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| From Norway |
Today I’m stepping up to the plate to concoct the food entry that has been marinating for so long. There is no shortage of menus, stories, nor ingredients to pull from. Where to start?
As I type this, I’m in Skragata, my favorite Kongsberg restaurant, though it’s quite different from my normal weekly visit. The Enya music has been replaced with familiar melodies, yet unrecognizable Italian voices. The server is not the owner, nor one of the two waitresses. It is the owner’s brother, whom is three-weeks into this position. He does not yet recognize me… too busy concentrating on meeting his monsieur brother’s high expectations. It took me two weeks to find this cozy eatery down a dark alley. The food was so impressive, wine so delightful, and menu so intriguing, I returned the very next evening. From then on, I was treated like a princess with a free glass of wine or dessert for subsequent visits. Six other folks have dined at this restaurant due to my recommendation. The menu offers five starters , one vegetarian entrée, two from the sea, and four or five mammal dishes. I have also been offered off-menu items which were just as delicious. I can speak for the veggie and fish dishes and the others have praised the meat dishes. The atmosphere is a clean, upscale cabin interior which provides a cozy compliment to the six inches of snow blanketing the patio. It’s been gently snowing for over 24 hours and that is all the accumulation. Back to the bread and butter though…
The notes I’ve kept, aka “blog ingredients”, for this entry may be best used as a list of memories and descriptions. Here goes, in no particular order:
1) High end food is buttery, creamy or cheesy. Low end food is, well, terrible. No matter if you order vegetables, fish, or meat. The well-paid chefs are highly creative in manipulating a cream sauce, cheesy filling, or buttery sauté into every plate. The low-end food is meat kebabs (not ventured by me) or vegetables straight out of a can with a salty canned sauce heated over the top (thanks to the 10 page Chinese menu that only had 1 veggie option… and it was canned)… it was the cheapest meal yet. The Indian restaurant in town is the only restaurant that breaks the pattern. I’m a fan of it!
2) Not many spices are used (even the Indian restaurant disappoints). The locals have not heard of cumin, there has been one use of red pepper spice in all of my two months, and no freshly ground salt nor pepper offered at restaurants. It’s the powdered light brown pepper in the glass shakers that decorate the tables.
3) Peanut Butter jars cause comments. Yep, Scandanavia is not known for its peanut butter fetish. I was in withdrawal. I yearned to spread it on bananas and dip in apple slices so that’s exactly what I did for work and hiking snacks. Neither instance was devoid of comments. One coworker shook their head as “typical American” and the fellow hiker realized it was a good idea providing energy and sustenance in the outdoors. There is no Jiffy on the shelves here, no ma’am. Only the stuff of peanuts and salt. Mr. Ed would surely approve.
4) Almond marzipan tart. I’ve had to re-learn the true practice of will-power and restraint. These morsels of sweet gooey, puffy, yet crispy goodness are best understood in three layers. The bottom being a buttery, homemade pie crust. The middle layer is fresh marzipan… like nothing that is found in the US. The top is a sweet puffy layer of crisped, yet fluffy sponge that tastes like angel food cake. I suspect this delicate mantle is beaten egg whites and sugar. The heavenly result is genius and a creation I’d like to replicate at home.
5) 3 weeks to find hummus. Those that have dined next to my kitchen know it’s a Sas staple and sacrilegious in the vegetarian world to make it so reserved. For those unfamiliar to both, it’s like a costumed child knocking on front doors on Halloween night only to discover one house out of 8 blocks actually offers candy. It’s been eight weeks, and hummus has been offered once. I did make it at a coworker’s hours, however there was only a blender to use (not a food chopper), so it didn’t turn out quite right. Blasphemy!
The soft, therapeutic introduction to the Enya album just started wafting from the pine rafters.
6) “I don’t deserve this meal” has crossed my mind on two dining occasions. That has not happened ever before when at a restaurant nor for home cooking. The practical explanation of this could be that never have I dined alone for so long. My dinner conversations are offset by a tourist brochure, reading book, or now computer. When the food arrives, it is almost startling. Each flavor is dissected, questioned, and finally analyzed by the tastebuddies and saliva. They work together to develop complex algorithmic solutions to the ingredients and preparations of the meal variables. I require them to show all their work that achieved the final answer, so most of the time it involves many forkfuls to arrive at the savory answer. An unadorned reason for this thought is “wow, the food is superb… at least in comparison to the English skills of the menu translator”.
7) Apple pie with strawberry sauce. The owner of Stragata claimed this was the best dessert. It was good, really good. The apples here are as fresh as if you plucked them from your private orchard. The strawberry sauce was certainly made by the chef (though from what strawberries I remain clueless). Since noting this comment, the chocolate fondant -more of a rich, chocolate lava bundt cake, is way more appealing for the chocolate monster that lives within. I will certainly be demolishing it on a future special night.
Well, that explains the foodie observations made over the past two months. Those still engaged may ask, “what dining obsession do you miss most from Cali?” The answer to that is my husband. Oh, you mean food? That too, is an easy answer… fresh squeezed orange juice. It’s my personal wake-up and go-go juice in the morning. To be greeted with it at the airport [hint Jamie hint], would be a most refreshing welcome back to Cali.
Afterword:
This entry concluded with the last sip of wine. I went to pay the bill and the waiter claimed, “ohhh, I was just going to bring you another glass of wine”. I replied with a “that’s okay,” and paid the full bill. The owner added, “yes, where are you off to so soon?” He then proceeded to pour a special glass of wine (beyond my normal house red order) and force it down my throat. Not ten minutes later he delivered a still-warm chocolate fondant ladled with a walnut fruit cream and that strawberry sauce, with a sidekick of homemade ice cream; it was an edible masterpiece. He claimed that it was a “mistake” from the kitchen. I strive to have such mistakes. They may negate my work-out efforts, however one must enjoy life’s small pleasures … chocolate in any way, shape, or form.
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