You can see Russia from Finland.
Wow. A lot has happened since we last talked. We’ve actually got Russian spies (hot redheads at that!) in our country. And for some reason they lived in Jersey. Explain that one to me. Maybe they were looking for strategic smells or something. Greece actually outperformed what it was targeted to by the IMF, but really 50 as a retirement age? Come on now. Narcissism hit an all time high. Transocean looks set to become the next Enron perhaps. A princess was dumped and Ellen now lives happily and richly in a beautiful apartment in Stockholm.
The Russians are obviously my favorite. Spies! Real spies! This is fantastic.
Ok sorry. I got carried away.
Let me set the record straight. I don’t have kids, nor do I still actually need a babysitter. There seems to be some misperception when I say “I went to Finland to visit my au pair.” See an au pair is a 19-22 year old European girl who comes to live at your house and watch your kids for a year while she learns English or something.
Hmm. As I repeat this to myself, I realize that I should probably get one of these like, now. What an amazing arrangement. Kyle, Christine, I am borrowing Allison for the next year.
Anyway Tiina was my family’s au pair manyyyyyyyyyy years ago, and I say that because my sisters persist in telling me I am old. They’ll get over it eventually. She has come to visit us several times and so I wanted to return the favor, see her, see her family, and see Finland.
I also tried to visit Russia but couldn’t get a visa. Current events being what they are, it makes more sense now. Maybe I am a spy and just don’t know it yet.
So again. I do not have kids, nor do I still need a babysitter. Well…..on that last point…debatable. But whatever.
We had an excellent visit, a good mixture of sightseeing and also seeing how actual locals live. Apparently they love Guitar Hero just as much as we do, and so I got beat soundly several times by her 13 year old son Joona. At least the 5 year old didn’t want to beat me. Although she did make me wave to her friends in something that sort of resembled show and tell, I’m not sure.
You may have heard rumblings of this thing called Midsummer Fest, when everyone in Scandinavia celebrates essentially 24 hours of sunlight by throwing parties, eating lots of food, burning things (not like they do in Columbus, OH but controlled burning), and generally making merry. This, I suspect, is followed shortly thereafter by 24 hours of crying as they realize the days are from here on out getting shorter, and sunlight is becoming yet again a rare commodity. But I can’t be certain.
We drove about 70 km outside Helsinki to Tiina’s parents house where her husband Janni had prepared no less than 45 courses for us to eat. Grilled salmon, lamb, salads, potatoes, and on. But if there’s one thing you should about me, it’s how predictable I am when choosing a favorite. He made this chanterelle mushroom sauce, which he then ladled into a mushroom that looked like a huge cremini, but not quite a portabella. Then. Then, he wrapped them in bacon and grilled them. Anything wrapped in bacon is good, but a fire grilled mushroom wrapped in bacon?
After dinner it was time for the sauna. Most Finnish houses have saunas in them, and I think we should start doing this. Basically you grab a beer, sweat half to death, take a cold shower, run outside to chill out, drink some beer, and do it all over again. It’s amazing. Great way to spend three hours. Yeah. Sometimes these sauna going sessions last three hours. But the best part is the self-flagellation. You grab this birch whip, and use it to beat yourself, more or less. Apparently the birch stimulates the skin and has healing properties? Get your “Thats what she said” comments out now… It was cool, regardless of any healing properties. Well, no, actually it was easily 110 degrees inside and I almost melted. A perfect way to induce an incredible sleep…
One of the best things about all of Scandinavia is the vast amounts of water everywhere, which means you have to take boats and ferries everywhere. So my trip from Helsinki to Stockholm occurred on an overnight ferry. It was nice, except for all the pro-Ghana jerks watching the USA-Ghana world cup game. One thing was interesting though. The buffet is touted as one of the best deals around. It was €32 which I thought was kind of steep. I continued to think it was steep until I walked by the drink station and saw a few spouts for wine and several taps for beer. Unsure at first if this was free or not, my questions were soon answered by a guy who walked up, slammed his wine, refilled to the brim, slammed THE ENTIRE GLASS, and did this three more times.
I wasn’t sure, but I began to think this might be why there was a two hour time limit on the buffet.
Catch up with you next in Stockholm, where I woke up the following morning…
Auschwitz
“You are now standing on the spot where over 1,000,000 people were sentenced to death.”
How do you even begin to contemplate that?
Djuret / Animal
Djuret : (n) 1 – the Swedish word for animal. 2 – Restaurant in Stockholm that serves up ecologically friendly sustainable fair wrapped in a crispy bacon crust.
Elevation, you’ve got competition.
