Glengower Hotel

Along the promenade in Aberystwyth, north towards Constitution Hill, is a great bar/hotel called the Glengower. It's been a staple of our trips to Wales ever since we started coming here as a family in the early 80's. The owner's have changed over the years, as has everything else about the bar except for the numerous picnic tables looking out onto the Irish Sea. There really is no better place to sit on the prom, the Glengower being the only bar in the vicinity and always full of families, stragglers, students and the like. They also have a pretty nice menu. One afternoon I stopped in for a cheese and pickle sandwich, one of the best sandwiches I've ever had; simple, fresh and served on crumbly wholewheat granery bread. A welcome alternative to all the heavy fat and fried food to be found throughout the town.

Light of Asia

When in Britain, at least one plate of Indian food is a must, though it's always hit or miss. Last year in Aberystwyth, Kelly and I got take out from an Indian restaurant not far from our hotel and it was horrible. I suppose we should have realized it wouldn't be a very good meal by the lack of clientele during the dinner hours, but everyone makes mistakes. Light of Asia, on the other hand, is always busy, and for a reason. It is the best Indian food in mid/north Wales, and has been as far back as I can recall. The decor has been different every time I've eaten there over the past 20 years, this trip it was a very modern and neon design, a French synth-pop aesthetic, but the menu doesn't suffer. We ordered naan, samosas, and various curries and vindaloo; all very good and very, very SPICY. The spice overshadowed the tastes quite a bit, and it wasn't my favorite kind of hot (as Sayeeda pointed out, it tasted like the spice was from a paste on all the dishes.) The lamb on the other hand, which was the meat of choice in all our dishes, was perfectly cooked, tender and rich. Nothing compares to Welsh lamb.

@Adams

It was coincidental a very special marriage took place while we were in Wales: Lucy, beloved daughter of dear friends Mags and Keith Jones of Aberystwyth, was wed in Swansea Rick Davies. We were honored to be invited to the families’ wedding- dinner the evening following the ceremony.

The dinner was held in Y Mwmblws—The Mumbles. Growing up this was one of Dylan Thomas’s favorite places, and I had never been there. The town fronts The Mumbles Road, and across it a park runs the length of the town, between it and Swansea Bay. It’s a novel and pleasant town, and despite the constant flow of automobiles it is a quiet place.

The dinner was at a restaurant called @ Adam’s, a lovely and newly refurbished space midway through town—because of the layout I’d guess it might have been the ground floor of a hotel at one time. The night we were there the place was all but given over to parties—two wedding celebrations and a Seventy-fifth Birthday! Our tables were in a front room, the late angle of the sun still lit the expanse of water towards the never-ending activity of the Swansea Docks.

A two- and three- course meal were offered, and provided some interesting choices: I steered toward salad and lamb’s liver. I though that was a good match of lightness and genuine Welsh celebration.

The salad was a goat’s cheese and beetroot with a citrus dressing—rich, sweet, tart…did exactly what a salad should do, prepare the palate.

(I’ve never understood the practice of some to end the meal with a salad…what, as a digestive aid?)

And my palate had a good experience in the offing. The lamb’s liver was in thick strips and done to a moist and flavorful well…. What is it about lamb?... particularly in these northern and frontier reaches it is closest to the earth and fullest of any meat.

The liver was served on mash with black pudding—which, if you’re not familiar with it, is a British blood sausage: Very good sliced cold—good bread and mustard & you’ve got a genuine sandwich in your hands—and a revelation as the result of preparing it with the liver; the sausage took on characteristics of a bleu cheese, crumbly and almost-creamy at once.

On the plate, the trio—black, white, grey—seemed somehow revolutionary: Under the jus of smoked bacon and baby onion the meat was served with, it was!!!

@Adams

Over a decade had gone by since I last saw Lucy, so I was more enamored by her and her family than I was with the food here, but the food was wonderful. I ordered seafood risotto as a starter, and it was good - though plain - and the rice a bit crunchy. The main course was a bit more exciting; crisp pork belly with mash, vegetables and a grain mustard jus. The meat was a bit chewy, though the flavor adhered to the mustard jus perfectly and completely satisfied.

