Holidays in the Life of an Expat

I can honestly say that I never would have imagined that "Amazing Grace" and a meal of rotten fish would make up two of my most prized holiday memories... such colliding of cultures is, for me, truly the mark of expat life. 

This year, I was once again blessed with the great fortune of spending my holidays amidst oysters and foie gras, and, of course, friends. Holidays away from home are never easy, but I have found that since being away, traditions have begun to meld together, reviving the old and giving birth to the new, in a way that almost epitomizes the meaning of the festivities themselves: togetherness. After all, isn't that the purpose of travel,  to break down cultural divides and open up channels of mutual discovery and inspiration? 

 

A french pastime:
Shucking oysters for the
first course of Christmas-eve dinner

This holiday season was no exception. The feasting and gourmandise began with the three expat Thanksgivings in November and did not show any signs of petering out until long after the New year's resolutions were soundly recorded and bulging bellies lay grumbling beneath winter sweaters and high-waisted dresses.  Christmas in France is no small feat, which comes as no surprise considering the country's history and passion for cuisine, and anyone expecting to be in France at any time between December 24th and January 1st best be well-prepared to indulge. Leave the stylishly tight pants at home, and forget about that skin-tight New year's dress; you will have little luck fitting into them when Noël à la française is done with you.  

This year's culinary adventures were comprised of the usual suspects, oysters and foie gras, but with the addition of a new bird (new for me, not for the french) and its accompaniments. (Details to be added, once verified with chef Pavia-Orengo). As for the most exciting, and long-anticipated part of the meal--though I must add that, speaking universally, at the end of Christmas dinner, hardly anyone has room for dessert--the Bûche de Noël in all its (melting) glory assumed its rightful place beside the table decorations and Italian sparkling wine. This was my first-ever attempt at the french Christmas classic, and Patricia's first-ever stab at the recipe. We took on the challenge of a bûche of layered genoise, and whipped cream with oranges confit and (my unwavering weakness) la crème de marron. A melting mess of a Christmas cake, the bûche was delicious, and found most guests scrapping their plates. 

A sort-of-success, one might say; at least added to the list of "try agains" that is steadily getting out of hand. At this rate, I will share the same fate as Julia Child; always cooking and eating... and drinking. All things considered, this might not be such a terrible path to trod.  Life is short, and the world, while it may be small, is too full of good food for one to commit to serious dieting. Every dish has a place in the line-up of "must try once in life" and even those dishes which sound less-than-appetizing can produce surprising effects. For example, the classic Norwegian winter dish, Rakfisk or "rotten fish" is an unexpected delight. Different from the famous Luttefisk, this fermented trout, after having been cusioned for months underground between layers of salt and sugar, finds its way to the table, accompanied by dallops of sour cream, shreds of freshly sliced red onions, plump boiled potatoes, hard-boiled egg, and delightfully acidic beets. I was apprehensive, to say the least, not as thrown by the components of the meal itself, but by the Norwegians' take on it.

Leading up to the moment of truth, I heard from every member of the dinner party such warnings as "it is very 'special,' even 'a bit peculiar'" and "people either love it or hate it" and "it took us some time to really appreciate it." The trick turned out to be introducing to the taste buds all the components at once, a flavor-packed fork-full of Norwegian goodness. Much to their surprise, I was converted by the second bite, and while I don't plan to add this to my list of holiday classics, I will forever cherish the memories of a night of rotten fish and Norwegian reveling.   

With all this food-talk, I think it is safe to say that the very first thing on everyone's mind at the holidays is the daunting weight gain. To combat such apprehension, the jolly gentlemen and women of Sospel, and an exceptionally merry handful of Norwegians, might recommend singing away the calories, and while it might not be an effective plan for weight loss, it is sure to make at least the heart feel lighter. 

"Amazing Grace" was featured on this year's program of St. Joseph Chapel carols, and some nostalgic Simon and Garfunkel hits made the list at the Norwegian post-dinner festivities of guitar playing and storytelling. The moral of the story, might therefore be, consult the classics, and you will find that they seldom disappoint, whether it be in food or song. 

Prague- A Walt Disney dreamland... and more.

Panoramic view of snow-covered Prague from Hradcany at the entrance to Prague Castle.

This year's Christmas adventure began in the legendary city of Prague in the Czech Republic, and from the train ride to Nice International Airport, it already seemed to compete with last year's whirlwind tour of Budapest for title of "Must Eventful Trip." And yet, missed connections due to snowy runways and ice-laden airplane wings are no match for a dedicated adventurer. Perhaps this marks the beginning of a new Pre-Christmas tradition--spending the week before Christmas exploring a Comcon country.  

View of Charles Bridge looking
towards Hradcany and Prague Castle.

