A taste of Italy

A taste of Italy

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A lunchtime menu attracted me to this place seeing as its reputation precedes it in terms of price. And yes, while the main courses begin in the high 2000s and soar it’s the drink that’ll catch you. The only red in glass is a generous 650huf per “deci” (100ml/10cl) while the water is even pricier. Still, prepared for that, I wanted to enjoy this. Then what of it?

The place is pristine and service implied. The only fault early on was a horrible buzzing made by the air-conditioning. It was turned off on request, if somewhat reluctantly. Silver trays serve as place mats and the whole thing is too Upstairs-Downstairs (or Downton Abbey) for my liking. The cutlery is set up with the intention of being worked through, and the serviettes are folded and propped. Not a place I’d bring my daughter – the bull in the china shop image prevails, though the rebel heart would almost delight.

I imagine regaling her future husband with what may, or may not, be an embarrassing story. If she’s truly my daughter she wouldn’t bat an eyelid. Beneath her such finery would be, but not beneath me it would seem.

The waiter was a friendly chap, verging on a professional courtesy, but he engaged, held eye-contact, and played his part unobtrusively. He knew we were there for the menu!

Coming then to the food. On first impressions I saw only average – presentation aside – and in taste I felt that while competitive, it wasn’t high end as the prices would suggest. Okay so I had the menu of minestrone soup, a main course with pork, fried potatoes, and a ragu sauce, which could explain the simplicity, but my partner’s pasta, while certainly tasty, was only that. In fact it was the sauce that saved it. Maybe we were expecting too much, but it seemed overly simple considering the prices. That the ingredients are fresh is a given – this is the stronger selling point, I imagine, and on this note I’d have to conclude that overall it was worth the experience.

Nevertheless I do, with bias, think Andi could have made as good, if not a better, job at home. And perhaps this is not really a criticism as it is in Italian culture to love home-cooking anyway.

Finally, dessert was a caramel cream pudding with an alcohol twist. Tasty but the chocolate sauce was too buttery. Ahh, what the heck! A good destination for the menu but if intent on good Italian food in the city I suspect there could be better.

http://www.ristorantekrizia.hu/

©TheHairyTeacher2013

To pin it down

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What can be said about Anker klub, in the köz of the same name, in the up and coming hubble and bubble that is the rejuvenated 7th district, Király environs, can be said of many of the other student frequented, minimalist decor, pub/eateries in the city.

Like a good Hollywood romance there is a template – variables in this case being but location and size. Each one defines itself as unique but each one finally succumbs to being a rehash of an original which in the pubs’ case may amount to Castro, Madach tér, but I’m not sure.

What then can I say of Anker in particular? Service is suspicious, almost unfriendly, but that follows the templates of these moody studenty gaffs all across the city.

The food when cooked well is of a reasonably good quality – I would serve it to my child if she hasn’t gnawed too much table already – but the standard is again inconsistent. Some days cooked well with complementing presentation, other days one would have to wonder as to the mentality of a person who would even dare to serve up burnt sausage as done.

Prices are learning towards city centre but a Brunch menu does seem generous. One quib – in the drinks choice of this set menu, coffee or tea is not on offer. The cynic in me sees the catch: 1650huf (at weekends/ 1250huf weekdays) for drink, main, and dessert, plus the added expense for a basic coffee. Still it is value for money provided the chef is firing on all cylinders.

A spacious affair, venting exposed, it certainly has the lived in feel. Not quite ruin pub but leaning there. In all worth a shot and its location is everything except on a sunny day! That is, unless you like the shade.

 

©TheHairyTeacher2013

Stone free or stone mad!

Stone free or stone mad!

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Up in the hills which comprise the 12th district the Stone Kávézó Söröző is run of the mill. Modern decor, indicative of youth-club culture, its strength is it’s at a transport hub, where the 112 and 102 bus terminus cojoin.

With a Tesco in proximity, looming in fact above the eyeline, the cafe itself offers street life, quiet-suburb style.

It is a cosy affair with prices that won’t make one feel like one of Fagin’s gang has just lightened your pockets and, considering the wealth of the neighbours, this comes as a relief.

There are a few things marked on the menu; though a list is provided, the majority are not priced, suggesting their lack. A meleg szendvics,a pizza, some beer, a chat – this place could work.

That I’ve never seen a crowd mid-week is typical of residential Budapest where families stay at home. As for the weekends, that’s up to you. Personally, I wouldn’t make the trek up here if it were just for this, but that I have to has allowed me the opportunity, and yes, I can imagine sitting here pre- or post- class as the weather warms up- pondering- as to what – that remains to be seen.

https://www.facebook.com/kavezosorozo.stone

 

©TheHairyTeacher2013

 

Everybody’s place

Everybody’s place

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Martin’s Bistro in the 2nd district is not only a pleasure by namesake (not The Hairy Teacher!) but also by service. The staff is pleasant and professional. The menu is user-friendly with a compact choice, and a surprising number of fish dishes considering.