On the recommendation of my friend and classmate Michaela, I decided to try out a restaurant that sounded pretty interesting. It didn’t hurt that it fit in nicely with my world view and how I think food should be appreciated. Djuret only serves one animal on its menu at a time. One. They take in the entire animal, butcher it, and spend the next several nights serving it.
I like this for two reasons. First, I hate wasting food and think killing an animal to use only a small part is such a waste. If the animal is going to make a sacrifice, at least do it the justice of using it in its entirety. And second, this style restaurant challenges the chef. It makes her use all her creativity and ingenuity to come up with dishes that won’t get boring, and will progress through a meal without seeming redundant.
This month’s animal? “Happy pig from Rocklunda”. Bring on the bacon.
Any questions? Just ask your placemat.
Long before you taste the food, you are made keenly aware that you are in a carnivore’s den. No vegetarian options here, thank you very much. This is a meat lover’s mecca, a refined cave that offers no apologies for its love of flesh. The lampshades are small grills, turned upside down and converted into light fixtures. Hanging meathooks adorn the walls and watch over you as you eat. Meat grinders double as candle holders. And your table covering? Over the nice white tablecloth, butcher’s paper with anatomical diagrams of the meal you are about to enjoy.
One thing this restaurant doesn’t do is discriminate. (Well, perhaps against vegetarians and PETA members) Steakhouses tend to be male oriented hangouts, designed by and for men. I’m thinking here of The Strip House in NYC that’s actually designed to look like an old school bordello. Djuret was clearly designed to appeal to both sexes, without regard for anything other than an appreciation of crispy animal dishes. (Come on, you and I can both name a number of man-eaters we’ve met over the years. Women love flesh too!) This was apparent not only in the decor but in the dishes as well, which I’ll get to shortly. No 32-oz porterhouses on this menu. This was actually refreshing – its purpose was singular, and clearly executed. And all this before I’d seen a menu.
Two appetizers, four entrees. And some olives. TGIFridays, you can keep your 48 page menu. There’s no excess fat here.
As I sipped my Sweden-brewed liter stein of Sleepy Bulldog IPA, I decided on my appetizer and entree.
I'll have a litre of ale...
I started with a sausage “pot au feu”. The sausages were made in-house, and tasted fresher than any I’ve had. They were sprinkled throughout with herbs, and cooked in a beer broth. A complete bite consisted of sausage, some grilled onion, blanched carrot, boiled potato, and a bit of the beer broth that the chef had foamed over the top of the dish. They had me at “home made sausages” but it gets better.
It is truly a shame I can’t upload pictures, (HA You’re reading the edited version because now I can!) because the next dish really impressed me. Bone-in Pork rib, singular, grilled. Served with braised cabbage, sautéed shallots and creamy potatoes. When it came to the table, I was unsure where the bone actually was. I’d never had a rib cut like this. It looked more like a slab of bacon before it’s been sliced. The skin was incredibly crispy and contained hints of honey. The next layer was fat unlike I’d experienced in ribs before. A far cry from chewy, nasty fat, this was a perfect coating for the rest of the bite. It easily gave way as you chewed, melting over every piece of meat and giving it a much more luxurious feel. The meat itself was moist and smokey. I’m not entirely sure how they pulled off so many different flavors and textures in one piece of meat to be honest. You progress from a crispy skin to a melted layer of fat to a piece of meat that’s obviously been smoked for some time…I’d be hard pressed to replicate that at home.
The entire plating
Layer upon glorious layer...
I hated it.
I think I tasted the cabbage and potatoes, but can’t really remember, and if you’re reading this far about such a meat-focused restaurant, you don’t care either.
The service was impeccable, and the waitstaff was all dressed in sharp black shirts and dark jeans. It’s kinda like, they’re formal, but they like to party. This is, after all, a butcher shop. They can’t be too uptight.
As I finished the last of my Sleepy Bulldog, I wondered if finally I had found a restaurant I wanted to emulate more than Elevation in Aspen. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the wasabi caesar and perfectly crafted pasta dishes waiting for you out West. The local, creative, sustainable cuisine being served at Djuret is at the very least a worthy competitor. I’ll just have to return to see if every single visit is as good. One of many reasons I found to return to this amazing city.
In today’s foodie world, terms like organic, sustainable, local, locavore, and on and on are being touted as what you should do, how you’re supposed to eat. Essentially you should know your food, know the choices you are making, and be aware of the consequences of what you put in your body. Mr. Pollan calls this “The Omnivore’s Dilemma”.
At Djuret in Stockholm, there is no dilemma.
“Night”life in Scandinavia
You remember my trip to Istanbul? (you member, member? – George Lopez) Going out in Scandinavia is just like that, without the mafia and ugly people. In other words, expensive as all get out. You can expect to pay upwards of $40 for a drink* and it will usually be small. Some of the wine pours have been liberal but that’s about it. Many places close early as well, and since the sun is always at least peeking over the horizon, you feel slightly like you’re getting gypped a bit.