The weather, for one thing, always proves entertaining, not to mention the often-times gripping terror of having to communicate with people who speak a language based in neither latin nor germanic roots. The architecture is sure to be frozen in time; it is stunningly beautiful and uniquely fascinating, like the objects unearthed in a time capsule--rusty and perhaps even black with dirt but still embodying the allure of their previous luster. Something about the "pays de L'est" (Eastern European countries) commandeers my curiosity in the snowy winter months. Whether it is the harsh climate or the history of the land, the countries which emerged from behind the Iron Curtain illustrate for the Western World the realities of a recent and tangible "hard knock life." 


Partnered with the atmosphere of the holiday season, visiting such countries provides a fresh appreciation for the blessings and comforts alloted to the youthful generations of the West. 

Much like the astonishment that overtook my senses in Budapest last Christmas Season, I found myself at a loss for words upon lifting my pen to capture Prague on the blank abyss that is the back of postcards. I resorted to repeatedly composing the same phrase: "This city is every bit the enchanting destination it is fabled to be. The legendary home of 'Good King Wenceslas' and Alphonse Mucha rises out of the snowy fog like a Walt Disney dreamland."

Local woman rushes home with
 a festive bunch of mistletoe.

Indeed, Prague, itself, is every bit the marvel of its reputation. It is truly a living city and not simply a tourist attraction. Sure, shops brimming with Bohemian crystal, Czech garnet, and Prague porcelain are a stone-throw away from every streetlamp in the town center, but that sort of business exists in every city center that tourists might find remotely interesting: New york, Chicago, Paris, to name a few. The difference is that in Prague, Czech is written and spoken at every turn, and even in the most touristy of places, one can spot any number of locals scurrying home with groceries and gifts, kids in tow. By contrast to my experience in Budapest, the locals of Prague seem to be a jolly lot; not pretentious, nor hostile, and always glad to, at the very least, attempt to communicate clearly with non-czech speakers.  They smile openly openly on the street and do not look at you like you have three heads if you do the same. 

Nothing compares to a hearty meal at a local bar, especially when local Czech families
 file in after you to fill the entire back room of the place. Always a good sign. 

Lunch of hermaline cheese, bread dumplings stuffed with pork, and cabbage. Oh, and bottled water, because tap water is apparently never served at restaurants in Prague. Don't forget the bread, just in case you didn't feel that your desire for carbs was met in this lunch.  Needless to say, we did not eat dinner that night. 

The cuisine is hearty (gross understatement) and leaves you feeling warm and cozy with the distinct desire to indulge in a nap. A delightful combination of salted meats (primarily pork), dumplings of bread or potato, and cabbage (some much-needed acidity to cut through it all), it is not unlike that of Hungary, Austria, and Germany. This is not at all surprising, considering that these countries ultimately share the same climate, historical roots, and political regimes. The idea of "the harsher (colder) the climate, the heavier the food (and beer)" illustrates perfectly the magnitude of goulash and Pilsner Urquell consumed here.  The tradition of hermaline cheese (fried cheese), a not-so-distant cousin of the beloved American staple, the Mozzerella stick, perhaps explains the popularity of the American fast-food giant, KFC, in these parts. Voilà, heavy consumption of potatoes and items breaded and fried. 

This is only one of many international enterprises to make its mark on this city, one until so recently deprived of contact with the rest of the world. The effects are more than apparent. Only 20 years ago, Wenceslas Square lined with stores of empty shelves and was the stage for Anti-Communist Velvet Revolution. Now, it buzzes with international commercialism (Starbucks, KFC, Zara, H&M, Darty), and tourist feet beat the pavement where lives were lost to break down the wall to the West. 


A remarkable patch of land, indeed. In the midst of all the daunting commercialism, the legendary statue of St. Wenceslas (patron saint of the Czech Republic) stands watch over the hustle and bustle of change, with elements of Czech pride hidden in the corners of storefront windows and in the details of Art Nouveau facades. The Alphonse Mucha Museum and the Museum of Communism lie within steps from each other, an intriguing juxtaposition of the Czech Republic's greatest claims to fame. From these tourist landmarks, the wandering eye can catch a glimpse of the Christmas market lights illuminating traditional Czech delights, (sausages to satisfy the savory taste buds, and trdelnik, rolled dough of cinnamon-crusted goodness, for the sweet-tooth), stuffed animal representations of the best-loved czech cartoon (Krtek the mole), and postcards honoring scenes drawn by renowned illustrator, Josef Lada.  Czech culture is alive and well, flourishing even, watered by the waves of tourism and the light of freedom of culture and expression. 

A eager child awaits her own trdelnik.

Santa serves up traditional Czech sausages.  

Krtek, the most lovable of moles.