...Europe (The Last Suppers)

A snowy Prague

Another day, another sodding Christmas market. Finn swore it was the last one in - where was it? Bratislava? Vienna? Budapest? Who knows? We're moving so quickly through European capitals that they are becoming a blur of twinkly lights, crooning versions of Christmas songs and the aforementioned markets. Anyway, the last market in wherever it was was 'the last one'. But it's sooooo cold and our stomachs, immune to Christmas overload, are crying out for meat and gluhwein. Well at least we're in the right places then. Prague fed us smokey 'old-Prague ham', in Budapest we had potato dumplings with sausage and doughy pancakes with cheese and ham (and Finn got his hands warmed by the overly friendly waitress), and in Bratislava we munched down fried potato cakes smothered with sour sheep's cheese. The Christmas markets in these cities have given us the opportunity to try local specialities (I use that word loosely but there were lots of locals eating at them too), warmed us up and saved us money.

A sign in the Christmas market

It was only in Vienna where we fought back. Mainly because it was this-has-gone-beyond-a-joke cold, we simply had to get indoors and warm up. We made our way to Hotel Sacher and joined the queue of other tourists (an elderly English gent in tweed seemed rather disappointed when he discovered that there wasn't a local to be seen there). Hotel Sacher prides itself on reproducing Sacher-torte to the original recipe which was created in 1832 by a 16 year old apprentice chef for Terribly Important People. The Sacher-torte is essentially a chocolate cake sandwiched together with apricot jam and covered in chocolate icing. We ordered a wedge of the stuff which arrived with cream. It is a lovely cake - baked perfectly. However, I found it to be a little too perfect and not very exciting. Which is how I could sum up my feelings about Vienna really. I would be happier with a Sara Lee chocolate gatuax (and richer for it). I guess by that reckoning I'd also be happier having a weekend in Blackpool than in Vienna.

Sacher-torte

Coming back into Eastern and Central Europe we have been shocked by the endless glowing signs advertising Tescos, McDonalds, KFC, Starbucks, Subway... The usual suspects. I hadn't realised it before but Italy really has done a good job of fighting them off. Thankfully, the smaller capitals we've visited seem to be alive with independent coffee shops. Bratislava in particular had some lovely places to while away snowy afternoons. In the Next Apache we lounged on a regal looking sofa and flicked through old copies of the New Yorker and felt very bohemian. Until we put our anoraks back on.

Finn being all regal in the Next Apache cafe

It was also rather wonderful to be in an environment that hadn't been 'Ikea-ised' (if it wasn't already a term, it is now). In one place we noticed a sign printed on the door telling customers that it was free from Ikea furniture. Unfortunately it was closed but it got our pulse rates up at the idea there might be such a movement. However, after some 'research' I have been unable to find out anything more and have instead boosted Ikea's search results. But it is reassuring to know that people are fighting this dull uniformity.
 
In Berlin we got all excited about going to the Museum of Currywurst where for €11 we could 'relax on a hot dog sofa' or experience what it's like to 'work in a hot dog van'. However, after reading such shocking reviews online we settled for a tray of currywurst and chips, all smothered in ketchup, curry powder and paprika. Job done.

Chips and Currywurst

Our final stop in Paris generally involved drinking copious amounts of red wine with friends we met in Kashgar. Nicely hungover, we boarded the train that would speed us back to our beloved London.

...Slovenia (Horses and Hostesses)

Ljubjana

I did not imagine for one second that I would be doing another blog entry about eating horse. Then again I didn't imagine we'd still be travelling. But here we are and there are horses to be eaten.

Within 2 hours of arriving in Slovenia, we had filled up on lovely borek (with pizza filling! The ultimate fusion food!) and smoked a shisha. It is good to be back in Eastern Europe. Excitement reached fever pitch when we discovered there was a burger chain called 'Hot Horse' which served, yes! Horse burgers! However, the experience was rather disappointing so to make it more interesting Finn and I have come up with some horse-related puns to describe it. They are a little subtle so I have italicized them so you don't miss them.

The horse burger

We arrived in Ljubjana hungry. In fact, so hungry we could eat a horse! Ha! We weren't dettori-ed by the long walk there, nor did we bridle at the price. Neigh, it seemed very reasonable. We had to rein ourselves in otherwise we would've bought more than we could eat. The cashier behind the mane canter was very helpful and greeted us with a cheery "hay there!". He offered us ketchup, mayonnaise and other dressages to have on our burgers along with saddle such us lettuce and tomato. Finn looked at his burger and announced "cheval'll do nicely". I bit into mine. "What the fetlock is this? This isn't a fetlocking burger! Give me a proper fetlocking burger" I thought to myself, rather rudely. Surprisingly there was a shetland of people queuing (it must be a night-mare in the evening). My motto is neigh-ver say neigh-ver. However, on this occasion I say neigh-ver again. And that's the gospel hoof.

In a nutshell, it was a bit bland.

Thankfully, our experience of Slovenian food improved dramatically thanks to the wonderful Petra. We spent a weekend with Petra, her husband Bostjan and their two girls Lara (4) and Tajda (2) in their huge house just outside the capital (but far enough away to be in the proper Slovenian countryside). Petra was apologetic about our first meal as she'd promised the girls homemade pizza. However, this meant we got to taste her delicious pickled mushrooms, picked locally and watched as the girls stacked up our pizzas to resemble something Jackson Pollock would be proud of. 

The 'artists' at work on our pizzas

Though working as a lawyer, taking care of two young children and running a large house, Petra somehow found the time and energy to ensure we tasted traditional, home cooked, Slovenian food. A particular favourite was the pork preserved in mountains of its own fat. For a Sunday tea we spread the fat on brown bread and then layered thin slices of the pork (which had been soaked in water, salt and herbs and then cooked in a pan over an open fire) on top. The next morning, before venturing out into the snow, we ate eggs fried in the pork fat. 

The lovely Petra with the pork and pork fat

During our stay, we were invited to a neighbour's 80th birthday party. We were treated like royalty - if being treated like royalty is being taken out onto the patio for a shot of homemade blueberry brandy and being fed until we nearly burst. All the vegetables were homegrown and the desserts were all homemade. Our eyes lit up at the stack of baklava and we devoured potica, a bread with sweet walnut paste that's eaten on special occasions. We also tried Vatican Bread, a kind of fruit loaf that apparently you only make once in your life and divide the mixture to give to friends and family so that they can make their own. A kind of 'chain-bread' if you like. We spent an enjoyable but admittedly bizarre afternoon getting drunk on sour, Slovenian red wine that smelt of Stilton, watching people test their blood pressure (a machine was produced), avoiding being dragged onto a man's lap and being asked by the birthday girl if we could dance 'gangnam style'. We can't. And if she'd asked us a week ago we wouldn't have had a clue what she was talking about.

What a Slovenian 80th birthday party looks like!

Hmmm. I'm feeling a bit peckish. In fact, I'm feeling a bit Hungary! Onwards!