BUDAPEST - City of Evil Spirits

ZWACK UNICUM is a name most likely never to occur to me, even in the most intense of brain storming, marketing sessions.  However, in the depths of our bar fridge in a Budapest Hotel, lurked a strangely shaped bottle with such a name emblazoned upon it.  We viewed the bottle with deep suspicion.  Could the darkness of the bottle be the colour of the glass or the substance within?  Holding the bottle to the light revealed nothing, whatever it was it was also a black hole; no light could escape.  We placed the bottle back in the fridge.

Curiosity is a human condition and so it came to pass that we discovered other bottles of this strangely disturbing liquid in a downtown Budapest liquor store, whilst searching for a more common means of imbibing.  This time, the bottles of ZWACK UNICUM came in increasingly larger sizes and we decided that an appropriately sized bottle, of whatever it was, would make an excellent present for Suzy’s father for his forthcoming birthday, for better or for worse.  He is after all, a very congenial fellow and so are the Hungarians and at 3800 Hufs a bottle, it was a bargain!

Back at the Hotel, our thoughts returned to the sample in the bar fridge and our increasing curiosity to discover the true meaning of the contents.  It would never do to have Mike sample his birthday present without us being able to comment.  We reached for the bottle in the bar fridge and nervously unscrewing the top, discovered no smoke or noxious odours, only a pungent fragrance unlike any other.  With the words of a good friend; “the liver is evil, it must be punished”, ringing in our ears, we took a swig.

It is said that the Emperor Joseph II of the Hapsburgs cried out, “Das ist ein Unikum!” when he first tasted the concoction, created for him by Dr Zwack, his Royal Physician.  His further reactions are not recorded but you can spot the provenance.  Our reactions were a little less dramatic but Suzy did have to have a lie down after a sip or three and I spend some time gazing out of the Hotel window at a brick wall.  Such is the effect of a shot of Zwack.  We could not decide if the taste was that of a pharmaceutical or a narcotic but as we have had very little experiences with the latter, we vote for the former.

We have yet to take another sip.  However as I write, I see the bottle of ZWACK out of the corner of my eye and I begin to feel a strange longing ….  The Communist regime couldn’t put Familie Zwack out of business and with such a drink they have lived long and prospered.  Good luck to them.



THE FIREFLY

February 2012

We have been living next door to “The Firefly” for over 18 months but had never felt the urge to enter as it has had a reputation as a bit of a bogan bar and never looked that enticing.  We often knew when it was closing time as we would hear the occasional punter singing what might have been a song on his way home and our front garden was occasionally littered with empty beer glasses (we’ve kept a few ).  Over the past year, it has undergone a makeover or two.

The Pub now seems to have a different clientele (we haven’t heard many songs & we are running short of beer glasses) and with constant signage out the front advertising NEW MANAGEMENT and NEW CHEF and NEW MENU, we thought maybe now was the time to try it out.

We went on a Friday afternoon for lunch with our friend Paul.  Being a journo, Paul has had considerable experience of pub lunches and we were keen to get his opinion. 

Upon entering we noted the cosy bar area and large dining room.  We were just about the only people in the dining area apart from a guy speaking loudly on his mobile phone and the occasional bar patron taking a peek.  It was a bit cold in both temperature and ambience.  There are no windows in the dining room and although it’s freshly painted, it has a subdued and unimaginative decor.

The menu was adequate although not extensive and with the usual pub fare; prices are very reasonable.  Neil and I had a burger and fries each which were both very nice, (Neil has fallen off his vegetarian wagon).  Paul had fish & chips which he said measured up to his high standards.  Unfortunately, the plates were not warmed beforehand so the food went cold very quickly, the chilly room didn’t help.  Service was swift and pleasant.

“The Firefly” serves the local Rebellion brewery beer, Neil’s favourite bitter, as well as the usual offerings; and they serve a very nice house red.

Overall we would say “The Firefly” is more of a convenience for us than an event and hopefully this Public House will continue to improve.

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The Bitter End - July 2011

 

When I was a little girl I loved colour pencils, in particular “Derwent” brand colour pencil sets.  One Christmas, I asked for and received a box of 72 which was the most colours you could get in a set.  Most people only had sets of 12 or 24.  The box of 72 was pretty special even though I only used about six of them – the bright pinks, blues and purples.  The more mundane colours weren’t so popular.

When I was 14, I was lucky enough to be taken on a 6-month tour of Europe, which included the North of England.  I remember wanting to go to the Cumberland Pencil Company (makers of Derwents) to do a tour of the factory.  Unfortunately, when we arrived it was closed.  I must have been pretty disappointed because I can still remember the time.

