Chris' Coffee

Most times when I have caffeine, I either get a headache or an upset stomach. But I love the 'lift' I get from a strong cup of coffee, so - on occasion - I make an exception.

One of them is for a cuppa made by my friend Chris. A year and a half ago, he bought himself a $1300 Quick Mill Vetrano from a place in New York called Chris' Coffee. He says he chose the QMV because it's the best machine at that price point that can be fully plumbed into a water line and drain. Also, it won the 2006 Coffeegeek Editor's Choice Award, convincing Chris that this was the right machine for him.

Yet, Chris tells me that the secret to good coffee isn't the machine, but rather, the grinder. He claims that "you can make better coffee with a $300 grinder and a $5 single-cup drip pour-over than you can with a $20 blade-grinder and a $20K commercial siphon machine."

But to believe the taste of Chris' coffee, he would have to pour you one in person. Over six feet tall and lanky as a beanpole, he's got all the makings of a proper barista. While he's working the machine, he tells great gossipy stories, dropping his voice and tilting his face for dramatic effect, all the while wiping and blotting with his clean, white tea towel.

And the result is so much more satisfying than something slopped out in a paper cup by an yawning university student. When Chris finally hands you your drink, he fairly bursts with pride and surreptitiously awaits your first sip.

Stockholm 2

In my mind, there is an elevator door.
And a sculpture beyond that where I can hide.

Easy as Sandwich

cucumber, sundried tomato, and grape seed mayo on a toasted kaiser from the Portuguese Bakery

After two overwhelming and unproductive weeks back in Ottawa, I'm already craving the eat/walk/eat/sleep cycle of our vacation. Since food is often a direct way of producing any emotion worth having, I gave 'simple' a go today for lunch.

Ms. Potato Head

I wanted to use up the last of my winter potatoes this afternoon and I couldn't think of a better way than by making a spicy, creamy roasted-potato salad. So I parboiled and then steam-dried five Yukon Golds before cooking them down in a hot oven until they got dark and chewy. Once cooled, I tossed them with a clove of finely-minced garlic, three chopped green onions, a small handful of shredded basil, some sunflower oil, the juice of half a lime, a couple teaspoons of chili flakes, and just enough grape seed oil mayonnaise to make it creamy.

We'll see what the old man thinks when he gets home from practice. I bet he eats the whole container.

Gaz

Have you ever had this before? Julie asked, handing me a piece of Gaz candy, wrapped in a shiny, peach-colored wrapper. No, no I had not. Especially since, as Julie informed me, you can only get this particular brand in Iran. And in her boyfriend's hometown of Isfahan, nonetheless.

I thought they were full of cardamom and Julie guessed saffron. But as it turns out, that mysterious flavor is gaz angebin, a sweet, sticky plant residue harvested by insects and left on treetops. Also, there's a bit of rosewater mixed in, plus egg whites and pistachios. What a perfect summer chew. Maybe if I'm awfully nice to Amirali, he'll ask his Dad to bring me a whole box next time.

Training Wheels

Sarah Waterson

half-marathoner; coleslaw slinger;
rescuer of small, forgotten objects.

Surf's tough, dude

Heal up soon, Ty.

Stick a Fork In It

We're done! And now there's nothing left to do, but enjoy the spoils. Good thing I picked up these palm-sized sporks at the Dansk Design Centre in Copenhagen.

Hot, Sweet, and Greasy

These churros* from Portobello Market were chewy, chocolaty, and came in a paper cup. When something this good is bubbling away in a vat of oil right in front of you, resistance is futile.

*Thanks to Lucy for giving me the heads-up about this delicious snack. What am I gonna do without her?

Last Day

Last day in London, last day of the trip. Tomorrow morning, we fly out of Heathrow.

Yesterday, we were in heaven at Harrod's food halls, buying enough to fill an entire piece of luggage. We ended up at the Tate Modern in the afternoon, and while we had a great time, our favorite part of the afternoon was a late dinner at Leon with brown basmati, poppyseed slaw, roasted sweet potato patties, and chicken with yogurt sauce. Thanks to Bunny for tipping me off about this place.

