Feketeribizli

After I return to Portland, there is one potable that I will crave forevermore.  That drink, dusky and tart/sweet, is black currant juice.  Also called cassis, schwarze johannesbeere, feketeribizli, or the Latin Ribes nero, this juice beats the bejesus out of pomegranate, cranberry or grape juice.  Health benefits of black currant juice include anti-inflammatory properties, anti-oxidant properties, and possible cancer fighting properties.  In fact studies have shown that black currants, once illegal in the United States, (apparently because of a disease they were thought to carry that affected pine trees) have more total vitamins, minerals, and antioxidants than pomegranates or blueberries.  The flavor reminds me of a harmonious marriage of cranberries and blueberries.
  Now, I am certainly not much of a liquor drinker, and vodka is especially unkind to me, but I have come up with a variation of the Stoli Sea Breeze for my vodka loving pals, replacing the cranberry juice with blackcurrant.  It is called the Duna Breeze, although if you've ever been downwind of certain stretches of the Danube, this may not sound very tasty.  The recipe follows for any friends who wish to try it (Portlanders can get black currant juice at Edelweiss on 17th, just off Powell Blvd.)
      
                                                                    DUNA BREEZE

                    Fill a bourbon glass with ice. Add a shot or two, depending on your fortitude,
                    of Polish vodka, then fill the rest of the glass with feketeribizli.  You could add
                    club soda if you wish.  Garnish glass with a slice of lemon and enjoy.  Let me

                    know how it turns out! x

                                        

Star Mountain

Former Eastern Bloc country, twenty years gone.  The evidence is all around me.  I live in Óbuda, north of Buda at the foot of Csillaghegy, (which means Star Mountain in Magyar) on the west side of the Danube River. Here, former communist, Bauhaus bland, high rise housing towers above charming but unkempt Austro-Hungarian storefronts and homes.  Litter is everywhere...my landlord, an elegant, well-dressed gentleman, on our first day in our flat, pulled all of the junk mail out of our post box and without a thought threw it onto the sidewalk below. Cigarette butts are almost as numerous upon the ground as fallen leaves from surrounding stands of birch and locust trees. Dog shit is everywhere too...Hungarians love their "kutyak" but for the most part fail to scoop the poop.  When I pick up my own dog's waste, I get the strangest looks from passersby.  There are ossified piles all over the green spaces of Óbuda.
  As for the cigarette butts, their multitude is no wonder. Almost everyone smokes... it seems to be one of the only ways these intense people have found to relax.  Nicotine lines tanned faces and ages them before their time.   Kids as young as 13 pick up the habit and it makes me sad to think that their skin, smooth and rich as satin, might soon become stained and wrinkled as a result. Not to be self-righteous about the habit, since I have been known to sneak a cig or two, but, it really does seem de riguer in this culture!
 The people here are very attractive and yet the prevailing beauty aesthetic is one of artifice and glamour. Hungarian women are naturally beautiful. It's therefore confusing as to why many of them they choose to shave their eyebrows only to pencil them back in and/or dye or bleach their hair ruthlessly and haphazardly.  I've noticed that many women in my neighborhood tend to favor the same shade of reddish purple dye, the color of an overripe aubergine.  Many times, undyed roots emerge about three inches from the scalp.  If it were part of some punk aesthetic I would understand but it is not.  It's just about having purple hair!
  The people know that beauty, like every other precious thing in life, is slippery and fleeting.  Best not to get too attached.  Best to prepare oneself for hard times.

housing complex across the street

pretty little balconies

our neighbor's home

  And yet the Hungarians  really know how to make the most of what they have...take these commie high rises for instance.  Each tiny residence has a balcony and these are usually overflowing with bright flowers and greenery, perhaps a windsock or a chime or two. If they can't reside in one of the lovely Transylvanian style homes below,  they will make a palace out of their small apartments. In the evenings, residents come out to the common areas below, many times with their kutyak, for cigs, a beer or two, and some hearty fellowship.
  The Hungarian work ethic is powerful.  These people work very hard often putting in twelve hours per day, many times without breakfast or lunch, and only because there is so much to do.  Many of them hold a couple of degrees and everyone I have met is multi-talented and incredibly intelligent, able to discuss just about anything.
  The Hungarians who helped us out the first couple of weeks we were here worked non-stop to put us Americans at ease our confusion as to the the way things work here.  Aaah, Hungarian ways.  Bureaucratic as German, slow as Romanian, respecting only the stamped document ("Stamp it three times", said András, "and welcome to my country!") and the verbal agreement ("you can absolutely count on this," said Hajni, in a voice as creamy as gombaleves).  Bless them and their invaluable friendship.
  Hungarian voices...gorgeous .  When they speak English, the accent is so lovely, so rich and mysterious.  Makes me hungry and crave the mushroom soup for which, at least in the U.S., they are well known.  I prepared some the other evening for supper and I must say, savoring that soup here was a simple but profound treat. I will leave you with the recipe.  Szia! x

Gombaleves (from the wonderful Moosewood Cookbook)

2T  butter (teavaj)
2 c chopped onion (hagyma)
1 and 1/2-2 lbs. mushrooms (gomba), sliced (experiment with shrooms...been dying to try chanterelles or morels with this recipe)
1 t salt (só)
1T paprika (more to taste)
2-3 T dried dill ( morzsolt)
2 t fresh lemon juice (friss citrom)
3T flour (liszt)
2 c water (viz)
1c whole milk (tej) at room temperature
Black pepper (feketebors) to taste
1/2 c sour cream (tejföl)
finely minced parsley (petrezselyem) for garnish

