Bar Lou is Bar-Lou-Ti-Ful

One of the most pleasant of struggles is deciding on your culinary adventure for the evening when many a menu's options lure you in. That was the case as we settled into our comfy leather booth and its rich marble table the other evening at Bar Lou, now just a year in at the Coast Village Road, Montecito, Craftsman-cottage location formerly home to Oliver's and prior to that Peabody's. (On the slope side of CVR also gives Bar Lou a charming glimpse of sunset, btw.) Fortunately, there were cocktails to help get us in the mood. As with the food menu, the list is neat--you're in for a curated experience, not an evening at a New Jersey diner. The Petite Amer I choose, looking like an old fashioned in the photo above, is sort of that, but via Mexico and a bartender fond of Amari. It's mezcal, Amaro Montenegro, Cynar, and then an orange zest oleo that adds both sugar and bitter, quite like the two Amari, come to think of it. The mezcal smoke and earthiness from the artichoke in the Cynar lift and ground the drink at once. Simple, and simply lovely. The tall glass is a NA option cheekily called L'innocente: the local favorite Tilden Lacewing, mint, lime, tonic. Bright, fresh, a fine way to awaken the taste buds sans booze for the adventure to begin.

Somehow we pass on tempting items such as the evening's special, a pan roasted king salmon with green lentils, horseradish, crème fraîche, and salmon roe caviar. And the crab cakes with Creole remoulade, which means something since chef Brandon Boudet comes from N'awlins. And the fresh catch--Boudet works with local fisherfolk at both Bar Lou and his other fine spot, Little Dom's Seafood--tonight a vermillion rockfish, served alongside ratatouille. Or the oysters, or uni toast, or the surprising, and therefore tempting, French omelet with chive Boursin cheese and herbs, which, if you're feeling flush, you can goose with 8 grams of Osetra caviar.

But we did choose two ways to start, the first of which is above and begins a bit of a trend--Bar Lou wants to make delicious food even if it isn't easily Instagramable. (Wait, what year is this?) The smoked black cod rillettes in the jar might not visually shine, but as a culinary treat it's a supernova. Creamy, fishy, briny, bright--a hint of vinegar instead of citrus for a different take?--and you get to slather it on a crusty baguette Bar Lou gets from their friends down the street, Bree'osh. (If the spelling bugs you it won't as soon as you get some of their brilliant bread in your mouth.)

The rillettes came off Le Bar Menu, which expands options in enticing ways, from snacks like Creole deviled eggs all the way to another dinner option, the Bar Lou Burger with Comté cheese, tomato, and onion jam. But from the main menu's hors d'oeuvres section, we couldn't resist the trumpet call of the king oyster mushrooms. Expertly grilled to a meaty chewiness, they are perfect on their charcoal-kissed own, but with the zhoug on the bottom, they are beyond perfect (shoot, backed myself into a linguistic corner there). Think of it as Middle Eastern chimichurri, a vivid mash of cilantro, parsley, green chilies, olive oil. You will be very happy you have bread from the rillettes to sop some of it up. You will wish for a spoon to get even more.

My dear wife often opts for a salad, and by ordering Chicories, she got one big enough for a party double our size of two. Gorgeously piled under a snowfall of shredded Manchego, the refreshingly bitter leaves were perfectly balanced with dates, pecans, and a sherry vinaigrette. Balance is the mantra at Bar Lou, and this seasonal salad expressed that skill impeccably. 

Speaking of seasonal, with the evening air cooling faster and the sun setting sooner, it's time for a dish like this one, simply called duck leg confit on the menu. But, as you can see, with its saucy Ayocote blanco beans beneath the bird, it's nodding to cassoulet. I do love a good bean, and this one ends up both firm on the outside and creamy on the inside, a perfect complement to the duck, crispy on the outside and moist on the in. Both are kind of rich, so that toss of bitter greens atop again helps the dish find a balance. 

For dessert we returned--with a vengeance--to the land of what doesn't photograph well. And we didn't care a whit. For these apple ricotta fritters are heavenly, crispy with a cinnamon-sugar crust, and then the cheesy-apple inside ready to go gooey on you. For an elegant lift they come with Calvados-laced whipped cream that you can spoon like butter on each bite.

