Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for April, 2015

TriesteOn the morning of my departure from Budapest, I awoke extra early in order to catch my 8:35am train to Trieste. Despite hitting the morning rush on the subway ride to the station, I still managed to arrive with 40 minutes to spare. Since the agent did not make a seat assignment when I booked my ticket two days earlier, I had been concerned about finding a seat if the train were to be full. I needn’t have worried, though, as only one other person shared my compartment during the entire journey.

At breakfast in my hotel, I had swiped a few snacks for the trip: a slice of whole wheat bread, a bit of cheese, and an apple. I also had the sandwich and bananas that I had purchased the previous afternoon. It was going to be a really, really long day!

I settled into my window seat to watch the passing scenery. When we passed Lake Balaton, I thought at first that we had inexplicably reached the sea, for the expanse of blue was so vast that the distant horizon appeared nothing more than a blur of sky and water. The other passenger in my compartment was an older Italian gentleman who relentlessly persisted in his attempts to converse. Normally, I’d relish the chance to practice my Italian, but I was by now getting a sore, scratchy throat—the beginnings of a bad cold.

When the train pulled into the station at Zagreb, Croatia, the gentleman got off, and I would end up having the compartment all to myself for the duration of the trip. By midday, the sky turned gray and cloudy, and I tried to distract myself by reading one of the paperback novels I had packed. With each border we crossed, there was a lengthy wait as officials boarded the train and checked every passenger’s passport.

Despite the gloomy weather, I found the countryside in Slovenia to be quite lovely. The train ran alongside a river with quaint-looking houses on the opposite bank. Shortly, rain began to fall. When we stopped in Ljubljana, masses of people boarded the train, though I still remained alone in my compartment.

Finally, the train pulled into Monfalcone, Italy, where I was to make my connection to Trieste. We were running a half hour behind schedule, arriving just as my connecting train pulled into the opposite platform. Surrounded by a small crowd of people trying to make the same connection, I scrambled off the train, found the stairs to the sottopassaggio (underpass), and lugged my rolling duffel back up to the correct platform—only to watch the train pull away. We had all missed it by mere seconds! A quick check of the schedule revealed that there was, fortunately, another train to Trieste in just 10 minutes.

By the time I arrived in Trieste, it was 8:15pm. Since I had been to Trieste several times before, I knew exactly where I was going: the Residence Liberty, kitty-corner from my favorite bakery, Pasticceria Penso. It was a 20-minute walk from the station, but the rain had mostly tapered off into a light drizzle. As my sore throat was now progressing into a sneeze and runny nose, I was just happy to have finally arrived.

When I had emailed Residence Liberty the previous week to confirm my reservation, I had given them my anticipated arrival time and was assured that they would wait for me. It was thus without any qualms that I approached the apartment building and, seeing that the front door was locked, rang the bell for the reception desk. No one answered. I kept pressing the buzzer over and over, as the minutes ticked by. Still no answer. Just as I was starting to panic, the door opened. It was only a guest leaving, but he let me enter, announcing ominously that the reception had already closed. Now I truly began to panic! Sure, I felt relieved to be indoors out of the chilly night air, but I still wanted nothing more than to curl up in the comfort of what would be my bed for the next three weeks.

Steeling myself to spend my first night in the lobby, I began to look around for a place where I could at least sit down. The sound of my luggage wheels must have been startling, for just then a weary-looking older man appeared around the corner of the darkened reception desk. He looked at me as if to say, Who the hell are you? When I introduced myself, he informed me that the reception was closing in 15 minutes, at exactly 9:00pm. Apparently, he had not been privy to my previous email exchange.

Given that he actually was closing up for the night, I felt like I had dodged a bullet of monumental proportions. What if the next train had been 15 minutes later than it was? What if I had not been let into the building when no one was answering the doorbell? I breathed a huge sigh of relief as I waited for the elevator to carry me up to my apartment on the 8th floor.

As I was unpacking my essentials, I suddenly realized how hungry I was. I did have one banana left, but I wanted to save it for breakfast, since I wouldn’t be able to buy groceries until sometime the next morning. I took a quick trip out around 9:30pm, hoping to find something to eat. There was only one place open in the immediate neighborhood—a takeout pizza joint, where I got a slice with mushrooms and scarfed it down within minutes. I made it back to my apartment just as the rain began falling again, eager to crawl straight into bed.

