Christmas concerns (and doggy bags)

Posted on November 30, 2008 by Hails

What is the point of selling Christmas cards without envelopes? I mean, really. Even if you’re writing the card for someone you see every day, and will just be handing it to them in person, they’re still going to expect it to be in an envelope with their name scribbled across the front, perhaps in decorative curly writing. With a glitter pen. (‘Tis the season.) And you’re going to be even more likely to require an envelope if you’re buying the sort of cards that have touristy pictures of wintery Tallinn scenes on the front, surely? So why would those be the ones that are sold without envelopes? It makes no sense to me.

That was my first strange discovery today. The second was when I saw Santa standing at the edge of the Old Town, smoking a cigarette and urging passers-by to throw money into the large jar at his feet. This upset me slightly, partly because I didn’t know that Santa smoked (although I suppose it must be a stressful job, particularly at this time of year), partly because he seemed to have lost an awful lot of weight (possibly due to aforementioned stress), and partly because I never expected to see him begging for money. I mean, I know the world has plunged into financial chaos, but I just kind of expected Santa to be immune to all that. You know, maybe have some sort of emergency savings fund. Too many people are counting on him for a happy Christmas – what will happen if the people of Tallinn do not give him enough money to employ the elves to finish making all the toys? One shudders to imagine.

I tried to escape my Santa-related worries by going to see a film with Riho – there’s a film festival on in Tallinn at the moment. Tonight, we went to see Sina Olin Siin (“I Was Here”), as I really wanted to see an Estonian film. Yes, I have become so fluent in Estonian that I can now go and see Estonian-language films! It was very good (although the constant presence of writing in some other language at the bottom of the screen was a bit of a distraction).

The film was followed by dinner in a nice Italian place, where I couldn’t finish my exceptionally delicious meal and once again bemoaned the absence of doggy bags. Someone once told me that restaurants aren’t allowed to give you doggy bags any more because if you take food home and don’t reheat it properly and get food poisoning or something as a result, you might sue them, and they don’t want to take the risk. Which is just ridiculous, because surely if you’re that sort of person you’ll just blame a restaurant anyway if you do happen to get something resembling food poisoning? Anyway, I’ve never asked for a doggy bag since I heard this (which was years and years and years ago) – but then I went to the US a few years back, and upon expressing my horror at the size of the portions in restaurants, was informed that you’re not expected to eat it all at once. You just say “box it up” and they’ll bring you a little box with the rest of your food, so that you can have another meal the next day. It’s great! So surely if the doggy bag ban thing was true, the US would be on board? They’re more into the whole lawsuit thing than the UK, after all. So now I’m doubting the validity of the information I was given all those years ago, or wondering if I dreamt it, and I’m pretty annoyed at the amount of food I’ve wasted by not asking for a doggy bag, and indeed the number of times I’ve made myself feel ill by forcing myself to finish a far-too-big meal. Do you see? Do you see the enormity of the issues I face in my day-to-day life?

Anyway, I couldn’t ask for a doggy bag here, just to see what they’d say, because they would most likely think that I was literally asking for a bag for my dog, or a puppy in a bag, or some such thing. It would all be horribly embarrassing. Instead, I wrapped up my leftover cannelloni in my napkin and smuggled it out of the restaurant in a furtive sort of manner, Riho laughing at me all the way. “What do you think they’re going to do to you if they see you?” he demanded, not understanding my secrecy. I couldn’t really answer him, as I was trying to conceal my dismay at the feeling of warm spinach and ricotta seeping through my napkin into my coat pocket. Once on the street, I removed the disastrous cargo, realised that I was never going to eat microwaved cannelloni with added pieces of napkin and coat fluff, and threw it into the bin. “You’ll never make it in the world of petty crime,” said Riho astutely, through his laughter.

And so I must rely solely upon honest work to earn a living. Which is more than can be said for Santa, whom we passed again on the way home, still smoking and apparently doing nothing other than yell at pedestrians in order to earn his pennies. “I mean, he’s not even fat! He is basically standing there on the street corner, smoking cigarettes and wearing a costume.” I said increduously, getting really quite agitated about the situation. “Who on earth is going to give him money for doing that?”

A passer-by rather irritatingly chose that moment to enter into friendly conversation with Santa and stooped to put money in the jar.

