A Houseguest

Last night we had our first houseguest!  My colleague, Iris, came over for dinner after work, where we had been madly typing away at a project proposal. 
Jon was kind enough to cook dinner for us and had everything all ready when we arrived.  Iris brought her own dog, Jim Knopfe, as well as her roommate's dog, Wurzel. It was a bit exciting with all the dogs, especially since Wurzel doesn't always care for other dogs, particularly Jackson.  So we had a good laugh when Wurzel promptly went out onto our little balcony and pooped right on the door mat.  That is, after he peed on it.  Jon and I thought is was hilarious, but poor Iris I think was mortified.  We tried to assure her that it was no big deal, and we sat down to a formal meal in our dining room. 
Jon made salads with sweet pepper, gouda, and hard boiled eggs dressed in balsamic vinegarette.  We had red Austrian wine, Trocken, and then sitr fry with country style short ribs, rice, and garlic mashed potatoes.  Followed of course by my now famous Nutella corn cakes!
My lovely husband had been to the market during the day and bought me a cute little potted purple Chrysanthemum which graced our dining table, along with a lit taper.
We showed Iris our wedding album, which she seemed to enjoy very much.  It was nice to relax for a bit around the table, and we talked comfortably for over an hour.  We did finally have to break up the merriment because Iris and I both had leftover work to attend to, but Jon and I felt our dinner was a success.  So here is to many more, and do please consider this an invitation!

The Corn-dog day

This will not turn out to be what you think.  I promise...

Today may well go down in infamy in our household.  Not for disasters, but for some crazy mixed up hilarity.  Not mine, though, unfortunately; my husband, Jon's and our dog, Jackson's.  It all started off simple enough.  Jon took the dog out while I showered, and then Jon and I walked to school.  Jon headed to the grocery store near school, and I hunkered down in my office to try to get ahead on some paperwork.  I chipped away at my pile of a to-do list and thought all was well, until I got a phone call, that is.

"Hey babe," my husband said, into his tiny €10 pre paid phone. "Did you move the laundry detergent?"

"Not that I recall," I reply, wondering what was going on.

"Ok, then maybe I left it downstairs last time I did laundry," Jon reasoned.  Meanwhile I was still confused, because I thought we were signed up for laundry in the basement tomorrow.  As I tried to ask him what was going on, he hunted for the soap and indeed found it in the basement.  

"Well," Jon began to explain, "I'm sorry to call you with bad news, but after I gave the dog a bath this morning, I realized he had peed all over our bed.  I think it must have been while I was walking you to work."

I tried to answer with the necessary sympathy and apologies, but Jon was intent on getting everything into the washer, and I did not want to discourage him on that, so we signed off and I went back to working on anything other than my project funding proposal with its impending deadline.

After about half an hour, my work cell rang again.  "Hi hon," I said, happy to hear from him.

"Hi," he returned, in a strange voice.  We had been debating on Gmail Messenger what might have made the dog mad, since that was his usual M.O. for such inappropriate urinating.  But Jon's voice told me there was more to the story.  "Guess what happened while I put the laundry in?"

"Keine ahnung," I rejoined, auf Deutsch, meaning I hadn't a clue.

"So Jackson ran away." 

"Um, did you find him?" I quickly asked, with concern.  

"Yes.  He was downstairs at the front door of the apartment building," Jon assured me right away.  "He's locked in the bathroom now with his food and water bowls."

I told Jon that I was glad the dog was okay, but that I was sorry he was being so punky.  We decided he must have been mad that his morning walk wasn't longer, plus then the dog bath.  

The two of them met me on my walk home, and we had a nice homemade dinner while Jackson pouted under the table.  After dinner I decided to make Nutella brownies, and earlier Jon had bought flour at the grocery store.  I melted some extra chocolate, but the Nutella was so sweet when I mixed it in that I had to add some peanut butter to cut all the sugar.  I cooled the mixture a little while I whisked the eggs, and I mixed them carefully so as not to cook the eggs prematurely.  But as I opened what we had thought was flour, my final ingredient, I became acutely aware that it was in fact cornmeal.  We couldn't decide what was funnier, that Jon had mistaken the girl carrying stalks on the front of the bag for wheat but missed the boldly written "Korngold" directly above, or that we failed to notice until long after we were fully committed.  If it weren't for the "Korngold," I don't think we would have had any way of knowing.