I feel a bit remiss not mentioning the perfectly professional service. Our server Brandon explained when we needed menu assistance, never rushed us, never scooped instantly in the millisecond one of our plates was empty. Yet we never felt abandoned either. It's a tough line to walk, attentive versus helicoptered, but he knew how to pull that off. Even offered a half pour of the sublime French Grenache I had with the duck, knowing I needed a bit more to drink to finish with the dish.

Bar Lou is surely on top of its game one year in.

When They Do the Double Duck, That's Me Dancing*

To be honest I'm surprised that I have used the tag "duck" only six times in the history of George Eats. It is one of my favorite dishes to order out, partly because it still seems special to me--we certainly never ate it in my house growing up--partially because, even though I realize the ones you get out are farmed, it feels like someone had to hunt for your dinner, and how cool is that?, and partially because the few times I've tried making it at home have been mediocre at best, plus a mess to clean up after. 

So I have ducked twice in the past two weeks, both memorable, and both drastically different despite being versions of duck confit at their base. How could anything cooked very slowly in its own fat not be delicious? Duck has a distinct advantage being filled with duck fat, of course. The result is tender yet still gamey, with a flavor that lingers.

Above you see the duck from Gala, in Santa Barbara in the chic redo of the old Pacific Crepes (and beloved and lamented wine bar pop-up Five and a 1/4) location. Get ready for buzz--people are eating at the bar that fronts Anacapa, large groups are partying, cocktails shakers make their magic song--yet it can still feel romantic and special. The couple who opened the spot, Tara Penke and Jaime Riesco, have tons of industry experience and a restaurant in Barcelona, so sure enough, Gala has a European feel to it. 

And a delicious dish of duck. Note it's a full dish, too, and that's crucial. While you can get sides, what comes on this plate expresses all sorts of balance and delight. Confit by its nature is rich--that's why you order it--so having some greens with a piquant vinaigrette is a perfect counterweight. Those velvety mashed potatoes add creaminess to the mix, and a different kind of richness than what the duck delivers, both earthy--potato, after all--and ethereal--no doubt more than you want to know of cream and butter. And then there's the duck gravy, that embarrasses any pan-dripping alchemized into genius sauce before it.  They could sell that on its own, no doubt. The sprinkle of preserved kumquat adds just enough whimsy and acid and color.

Unfortunately I don't have a photo of the second duck dish, as I was too hungry to take one. We were in Cambria recently, staying on Moonstone Beach, and had the great pleasure doing a holiday twilight tour at Hearst Castle (bonus photo below). That meant we were dinner hunting on a Sunday at 7:30 pm, which, we discovered, was a risky position. We had hoped to just walk to one of the two places near our hotel, either the Sea Chest or the Moonstone Beach Bar & Grill, but both shut down for weeks in December. Thanks, off-season! 

So we ended up at Robin's in the village of Cambria itself. Tucked in a hobbit-esque cottage decked out tastefully for Christmas with a fireplace roaring, it tuned out to be a delight. Its ethos is straight from the Moosewood era, but unlike some places you might remember from Santa Barbara's not-too-distant dining past, it also evolved a bit with the times, doing veggie and healthy without simply steaming your broccoli and dousing your brown rice in Bragg's. There I ordered Duck Colorado: duck confit, roasted polenta, cumin sumac roasted baby carrots, red mole sauce, queso fresco, and a handful of tortilla chips. The old pro of a waiter brought out the sharp knife with the gorgeous bowl of food only to say, "Not that you're going to need it." Sure enough, the meat dropped from the bone like someone losing their robe to seduce you. That mole hit all sorts of wonderful notes from its mix of sesame seeds and almonds and who knows how many spices. The heat didn't blaze, but slowly warmed, perfect for a chilly December evening. 

Clearly there's more than one way to serve a duck.

*Pardon the 32-year-old Liz Phair non-sequitur of a title....

An Ode to bouchon at 25

Too often the food world gets caught up in flash and fashion, and forgets about the enduring values of grace, class, and taste. But people do eventually realize foams just look like spittle on the plate, that poke is just okey-dokey. Service, attention, care--that's what you really need if you want to dine.