It is a strange world.

Filed under: cards, Christmas, complaining, confusion, Estonia, films, food, restaurants, weird | 5 Comments »

You can’t overdo garlic

Posted on November 1, 2008 by Hails

I first experimented with cooking when I was a student, which is actually when I first experimented with, erm, most things.

Having survived most of first year on a fairly predictable diet of instant Pasta ‘n’ Sauce meals from the student village shop, cider, baked beans on toast, vodka, kebabs, and various insane alcoholic shots, my protesting stomach required me to wise up a bit and learn how to prepare more substantial meals. I was incredibly proud of myself when I managed to follow my mother’s carefully written instructions and serve up hearty plates of chilli, and before long I gained enough confidence and courage to start inventing my own dishes – many of which I still cook to this day.

I was never able to top Jennifer’s favourite concoction. Jennifer was my uni drinking buddy: mostly, we got together at someone’s apartment, drank a lot, smoked a lot, watched the Rocky Horror Picture Show and told the same stories over and over again. It was great. Anyway, it was Jennifer who introduced me to the joys of fresh garlic. More specifically, she showed me how to combine copious amounts of garlic and chilli powder with a few other basic ingredients and an alarming volume of vodka to make the most excellent spaghetti dish I have ever tasted in all my life. And as we always had a lot of vodka lying around, it was perfect. Of course, it exploded once or twice (usually when we were very merrily working with a not-entirely-full bottle of vodka) and resulted in my kitchen walls never being quite the same again, but the taste explosion more than made up for the dubious kitchen redecoration.

Since then, I’ve never been without a bulb of garlic in the kitchen. One of the first Estonian words I learned was the word for garlic; it’s one of the only words I know in Dutch from my month in Belgium. Garlic is my favourite raw ingredient, and I put at least three cloves in most meals… sometimes even before I’ve decided exactly what I’m making.

However, even a garlic devotee such as myself was unprepared for Balthasar, Tallinn’s official garlic restaurant. Yes, garlic restaurant! Everything on the menu is garlicky – you know how, in many restaurants, you get a little chilli pepper rating beside the meal description, to tell you how spicy it is? Well, at Balthasar you get garlic bulb ratings to tell you… well, you can figure it out. It’s fantastic.

My starter, cream of pumpkin soup, had what I can only describe as Essence of Pure Garlic drizzled all over it, and chunks of garlic floating in it. My main course (steak with a garlicky red wine sauce) was served with a garlic rosette. I wonder what a garlic rosette is, I pondered aloud as we waited for it to arrive. Maybe it’s an entire bulb of garlic! We laughed in amusement at the idea of such a thing.

It was an entire bulb of garlic. Roasted, and sliced in half horizontally, cutting the cloves so that it looked like a little flower. It’s a work of art! I breathed in wonder, poking at it with my fork with something approaching awe. I ate every last clove.

And for dessert? Garlic ice-cream. I kid you not, I had garlic ice-cream. Riho had garlic creme brulee.

And you know what? Every last thing was delicious. Well, maybe not the garlic ice-cream. That was a little bit on the weird side, I’ll admit. But it wasn’t terrible, which I can’t help but feel is quite an achievement in itself. What a fantastic place… it’s opened my eyes to the limitless possibilities, garlic-wise. Further experimentation is required in my kitchen.

Garlic coffee, anyone?

Filed under: cooking, drinking, food, garlic, Mishaps, restaurants, soup, uncertainty | 5 Comments »

Say it with swords

Posted on October 1, 2008 by Hails

Last night I finally got to go for dinner at Peppersack, a really nice Medieval-style restaurant in Tallinn Old Town. You know… good hearty cuisine, candles, wooden beams, waitresses in traditional costumes, sturdy furniture, stone walls, and a bit of a swordfight when you’re waiting for your coffee.

I’ll admit that this last one is a little unusual, but there really aren’t enough live brawls in restaurants around here, if you ask me. Bickering, yes – elderly American tourists are always good for that. It’s great when you find yourself seated next to Mr. and Mrs. “How Awful!”, although usually you’re not lucky enough to get much more than a bit of cringeworthy dialogue. Like the prim and proper couple in the Embassy Of Pure Food who complained in great detail about the dryness of the melon. Which they’d consumed in its entirety, with great enthusiasm. The poor waitress was extremely confused. It wasn’t like she could take it back and get a fresh one, nor did they want second helpings. They didn’t want an apology or to speak to the manager. In the end she just sort of stood there, hovering uncertainly, with no idea how to respond – but of course, all they wanted to do was make their point. Estonia is a terrible, terrible place, where all the melons are dry! It would never happen where we come from. Ah, America… now, there’s a country!

