AND WHAT SHALL WE EAT?

Eons ago as a child I had watched bemusedly as my father unwrapped some small leafy parcels. He assured us that we were in for a delicious treat. The tiny rather misshapen squares with wrinkled, burnt and slightly blackened surface didn't look appealing at all. Each packet contained a piece of fish. My father then squeezed a drop or two of lemon juice and popped one into his mouth making a smacking noise. It was sometime quite before with a bit trepidation I tore a tiny morsel and put it into my mouth. It triggered off a lifetime addiction. The packets had come from Karbi Anglong in Assam where it was quite a common way of cooking fish in the villages. The process was simple - clean and cut into pieces the fresh catch of the day, season with salt and wrap each piece in a banana leaf square and  put them all in a previously dug pit where some wood were burnt after removing the embers, cover the parcels, ply the embers on top, cover with the dugout earth. After an hour or so, take them out. Simple but sublime.  

Eons later and thousands of kilometres away in the sunny island of Bornhom, Denmark, the moment came gushing back before the platter of smoked fish at the Sveneke Rogeri. The age old culinary art of smoking fish is said to have been introduced to the island by Scottish sailors centuries ago and the smokehouses basically function from April/May to October. The Sveneke Rogeri with its black and white facade including the five chimneys lay next to the blazing blue Baltic sea with both indoor and outdoor sittings. It was being managed efficiently by two young women - one married and one with a partner, I didn't probe, they told us - with much bantering and laughter. The place they said was famous for its smoked herring  and there was even a big poster showing the best way of having it and so herring it was. I however have a thing going for salmon. The herring had been smoked for five hours and the salmon for a whole nine! It was a meal that reconfirmed that it's not the frills and fancies that one adds to ingredients but respecting its intrinsic essence and letting its natural taste come out that makes a great dish.  It was the  wholesome goodness of the sea products and the subtle aroma of the wood chips used to smoke them. In some seasons life can often be a sea song.

The next day and it was a smokehouse again, this time the Nordbornholm Rogeri, a more spacious one right next to the sea again with both indoor and outdoor seating. The buffet it was this time and with gluttony holding sway it was bingeing to the extreme. To the saying that goes don't judge a book by its cover, I would like to add don't let out exasperated sighs and sardonically raise eyebrows when someone sits before a plate that maybe visually putting off. It was a feast all right with everything from crabs to prawns to lobsters to salmon and more salmon dishes of every kind. He, of course, balanced out my lack of grace, relishing one dish before going on to the other. 

 

Good food is the family obsession, complete with bucket lists. Period. If it was to be Copenhagen, it had to be Noma. But alas, Noma said no-go despite the attempt to get reservations a couple of months in advance.  If Noma said no-no then what about Kadeau.  Well they didn't laugh at us is all I can say. Maybe there would be a cancellation, maybe some table wouldn't turn up. Ah, if cravings were horses...the first evening itself we decided to take a try. The giant wooden gate did open when we rang the tiny discreet bell but sigh. Must have been the crestfallen faces, they directed us to Barr on the waterfront that specialised in Northern Europe dishes. Sometimes prayers are answered and we  managed to cajole a table. Rustic elegant predominantly wooden look,  a bar that seemed to go on and on, a dining section overlooking the waterfront and every table and bar stool packed to the gills.  One large group, two or three tables put together provided much amusement. The party seemed to be either colleagues or work partners or whatever and as the evening inched, killer stilettos were kicked aside, sophisticated hair-dos came apart or went askew, formal ties were discarded while the clinking of glasses and the decibel level rocketed. The cheerful staff were quite chatty and helpful with guiding us. It was a spread of grilled mackerel, pork schnitzel served with anchovies and caper sauce, asparagus and grated horseradish with a dash of whipped cream and a giant hassselback with with golden burnt butter sauce. Among the desserts which included gooseberry mousse and goat cheese with apricots, came two small earthenware  bowls which sans the pistachio slivers and saffron strands could have been our own phirni!That, I was informed, was an old North European dish.

It is no secret that markets and I have a lifelong affair going on and wherever we go, a market visit is a must. And when it is a super market then all the more exciting. The huge Torvehallerne supermarket in Copenhagen with more than 60 stalls selling everything from meat, fish, cheese, tea, coffee, cakes, pastries and what-have-you also has quite a number of eateries both inside the cavernous hall and outside. We had been told that the Mexican restaurant Hija de Sanchez was quite good. The beef and red bean taco looked good but apparently the seasoning was virtually non existent. And for the husband to say that was quite something. Or maybe it was the Indian palate and conditioning. The blandness was more than compensated by the juiciest roast pork sandwich from another eatery. As for the virulent pink rose drink I am still trying to figure out its antecedents, its ingredients and hell, even its taste.

