Pancake Corona

Sometimes art sneaks up on you...appearing unexpectedly out of the most mundane of circumstances.

While cleaning up after a pancake breakfast yesterday, I absentmindedly fiddled with the little drops of cooked batter still stuck to the griddle, and ended up with this little sculpture...if you can call it that.

It reminded me first of the Coronas Australis and Borealis: near twin half loops of stars best seen on a clear summer night. Looking again it is a string of pearls that--if I give my imagination a real stretch--appears to recede infinitely into the dark oily tarnish of the griddle.

Guffaw if you like. I'm definitely not the first to explore the aesthetic side of this traditional breakfast fare.

Daddy Long Legs

I've already told you that the house Rob and I are sharing for the year is super cool.  I've set up a beautiful studio, have taken advantage of the extensive counter space and gadgetry available in the kitchen, and love the afternoons I'm able to curl up on the front porch with a good book and a cool drink.  From here it's only a five minute walk (or less) to the gym, the physics building, the college's observatory and planetarium, Oberlin's free art museum, the public library, and a host of restaurants that range from yer reg'lar ol' corner Subway to the trendy Feve (where--as a side note--last week I had the most delicious hamburger I've ever had in my life.  The burger itself was juicy and delectably flavorful. Topped with sun-dried-tomato pesto, chévre, lettuce, and tomato, it delivered an unforgettable burst of goodness to the taste buds).

One of the only problems I've confronted with this otherwise luxurious living arrangement, is that we have to share our space with an astonishing number of cellar spiders, or Pholcidae...more commonly known as daddy-long-legs. Just to be clear, the creatures we always referred to as "daddy-long-legs" while I was growing up (and swore possessed the most potent venom of the spider kingdom, and could kill you if their jaws were only big enough), were actually not spiders at all, but belong to an order of arachnids called harvestmen. The cellar spiders I run into here are gorgeously dainty, but hugely sprawling critters that build their messy webs in every possible nook and corner they can find...especially (and appropriately enough), in the cellar.

Whenever I go downstairs to do laundry or add newspaper to the recycling pile, I have to dodge clusters of webs on every stair corner and paddle my way through curtains of hanging silk that dangle languidly from the low ceiling.

Just the other day I had a more direct confrontation with one of these balletic beasts.  In order to prevent mildew, we've been asked to leave the front washer door open after every load. On this occasion I pulled back the handle and discovered the biggest specimen I'd yet encountered perched within a web that filled the washer's front opening. It's nice that these spiders are not particularly aggressive. I gently shooed this one away and, as he tiptoed off upon eight transparent willowy limbs, cleared away the remnants of his gauzy lair.

I suppose I should accept at least part of the blame for our infestation. As you may remember from my dealings with cockroaches in Evanston, I really dislike killing things...even those typically considered to be creepy and/or thoroughly disgusting. That I'm not a vegetarian (and so completely relished that hamburger the other night) is a glaring hypocrisy.

So far these spiders haven't caused me any real harm. I've even wondered from time to time what other pesky critters they may be keeping at bay. I suppose I'm getting used to our gangly neighbors. I'll just have to watch where I'm reaching and keep inspecting my shoes before putting them on.

Chocolate Redemption

Weeks ago, Rob and I were invited to have dinner at the home of one of Rob's colleagues.  We later confirmed the plans for tonight and offered to bring dessert.  In anticipation of this, we'd already gone by the store a few days ago and picked up the ingredients for Moosewood's incredible Vegan Chocolate Cake...yes, that's right: a vegan creation that's as delectable as any reg'lar chocolate cake you can dream up!  The recipe promised to be quick and simple--even better--so just for kicks, we decided to make it a double decker and use a chocolate orange glaze (a recipe found in Moosewood Restaurant New Classics) as both a filler between layers and a decorative mess on top.

