In my last entry, I hatched the idea to clue everyone in on the various foods I’ve run across after four months in eastern Europe. Well, I think I’ll expand that to include booze and music as well, and we’ll call this a lesson in What’s Awesome, as well as What Isn’t. I'd love to post a picture of some food for this, but sadly, I still can't upload a photo in these internet cafes, and Ukraine takes WEEKS to get internet into an apartment. Good times.
Let me say from the top that I’m not entirely sure how funny this will be, nor am I sure this will add even an ounce of value to any of the lives of people not intending to A) visit Eastern Europe, B) do drugs, C) do drugs in Eastern Europe. Because as we’re all too aware, music and food and drugs are pretty much like bread and peanut butter and jelly, only it tastes better. I suppose this’ll be an adventure for all of us, so… here goes.
It’s easier for me if we travel throughout Eastern Europe according to my rather inefficient itinerary to this point, so if you’ll allow me this luxury, I’ll forgive all of you who said you’d visit, and then never did. Sound fair? Yea, I think so too.
First, the food in Czech Republic was largely average. And let me say that it took me some hunting around just to consistently eat at a very pedestrian level. Highlights include the pork knee (or knuckle), which is exactly what it sounds like, is baked and served on a spit, hovering above a dollop of mustard and another of horseradish. The skin is crisped nicely, safely trapping inside all the juices that make a pig so much more delicious than it is cute. It’s one hell of a meal, so don’t bother ordering a side (my mistake was usually coupling this beast with an order of croquettes – which tend to be a nice french fry substitute). It has a pretty obscene amount of fat betwixt (man, I love that word) the meat pockets, but the surgery is a small price to pay. It was easily my favorite meal in CZ.
Beyond that, I would suggest avoiding anything beef in CZ. As Nino discovered after exploring the “meatloaf”, it’s all trash. On the plus side, the pizzas are surprisingly above average. They’re rather uniform throughout Prague, and consist of a crispy thin crust, with a pretty solid cheese-to-dough ratio. My only complaints about the pizza are a rather high coefficient of grease, and the lack of parmesan accoutrements.
One thing of note in CZ, is the ice-cafes. Coffee, with a scoop of vanilla ice-cream, some whipped cream, a straw, and a glimpse of heaven. I had one after every meal; it’s impossible not to.
Czech food largely centers on the pig, as does most other countries in the region I’ve endeavored to. I had some pretty astounding bacon, and on other occasions, some pretty bad bacon. And fuck if I don’t love bacon. But as with any country, “meat platters” tended to be way overcooked and rife with fat and bones, and the potatoes, including the delightful little croquettes, were pretty ordinary. I don’t care what anyone says, there really isn’t much inventing left to be done with the potato. Kind of like how sex is generally very nice, but it takes a pretty special “potato” to blow your socks off. As such, I feel like I’m years away from fucking a new potato. Wait. Where did that analogy go wrong?
In Poland, I fell into a “daily borscht.” The borscht in Poland is a beetroot broth, with about 3-4 meat tortellinis (I’m sure they have their own name for these, but I never bothered or cared to find out) floating tauntingly within. It’s a nice, light (despite the oily pustules lining the bowl) start to any meal. Even breakfast. Poland has its version of the schnitzel, which I will go on record as saying is EXACTLY like it is anywhere else. Question: How can you fuck up pan-frying a pounded chicken/veal/pork something? Answer: You can’t. Every country thinks they have the best schnitzel, and it’s insane. It’s like someone telling me that Grey’s Papaya has the best hot dogs in Manhattan. They don’t. They all taste like shit, and Grey’s Papaya just has a bigger sign.
Poland does have, however, this beefy eggroll thing, laden in beefy sauce. Fuck I wish I knew what this was called, because they’re fantastic. Leave a little bit of borscht, and drizzle it on top of this thing, and your pants might come off. I swear. Mine did. Then again, that could be a function of the women of Poland, but I’ll try and stay focused on food here. But it wasn’t easy.
Moreso than anything, Poland has a FUCKLOAD of ice-cream. I was on a daily ice-cream, because Poland FORCES you to. Matt (from Krakow) and I had a running joke anytime we needed directions somewhere: “oh, M bar? Yea, go three ice-cream shops down to the ice-cream shop, take a left till you see the ice-cream shop, then turn right and you’ll see an ice-cream shop. M bar is two ice-cream shops past the ice-cream shop, across from the ice-cream shop.” They were honestly that prevalent.
And they should be. It’s perhaps the creamiest, most flavorful ice-cream I’ve ever had. So, for those of you counting at home, in Poland, I was coming off a daily ice-café, and coming into a daily borscht and ice-cream. Some may say I’m a creature of habit. I like to think I just know a good thing when I see it. Like the women of Poland. --FUCK!!! You’d think my penis is a touch-typer.
I know what will calm down my loins; I tried a hamburger in Poland. I asked a few people where I could get the best hamburger in Krakow, and they all recommended a place called Rooster. Once inside, I could tell that it was nothing more than a Hooters rip-off. The Texas license plates and other paraphernalia, waitresses in boy-shorts and cutoffs, and a menu full of American pub fare. A “Rooster,” however, is a cock. “Hooters,” as we all know, is a euphemism for titties. So it would seem, the good people of Rooster took entirely the wrong meaning from “Hooters” and drew the bird parallel. As the City of Titties, I assure you that Prague would have NEVER made this mistake. If this same restaurant were to open in Prague, it’d surely be called Knockers or Melons. I’m still amused though, that the bird name they chose in Poland, happened to be the ONLY one they could possibly pick while drawing a tangential reference to a penis. Real bad call.