Now, Peanut Butter Nutella Corn Cakes do not sound amazing, but I put them in the oven anyway, amidst our gales of laughter.  And I am hear to tell you, they are pretty damn tasty, especially when served warm with some vanilla bean ice cream.  But if you know of any good recipes calling for cornmeal, please share!

Adventures in Wochenende

Well it has been an exciting weekend!  Yesterday we abandoned our plan to visit Schloss Schonbrunn when my boss invited us to her house in Leobendorf for dinner.  My husband had yet to be outside the city of Vienna, and has been pining for a friend of the male persuasion, so of course we said yes.  In all actuality, we had hoped to have them over to our flat, as we now have some furniture and dishes, etc.  However, because they have two small children, it was easier for everyone involved if we came to them.
So we set off in the afternoon on the OBB to Leobendorf, from whence we walked to their address.  It was a beautiful day, with perfect weather.  It was Jon's first time to see any of the country side, which is lovely.  After our jaunt on the train, we sauntered through the village of Leobendorf, where the streets are lined with flowers.  As we made our turn toward my boss's townhouse, the castle came into view, and Jonathan snapped a couple of pictures.  It was a nice afternoon at their place, sipping Irish coffees in the garden and trying our first Sturm.
Sturm is this year's wine, so it is very sweet with a relatively low alcohol content, but you gotta be careful, because it will sneak up on you!

Interestingly, we were informed that the castle at the top of the hill in Leobendorf is not original, but was rebuilt using recycled castle parts from around Europe. And evidently, a Nicholas Cage movie was filmed there...

Today we made it to Schonbrunn, Jon's first time.  We walked all the way up the hill, past Neptune's Fountain to the Gloriette.  A high school choir was sitting on the front steps of the Gloriette, singing hymns acapella. As we walked through the woods down the hill toward the entrance of the zoo, the students followed us, still singing.  As they overtook us, it gave a whole new meaning to surround sound.  

More later (including pictures!)...

Candles on a Gerburstag Cake

Yesterday was my colleague's birthday, and so I learned "alles gut zum Geburtstag!"  Jon went out during the day, to the American Consulary for a notary, and so he agreed to pick up a nice plant as a birthday present.  Not gift, mind you, because in German 'gift' means poison.  He found a lovely flower plant and the storekeeper even wrapped it in paper since it was a birthday present.  My colleague had invited us for a party downtown after work and so we would take the plant then.
And so after much debating on the plan of meeting and arriving at the party venue, we set out to catch the Strßenbahn from Hoßplatz.  We transferred to the Ubahn and quickly arrived at Schwedenplatz, where we met the birthday girl and another colleague.  It was then reaching the twilight phase of evening, and the light was rosy and soft.  A trio of college aged boys leaned up against a wall across from the subway exit, playing guitars and covering the Beatles, as twinkly lights (one of my favorite things, as you already know) sparkled softly above us hung from a tree standing proudly over an outdoor cafe.
We handed off the plant, and walked around the corner to a large bar and restaurant, called Bermuda Brau.  As we went in, I must say it reminded me a little of Oliver St. John's Gogarty in Dublin, with stairs just across from the entrance and the restaurant on the upper level.  In the basement would be music and dancing later in the night, and the ground floor was graced by a large, prominent bar.
We headed upstairs (first floor here) and soon found our reserved table.  We ordered Radlers (yum!) and perused the menu, Jon and I trying to decipher what things we knew from those we couldn't even attempt a guess at.  Finally we went for the Wienerschnitzel, but pork, not veal (I don't eat veal), and the kartofeln salat.  Potato salad here is very different than in the States, but it is quite often absolutely delicious!  Ours last night was no exception, and I'm afraid it outshone the Wienerschnitzel.
After dinner I had an excellent cappucino, and we headed downstairs for another round.  Jon and I shared a kleines bier as we were in a hurry to get home to the dog, but the others had Aperol spritzers, which I think I will need to try one of these days.  If it is anywhere near as good as a Hugo, I'll be in for a treat...
All in all it was a nice evening, although I am really looking forward to taking Jon to the heurigen on the hill where we can watch the city lights come on:)  Plus they have fantastic spinat strudel!

