As for probably many others, this last week involved family, festivities, and too much food. I do like Christmas in my home town. For starters, Admont is a pretty safe bet for a true Alpine winter-wonderland. I remember two, perhaps three, green Christmases there in my lifetime. Secondly, Admont is very far away from rampant Christmas consumerism and, in that sense, Christmas there is very un-tainted and honest. Granted, I usually arrive on the 22nd or 23rd, missing most of Advent, but what I see is: Christmas lights on the main street, modest decorations on houses and in shop windows, and, sure, a selection of festive products in the stores, but the true consumerist madness seems to be happily outsourced to larger towns. And last but not least, there are all the childhood memories, down to the smell of the beeswax candles on the equally aromatic (real) tree, the crunch of the snow and the sound of the church bells.
This year, it was still technically a white Christmas, but in all honesty, the weather sucked. There was a fair amount of snow on the ground, but by when we arrived, a continuing weak rain was doing its best to wear it down. Slush Christmas. Other than that, everything was very nice. The celebrating crowd at my father's house was a rather unusual arrangement of old family and new partners that was ill-suited for overly high expectations of family idyll, but worked very well. That said, the elements of the Christmas Eve celebration were still the same I knew from my childhood and teenage years: a meat fondue (not at all a traditional Austrian Christmas dinner, but a wonderful way to draw out a meal: slower eating and plenty of time for conversation), a Christmas tree with the same straw ornaments from 20 years ago, the same song, exchange of gifts, lots of wine, and conversation until 1 am. And since for musicians, Christmas also means work, at 8 am the next morning, all six of us stood and sat, well-caffeinated and combat-ready, up on the organ loft of the abbey church: three of us in the orchestra, two of us in the choir, and one of us conducting the whole thing. The days after Christmas, of course, continued to involve lots of food and talking, more travel to visit my grandparents, and more food and talking there, as well.
It was a very nice time, but when we returned to Vienna, Steve and I were tired, and severely craving vegetables. Mind you, this Christmas was very kind when it comes to over-eating: nobody took on the role of a "mother hen", whose primary worry at any given hour is that someone might be starving to death on Christmas day. There was not much candy around, and everybody was happy with a rather modest lunch or supper to compensate for a big festive meal the same day. The portion sizes at every meal screamed "Welcome back to Europe": I would look skeptically at the small-looking portion of scalding hot food on the warm serving platter, wondering how that would feed 6, and then, in the end, find that it was plenty, and, moreover, I would not spend the next three hours in a food coma and nobody would be eating leftovers for three days. My mother's Christmas cookies are delicious, and somehow also the most healthy and nutritionally wholesome Christmas cookies one could ever hope for: they consist of ingredients such as buckwheat, oats, spelt flour, honey, and an impressive variety of grated nuts and dried fruits, and are very low on sugar coatings, frostings, cream fillings and the like. On the other side of the equation, we all like to go for walks (even though the slush put a little bit of a damper on that). But even with all those alleviating circumstances, it remains that the festive diet consisted mostly of meat, starches, bread, sweets and wine. The moment we boarded the train to Vienna from my grandparents' town, Steve and I were on a quest to consume a healthy dose of vegetables.
It proved surprisingly difficult. The only vegetable dish on the train's dining car menu was a vegetable curry, which Steve ordered, and I stupidly did not, too suspicious about whether curry in a dining car could be any good. (It turned out perfectly fine for a vegetable craving!) Foraging for dinner later in Vienna, we ended up at one of the pan-Asian places on Naschmarkt. The name rang some sort of positive bell with me and it looked a level or two up from your ordinary "Lotus Asia Kitchen", so we had high hopes. We ordered a green Thai Curry and a pan-fried fish "with vegetables". What arrived wasn't bad, as such, but definitely very adapted to the Austrian palate - which, to sum it up, is very meat and starch-heavy, very salty, and tangy, but shies away from anything that makes an honest appearance on the Scoville scale. The curry was too mild to be Thai and not sweet enough to be American Thai, and the fish was covered in a carrot-y sauce that reminded me of several hearty Austrian dishes involving cooked root vegetables. We had a serious introspective conversation about whether our idea of the various Asian cuisines experienced on the American West Coast was "authentic" enough to judge the authenticity of the food we were eating, and concluded, most likely, yes. (Plus, both of us have been to China.) Steve also concluded that Austrianized pan-Asian food was better than Dutchified pan-Asian food and insisted I put that on the record. Most importantly, though, we ended up fighting over the vegetables, which were clearly nowhere near the center of attention in the preparation of the food. It took getting back to home cooking to get that vegetable fix.