Melt the butter in a stock pot or Dutch oven. Add onions, sauté over medium heat for about five minutes, until onions are translucent.  Add mushrooms, salt, dill, and paprika. Stir well and cover. Let cook for about fifteen more minutes, stirring occasionally. Stir in lemon juice.
  Gradually add the flour, stirring constantly.  Cook and stir another five minutes or so over a medium-low heat.  Add water, cover, and cook about ten minutes, strirring often.
  Stir in milk; add black pepper to taste. Adjust seasonings to taste. Whisk in the sour cream...do not cook or boil after this point. Serve hot, sprinkle with parsley if desired.  ENJOY! x

In Praise of "Socialized Medicine"

So, poor Boone picked up a nasty case of conjunctivitis during his first days in Budapest.  It was the last thing he needed as our landing here was, um, bumpy at best.  However, we got to experience the marvels of "socialized" medicine as opposed to the market-chained health care we were forced to endure back in the States.
  We called our Hungarian "anya"(mother), Hajni, and she whisked Boone off to a swell doctor who, after a short wait, prescribed three medications (one of which was a pupil dilator, which gave Boone a spooky, David Bowie-like visage).  The visit and the drugs together cost a mere 25 bucks.  Compare that to the U.S., where the visit alone would have likely cost at least eighty bucks, if not more.  There was no immediate co-pay and Boone has the option of waiting until his insurance kicks in and will cover the costs.

  Our friend Debra had to get an EKG here in Hungary...that plus her prescriptions cost just 16 dollars.  The EKG alone in the US would cost 2000 dollars.  The discrepancy between the two systems is embarrassing.  The more accessible health care is to citizens, regardless of tax-bracket, the better off the United States will be.

The Jewish Quarter

The gate of the synagogue courtyard

the gorgeous Great Synagogue of Budapest

tracery on the synagogue

just one example of the intricate detail carved upon the synagogue

headstones awaiting return to their original sites

the weeping willow within Raoul Wallenburg park

While at the Marco Polo, we had no idea we were staying in the Jewish Quarter.  The Great Synagogue of Budapest, in all its majesty, was only meters away!  No words or picture can do it proper justice .  It is a golden, filigreed compound that exudes a sacred gravity that even the most staunch atheist could not deny...also the second largest synagogue in the world. The tragic history of the place can still be felt. When Hitler established a ghetto for Hungarian Jews, many of them sought refuge at the synagogue. The deadly winter of '44-45 killed thousands of people and many of them are buried in the synagogue courtyard.
 The Jewish citizens of Budapest had at least one valuable ally during those nightmarish times, the Swedish diplomat, Raoul Wallenburg. From the summer to the winter of 1944, he issued Jewish citizens Swedish passports and housed them in buildings established as Swedish property.  In doing so, he saved thousands of doomed Hungarians. Sadly, he died while in Russian custody under mysterious circumstances. Here's to his memory.
  The Jewish people of Budapest have been able to glean a trace of beauty from the colossal tragedy of the Holocaust.  A park within the synagogue compound honoring Raoul Wallenburg contains a Holocaust memorial and there stands a beautiful metal sculpture.  It is a graceful weeping willow and etched upon each of its slender leaves is the name of a Hungarian victim of Hitler's hideous wrath.  
  
  

Marco Polo

from our window, across the courtyard

stairway to room 410

delightful street performers

me, kicking back, just before falling asleep

Szia!  We are actually in Budapest, Pearl of the Danube (Duna in Magyar).  My impressions continue to swing from absolute wonder to troubling confusion, but it is all part of the life-changing experience.   We arrived in Pest on a sweaty, late summer night.  Our first home was the Hostel Marco Polo, in a room stuffed with three cots and our remaining belongings, which are still very few.  We decided it was best to fight the jet lag and get on with our second day as if we had not just exited a cramped Polish plane (LOT...no leg room, eighties era head phones, but food and drink on the half hour) after a 25 hour hop over the pond.  I was not accustomed to this late summer, urban heat.  The narrow, brick paved streets radiated so much of the sunlight and this, combined with humidity steaming off of the nearby Duna, made for a sauna-like experience.  But, never mind that.  It was my first day in this amazing Central European city.  I simply dressed ( or undressed, rather) for the occasion and headed out to explore with Boone and Aidan.  From the Marco Polo we walked down to the river front and sampled some of the street food.  Each of us ate a little pizza-like creation covered in local cheese and bits of ham (sonka).  Against our environmental convictions, we also carried around bottled water...we later realize that Budapest tap water is quite drinkable and gave up that particular vice.  Down at the river front, I was tickled pink to spot, marching down the promenade, a small group of performers, wearing silly masks and hats, one guy juggling, and two riding unicycles  with casual ease.  This reminded me of home, Portland, Oregon, where delightful absurdity abounds.  The pedestrian and bike friendly Chain Bridge was within walking distance, so we crossed the river into Buda, to the base of Castle Hill. By this time the heat, jet lag, and our full bellies were conspiring against our will to stay awake and we headed back over the bridge to the Marco Polo for an afternoon snooze.  It just couldn't be helped. x

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by leslie

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