So it's crucial to recognize the places that don't try to dance so fast you might not notice there's no music playing. That's why I'm here to praise bouchon as it celebrates its 25th anniversary on Victoria Street this Bastille Day weekend. (That anniversary day and the French name--which, btw, happened the same year somebody named Keller opened his Bouchon up in Napa--might be why people mistakenly think it's a French restaurant.) Given that restaurant years are like dog years--each one ages you like seven--you have to hand it to proprietors Mitchell Sverjen and Amy Sachs for not just surviving but thriving for two and half decades.

Even though you might want to shed a tear for the thousands of ducks done in to serve the restaurant's signature dish you see above. Take in that port-thyme demi-glace; its glaze so rich you can almost see your reflection in it. Then there's nailing both preparations, the maple-glazed breast precisely medium rare, juicy under its crisped skin, the confit leg a melt-in-the-mouth umami bomb. Plus it's a plate, not just a protein dump on a dish that insists you have to purchase sides at $10 a pop to finish out your meal. There's true comfort in knowing the kitchen thoughtfully put together that succotash of sweet corn, fava beans, leeks, applewood-smoked bacon, and Windrose Farms butternut squash. 

Also note there's a non-menu offering my pescatarian wife almost always orders, a vegetarian plate that a features whatever is most in season (the restaurant still does a market tour foodie stroll followed by dinner if you book ahead) minus anything you don't care to eat. Back in our wet spring, that meant a mound of chanterelles starred; now as summer finally peeks out from behind the marine layer, she received a luscious take on ratatouille, over fantastically flavored farro (see above).

Of course, as good as the food at bouchon is, and as appropriately Santa Barbara focused its wide-ranging wine list might be, it's the service that most stands out. This isn't a spot that grinds out servers as fast as they can graduate from UCSB. Keeping help has never been easy in the hospitable field, and has become nearly impossible since Covid shook-up notions of employment. That hasn't seemed to bother bouchon at all, no doubt because Mitchell and Amy make sure their issues are never your issues if you patronize them. Anniversary tables will have rose petals strewn atop, birthday celebrants get a candle waxed to the side of their dessert plate (it doesn't drip on what you want to eat that way). Waiters are warm, but not faux-chummy, alert, but not hovering. 

You leave pleased in every way possible, the powers of breaking bread, of celebration, reaffirmed. I'd say here's to another 25 years, but I wouldn't wish that on anybody. So here's to as long as it lasts, for that will be delicious and delightful enough.

Irish Whiskey Business at the Lark

I might risk having many of you want to kick me right in my shamrocks, but I'm not a fan of corned beef and cabbage, unless that cabbage is sauerkraut and I've got a Reuben in my hands (even there, I prefer pastrami). So when The Lark suggested the menu above to celebrate St. Paddy's Day, I couldn't have been happier--not an over-cooked anything all evening!

It didn't hurt that there were eight Irish Whiskeys* also offered, including stuff as mythic as a Bigfoot sighting. I can be extravagant, but I rarely pop $600 for a bottle of booze, so getting an ounce or two of Redbreast 27 was truly a treat, but I'm getting ahead of myself. (Good booze does that to me.) 

*Does the whiskey versus whisky spelling issue confound you? It goes like this: if you're drinking American or Irish, it's whiskey; Scottish, Canadian, or Japanese, it's whisky. Why? Nobody quite seems to know. But at least at The Lark for this dinner, the lovely stuff certainly made one go "eeeee."

Guests got half ounce tastes of the four "welcome" whiskeys--although you could sneak back in for re-tastes if you were pushy or me. The big difference, as the Pernod Ricard rep (yep, Midleton-Spot-Jameson-Redbreast are all part of one of the mega liquor conglomerates, as probably you and I are, at this point), is with your usual Jameson Irish Whiskey, no one knows how it tastes, they just do shots. Here, you better damn well sip. So then you'd know Green Spot has a lovely minty character, Redbreast 15, with more oak, is both smoother with a longer finish, and the Redbreast 21, oh, you want to spend an evening with this one, even if you will feel its liquor-heat. Speaking of, Blue Spot is cask strength, 117 proof, and enough to make you wonder if you're sitting down when you're sitting down. But it's also complex as all heck, having been aged in Bourbon casks, Sherry butts and Portuguese Madeira casks. So it runs the gamut from vanilla to more exotic tropical notes. 