The Meatpacking District, said to be one of the trendiest nightspots as well as a day time pull with its restaurants, cafes and art galleries was on our itinerary but unfortunately our timing was wrong to eat anything there. The buzz seemed infectious and the crowd seemed to be loving it all. I came away quite tickled by the names of some of the eating joints: Bicycles&Butchers (couldn't work out the connection except for the upper case B), WarPigs (grunt), Fleisch (really?), NOHO ( is then Ha allowed?) and Gorilla!  

Nyhavn, the 17th century waterfront is a true tourist magnet. it meets every taste. The quay, the colourful row of old wooden houses, the long cobbled stretch, eateries of every shape, size and taste, good food, good bars, good music, in brief a vibrant ambiance. In fact, almost everyday somehow or the other whatever the time and even briefly, we would find ourselves there. Happy places tend to be like that I suppose.

There is another predictable family factor when it comes to food choice during holidays. Like clockwork regularity murmurings start about Indian or Asian food. That's how I ended up eating dal-roti and a minuscule portion of pickle, something that was the first time ever and a very depressing one. It was a small joint in an upmarket area but the menu seemed to be obsessed with lamb, lamb and more lamb. I think one or two chicken dishes managed to squeeze in but that was that. We do a mean dal if you can wait for sometime, the proprietor said. We could, we said and we did. A little potato or some greens I almost begged. Sorry, he said. The dal was mean that is all I will say. A few days later when the predictable predictability reared up again, I hastily looked around. The name Green Mango sounded deliciously inviting and when the cuisine is Thai nothing more needs to be said.

France might be more than 15,000 km from Denmark but the Fish Market restaurant, inspired by a French fishing bistro magically transport a bit of France to Copenhagen. Inside the bistro it is a lively atmosphere with full occupancy and it undoubtedly offers the best of sea food. Its the grand platter for us and the items are what is desired of a chilled platter - crabs, oysters, langoustine. prawns and even tiny shells served with sour cream mayonnaise, cucumber salad, lemon, vinaigrette accompanied by a bread basket and the ubiquitous Danish rye bread. While we were at it, why not a plate of steamed mussels and it was. The meal was a celebration of the best of sea food and for me truly a payback for good karma of smiling through a dal-roti meal!

 

A restaurant at the hotel we were staying in Bergen (Norway) had an interesting board that said:

It isn't. Just that sometimes one is accused of being a food fraud by the family, of being questioned that how is it okay to eat sea food and pork dish of any kind but quibble over meat and chicken based dishes and of being told to play it fair. Fair? How could that be when it came to reindeer and deer burger that seemed to be more than plentiful in Bergen. Hello! remember Rudolph the red nosed reindeer? And Bambi? Fine, I accept that it is hypocrisy but often that's the way the wind blows.

The fjords it was with a delightful train ride to Myrdal and on to Flam. The journey and the description defying endowment of nature's best to Norway made us decide to indulge with a lovely luxurious meal. The view outside the restaurant was picture perfect, the menu had a wondrous mix of fish and fowl and everything tempting. Just when one was feeling blessed, in trooped a big party of highly vocal tourists from a giant Asian country with their branded clothes, footwear, bags, glares et all and proceeded to take over the place just like bulls in a China shop.  Often the wind blows that way too. Sigh!

Ulriken is the highest mountain in Bergen. The cable car takes ten minutes to the top. We took in the stunning panoramic views of the fjords, seas, mountains and of Bergen, we checked out the Sherpa Steps and then, I spied salmon sandwich! 

Another family holiday symptom that is fated to crop up after a couple of days of not having Indian fare runs along familiar patterns. It could be something along the lines of isn't this chilly weather perfect for hot alu parantha, achar and dahi?  Or too much of eating, it would be good to have plain dal-chawal. And ad nauseam. We had seen a few in and around Bergen - why do so many Indian restaurants have a 'taj' in their names - and the one that seemed right came with an unusual moniker, Arti Indisk.  Offensive as it may sound, one had discreetly peeked in through the windows and quickly checked out the place - tables not crowded together, white linen, right lighting and so on. We walked in to hear a soft melodious Hindi number. The decor was Indian but not in your face find. Arti Indisk turned out to be an interesting place with an interesting history. Hari Singh Negi, the proprietor was away supervising the last minute details of a second Indian restaurant that he was opening in the city, but his wife joined us at the table for sometime. Negi, she said, was a chef at five star hotels like Asoka in Delhi. He then moved to Bangkok and Oman before joining an Indian hotel in Bergen as a chef.  It was a hardworking immigrant success story. When he had shifted to Bergen, his wife and four children had finally shifted base from India. Their two daughters were successful professionals in Oslo but one of them was convinced to move back home and join the family business. Their older daughter-in-law is from India and yes, like all Indian mothers she was worried that the other three were not married!  The meal was wholesome, homely and tasty, no overload of oil and spices. Just what an Indian mother would cook!

