Eating and Drinking!
I have a few more Europe posts I had hoped to get up in the last week, if you can bear with me.
The other day we were at one of our local parks with one of Myles' friends. His mother asked me about our trip, amazed that we covered so much ground in so short of a time. We talked about what Myles liked most about Europe. Whenever this subject comes up, among his top three is invariably "German breakfast." And when he says it, his entire face lights up.
She was surprised by this, and asked if we actually ate the local food when we were there. To many Americans this probably sounds like an odd question, especially since we often see local food and drink as integral to the travel experience. This is not an opinion shared by many Chinese tourists, and Evan Osnos' piece in the New Yorker explains this better than I can unless I plagiarized him.
We did not always stick to a strictly local cuisine diet. Travelling with kids, and our travel schedule, did not always work out that way. Chips, aka french fries, were on our plates much more frequently than I would have anticipated. But there were memorable moments in food and drink.
For instance, Myles, when asked about his favorite parts of the trip, will often list "German Breakfast."
It could be because I had prepped him for some time, maybe years even, to enjoy the goodness that is German breakfast. On the occasions that we've brunched in China at a Kempinksi Hotel, I may have told him that parts of the breakfast were similar to an every day Frühstück. Certainly the weekday buffet at an Ibis resembles little the delicious excess of the Kempinski on a Sunday holiday, but it made Myles so, so happy. Bread, ham, cheese, bread, yogurt, bread, fruit, bread, croissants (which is also really bread), and bread.
More after the jump.
Also in Germany, in one of the few non-Ibis nights we found this in our hotel room. I wasn't sure if we were supposed to eat it, wash with it, or both.
I had a lot of anxieties about visiting France, mostly because none of us speak French. Eating in France, though, was something I was very much anticipating. For a year in Newtown, Pennsylvania, I lived around the corner from a charming little French restaurant. I ate there all too often. So our first night in France, in Bordeaux, we explored the neighborhood around our hotel and found a tapas bar. I was hoping for a Brassiere, and instead we had Spanish food. In France. The night before we would be going to Spain for three days.
When we actually were in Spain, we ate tapas again, naturally, but in San Sebastian (Donostia) the tapas are known by the Euskara word Pintxos. We would walk into a restaurant, the bar full of plates of pintxos, most with ham or seafood, but some cheese plates vegetable dishes as well. Randy and I lived on potatoes and tortillas of several flavors for those three days, as well as sangria. I was hoping Myles would be feeling adventurous and try some of the fresh seafood, and then Brigid would follow his lead, but he pretty much stuck with ham on baguette.
When we did get back to France, and we went to restaurant in Montmatre with the word Brassiere in the name, apparently the only picture I took was of my pre-dinner Kir Royal.
In Prague, the kids ate one Czech-style goulash, served on bread. It looked and smelled a lot like my mother's (and grandmother's), except she serves it the Slovene way, over pasta. Czech cuisine is not great for vegetarians, but the highlight for me and Randy was this Irish pub in Old Town Square.
And I know this is going to be controversial, but I do believe this Starbucks between Prague Castle and the Charles Bridge might be the coolest looking Starbucks I have ever seen.
Italy, though, was where I remembered to photograph my food. It was in Trieste when I felt that we could order pizza without guilt, without thinking it was giving in to convenience because we were in Italy! I mean, look at these pizzas.
With grilled eggplant.
With hotdogs. It actually had a more glamorous name, pizza Viennese.
And no evening in Italy is complete without Gelato!
Pino Penguino!
The Pink One (aka strawberry!)
And NUTELLA!
One more thing about Italy---I bought these in a vending machine in the train station. Crackers and Parmesan Cheese. Definitely not Captain Wafers.
Unlike the tourists in Osnos' New Yorker story, we did not eat any Chinese food. I was a little bit curious about how it would be regionally re-interpreted. Randy was not, so I just had to amuse myself by taking pictures of the signs.