It looks like 2FatGirlsonaVolcano may be featured on InterNations, for whom I also hope to guest blog in the upcoming future.  So don't be shy about commenting on my blog, feedback is (almost) always appreciated, as are pageviews and shares!  Schönes Wochenende.

Oeufs Evelyn

I shared this idea for a recipe with Jon and he made it for breakfast last weekend.  I wish we had taken pictures! But I promise to next time...
Anyway, I always thought if I woke up one morning and had turned into Lorelai Gilmore, and had a daughter, I would have named her Evelyn.  My grandmother's name.  But let's face it, I should probably not ever be given a child.  Luckily, my husband seems to share this sentiment, so instead we can name this lovely recipe 'Evelyn.'  Here's how it goes:

Butter croissant (1 per serving)
Eggs (1-2 per serving, depending on size)
Chives
Olive oil
Cheese of choice (we used Gouda)
Savory sausage or bacon (we used bacon wrapped Austrian sausages, sliced)

Slice and toast the croissants in the oven.  While they are toasting, scramble your eggs with the chives in a bit of olive oil.  Slice the sausages lengthwise and put them in the oven, too.  Slice the cheese.  As soon as the croissants are crusty, put the cheese slices on the croissant halves and pop back into the oven to melt the cheese a little.  Once the sausages are browned and crispy on the outside, put them on top of the cheese and take the croissants out of the oven.  Top with the eggs, then put the croissants back together.  Voila!
Serve with potato croquettes and mimosas:)

A Blowdryer in Ireland...

For our first trip abroad, Mom and I took a Pub tour of Ireland in early June, 1997.  Now, those that knew us at that time would not have taken us for pub goers, but we threw caution to the wind and went anyway.  Early on in the week long journey, our bus barreled along on its merry way, bound for the Cliffs of Moher.  I had unwittingly been mistakenly referring to the landmark as the Cliffs of Mohair, but as our guide schooled her captive audience in lore, I acquired the true pronunciation, which sounded the same as ‘more.’  Very glad for the correction without having publicly stumbled on such an obvious misinterpretation, I listened intently as the guide, Jennifer, went on to describe the naming of ‘Hag’s Head,’ largest of the outcroppings off the cliffs.   

According to ancient local legend, the mythical superhero of Ireland, Cuchulain had battled and defeated his archrival here, known as ‘The Hag.’  The tour guide also included a disclaimer, explaining that unlike in the US, natural Irish monuments, even when preserved in national park form where not augmented with safety features such as railings.  Evidently the Irish felt that it was for the most part obvious not to walk off a cliff, much less one looming hundreds of feet above waves as they crashed against the rocks.  This was, of course, in contrast to the American sentiment of litigation, in the spirit of McDonald’s mandated ‘Caution: Coffee is Hot’ warning.  As Jennifer foretold, no railings were in sight, and though she had warned that rock still broke off and fell into the sea below, many people walked up to the edge or lay down and crawled close enough to look over.  This was not the case for Mom or me, we were busy walking up and down the stone walkways soaking in the views as much as possible.  It began to sprinkle while we were looking off to the Aran Islands, one of which was an upcoming destination on our Pub Tour.  The wind was strong, and Mom began to get chilled, though by the tour guides were trying to wrangle everybody up to get back on the bus anyway.   

We all still had to bus back to Galway that afternoon to check into the hotel and make it to dinner. 

As we drove along the scenic Atlantic coast, we segued through a strange land of rock, called the Burren, which looked quite like one might imagine the moon were one riding along the moonscape in a NASA dune buggy.   Our crowd of tourists was mostly quiet, some snoozed, and Mom snuggled as deep into her winter coat as she could.  At long last we arrived in Galway and checked into their accommodations, The Imperial Hotel on Eyre Square.  “Just like Jane Eyre,” I thought to myself, too embarrassed at my own cliché to speak aloud, but enjoying it nonetheless.