Sayeeda ordered a fillet of seabass with a sort of buerre blanc prawn sauce, brightened by diced veggies and fresh, local cockles (a tiny little bivalve, in case you didn't know.) She gave me a bite and I absolutely loved it; the buttery sauce melding all the different sea flavors together nicely.

Little Italy

Aberystwyth is a small town on the west coast of Wales. It was the Medieval—and maritime—Capitol of the Principality, but all vestiges of ship-building and ocean transport have disappeared. Today it is home to the University of Wales and the Welsh National Library, and a holiday/picnic destination for the denizens of the rolling hills that slope down from Wales’

Heartland to Cardigan Bay. Today the population of the town is about seventeen thousand—a number that rises substantially when the university is in session

I’ve been a visitor to this magical spot since 1974…and a regular diner at the Little Italy Restaurant since the early ‘90s, shortly after its inception. Then, the spot was known as La Boheme and offered a menu composed two-thirds of “traditional British” dishes (the best beef & kidney pie I’ve ever eaten), the rest of Italian specialties. In the early ‘90s the owner changed the name and the offerings: The traditional dishes were trimmed to “old favorites” on a rotating basis (sadly, the beef & kidney pie disappeared) and the Mediterranean offerings expanded. Always when I dined there I was conflicted as to whether I would order the pie…or the filet au poivre—the advantage of the menu change was that on most visits I no longer had to make a difficult choice.

Little Italy is on the town’s main street, North Parade—its upper floor is crowded with tables, but only a few get a look down on the broad and tree-lined thoroughfare.

It’s the floor below where I always reserve a certain table among the five available. Four of us negotiated space around a table meant to be comfortable for two. The room is a centuries-old stone room that is now a cellar with slate floors and a hearth near the window…ah! that window, and the table below the street. We watched under the stone arch, the leads and glass, a parade of townspeople bustling towards Friday evening.

In certainly the only disappointment I’ve suffered there, I was told the beef pie no longer appeared on the menu…

The filet was as expected—still superior to any steak au poivre I’ve ever encountered.

The meat is always firm around its tender soul, the sauce that covers the steak and floods the plate a wonder in its own right: A wine, jus and cream blend abundant with green peppercorns that harmonizes with the filet and leaves an almost citric taste.

I forgo salad and vegetables; sometimes there’s a green decoration on the plate…and that’s nice. From among the potato choices I always order the chips—that sauce is the best chip sauce imaginable; the owners of Little Italy should license it to the Sausmeesters in Amsterdam.

Cafe Rouge

Sayeeda and I found my father and brother at the Cafe Rouge just after the sun set, and after they had finished plates of escagot and pate. The Lanes was slowing down, though in the air were distant roars from pubs where a football game was fueling the night. The Rouge had just set out the candles for the evening, as had the Italian restaurant across the way.

I had done a little research on the Rouge; it's a chain restaurant with more than 150 locations throughout the UK, although it doesn't look the part. The menu seemed typical French, the kind of menu you'd see in any French restaurant anywhere. Altogether not exciting points for me when considering a restaurant. The worst part for me was the fact that all the product probably came from some warehouse in London (when I asked the server where the salmon was from she said, "Uh, I'm not sure... it comes from our supplier in London.) And I could taste it. The minute steak I ordered was really chewy, and though cooked well it was pretty much flavorless. Sayeeda's nicoise salad was topped with an overdone salmon fillet, and seemed pretty unexciting (the saving grace on this, in my opinion, was boquerones!) And Kilian's steamed mussels had a sea taste that wasn't quite right... as though they had been sitting around too long or were from bad water. Kilian also ordered the fried camembert with raspberry sauce, which was practically a dessert.

Later, when flying out of London to Italy, I saw a Cafe Rouge at Heathrow Airport. Now that I think about it, I think Kelly and I spent a night on the floor of their dining room last year on our way to Amsterdam. No more airport food.