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

Dobos torteIt was my second and final day in Budapest. I had planned a self-guided walking tour of the eastern Pest side of the river, arranging my route not only to see some of the famous sights but also to hit as many bakeries as possible—not to sample sweets in all of them, necessarily, but to indulge in the visual fantasy of pastries and chocolate.

My morning consisted of a three-hour stroll past such landmarks as the Great Synagogue, Varosliget Park, the Széchenyi Baths, and the Budapest Zoo. I only managed to find one of the pastry shops along the way but resisted the temptation to order anything. I did locate Gundel, purportedly the city’s finest restaurant and where I was hoping to have lunch. One of my main reasons for visiting Budapest was to sample authentic Hungarian gulyás, and I had read that Gundel’s version was outstanding. However, as I stood perusing the menu posted outside, I was disappointed to find that the dish was not being served that day.

So I took the Metro’s yellow line—the oldest subway in continental Europe—back toward the city center and Deák Ferenc square. Since it was a direct trip with no transfers, I was able to buy a single ticket and avoid the hassle I had experienced the day before. From there, I wandered awhile longer, searching unsuccessfully for yet another restaurant on my list.

I ended up near Csarnok Vendéglő, where I had enjoyed a delicious meal my first evening. I decided to eat there again, since I remembered seeing gulyás on the menu. The restaurant was packed with a noisy lunch crowd, but I was able to snag a free table outside. Naturally, I ordered the gulyás, which was more of a soup than a stew, prepared with a little beef and lots of potato and carrots. I also tried the mushroom appetizer: stuffed with chicken livers, the mushroom caps were pressed together in pairs, deep fried, and served in a red wine gravy. For dessert, I was hoping to order the chocolate palacsinta (crêpe), but sadly, they were all out.

After lunch, I walked to the Parliament building and sat in the square to rest a bit and reassess my schedule. Because of my change in plans at lunchtime, I wouldn’t be able to make it to some of the bakeries farther afield, but there was one located just north of Parliament. Once I had rested sufficiently, I paid a visit to Szalai Cukrászda and treated myself to a slice of dobostorte. Like all the ones I had seen in both Vienna and Budapest, this one had the requisite six thin layers of sponge cake, the top slice covered in thick, crunchy caramel and the rest filled with chocolate buttercream.

My next stop was the Great Market Hall, just a couple blocks south of my hotel. The vast Neo-Gothic building comprised three floors, the main level filled with rows and rows of food stalls, selling a variety of produce, meats, spices, and sweets. There, I replenished my supply of bananas—my perpetually reliable, easily transportable snack, which I would need for the following day’s train ride to Trieste. On my way back to Hotel Art, I also picked up a sandwich for my lunch on the train.

For dinner, I went to a restaurant called Greens, which was on my trusty guidebook list and that I had passed by earlier near the Synagogue. The review raved about the variety of vegetable dishes, all prepared Hungarian-style, such as pumpkin stew and spinach in cream sauce. There was no menu posted outside, so I took a chance and went in. As it turned out, the only vegetables on the menu were fried cauliflower and fried mushrooms. So instead, I ordered the paprikás csirke (chicken paprikash) and a “mixed” salad. The salad consisted primarily of iceberg lettuce tossed in a creamy, pickly dressing, with four tomato slices, a mound of pickles, and a dollop of sour cream. The chicken was prepared with a creamy paprika sauce that was surprisingly bland, and served on a huge plate with about three cups worth of tiny, doughy dumplings. When I had finished eating as much as I possibly could, it looked like I had barely made a dent in the food. They offered palacsinta on the dessert menu here as well, but I was so stuffed, I reluctantly had to forgo the crêpes yet again.

Read Full Post »

pinzaFor my Recipe-of-the-Month, I have chosen Pinza (Easter Bread), in honor of the upcoming holiday weekend. While this sweet loaf was originally prepared in Friuli as a special Easter treat, it may now be found in bakeries year round, particularly in Trieste. For my recipe, visit Flavors-of-Friuli.com.

Read Full Post »

%d bloggers like this: