food halls of scandinavia

Food halls/markets are kinda like mini festivals with their bustling atmosphere and multitude of options and crowds. Generally things I'll avoid, but I do anything for food. So in addition to the libraries, I made it a point to seek out all the food halls.

festival time

Don't you love it when you happen to be somewhere during some city-wide event?
I was in Gothenburg during Way Out West, but I didn't really envy the crowds sitting around in wet grass nor did I have tickets. I couldn't help but walk through Malmofestivalen though.. because it was sprawling throughout what I determined was their downtown.

getting caught in the rain

It's not as romantic as it used to be for me. During the summer in New Mexico, I used to dash outside at the slightest sound of rain, padding around the yard barefoot and careful in our flooded pebble garden. I'd stand under our pitiful grapevine that provided minimal cover, feeling the stray drops on my head. If it was heavy enough, I'd run out to the street where water rushed along the curb like a little river and just stand in it. Rain became more miserable the older I got. Now I had to tread to class in it, try not to get soaked in it before having to sit through an hour-long lecture that was often as dreary as it felt outside. I hated the sound of squeaky shoes and the smell of dampness and the way little mud puddles formed on the floors of buses.

I had left my raincoat at Nancy's just before catching my flight to Copenhagen because the get-your-shit-together ship had sailed with my wallet, but I thought, with no knowledge of late summer weather in Scandinavia, "Whatever, it's fine, it won't rain." Uncharacteristically optimistic of me.

Gothenburg welcomed me with storm clouds and a steady stream of tears. And I resisted an umbrella as long as I could. After all, it was very start and stop in Copenhagen/Stockholm so that I never needed one. But I finally ducked into a grocery store, soaked through and cold and caved to an overpriced mini red umbrella.

The rain felt romantic again.

The entire city felt deserted. Because I was the only crazy person walking along the river and through public gardens in those conditions.
Just a girl. Trying to find herself. In the rain. Under her red umbrella.

Krog and Slip

The epitome of eating alone happened after a frantic dash in the pouring rain. Pouring rain. Stockholm had been so good to me until I hopped on the bus to Oaxen Krog, and with no umbrella, I couldn't help feeling self conscious about the thought of walking into this elegant restaurant dripping wet. So I lily padded down the street (i.e. dashing from overhang to overhang), hoping I was going in the correct direction, until the darling yellow boathouse building appeared in front of me. Phew. I was 30 minutes early to my res.

I was already briefed and mentally prepared to spend about $300 on dinner, so when the edgy but classy bartender asked what I'll have to drink while I waited at the Slip for Krog to officially open its doors to me, I picked out the first glass of red on the menu.

Within minutes, the rain clouds cleared and sunlight poured generously into the quiet restaurant. The floor to ceiling windows definitely helped. And I got warm and cozy and tipsy while perusing the restaurant newsletter.

licorice and cardamom

I've never been picky. I was the model child for cleaning your plate and good table behavior (except when we sat at booths at Red Lobster). And even the things I used to spit out as a kid (whole pieces of ginger, bitter melon, peppercorns, yellow mustard), I eventually learned to relish.

But black licorice. I'm still coming around. 

I don't hate it. Star anise is essential in some Chinese braised dishes, and I love the exotic bite of fennel when you least expect it (like in Jade's Irish soda bread). And the Ouzo from Old Sugar Distillery, mmmm. And root beer floats, duh.

So I entered Sweden with an open mind, knowing they love their licorice. Did not find the licorice ice cream though.

Verdict - chocolate covered salt licorice ain't bad. Salt licorice in general ain't bad. At Lakitsroten, you can fulfill all your licorice needs including spice blends and sauces.
By the by, TSA stopped me for the chocolate licorice balls. And I was about to lose my cool, waiting for them to tell me I can't take my fancy candy into Chicago with me. It's a gift! Don't punish me for trying to be nice! I wanted to scream.
"That's chocolate covered licorice from Sweden." Not all unfamiliar things are dangerous.
"But what are the balls?"
"The... licorice."

I missed Audrey the entire time I was there because I was drowning alone in cardamom and dill and elderflower.. and licorice. In a good, but lonely, way.

I fully embrace the part of being feminine that probably means I adore streets lined with overpriced but well-curated boutiques and bustling food establishments and at least one antique-y smelling bookstore. I can't help but walk into a store with a lovely window display. And if a sketchy white van pulled up in front of me with a sign that said "CUTE AND FUNNY GREETING CARDS HERE", I would climb in without hesitation to read every single one, debate buying all the ones that remind me of someone, and take a picture of it to send instead. And then my face would be on the news and maybe someone would worry.
Haga Nygata in Gothenburg is one such street where I almost walked passed Cafe Husaren. I say almost because I didn't walk pass it. How could you if you saw what I saw pressed right up against the window?

Giant disks of cinnamon rolls larger than my face in a pile. This is the kind of pile I'd like to jump in.
Like seriously, what the fuck. I couldn't immediately processing what I was seeing. And then that I could have one all to myself for $5! If this is what heaven is all the time, then I believe and I want to go to there. I practiced the most self control for the rest of my 2.5 days in Gothenburg, so that I could start and end every day with a couple bites of this fluffy cardamom and cinnamon-y with-course-sugar-on-top beauty.

Nordic cuisine, I'm a little late to the party, but I am a fan.

in sweden we call it fika

Fika apparently loosely translates to 'indule in coffee and chat at leisure.' 

A simple but vital part of everyday life. It's a noun or it's a verb. It's "about slowing down." It's about carving out time. It's about Arabica kaffe and bulles. It's about catching up with old friends or getting to know new ones. It's about enjoying Sweden summers. It's even "built into many employee contracts."

I'm into it.

the art of eating alone

On most fronts, I loved traveling alone. I kind of operate on scheduled randomness, I prefer being on foot to public transportation, and there was no one to people-please. The two times I found myself incredibly annoyed at not having friend(s) were 1. when I wanted to go to the bathroom without lugging all my stuff with me and 2. when I wanted to try too many things on a menu. But I guess we can call that character building because my bladder and decision making skills are stronger than it's ever been, and eating alone is really not that awkward.

It's definitely not as comfortable as posting up in a coffee shop under cover of a laptop or book, but it's not as weird as "Does everyone think I got stood up?"

So anyways, Ann raved about Urban Deli, and it happened to be a couple blocks from my hostel (or so I thought), so naturally I worked it into my dinner schedule.

The best tartare is an explosion of flavors and textures. Like a good charcuterie plate, I want to be able to personalize each bite. Fried oyster mushrooms, pickled onion, cilantro, garlic chips, miso mayonnaise. Just missing a bright yellow yolk to tie it all together.

And to complete my raw surf n turf, I had to get half a dozen oysters with onion relish stuff. My kind of raw diet.

lush lyfe

I love when a city successfully blends urban and nature, like Stockholm. 
Walking tours around Djurgården and Södermalm put me in the most serene mood. And I found the most friends I'll ever have just nesting in the middle of the road somewhere outside the Vasamuseet.

Fear less, hope more

Eat less, chew more

Whine less, breathe more

Talk less, say more

Hate less, love more

And good things will be yours

-Swedish proverb