Reviews | Martin O Regan

Mind the step

Posted on July 13, 2013 by martinoregan • 0 Comments

Down the steps running in off Trinity Street, Cambridge, lies The Vaults Bar and Restaurant. I was a little unnerved to begin with. Whereas cellar bars are a norm in Budapest, in England, much like Ireland, I imagine such places to revolve around pain, torture, or pehaps even deviant sexual pleasure. Being with Tara meant I wasn’t up for that sort of exploration.
As it offered a chef’s special, 2 courses for a tenner, I was game, and with Tara weighing in my arms I had grown disinterested in prowling for a better place.
A bar to the left, restaurant to the right, at the bottom of the stairs, I chose the former being as there were cosy chairs for my sleepy beauty.
Though she fought heroically in resisting fatigue it is only because she is sleeping now that I’m managing this.
Right. Starters were varied and I chose a potted crayfish with toasted bread. I say toasted bread rather than toast because the bread itself is worth a mention to the good. The crayfish, however, set in a ramikan much like a goose liver paté, fat congealed on top – the disappointment came in the heavy handed approach towards the pickle mixed in. This struck me as a dish made by someone who delighted in the idea of fish while not wholly liking the taste. A whiskey-coke drinker comes to mind.
The main was a goat cheese salad with strips of red peppers, sun-dried tomato, rocket salad and that curious brown sauce which is not quite YR nor chocolate but could pass for both at a distance. It won back points for both simplicity and taste. Goat cheese and sun-dried tommy-toes…the job!
Served on tap was a cider I didn’t try and a bitter, Eagle, which I did.
The service was professional, experienced, and within the realm of friendliness which, considering my initial douts/fears about the establishment down the steps, is a positive.
In summary, in the way of bar-restaurant tradition which has come to signify the turn of the new millenium, it slots in unobtrusively, but perhaps would never stand out, not in my own imagination at any rate*.
Whether or which, Tara is still out for the count and I’m considering another pint while feeling the pressure of a full bladder. But unlike the beer, Martin isn’t bitter!

©TheHairyTeacher2013

*http://www.thevaults.biz/

Inn for one or two

Posted on July 12, 2013 by martinoregan • 0 Comments

The Star Inn, Bridge Street, Bishops Stortford, claims hostelry back almost 400 years, and like a lot of this quaint town 9 minutes out of Stansted on the track to London, it is kitted out in the flavour of authenticity. Not that there is any need to doubt its credentials and yet I’m drawn to Trigger’s brush in Only Fools and Horses*. That said I have managed as is the norm to get a rickety table, indoors this time, and while there is a spacious beer garden, a tired child and an overdose of sun down by the paddling pool, have us nestling in a shadey recess: though in truth pressed up to the street facing window, and while Tara snoozes I have time to take in the people and the accents, not all of which are local.
Lunchtime deal of 1 meal for 6.95 but 2 of the same for 8 is hooking some. I for my part have been pressed to request strawberries from the barmaid, and while only for cocktails, she bends over backwards ( I wish;)) to supply us with a bowl.
Having done Cambridge last week I must say I’m much more impressed as, with child in tow, I can traverse the town in short distances. There is a paddling pool in the park, and a kickass playground all within a lazy stone-thrower’s toss away. How I’m going to tell Tara we can’t return to the playground when she awakes I’m still pondering but for now, here, a John Smith’s to hand, chatter hidden away from me, a bit of mellow music, and sunshine abounding, I am L’Homme Heureux! Essentiellement!

*http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s1VNNbSYdt0 (forgive the editting!)

©TheHairyTeacher2013

Better than the sliced pan-ini (Cafe Panini)

Posted on June 27, 2013 by martinoregan • 0 Comments

Along the streets I struggled, a groginess lingering two days on from festivities in the Belgian beer department, though I suspect the dregs I downed later were really to blame. Me and sense*, certainly not the best of bedfellows after alcohol’s been imbibed.
I passed a cafe still in the making it’s sign chancing at irony I guessed: Sunshine Cafe read the sign on the outside above steps which led to the bowels of the earth. “Good luck there” I thought.
Finally, in a twist and turn rhythm which would have seemed patterned to anyone observing, which indeed it had been, I ended up quayside on the corner with Cafe Panini.
First impression: welcoming, and with panini specials on the weekly menu this certainly seemed up to its name. In fact everybody I spotted on entering was eating something freshly cooked to the point that when I ordered a coffee and croissant I felt a little like the one who’d just ordered the plastic flowers.
The coffee, long as is my style, lingered and certainly was good. The croissant, heavy on pastry, lacked, as many in Hungary do, the buttery edge I’d grown accostumed to in Paris, and Douglas, Co. Cork.
But for dippage it was perfect collecting coffee up between the layers, without too much crumbling to create a pastry caffeine sludge.
Yes, yes. My name is Martin and I am a dipper and have been for as long as I can remember. My clearest first memories are Maxwell House and Custard Creams, cheap granulated coffee and biscuits (cookies, keksz) just in case you were wondering!
So in a nutshell, a pleasant environment, and popular in that there seems to be a collection of colourful folk, artsy, studenty, but maybe the film buses across on the key may have something to do with this. I hope not. This place should always be like this, and when those ‘bledy’° buses move there’ll be a good view of the river across to Margit’s Island as well as her bridge.
My advice: come for a coffee and stay for a day.
*”Sense and I” is the grammatically correct usage!
° Bloody

