Colt 45.
Still, I am not a wine snob who limits themselves to only the superb, this is about breadth of knowledge as much as depth. I did some quick searching for events in Paris and found a street party that seemed the best option. On my walk over, I ran across a small wine shop with a huge barrel in the window and decided to pop in. Turns out, they were literally filling the bottles, corking them, and smearing the labels on right there! How exciting! Honestly, it wasn't too bad ... and at 5 Euro, I bought a souvenir bottle.
Perhaps I was spoiled by that experience. As I walked up, there was a door with possibly a thousand bottles of wine lined up behind. I grabbed one and gave it a shot. My first thought was, "this ... is ... the worst wine I have ever tasted". Eh, I'll give it another try.
Second try, it was still horrible. So, that experience is complete. However, I still had a weekend in Paris to share in friendly conversation and explore France's culinary adventures, like jellied seafood terrines.
My Mom has been a collector of the "blue plate" for as long as I can remember (really, I can't remember when all this started). These blue plates are collector's Christmas plates from a company called Royal Copenhagen, out of ... you guessed it!
The company has issued a plate each year commemorating the holiday, and my Mom and I have spent numerous pleasurable afternoons browsing various locations one might find such a plate ... delighting when we found one, snarling when the price was ridiculous or it was the all too prevalent palm trees (right, you see a lot of those in Denmark). She has completed quite a collection over the years, and as a collector often does, come to the point where only the very special will have the privilege of being added to the collection hung around the soffit of the kitchen.
Myself, as I consider weekend getaways in the colder months, like to focus on city trips, where you wonder the stone streets, not taking concern of the chill because the crisp in the air and views are so sweet.
Nordic cities certainly fall into this genre, so I have been keeping my eye on Copenhagen because of its sentimental value, and closeness to the sea and Sweden. I was considering a visit for the Christmas markets, but when I saw "Europe's largest flea market" I was booked in a heartbeat. I decided to do a solo trip ... only Mom could truly have the endurance and enthusiasm to power through this like I wanted.
I took the after work flight Friday night and had enough time to drop off the bag and go grab the local Christmas beer, Tuborg Julebryg (interesting fact ... their marketing campaign is one of the oldest still utilized today .. cute!).
However, there was no time for play, as I needed to get off to bed to wake early, grab a coffee and an amazing cinnamon roll and get off to the Loppemarked (Danish for "huge room of amazing vintage goods!")
What can I say ... it was delightfully full of mod Danish furniture and kitchen bits, loaded with Royal Copenhagen, not only blue plates, but figurines and the like. I picked up a few items, including a bag of licorice (and if I would have had the means would have picked up a lot more). After four hours I wearily made my way back onto the Metro into town for the second half of the day exploring the city.
I went for a light lunch of Smorgasbord ... my first round of pickled herring, which given my DNA is a delight. By that time it was already dark (like 4P) so I wondered the cobbled streets looking at shops, listening to street musicians, and passing by the mecca Royal Copenhagen flagship store. {Don't worry Mom, noooothing to be seen there). Did you know legos were invented in Denmark? They were.
Went back to the hotel to get purty for my fancy dinner (which you can read about here), stopped to see some bad 80s music after , and then to bed again for Sunday was another big day! Up early again to grab the canal boat tour for an hour before heading off on the metro again to see the food market and eat everything in sight!
I know I am all about food, pretty much all the time, but they had their herring served on the seagull plates from Royal Copenhagen. Awwww! And huge chunks of Danish blue cheese ... yeah, that came home with me along with a gorgeous piece of smoked salmon covered in dill. And don't get me started about the sweet rolls with cardamom ...
Copenhagen is a beautiful little harbour city, where you can still see the life of old salty fisherman, yet experience the surge they had in the 70s specifically around architecture and design. When I go up north I feel a sense of identity ... people are kind, clean, eat healthy appreciate nature ... and are punctual!! My flight boarded early both times on Scandinavia airlines!
Noma restaurant, Copenhagen has been voted the best restaurant in the world the last three years. As soon as I knew I was heading to the city for Europe's largest flea market I started writing emails and attempting to secure a booking. Crickets. Copenhagen has no shortage of Michelin-rated joints, so after a bit more research I opted to spend my evening of culinary delight at AOC.
Like Noma they are also known for utilising only local, in season ingredients (i.e. foraging the nearby forests for juniper berries and thyme) and serving them with visually stunning presentation. The menu is seven courses with a wine pairing at each course (!!!!). The food and wine on their winter menu were out of this world, but this is also designed to be "an experience".
