Thanksgiving in ... Budapest!

Thanksgiving in Germany isn't much of a holiday at all. With no giant turkeys in the supermarkets to remind us to cook and eat until we burst, we decided we'd use the long weekend to travel. But where to? Vienna? Prague? Paris? London?

We do have a wish list. But mostly, our method for travel planning involves poking at the Internet until magical anticipation begins to percolate in our brains, like fairy dust. (This can involve a rock-bottom flight bargain, or mouth-watering traditional cuisines, or simply a dazzling yarn about an unfamiliar place.)

Budapest started as a vague Eastern European idea, and quickly emerged as a fascinating destination with stately Castle Hill, bridges criss-crossing the Danube River, a postcard-worthy Parliament, goulash soup, Hungarian pancakes, and exquisite cakes. We booked our flights. We found a hotel on Castle Hill, near the main tourist sights, with a gorgeous across the river.

We thought we were all set.

What we didn't expect was the fog. Heavy, gloomy clouds settled over all over Europe. We flew through Paris, and it was a gray soup of a view. Budapest was no different.

The view from Castle Hill, high above the Danube, overlooking the "Pest" side of the city, was erased.

At times, all we could see was milky gray. At other times, we saw this:

You might be able to make out St. Stephen's Basilica on the left, poking out of the skyline.

Still, we had a marvelous time. More posts to come soon on two majestic churches, Buda Castle, the  Hungarian "chimney cakes," goulash soup, lunch at Onyx Restaurant, The National Gallery (and The National Museum), an absolutely awesome concert at the Palace of the Arts, and a hotel that also encompasses part of a 13th-century church! Check back soon!
 

Nutella for breakfast

 

In our new European life, this is an occasional breakfast: Nutella on a baguette.

(If you are skeptical, you aren't the only one. A parent actually sued Nutella's parent company, arguing that its marketing falsely portrays Nutella as a healthy breakfast. Slate analyzed Nutella's nutritional content and argues otherwise in its August article, "Go  Ahead, Eat Chocolate for Breakfast.")

We also like bookending the day with Nutella for dessert.

Mmmm. Please do not lick the screen.

The Ephemeral Strangeness

On the surface, Germany does not feel so very different from the States.

Like any first-world country, its residents don't ponder whether the electricity will stay on or if the shower water will be hot. The trains run on time, if not quite like the razor-precise clock we were promised.

The familiarity is further heightened by the steady hand of English, reaching out to reassure us in moments of alarmed uncertainty. (My panic, I should note abashedly, has so far been limited to not being able to order the pastry I desire. Life here is not difficult.)

Almost any clerk will automatically switch over to English upon request ("Sprechen Sie Englisch bitte?" fumbles off my tongue a dozen times daily) and some even sense it before the phrase hits the air.

Much of the noticeable difference is slight. The beer is still bubbly, golden, frothy — but it's better. The flavor is richer, deeper, simply delicious. The grocery is still stocked and bustling — but the cilantro is missing, the labels are only half decipherable, the bags cost 10 cents apiece. (You learn quickly to bring your own.) The trash cans are still behind the apartment — but the bottles go back to the supermarket, or to a city receptacle on a random block, and all the plastic packaging goes into translucent yellow bags (where does one get those yellow bags??) every few weeks.

Just yesterday, I passed row upon row of those yellow bags learning up against buildings, bulging with milk cartons, clear trays that once held vegetables, crumbled sippy drinks. They looked like a haphazard row of fat bowling pins, about to teeter over. And I thought to myself, slightly helplessly: How does this odd system work? What exactly can go in those bags? Where do you get them? How do you know when to put them out?

I was confessing my periodic bewilderment to a new acquaintance recently, and commenting that in a dream world I would write all of these confoundments up in essays.

"Why a dream world?" she asked. "Why not now? Nothing ever will be as strange as it is now."

And so it's true. And here I go.

Heavenly French Onion Soup

This autumn, we're told by the Stuttgarters, has been unseasonably mild. Each time this marvel pops up — in church, from a new acquaintance, at a social event — I wince. Outfitted in new boots and a heavy coat, I have endured the German fall just fine. Please don't tell me this isn't normal! It feels bearable so far!

It only makes me dread winter more.

So when Ron brought up French Onion Soup during a solicitation for dinner suggestions, I embraced the idea. Soup embodies all that is good about winter. Like flannel pajamas and a dusting of snowflakes, simmering soup is the fairy-tale version of the dreaded dark season. And what better source to turn to than Smitten Kitchen (a delightful NYC-based food blogger) and Julia Child (who needs no introduction).

Adapted from Smitten Kitchen's adaptation of Julia Child's classic:

• 5-6 cups of sliced onions (the more uniformly thin, the better, or else you'll be waiting like me for the bigger pieces to catch up with the slivers!)
  
• 3 tablespoons butter
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• salt
• pepper
• sugar
• 2 tablespoons of flour
• 1/2 cup dry vermouth (or dry white wine, or skip altogether)
  
• 1 to 2 quarts beef stock, plus any necessary water to make it 2 quarts total
• 3 tablespoons cognac
• baguette
• 2 cups grated Emmentaler cheese (or Swiss, Parmesan, gruyere, even mozzarella in a pinch)
  

In a Dutch oven or other big pot (preferably nonstick), let the butter melt over low heat. Add the oil and onions. Cover, and let hang out on low for about 15 minutes.