All four went down well with the passed app, since there's some mighty good grilled sourdough to help soak up the alcohol and then a lovely mix of salty-fattiness with that porchetta di testa (pig's head roulade, sliced to be presented as charcuterie) and then a zesty balsamic onion jam and pickled mustard seeds that burst with goodness (and run a bit about like ball-bearings, too).

Somehow I didn't get a photo of the artichoke course, but it made me wish there was even more of the delicious Dungeness crab on it, and seemed a bit of a puzzling choice to be served with stuff you were drinking from a Glencairn whiskey tumbler, because pulling out artichoke leaves and scraping the meat with your teeth makes for very messy, if tasty (thanks, tarragon-flecked Fresno chili butter!), fingers. Maybe other people are better at being dainty, but I was making a mess. And, of course, we were eating family style, at festive long tables packed tightly with revelers that denied we had just come out of (and have we?) a pandemic.

The Midleton Very Rare Barry Crockett served with this course had its own battle to fight--at a mere 80 proof and aged in barrels with untoasted heads, it was a more demure pour than the Blue Spot that proceeded it. Try being just a gorgeous gal after Marilyn Monroe had blown threw a room. But it rewarded with its subtler pleasures as we sat with it, as is fitting for a whiskey named after the head distiller at Midleton for five decades.

The Yellow Spot served with the next course brought home the sherry notes from the barrels it was partially aged in, and, as our presenter called it, "Christmas cake," because no one wants to compare anything positive to fruitcake, plus, that's what they call it Ireland. Just the aroma of the duck confit was insane, and serving it with a barley risotto was clever, of course, but the barley you eat is pretty different than the malt that goes into distilling. Both the pour and the duck had honeyed notes--the dish from honey-roasted red flame grapes--but in many ways the evening proved that while you can have delicious food and intoxicating whiskey together in a meal, it's hard to have them hold a truly meaningful conversation. I'd order that duck again, though, in a second (nasturtium are so pretty and delicious both).

But I might order these ribs first, and I'm generally not a huge ribs fan (living with a pescatarian gives you less time to develop your barbecue palate as the best joints get meat into everything, from the greens to the mac-n-cheese to the meat itself, of course). These ribs, though--smoking made them exquisitely tender and flavorfully full, especially when lightly doused with the maple and pear vinegar gastrique, a perfect sweet-sour line of tension. And what could be wrong with a whiskey-pickled jalapeño for a bit of kick? 

The Jameson 18 poured alongside is a blend of three different whiskeys, all at least 18 years old (that's what the year designation means--that's the minimum of what's in the mix), and exhibits a classic pot-still richness, picking up accents from its aging in Oloroso barrels for spice and vanilla and more from aging in Bourbon barrels, too. I'd like to call it a smiling whiskey, as that's what it leaves you doing after each sip.

And then the Redbreast 27 arrived. Think about what that number means--AOL offered internet browsers to the public for the first time the year that this whiskey began aging. And you can see what aged better. A 109.2 proof behemoth of all you might want, and things you didn't know you wanted, in an Irish whiskey, as its aged in Bourbon, sherry, and ruby port barrels. Rich, luxurious, it even offers more exotic fruit notes in addition to the more traditional plum and cherry fruit soaked in vanilla. 

As rich was the ganache, wisely salted (really the only way to enjoy chocolate fully). The sea buckthorn berry/grand fir oil sauce was a bit much for some--think mango and pineapple had a particularly tart baby--but I thought it provided a pleasing cut to the obvious richness of the chocolate. And, even to the whiskey some. So let's call this oddball the pairing of the evening?

I am a bit sad no future March 17 will ever live up to this one, for food or drink, for as the Pernod Ricard rep put it, all these whiskeys are highly allocated and he claimed to have never seen them poured at one event before. So I guess that leaves me green with Irishness, and you can just be green with envy. (Sorry.)

Enchanted at El Encanto

When a chef shows up with a board he insists is "a little bit of where I'm from," you have to be happy to learn his story by tasting away. Such was the case this Saturday when we got to enjoy a delightful dinner at the re-opened Dining Room and Terrace at El Encanto, A Belmond Hotel. Executive Chef Bruno Lopez took over the top toque at the property in November of 2020, obviously not the most auspicious time to do so. So this late spring is sort of his coming out party, assuming the folks coming out have been vaccinated, of course.