“So, guys, once you’ve dropped your baggage off in your rooms, we’ll do a quick guided walking tour before coming back to the hotel so everyone can get ready for dinner.  Meet back here in 15 if you want to do the walking tour with us, it’ll take about an hour.” Jennifer didn’t need to speak louder than usual, she had one of those authoritative, redhead voices that sort of commanded attention on its own.

As Mom and I rode the lift up to their assigned quarters, Mom was clearly downright cold.  Mom has an epic history of falling ill at the drop of a hat, and she didn’t want to miss a moment of this trip of a lifetime, so she told me, “I’m going to stay in the room and try to warm up while you guys do the walking tour.  You’ll catch me up on anything good that I miss, right?  And there’s the city tour on the bus tomorrow…”

“Sure thing Mom, you put on some fresh dry clothes and warm up, then we’ll get some dinner later and you’ll be good as new.”  In truth I was happy for a chance to have some time alone, even though I’d still be in the tour group.  After all, Mom and I are great friends and got along surprisingly well for a mother daughter combo, almost Gilmore Girl level, but I need some time now and then, and probably so did Mom.

The walking tour was fun and witty, and before I knew it they were back at the hotel with instructions to be ready to leave for dinner in an hour.  “Plan on staying out a little tonight, ‘cause there is great craic at the place we’re going,” Jennifer said and everyone looked at her like she was crazy.  “No, not ‘crack,’ c-r-a-i-c, Gaelic for ‘fun,’ pronounced the same as crack but without the actual drug.” Jennifer clarified.

As I rode the elevator lost in thought, a mellow tone sounded my floor, and I hopped off still rummaging through my pockets for the room key.  Apparently my approach had been on the quiet side, for as I ever so gracefully barged into the room, I found Mom, wrapped in not one but two hotel comforters, blasting herself with the hairdryer plugged into the bathroom outlet while she perched on the foot of the nearest bed.  Upon further inspection, I noticed that my mother had unpacked her suitcase and donned nearly every warm garment she’d packed under the bed clothes she was wrapped in.  And although I really didn’t mean to, I couldn’t help but crack up laughing.  It really was the most ridiculous thing I could ever remember mother doing up to that point, and before I knew it, I was laughing so hard that tears were streaming down my cheeks.

Mom clicked off the hairdryer, and quickly stammered an explanation that she simply could not get warm enough, but soon she too was caught up in my laughter, as I gasped to describe the scene in between gales of giggles.  And when our laughter would start to die down, one of the us would start to giggle again, and then we would both just crack up all over again.  Honestly, I wasn’t trying to outright laugh at Mom, but it was just so funny.  And, it seemed, the laughing and giggling and carrying on was having the biggest impact thus far on Mom’s quest to get warm, so I guess you could say, 'Mission Accomplished.'

Mushroom Risotto

Cremini Mushrooms
Olive Oil
Rice (preferably Arborio)
Garlic
White cheese
White table wine
Bacon

Cut bacon into lardons, saute in butter or olive oil.  Add sliced or diced mushrooms.  Keep moist and from sticking by adding more olive oil or butter.  Cover and simmer on low until mushrooms soften, add garlic.  Simmer another 3-4 minutes but don"t allow garlic to stick or burn.  Add white wine until saucepan is de-glazed.  Cover and simmer until mushrooms brown, then simmer uncovered to reduce liquid by half.  Remove mushroom mixture from saucepan.  Add olive oil, return to heat.  When oil is warm but not scorching, add just enough rice to soak up olive oil.  Add enough white wine to de-glaze the pan; bring to a boil.  Just as the cooking liquid begins to dry out, add enough chicken or vegetable stock to cover the rice.  Repeat this process until the rice is fully cooked and the texture becomes creamy.  Add the mushroom mixture back to the pan, mix and allow flavors to marry over warm setting while stirring.  Remove from heat and add chopped white cheese (Jon likes Gouda) to taste, stir in to melt.  Serve immediately.