Cafe Rouge

The Lanes in Brighton, what is now a charming resort city on the English Channel, is the oldest part of the medieval town—a twisting web of narrow streets given over to shops, pubs, clubs, bars & restaurants and the tourists and locals they serve and entertain. It’s a wonderful, attractive neighborhood.

The restaurants are of every ethnicity and style—pub lunches and fish & chips sprinkled a menu of Indian, Italian, Thai, American, Japanese, Chinese, North-African…among others. And a charming little French café, the Café Rouge: It sits on a corner at the north edge of the Lanes, and caught our eye with its red & white awning and tables under heat lamps—the weather was clear, bright, but it was still April, and a constant breeze kept down the temperature.

And, of course, there was escargot on the menu.

Ezra, his brother Kilian and friend from the city, Sayeeda, and I settled at an outside table an hour or so before sunset, ordered drinks and a pate. The people-watching was wonderful; we were right at that entrance to The Lanes that leads to the principal clubs and music venues

The pate was very good—a chicken liver pate with caramelized Roscoff onion and chutney. The bread was fresh and slightly warm, the onion and fruitful chutney light, though anything but subtle over the rich liver.

And I got my escargot—a half dozen snails in pesto, basil, parmesan and pine-nuts…and presumably garlic, I don’t know. Perhaps I’ve asked too much of my palate for too long, upped the garlic use like an addict and a little bit doesn’t register anymore…maybe; but, still, I would have liked something more sensuous than this particular sauce that, under-garlicked, detracted from some pretty good snails and no real companion the café’s good bread.

The Steak-frites I ordered was fun—like the other dishes we had, enough French in the enterprise and the food to bring to mind that other place and its cuisine.

chose the peppercorn sauce over Bernaise, red-wine, and a few other, sauces . The steak was nicely fried—a thin cut, a minute-steak, it was not tough but only teasingly tender. The sauce was thankfully not as understated as the escargot’s, and complemented the frites—which were plentiful on the plate in this traditional dish.

I’ve enjoyed better, and experienced more mundane, presentations of this in French brasseries: Café Rouge does a good and effective meal.

Author’s Note: I’ve eaten in Brighton in the dead of Winter. It’s not the same as the carnival plsce which is almost a city-beach for Londoners in the summer. Its history and elaborate Promenade, the great entertainment Pier jutting from it…its charming appearance in many films (my favorites are “Genvieve” (1953) and “Quadraphenia” (1979)) draw tourists all year round. In Winter though, the city is somewhat muted as is the rush of tourists; when the winds from the Channel burst cold through the streets the pace is largely local—there’s less frenzy in the welcome and more genuine warmth in the pubs and bistros.

I can’t imagine anything more fun than on a December night sitting in the Café Rouge’s “period” dining room—intimate, with décor from the continent, as well as close attention to the customer…very little French-for-the-English about it—and having a Calvados after escargot and Steak-frites.

I’ll eat there again—a pleasant experience.

The St. James Pub

Sayeeda promised to take me for cheap food, cheap Thai food, while we were in Brighton. Seattle has some pretty fine Thai food as far as I'm concerned, hard to top, but cheap food in Britain? Ok, why not. We ordered corn fritters, papaya salad and pad see ew; all very good. The papaya salad is not as sweet as it looks, more like a refreshing take on coleslaw.

The pad see ew was maybe a little heavy on the fish sauce, but still enjoyable. This place was way better than I expected, and somehow we both got a free beer!

The Cricketers

The Cricketers is the oldest pub in Brighton, a block from the sea and at the southwest edge of The Lanes. In Brighton it became the touchstone among us should we go our separate ways.

It’s a wonderful traditional pub, the décor well-preserved Nineteenth Century—all brass and dark wood—rather than what must have been a more prosaic Sixteenth Century establishment.

Although the pub was attractive, and a covered court adjoined the building, there were tables in front on Black Lion Street.

We were to meet in The Lanes one afternoon, and I was hungry with time to spare. There was a host of possible adventures, shawarma to sushi…but one of the sandwiches I’d seen go by at the Cricketers was the most appealing choice at that moment..