Here's a little on how mine went, as a solo diner at a Michelin star restaurant: Soul is smiling big, anticipation is bubbling. I'm looking around the simple creamy room to take in every detail - in fact what I notice is absence of detail - only candles on the white table clothes and mod Danish lighting and serving trays. It is located in the lower level of a restored historic building, so the archway details make the room. I notice everyone is looking at me, trying to figure out who I am - feeling both a little sad for me and at the same time overly intrigued to meet me. I suppose it must be odd for an extremely beautiful woman to dine alone at their place (:-)); I imagine they think I must be somewhere between royalty, movie star, and acclaimed food critic. Let them wonder. Da da da ... Time passes and the servers begin to whisk out a precise series of five starters that come before the meal accompanied by the crispest, fluffiest champagne ever. Each is a single mouthful - little jerky served on a twig, some other crunchy bit, tartar, pistachio cream filled milkskin (?), duck fat broth (eek). As you do, I listen to other people's low chatter and my own thoughts intermingle with theirs. Heard a girl say "Cuba". I want to go to Cuba, but I want to have long hair and a base tan and, well, be 26. I saw that flight out of Tampa to Havana. Did they change the travel restriction? Who comes to places like this? Well I guess now I do. I think I like this crowd (well except that girl in the grape satin dress and string of pearls that keeps saying "like"). Sophisticated but not snooty, money but not showing off, taking pictures of every plate like me. I see a Dad and his smart, you-raised-her-well daughter, a couple so comfortable they must be on their 50th visit, two Arabic men doing business, a younger couple more in my genre of "wow can't believe we're here, what is that?" Most surprising thing for some reason is that every plate was delicious, and that I didn't leave hungry. I tasted each and every herb leaf (lemon verbena!), the brisket was as tender as I've ever had. I wont go into the detail of every plate, but the skate dish with caviar was the prettiest dish I've seen plated. I was served by the owner and sommelier himself (a move done I'm sure just in case I was the head writer for Food & Wine). Ballsy wine list. For me the wine pairing was as much as a treat as the food. A tangy Austrian white and the reds were all out of this world, strong, berry heavy, exactly my taste - Russian River valley Pinot (served with a truffled Jerusalem artichoke I will soon be attempting to replicate), a couple Frenchies to go with the brisket and duck plates, and closed with a Danish cherry wine served with juniper ice cream. Ta dah! The owner was really young. By "really" I mean, younger than me, wise beyond his years. I know a bit about wine, but this dude has 100 vintages of champaign on his menu (and I mean bubbly from the exact boundaries of the region) not just a long list of anything white with bubbles in it. His depth of knowledge and experience seemed beyond his years. I did decide to offer my feedback on his greatness, and also my constructive criticism that his cloudy, organic white wasn't my taste. When he said it paired well with yoghurt and cabbage my confidence was reinforced. I heard that day that 60% of Americans are one pay check away from poverty (this glutinous meal could have fed someone for months). I'm not really sure who I am right now. I mean, I know me, but I am growing and changing and I'm letting my limits have no bound for a while. We as humans (at least some of us) have a bad practice of looking at others we envy and thinking lucky for them, or subconsciously that we're not worthy, that life is for someone else, that we have to stay within some sort of pre-defined boundary. Fuey. You are who you make yourself to be. Despite others' raised eyebrows, I was exactly where I was meant to be that night and I walked out feeling somewhere between royalty, movie starlet, and acclaimed food critic.
Wikipedia: Day of the Dead (Spanish: Día de los Muertos) is a Mexican holiday celebrated throughout Mexico and around the world. The holiday focuses on gatherings of family and friends to pray for and remember friends and family members who have died. The celebration takes place on November 1 and 2, in connection with the Catholic holidays of All Saints' Day and All Souls' Day. Traditions connected with the holiday include building private altars honouring the deceased using sugar skulls, marigolds, and the favourite foods and beverages of the departed and visiting graves with these as gifts. They also leave possessions of the deceased. I have always enjoyed the artistic creations associated with this celebration, so colourful and detailed, joyous yet sad. It is this day of remembrance that is root of America's Halloween ... which derived from Hallow's Eve, the night before All Souls' Day. A friend of mine posted a celebration in London's Old Vic Tunnels hosted by one of the city's Mexican foodies and headlining the Mexican guitar duo Rodrigo y Gabriela ... all factors made this a sure win. I decided this would be my "Halloween" celebration this year, and set out to plan a traditional Dia de los Muertos costume for the event. Makeup, dried roses, and some fabric, trim, and lace to make a skirt. The Old Vic Tunnels are a very cool venue, underneath the current Waterloo train station, consisting of a series of cavernous, damp brick train tunnels that you arrive at by walking down a long graffiti covered tube. The hosts decked it out with various haunting art installations, performing artists, creepy silent movies, and thousands of candles. Complimentary gauc and tacos came with the deal, and they were serving up Jasmine Margaritas. Everything was top notch. It was quite a hoot to be all decked out in dress, and people responding quite nice to our costumes! I have loved Rodrigo (and I guess his lovely partner as well) for quite a while, and it was exciting to see them play in such a great scene. I have included a video typical of their music, as well as a slideshow with some pics! A great memory was made ...