We set to work early, passed the time in between around a scrabble board (I won by the way: 314 to 298:), and took a quick lunch break during which I whipped up a scrumptuous wild rice and sausage version of Dad's classic "Rice Stuff."  I think Rob and I both surprised ourselves by how well we collaborated on this little venture.  Rob was brilliant with his parchment-paper origami (parchment paper works REALLY well for getting cakes out of pans without anything sticking), and I turned out to be the master refiner of the fresh-orange-zest-infused bitter-chocolate glaze.  After a dusting of powdered sugar, and some attempted artsiness with our remaining orange slices, here is the result...

Don't worry...we'll also be bringing vanilla ice cream.  I guess that spoils its vegan-ness, but we worried our hosts might be overwhelmed by such a chocolatey monstrosity, and would appreciate a bit of tempering on the side.

I can't WAIT for dinner tonight!

Bits and Pieces

Yesterday I woke up early and made a killing at the local farmer's market. I loaded up on apples, exotic mini potatoes (check out the amazing selection below), swiss chard, broccoli, peppers, mushrooms and a cornucopia of heirloom plum tomatoes. The salad I made for myself last night was out of this world!

Sunrises for the last couple days have been cloudy and wet, but here's a nice shot I got yesterday mid-morning...shifting pockets of sunlight shimmering atop the water...

The American Brass Quintet is in town presenting a couple of concerts with members of the Chicago Chamber Artists. I first met the ABQ at the Aspen Music Festival during the summer of 1999. That was a great summer for me: I studied for the first time with Ray Mase (trumpet in the ABQ), won the brass concerto competition, got to perform my piece with the orchestra under the big music tent, and was a member of a great brass quintet coached by John Rojak (ABQ bass trombonist) that played regularly outside in downtown Aspen. A little over a year later I had transferred to Juilliard, where the ABQ is in residence, and got to work with all five of its members on a regular basis. Playing in a brass quintet became one of my favorite musical activities, and after my graduation in 2002 I continued to keep in touch with the ABQ; running into them a few times when they came to perform and teach in Utah. It was a thrill to see and hear them all again yesterday, and I can't wait for their concert tonight!

I feel privileged to have had so many great teachers all the way from grade school through the present, and wish to express my gratitude to all of them for their exceptional care and inspiration. Nothing quite compares to the influence a good teacher can have on a young life and I would not be here today without each of their contributions.

Mmmm...lemon!

So...you remember those incredible Red Velvet Gooey Butter Cookies I told you about a couple of months ago? Well, Rob and I had this great idea that we should try the same recipe but use a lemon cake mix instead, and OH MY GOSH they turned out so great!

I can't get over how easy they are either. One of these days I suppose I should try to make my own cake mix to use in the recipe so I feel like less of a cheater, but...nah! Why not just enjoy some easily achieved goodness now and then.

Saturday Schedule

9:00 am: roll out of bed, use the bathroom, get a drink of water...and go back to bed.

10:53 am: wake up (for reals this time) get a drink of water, get back in bed, and cuddle with Rob for a while.

11:12 am: make a smoothie--1 banana, 3 strawberries (frozen), 4 black berries (frozen), a handful of blueberries (frozen), a dribble of vanilla, a bit of OJ, and some milk--blend until smooth (and apologize to the neighbors under your breath for making such an ungodly racket on a Saturday morning)...get back into bed for more cuddling as you sip your smoothie.

11:26 am: pry yourself out of Rob's embrace and head back to the kitchen to make some cereal--1 cup of rolled oats, 1/2 cup of unsalted sunflower seeds, 1/2 cup of raisins, and milk...enjoy in bed as Rob dozes next to you.

11:36 am: shower, get dressed (hot little black dress? Why not:), and ready the trumpet stuff for practicing.

12:00 noon: practice--warm up to some AWESOMELY sweet high notes (go for that high F today!), kick some ass on the Plog Concerto, and paint your toenails during your practice breaks.

1:03 pm: grab the nifty hippie-ish purse that mom made for you, get in the car with Rob and drive down to the Ithaca Farmer's Market...

1:07 pm-whenever: ENJOY!!!

...load up on everything fresh and lovely (Oh yessssss!!! they have those little orange tomatoes!), and do your best to fit it all inside your massive hippie purse. Buy a compostable cup of that famous freshly-squeezed lemonade you've been craving since you were last here (more than a year ago), and snitch a bite...or two...or three...of Rob's hot-out-of-the-oven flatbread pizza...

