Tales from Europe Part II: Belfast

I've always heard about the violence in Belfast, and of course, popular media has made a number of films about battles between the Protestants and Catholics. Because we're adventurous and I hadn't heard any stories about bombs going off in the city lately, we took the train from Dublin to Belfast on Tuesday.

Belfast really is like almost any other city (including a Westfield mall, who would have thought), but one that has a very clear dividing line between the Irish Catholic and the British-enthusiastic Protestants, in the form of a very long "peace wall". I am still trying to determine the logic behind the moniker "peace wall" considering that it's meant to keep two populations from destroying one another.

Gabe and I took a politically themed black cab tour of political sections of both sides, defined by Shandy Street and Falls Street (and apologies to anyone I might have offended by getting one or both street names wrong). Only after the tour did I realize that we were literally at ground zero for both movements. Politically inspired murals decorate the sides of houses and reminders that huge battles have been, and most likely will be fought, are distinctly present on both sides. Houses exist on both sides of the wall, and on the Catholic side, the wall functions as backyard wall for a number of houses. To protect against flying rocks, the wall is twice as tall as it originally began, and fencing wire stretches from the roof of the houses to the fence. Heavy stuff, indeed.

Of course, before the tour, we sat in a pub (lightly fried herring with mash and lime mayo was quite tasty, along with a Guinness), necessitating a bathroom stop at the local Catholic pub directly across from what the taxi driver guide mentioned was most likely IRA headquarters. As I walked through the pub to the women's bathroom (which meant walking through the entire pub), I was distinctly aware of lots of looks - clearly, I did not belong. Although, I did point out to Gabe that being raised as a Catholic as a young child probably put me in better shape than his Jewish roots in the pub.

Actually, I'm still kind of depressed about the whole thing. Religion and politics create a lethal combination, no matter what, it seems.

Tales From Europe: Bone Tired

Author's Note: Kind of in a hurry while writing, so please excuse any typos, etc.

It's Sunday evening and I'm sitting in a Heathrow Airport cafe bar, drinking a Guinness (regular, not extra cold), awaiting departure for Dublin. I am so tired, my bones hurt. I've been fed heartily (my stomach is concerned because I haven't eaten in more than two hours) and my blood stream is now half platelets, half alcohol.

I've just spent the past several days for a business trip in Finland, featuring two and a half days of very long and grueling meetings and several long and grueling nights. All were very good in their own way, and from a business perspective, the trip was extremely worthwhile. But, frankly, writing about business is boring, and since this blog is ostensibly about food and wine, here's the rundown:

Note, it's important to point out that this trip was hosted by a well known Finnish company (think mobile phones). About 20 IDCers attended for the meetings, the numbers decreased for late night activities, and about 10 of us went on the weekend activities, along with "the Captain" and four very brave souls from our host company.

Here are the highlights:

Restaurant Nokka: Dinner Thursday night was an elegant affair with great promise. As a food critic, the quality was just ok. Champagne. An appetizer of cauliflower soup with a mushroom puree and a coil of white fish with one tiny potato as the main course. Dessert was great - a gelatin of berries with fresh fruit. Actually, the best part of the meal was the conversation (the individual sitting next to me worked in the business unit in which I have a vested interest). Even by European standards, the portions were small, and I had to make up for it with a few bars at Teatern after. (Thanks Jai)

Sleeping on the sail boat: We spent Friday night on a rather large sail boat. We had to help raise, and then lower the sales. I participated by providing encouragement ("do you really know what you are doing?") and taking pictures. Kevin took a picture of me doing one of these activities. We had two choices of where to sleep: below in the main room on narrow bunks, where it was hot and contained a few loud sleepers; or, on the deck, in hammocks, under the stars and with gentle raindrops. I immediately wanted to sleep outside, but the trouble was, we had to wait until the ship docked around 3:30 in the morning before we could set up the hammocks. The heartier of us (apparent as many faded and went to sleep) occupied our time with a plentiful supply of beer, wine and rum. Anne, Kevin, Keith and I ended up in the hammocks. Amazing, especially when it started raining, we simply snuggled deeper into our sleeping bags.