Unexpected fortune ... a global internet measurement conference in Rome - a city that deserves to be high on any traveller's list, but lacking beaches and a wine district within walking distance, it managed to miss my priority list over the past two years.
Yet, there I was with little time to prepare for the trip, more freaked out about what to wear to a "black tie optional Gala Dinner" and assuring I had an iPad on hand to at least give off the perception I was with it, er um, technically speaking.
Nonetheless, I arrived Monday with some time later in the evening to venture off ... I grabbed a ride and proceeded to walk towards the Trevi fountain. As I rounded the corner I let out a "whoa" at its size and crystal blue waters. Gorgeous. {Curse my camera for not producing clear photos on this trip!!}
I had planned to walk to the Colosseum, which was an aggressive plan considering the distance and the time. On my way, I did wonder pass the original Peroni bar (had to stop in for a halfer) and veered myself through tiny alleys, speckled with little shops and cafes gazing up at the shuttered balconies with draping ivies. I love that bit about Europe!
Much to my fears, as I made it out into the vast open space where the ruins lie in front of the Colosseum, the skies opened up ... and not for a little bit. As I ran for cover in what can only be described as Biblical rains, I caught one eye of the Colosseum, but more so witnessed several tourists' umbrellas being blown into the stratosphere from the winds. As I leaned against the wall, my skinny jeans were saturated and my boots were overflowing with water ... one of those moments when you pause and think "how in the world did I end up here?" I felt as big as an ant ... a very wet ant.
Unwillingly to sacrifice my only free night in Rome, I made a darting beeline for the taxi line, dove head first into the next in line and asked the driver to take me to the best vinoteca he knew of. Deal? Deal. As we drove, I got my wits about me and asked if he knew of Piazza Navona (that is where, in my perfect evening, I was to end up for dinner), and he responded with a grin, "well, that is where I am taking you". Serendipity calibrated.
By the time we arrived, the rains had slowed and again I was free to wonder about the piazza, sloshing in my boots and snapping pictures of the fountains. I found my way to a local spot for some dinner and wine and to off course dry out a bit.
The next AM I had a couple hours before the meetings began, so I arose bright and early and hit the street to see the Campo di Fiori, or flower market. Of course I had to find the local food market!! One booth had the most artistic, dreamy display of fall produce and on the perimeter a salami shop to end all hunting ... the best. Truffle salami in the bag - done, and done.
I grabbed a cafe and a croissant as any Italian would do, and made my way towards the Vatican City. It is a disgrace that I only had two hours to spend, as in reality I could have spent that long in one room, but when you have a limited amount of time in Rome, you make the best of it. I rushed my way through the Vatican, room after room, past sculptures and tapestries that seemed impossible, my brain can not wrap around their significance The world's most expressive writers could not come close to doing it justice in words, so I will not try. It's out of this world. The hall of maps ... I want to go back there (not ironically, the most scientific part).
The conference was stimulating and rejuvenating, full of bright innovators from around the globe. The gala dinner went fine ... we had cocktails on top of the Spanish Steps and the event in a beautiful ballroom. The post-dinner social was around from the Pantheon so I got to check that off my list via that route. The second evening's dinner was in the most beautiful piazza I have yet to see, with very old buildings dripping in ivy and ancient fire-burning sconces, following a very educational walk around the Jewish Ghetto of Rome. Leaders from Facebook, Google, whah, whah, whah whah ... back to the important stuff.
Because the torrential rain shower cut short my visit to the Colosseum, I was somewhat obsessing about it and decided to cut out an hour early on my way back to the airport to catch a glimpse. Fortunately the agenda permitted, and alas I crossed off the major sites in Rome.