        FJORDS, FALLS, TROLLS!

          AND OH! PENGUINS TOO

 

Are all associations supposed to have justified logical reasoning?  Maybe, maybe not, but don't know why I always associated Norway with trolls. Not the trolls lurking in the digital space and social media but those mythical creatures with cyclopic eyes, misshapen nose and everything not pleasing to the eye. The trolls of Norwegian myths and folklore who lived in forests and caves and the wilderness in general and who went around saying, 'I smell the blood of Christian men!' It could be also because the mention of Norway was like involuntary clicking on another word- Fjord! So  trolls and fjords to me added up to a mystical world. Sure, the World Bank last year declared Norway as the richest country in the world;  sure it is one of the most developed civilized nation in the world but I was not going to let these cold facts get in the way of my romantic, however half-baked, imageries!

And so to Bergen, the second largest city in Norway on its southwestern coast and the gateway to the unique fjords of the country. Seven mountains all around it, the UNESCO Cultural Heritage site listed Bryggen right in the middle, the wharf, the funicular and cable car that take you to the top of the mountains in ten minutes from the heart of the city, art galleries, ships mooring at Vagen, the central harbour, boat building yards, the ancient fish market that combines commerce and dining seamlessly- the list can go on. Trolls? Large, medium and small in abundance but only in the souvenir shop and some very touristy centres. I guess its best to let them be in the hazy world of myths and folklore.  

The Fjords however exceeded all expectations. We took the early morning train to Myrdal at a height of 867 metres above sea level. Myrdal is also called the mountain railway station or the upper point of the universally known Flam railway or Flamsbana  and is just 13 kms south of Flam. Interestingly, it seems that there is no road connection to the somewhat small village of Myrdal and the only mode of transport is the train. The distance from Bergen to Myrdal is about 20 kms or so but the scenery outside of the train window is stunning loaded with snow-capped mountains, giant rocks, cascading waterfalls and of course, rivers.

From Myrdal one has to take the Flam  line or Flambana and it is truly a magical journey through the valley of Flamsdalen. Recognised as one of the world's 25 most beautiful train rides by The Society of International Railway, the little over 20 kms distance is also one the world's steepest train rides, built on normal tracks with 20 tunnels that weave in and out of mountains. Work on the Flam line begun in 1923 and it was only in 1946 that the project was completed. Earlier, of course, it was steam powered but from 1947 the electric locomotive came in. The interiors of the 12 cars thankfully, is replete with old world charm. The journey is not just  hold-your-breath and gape at the vista outside but comes with a bit of unexpected drama. The train stops briefly for passengers to step on to the viewing platform of Kjosfossen waterfall. The impact of the roaring torrent is such that  everyone is engulfed by the spraying mist. Then, suddenly one is not sure if one is actually hearing a soulful and very woeful tune emerging from somewhere behind the gigantic gushing cascade.  Is it or is it not - yes, there is an extremely light-haired female figure with long locks flying in the winds, in a red flowing attire who emerges from the forest behind, swaying to the music even as she leaps and cavorts all over the place. By the time the eyes locate and follow her, she literally plunges down somewhere behind the waterfall. First there is a collective gasp from the watching crowd and a split second later, another cheerful roar as she suddenly appears on the other flank of the waterfall.The similar light haired and clad in red figure is obviously a second actor continuing the show but if this is not a moment of suspension of all disbelief then what is? The whole drama lasts for barely a few minutes but it certainly spiced up the train ride.

The mysterious female figure, one learnt later was a 'Huldra', an elusive forest spirit from Norse mythology and the music was a Norwegian folk song. As per the local folklore the song and dance number is to lure men - no women please - into the woods to either seduce them and keep them as mates or worse as a virtual slave to obey all their bidding.  And I guess that's the last one sees of the men. Shades of Lorelei? The whole act is a production of the Norwegian Ballet School. Feeding to the tourists yes, but a very welcome interlude certainly.    