Today though, Adam gets to see his favorite cousin, David. I expect to have a fairly soggy boyfriend by the end of the night as hanging out with David seems to increase Adam's taste for beer.

Jolly Good

Made it to London. Barely, it seemed. I had an allergic reaction on the plane. We don't know what caused it, but my face, nose, and lips swelled up considerably. Thankfully, two Benadryl fended off whatever danger I was in. Still...a scary position to be in when you're directly above the North Sea in an airbus.

But then something magical happened. We woke up in London where English is the first language and 'fisk' is deep-fried instead of pickled. Breakfast was greasy and good. We've been blowing money left and right, taking the tube all over the city, and enjoying the damp, English air.

Adam feels like he's come home.

Stockholm via Malmo

Yesterday, we took a packed commuter train to Malmo to connect to a larger passenger train to Stockholm. Arrived at Central Station last night and made it to our hotel on the underground (dubbed the longest underground art gallery in the world, as the tunnels are carved out of exposed rock and painted with murals).

Our hotel, The Rex, is in the commercial, downtown area of Stockholm, home to big department stores, cafes and organic bakeries, and hundreds of colorful low-rise apartment buildings. This morning, we chilled out in The Rex's quiet breakfast room, where the humble spread included smoked ham, salami, raisin bread, flax bread, cream cheese, sour milk (like runny yogurt), muesli, fresh vegetables, and apple juice.

The weather is rainy and grey, so this morning we bought warm things: wool mittens and a plateof jam-jam cookies at Cafe Blom, shivering outside in the old town to watch the changing of the Royal Guard. Quite a fanstastic sight to see the shiny, custom-cast helmets and hear the heart-thrumming drums.

Stockholm is situated on a series of small islands, connected by municipal ferries and wooden pedestrian-friendly bridges. After lunch, we clomped over one of those bridges to Moderna Museet. For the longest time, I stood staring at a black and white wall sculpture by Italian artist, Marcello Mondrini, feeling so comforted by its repeated sling shapes, which hung satisfyingly low. As I described to Adam how nice I thought it would feel to be one of the objects inside, how nice to just be held and supported, I found myself crying at the thought: just to be held.

My own tiny Dala Horse. Adam named him Alvar.

On the Move

Yesterday was one of Denmark's many stat holidays, so we rented bikes and rode along one of the pretty canals that run through the centre of the city. On the way home, Adam spotted an underwater sculpture called 'The Merman and Seven Sons.' It was chilling and delightful to watch the eight copper heads (three of them green from oxidization) come closer and then bob farther away as the water lapped over them.

Last night, we were slightly sunburned and totally wiped out. Good timing as we're taking the train to Stockholm this afternoon.

Afternoon Treats

If you ask for a 'danish' in Copenhagen, you are ordering a prostitute. We just use the point and grunt method when faced with numerous options at bakeries. You can't go wrong when everything is flaky and liberally-laced with the national drug: pure white sugar.

Drinks are so much better in Europe. Instead of floating our brains in beer from 10 am until bedtime (as seems to be the local custom), we're hydrating with fresh fruit and vegetable juices, plain yogurt drinks, and flavoured milks by Matilde.

Smorrebrod

Peder Oxe is a top Copenhagen restaurant that serves organic, traditional Danish meals, snacks, beer, and wine. At lunchtime, you can choose from among several different kinds of smorrebrod (open-face sandwiches found all across Scandanavia), including in-house smoked salmon, silver eel, thinly-sliced smoked halibut with chopped egg, and boiled ham drizzled with asparagus vinaigrette. Everything was light and thoughtfully-prepared.

New potatoes with chives, red onion, and mustard mayonnaise atop a slice of freshly baked rye.
Crispy, fried fish cakes with dill, lemon, and caper mayonnaise.
Danish 'summer salad' includes cheese, fresh radish, cucumber, herbs, soft bread, and good butter. Thinly-sliced roast beef, gherkin, the most delicious little fried egg, and some of that fresh rye.