That charcuterie board shown above isn't on the menu, but it does capture his soul, sense, and savory simplicity. The meaty star is Bayonne ham, and as a New Jersey born and bred boy, that doesn't led to instantly desirable connotations. Luckily, Chef Lopez's family has Basque roots, and that leads to Bayonne ham, tender and salty and delicious, if pleasingly not as fatty, as Jamon iberico. Keeping with the theme, the cheese is p'tit Basque, the semi-hard sheep's cheese that manages to tease you along with a creamy, salty, nutty flavor that never over-powers so you keep wanting that next bite for more.

The two hints Lopez could surprise, of all things, were accoutrements on the board--those raisins and that honey comb. The latter, which generally I might shy from, not a big fan of sweet with my cheese, was redolent of fennel, and walked a sweet-herbal line that really sang on the raisin bread. And then the raisins--they came as if someone managed to dry a cluster of grapes, a kind of memento mori of the promise of wine. Beautiful, it also elevated the raisins, as they weren't quite as dried as most. 

For our actual off-the-menu appetizer order, we got the spicy yellowfin tuna tartar. See above, on the black wide bowl that sits it off so well. Lopez likes draping edible flowers over dishes for effect, and it certainly works here, adding color palette to the flavor palate. The see-through thin taro root chips are great vehicles on which to devour this dish that ranges beyond a mere sushi-esque exercise, especially given the soy sauce vinaigrette also gets a surprising double-down of umami from some smoked truffle, and then the lime, daikon, and chilies do all the expanding flavor work you would expect. Clean tasty, and the fish remained the star.

For my main I thoroughly enjoyed the seemingly too-medium rare but someone knew better than I did Maple Farms duck breast. So crispy the rendered skin, so tender the meat. Served in a seriously amped up jus, the plating also delivered, with roasted figs, frisee bringing some crunch and bitter, especially in a perfectly simple vinaigrette. And then homemade Kennebec potato chips. I like chips.

Chryss had the kombu Portobello ramen--yep, a veggie ramen with what she joked was at least three whole portobellos (that's not counting the ones that made the intensely rich broth). It offered red cabbage, ramen noodles, scallions, sesame seeds, wakame, and a really warm bowl on a still slightly chilly April night on the Terrace. (There are heaters. And you can get a blanket if you need one, too.)

There's also one side on our table, the artichokes "southern France style," which evidently means a kind of fricassee with chopped up artichoke hearts, very tender, along with carrots and capers and lots of oil and probably a good shot of lemon juice. Better with the duck than the ramen, of course (sorry, Chryss).

We had no room for dessert, but wished we did have second stomachs to nibble at either Goleta lemon--lemon curd, pistachios, white chocolate, and yuzu mousse--or tres leches chocolate tacos, and all I ask is that you go back and read those four words again.

Is the wine list somewhat over-priced? Well, is this a luxury hotel?

But that's why you come here, for luxury, extravagance, and a simplicity of conception and execution only time and money provide. Plus, that Terrace--what a wonderful aerie above our town, making Santa Barbara (at least before things dry out through the summer) shimmer with green and then ocean blue as far as the eye can see. Our night the moon rose to our left as the sun set to our right. It was as if the whole solar system was willing to offer a show. Hard to beat that. Especially with a meal so satisfying.

Ain't Europe Grand (Tour) with Chryss and George (Day 5)

Sure, it's harder to feel you're connecting with the places you're visiting when you're eating on a ship and not in some off the beaten track find of a bistro. Sure sometimes you are spending mere hours ashore. Sure you don't get to talk to many of the "natives," as it were, beyond tour guides and shopkeepers, who have their own reasons to present their locations they way they want (to get you to tip, to get you to buy). But, your "hotel," which moves with you every night so you don't have to pack up (unless...well, we'll get there), sits in the middle of many of the most wonderful places. So, perhaps, you can rest on your bed and have the photo above be your view. Such Viking magic might be one of the reasons we were as much entranced by Budapest as any of our stops.