Smile for a picture...

2:15 pm: decide you have enough stuff to make a delightful dinner and head back to the car, but make sure to stop for a couple minutes and take a photo of the beautiful Cornell campus...

2:23 pm: unload the booty! (and snitch some berries)

2:30 pm: check email, (snitch berries), check blog (ignore the stats page...and snitch some berries), and then make out with Rob for a good solid 20 minutes...

2:57 pm: make a grocery list of things you'll need to flesh out dinner tonight--pasta, garlic, bullion, olive oil--and to make pesto tomorrow--parmesan cheeze, pine nuts--(what else are we going to do with all that basil?) and head back down the hill to Wegmans (but not before snitching some berries on the way out the door...mmmmm!!!).

3:18 pm: wander aimlessly looking for the pine nuts until you finally give in and ask the nice young man in the green shirt where they are.

3:21 pm: wander aimlessly looking for the garlic, until you go back to the center aisle and consult that same nice young man...

3:24 pm: wander aimlessly looking for the bullion, until you have to go back and apologize to the nice young man for basically having to do ALL your shopping for you...but then at least you find the bullion.

3:32 pm: miraculously find one more interesting variety of bottled root beer for cousin Jessica's bottle cap collection: Maine Root

3:46 pm: drive home and vow that you won't buy ANY MORE FOOD for at least 3 days...well...maybe some Nutella if we run out of that.

4:15 pm: work on a blog post (I said IGNORE THE DAMN STATS PAGE!), curse about how much time you're wasting on this silly blog...and then keep writing 'cause you know you love it.

6:30 pm: finally acknowledge that you're hungry and head into the kitchen to assemble your masterpiece! Pour some olive oil in a pan, turn on the heat, chop the onions, add a generous portion of garlic, about a serving of bullion, drench with balsamic vinegar, and add slices of hot sausage. Ask Rob to take all the little stems off the tomatoes and slice them each in half until you've added the whole bunch of them to the simmering pot of savory goodness. Slice up a fresh red pepper and tear off some basil leaves...mmmm...what a smell! Let the pot stew as you cuddle with Rob sommore...

Lose track of the time...

When Rob finally admits he's hungry, put some water on to boil in a separate pot and add a little milk and water to the sauce. Toss the linguini into the boiling water and prepare a couple of plates for the impending feast.

Serve up the fresh, organic, home-made goodness and gloat--just a little--when you realize how incredible the meal turned out!

For the evening's entertainment, bring up a great episode of Star Trek TNG (Conundrum) on Netflix and savor every bite.

Finish off with a spoon-full of Nutella...well, ok, go ahead and have two BUT THAT'S IT!!!

Sacher-Torte

It has been the most beautiful day here in Graz--cool air underneath brilliant golden sunshine--it almost makes up for the near sleepless night I had last night trying to ignore the party that went on outside my door until 2:00 am (ugh! I am SO glad I don't live in a student dorm at NU!!!)

After this morning's dress rehearsal I was invited by another orchestra member (and fellow chocoholic) to sample an "Original Sacher-Torte" at the Sacher Hotel Cafe in the Graz Rathaus. Eddie, a violinist and, more recently, extra percussionist has played in the AIMS orchestra for the past 15 years and has a special affinity for the torte. He always makes a special point to have at least one slice each summer and was nice enough to let me tag along for this one.

The Sacher-Torte was originally conceived in 1832 by Franz Sacher, then a 16 year old apprentice chef, who saved the day when his master fell ill before an important dinner in the court of Prince Metternich. At the Prince's request he created a unique dessert--a dense chocolate cake with a layer of apricot jam in the middle covered in thick chocolate icing on all sides and served with unsweetened whipped cream--that delighted the evening's guests and secured him a place in culinary history. According to a pamphlet at the cafe, the Sacher-Torte has since become the "most famous torte in the world" and there is even an official Austrian holiday dedicated to it: December 5...mark your calendars!