Slightly more dramatic was the “gentleman” in a nice little bakery in Vienna, where I’d stopped for some lunch. I was eating my Unidentifiable Pastry and people-watching at my table by the window when an almighty roar filled the air. I said I wanted coffee! The Texan accent boomed out as if through a megaphone, and everyone swivelled nosily to see what was going on. It turned out that Mr. Texan had been given a cappuccino instead of an ordinary coffee – which wouldn’t have been so bad in itself, if only he hadn’t already been shortchanged at the counter. The coffee just tipped him over the edge. I’d love to say “…and then the staff tipped the coffee over him“, but unfortunately they just grovelled and quivered and rushed around in a panic to get the correct drink and make the shouting stop. This was not good enough, however. A full-on speech about customer service and The Way Things Are Done In America ensued, for the benefit of not only the staff, but everyone in the place. It wouldn’t hurt you to smile, either, he finished up, glowering at the young girl who reached him his drink. Several people rolled their eyes. I resisted a very strong urge to get up and tip the coffee over his head myself as an act of assistance to the girl, who was clearly bound by the rules of her workplace and unable to give the necessary punishment without fear of reprisal.

I was a little surprised, then, when she gave him a beautiful smile and said in a clear, sweet voice Thank you, sir, and it would not hurt you to remember that you are no longer in a country where arrogant customers can say whatever they like to workers without the workers having the right to point out that they are being a complete asshole. Admittedly, her colleagues looked a little surprised too, so I can’t caim that this is the way things are done in Austria as a rule. However, I hope that it is. Abuse of staff by customers is one of my top pet hates (and I must remember to tell you about the time when, working in Sainsbury’s in Glasgow, I was verbally and vegetably assaulted by a screaming Chinese woman who later tried to sue me for racial discrimination), and nothing pleases me more than seeing one of the oppressed rise up against the – well, assholes. I nearly cheered. Someone at a nearby table gave a brief round of applause, though, so I decided to stay out of it and let that speak for everyone.

Last night’s was the best yet, though. We’d just finished dinner and were contemplating coffee when some bickering started on the old wooden staircase nearby. One of the waiters, it seemed, had been caught with one of the waitresses, who apparently belonged to another waiter… it all looked a bit complicated, and we couldn’t understand anything they were saying, but we got the general gist of it when the girl ran off and her secret lover was attacked by a rather irate young man waving a sword. To our great alarm, a full-on swordfight followed, and they came crashing down the staircase and almost into our table before finishing in a sort of stand-off back on the stairs. I found myself cheering when the girl returned and gave them both a quare slap roon the ja’, as they* say.

Probably completely staged for tourists, you know. But part of me desperately wants to believe that you can be sitting at your dinner in a medieval restaurant in Tallinn and witness two lovestruck young men in frilly shirts duelling earnestly to win the love of a woman.

* and by “they”, I obviously do not mean the Estonian people.

Filed under: complaining, contemplation, conversations, customer service, Estonia, fighting, foreign languages, fun, restaurants, swords, tension, unexpected | 3 Comments »

What’s behind Door No. 3?

Posted on May 31, 2008 by Hails

One thing that consistently amazes me about Tallinn Old Town is the complete lack of relationship between the outward appearance of a building, and what lies inside. Many of the buildings are protected, and so nothing has been done to alter the exterior of these places, with their flaking paint and crumbling walls. Many of them look like nothing more than a rather dismal, sad, run-down old house.

Then you step inside and find restaurants that can take your breath away with their unexpected size and beauty. I’ve seen a huge, contemporary restaurant, buzzing with people and atmosphere, behind a set of creaky, dirty stable doors. An elegant, sophisticated Italian place at the back of what appeared to be a standard street café. A cosy, intimate restaurant in a dark alleyway, down a dubious set of steps into what appears to be a basement.