Panoramic, if a Bit Too Much by Bus, Budapest

We take the included shore excursion this morning to get a good overview, pun intended, as you shall see. The first third of the tour is mostly just busing about Pest, past sites like the House of Terror, an unassuming facade that hides the rooms where both the Nazi and Soviet occupiers performed many of their worst deeds on the local populace. Brutality seems so banal sometimes.

But then there's happier things, too, like Heroes Square and the art museums that flank it, including the Hall of Art that had some David Lynch show going on we didn't get to see, alas. We don't even get out to walk around, it's all just the bus doing loops around a grand square. (Spot the photographer's reflection in the bus window.)

And then the outside of the permanent circus (no, we didn't transport to DC and the White House silly).

Much more dramatically, there was the Great Synagogue, which made it through World War II somehow, and is the largest synagogue in Europe. I only wish we could have toured the interior.

We crossed the Danube into Buda, and riverside got this great view back across the Chain Bridge, with its lions in all their regal glory.

Here's the view almost exactly the other way, towards the Fishermen's Bastion and Matyas Church (we'll be up there soon). You can't have a bad view no matter where you look, that's Budapest.

A-Foot, At Last

The bus drivers, winding through the narrow streets as smoothly if they were driving bikes down boulevards, drop us all off at the hilltop so we can do more touring by foot. We still don't get to see everything that interests a weirdo like me, including this Houdini Museum that reminds me his name was Ehrich Weiss originally, his dad was a rabbi, and he was born in Hungary.

We do get to get much closer to very old buildings--if I recall properly, this is 15th century or so, just like most of the houses in California. (We had two earthquakes in two days last week. That anything stands here for long is incredible.)

There's even a museum that spells itself mvsevm, as if it had been reading my poems. If you haven't, The First Night We Thought the World Would End is available at SB bookstores and on Amazon.

We do get to tour inside Matyas Church, one of those buildings with a wild history, from being converted to a mosque by occupying Turks to having its roof destroyed in WW II...and not restored for several decades. But my god it's beautiful. Or maybe I should say everyone's god. Gothic on the outside, but then gussied up the most in the late 1800s, so there's lots of Art Nouveau, and then the more modern, checkered roof that looks old. Quite a place.

To top it off (haha), there's the view from the Romanesque Fishermen's Bastion, all up and down the Danube. Which, alas, is not blue. Sort of muddy and quick. Not in waltz time at all.

Radio Buddies

That afternoon we get to do something probably no one else on this Viking cruise (or maybe any?) has done--meet up with a friend I did radio with back in the early 1980s. This is not part of any tour. I knew Steve Stec in Baltimore in our WJHU days, and at best we'd last seen each other when I got to Baltimore semi-frequently in the late 80s when I lived in Pennsy. He's been in Europe for some time, working at Central European University, consulting on environmental law all over the globe, doing cool things. And marrying the very lovely and kind Izabella, who ends up chauffeuring Chryss and I back and forth from Budapest to their home in Szentendre, about 22 km away, but that's suburban slow driving. And we sort of invited ourselves to her house without notice, too. Thank you for your kindness and patience and graciousness, Izabella!

It was a relaxing afternoon getting to catch up 20+ years at the Barati Stec house on a scenic hillside looking back towards the Danube. Plus both good wine and elderflower syrup infused water from their own trees. How nice not only to meet again but also to get to see a bit of what it's like to live someplace and not just cruise through it.

Eating Morning, Noon and Night

Note I haven't mentioned food yet, as I've decided it deserves its own little section. All the chowing down we did was on the boat except for a quick coffee-pastry break near Buda castle on the walking tour. Don't assume we're just lazy, though, for the food on the boat consistently pleased. For instance, pretty much any morning at breakfast you had, as just one of your options, little fish plates like these you could enjoy.

And then lunch there was always some pasta a chef would serve for you along with a buffet line of different delights, like this day's salad laced with duck confit (good, but I was stilled ruined for duck after Prague's perfection), there close to the Bitburg, which was the house beer btw.

Dinner meant another chance to sample the regional specialties, but also discovering one of the Tir's specialties was soup. Like this wild mushroom one with truffle cream to up the umami.

