Flirty Foodies where did you go? Did something terrible happen? Are you guys dieting or something? Why haven’t you posted anything in a while? Are you breaking up with us? Can we cuddle?
We apologize for the lack of posts of late. Rest assured we are very much alive and well. Fall has been a very busy time of year for pair of us. For the most, part it was spent fattening up in preparation for a long and cold winter. This makes for excellent heat retention and great spooning. Any takers?
Meaghan has been busy in the kitchen, developing recipes and expanding her freelance photography. Boudoir shoots and bacon…sounds delicious non? Ayaka on the other hand, recently came back from a whirlwind trip in Europe. Here she recaps three of her European dining experiences.
Meal #1 Full English Breakfast at E. Pellicci’s in London, England.
Our first meal since landing in London took us away from the tourist track and into an Italian joint named E. Pellicci’s. Located in the heart of Bethnal Green, this family run greasy spoon was in an admittedly “dodgy” area of London according to our English friends. After having endured twenty six hours of non-stop travel however, I was terribly grumpy and had a huge hankering for some comfort food. You could say that at this point, health concerns weren’t high up on the list of priorities. A full blown assault on the arteries was what the doctor ordered.
Opened in the early 20th century, walking into E. Pellicci’s was like being transported to another time. Retro art-Deco décor complete with wood panelling and long communal tables made for a cramped but very lively dining area. Despite being crammed into tight quarters, every single person in the room had a smile on their face. The kind that only accompanies a home made meal made by mom or in this case, Chef Mama Maria.
We each ordered the full English breakfast; bacon rashers, sausage, tomatoes, an over easy egg served on a piece of fried bread with a generous portion of sautéed mushrooms. It was cardiac arrest on a plate. A tall glass of slightly tart, freshly squeezed orange juice helped to cut all the greasy goodness.
After a wonderful meal, we got a pleasant surprise when we went up to the counter to settle our bill. Son of Mama Maria, Nevio Junior handed us a piece of his grandmother’s freshly baked bread pudding still warm from the oven. It was the best parting gift ever!
Meal #2: Currywurst in Dortmund, Germany
In Germany, the only thing bigger than David Hasselholff is currywurst. Germany’s contribution to the world of street food has reached cult status with over 800 million servings sold every year. It is so popular, all mayoral candidates must pose near a currywurst stand. It’s the electoral equivalent of kissing a baby. I had to try it to see what all the fuss was about. So upon arriving in the city of Dortmund, we went on the prowl for the first stand we could find.
We had no idea what to expect when we ordered our currywursts. I expected to receive something along the lines of a glorified chili dog accompanied by a mandatory pint of beer.
Turns out, I was wrong.
“Mayo?” asked the mannish woman preparing our order.
This should have been the first red flag. I naively answered yes.
Turns out currywurst is in essence a bratwurst sliced into pieces and submerged in a sea of ketchup-esque sauce similar to a
soulless meat free sloppy joe sauce. The entire thing is topped with a generous sprinkle of curry powder and served with a side of fries. You can forget the bottle of Heinz ketchup though as these frites come instead with a healthy slathering of mayonnaise.
Remember that scene from Pulp Fiction when Vincent talks about Europeans drowning their fries in mayo? He wasn’t far from the truth. Now don’t get me wrong, I think mayo is magnificent. In this case however, the serving size no longer reflects that of a condiment. In fact as a result of reading this post, your cholesterol levels have just spiked. Das heart attack!
The verdict? Currywurst tastes slightly better than it looks. There are so many ways to dress a dog. This isn’t one of them.
Meal #3: Duck Confit, /Po.za.da/, Paris, France.
Our third and final meal takes us to Paris; city of endless wine, cheese, baguettes and second hand smoke. While my lungs were generally unhappy, each hazardous breath was easily forgiven at the thought of a glass of wine with every meal.
At the suggestion of our concierge, we decided to check out a wine bar cryptically named /Po.za.da/. This cozy little bistro was filled with hungry Parisians. Every remaining spare inch of space was devoted to the storage and display of wine. A colourful collection of reds, whites, bubblies and rare vintages were proudly presented. Each empty bottle served as a reminder of an intimate occasion shared by a select few. It was a pretty sight.
Our waiter handed us a 2 page wine list and brought over a large chalkboard with the dining selections of the night. Our French was rusty, but we were unwilling to admit it so we ended up spending a good while deciphering the menu. My dining partner decided on roasted lamb with figs while I went for the classic duck confit with ratatouille. Something about a duck leg cooked in its own fat. Pure indulgence at its best.