12,000 Shopping Bags a Year

We had the most humbling morning at the Dansk Design Museum's theFlowmarket exhibition: a a quiet room set up to look like a new age grocery store with soft lighting, a glowing fire on a flat screen television, and squishy black chairs lining the walls. What's for sale? Plastic pill bottls labeled 'time for each other,' hypodermic needles promising to deliver 'collective consciousness, and aluminum cans filled with 'renewable energy.' But all the containers are empty.

theFlowmarket is designed to refute what I think is the largest lie of our times: that we 'vote with our dollars,' instead of by involving ourselves in the world around us. When half the world lives on less than $2 a day, we're voting for continued inequliaty when we vote only with our dollars. Buying organic food might be better for you, but don't kid yourself into thinking you're doing anything nice for anybody else.

They say the best things in life are free, but if by 'best,' you mean clean air, safe drinking water, tolerance, inner peace, silence, good vibes, and unconditional love, you better check your receipt. I think we're being overcharged.

Kobenhavn

What we've read is true, Copenhagen boasts lots of bikes, great food, and mobile beer carts. Adam is already envious of the inner-city biking infrastructure, with wide dedicated lanes on all major streets, large bike-only parking areas, racks in front of every building, and kickstands, covered chains, and functional design. And I've already fallen in love with the fresh Danish ingredients: apples, walnuts, creamed honey, flaky pastries, fresh juices, salty bacon, whole grains and generous loaves of wheat bread, huge salads, soft stinky cheeses, fresh chives, and sweet, grainy mustard.

This morning, we set out on foot toward Vesterbro to visit Design Zoo, a cooperatively-owned store selling the creations of local artists and designers. It was sweet stuff, for sure, but we were feeling hungry by this time, so pressed on to Edgefeld, Copenhagen's first all-orangic grocery store and then Meyer's Deli and Cafe (owned by Claus Meyers, a national celebrity chef here). We found a good many things to spend our kroners on, loading up on presents for ourselves and then sitting down for a hearty brunch in the candlelit cafe window.

One of the many bike-only ride n' park areas in the city centre.

Meyer's Club: Torn chicken, salty bacon, roasted carrot and parsnip, plus a slather of sweet peach relish.

A bit of a rest after that ruckus last night.

Last Day

Sibelius Monument

We Are Sveaborg

The Helsinki ferry to Sveaborg, a sea fortress from the 1700s, takes only twenty minutes and costs less than 3 Euros per person. Apparently 900 or so residents actually live on the island, which is criss-crossed with walking bridges and cobblestone footpaths. Around much of the interior are the original stone walls, many of which are attached to labyrinth-like networks of halls and caverns.

Sveaborg under a blue and cloudy sky.


Carved directly into a hill. I don't know how they did it!

After sitting on his own for a bit while I searched for pretty rocks, Adam realized how much he misses the water. This was his favorite vista of the day.


A slightly sexed-up version of Canadian geese? Probably not, as I think they were ducks. This couple was restrained, but fashionable, just like all good Finns.


'That's the really Finnish one,' exclaimed the girl who sold Adam this licorice ice cream bar. Turned out to be dusted with powdered salt, but - not surprisingly - Adam soldiered on.

Hyvää Huomenta

cold blueberry soup

After a few days of a bland Finnish diet, Adam and I agree that while the Finns use far too little sugar n' spice for our tastes, they do breakfast right. A popular breafast dish here is an 'open sandwich' (or, as Dad calls them: 'open facers'), but we've been loading up at our hotel's breakfast buffet each morning. It's always a robust affair consisting of smoked and fresh fisk (herring and salmon especially), boiled eggs, oat bread, light and dark rye bread, rye crisps, porridge, glass pitchers filled with blueberry and strawberry soups, sliced tomato and leaves of butter lettuce, organic yogurt, cloudberries and lingonberries, museli, flax seeds, sunflower seeds, oat bran, big chunks of emmental and turunnma (similar to harvati), Finnish cottage cheese (dryer than the Canadian version), pork sausages with nutmeg and ground mustard seed, metwurst (or 'meetvurst' which is like salami, but less salty), strong coffee with cubes of coarse brown sugar, rice pie, and rows of 'Dominos' (a sandwich cookie similar to Oreo).