Then when in Hungary, one must goulash, no? So I did, the sauce piquant with paprika, the meat succulent and neither soggy nor overdone, always a danger with something like this cooked in sauce. That Israeli couscous style pasta they called tarhonya was a different, elegant touch, too. And who doesn't want a pickle on every dish. Seriously.

Chryss got to go full veggie for her choice, with a warming, pleasing warm potato and goat cheese tian in some hearty and rustic tomato sauce.

Then dessert was the somewhat puzzlingly named Somlói Galuska, given galuska means dumpling, and while this is a bit of a rolled ball, it's really a trifle, originally from around the town of Somlo. Think a mix of different sponge cakes--plain, walnut, chocolate--and then chocolate drizzled atop with some whipped cream. Lighter than you'd think (definitely not a dumpling) and crazy tasty.

Ship Ahoy Stuff

There was a Toast to Our Guests prior to dinner, complete with trays of sparkling wine and kir royales to imbibe as our fearless crew got introduced to us, especially Captain Rudy and Hotel Manager Claudia. While the passengers never have to dress up, the crew certainly liked to put on their full uniforms for ceremonies like these.

We sailed off at about 6 pm--thanks to Izabella for risking city traffic and getting us back to the boat on time!--which meant lots of lovely views for the rest of the evening, only a few of which I'll bore you with here in photo form. It really was sort of pinch-me stunning most of the time from the ship, as the views kept changing, too, and were rarely blighted and industrial. More likely they'd be some village that looked like a Hollywood set

or a sunset over more trees than we thought we'd see riverside. Lots of the banks were unpopulated and dramatically green green green, as befits a place where it actually rains.

And then it was worth going to the top open deck, where I got this panoramic shot of the ship, the Danube, the moon.

Go ahead and read Day 6 of Ain't Europe Grand (Tour)

Go back and read Day 4 of Ain't Europe Grand (Tour)

Ain't Europe Grand (Tour) with Chryss and George (Day 3)

Jonesing for Bones

How's that for a map to put you in your place? We get to bus out with Viking to Kutna Hora, once (think 1300s) a center of silver mining and a challenger to Prague for most important Czech city, and our first stop is the infamous Sedlec Ossuary just outside town. It's a humble church but when you look inside, you discover why it's a tourist destination--it's decorated with approximately 40,000 human bones. Here's a chandelier you probably don't have in your house

and if you do have a family crest, you probably don't display it like this one

and then you might have some extra bones just lying around (Chryss poses for bones-covered-with-flesh scale).

There's supposed to be some soil at Sedlec from Golgotha, brought back during the Crusades. So people wanted to be buried there, too, at the local Skull Place, so to speak. Black Death = Lots o' Bones. Then in 1870, a guy decided to get artistic with them. It's kind of a small space for all the bones in it, so you don't stay long, and even with a ten minute visit, by the end you're kind of numb(skull?). Your mind sort of insists they have to be fake. How else to deal with so much memento mori? [Cool sidelight I just discovered, the wonderful surrealist Czech stop-motion animator Jan Švankmajer, made a non-animated short film in 1970 called "L'Ossuaire."]

Canola All Ovah

OK, so this picture comes from before arriving at Sedlec, but I had to lead with the bone show, didn't I? As we noticed on our flight from Frankfurt to Prague, most of the Czech countryside is blanketed yellow. We find out on the bus thanks to our fine tour guide that one of the country's major crops is canola, but they aren't growing it for cooking, it's a fuel additive. And they call it rapeseed. Well, they call it řepka olejka, but I don't think I can say that (properly). It is pretty stunning to drive by, though, even on a crummy weather day.

Sharing St. Barbara

Obviously we were tickled that the major cathedral in Kutna Hora is named in honor of St. Barbara. Turns out she's the patron saint not only of lightning and gunpowder, but also of miners, too (you can sort of see how that works, no?). It's a another Gothic gem that took 500 years to finish, what with wars and silver running out and humans being poopyheads and all. You know, history.

Doesn't make it any less gorgeous. Not quite as big as St. Vitus, but they stuck with the Gothic style better through the centuries, so there's that. And it has been very well restored, as you can tell espying al the family crests painted onto the crenelated ceiling, not to mention the glimpse of some grand organ pipes.

And the great stained glass, of which this is just one example.