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©TheHairyTeacher2013

Dotty for Coffee (Pöttyös)

Posted on June 26, 2013 by martinoregan • 0 Comments

On the intersection of Medve and Vitéz down in the second district this a colourful little chappy. The name itself arranged haphazardly above the entrance does little to convey the professionalism but a lot to carry the mood. A small counter is neatly stuffed with pastries and sandwiches with other oddities surrounding. A stairway winds its way up into the humble darkness but though tempting a snug in the clutches of winter, summer, even if Irishy at the moment of writing, beckons to the outdoors. Like two sentries, tables await left and right on exiting while a step out, under the shade of an impressive tree (name pending) which marks this corner distinctly, finds one in a cluster of more. Optimistic on those colder days, on any other day, or even wrapped up, the outside seating is the place to be. As the Norwegians say: there’s no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing!

©TheHairyTeacher2013

All things culinary (Culinaris)

Posted on June 25, 2013 by martinoregan • 0 Comments

An English breakfast sounded tempting and at half the price of the expat pubs I wasn’t expecting miracles, though hoping nonetheless.
Up till that point Culinaris was a chance to buy good or “rarely found in Hungary” food at a price that would leave you feeling like after a date in prison.
My first encounter had been through winning a 10000huf prize in a sudoku competition, back when ten was still considered money, but recently I hadn’t dared. Imagine if I saw something at a price I couldn’t afford. Well I’d probably have found a pub nearby and drank my wishes away.
This time I was determined and yet not surprised when a very big plate, or very small portion, arrived.
A ramekin full of baked beans. Perhaps better than the alternative bed of beans that one gets back home, the other home.
A rasher in the full, not streaky, sense.
A fried egg ; and the pièce de résistance, the sausage. A skinny affair if all be told but definitely a tasty morsel, unlike another expat haunt I could mention where you’d be waiting for Godot for a decent breakfast sausage.
A few cuts off a baguette dropped almost haphazardly off to one side finished off the presentation.
What had I been expecting and yet getting two for a price still less than the expat pubs meant it was a comparably good deal, if boxing to that weight division. I wasn’t so it’s doubtful that I’ll be running back, but as the only Culinaris I know that offers the cafe to the side, it’s definitely somebody’s cup of tea.

©TheHairyTeacher2013

Cock of the Walk (Kakus Plusz)

Posted on June 24, 2013 by martinoregan • 0 Comments

Location location location.
This is the place to be downtown on the edge of work, sun shining and the allsorts passing. If ever a backdrop seemed forced, much like Hollywood highway chase scenes did till I lived in Greece, this place will dispel all doubt. Sitting in the sun my arm scorched off and yet a stripey cardigan donned I write with no intention to compliment this place. It’s a drinking den nothing more but at that it’s perfect. C’est tous. C’est fini!
http://www.kakaspresszo.hu/

©TheHairyTeacher2013

The Province of Taste ( Levendula )

Posted on June 23, 2013 by martinoregan • 0 Comments

Up in the 12th, a climb if you’re on for it, is where to find the lovely Levendula. An owner that’s renowned for his alcohol intake, and an interior that’s black, and maybe because of paint, this is one of those places that’s not pretty but is nearly perfect. You don’t come here for fine dining or for beer served up in a clean glass but if you’re one of those let the heights deter you. For the atmosphere adventurers there is something about this place, accessible by either 112 or 102 bus from the city, the former runs right the way through Pest while the latter comes up from Széll Kálmán tér to its terminus hereabouts before continuing on its loop around, and both stop just outside the door.
Its point, beyond the characters than adorn the place all year round, is the garden. A balmy spot offering shade on the hillside it is also only a few stops short of a fabulous viewpoint if one continues up along the 112 bus route.
Not a place for run-of-the-mill connoiseurs, it is certainly a place for off-the-beaten-track troubadours, and when you find it remember to tell your doubts:
I told you so!

©TheHairyTeacher2013

The Don

Posted on May 29, 2013 by martinoregan • 0 Comments

On Mészáros utca, in the 1st district, there lies a pizzeria of some renown, Don Francesco by name. and it was to this place I did find myself arriving having disembarked the 105 bus just outside its door, or as good as.

