sweden, again

Arguably the most famous bit of architecture in Malmö, and the most visible, is Santiago Calatrava's "Turning Torso".

Not sure what this red thing is; fish trap? Some kind of anchor? A buoy?

Cottage by the windmill

Building by the canal

Google tells me the translation for Majs Krokar is "Corn Hooks"

These were without a doubt the least satisfying snack food I have ever eaten. "MAJS KROKAR" are quite literally just like biodegradable packing peanuts. Perhaps a slightly more charitable interpretation would be that they're like unflavored Cheez Doodles. And let me just say, before this I had no idea how much the "Cheez" was bringing to the table; the "Doodle" alone is, as the French say, "trés grody". Even my jokes about the puffed treat being 2% Fett and 98% Boba were not enough to get through the whole packet. It's not that "Corn Hooks" were disgusting; it's that they were all texture and no flavor. Eating them was tedious. Fortunately Jed will eat almost anything that is served in a crinkly bag, so he was happy to lend a hand. Or tooth.

North Carolina

Now that we're in Sweden, I should really finish up this post from our trip to North Carolina/VA week before last. We went to some good breweries, ate lots of barbecue, and saw Monticello. Jen had never been, and has sighed about this huge void in her life every time we go to Virginia. I tried holding the back of a nickel really close to her face but she said it was "not the same" and "please get that nickel away from my eye".  So as part of my 2011 strategy of giving Jen 95% of what she wants (Code Name: Operation Yes Dear) we worked out a way to get there, and visit family, and try some new beers. Everybody wins!

First stop: Fly from London to Durham. Jen had found a brewpub that was a short drive from our hotel, so we went there for what was an early dinner local time, but felt like midnight to us.

The view from Boylan Bridge Brewpub's deck

Fried Pickles: they have an addictive chemical that makes you crave them fortnightly

My sliced pork loin sandwich

Jen's Stout Short Rib

The first brewery we checked out was in NC - Boylan Bridge Brewery. The beer was pretty good; I liked the Trainspotter Scottish Ale, thought the rest were alright, did not like the two guest beers at all) the fried pickle appetizer was terrifyingly compelling. though despite looking awesome I was underwhelmed by my sandwich. But the staff and customers were so tolerant of our jetlagged 2 year old running around the outdoor deck saying hi to everyone that I would definitely go back. Also the view was great. 

The next morning we drove to VA. Great to see family again; Jed had a blast playing with his cousins.

Jen had never seen the Mill Mountain Star up close, so we drove up there to take a look. Turns out there is a pretty neat playground there as well.

On Sunday we drove back down to North Carolina. Dinner was at Tyler's Taproom. We split the "Carolina Nachos" - nachos with pulled pork on them - and I had a catfish slider. Jen had a burger and garlic fries. The garlic fries were great, and despite the nontraditional approach the nachos were really good. Although I did have massive heartburn that night. Washed down the pork and cheese with a Fat Tire and a Duck Rabbit Milk stout, who is bi-winning with a great logo and a really good beer.

The next night I did Tyler's again, after going to a barbecue place that only took cash - I thought when they said "Your money's no good here" it meant dinner was free, but I guess it also means that they don't accept English currency. So I drove around looking for something else that was open past 8pm, contemplated what dinner from Rite-Aid would be like, and then decided to head for Tyler's as I could figure out where it was based on the Lucky Strike tower that's right out front.

There was also a really interesting lunch at Las Comales de Durham; drove over there in the rain, slogged inside to find a roomful of guys in paint-and-plaster-spattered Carhartts eating tacos and watching telenovelas. Somebody said that the thing to look for with "ethnic" restaurants is for cabbies/workmen eating there; it means it's either cheap and good, or maybe just cheap. This place fell into the "cheap and good" category. 

I loved the "NO CONCEALED WEAPONS" sign on the door, but felt a little awkward taking photos of it. Then, upon getting inside, I let Jed pick the table, so we ended up actually facing everyone else, who were mostly guys sitting around the perimeter of the room looking at the tv, which meant looking at a point about 2 feet above my shoulder. I felt a little obtrusive - guys just wanted to have their lunch break in peace and figure out if Maria was embarazada or what, and here I was explaining to a two-year old how to eat a taco while their soap was on.

I had a chorizo taco, a lengua taco, and two carnitas. Jed had two pollo tacos, and I helped with one. He had an horchata and I had a Mexican coke in a glass bottle. The Coke was good (real sugar!) but the horchata was even better. Chorizo taco tasted alright, but was the consistency of Taco Bell ground beef, rather than sausage. Kinda odd. The carnitas were pretty good; the lengua and pollo tacos were outstanding. I loved it all considering that the only way I've found to get a reasonable facsimile of Mexican in London is to make it myself.

The absolute highlight of my eating in North Carolina was the Backyard BBQ Pit. We went there twice and it was so. good. The first time, Jed and I drove over there; he was pretty hungry, so on the ride over I explained to him that we were going out for real barbecue, and he got pretty excited. When we walked in the door, he started dancing and shrieked "Barbecue Sauce!" which really amused the staff. We split the barbecue plate with two sides - mac and cheese and cabbage. The mac and cheese was more of the "putting cheese in with noodles" school than the "bechamel and pasta" variety. Both have their merits, though I prefer the John Thorne approach, which uses evaporated milk. This mac and cheese was good stuff, and Jed seemed to like it about equally with the pulled pork. I had one forkful of that swine-y goodness and just closed my eyes and said, "Oh man." It is probably a good thing that I don't live in the same state as Backyard BBQ Pit because it would be a death sentence. Okay, maybe just a fat sentence.