I would never have thought to venture into some of these places, being accustomed to a lot of advertising and eye-catching signs to reassure me that somewhere is worth investigating. It has taught me my first major travel lesson: always explore, because nothing is quite as you’ll expect it to be.

On the subjects of restaurants that don’t quite match the buildings that house them, though… I think we have a winner with this one:

Filed under: Estonia, restaurants, strange, travel, unexpected | 1 Comment »

Summer Drummers (in a non-Northern-Irish culture)

Posted on May 29, 2008 by Hails

Tonight, I dined at the Embassy of Pure Food. The restaurant’s real name is Aed, which translates as ‘garden’, but I much prefer the impressive description on the menu. It was a delightfully weird sort of meal. Really, really good food, but in the most bizarre combinations. My duck (cooked to perfection) came with cauliflower mousse, for example. And the sauce was not only something I’ve never heard of, but also a flavour of ice-cream on the dessert menu. Riho’s fish was served with foam. Honestly, foam. In a jug. It was all a little confusing, but delicious nonetheless.

The restaurant experience itself was, as the name suggests, rather like eating outside. Rustic, I suppose you’d call it, with an odd array of plants in a window box by our table. Riho seemed a bit distracted. “I’m a little frightened by the art,” he confessed in a low voice, looking nervously over my shoulder. I glanced round and saw the paintings on the walls. The were, in fact, plasma screens. And the ‘art’ was moving. Sort of like the photos in the Harry Potter stories.

Feeling a need to return to the Real World, we skipped dessert and stepped out on to the street. I looked at Riho, unable to disguise my alarm at the loud wailing noises that greeted us. “I think the world might be ending,” I said fearfully. “Don’t be silly,” said Riho, “It’s obviously just an air raid.” It really did sound like an air raid siren, and it became louder and scarier the closer we got to the Town Square.

And so it was that, as I walked home tonight from my meal at the Embassy of Pure Food (in a barn), I stumbled upon a concert by Stroj Machine, a group of about 10 dreadlocked drummers with several varieties of airhorn, performing in Tallinn Old Town in an apparent act of celebration of the Slovenian EU Presidency.

Erm. What?!

Particularly impressive was the spraying of sparks over the audience. “Oh, look,” remarked Riho, taking the whole thing in his stride, “live welding!”

The crowd loved it. The were going mental, and I couldn’t help joining in with a bit of dancing around. I couldn’t compete with the guy in red on the left of my photograph, however. Despite having his foot in plaster, he danced like no one I’ve ever seen before, occasionally waving his crutches in the air. At one point he then had to remove a layer of clothing, clearly over-heating, and his girlfriend held his crutches as he balanced on one foot and de-jumpered. It was at this point that the group did something that clearly entranced him, for he launched into an enthralling dance on one foot, with no crutches, as I watched in awed wonder.

Having grown up in Harryville, I can’t claim that it’s a culture shock to be wandering through the town and find myself in the midst of a large crowd of locals jumping around and cheering as some men blatter away on big drums. You’ll forgive me, though, when I confess to getting a great deal more pleasure from the Baltic version…

Filed under: band, Concerts, confusion, drumming, Estonia, food, fun, restaurants, weird | 2 Comments »

Do you know the pancake man?

Posted on May 19, 2008 by Hails

Eating out in Tallinn is fun. I’ve yet to have a bad meal here, and not only is the food delicious (and cheap), but the restaurants themselves are a delight to visit. From the kitsch and twee, to the traditional and rustic, to the ultra-modern and cool, each one is an excitingly new experience for a Ballymena girl whose only experience of eating out involves words like Wetherspoons and Pub Grub.

I’m particularly enthusiastic about Bann Cook, a funky-dunky pancake bar tucked away in a corner of a shopping centre. Yes, a pancake bar. Look!

I don’t know if I’m just incredibly uninformed, but I’d never previously heard of the concept of having a savoury-filled pancake for lunch. I think it’s fabulous. The idea of having a speciality pancake bar, doubly so. And the place itself: it’s probably wrong of me to use a term like ‘funky-dunky’ even once in a post, never mind twice, but it’s the only one that does it justice. We’re talking about a bar where you order your pancake (which can contain just about anything you want it to – are you grasping the sheer marvellousness of this discovery yet?!) and then watch them make it on a big, hot wheel thing. Then you eat it in the coolest little seating area, with brightly coloured walls and pictures, transparent orange and yellow seats, and bright orange glass lightshades. So. Very. Cool.