Of course, as is the order of my quest I went in search of the margherita pizza. Well, let me tell you it has a certain herbie good taste with slices of real(!) tomato adorning the top. It certainly had its appeal, but on an empty stomach much can be deceptive. In truth it had all the finery necessary for a good margherita pizza but not for a great one. I scoffed it down nonetheless, and released my tastes buds to a drop of red wine, the selection here being varied: the good, the bad, and the ugly. I got the plain:)

Downstairs at the entrance, where I took up temporary residence, it was much like a fastfood diner while upstairs there was the more restauranty feel, the ambience intended by the recommendation I had been given. Ah, but they really didn’t know me. Tucked away late afternoon in the solitude of a dimly lit recess was not my style. I crave life and with the comings and goings of the take-away people I had material with which to work.

The service was quick and friendly, if a bit subdued or maybe it was that I was expecting something which I hadn’t even put words nor image to. Was I being unreasonable? Probably. It was Poetry Day and I was off to a book launch and somehow that had me feeling important.

Overall: The pizza gets a 7/10 while the atmosphere restaurant-wise is yet to be seen. Weekend nights upstairs must surely be different to late Thursday afternoons by the entrance. As for its location: easy in and out of town, just off the 105 bus stop either way.

Most definitely poplular with the locals for takeaway and, as has been my experience in the past, any place the locals go to is a place to be, unless it includes a length of rope, a gallows, or an arena and some freely prowling lions.

Don Francesco’s could be a single man’s teatime and chat, or a family’s mid-week treat, and with all the potential upstairs I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the young folk would venture in at weekends enthralling first dates with their understanding of Italian and economising in the process.

For dessert I had Madártej fagyi (an ice-cream of sorts) which was a tasty affair and just to take the edge off my criticism concerning friendliness I was given the cup and saucer in which it came for free.

A thought has also struck me:

What if all those serious faces are not indicative of general grumpiness but rather of pained attempts by locals not usually exposed to foreigners trying to speak Hungarian to understand what I am saying. Maybe I’ve mistaken their concentration face for a moody one! Stranger things reputedly have happened.

Arts and drafts

Posted on May 28, 2013 by martinoregan • 0 Comments

I missed the opening of an exhibition here at Jurányi arts centre, on the street of the same name, recently and frankly if I had turned up and there hadn’t been free wine I may just have thrashed the gaff. Now the drawings were good as far as chalk on wall goes but I wouldn’t call it an exhibition: a drawing exhibited, but not warranting the whole nine yards. Unless there was free wine!

Well, anyway, inside this old school building, well preserved as it is, there is a passageway down beyond the entrance. Turning right and following the coloured lines one will find the gallery, the exhibition area, but more importantly the cafe/bar.

On offer there is a selection of sandwiches, tasting as if just unwrapped from their plastic packets, cakes tempting to the sweet-toothed, and the remaining array of drinks you’d expect of any cafe.

Tucked inside the building one does get a feeling, what with hard chairs and checked tiled floors, that this could be canteeny, but being in the heart of an old school that doesn’t sound too shocking. There has been an attempt to brighten things up with the trademark colouring not only on the corridor floor but on the programs, almost inconspicuously placed about.

It is clean and there are even a few more comfortable sofa but what makes this place may be the view to the street or the courtyard or the chance to eavesdrop on artists’ conversations, but if like me you can’t speak Hungarian very well the former option is not enough. It doesn’t lack in offers: a lunchtime menu exists with soup, sandwich, salad choices, but for a person who craves atmosphere it is a bit of a let down.

Perhaps it’s the quiet before the storm; a festival event is scheduled for two hours from now. Perhaps it’s Friday. Perhaps it’s the hum of the fridges, the rain starting outside. All factors accounted for I ‘d say this place is a handy option in out of the bustle this side of town when bars and chain cafes aren’t your thing. It could grow on me as an escape from the crowd but for now I must go in search of that very thing.

Paradicsom-os

Posted on May 27, 2013 by martinoregan • 0 Comments

The fact that the Hungarian word for tomato and pardise (paradicsom) are the same could indicate a reverence paid by the Magyars to this simple fruit ( or is it a veg?). Nevertheless tomato isn’t something I’d usually associate with a chocolaterie and yet here I am, still uncertain.

Hidden away a little off the synagogue in a passageway between buildings, joining Károly körút with Semmelweiss utca, this place could easily be overlooked and yet the Tripadvisor has been and gone. It presents itself up front as all sweets and coffee: the glass casing at the counter filled with little treats and ice-cream scoops, while behind, the caffeine cardinals lie in wait. Along shelving scattered here and there, there are other curiosities, bottles of spices, bags of chocolate buttons, and other such marvels. It’s almost chemistry, even alchemy, and now as I sit here ruminating the paradicsomos csoki teaser I’ve just recently indulged in is resurrecting in the aftertaste whispering sweet nothings to my soul…a taste of more for sure, though I think I may resist in favour of sanity. Already the odd rush of a strong coffee coupled with the overtures of cocoa and tomato have me screaming of the tragedy of man.

A pleasant retreat it’s hard to imagine the bustling junction some twenty metres away and in the heart of the fifth district, come tourist time this little haven may indeed become one’s salvation in an escape from the heat and the hordes.

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