We eat well because vegetables, fruits, and whole grains virtually disappear after the morning meal, and Finns wear their drinking hats from noon onward. According to my guidebook, the average Finn drinks 72 litres of beer a year. I wouldn't be surprised if that is matched with cups of coffee and packs of cigarettes. I still can't figure out why everyone looks so healthy.

silli, juusto, and a heel of rye

sleepshopsleepshopsleepshop

Another sleepy day while Adam was at work. Later, we ended up walking to Goodis, a boutique stocking hand-stamped stockings, men's t-shirts, fabric-covered stilettos, and dresses by young Finnish designers. The aesthetic was exactly like Ottawa's Victoire, and so were the prices. Lucky a pearly white button ring fit my budget and my middle finger.

As the Locals Do

A typical evening in Helsinki might include browsing around Marimekko for brilliantly-decorated shirts, gauzy dresses, and socks. Next, locals head over to Stockmann's deli to pick up some take-away for dinner (finished off with a bag of makeiset ja lakritsi - a.k.a. candy and licorice).

Mission accomplished.

Chore List

One of my chores for today is laundry, although I am dubious that I figured out how to use the hotel washing machine. Europe might be more efficient, but if you can't read the instructions, you're unlikely to save time or energy. But here's something I understand perfectly. Plugs for bathrooms sinks are made out of black-coloured rubber, so they don't yellow and show stains as they age. Genius!

Take Us Higher

We're staying on the 7th floor, here at the Scandic Grand Marina. Our room is small, spare, and - after a four hour return ferry to Estonia - it feels just as good as home.

Tried to muster up the gusto to go into the city for dinner, but ended up settling for the hotel dining room, and were we ever glad. I finally got my modern Finnish meal: potato gnocci in a mushroom cream sauce with parsnips and three Riva-sized goat's cheese medallions.

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Last night, we took a couple different street cars into one of Helsinki's Northern neighborhoods for a Sbinks family standby: hearty, street-level vegetarian food. Vegemesta turned out to be a grimy little burger stand in an industrial-looking outpost a few blocks past Helsinki's most popular outdoor market. But it had a friendly cook who explained the menu to us in English, a cooler full of naturally-fermented drinks, an aging Mac with free Internet access, and a brand new copy of Vice magazine on the tiny little table (conveniently seating just two people at a time).

They had vegan schnitzel and fish burgers, but we stuck to the stuff that God intended to be made from soy: veggie burgers, which came with came with cheese, mayo, red pepper spread, lettuce, and tomato on rye.

Tallinn, Estonia

In Helsinki, locals love to hop a ferry to Tallinn, the capital of Estonia to do a little cross-border shopping. But never mind the cheap alcohol, the city dates to 1050 and it's brimming with Russian dumpling shops, hand woven linen, and juniper cooking utensils. And all are housed in crumbling, pastel-coloured stucco buildings. I loved the slow pace and pedestrian-dominated cobblestone roads, yet we both found the whole trip surprisingly touristy. We stuck to the side streets to avoid the throngs of weekending Finns, and ended up finding seal meat pate in the local grocery store, a bakery selling glazed marzipan figurines, and a grassy park overlooking a busy artery running through the more modern part of Tallinn.

The city gates at the bottom of a grassy hill called Toompea.

Fried potato balls with garlic sauce for lunch.

Estonian pancakes filled with mushrooms, onions, and blue cheese from Kompressor, a pancake house that makes a popular hangover hangout with the locals.

A fine bit of kitch. Adam exclaimed, 'Are they jokes?' To which I replied: 'George W. is no laughing matter.'

At last, a rest.

Estonian grafitti. At least it doesn't use the Cyrillic alphabet, but that certainly doesn't mean we can read it.