Though imitations abound, and almost every family has their own secret version of the torte, there is only one bakery in Vienna that makes the true "Original." Here in Graz, daily shipments from Vienna arrive at the Hotel Sacher and allow residents to indulge their cravings without having to leave town.

Eddie is a real fanatic for Sacher-Torte. On one trip to Vienna, he went from cafe to cafe and sampled 6 different varieties to compare taste and quality (he says the "original" is still the best), and he even had two of the Hotel Sacher's largest tortes delivered as a groom's cake on his wedding day. He had faxed in the order just a couple days before the wedding hoping against all odds that there could somehow be an arrangement made. In the fax, he told them about his experience with the AIMS orchestra and how he always made a special trip to Vienna each summer specifically to eat one of their tortes. On the day of the wedding a large DHL box arrived from Vienna. It contained the two tortes and an invoice for $0.00! Can you believe such generosity? Ever since then he's delighted in spreading the good word about the Sacher-Torte and introducing more people to Austria's national dessert.

The Sacher Cafe is nestled in a little courtyard just inside the entrance to the Graz Rathaus. The ambiance is chic, but warm and casual in an afternoon-siesta sort of way which, along with the gorgeous weather, set up the ideal conditions for sampling the indulgent confection. Listening to Eddie's stories as we waited for our plates to arrive was a fascinating prelude and I think I was sold on the dessert even before taking a single bite.

That first bite however proved to be just as delectable as I'd hoped. The cake tends to be on the dry side, but with a hint of apricot moistness in the middle, thick, decadent, ganache-like frosting, and a compliment of real whipped cream, the combination was heaven for the taste buds. I'm not generally a cooked fruit fan and was a little worried I'd be dodging rubbery apricots to get at the good stuff, but the jam in the middle turned out to be more of an essence than a centerpiece and it's subtle tartness balanced nicely with the sweet intensity of the chocolate.

After learning about and experiencing the heritage of Mozartkugeln and now the Sacher-Torte, it's becoming clear to me that Austrians are pretty darn serious about their chocolate...yet another endearing thing about the country that I can add to my list of "Why I should try to come back to AIMS next summer."

Nach Salzburg

Isn't it just the way that when a big 4 day weekend comes along and you've got the whole of Europe beckoning to you with its arms wide, the weather turns suddenly cold and rainy and makes you feel like you should really just be curled up on a couch somewhere watching movies? Well, yesterday I somehow ignored that particular urge and took a 4 hour train ride through central Austria to meet up with some old friends in Salzburg. Pauline, a fellow AIMSer had asked a few days previous if it would be alright for her to come along as well, so together we braved our early morning alarm bells and set off for the train station.

Our trip through the countryside was breathtaking, despite of the low clouds that threatened to--and sometimes succeeded in--obscuring the view of the eastern Alps through which our route progressed. Pauline slept most of the way, but I couldn't pull my face off of the glass for even a second as the landscape rolled gently by...an unending sea of rolling green speckled here and there by flower-decked country houses and the odd castle perched atop a rise. It was next to impossible to get a good picture of any of it, but annoying reflections in the glass, the blur of foreground objects and vegetation, and the constant sway of our train car didn't stop me from trying...

At hour 2 my own eyelids started to droop and I found myself dozing in spite of the view.

When I woke up about 45 minutes later we were in a deep canyon flanked on either side by nearly vertical slabs of solid rock. The rugged but inviting evergreen slopes we had passed through earlier had given way to giants of stone that ruled over our narrow river valley like ancient kings. I craned my neck up against the window and could just barely see their tops, but even then, I imagined the true peaks were still hidden--soaring unimpeded behind the obscuring perspective of these initial walls. My memories of past Wasatch Mountain excursions overlaid themselves upon the behemoths surrounding me and--though grand and impressive in their own right--could not touch the enormity of the mysterious ancients that then filled my view. I found myself wishing I could venture out into this imposing wilderness, and if I plan any further trips while I'm here, a hike in the Alps is #1 on my list. There must be others here similarly inclined with whom I could collaborate on such an adventure...right?

