For those of you who want to follow along, here's a (super nerdy) map I made for my trip. All of the places of interest mentioned in these posts will be on the map; the map has some extra recommendations from my friend Sarah which you may also enjoy. Feel free to open it up in a new window and follow along with the story. I wish somebody made me a map like this for my trip. It's my souvenir gift to you. Click on "View Larger Map" for details.
View Larger Map
Wednesday, July 30 5pm
Anonyme Alkoholikere = Alcoholics Anonymous
Did you know that at the Dufry Duty Free shop at Newark, you can buy 1 liter bottles of Stoli for $12? $12! That's the price of a cocktail at some bars. Heej, Francis and I spend a good twenty minutes debating whether or not we should get one or two bottles. We wind up getting three, and another $21 bottle of Jameson's. Just before we board the plane for our red-eye, I try and buy a fourth bottle, but it's too late to get it packed up and delivered in time.
Thursday, July 31 8am
København, pronounced kind of like "Kuhbenhoun" = Copenhagen
We've arrived in Wonderful Copenhagen! Francis, my super blond English friend, says he's never seen so many blond people in his life. We take the incredibly easy train to Nordhavn St., the stop closest to our friend Helen's house. It isn't cheap to ride short distances, but it's very user friendly, with folding seats and tons of bike racks in the cars. After a quickie nap, we're treated to the first of many extravagant but easygoing Danish breakfasts -- Helen's crusty homemade bread with flaxseeds, walnuts and cranberries, my new favorite tuna salad, juice, fruit, cheeses and good, strong Danish coffee. I love Helen's bread -- she's able to throw the dough together instinctually, even (and especially) after a night of serious, sopping drinking. They're fragrant, moist and not too yeasty. We find that most people and most restaurants serve their own homemade bread. Eating out is not really a big part of Copenhagen culture. People are much more inclined to make their meals; cooking and baking come naturally, and without much fanfare. I admire their ease, the lack of self-consciousness in the food.
Helen's got style in spades, but it also is easy, nonchalant. From her wasp-waisted vintage dresses to her Japanese grandmother's fluted plates to the vintage white and blue Poul Henningsen triple tier lamp hanging over the kitchen table, it's a pleasure to be surrounded by harmonious but not homogenous design.
The wedges of cheese are unapologetically huge here. One of the more interesting discoveries was Myseost, a Norwegian goat cheese that tastes like a cajeta cheesecake. Slices up smooth, but has a bit of grit on the tongue and a rich caramel flavor. I don't really know what to make of it, but I like it with grapes. I've never seen it in the States.
1pm
Skål!, pronounced Skoll! = Cheers!, used for toasts
We head up north along the coast via train to Humlebæk, where we'll be spending the rest of the afternoon. We buy discounted train+museum tickets at the Nordhavn station. I sleep most of the way up and totally miss the scenery.
We walk to the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, a gorgeous seaside building with perfectly manicured glades dotted with sculptures. It's heavenly to watch the sailboats and fall asleep on the grass on this perfect day. The sun is hot, the breeze is cool, the greens and blues are as rich as I've ever seen them.
My glass of mineral water from the cafe is an impressive 30 Kroners, or about $6. The exchange rate is putting the hurt on my vacation budget, but we're saving all kinds of money by sleeping like five sardines in Helen's 1 bedroom apartment.
After our museum visit, we walk along the beach up towards Sarah's house, passing defiantly quaint beach houses with thatched roofs and barnacled tugboats.
I walk with Louise, one of Sarah's oldest friends. She's a lithe Dane with big Sally Jesse Raphael glasses and saucer blue eyes, framed by some of the longest eyelashes I've ever seen. She has to curl her eyelashes just to keep them from brushing up against her lenses. I ask her what's across the water.
LOUISE: That's Sweden.
ME: That close?
LOUISE: Yes, you can take a ferry from Helsingør. It only takes about twenty minutes.
ME: Elsinore! Like Hamlet!
LOUISE: Yes, like Hamlet.
We reach a clearing and a semi-private dock where, despite the cooler winds blowing in, the Danes insist on going for a swim. "It's not that cold," says local Henriette, "but the Vikings always say it's not that cold."