 

The Flam train takes about an hour from Myrdal to Sognefjord in Flam, Aurland and like par for course, it passes through some of the most beautiful regions - giant rocks, cliffs, rivers, waterfalls, villages with cute wooden cottages - and at Songefjord one is at sea level again. There's the Flam Railway museum which provides interesting insights into how the steepest railway in the world actualised. Turns out of the 20 tunnels on the route, 18 were actually hand work in every sense!There's the usual souvenir shops, eateries and cafe and even fine dining joints but you realise that the actual beauty of Flam can be experienced when you leave the train station and tourist spots and go further in. Unfortunately, we are booked to go back to Bergen on a ferry and its a couple of hours or so. But whatever short incursions we make confirm that the one above gave Norway an overdose of natural beauty.

On the way back it's a long 4-hour journey by ship but there is never a sense of it being too long. One stunning visual after another and in between braving the full blast chilly winds on the decks and trying to check out the fjords on both sides, the hours sped by. What impressed me most was that one of the leeward side a giant cliff there were just handfuls of small huts but they had perfectly built wide roads going up right to the doorsteps. Also, helipads were noticeable in quite a few large fjords.

After the train and the ship rides, it was swinging of another kind- bar hopping. It confirmed my belief all over again that spirit imbibing people smile a lot more, sing along a lot more however out of tune and most think they rock it on the dance floor! What pained me however was how in one joint a singer, said to be quite in demand with ardent fan followers, nearly mutilated Annie's Song. The singing was all over the place and I have never ever heard the song sung that way not even by myself in the bathroom! From that sorrowful depth, it was to the heights of Ulriken Mountain (643 metres) the next day. Ulriken is the highest of the seven mountains in Bergen and one of the best spots to get an all sweeping view of Bergen, the sea, the islands, fjords and the mountains. The cable car operates on a single-line 7.6 km railway tunnel. While the section overlooking the city is alive and buzzing with viewing points, restaurants, souvenir shops etc, turn and face the other way and the contrast is something - cold and hard towering cliffs with two hiking trails.  For the more adventurous who prefer to trek it up all the way, the final climb is via the Sherpa Steps. Yes, Sherpa in Norway. It seems that for more than a decade the sturdy Sherpas from the Himalayan country of Nepal have been working on various trail building projects all over Norway. It occurred to me that if the Sherpas easily carry their body weight on the oxygen starved slopes of Mount Everest, Ulriken might have  been an easy task. 

If it's the cable car to Ulriken, it is the Floibanen funicular to the top of Floyen (320metres above sea level) up a steep mountain slope takes just about 5 to 8 minutes. In fact, if a pin locating the exact heart of Bergen had to be put on the map of the city, it would the entry point of the Floibanen funicular. At the cost of being repetitive, the ride up and the views and vista is another delightful experience. Actually the delight has to  be shared equally with the goats! Floyenguttene or The Floyen Boys are six billy Cashmere goats. Yup goats christened Boots; Elvis (don't go looking for one with a bouffant hairstyle); Smaen; Festus Glide; Flekken and Alf all born in 2011. And Floyen is their home. The six boys were bred to clear vegetation and there job is to keep greenery at bay. Apparently, they spend the winters at an island and from Easter time it is back to Floyen. And some specialised pasture technology ensures that their movements is restricted to specific areas. While several visitors sought to click what else buts selfies, the goats didn't appear enthused about it at all. Their expressions seem to say hey humans hotfoot it from here and leave us alone. Or maybe I am not good at reading expressions.

 

If the goats were lording it in Floyen, the penguins at the Bergen Aquarium, the largest in Norway, were being themselves. Or at least that's what I would like to assure myself with. The aquarium was a bit of a dilemma but it was the penguins who titled the scale because naturally I wanted to see one in real life. There were the two sea lions who preferred to doze, there were fishes and fishes, there were reptiles (strictly avoided), turtles etc but I am not too comfortable with the idea of animals on display, so lets stop at that. And yes, whatever few visitors were there they were all parents escorting kids. 

A fish market bang in the middle of the city might not exactly sound like a tourist attraction but the one in Bergen is another kettle of fish altogether!  The outdoor section has been in existence since the 12th century(What is it with Bergen and the 12 century!) and operates during summer. And its not just seafood of every kind, colour and shape, but also fruits, vegetables, flowers and plants and eateries both in the outdoor and indoor sections.

After the gourmet serving of fjords, huldra, unique trains rides and ferry flush, mountain tops, funiculars and cable cars, fish market and especially after Bryggen it was the walks around Bergen through cobbled paths, scaling narrow steps, ambling through trees lined avenues, admiring churches and virtually ogling at the beautiful houses big, small and cute, taking breaks at intimate cafes in neighbourhoods, watching dogs at play and laughing kindergarten kids, in brief, a slice of life that was the most satisfying.