As our train neared Salzburg the mountains diminished somewhat and the series of little rural hamlets increased and spread into a familiar pattern of suburban sprawl...while still retaining a cute Austrian flare to be sure. We got off the train and I immediately found my friends Audra, Matt, and Maggie (their 9 month old) waiting for us on the platform. I worked with Audra years ago when we were librarians at the International Music Camp in North Dakota, and since then have kept in touch via mutual blog watching. Her husband Matt is a trumpeter with the Air Force and they'll be living in Germany for at least the next 3 years (maybe more) as he fulfills his duties.

As soon as we exited the station Audra had a map out and gave us the rundown of what we'd be able to see and do in the short few hours we'd have to bum around. Thank goodness for her initiative too! In no time at all (well...with just a little minor shuffling of the map) we were headed down through the winding streets of town to the Residenz Platz where to hear one of Europe's only remaining authentic glockenspiels play at the stroke of 11.

Here is one of the charming little alleyways we passed along the way...

Most of the sights in old Salzburg are clustered around a central castle just across the Salzach River. There's an enormous copper statue in the center of Mozart Platz depicting the city's most famous historical resident...and yes, that would indeed be Mozart. We all took turns having our photos taken with his likeness and then moseyed over to the Dom Platz to watch the glockenspiel. The bells didn't actually start performing till...oh, about...6 or 7 minutes past the hour...and before they began chiming out their sweet little chorale we had almost given up and moved on to something else. I guess we should have figured that a little Italian time delay must have seeped up from Austria's neighbor to the south...

It was surprisingly difficult to orient ourselves and we spent the next little while looking at the map...then wandering in a promising direction for a while...till we noticed it wasn't so promising...and looking at the map again. It was about this time the rain started coming down. Fortunately we all had umbrellas (plus a nifty plastic stroller cover for Maggie) and managed to stay mostly dry, but the rain added a layer extra bother to our attempted map readings and our progress through the old town was slow.

This minor annoyance wasn't entirely bad, and during our meanderings we were treated to many interesting sights and sounds that we may have easily breezed over if our progress had been more efficient. For instance, the town is filled with sundials. Not the typical cement ones you usually see in city parks, but gorgeous painted murals on the sides of buildings with their gnomons fashioned from thin pieces of ornamental iron. Some were small enough to fit between two neighbor's windows (like the one you see to the left), while others took up the whole sides of buildings and were too big to fit within a single camera shot.

Salzburg is famous for the ornamental iron signs that overhang it's streets and add lively filigree to it's otherwise dark and narrow alleyways...

And...my favorite...yes, even in Salzburg!!!

(by the way, did you know you actually have to pay for those little ketchup packets you get with your fries...sheesh!)

On the Kapitelplatz there was a row of horse-drawn carriages lined up to give throngs of eager tourists old-fashioned and romantic rides around the city. I smiled when I noticed one of the drivers lovingly sharing an umbrella with his two stalwart steeds. The trio were huddled together like best friends while the rest of the drivers continued to scan the horizon for potential passengers and let their horses tough it out. Not that I'm criticizing--I'm sure rain isn't usually that big of a deal for these animals--I just thought this one driver's special care was heart-warming and couldn't resist taking a picture.

We saw a band of balalaika players strumming out classics underneath a protective overhang (have you ever seen a bass balalaika?!)...

...a pair of intensely concentrating men duking it out on a giant chessboard...

...and a completely terrifying sculpture (oddly entitled "Cloak of Peace") tucked away in a nearby corner. Dementor anyone? (shivvvvver!)

Finally we found an entrance to our next destination, Petersfriedhof: a cemetery that contains within its baroque arcades several generations of Salzburg's wealthy and most noble citizens and runs right up against a vertical rock wall out of which some extremely creepy catacombs had been hollowed. Michael Haydn is supposedly buried somewhere in here, but we weren't able to find him. It's centered around a lovely little gothic church and beneath nearly every tombstone (or fantastically ornamented iron grave marker) is a small well-maintained flower garden. It was certainly one of the least morbid or depressing graveyards I've visited and reminded me more of a cheerful backyard garden than a repository of the dead.