Meanwhile, feeling as adventurous as I was ravenous for some ground up cow, I ordered the Rooster Burger. Patiently waiting, I was already feeling expectantly regretful, and gave considerable thought to running away and back to Babci Maliny for the third time that week. Given how low my expectations were, you’d probably be as surprised as I was to find that they weren’t NEARLY low enough. What arrived in front of me was the biggest, most disgusting saucer of overcooked, coagulated animal products I’ve ever had the misfortune of eyeballing. Visually, it was disgusting. Once I took a bite, my most empassioned fears were confirmed, and my throat cavity began convulsing as my gag reflex promptly stamped Bite #1 “Return to Sender” as it landed back on my plate. This was THE WORST bite of food I’ve had since my parents served me broccoli pancakes when I was six (true story). Lesson learned: No beef in Poland. Ever. And you can ask my parents; I haven’t had a bite of broccoli in 25 years. I can be incredibly willful when it comes to food.
As for music, at Open’er, I do feel inclined to recommend a few notables. For one thing, I’m going to assume everyone is familiar with Bjork, Beastie Boys, Sonic Youth, Groove Armada, and LCD Soundsystem. So in the interest of brevity, I’m going to keep my recommendations to those acts I found off the main stage. For example, The Strike Boys absolutely KILLED the late-night DJ set in the tent. They’re a high-energy Goa-type (with spots of ambient house) DJ tandem from god-knows-where, and were definitely a damn good reason to stay up until 6am. Especially if you were sleeping on a rubber car mat that seved to thinly layer frozen linoleum.
On the lighter side, The Bassisters Orchestra was a really cool compilation progressive jazz act, that I’m not sure even has an album. They consisted of a sax, trumpet, bass (string, not guitar), and keyboard, and had some really inventive sounds, I thought. Poland has a very vibrant jazz scene, and if you’re into that kind of thing, definitely give it a listen.
Smolik is a producer/DJ that has a lot of cool remixes of Polish acts, including Novika. Novika has the sultry voice of the Zero 7 lead, to go along with a similar supporting cast, minus the additional vocalists. She’s really good lounge fare, and perhaps my favorite side stage act at Open’er. You can steal some of her stuff off Limewire the way I did, and judge for yourself.
Next I returned to CZ, and moved to Vienna. Vienna also has some amazing ice-cream, as now I was clearly dependent upon a daily calcium/sugar quotient. Their schnitzels, as I’ve mentioned already, are the same fucking schnitzels any asshole’s ever had. BIG FUCKING DEAL. What I was surprised by however, was the overwhelmingly fabulous plate of baby back ribs I had. The sign said “best ribs in Vienna,” and being the skeptic I am, I thought I’d try them so I could complain about it to all of you later. I have to give them credit, though. They were damn good. They weren’t Salt Lick or anything close, but still probably the best ribs I’ve had in 2007. And that includes R.U.B. and Blue Smoke. They didn’t quite fall off the bone, but were tender, low on fat, and were laden in a deliciously smoky mustard sauce. Good shit.
Slovenia ALSO loves their ice-cream, though theirs is a lighter, less creamy variety. And although you’d think this would make it easier to resist, it simply wasn’t. I was still rocking the daily, and by this point I could eat a cone without needing the use of a napkin. For some of you, maybe you like to hang your hats on a flawless Partners Capital Statement or VB macro. For me, it was a carbon-neutral cone, and my prideful decline of paper products I thought exemplified my liberal excellence. Had you seen it, you would no doubt agree.
Slovenia is what introduced me to cevabcici, and I know I’ve mentioned them before. They are delicious little beer-battered beef sausages, with onion and some other shit in there that makes them taste like they came straight off Jesus' barbecue (was he Kosher??). They’re served with a red pepper paste that offers a nice sweet contrast to the salty goodness of the sausage, and visually completes the perfect dinner picture.
The sausages of the entire region are pretty unvaried. If you take the nastiest part of any pig, wrap it in a membrane and put it on an open flame for 15 minutes, douse it in mustard and offer a piece of bread, it’s going to be as disgusting as it is remorsefully satisfying no matter where you are.
Inasmuch as Ljubljana is a pretty well developed international city, I began branching out a bit more to satisfy some hankerings for tastes I was familiar with back home. I tried Mexican food, and it was predictably average. I tried some really disappointing pizza, and some average, if overpriced pasta. The salads however, were quite good. If there’s one thing I have to say about all of Eastern Europe (and Ukraine in particular), is their produce is of a very high quality. Maybe it’s because they aren’t juiced with chemicals the way they are in the US, and maybe it’s the soil and climate. But overall, the tomatoes, onions, rocket (arugula), cucumbers, and other vegetables are as delicious as they are colorful and crisp.
This topic is going longer than I anticipated. As such, I’m going to end this one with the proverbial “to be continued” and split it into two, possibly three parts. I may be a poor planner, but at least I’m a thoughtful scribe.
PS - To all of you at Credit Suisse, I've been missing Lenny's A LOT lately. Someone order the C2 on a kaiser and tell me how good it is...
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