The kitchen offered a variety of sandwich fillings—egg-mayonnaise, tomato; tomato cheese & onion, chicken salad and others—to be stuffed in a range of fresh breads—baguette, rye, wheat… I ordered a mature cheddar sandwich on crusty white, with Sussex Pickle (a chutney not dissimilar to Branston Pickle or the Welsh Pencae Mawr, and chips.

The pub lunch, which can be quite elaborate—think steak & mushroom pie, vegetables, salad and chips—but I prefer the simple sandwich: Here the bread was sliced thick from a crusty loaf; with butter and marmalade that bread could be dessert…or an extraordinary French Toast. The cheese was very sharp, the Sussex Pickle’s sweet-sour-ish flavor a more than adequate companion…and crisp chips, a fresh bottle of brown sauce, and a pint of Stella Artois.

It was a very good mid-day stop.

The Cricketers

Kilian and I both developed an appetite around the same time our second day in Brighton, and both for the same thing: pie. We had been waiting for Sayeeda for an hour or so (and it would be another hour before she showed) so we decided to go ahead and order food from the pub we'd agreed to meet at. Lamb and mint pie with chips, covered in gravy! It was great, and fulfilled our desire for a hearty meal to reenergize from the previous night. The caveat: we both had some gastrointestinal distress later in the day...

The Basketmakers Arms

It had been almost 20 years since I set foot in Brighton, and aside from the beaten old pier sitting out in the water like an island, I did not remember much. I was pleasantly surprised to find something of a hippie town; a lively community of artists and musicians set in contrast with the students and vacationers from London.

The first night there we were pointed towards a pub called Basketmakers Arms by my friend Sayeeda. It's a small pub that stops serving food at 9pm, decorated with antique tins on the wall in which patrons leave little notes. I was happy to find Peroni on tap, and cold at that! (Sometimes in Britain finding cold beer is a bit of a challenge.)

Kilian and Art both ordered fish and chips, haddock I believe, served with a side of mushy peas. I had a bite of the fish... crispy and fresh, not soggy as the breading can sometimes be.

Sayeeda and I split two things: the seafood platter (steamed prawns and mussels, fried shrimp and a piece of fried haddock) and the ploughmans lunch (stilton, brie and white cheddar with ham, branston pickle and a nice side salad.) It was a great pub meal and the perfect introduction to Brighton.

Chez Tom et Riccardo

The father, my brother Kilian and I were all invited to have lunch at my uncle's one afternoon, spending a few hours relaxing in his beautiful and secluded backyard. The meal was simple and fresh; tomato sauce made from scratch with just the right amount of bacon, rich handmade pasta, and roasted red peppers, not long out of the oven. It was a welcome respite from all the heavy foods we had been eating; perfect size portions and with a bright, young taste. Thank you Tom and Riccardo!

Cafe De Klos

As a child, I spent about a week a year in Amsterdam. My father has always had a deep love for the center of the city, where we would stay at a small hotel called Brouwer, owned solely by a wonderful, quiet man of the same name. Back then, in the 80's and 90's, there was a lovely Dutch brown cafe called Sing Singel about a block from our hotel. Parts of every day were spent sitting outside the "Sing," watching passers-by in the shade of the tree lined Singel canal. As well, dinner would inevitably be there, simply for their version of the traditional Dutch spare rib dinner. Though the Sing Singel is now closed, replaced by a mediterranean influenced cafe called Singel 101, their spare rib dinner has been the standard that I apply to all the other ribs I've ever eaten. Nothing has compared.