The catacombs are a completely different story.

Carved out from solid rock they hang above the garden cemetery like a primitive cell reserved for souls under some immortal quarantine. The dark and uneven staircase leading to the main chapels wasn't very stroller friendly, so Matt stayed down to mind the baby, and Audra and I ascended alone into the gloom (right after I banged my head on the low-hung door of the entryway despite its being plastered with WARNING! signs in many languages). I wasn't able to find much information about the structure except that it likely originated in the early days of the christian church. Off to the side of one of the chapels a large stone plaque was carved with roman numerals (as well as Rob could make out they give a date of 477 AD) followed by a long Latin text. Beneath it was a gaping rectangular hole in the rock...about, oh, 2' by 6'...where I'm assuming somebody's remains...umm...should have been?...creepy!!!

Because all of us are musicians the main goal of our visit was without question a visit to the Mozart houses. First up: The Birth House.

Although Wolfgang was recognized as a prodigy from an extremely early age, I still doubt that his extraordinary skills would have prompted his parents to so prominently advertise his birth with a gilded sign on the facade of their apartment...so that part must be a fairly recent addition. The museum within was interesting enough. We saw his first violin, a shock of his hair (medium reddish brown), the clavichord upon which he is said to have conceived "The Magic Flute," and (my favorite part) a large collection of stage setting models from various productions of his operas. Maggie had her diaper changed in one of the restrooms there--now there's some serious future bragging rights!

Later, we visited the house Mozart had shared for a time with his wife and children and saw more of his instruments (including a beautiful small organ), a number of family portraits, facsimiles of musical manuscript and personal letters, and the bolt gun and some (somewhat obscenely painted) targets he once used for leisurely sport shooting. The wohnhause was all but destroyed in WWII and had been subsequently rebuilt so although it felt more like walking around a modern-day apartment than "treading where Mozart once had," it was still enjoyable to imagine his day to day quotidian taking place there.

Though it was fun to see all of this, I came away with the slightly uncomfortable notion that Mozart's legacy in Salzburg has been far too commercialized and somehow cheapened. Inside the Mozart houses it was jam packed with noisy tourists clamoring to view the displays before making a mad dash into the gift shop to purchase little plastic figurines, t-shirts, or some version of the ubiquitous Mozartkugeln (marzipan filled chocolates) that fill the shelves of every restaurant and trinket store in the city.

I guess I can't claim to have been entirely immune from all the craziness either. I came to Salzburg with a mission to pick up a few of the ORIGINAL Salzburg Mozartkugeln to bring home for Rob who tried and fell in love with them years earlier while on a family vacation. The Mozartkugeln you see here in the fancy red packaging are industrially produced by Mirabell and are one of the many (and probably the most popular and widely distributed) imprecise knock offs of the original hand-made delicacy first produced in 1890 by master confectioner Paul Fürst. To be fair, I tried one of the Mirabell Kugeln to see how it compared to Fürst's original hand-dipped recipe and found it to be every bit as enjoyable to consume as you'd imagine any chocolate-covered marzipan and nougat concoction to be. Upon biting into the candy you discover colorful alternating layers of green marzipan, white marzipan, nougat, and chocolate and if you're craving something sweet and sinful, the Mirabell Kugel will do the job just fine.

Fürst's original recipe is a bit more simple: a ball of pistachio marzipan is placed on a stick, coated in nougat and then dipped in a hard coating of thick dark chocolate. Once the chocolate has hardened, the stick is removed, the remaining hole filled with dark chocolate, and the candy is finally wrapped in its characteristic blue and silver wrapper. The original kugeln are sold exclusively from 4 shops in Salzburg and through the Fürst website--though due to the delicate nature of the chocolate they only ship to locations in Europe. Though simple and without frill, the Fürst original is a delight to the tastebuds--a melt-in-your-mouth indulgence that is worth the extra bit of seeking.