I was, however,  a little confused by this sign, which seemed to be sending out aggressive vibes that weren’t really in keeping with the cheerful feel of the place:

As far as I could tell, Angry Pancake Man was pointing warningly at us, and I explained this to Riho as he tried to figure out what was going on with the dude’s hand. “He’s threatening us with something,” I mused thoughtfully. Riho looked dubious. “Are you sure?” he asked uncertainly. I nodded with the smug air of one who has spent two days chanting Estonian words at a Learn A Language CD-ROM and is therefore practically fluent. “Head aega means goodbye,” I explained knowingly, “so head isu is bound to be some variation of that.” I paused, my mental wheels of logic spinning rapidly. “Therefore,” I concluded confidently, “Angry Pancake Man is telling us that we can’t sit here if we’re not eating anything. And he’s pointing us towards the exit. If you’re not buying food… see ya!“

Riho did not look at all convinced. I don’t know why he can’t just accept my linguistic brilliance.

Anyway, I’ve just looked up each individual word, and, loosely translated, it seems that Angry Pancake Man is actually saying something like “Great to see you here… enjoy your meal!”. Which is close enough, as I explained to Riho. He looked incredulously at me. “No it’s not!” he exclaimed, “you were trying to insist that he was saying buy something or bugger off!”

I did think it was a little out of keeping with the general attitude of the service industry here. Shop assistants do not hassle you, instead preferring to let you browse in peace and waiting until you request their help before approaching you. Warning signs never issue threats, but gently highlight the issue in question without being all overbearing and authoritarian about it. It just goes to show how accustomed I am to all the “DO NOT DO THIS”, “THERE’LL BE NONE OF THAT”, “DON’T THINK ABOUT TOUCHING THOSE” and “IF YOU SO MUCH AS LOOK AT THIS WE’LL FINE YOU £500 AND SERIOUSLY CONSIDER THROWING YOU IN JAIL” signs that scream at us from every conceivable place in the UK. My instinct was to assume Cheerful Pancake Man was actually Angry Pancake Man, and automatically turn his kind, hospitable words into a harsh threat, and his friendliness into arrogant aggression.

Much as I continue to despair of my continuing and depressingly consistent failure to grasp the language here, I must admit that I’m actually very relieved to have been so wrong about Angry Pancake Man.

Filed under: anger, confusion, conversations, culture, Estonia, food, foreign languages, funky-dunky, happy, pancakes, restaurants | 10 Comments »

The Joker

Posted on January 24, 2008 by Hails

Betsy and I had dinner in town last night. Having not done this for a number of months, we had a lot of catching up to do. So it was that we were deep in conversation at our table in the corner, when some oul’ boy came over and sat down with us.

“Hello ladies!” he said politely.

“Hello!” we said back, equally politely, for we are well-bred and have sparkling manners.

“Would you like to hear a wee joke?” he asked hopefully. We did not want to hear a joke; we wanted to eat our dinner and continue with our conversation.

“OK!” we chorused pleasantly. He told us a joke so memorable that I’ve completely forgotten it, and left. We recommenced our conversation. Ten minutes later, he was back. “Here,” he said seriously, “did you like that joke? Like, really?” Kindly, we assured him that it was the best joke we had ever heard. “Oh, good!” he said happily, “Here’s another one, then.”

He told us about a Cullybackey man who only tied the left shoelace on each of his shoes, and, when questioned about it, pointed to the stamp on the sole, which read “Taiwan” (we did actually like that one). Then he walked away in the manner of one who has just completed an important task, looking very proud of himself.

“So,” said Betsy, “you were saying you thought – “

Joker Man was suddenly back at the table. “These two prostitutes -” he began exuberantly. “Here, this’d better not be crude!” I said warningly, all of a sudden fearing that he was going to start propositioning us at the dinner table.  He assured me it wasn’t, and went on to prove that in actual fact, it was. “I don’t get it,” said Betsy dubiously as he was getting up to leave. “Shh! Just wave goodbye!” I urged, panicking that he would feel the need to sit down and explain the whole thing in graphic detail. He left us alone after that, but had to shake hands with us when we tried to sneak past him on the way out; for a horrible moment I thought he was going to tell us another joke. Or kiss us.