We jump into the clean waters which, to my surprise, aren't freezing. The seaweed washes up on the short shore of rocky sand. Blond "Viking" kids and teenagers jump into the waters with complete abandon. I only last for about 15 minutes before I get dressed and join everyone for a chic seaside snack of potato chips, fresh peas, and champagne.
brombær = blackberry
There's a blackberry bush next to the picnic table. Henriette and I pick blackberries until the thorns get in our way. Some are sweet, most are tart, but I can't stop picking them and gobbling them down. I mean, when's the next time I'm going to be able to eat blackberries I've picked on the beach? We float them in the champagne and drink in the late afternoon sunshine. Later, I notice the blackberry bushes everywhere, climbing fences in industrial lots, crawling up the sides of houses in Christiania, spilling over walls on the side of the road. Every time I pass them, I want to put on a bear suit and go nuts in the brambles.
5pm Dinner at Sa's house
tandsmør, pronounced "ten smuhr" = literally "teeth butter", it refers to the practice of putting so much butter on your bread that you leave teeth marks in it when you take a bite.
Sarah's parents and grandmother have prepared a traditional smørrebrød spread for us, the classic Danish open-faced sandwiches usually eaten for lunch. Sarah's father explains to the newbies that you start by piling your slice of dark, buttered bread with the fish items; only afterwards can you move on to the meats.
The bread in Denmark is unlike any bread I've ever had -- super moist and dense, dark like chocolate, it's like someone took a whole grain porridge, cooled it until it congealed, then sliced it thinly across the grains. It's practically meaty, and one or two slices are enough to fill you up.
It's a spread I'll probably dream of for the rest of my life -- hellefisk, halibut which has been fished up through the ice in Greenland, smoked and sliced into satiny, translucent leaves; herring in a creamy curry sauce sweetened with apples and sharpened with red onions; a beet salad, its sweetness tamed by what tastes like creme fraiche and heady horseradish; a potato salad made of the creamiest new potatoes and bold cherry tomatoes, dressed with chopped parsley and a vinaigrette; salamis and cheeses galore; Grandma's foie gras, veal and pork paté with olives and cornichons; and my favorite, fiske frekadeller, sautéed oval fish cakes made of ground whitefish (I couldn't get the translation for the type of fish, but I'm guessing it was something like pollack), served with a tangy Danish remoulade. I shamelessly return to the table four times over the course of the evening as we down glasses of cool white wine and swat away the yellowjackets in Sarah's pretty, comfortable backyard. Though we haven't had to practice anything, this is just what a wedding rehearsal dinner should be -- totally unpretentious, homey, and completely personal.
Dessert is a bakery-purchased jordbær tærte, a glazed strawberry tart with pastry cream and marzipan, divine with some dark, strong coffee. We roll ourselves out the door and onto the bus to make our way back to central Copenhagen. I can't wait to sleep lying down.
To be continued...
View Larger Map
Wednesday, July 30 5pm
Anonyme Alkoholikere = Alcoholics AnonymousDid you know that at the Dufry Duty Free shop at Newark, you can buy 1 liter bottles of Stoli for $12? $12! That's the price of a cocktail at some bars. Heej, Francis and I spend a good twenty minutes debating whether or not we should get one or two bottles. We wind up getting three, and another $21 bottle of Jameson's. Just before we board the plane for our red-eye, I try and buy a fourth bottle, but it's too late to get it packed up and delivered in time.
Thursday, July 31 8am
København, pronounced kind of like "Kuhbenhoun" = CopenhagenWe've arrived in Wonderful Copenhagen! Francis, my super blond English friend, says he's never seen so many blond people in his life. We take the incredibly easy train to Nordhavn St., the stop closest to our friend Helen's house. It isn't cheap to ride short distances, but it's very user friendly, with folding seats and tons of bike racks in the cars. After a quickie nap, we're treated to the first of many extravagant but easygoing Danish breakfasts -- Helen's crusty homemade bread with flaxseeds, walnuts and cranberries, my new favorite tuna salad, juice, fruit, cheeses and good, strong Danish coffee. I love Helen's bread -- she's able to throw the dough together instinctually, even (and especially) after a night of serious, sopping drinking. They're fragrant, moist and not too yeasty. We find that most people and most restaurants serve their own homemade bread. Eating out is not really a big part of Copenhagen culture. People are much more inclined to make their meals; cooking and baking come naturally, and without much fanfare. I admire their ease, the lack of self-consciousness in the food.
Helen's got style in spades, but it also is easy, nonchalant. From her wasp-waisted vintage dresses to her Japanese grandmother's fluted plates to the vintage white and blue Poul Henningsen triple tier lamp hanging over the kitchen table, it's a pleasure to be surrounded by harmonious but not homogenous design.
The wedges of cheese are unapologetically huge here. One of the more interesting discoveries was Myseost, a Norwegian goat cheese that tastes like a cajeta cheesecake. Slices up smooth, but has a bit of grit on the tongue and a rich caramel flavor. I don't really know what to make of it, but I like it with grapes. I've never seen it in the States.