Until now. About a year ago, while staying with my uncle's in Amsterdam, they introduced me to Cafe De Klos, a small and bustling brown cafe with only a few tables and a large, horse-shoe shaped bar (as it is so busy, usually one ends up eating at the bar.) They have a large menu, with all sorts of appetizers and different meat dishes, but the prize winner is the ribs. Served on a wooden cutting board/plate with a small dish of slaw and garnished with onions, you had better be ready for a meat feast, because this is not a "balanced" meal. Most people could easily be satisfied by sharing it with another person (as with my father, "Oh, I'll just nibble off of yours...) but I tend to try and eat the whole plate, it's so damn good. As with all good ribs, they are slow marinated, and this year seemed rubbed with a subtle curry - a detail I didn't recall from last year. They are then grilled to order on a gigantic grill in the back, put in front of you falling off the bone with a smokey, sweet and savory balance that carries you through to the last bite.

I've had a few other things at De Klos, mostly appetizers like escargot and pate, and they have always been wonderful. This may be the last brown cafe in Amsterdam that serves amazing Dutch soul food in an old world atmosphere, so give 'em your business! And order a kopstoot!

Vlaamse Friteshuis "Sausmeesters"

John Owen was once Sports Editor of the Seattle Post-Intelligencer (remember that?), and at the same time he did a column for the paper's Sunday Magazine called “The Intermediate Eater”. Each year he would provide a list of his favorite burgers, fries, etc: And every year it was Dick's that copped the prize for French fries....

I love Dick's fries—even the faux tartar sauce they serve with them—but they're a long way from the real thing: For that I direct you to Vleeminckx “Sausmeesters” at Voetboogstraat 33, fifty yards south of the Spui Square in Amsterdam.

It was the Flemish who perfected the “French Fry”. The secret is double-frying: The potatoes are fried once—not thoroughly—then removed from the grease; they're fried a second time upon being ordered. This makes the difference between a shoe-string limp fry such as Dick's and something that can be relished rather than scarfed.

The “Sausmeesters” comes from the 22 different dipping sauces available with the frites (all that's available from this window on the Amsterdam street): Choose from Garlic, Samurai, Picalily...among the mayonnaise and peanut sauce I always find over the patats in my cone.

Vleeschnouwerij D. Reinhart

Vleeschnouwerij D. Reinhart is not a restaurant, it is a butcher shop on Lijnbaansteeg in the Amsterdam Centrum. It is a small pedestrian street (but beware of cyclists and motor scooters) that connects the Spuistraat with the Singel Canal.

Around Noon each day, Heer Reinhart pulls fresh-cooked meats from his oven for sandwiches (belegde broodjes [stuffed rolls] as the Dutch call them).

Our first visit there the meats were a lamb leg (fried), a fresh salami, and a meat-loaf made from the wares of his shop: We went for the meat-loaf...hot from the oven, spicy with the mixture of meats, and grainy in its gravy on the fresh broodje. No butter, no condiments needed—Amsterdammers readily eat on the move, and the satisfactions of sandwiches such as this provide a good explanation.

Snacksterdam!

There are many, many options for a small bite while wandering around the gorgeous city of Amsterdam. Here are a few:

Fresh herring with onions and pickle. I love these little sandwiches, but beware if you don't like slimey things...

Patat frites. Necessary to have sate sauce AND mayonaise. These were from Ten Have (not as good as the Sausmeesters, but historically a part of my stomach.)

Bitterballen. Basically like little fried balls of beef stroganoff (without the noodles) served with mustard. Some places serve them with Dutch cheese as well; a nice thing to soak up beer in the late afternoon.

Cafe U Sudu

We'd heard about Prague's Cafe U Sudu from friends we'd met in cafes and taverns—the place was well-regarded for it's nighttime scene.

A few blocks from Wenceslas Square, one enters a narrow and very small establishment. A long copper-clad bar runs the length of the room on one side, the other has a half-dozen two-stool drinking ledges jutting from the wall. I was reminded of the bars Simenon has Chief Inspector Maigret frequent for a glass of beer or a Pernod while working on a difficult case (the French television series of Maigret mysteries was filmed in Prague).

At the end of the bar was a curtain that revealed two large rooms for drinking, and a stairway to a basement that stayed alive with jazz and rock until 5:00 in the morning and 6:00 on weekends.

Through a side door is an access to a broad courtyard with tables, the interior of the Sudu's building which takes up most of a square block.