Wilderness Lunch: We were delivered late Saturday morning to a farm area, and after a short ride on a tractor bed, met up with two hosts (Kari, Yiri???) who proceeded to help us make lunch in the Finnish outdoors. We had the following: reindeer stew with mashed potatoes, braised root vegetables, salmon , bark break (made with the inner bark of a the birch tree), wine, beer, etc. I did not repeat my previous night's efforts with the sails, but instead helped. I kind of like to cook ;) It was all amazing and delicious; the salmon was my favorite, and not just because I helped to cook it, and here's the recipe: Forage at the supermarket and purchase a whole filleted salmon. Forage in the forest and find a perfectly fork shaped birch branch, about 5-6 feet long and with lots of little branches (thanks Alex and Keith, it was great foraging in the forest and avoiding moose droppings to find the perfect branch). Strip the forked branch. In the meantime, lovingly rub the salmon outside with salt, caressing it like you would a beautiful women (again Keith, great job). Prepare a stuffing of cream cheese, onion, dill, salt and pepper and stuff the salmon. Nestle the salmon in the forked branch and secure with wire and the smaller branches that have been stripped off. Cook by the fire (offheat), keeping the salmon on its back so that the cheese does not run out. Enjoy, especially the inner pieces which are perfectly tender. !!!!

Fiskers Dinner: A four-course meal: crayfish mixed with mayonnaise on toast with a heavy dollop of caviar (sauvignon blanc); cepe julienne, a Russian heavy mushroom soup made with sour cream; roasted duck with braised cabbage, potatoes, green beans and cream sauce and potatoes on the side (cabernet); ligonberry cheesecake which was thankfully made with ricotta, not cream cheese (dessert wine); coffee and chocolates. Plus, a live singer serenading us with American, Finnish and Russian songs. Excellent meal.

Sauna: I did sauna three times on Saturday. The first, in the lodge where the boat was docked and for only a few minutes, after the wilderness lunch and again after dinner. My skin feels incredibly smooth. The best was the afternoon sauna; three girls sitting and soaking up the heat of the sauna, running down the hill and lounging in the cold lake water. Did I mention that the sauna is best experienced without any clothing? And last, before going to bed at the hotel. Sauna is incredible - a day later, I already miss it.

weddings and the single girl

In the past 15 years, I've been to more weddings than I can possibly name. While I remember bits and pieces from different ones (and a few where I don't remember much at all), the one clear thing about all of those weddings is that I've had a "wedding date" for exactly two. Once, a roommate accompanied me. Another time, a friend came along to be my dance partner (I don't know if I'd even consider the second to be a "date"). Funny, I rarely talk to either anymore.

The wedding invite addressed to "Schelley & Guest" always sparks fear and apprehension. From the time that I receive the invite until the RSVP date has arrived, I nurture a small hope that someone will enter my life and I'll automatically have a date. That fortunate set of events has never happened. Although, a few times, I have received invites with just my name, in one case due to numbers issues (although if I had been dating someone or married, I wouldn't have been invited solo) and in the second, pure insensitivity.

Weddings are meant to be a time of happiness and celebration: a couple in love and surrounded by family, friends and their parents' friends, vows to spend the rest of their lives together. Don't get me wrong, I am happy for those that I've come to celebrate with; it's an incredibly special bond that I hope to share with someone some day. After beyond the wedding day, one's anniversary is an event worthy of celebration for the rest of their lives together (or until the divorce is final and the anniversary day becomes one of mourning, anger and/or indifference).

Invariably, at weddings, I find myself surrounded by 1) happy couples or 2) single women, just like myself. Someone once told me that weddings were a great place to meet other single people, and that is true, all of the single people that I've met at weddings have been women my own age. Either single men are able to scrounge up dates, don't go to weddings or simply don't exist. I can only think of one instance where single men (who weren't complete geeks) were at a wedding - that was good ;)

Things are usually ok during cocktail hour and the meal, when alcohol flows freely and everyone enjoys the free meal. But once the dancing starts, well, usually I'm left stranded at the table. A few years ago, I went to a family friend's wedding. I was placed at a table with four very happy couples, none of whom I knew. As soon as the call went out for couples on the first dance went out, I was alone at the now very empty table, watching them all walk to the dance floor hand in hand, contemplating my cake and glass of wine. Sadly, this wasn't the first time it had happened, and probably won't be the last.

As I've never planned a wedding, I wonder how difficult it is to deal with the single people? One is an odd number, and from what I can tell, most tables are designed to hold an even number of people. Do the bride and groom secretly wish that all of us single ones would get our acts together and find someone? Do we cause angst and struggle over the seating chart? Or as Elaine Benes once said, am I just seated at the "singles table with all of the other single losers"? Or in my case, wherever one person could easily be placed?

While probably seeming ridiculously stupid (especially for those of who have been in a relationship for more than say, a month and have forgotten the going to a wedding single angst), one of the really great things about dating someone was knowing that I automatically had a wedding date. Sadly, the only wedding I was invited to while we were dating was on the East Coast (and for obvious reasons, he couldn't come). But he received a few invites, and asked me to save the date for the local wedding. I pictured myself finally being half of a couple at the wedding, holding his hand while walking to the dance floor for the first "couples dance" and not sitting alone with cake wishing that there was someone to dance with. Unfortunately, the relationship ended before the wedding, thereby dashing that dream (among many dreams).