Some day I would just love to go out for dinner. Just dinner. No Joker Men, no Scary Waitresses, no Angry Women, no Drugged Strangers. S’pose it would be quite boring, though.

Filed under: conversations, Cullybackey, friends, jokes, restaurants, weird | 2 Comments »

Surreality

Posted on August 20, 2007 by Hails

The parents are back from England!

I have dutifully listened to their holiday anecdotes and am suitably educated re: Stonehenge. They took Sister and I out for lunch today as a thank you (I did the drop-off and pick-up, and Sister watered the plants. What a team.), which was nice, and also timely, given my sudden unexpected descent into bankruptcy. We went to a Ballymena pub/restaurant, which I do not want to name as I am about to make a mockery of it. We shall, therefore, call it The Revolving Factory.

Sister and The Boyfriend wanted the Sunday Roast, but couldn’t see the seperate menu cards they usually have for it. The Boyfriend approached a passing waitress. “Excuse me,” he said politely, “do you still do the Sunday Roast?”. “YES!” she bellowed, as if she was talking to someone on Wellington Street, as opposed to someone standing right beside her. “Err, thanks,” said The Boyfriend, slightly deafened and starting to back away. The waitress was not finished. “YOU CAN HAVE CHICKEN OR BEEF!” she roared. If it had been a cartoon, you would have seen The Boyfriend’s hair blown back and his face contorted in the manner of one who is on a very fast rollercoaster or motorbike.  Full credit to him, he didn’t clap his hands over his ears screaming “My ears! My ears!”, as I might have been tempted to do. Instead, he recovered enough to stutter “Ch-ch-chicken or beef – right – thank you”. “CHICKEN  OR BEEF,” confirmed the waitress, in case he hadn’t heard her. The only way this would have been possible is if he had been (a) stone deaf, (b) at a very loud heavy metal concert and (c) wearing earplugs – all at the same time. The Boyfriend backed away as the waitress smiled in a very business-like manner before marching off. He slunk back to the table, shaken and possibly in pain. “They- they are still doing it,” he informed Sister, weakly. “Chicken or beef.”

We were silent for a while.

 ”Well,” remarked Sister. “She was scary.”

Dad went up to order food and drinks at the bar. He came back 2 days later with the drinks, incredulous at the barmaid he’d just encountered. “You’d think there’d be one main requirement when you’re applying to be a barmaid,” he ranted. “Like the ability to pour drinks.” No one disagreed, so he continued. “I asked for a pint of Harp. She said I’ll just get one of the other girls for that. Then I asked for a pint of Guiness. She said I’ll just get one of the other girls. Then I asked for two Diet Cokes, and she disappeared for 10 minutes. When she finally came back, she said Sorry, that was a Diet Coke and a…? Diet Coke, I replied. I mean…. come ON! I’ve half a mind to go up and order a Rob Roy, a Martini and a Screwdriver, just to see what she’ll do.”

Dinner itself was lovely. Sister and I went up to order coffee and desserts. The barman processed the dessert order and disappeared under the bar for some reason. Sister and I hovered uncertainly. A random pint appeared at the other end of the bar. “Is that The Boyfriend’s pint, do you think?” asked Sister dubiously. I looked at the pint. “Where did it come from?” I asked suspiciously. She didn’t know. We were debating whether or not to claim it when we were suddenly distracted by some activity around the coffee machine. Three of the barstaff were crowded around it, looking at it with expressions of bewilderment, in the manner of a group of OAPs staring at an iPod. I groaned, regretting ordering a coffee. Sister looked worried. “It’s OK for you,” she said sadly. “How wrong can a black coffee go?” I felt for her, as I recalled her ordering a cappucino.

In the end, we grabbed the pint and legged it. We returned 10 minutes later in search of our coffee, to find one waitress staring blankly at the two cups and another turning in circles behind the bar. “Milk. Milk. Milk,” they were muttering. They didn’t even notice when we calmly took our coffees and left. We, in turn, did not question why they were searching for milk to put in a cappucino and black coffee.

It was a very odd dining experience. And at the end, my mother gave me a t-shirt.

It says Stonehenge ROCKS.

Filed under: Ballymena, coffee, confusion, conversations, parents, restaurants, Stonehenge, weird | 3 Comments »

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