However ... don't anyone be fooled. I barely scratched the surface of what lies beneath. Rome is an aesthetically amazing place, with ancient sculptures in the squares of seemingly insignificant complexes, piles of buildings with stairways designed by Michaelangelo, and towering fountains behind walls most will not see, with hundreds of pieces of art hanging in unassuming museums. Rome is deserving of much more time than I was allowed to offer ... and I barely even spoke of the foooooood!!
This week I happened to catch a pretty bad cold, possibly a flu. You know, the one you feel coming on because your back and neck become insensibly painful, your chest feels like someone has a 2 ton weight on it, and you can't seem to find any energy. By day two, you're completely delirious ... cold sweats, dizziness, nausea, and a throat swollen nearly shut. That's it.
Early in the stages of day one I go on full frontal attack, the "you can't beat me" attitude: Vitamin C tablets, herbal teas, hot bath, (thanks to the English) hot water bottle in the bed, and physically horizontal as soon as possible.
Day two, after fifteen hours of sweaty, sleep full of trippy dreams I wake to scan Pinterest for the best of the net's soup recipes. Despite my urges during my "healthy" days (cheesy broccoli, crispy French onion, creamy mushroom), when I am ill I crave brothy, vegetable heavy soups that have little dairy or fat. So, I choose Roasted Corn Chowder (recipe here), determine I have enough energy to make it to the market for the ingredients (fresh air seems like a good idea), and pull myself out of bed.
As I went through my standard routine of hitting my deli for a simple breakfast I chose to get a fresh mint tea instead of a latte and grab an organic mandarin orange in place of an almond croissant. Tummy just doesn't seem like it can handle my normal weekend temptations.
For anyone who knows me even a little bit, they will be familiar with my love affair with the Borough market. Yet, today, I couldn't even eat! Now is when I begin to pray this sickness will soon pass. I grab all the ingredients I need, try consciously not to breath or touch anyone, and make my way back home.
And as I begin to make my soup, I think, "Wow. This is how we are supposed to eat every day, not just when we are sick". Citrus, teas, vegetables, low fat ... so, I consider why I don't. I am very conscious of what I eat ... and the answer is simple: the food we choose is a balance of business and pleasure. Yes, it is to sustain our bodies with with nutrients we need to move about for as long as possible, but it is also about pleasure - a reward for a job well done, a privilege for success, a celebration.
There are just some food categories bring about a drug-induced sense of pleasure: Prosciutto (i.e.bacon, salami, mortadella), Brie (or Mozzarella Parmessan, Cheddar), Wine, French bread, Creams (sour, cheese, freche), Steak ... we all can make our own list. And this is where balance comes in.
We all know to chose a carrot over cake, but the epiphany here is that our body is brilliant - that during illness the little voice inside starts screaming ... "Orange Juice!" ... "Cheese Ick!" ... "Hot tea!". If ever we didn't believe our body tells us what it needs, in times of sickness it is forcefully evident. I for one am going to listen more closely when I am fortunate enough to be well; and be sure not to tip the balance too much to the side of pleasure (hope 51:49 works!).
The title - a play on words meaning "Why not?". Precisely my attitude as I booked this trip to Lake Como in Northern Italy. If I have to be in Milan every few weeks, why not take advantage of it and stay the weekend for a train trip out of the city? Stunning Lake Como is just an hour ride, but feels as if you were transported to another planet.
Truth be told, it rained the entire weekend. Non-stop. It was dry enough for me to walk from the train station to the hotel, but the instant I arrived a strong thunderstorm passed over the lake. It was awesome. Really. London gets persistent rain, but no thunder and lightening and I miss those strong storms that blow through the Midwest, especially as an unseasonally warm day is pushed out by a cold front.
Nonetheless, my adventure was not derailed. After the worst of it passed, I grabbed the brelly to stroll into the evening along the coastal path into the old town of Varenna - a sleepy old fishing village with just a few {closed} store fronts on the water and about half a dozen alley ways of infinite staircases leading up the mountain to the square of town. There wasn't a soul to be found on the streets ... later I learned from a local the storm was quite bad, causing a landslide outside of town that closed off the main road.
Sunday morning, again I was early to rise to tackle a three hour hike through the "suburbs of Bellagio". Ha ha ... suburb. Still raining, but having adopted the attitude that it is easier to get wet and get the full view then struggle with the brelly, I wondered the roads, through grasslands of former mansions, past groves of olive trees, witnessed locals pushing a historic fishing boat to the waters ... I was so in awe of the power and beauty of the clouded mountains I took dozens of pictures ... often of the exact same scene in attempt to bring it all back with me. Breathtaking (and not just from the stairs).