1pm
Skål!, pronounced Skoll! = Cheers!, used for toastsWe head up north along the coast via train to Humlebæk, where we'll be spending the rest of the afternoon. We buy discounted train+museum tickets at the Nordhavn station. I sleep most of the way up and totally miss the scenery.
We walk to the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, a gorgeous seaside building with perfectly manicured glades dotted with sculptures. It's heavenly to watch the sailboats and fall asleep on the grass on this perfect day. The sun is hot, the breeze is cool, the greens and blues are as rich as I've ever seen them.
My glass of mineral water from the cafe is an impressive 30 Kroners, or about $6. The exchange rate is putting the hurt on my vacation budget, but we're saving all kinds of money by sleeping like five sardines in Helen's 1 bedroom apartment.
After our museum visit, we walk along the beach up towards Sarah's house, passing defiantly quaint beach houses with thatched roofs and barnacled tugboats.
I walk with Louise, one of Sarah's oldest friends. She's a lithe Dane with big Sally Jesse Raphael glasses and saucer blue eyes, framed by some of the longest eyelashes I've ever seen. She has to curl her eyelashes just to keep them from brushing up against her lenses. I ask her what's across the water.
LOUISE: That's Sweden.
ME: That close?
LOUISE: Yes, you can take a ferry from Helsingør. It only takes about twenty minutes.
ME: Elsinore! Like Hamlet!
LOUISE: Yes, like Hamlet.
We reach a clearing and a semi-private dock where, despite the cooler winds blowing in, the Danes insist on going for a swim. "It's not that cold," says local Henriette, "but the Vikings always say it's not that cold."
We jump into the clean waters which, to my surprise, aren't freezing. The seaweed washes up on the short shore of rocky sand. Blond "Viking" kids and teenagers jump into the waters with complete abandon. I only last for about 15 minutes before I get dressed and join everyone for a chic seaside snack of potato chips, fresh peas, and champagne.
brombær = blackberryThere's a blackberry bush next to the picnic table. Henriette and I pick blackberries until the thorns get in our way. Some are sweet, most are tart, but I can't stop picking them and gobbling them down. I mean, when's the next time I'm going to be able to eat blackberries I've picked on the beach? We float them in the champagne and drink in the late afternoon sunshine. Later, I notice the blackberry bushes everywhere, climbing fences in industrial lots, crawling up the sides of houses in Christiania, spilling over walls on the side of the road. Every time I pass them, I want to put on a bear suit and go nuts in the brambles.
5pm Dinner at Sa's house
tandsmør, pronounced "ten smuhr" = literally "teeth butter", it refers to the practice of putting so much butter on your bread that you leave teeth marks in it when you take a bite.Sarah's parents and grandmother have prepared a traditional smørrebrød spread for us, the classic Danish open-faced sandwiches usually eaten for lunch. Sarah's father explains to the newbies that you start by piling your slice of dark, buttered bread with the fish items; only afterwards can you move on to the meats.
The bread in Denmark is unlike any bread I've ever had -- super moist and dense, dark like chocolate, it's like someone took a whole grain porridge, cooled it until it congealed, then sliced it thinly across the grains. It's practically meaty, and one or two slices are enough to fill you up.
It's a spread I'll probably dream of for the rest of my life -- hellefisk, halibut which has been fished up through the ice in Greenland, smoked and sliced into satiny, translucent leaves; herring in a creamy curry sauce sweetened with apples and sharpened with red onions; a beet salad, its sweetness tamed by what tastes like creme fraiche and heady horseradish; a potato salad made of the creamiest new potatoes and bold cherry tomatoes, dressed with chopped parsley and a vinaigrette; salamis and cheeses galore; Grandma's foie gras, veal and pork paté with olives and cornichons; and my favorite, fiske frekadeller, sautéed oval fish cakes made of ground whitefish (I couldn't get the translation for the type of fish, but I'm guessing it was something like pollack), served with a tangy Danish remoulade. I shamelessly return to the table four times over the course of the evening as we down glasses of cool white wine and swat away the yellowjackets in Sarah's pretty, comfortable backyard. Though we haven't had to practice anything, this is just what a wedding rehearsal dinner should be -- totally unpretentious, homey, and completely personal.
Dessert is a bakery-purchased jordbær tærte, a glazed strawberry tart with pastry cream and marzipan, divine with some dark, strong coffee. We roll ourselves out the door and onto the bus to make our way back to central Copenhagen. I can't wait to sleep lying down.
To be continued...