There's also a striking statue, as it's not religious at all, but it certainly reinforces who ran the town.

As for their St. Barbara, she sort of looks like a man in drag, but perhaps that's just because she's a saint most associated with a tower (symbol?). Note third windows (or nine, which is a bit confusing, but ok).

There's a statue of St. Barbara on the outside, too (Chryss poses stopping only briefly so not to freeze in place and become a statue herself).

Dining at Dačický

Part of the Viking tour was lunch at Dačický, the kind of place that is both quaint--it's got 400 year-old roots--and a bit of a tourist spot--busloads like us end up eating in one of its long back halls. As if knowing everyone there has been or is on the way to the Ossuary (well, I guess, aren't we all, bwahaha), the walls feature creepy art that is right up our Halloween-loving alley.

We get to warm up with bowls of Mushroom Potato Soup of the Lords of Rožmberk, so thanks all you Rožmberkians. It's very tasty--the mushrooms are definitely different here--if not so visually attractive to be worthy of a photo. But there is local lager, in both light (not lite) and dark versions, so I'm sure to try both. For reporting purposes, of course.

Every town has its own beer. That's charming isn't it? And we thought we invented something with microbreweries. For my main course I get the chicken in plum sauce, with enough potatoes for the table to share, except, of course, they've all got that many spuds too. It's a wonder anyone in the Czech Republic is less than 50 pounds over-weight.

Because there's apple strudel, too, the apple sliced very very fine, mimicking the layers of the dough. So good.

After lunch we get a whopping 15 minutes on our own to wander the cobble-stone streets of Kutna Hora. We don't wander far, as there's a wine bar just next door to our restaurant, and I power through--with some help from Chryss--a degustation of Moravian wines.

These didn't really stand out, although of all things the orange one (a pinot gris) might have been the best--certainly the most unusual.

Notable Nota Bene

We rest a bit once getting back to Prague and I start trying to scoop out where to have dinner, settling on Nota Bene. We get to take the Metro there--the stop is right at our hotel--so we feel extra proud figuring out some public transportation. Plus, you see a city's real peoples when you do that--here's all the young and gorgeous folks Prague is supposed to be famous for. Oddly enough, they don't hang out at the tourist spots.

The restaurant is smallish, clean and inviting, its walls covered in charming murals that almost seem like a child drew, but they're too clever for that.

They do set up what Nota Bene does very well--pleasing simplicity that's got more going on than at first appearance. For instance we all got an amuse that was big enough to be an appetizer, a whipped white cheese adorned with pickled rhubarb, a surprising touch.

The very helpful waiter led us to a great wine selection, too, a pinot from Moravia. I had never had any pinot form Moravian but this Springer certainly got me interested in more--lovely strawberry, cherry fruit but then some more ineffable mineral-stone notes. Delicious. Even better, just about $35 a bottle. On a restaurant wine list. In the States something this good would easily be $90 a bottle.

We share a smoked fish dish--carp, of all things--that comes with squash and apple, which work in ways I wouldn't have guessed. So much subtler to use apple than citrus for the fruit in a dish like this. And then a lovely green sauce not just for plating contrast but for herbal depth. Lots of layers in this plate.

I have what is one of the best duck dishes of my life, starting with perfect execution, the skin crispy, the flesh cooked rare but definitely cooked but tender in a way duck almost never is. With it is a light potato dauphinoise, very crunchy wild broccoli and beetroot, the beet's red adding to the duck's jus for a earthy sauce.

Everybody else was crazy for their dishes, too--Chryss's fish, Judy's curried veggie, Roger's big bowl featuring beef ravioli and making it clear how much Nota Bene likes to take Czech staples and elevate them (this ravioli is no mere dumpling). I like to think of it as Prague's answer to Santa Barbara's Barbareño, lovingly happy in a terrific town, but wanting to do traditions in the best, most modern, most well-sourced way.

Totally full, we still couldn't pass up sharing the sticky toffee pudding with its sour cream ice cream just the edge you need to cut the caramel and date sweetness. If Nota Bene were nearer, we'd be there a heck of a lot.

Go ahead to Day 4 of Ain't Europe Grand (Tour)

Go back to Day 2 of Ain't Europe Grand (Tour)