So, when Neil and I decided to go to Cumbria for an overnight trip, I decided we had to go to Keswick and to the Cumberland Pencil Factory.  It turns out that when Neil was a lad, he loved “Derwents” too, although he only had a set of 12 and admitted to severe pencil envy of anyone who had a set of 72.  Arriving in Keswick, we found that the Cumberland Pencil Factory, while it is still in existence, was no longer in Keswick but in its place was a Pencil Museum!  Being the nerds we are, we spent hours discovering how coloured pencils are made, and we thoroughly enjoyed it; more “Derwents” than we had ever seen!

Of course, we also tested out a few pubs along the way….

The Bitter End is in the interestingly named town of Cockermouth.  Like the name implies it’s at the mouth of the Cocker River.  It is also famous for being where Wordsworth and Fletcher Christian were educated. The pub is off the main road opposite one of the many Churches. Very pleasant inside; not too Olde Worlde but comfortable and small with a nice atmosphere.  I imagine it would be a great pub after a long winter’s day of trekking in the nearby hills.

The Pub has its own brewery “The Bitter End Brewery” as well as serving Jennings Cumberland Ale, which is the local Cumbrian beer.  The Bitter End Brewery beers are: Lakeland bitter; Lakeland Golden and Lakeland Honey.  Neil was obligingly given a taste of all of them and settled on the Lakeland Golden, which he seemed to enjoy immensely as he had sworn off beer since drinking to excess in the US of A.  The lagers were Peroni, Becks and Fosters.  No Guinness!  There was a small selection of wines by the glass, mainly European and Sth. American.

For dinner, I chose Cumberland sausage with mash, which came with sweet onion marmalade.  Neil chose fish and chips but substituted the mushy peas for regular peas.  Why you would want to mush peas and present them for eating is beyond our understanding.  We were very impressed with the food; it was delicious and served steaming hot with a side of vegetables, enough for both of us.

I would highly recommend the Lakes District to visit, even if you aren’t obsessed with pencils.  The scenery is picture perfect and if you need a good meal, a nice beer and a pleasant evening, look no further than The Bitter End.

Applejack Diner: June 2011

Early Sunday morning; Midtown Manhattan; Broadway & 55^th; Applejack Diner; no better place to be!  Order coffee & pancakes; add some turkey bacon rashers, even if you are a closet vegetarian and you are set for the rest of the day.

Coffee is coffee at a New York Dinner; good, hot & strong and plenty of it.  No decisions need to be made for a Flat White; a Latte; a Cappuccino; full milk; skinny milk; cup; mug, etc etc etc and all the other pretentious nonsense needed when ordering a coffee in Auckland, Melbourne or even London. 

Why can’t we just ask for coffee and get coffee in other parts of the world; in fact you don’t even have to ask for it in New York, it just arrives.  In a New York Dinner, coffee is coffee; common coffee, socialist coffee in the midst of a den of capitalism.  Who was responsible for the pretentious nonsense of forcing people to make nebulous early morning decisions about the type of coffee they want to drink.  I bet it was those marketing people that invade our lives.  In New York, finding a large, skinny, soy latte in a mug is as rare as a copy of “Das Kapital” in a corporate library (unless you go to Starbucks).  Drinkers should control the means of consumption. 

I’m going to move to Manhattan and live above the Applejack Diner, just so I don’t have to make a decision in the early morning about what sort of coffee I want to drink.  The only decision needed at the Applejack Dinner is how much maple syrup you can be bothered to pour on your pancakes.

If you are walking home along Broadway after a big night out, walk up to 55^th and take a seat at the Applejack Diner; you wont regret it and it’s open 24hrs a day, 7 days a week.

Raffles Hotel

I hadn’t seen Suzy for three weeks but chanced upon her in Singapore; she going one way, me the other.  So, when in Singapore where should one seek a cleansing ale and convivial entertainment, why Raffles of course!

Located within an easy walk of our Hotel (thanks Qantas) Raffles requires no explanation, suffice to say that the thirties are alive and well within its walls and even some of the patrons appear to have been there for just as long.  No doubt musing about life over a Singapore Sling or three.

We loved the motorized Punkawallah in the Long Bar (at least I assumed it was motorized; I didn’t see any Wallahs); every home should have one.

The astute reader will note that absence of glassware on our table; that’s because we are still budget travellers and drinks are half the price across the road in the food court!  Still, it was let’s pretend for a while.  Should we ever have an expansive budget, then a week or two at Raffles would be a delight.  Raffles is not a Hotel it is an institution and we wouldn’t mind being institutionalized there at all.

The (Royal) George

This Public House is located about as far away as you can get from Bourne End.  In fact, if you keep going in the same direction as you did to get to “The George” from Bourne End, you would get back to where you started from and it would be the same distance (almost).  Yes, “The George” is located in the Antipodes and on a recent trip home, we could not help but stop by for a cleansing ale or three.