Thinking about this a little more, and scratching my head ("How come I never thought about this before?"), I remembered one of last month's orchestra outings, in which the group had reserved a room in a restaurant and settled for a limited menu that included exactly NO vegetarian option. Upon complaint, spinach dumplings with a creamy sauce were offered. From all I can see, vegetarians might be ok here, if they are willing to consume lots of cheese and cream, but it must be a tough country for a vegan. However, I also have a vague recollection of supermarkets overflowing with fruits and vegetables around the other solstice and half the country going into an asparagus craze somewhere around equinox. So, the jury is still out. This meat-and-starch thing might just be part of "the season".
This year, it was still technically a white Christmas, but in all honesty, the weather sucked. There was a fair amount of snow on the ground, but by when we arrived, a continuing weak rain was doing its best to wear it down. Slush Christmas. Other than that, everything was very nice. The celebrating crowd at my father's house was a rather unusual arrangement of old family and new partners that was ill-suited for overly high expectations of family idyll, but worked very well. That said, the elements of the Christmas Eve celebration were still the same I knew from my childhood and teenage years: a meat fondue (not at all a traditional Austrian Christmas dinner, but a wonderful way to draw out a meal: slower eating and plenty of time for conversation), a Christmas tree with the same straw ornaments from 20 years ago, the same song, exchange of gifts, lots of wine, and conversation until 1 am. And since for musicians, Christmas also means work, at 8 am the next morning, all six of us stood and sat, well-caffeinated and combat-ready, up on the organ loft of the abbey church: three of us in the orchestra, two of us in the choir, and one of us conducting the whole thing. The days after Christmas, of course, continued to involve lots of food and talking, more travel to visit my grandparents, and more food and talking there, as well.
It was a very nice time, but when we returned to Vienna, Steve and I were tired, and severely craving vegetables. Mind you, this Christmas was very kind when it comes to over-eating: nobody took on the role of a "mother hen", whose primary worry at any given hour is that someone might be starving to death on Christmas day. There was not much candy around, and everybody was happy with a rather modest lunch or supper to compensate for a big festive meal the same day. The portion sizes at every meal screamed "Welcome back to Europe": I would look skeptically at the small-looking portion of scalding hot food on the warm serving platter, wondering how that would feed 6, and then, in the end, find that it was plenty, and, moreover, I would not spend the next three hours in a food coma and nobody would be eating leftovers for three days. My mother's Christmas cookies are delicious, and somehow also the most healthy and nutritionally wholesome Christmas cookies one could ever hope for: they consist of ingredients such as buckwheat, oats, spelt flour, honey, and an impressive variety of grated nuts and dried fruits, and are very low on sugar coatings, frostings, cream fillings and the like. On the other side of the equation, we all like to go for walks (even though the slush put a little bit of a damper on that). But even with all those alleviating circumstances, it remains that the festive diet consisted mostly of meat, starches, bread, sweets and wine. The moment we boarded the train to Vienna from my grandparents' town, Steve and I were on a quest to consume a healthy dose of vegetables.
It proved surprisingly difficult. The only vegetable dish on the train's dining car menu was a vegetable curry, which Steve ordered, and I stupidly did not, too suspicious about whether curry in a dining car could be any good. (It turned out perfectly fine for a vegetable craving!) Foraging for dinner later in Vienna, we ended up at one of the pan-Asian places on Naschmarkt. The name rang some sort of positive bell with me and it looked a level or two up from your ordinary "Lotus Asia Kitchen", so we had high hopes. We ordered a green Thai Curry and a pan-fried fish "with vegetables". What arrived wasn't bad, as such, but definitely very adapted to the Austrian palate - which, to sum it up, is very meat and starch-heavy, very salty, and tangy, but shies away from anything that makes an honest appearance on the Scoville scale. The curry was too mild to be Thai and not sweet enough to be American Thai, and the fish was covered in a carrot-y sauce that reminded me of several hearty Austrian dishes involving cooked root vegetables. We had a serious introspective conversation about whether our idea of the various Asian cuisines experienced on the American West Coast was "authentic" enough to judge the authenticity of the food we were eating, and concluded, most likely, yes. (Plus, both of us have been to China.) Steve also concluded that Austrianized pan-Asian food was better than Dutchified pan-Asian food and insisted I put that on the record. Most importantly, though, we ended up fighting over the vegetables, which were clearly nowhere near the center of attention in the preparation of the food. It took getting back to home cooking to get that vegetable fix.
Thinking about this a little more, and scratching my head ("How come I never thought about this before?"), I remembered one of last month's orchestra outings, in which the group had reserved a room in a restaurant and settled for a limited menu that included exactly NO vegetarian option. Upon complaint, spinach dumplings with a creamy sauce were offered. From all I can see, vegetarians might be ok here, if they are willing to consume lots of cheese and cream, but it must be a tough country for a vegan. However, I also have a vague recollection of supermarkets overflowing with fruits and vegetables around the other solstice and half the country going into an asparagus craze somewhere around equinox. So, the jury is still out. This meat-and-starch thing might just be part of "the season".
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