The other day we were at one of our local parks with one of Myles' friends. His mother asked me about our trip, amazed that we covered so much ground in so short of a time. We talked about what Myles liked most about Europe. Whenever this subject comes up, among his top three is invariably "German breakfast." And when he says it, his entire face lights up.
She was surprised by this, and asked if we actually ate the local food when we were there. To many Americans this probably sounds like an odd question, especially since we often see local food and drink as integral to the travel experience. This is not an opinion shared by many Chinese tourists, and Evan Osnos' piece in the New Yorker explains this better than I can unless I plagiarized him.
We did not always stick to a strictly local cuisine diet. Travelling with kids, and our travel schedule, did not always work out that way. Chips, aka french fries, were on our plates much more frequently than I would have anticipated. But there were memorable moments in food and drink.
For instance, Myles, when asked about his favorite parts of the trip, will often list "German Breakfast."
It could be because I had prepped him for some time, maybe years even, to enjoy the goodness that is German breakfast. On the occasions that we've brunched in China at a Kempinksi Hotel, I may have told him that parts of the breakfast were similar to an every day Frühstück. Certainly the weekday buffet at an Ibis resembles little the delicious excess of the Kempinski on a Sunday holiday, but it made Myles so, so happy. Bread, ham, cheese, bread, yogurt, bread, fruit, bread, croissants (which is also really bread), and bread.
More after the jump.
Also in Germany, in one of the few non-Ibis nights we found this in our hotel room. I wasn't sure if we were supposed to eat it, wash with it, or both.
I had a lot of anxieties about visiting France, mostly because none of us speak French. Eating in France, though, was something I was very much anticipating. For a year in Newtown, Pennsylvania, I lived around the corner from a charming little French restaurant. I ate there all too often. So our first night in France, in Bordeaux, we explored the neighborhood around our hotel and found a tapas bar. I was hoping for a Brassiere, and instead we had Spanish food. In France. The night before we would be going to Spain for three days.
When we actually were in Spain, we ate tapas again, naturally, but in San Sebastian (Donostia) the tapas are known by the Euskara word Pintxos. We would walk into a restaurant, the bar full of plates of pintxos, most with ham or seafood, but some cheese plates vegetable dishes as well. Randy and I lived on potatoes and tortillas of several flavors for those three days, as well as sangria. I was hoping Myles would be feeling adventurous and try some of the fresh seafood, and then Brigid would follow his lead, but he pretty much stuck with ham on baguette.
When we did get back to France, and we went to restaurant in Montmatre with the word Brassiere in the name, apparently the only picture I took was of my pre-dinner Kir Royal.
In Prague, the kids ate one Czech-style goulash, served on bread. It looked and smelled a lot like my mother's (and grandmother's), except she serves it the Slovene way, over pasta. Czech cuisine is not great for vegetarians, but the highlight for me and Randy was this Irish pub in Old Town Square.
And I know this is going to be controversial, but I do believe this Starbucks between Prague Castle and the Charles Bridge might be the coolest looking Starbucks I have ever seen.
Italy, though, was where I remembered to photograph my food. It was in Trieste when I felt that we could order pizza without guilt, without thinking it was giving in to convenience because we were in Italy! I mean, look at these pizzas.
With grilled eggplant.
With hotdogs. It actually had a more glamorous name, pizza Viennese.
And no evening in Italy is complete without Gelato!
Pino Penguino!
The Pink One (aka strawberry!)
And NUTELLA!
One more thing about Italy---I bought these in a vending machine in the train station. Crackers and Parmesan Cheese. Definitely not Captain Wafers.
Unlike the tourists in Osnos' New Yorker story, we did not eat any Chinese food. I was a little bit curious about how it would be regionally re-interpreted. Randy was not, so I just had to amuse myself by taking pictures of the signs.
Comments
I'm surprised there are enough Chinese restaurants in Europe that they can eat exclusively Chinese. But I suppose there are more Chinese restaurants now that there are more Chinese tourists.