The location is questionable, tucked away as it is and, by fact, a failed spring board for previous businesses with the same culinary ambitions. Still, having got there the reward was awaiting.

The dish I chose was grilled wild salmon with creamy garlic spinach and potato ravioli, cooked succulently, hinting at red to the centre…hmmmmm. What was more surprising was the tenderness of the steak which my girlfriend ordered (Argentine braised steak with roasted potatoes, grilled vegetables and fried onion sauce). It practically melted in the mouth, not an experience I’ve had much in Hungary when it comes to beef, especially steak.

The evening panned out perfectly with even the chill accompanying us on the homeward track endearing, so satiated were we.

Warning: the portions are not Hungarian Étterem in size but all the better to enjoy the taste and not just the gluttonyJ . As for the latter, for the month of February every Thursday is/was Torkos Csütörtök depending on when you are reading this), and so everything comes/came at half-price.

“I just love it when a plan comes together!” Hannibal Smith, The A-Team

Tempting Faith

Tempting Faith

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I traced the stained glass story of your deity.

Perched in a pew, any one will do

Therein lies the memories –

Of my youth.

No solace except in sentiment;

No solution, but I tried.

I mixed the colours, pastel, in my mind.

The angels promised heaven,

The “szents”, they sang a song

While Jesus, God, the Holy One,

Sent blessings from Anon.

I sat below, redundant,

Seeming new but still familiar

The light of day it shuffled in

And spoke in the vernacular.

“Like a Morgue” my cynic muttered

“To keep the soul preserved”

Still I’d rather the scent of churches

To any hospital ward.

I left my mind adrift

But nothing tangled,

Nothing bit –

The bait remained unused.

And so with geneflective ritual

I upped and crossed the threshold out…

Yet Solomon’s wife,

A seasoned statue –

Like this I turned that one last time.

The past in ruins, my faith collapsing,

I dared look back

The Library

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As of February this year I will be starting up a library section as part of my service and students are free to choose from a list which I will publish online and which I will then deliver to them at our next meeting. The books will include, mainly, fiction but there are also some course books and grammar books which I will be pleased to offer. A comprehensive list will follow shortly.

Thanks

Martin

There comes a time, not now.

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“The time for joviality –

 is lost,” he said with much hilarity

“I don’t believe a single word!

I’m much too used to your being absurd.”

He frowned and left me with a glance.

Such looks as born of bitter chance.

“I knew you couldn’t tolerate

The very things I had to say.”

But these last words they sadly fell

On his deaf ears – this I could tell;

Because he turned once more

And smiled

And left the distance separate –

The time

Leaving (not gladly)

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The relative stillness,

Almost deathly,

The waiting.

The big hand-

played  tricks

Gave more minutes;

Just a shadow

Or a battery low.

Yet time, itself,

Seemed weighted –

Even if it finally passed;

Those last few moments

Then seemed rushed,

As broken from the

Reverie.

Torn from the

Tender embrace.

Time and taxi whisked

Me away.

Tram Thoughts 2

Tram Thoughts 2

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Loosened by the draw of day
the sunlight passes,
dust paths flicker,
the hurdy-gurdy lumbering feels
of the rattle-worn-infested tram.
The noise of life enshrouds
the hiss, the fizz,
metallic rumbles:
the passing glory-questioning
and the silence of the cyclists.
The occasional move to rupture-
an all-intrusive noise surrenders,
for with the daily wear and tear
the idea lingers, the truth asunder.
Upon the steel; in driven poise
emerging, purging with each noise.
The pen clicks on,
the tram collides,
with the future as is present time.
The destination never reached
till when it is and darkness scours
the corners of the mortal weave
the soul is routed, then sent forth.
Aligned, laid flat, that final pose,
not matters then, the weed nor rose.
When stone shall mount and commemorate
and dirt and dust and weeds take flight.

Tram Thoughts

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As the tram light races along the track towards me,

The morning wraps its autumn chill around me:

I draw comfort from the little things –

My breath; a couple’s kiss;

A child’s questioning of a weary granddad,

enlivened, reawakened in his life by this, such youth.

As the tram passes on into the city,

Its bobbing on the tracks, my lullaby,

I feel the weighty eye-lids that I fight,

the chance to float away again consigned to night,

I persevere, with beauty all around…

Copyright © Martin O'Regan
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