Being a “Foodie” Failure
Our first day and a half has been lovely. We have seen so much including our requisite three hour walking tour, roaming through the National Museum and a castle, taking a cruise and enjoying the beautiful lights (not the rides) at Tivoli Garden. But the thing that has kept me completely off kilter, has been the food.
I always thought that Bob and I were “foodies.” We love a good glass of red wine, some crusty bread with a tasty olive oil from Sicily or Spain and a delicious fish or bowl of pasta. But until coming to Copenhagen, I didn’t realize that we were just not hip enough to ever be considered a real foodie.
The restaurant voted best in the world is located here in Copenhagen, and while we do not plan to eat there as we might have to give up one of our children to pay for the meal, it appears that every other restaurant in the city is attempting to knock that restaurant off the high horse that the Michelin stars have placed it upon. We have had two dinners here and each of them have been very similar. During the service of every course, each food item was excruciatingly described to us with such earnestness by a variety of waiters, (all of whom appeared to have many tattoos and hair buns) that we were both completely awe struck by the amount of emotion that went describing a couple of interesting food items.
My personal favorite was a description of an asparagus dish. Apparently ours had been buried (buried?) in barley so that the asparagus could absorb the nuttiness of the barley. After “exhuming” the asparagus (he didn’t say that, but that’s all I could think about after he described the burial), the barley was made into some kind of sauce and then part of it was toasted so that it could make dramatic squiggle lines across the asparagus. It seemed like a hell of a lot of work for a side dish, and while it was very tasty, the burial seemed unnecessary as my clearly undiscerning palate tasted no “nuttiness.”
On our first night, we decided on a four course pre-fixe meal (as opposed to an eight course meal—just ridiculous). There was an option for a cheese course and Bob decided to order it, as well. Here was our mutual vision of a “cheese course.” There would be a few Danish cheeses, some Wasa crackers or rye bread (very big here), some strategically placed grapes on the plate, and if they were being very fancy-shmansy, some strawberries, cut to look like flowers.
After multiple courses and so many food descriptions that I had nearly gone cross-eyed, we decided that we didn’t want the cheese course. When we told this to one of our waiters (there seemed to be a never-ending lot of them) he looked so distraught and told us that the cheese course should have been served already and that he was terribly sorry for the mistake. A few minutes later, another waiter, who appeared to hold some authority, approached our table and said, “I understand that you no longer want the cheese course.” When we said that was correct, she said, “But Madame and Messier, you have already eaten it!” Who knew? We had been given a small tart with some shaved cheese on top, accompanied by an exceedingly long explanation of its contents, and frankly it was late and I was jet-lagged. Clearly, neither of us was paying attention to the near novella-length description and I honestly thought it was just another vegetable that accompanied our buried asparagus.
Tonight, I was a bit nervous and we were both on our best behavior and listened more closely to the multitude of food explanations. But frankly, I’ll be happy to go back to feeling confident with my crusty bread and good olive oil.
I always thought that Bob and I were “foodies.” We love a good glass of red wine, some crusty bread with a tasty olive oil from Sicily or Spain and a delicious fish or bowl of pasta. But until coming to Copenhagen, I didn’t realize that we were just not hip enough to ever be considered a real foodie.
The restaurant voted best in the world is located here in Copenhagen, and while we do not plan to eat there as we might have to give up one of our children to pay for the meal, it appears that every other restaurant in the city is attempting to knock that restaurant off the high horse that the Michelin stars have placed it upon. We have had two dinners here and each of them have been very similar. During the service of every course, each food item was excruciatingly described to us with such earnestness by a variety of waiters, (all of whom appeared to have many tattoos and hair buns) that we were both completely awe struck by the amount of emotion that went describing a couple of interesting food items.
My personal favorite was a description of an asparagus dish. Apparently ours had been buried (buried?) in barley so that the asparagus could absorb the nuttiness of the barley. After “exhuming” the asparagus (he didn’t say that, but that’s all I could think about after he described the burial), the barley was made into some kind of sauce and then part of it was toasted so that it could make dramatic squiggle lines across the asparagus. It seemed like a hell of a lot of work for a side dish, and while it was very tasty, the burial seemed unnecessary as my clearly undiscerning palate tasted no “nuttiness.”
On our first night, we decided on a four course pre-fixe meal (as opposed to an eight course meal—just ridiculous). There was an option for a cheese course and Bob decided to order it, as well. Here was our mutual vision of a “cheese course.” There would be a few Danish cheeses, some Wasa crackers or rye bread (very big here), some strategically placed grapes on the plate, and if they were being very fancy-shmansy, some strawberries, cut to look like flowers.
After multiple courses and so many food descriptions that I had nearly gone cross-eyed, we decided that we didn’t want the cheese course. When we told this to one of our waiters (there seemed to be a never-ending lot of them) he looked so distraught and told us that the cheese course should have been served already and that he was terribly sorry for the mistake. A few minutes later, another waiter, who appeared to hold some authority, approached our table and said, “I understand that you no longer want the cheese course.” When we said that was correct, she said, “But Madame and Messier, you have already eaten it!” Who knew? We had been given a small tart with some shaved cheese on top, accompanied by an exceedingly long explanation of its contents, and frankly it was late and I was jet-lagged. Clearly, neither of us was paying attention to the near novella-length description and I honestly thought it was just another vegetable that accompanied our buried asparagus.
Tonight, I was a bit nervous and we were both on our best behavior and listened more closely to the multitude of food explanations. But frankly, I’ll be happy to go back to feeling confident with my crusty bread and good olive oil.
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