Our final group destination for the day was the Mirabell Garden--an ornamental display of sculpture and flora surrounding Mirabell Palace that offered stunning stroller-friendly views of Salzburg's central castle without having to deal with too much congestion from the rest of the tourist hoard (Which--as you can see from the picture on the right--was well worth avoiding). I think there were some scenes from The Sound of Music filmed here as well, though it's been ages since I last saw the movie and don't remember for sure.

We all said our goodbyes around 4:30 so Audra and Matt would have time to get to a brewery tour they were interested in and Pauline and I would have time to make it back to the train station for our 6:15 departure. We were standing outside a church across from the Mirabell palace and trying to figure out how we could get a big group picture when these two little old Austrian ladies came up and started coooing at Maggie. I said, "Why don't we ask them to take a picture of us?"

My camera was the simplest so I walked up to one of the ladies and asked if she'd take our photo. She leaned in a bit, clearly unable to understand my request in English so I gestured to the camera and back at the group and said "Photo?"

"Ah, ok!" she said, and hobbled off to the side to set down her cane--which instantly made me feel bad for asking and worried that she'd fall while trying to complete my request.

I handed her the camera and pointed at the large shutter button and tried gesturing as best I could to communicate my instructions--basically just "point-'n-shoot."

She held the camera to her face and with a confused expression on her face and attempted to find the right place to look through. I tried showing her, "No, you just have to look at the screen. The picture's just on the screen."

But nothing I tried seemed to help her understand and finally we just stood back and smiled as she blindly pressed the camera to her face and pushed the button...good 'nuf!

The Mystery Garden

So, I've talked a bit about how anti-spicy Austrian food is, so imagine my surprise when I discovered a large garden filled exclusively with prodigiously-laden pepper plants surrounding a statue right in the middle of the the city park...

That's right: there are no flowers, no bushes, no ornamental grasses of any kind, only peppers...and you're guess as to exactly why this garden exists is as good as mine. The marble statue at its center is inscribed: Moriz Ritter von Franck, schöpfer des stadtparkes (creator of the city parks), and has been heavily vandalized with what looks like black sharpie.

As I stood at the feet of von Franck marveling at the peculiar bed of capsaicin-laced greenery in which he was standing, I wondered, "did he have a particular taste for spicy food?" Or, I thought with some embarrassment, "maybe he was a terrible person that no one liked and they thought the peppers planted at his feet might be a more civilized way of saying they hope he's burning in Hades." Of course if that were the case, why would they go to all the trouble of building the statue in the first place? Maybe he was an energetic guy with a fiery temper. Or maybe he just had a quirky sense of humor...the sort best memorialized in just such an oxymoronic manner.

When I got home I looked him up on Wikipedia and (with lots of help from google translate, as there was no version of the article in English) learned that he had been the Bürgermeister of Graz from 1861-1864 and again from 1867-1870. During his tenure he instigated a house numbering system, improved city plumbing, created public schools and a state hospital, and pursued the beautification of Graz by designing a system of city parks. Sounds like a decent enough guy--it made me a little sad to think of his likeness being scribbled over with black marker.

In any case the mystery of the ripening peppers remains. There must be some odd bit of local lore that explains their existence within this town of chips-n'-ketchup eating menschen, and I'll be sure to let you know if I hear of it. In the meantime, I wonder how much trouble I'd get in if I picked one or two to liven up my uneaten jar of ketchup salsa...

A Helpful Hint

Though I highly recommend you all visit Austria someday, I would advise you to leave your chips-'n-salsa cravings at home. I had just such a craving the other day (who wouldn't when the food here is wonderfully savory and delicious, but totally lacking in spice), so I went to the grocery store across the street from the Heim and picked up a couple things that looked like they'd do my overly-mellowed taste buds some good. The chips by themselves were, well...passable, but the "hot salsa"? Let me put it this way: I think the austrian recipe for "hot salsa" must be something along these lines:

Ingredients

1 cup ketchup

1 tsp black pepper

1/8 of an onion (small)

Mix together and put in festively-labled bottle

Needless to say my craving remains...as does a nearly full jar of (might as well call it what it is) peppered ketchup.