This year, I decided to be brave and asked Nilay to be my wedding date. And I'm going to be his wedding date. Having started dating his now estranged wife in his early 20s, he has never attended a wedding by himself. And my two weddings with a date are just fuzzy and not so great memories at this point. While we're not dating one another, this process will be good for us: it won't be all that we both desire, but at least we will be halfway there.

It's Football Time

A new billboard went up on the 101 Mission St offramp advertising Cal football 2004. A dozen or so Cal football players, looking tough and fearless in their sparkling blue and gold uniforms. A truly beautiful sight.

Home to Berkeley?

As an innocent and very naive 18 year old, I chose to go to college at UC Berkeley, much to the surprise and probably shock of friends and not friends alike. I loved Berkeley, and for a few years after graduation, called it my home. Even after moving away from Berkeley, I've always been nostalgic, hoping to someday get the chance to move back.

Now that I live in San Francisco, Berkeley is literally a BART ride away. After receiving pictures from my brother of my nephew wearing an article of clothing advertising a school that I consider to be inferior to my Cal, I was on a quest. Less than an ATM withdrawal later, I had accomplished my purpose and had some time to wander around the city I still considered home.

Berkeley has changed in many ways. The grungy layer of dirt still coats everything, although many of the grimiest stores that once inhabited Shattuck have now been replaced by much cleaner establishments. The homeless are still in force, as are the weird and odd that are too clean to be homeless. The campus still maintains its regality, an oasis within a city that is somehow indescribable, purposeless and full of purpose all at the same time.

After accomplishing my errand, I wandered around, wondering what I should do. I could have sat in any number of favorite campus spots. I could have had a cup of coffee at Strada or Wall Berlin. I could have wandered up to Memorial Stadium. I could have had a beer at Jupiter or Bison.

Instead, for the first time ever, I could only think about going back to my home - San Francisco, and sitting in the park that I've adopted as my own (Alamo Square, although the hundreds of dogs that visit twice a day might object) or one of the three coffee shops that I now regularly visit. I still love Berkeley, but the move to the city across the bay has really changed how I view home. All of those years that I spent living in the South Bay never elicited the same feelings. I never saw Sunnyvale or Palo Alto or Mountain View as a home to which I wanted to return. Rather, they seemed to be resting stops along the way to wherever the destination was supposed to be. Which, now I've discovered, is right where I'm living now - my home in Hayes Valley.

I walked to the BART stop, made a slight detour for a gelato at the newish gelataria, a place so clean inside I could have sworn it was in the South Bay, and then went home across the bay.

Ribs, Ribs and More Ribs

Normally, I would avoid any trips South of San Francisco on a weekend, but Nilay tempted me to San Jose on a SATURDAY with the promise of "the best bbq ribs you've ever tasted!" How could I resist?

Purchasing the ribs involved trips to three stores (fyi, costco has the best quality baby backs). While he washed dishes, I made the mop sauce from the free Weber grill book. The mop had an apple cider base, with the usuals for bbq sauce - shallots, a habanero, brown sugar, ketchup, something else. But it was also thin; I was convinced I had made it wrong, but Nilay assured me it was correct.

Nilay prepared the ribs, and then for the next 3 1/2 hours, at exactly 300 degrees, religiously basted with the mop sauce. During that time, we shared cosmos and a very excellent bottle of 1995 Ridge Zinfandel (the cosmos came about because we had to let the Ridge breathe for at least 30 minutes before drinking).

During that time, I also made cornbread (Southern style, which means not like cake) and artichokes which I steamed with lemon juice and then grilled right about the time the ribs were done. Actually, come to think of it, the side dishes were really distractions from the task at hand - the ribs.

The ribs were amazing...the meat pulled away perfectly from the bones, the sauce cooked into the meat, giving it a nice smokey flavor and a stickiness that coated the fingers. We were complete gluttons, finishing 1 1/2 slabs between the two of us. Definitely some of the best ribs that I've ever had.

Dinner was accompanied by a Kalyra gewurtz, which went with the meat quite well. Nilay made some type of dessert concoction...but sadly, I wasn't able to drink more than a sip.

I did make strawberry-rhubarb pie for dessert (Bon Appetit, April 1997, an amazing pie that I've made so many times). We had to skip...too much food and alcohol. It did, however, go well with the pancakes that Nilay cooked on the grill the next morning for breakfast :)

***Don't worry, the pancakes were not cooked directly on the grill; Nilay has a cast iron flat grill pan perfect for pancakes.