“The George”, or The Royal George if you want to stand on ceremony, purports an eclectic mix of Australian colonial architecture, urban gastronomy & country hospitality; R.M.Williams meets Jamie Oliver.  However, according to “Your Restaurant Guide” – The Royal George Hotel, a remnant from Ballarat’s Gold Rush era, was little more than a dank drinking hole until two years ago”.  We have taken umbrage to that statement as we have enjoyed ourselves at this establishment for many years on visits to Kyneton and didn’t find it dank at all; a drinking hole it might have been but that was part of it’s charm.

However, it has recently undergone a second refurbished and it is now under new ownership.  Nevertheless, we looked forward to revelling in the 30 degrees heat, drinking ice cold beer and eating the local food.

We arrived and had a round of pricey drinks and considered the menu.  Unfortunately, there was more Ritz than Jamie Oliver in the food and drink prices and we decided to search elsewhere in Kyneton for that country hospitality; there is a wide choice.  The fact that Mike’s arm rest came away from his chair (still broken 3 months later - ed) and the dining room hung with assorted electrical wiring yet to be affixed, must have meant that the food would be outstanding, as way of compensation; we had no burning desire to find out.  No tap beer, just bottles which we thought was an unnecessary piece of pomp & circumstance.  Looks can be deceiving; this is not a country pub anymore but a venue for visiting gourmands from the City and good luck to them.  The lone diners in the restaurant and their shiny Bentley out the front said it all. 

12000 miles is a long way to travel for the pleasure of dining at the newly refurbished “George” and we are yet to do so; we will when they fix the chairs & the wiring and return some of that country hospitality.  However, I did like the AGA in the back bar; a touch of English country kitchen, Jamie Oliver style.

The Flower Pot

We were swapping pub stories over Christmas lunch and Chris suggested we visit “The Flower Pot” in a village called Aston!  (Suzy’s family name).  According to Google Earth; “Aston is a hamlet near the Berkshire bank of the River Thames.  There is a charming old fashioned pub called 'The Flower Pot Hotel' in Ferry Lane which has a slightly unnerving collection of stuffed & mounted prize freshwater fish caught locally in the River (sic)” With a recommendation and a write up like that, we decided to drive over and have a drink or three and spot of lunch.
 

However, we arrived at the same time as a load of Ramblers ( ie elderly people dressed in anoraks & big boots often found hiking the walking paths or sitting in pubs and known for their militancy) who charged in and immediately lined up single file at the bar; the line stretching out the front door.  With only one barman taking drinks & food orders; it was a thirsty time for me waiting in line to have our order taken.  When in Rome…  I could see the funny side and was tempted to take a photo.  I wondered how they would fare if they wanted to get a drink at the RNZYS bar after Wednesday night racing.  Served us right for going to the pub on a Monday when we should have been at work like everybody else.

Food was classic pub food at London prices plus specials.  The food was OK to good; tasty but small portions for the price although Suzy had ribs (again) which turned into a case of “Olhos são maiores que estômago”.  (translate this Tammy!)  Lots of desserts including Spotted Dick which Neil was tempted to try but being unsure of it’s ingredients, selected sticky date pudding instead.  The Pub is a Brakspears Pub so plenty of Brakspears variety and including:  Wychwood Hobgoblin, a malty taste; Brakspears Bitter; Brakspears ”Oh to be Joyful” & Ringwood New Forest.  The standard lagers were available:  Guinness, Stella, San Miguel, Fosters, Gold cider, Carling.

Plenty of stuffed animals and fish on the walls including a can of Tuna in a glass case; presumable not stuffed.  We thought this was just there so some unsuspecting tourists like us would ask the publican why they had a can of tuna in a glass case on the wall; but we didn’t.  We did manage to find a live specie of animal in the Pub but it didn’t look particularly happy; perhaps it could see its future, up on the wall.  There was a proper fire place burning proper logs the size of tree trunks.

The “Flower Pot” has a large beer garden where on a sunny summer Saturday afternoon would be heaving with people.  Fire up that GT6 Chris, when we get a sunny day and we’ll meet you there!  The river is just down the road and the pub has a wharf that may just fit “Antiope”; although it would be a disappointed person that was balloted for the essential anchor watch.

The Walnut Tree

“It was a dark & stormy night”; not quite; it was broad daylight but we had had a heavy snow storm the day before and been stuck in the house for most of the morning.  A frozen & then burst water main had shut off the village water supply and panic buying at the village grocery store had resulting in only a few tins of SPAM and some stale crumpets left on the shelves.  Suzy expected to go to work but thanks to the sterling efforts of the BAA to remove snow at LHR, was told by QF to stay at home for a further four days.  Consequently, we did what any self respecting Aussies would do; donned all the warm clothes we possessed and headed off under a faltering sky to the pub for an afternoon of cabin fever suppressant.