That being said, and me being rather determined, I’ve still had an absolute blast. After returning from Estonia, Tiina met me up and brought me to this restaurant called Seahorse. (I love seahorses. I love seahorse things. Lighthouses rule.) There we met her coworker Mari who is “your age and knows where to go out.” Seahorse was a traditional Finnish restaurant, and one of their specialities is fried herring.
Now, my exposure to herring is limited to Monty Python movies. It’s ludicrous to suggest cutting down a tree with a fish in any case, but for some reason I always assumed herring were large. I guess because the nights who say Ni could only be so ridiculous, and cutting down a tree with a large fish is less ridiculous than cutting down a tree with a small fish? Anyway I am sad to report that my first thought upon seeing the fried fish on my plate was “There is NO way anyone could cut down a tree with that.” Not even a sapling. Sometimes I wonder what’s wrong with me.
First you must cut down the mightiest tree in the forest with....a herring!!!
Despite not being useful as a lumberjack’s tool, the fried herring was really good. I also had some of Mari’s liver, and that refers to her dinner entree and is not some vague reference to fraternity style hazing.
Afterward we went to a jazz club called Birdland that played live jazz for about twenty minutes. Then, as we tried to buy our $36 drinks, the cash register breaks. We can’t get anyones’ attention to order drinks and even pay exact change with cash. I figured just throw over €100 and be done with it! No. No one will help us. Finally I hear the owner speaking with an American accent. Thinking I can win some favor, I ask where in the US he’s from.
Kansas City – he snaps at me.
“Well he may be from KC but he definitely fits in in Finland.” – Mari. Despite my experiences otherwise, Finns will readily tell you they are not the most talkative, gregarious bunch. I can’t say this was my particular experience, but they all seem to sing the same song when it comes to a national temperament. I don’t know.
Mari agrees to put up my antics for one more night, and so we meet up after a day of sightseeing. Now…Tiina was my old au pair many years ago and so babysat me when I was about 11 or 12. But some relationships, especially separated by years and distance, don’t adjust to changing circumstances. She gives me very clear instructions about how to get where I’m going and about how to get home. Then gives me the address written down in case I miss the last night bus. Ready for a rowdy night, I inquire as to when the trains start up again in the morning. She just shakes her head at me and laughs.
Long story short, around 4:00 a.m. I can’t help but think “Man, my babysitter is gonna be so pissed!!!”
We went to a place called M Bar which was one of many outdoor terraces Finns love frequenting the few months of the year they can. Much like Chicago in that way actually. After being accosted by a guy so out of control he didn’t know where he was (he told me I looked like Roger Federer and then accused me of being French) Mari and I started discussing how Finnish 20 somethings did the whole dating thing. Apparently – guys PAY ATTENTION – it is customary for the girls to approach guys. AND the guys there don’t know how to respond. They don’t make small talk. They don’t ask follow up questions. So all you have to do is show up, wait for a girl to approach you, and make small talk. Now I know lots of people who struggle with this back home as well, but not nearly enough to classify it as a national problem. I was slightly incredulous. It seems to good to be true. And this carries over into Sweden, based on the conversations I’ve had with locals. It’s unbelievable. I would think that guys cooped up for months at a time would at least make an attempt! Trip over yourself, whatever, but talk to the damn girl!
Neither country so far stays open too late, as a general rule. Which seems odd because I would think, again, that you’d want to take advantage of sun when you had it. What do I know…
Tuesday night I was out in Stockholm with a group of locals I met, and this hysterical character named Jonas. Picture a well-heeled Swede – in shape, smartly dressed, very witty. We start discussing jobs, business school, etc and he tells me what he does.
Turns out he owns a distributorship that only distributes women’s lingerie. Despite the fact that this is an awesome job, it does have its downsides, or at least hysterical moments. Like if you’re on a sample buying trip in the USA, and get stopped at customs. And the agent opens your small suitcase to find it packed to the brim with women’s undergarments. I’m just glad I personally have not had to get out of a situation like that yet. However I’m glad guys like Jonas exist because, at least in my opinion, women’s lingerie is a good thing and should be distributed.
My favorite quote so far comes from Mari. It’s midsummer festival and Helsinki is fairly empty. She’s been expressing frustration with the dating scene and Finnish guys all night. I asked why the city was so empty on one of the longest days of the year.
“Because everyone goes to some damn summer cottage with their friends, and they all sit around and murmur at each other.”
So, until next time, here’s murmuring at you kid…
* slight exaggeration.