Again I was waiting for Ezra, off on a side-trip...and I spotted an item on the blackboard (the Sudu has no formal menu) to play with the appetite: Pickled Cheese. In the city with the highest per-capita consumption of beer in the world (think Pilsner Urquel, Ceske Budweiser [the real thing...it has taste!]), I figured that something on the menu here would also “go well with beer”.

And did it ever.

The cheese was a camembert trimmed and pickled, drizzled slightly with a currant sauce and served with fresh bread. Light, creamy, piquant...

Wow!

Restaurant U Zlatych Nuzek

On a day of exploring Prague’s historic areas, we crossed from Old Town to the original town, Little Town, the settlement of squares and narrow streets at the foot of Hradcany—atop which sits the Imperial Castle and St. Basil Cathedral. The heights and the town are connected by a broad and gradual medieval staircase that gently winds down the hill.

We crossed the Charles Bridge, the first bridge over the Vltava, connecting Old Prague directly to Hradcany. Today it is a pedestrian walk, an arts bazaar…a place to listen to an interesting busker, sometimes a whole band.

In Hradcany we took an immediate turn down into the medieval town—and after making a Rubic’s Cube of turns among ancient buildings crossed a small bridge to Kampa, a thin strip of land that begins under the Charles Bridge and for three hundred meters or-so is an articial island in the Vltava.

Kampa is separated from the riverbank by a narrow waterway that was created as a millrace in the Twelfth Century, but island it is none-the-less.

At the bridge-end, to the right, Kamps is an centuries-old green park maintained to an English model. We needed replenishment and turned left onto Hroznova Na Kampe, a tree-lined square in the shadow of the Charles Bridge.

We’d walked a very jagged loop.

The square’s history dates to the Fifteenth Century—today it’s buildings are Renaissance and Baroque…behind the trees inviting and soothing as the park only meters away.

Almost all of the buildings on the square are hotels, their bars with tables on the walk.

We chose Restaurant U Zlatych Nuzek…probably because there were more diners outside than at the others on a sunny day with a chilly wind, even though all had heat lamps.

We were looking forward to a big dinner late in the evening at U Stareho Pivovaru and I ordered appropriately: The Pilsner was immensely refreshing and Klobasy was on the menu…Ah Ha! This is a more delicate, and trimmer, cousin to the Russian or Polish Kolbasa. The garlicky and thoroughly spiced pork sausage was scored and grilled to the bursting point.

Very good…and good patats frites, as well. A perfect stop.

(Note: Ezra and I took a roundabout route to the island intentionally. When crossing the Charles Bridge from the Old Town to the Lesser Town, about three-quarters of the length of the bridge, on the left there is a broad staircase going down to the Kampa square.

Restaurant U Zlatych Nuzek

I love this spot. Nestled in a courtyard between a park on the river and the Charles Bridge, it possesses the perfect ambiance for an afternoon lunch. I ordered the "traditional Czech meal," grilled pork and smoked pork served with two kinds of kraut and two kinds of dumplings (potato and bread.) The second best meal I've had in Prague, next to the ribs...

U Stareho Pivovaru

My father has his favorites, and this is one. We ate here three out of the four nights we were in Prague. Elements of the dishes here are wonderful, for example the combination of cranberry sauce and gravy (goulash) is never bad. I'm not so much a fan of the bread dumplings, preferring instead the potato dumplings we've had elsewhere, but for the quality of the food, you cannot beat the price. The last time I was in Prague, at the same restaurant, I had ordered ribs and been seriously disappointed, they were coated in rock salt and semi-dry... I could not eat them. This trip however, I observed the waitress serving ribs that looked significantly different, so I tried them and WOW. Killer. Slow marinated in a sweet sauce (no doubt with a fair amount of soy) and grilled to perfection. I ate them two days in a row!

The last night we were at Pivovaru, my dad had an appetite for tartare, and a lovely tartare it was. Served with little piles of paprika, salt, pepper and split cumin seed, mustard, ketchup and onions. The deep fried rye bread I could've done without... hard as a rock.