Backyard BBQ Pit

"Always trust a barbecue joint with a trailer out front and another out back, especially if there's wood siding." would be my motto, but it's too long for a t-shirt.

We hit up Backyard Barbecue Pit on the way back to the airport the following week so that Jen could enjoy it as well. Getting there in time to eat before catching our flight may or may not have involved exceeding the speed limit all the way from Charlottesville to Durham; you can only speculate as to what heights of mania barbecue fever can provoke in me.

After the week in Durham, we drove back up to VA, this time to Lynchburg and Charlottesville to see some family members. There were baby chicks, a crossbow, a birthday cake, some balloons, and general good times all around. 

Sunday in Charlottesville: two brewery trips and a tour of Monticello. No photographs allowed inside, so you'll just have to console yourself with a $2 bill and your imagination.

First off, brunch and a sampler of beers at Blue Mountain Brewery. I had the pulled pork, Jen had sausage gravy and biscuits. Blue Mountain uses locally sourced ingredients and grows some of their own hops, which is all well and good, but how's the beer? I was impressed: the Blue Mountain Lager and the 151 Kolsch were both excellent, the Full Nelson Pale Ale was a good representation of the style. I liked the Evil 8 Belgian; Jen did not. She liked the "Mac Hayden's Wee Heavy", I didn't, and the Irish-American Dry Stout didn't appeal to either of us. It was the consistency and color of a brown ale - kind of a brown/ruby combo, and other than tasting like roast barley wasn't what I think of as a stout at all, in terms of head, mouthfeel... I thought I might have gotten the wrong beer by mistake but didn't want to bother the staff with it.

Blue Mountain Brewery

At Blue Mountain Brewery

Pulled Pork - came in a respectable second to Backyard BBQ Pit

Jen tells me that at one point she didn't like sausage gravy. Thankfully those dark years are behind us now.

at Monticello

We finished up with dinner at Devil's Backbone. That place seemed really nice, but wasn't very full when we were there - Sunday evening. Hope for their sake we were just there on a slow night. The food was excellent, the beers were good. Apparently some of the inspiration for the founder came from his taste of Weihenstephaner while in the Alps. Weihenstephaner is one of my favorite weizen or weissbiers, and the Devil's Backbone version is really tasty. More clove than banana, just the way I like it. The Dark IPA was good as well, and the two standard IPAs on the menu - Eight Point and Four Point - were both solid examples of the style, but not what I was really feeling at the moment. I opted for a Vienna Lager, which, according to their website, is made with four different malts; I'm guessing there was Saaz hops in there also. 

Jen had the pulled pork sammy; I went for the Steakhouse Hoagie, which has "espresso-rubbed steak" and was absolutely delicious. the steak was sliced thick, but cooked perfectly. Somehow they managed to get a whiz-like "cheez" flavor without the aftertaste of synthetic fat-curd of this stuff:

At Devil's Backbone Brewery

Strawberry Bourbon Wings - surprisingly good. Tasted like real strawberries, not some kind of "froot" flavour

Then back to the bed and breakfast for some well-deserved rest before our drive back to Durham. As I said earlier, we made good time and managed to hit Backyard BBQ Pit on the way to the airport, which was an excellent choice, as the American Airlines food for the flight back to London was not nearly as appealing. 

Up next: More Sweden!

sweden

This last photo needs a little explanation: we're sitting outdoors in this cafe, and glancing through the menu - much of it is printed on the table, repeated in an X-shape, one arm for each of the four seats - and I see the following: "Nachos original 55: -
Varma, kryddade majschips serveras med salsa och aioli."

English translation says something like "nachos with two sauces" okay, i recognize "salsa", but the second one? aioli? That can't be right... Later I would find out that sometimes the Swedish take on things differs from the original word, like the "marinara" pizza that turned out to be a cheese pizza with mussels and prawns. It was good, but unexpected.

Now, I don't consider myself a food prescriptivist - I like and enjoy different cultures' interpretations of foods. NYC pizza differs from the Neapolitan version, and I'm even willing to let the Windy City call their dough-casserole abomination "pizza", as long as every menu clarifies that it's "Chicago style" so I don't order it by accident. I ate those pulled-pork nachos in Durham and thought they were pretty dang good; I've made microwave nachos with american "cheese", and although we didn't actually order the "Irish nachos" at Macado's, I guess they qualify. Barely.

So we ordered the "Nachos Original". How were they? Why, quite original, thank you for asking. How to summarize... for those of you who eat nachos, have a peek at the photo. Yes, I know they look just like nachos. Yet every element was slightly wrong; the salsa tasted kind of like a chunky marinara sauce; what I thought at first was bits of jalapeno was green onions, and there was definitely oregano and other italian spices in there too; the cheese was akin to whatever they use at ballparks and stadiums; and the second sauce was definitely mayo-based. I felt as if I was in one of those dreams where everything is slightly wrong, and though you can't exactly explain why, you're filled with dread. So these are sort of Phillip K. Dick/Cthulhu Mythos nachos.

Sounds vile and disgusting? Well, it actually... wasn't. All of the ingredients weren't bad, in and of themselves, and because the chips and cheese were pretty close to what we're used to as "nachos", it made for an eating experience that was unnerving but strangely compelling. Jed LOVED them, as you can tell from the photo, and I think that's because he's too young to have preconceived notions of how food is supposed to taste.

My guess is that, like the stuffed lion of Gripsholm Castle, these nachos have some of their basis in a photo, or the "look" of nachos. If you're from a culture that uses mayo rather than sour cream, you're more likely to think that it's an acceptable substitute, much like americans think that lite sour cream can be subbed for creme fraiche. The salsa can be explained the same way. And there you have it. Swedish Nachos.