“The Walnut Tree” is actually just up the road from our place in Bourne End and we could have run there in our underpants but given that the wind chill was about -8c, that idea could have resulted in serious consequences; (& we are not that sort of people).  Once there, we had to substantially disrobe anyway as the inside temp was more than warm & toasty, but very welcome none the less.

The pub is quite old, probably dating from the time of Cromwell & his merry men.  The current décor is a mix of your Grandmothers lounge room and a Transport Café; at least the fire was roaring and a real wood fire at that, and not a forest in sight (see “The Feather”). 

We were the only people in the place, as it was before midday, but at least it was open for business (see “The Feather”).  At the appointed hour, the place suddenly filled with locals, no doubt all having had a similar idea (ie they didn’t like SPAM & crumpets either) or it could have just been the Rugby broadcast live on the big screen in the bar.(we had no idea who was playing but it wasn’t Australia and/or New Zealand).

There was a range of pub food available and it all looked pretty good.  We went for the BLT toasted sandwiches; I forewent my vegetarian principles, yet again, for some animal protein to ward of the cold.  The pub is a tied House ie not a Free House, so the range of ales was limited or so I understand the way it is with English Public Houses.  Consequently, the following are available; Bitter beers: Abbotts; St Edmonds Light Ale; Green King IPA and lagers; the ubiquitous Fosters; Stella & Becks all on tap or in bottles and also Guinness and Strongbow Cider.

I made the mistake of ordering drinks at the bar in an Australian accent and was immediately inundated with questions about where I came from & what I was doing in Bourne End; all in the nicest possible way of course.  We had a number of lively discussions with fellow patrons about innumerable subjects and by that time it was 3.30pm in the evening; (we knew it was the evening because the sun had set) so we made our way back to the house dressed like polar explorers as the pale streetlights reflected off the glistening ice & snow.  The water was back on, but no sign of any food delivery trucks.  We will be back there soon, it’s a pleasant place to be.

The Feathers

“Did you arrive by car or are you just a walk up” the barman asked us as we stomped into the Public House looking cold and all in mud covered boots.  “People who arrive by car usually make a reservation”, said the barman without any prompting from us.  Not understanding the logic we meekly requested a table anyway and were shown a pleasant setting in a sunny nook away from the fire side.  It was a sunny day, at last, after a week of snow and ice and we welcomed the pale warmth of the sun.  Unfortunately the open fire wasn’t lit; “we’ve run out of wood” explained the barman.  Further unfathomable logic as this PH is located on the edge of an expansive forest.

Suzy & I with my brother Kim (in London for the weekend) had trudged up the hill from Bourne End through frozen paddocks and pathways strewn with fallen leaves.  We had arrived a little early, midday being the appointed hour of opening.  Seeing the lights on but nobody home, we peered through the small framed windows and a face peered back with an accompanying gesticulating finger which we understood to mean; “kindly take a seat in the comfortable outdoor furniture we have graciously provided and we will open shortly”.  We did as suggested and at a few moments to 1200hrs, the car park suddenly filled and the persons who had “arrived by car”, and they all filed inside.  By the time we got organised and got in the door, the place was full to overflowing.

We ordered drinks and then food after I had read the papers and Suzy & Kim explored the rest of the pub.  The food came promptly and was excellent, if significantly overpriced, in our view.  Suzy & Kim had Ham Hock terrine with piccalilli and I had a tasty Parsnip soup with crusty bread.  The bar is a large oak construction with carved features and with a brass top.  Bitter beer served is Rebellion Smuggler, Rebellion IPA, London Pride and lagers are; Heineken, Becks, Peroni, Bulmers Cider and of course Guinness.  We noted that a bottle of Stoneleigh pinot was selling for £18.95 (NZ$39.70)!

The Feathers PH is located opposite the main gate of Cliveden, the stately home frequented by Christine Keeler & Mandy Rice-Davies in the days of yore, and who were among the main players in the “Profumo Affair”, a real life MI5 espionage scandal from the sixties; not that that has any relevance on the current quality of the ale or food; and is about as relevant as Enid Blyton living next door to the Spade Oak (and you always wondered where she got her inspiration from).

In retaliation for the barman’s supercilious attitude upon our arrival, Kim told him that he had blocked the loo (no malice intended, must have been the Qantas food).  The barman received this important piece of information with the disdain it deserved and we promptly left after paying.

The Feathers is a comfortable but pricey (for us) PH with an expansive outdoor area.  It also has a pleasant upstairs area provided you remained seated or are very short.  There are a few really nice nooks scattered throughout.  This PH would be perfect on a warm summers afternoon and we must go back there (if they’ll let us in) when we can afford it, or somebody we know turns up with an expense account.