U Stareho Pivovaru

Down a steep hill, but easy walk, from Hotel Monica into the Branik neighborhood of Prague, one passes U Stareho Pivovaru (the Old Brewery). It’s a tavern/restaurant once associated with the first brewery in the City—the brewery has long ago been assimilated by larger concerns and moved from the place, but the neighborhood watering-hole remains…as well as a large menu of almost exclusively Czech dishes (the only items not Czech [and not on the menu in that language] are pasta offerings]).

Although I’ve tried many things in the Pivovaru, I always come back to the goulash: A large plate of delicately spiced and tender chunks of beef in a rich gravy into which the onions and vegetables of the dish have all but disappeared.

Also on the plate is a row of knedliky, the traditional Czech bread dumpling that is one of Cuisine’s superior delivery systems for sauces of any sort. The half-inch thick dumplings are cut from a roll the size of a good baguette and arrive barely surfacing above the goulash’s heavenly gravy. Also, we ordered to split a side plate of sauerkraut…and the Pivovaru has as good a red and traditional sauerkraut as anyplace on the planet. French fires (they’re called hranolky—rectangular—) can be ordered instead of the knedliky…but frites can pretty much be had anywhere.

I took a friend there in 1988: When we entered, his nose wrinkled a bit; The dark wainscoting and wood tables & chairs of the place, along with the smoke-smudged walls and well-worn table cloths gave him the sense of something perhaps not overly cleanly; when we left, after a terrific meal, he smiled at me and said, “I thought it was grimy at first—but it’s just quite old…and, God! The food!”

(Author’s note: Ezra and I chose our restaurants by the look of the menus available—and the absence of an English translation for the dishes was often the deciding factor— but price can be a factor for anybody. This night, our main courses (of the same price), four Becharovka liquors (a smooth, sweet, herby drink) and four pints of beer (the house brew at the Pivovaru is Gambrinus, but we went with the Pilsner Urquell) came to a total of less than $25.00 for the both of us. The lesson is: Don’t confine yourself to the touristy parts of any town or city—people live and eat in the neighborhoods!...and do it sumptuously.)

Hotel Monica

We left Warsaw under the cloud of ash drifting over Europe from Ijsland and arrived in Prague by train. Our favorite destination in what may be Europe’s most beautiful city (those who champion Paris, forgive me) is Hotel Monica—a short train ride along the Vltava River from the Old City.

It’s a relatively new hostelry with a delightful dining room. My first few times in the hotel the menu was small but bordering on the elegant—the venison, for instance, was superb in its French-accented red wine sauce. On a visit in late 2008, there was a French couple staying at the hotel; we had many glasses of wine on the hotel’s veranda. It turned out that the gentleman was a restaurateur from the Paris region, and he had been hired to expand and refine the menu.

Ezra and I found a menu twice the size of that he and I had experienced on a March 2009 visit, and one with a fanciful French flair.

After our day of travel, we decided to eat in—never a bad choice at the Monica.

One expanded section of the menu was that devoted to pork cutlets, good old schnitzels!

…couldn’t resist.

The version I chose was ala Francaise, described as a cutlet in a peppery batter.

The meal arrived with surroundings of fresh vegetables and a healthy cut of pork that, at first, seemed to be a traditional breading such as that surrounding a Wiener Schnitzel: It was anything but…. The coating was thin, with the fragrance and texture of a pancake batter. It was sweetish without being overstated and tasted like a pancake batter as well—for a few moments. Then the pepper became noticeable, and gradually built to a pleasant intensity.

Delicious.

I would have ordered it again, but there are so many fine restaurants in Prague that our only other meals at the Monica were its sublime breakfasts (probably the best Continental Breakfast I’ve ever encountered).

If you get to Prague, check out this hotel. It’s an eyelash shy of a luxury hotel (spacious lobby, pool, lovely bar as well as the restaurant and the breakfast room)—and, set in a residential neighborhood, it’s quiet with an interesting mix of travelers and local people.