Go Places & Eat Things

May it go your way!

Connecting with a city and its people takes a little extra effort when traveling on business, but the rewards can be rich. My trip last week to Munich is a case in point, with days spent at a trade fair and my evenings free. But as long as I could find the energy, I was willing to go places and eat things.

My colleagues and I arrived in Munich mid-morning on Sunday and as soon as we had checked into our hotel and eaten a little lunch to boost our energy levels, we were climbing aboard Munich's fantastic public transit system, headed for the heart of the city: Marienplatz.

I don't remember exactly how or when I first heard about the Rathaus-Glockenspiel there, but it is something I have wanted to see for a long time. It was exciting to come up out of the subway on Marienplatz and see it right in front of me, so you can imagine how much fun it was to see it in action at 5 p.m. that day. The carillon is part of the new town hall construction that was completed in 1909.

The square is surrounded by shops and restaurants, but the Ratskeller called, so we went inside for a beer. Jet-lagged as I was, I can't tell you what kind of beer I had to drink, but I do remember ordering a little treat called Obazda, which is described on the menu as bavarian camembert and cream cheese spread with weizenbeer, paprika and onions. It was exactly what I was craving at that moment, and it went really well with the beer. I have since seen it described as a Bavarian beer garden classic (also spelled Obatzda). Here's what it looked like:

What's not to like, right? One beer and a plate of obazda and it was time to find our way back to the hotel. But we returned the next night and discovered the vegan side of Munich. Prosit!

Post Lost and Found

Here's a post I wrote at the beginning of the year that got lost on my desktop. Time for a little cleanup there, I guess.

Happy as a clam?

We went with friends to a local seafood restaurant for dinner on New Year’s Eve. As I studied the menu, which included lobster and oysters and New England clam chowder, it struck me that I don’t know beans about fish and seafood.

Growing up in Illinois, the fish we ate most often was breaded cod in stick form and tuna from a can. As an adult, I ordered shrimp and calamari and crab in local restaurants and generally enjoyed the flavors but, with no frame of reference, I often wondered what I really knew about how they should or could taste and how much better such a meal would have been several hundred miles closer to the source, fresh from the icy sea.

One of my favorite food memories is of an order of scallops I enjoyed in a restaurant in Aix-en-Provence.  I almost didn’t order them, however, because of a bad experience with some frozen scallops my mother served one Christmas Eve when I was young.  Once, in Nice, I watched two friends devour a tower of frutti de mare and wondered if I could ever eat those things, let alone with such obvious enjoyment.

Well, I’m going to set a challenge for myself. We’re moving soon to New England, and I plan to devote considerable time and energy to creating a new frame of reference for the enjoyment of seafood. On a recent trip to my future home, I went to my first clambake. As people all around me consumed bags full of the things, I tried one.  Clearly I’ll need to taste a lot more clams before I can fully appreciate their flavorful charms – but I’m game!

I’m looking forward to this relocation for a number of reasons. After living in the same suburban area for all but the first two years of my life, I think it’s time for a change. I anticipate that moving several hundreds miles away from home will bring about a new awareness and appreciation of my surroundings and day-to-day activities. Everything will be new.

You know how you say aloud sometimes “I’ve been driving this same route so often my car knows the way,” or words to that effect? I’m ready to shake free from that feeling that I’ve done all this before.

I’m looking forward to trying all kinds of new foods, and familiar foods in new ways, and creating some new food memories. New England, here I come.

Baby Goats Say Cheese

 
When the folks at Prairie Fruits Farm & Creamery send out an email inviting people to come and visit their baby goats and have a little breakfast, I don't need any arm twisting. I'm a big fan of the business, located in Champaign, Illinois. Road trip: on!

My husband and I, along with an old friend and fellow food lover, set out from our house at 6:30 Saturday morning and enjoy a leisurely drive along route 47, a normally busy, mostly two-lane north-south artery that clogs with semis, cars pulling trailered motor boats, and farm equipment depending on the season. At this hour of the day we stop only for the occasional red light, and watch the sun come up over the stubble from last year's corn crop. Just south of Dwight, where Interstate 55 crosses our path, we wonder anew at the graceful, dancing giant wind turbines that dot the landscape from east to west as far as the eye can see.

After a three hour ride that flies by under the time-hastening spell of good conversation among friends with shared history, we arrive at Prairie Fruits Farm, wondering aloud how so much good can come from such a seemingly compact operation. Our parking spot in roughly the next county indicates the popularity of the 9-noon event, but we cheerfully make our way across mostly dry turned earth at the edge of a field to the farm buildings housing the goats, the breakfast and the sampling market.

I'm struggling to recall the last time I was this close to a baby farm animal when a break in the crowd reveals several dozen wobbling, nibbling and cavorting young goats only too willing to make our acquaintance. I'm not lying when I say the adults in the room are smiling more broadly than any of the children. It is beautiful. Time passes slowly.

We move on to pay a respectful visit to the does who make the wonderful Prairie Fruits Farm cheeses possible, and from there work our way back to the busy breakfast room, chat briefly with owner Leslie Cooperband, and purchase some chevre with herbs de Provence. The room is packed with fans of the farm, so we head back to the car and into Urbana for a late breakfast at a favorite spot, The Courier Cafe.

Back on the road, our now south-to-north perspective and our recent up-close visit with the source of one of our favorite foods -- goats milk cheese -- enriches our conversation.