Uncover and add a sprinkle of salt and sugar (about 1/4 teaspoon each). It's easy to add more salt later, but rather difficult to un-salt a dish! (Warning: I do like less salt than most, so salt to your own tastes as you go.)

Raise the heat until the onions are sizzling lightly but not at the risk of burning at all. Let them cook for 30-45 minutes, stirring often. I waited until minute 31 or so before I finally saw the deep brown color emerging. Patience, Brianne!

You are looking for a uniform deep brown. I confess I gave up toward the end, and some pale soft onions made their way into the soup. And it was still divine.

Then add the flour and stir for a few minutes so it all absorbs. Add the dry vermouth (or use dry white wine) and then the stock/water. I add a few cups, raise the heat, wait until the simmering catches up, then add a few more cups, until the whole 2 quarts are added and the pot is simmering happily away. Add pepper (a bunch of grinding for me) and salt (another sprinkle or two).

Let it simmer for another 30-40 minutes, though if you must, you can dive in earlier.

This is a good time to toast the slices of baguette. We just put slices under the broiler and wait until they are nicely browned at the edges. Remove them from the oven. They can join you in the wait for the soup. Tick, tock, tick, tock.

Whenever you are too eager to wait any longer, add the cognac to the soup. (Mom, you can skip this part, and even the wine/vermouth step earlier.)

Now ladle soup into oven-proof bowls. (We use these.) Add a slice or two of toast on top. Sprinkle with grated cheese, or cheese slices stretched across the bowl, lip to lip, forming a sort of blanket. Slip the bowls under the broil, and wait until the cheese is beautifully bubbly and melted.

Sip and savor! Winter, bring it on!

Stuttgart 101

Update: I'm now writing from Europe! I'm back to penning posts at Forks in the Road on our travels and quirky oddities spied in our new home. Feel free to leave a comment, sign up for e-mail updates, or pass the posts along.

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I had no idea where Stuttgart was before I learned we were moving here.

Berlin, yes. Munich, yes. Frankfurt, Dresden, okay. But Stuttgart sounded as foreign as "Guten Tag!" – which I soon found is the indispensable greeting according to 100% of German language-learning programs and used by approximately 0% of actual Stuttgarters. (Instead of "Good day!," they say, "Hallo!" — which makes me smile and think of Winnie the Pooh & Tigger, too.)

So here's a brief intro to Stuttgart, Germany, our new home:

1) Location: Stuttgart is in the southwest corner of Germany, about an hour from France (depending on how you drive) and two hours from Zurich, Switzerland. It's near the Black Forest. It's not in Bavaria; Stuttgart resides in the state of Baden-Württemberg. From my Virginia-centric point of view, Stuttgart is nestled in a valley that looks at mountains, off in the distance, similar to the Blue Ridge Mountains. (For those unfamiliar with the Blue Ridge, imagine undulating hill-mountains rather than snow-capped rocky pyramids.)

2) Size: Stuttgart is a city. Not a New York City-city or even a D.C.-city, but a respectable city of 600,000 people proper and 5 million in the region. Three good litmus tests of a respectable city abroad: A car is optional. You can fly nonstop to the U.S. There's an IKEA.

3) Ex-Pats: Stuttgart has more Americans than you might expect, if you were just an average Joe wondering about ex-pat enclaves in Europe. The reason? The U.S. has its base for its Europe and African commands in Stuttgart, so you'll find all branches of the military (Army, Navy, Air Force, Coast Guard, Marines), plus plenty of U.S. federal civilians at work.

4) Festivals & fun: Stuttgart is an epi-center for festivals. Sure, American cities do their own festival thing. Virginia Beach hosts one every weekend from Memorial Day to Labor Day. But I've never seen a city erect a mini-city so quickly as when Stuttgart transforms its downtown for the wine fest, summer fest, Oktoberfest, etc. There are men with hammers on wooden A-frames nailing together these "temporary" restaurants and shops. Right now — November 2011 — Stuttgart has installed an open-air ice rink in the Schlossplatz.

5) Autobahn: The highways here are both insane and not all that different from home. Once you get over the kilometer/mile difference (Holy cow! The speed limit is 100! Wait. Oh. That's just 62 mph?), the driving actually seems slower generally than in the U.S. The grin-inducing difference comes on the autobahn (all such roads begin with A, like A8, similar to our interstates, or I-95). Once the speed limit is lifted, the rule is to stay to the right, unless you are passing. The thrill (at least for us autobahn-newbies and car fans) is to spot a dot in the rear-view mirror that's approaching at warp speed. Whizzzzzzzzz! There goes a Lamborghini/Audi R8/Porsche/etc. The fun is guessing how fast the speedster must be going, if your own ordinary-person car is straining at 80 mph. (150 mph? 200 mph? Total legal!)

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I'll be posting much more on Stuttgart tips and logistics on the Stuttgart Jems website. Forks in the Road will remain a personal site with recipes, travel chronicles, and other zippy things to share. Hope you enjoy!