A weekend of gastronomic joy is a good weekend by my standards and this weekend fulfilled that criteria in the terms of food, plenty of it and very good food at that. The weekend's tour de force of food commenced with the wonderland of Bloom in the park and the gastronomic plethora of wonder of 6 courses of theater of food drifted onto the Saturday. With the memories of the previous evening lingering on mind and palette we were picked up by the “in laws” and driven (like passengers in a formula 1 car at the hands of Per) in the direction that the sun had appeared from, east to Ystad, past the pallet of autumnal shades of red, orange and brown that was the countryside and onto our first stop.
A Swedish sandwich is different
Waves driven by the wind were breaking their blue grey forms upon the outer breakwaters, a couple of surfers were packing away their boards whilst seagulls tried not so much to fly but just remain airborne in the blustery wind and a little organic bakery, Vendel, beckoned us into its wind free sanctuary. A nice breakfast buffet of different herring, breads and cheeses was on offer begging to be put away in your gullet but I ordered a splendid looking sandwich.
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A typical south-Swedish sandwich? |
Now in Britain it has to be said that if you served a sandwich the same way as you do here, i.e. on one piece of bread you would without doubt get some disgruntled and confused customer enquiring as to just where the other half may be and give you a lecture on why a sandwich should be able to be eaten with only one hand whilst driving down the M1 and not requiring a entire set of cutlery, but this is Sweden, things are different here and this sandwich was worthy of being served on ancient bone china from the ming dynasty let alone cutlery.
Fried then pickled fillets of locally caught herring, a dill infused potato salad, crisp cabbage, the sharpness of capers and the sweet kick of lingonberries all atop a fine piece of nutty bread, it was quite definitely up there with the best sandwiches I had ever eaten (the first one slice sandwich to be given that accolade). Perfect seasoning and taste, and with the waves crashing outside it was a perfect taste of the swedish coast.
Old stones and urban knitting
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Ales stenar |
From there we headed out into the wind, up the hill and looked at rocks, rocks laid out in the shape of a boat by some old school beardy Celtic types a thousand odd years ago, apparently the sun lines up with the rocks at both solstices, the ancient equivalent of Big Ben ringing its chimes, just less frequent, a ancient site which has been preserved pretty well and sits atop a fantastic vantage point looking back down the coast line. Apparently as it would seem in Simrishamm there is a group of delinquent grannies that roam the street with their plastic needles searching for drainpipes to weave their graffiti upon, tagging in a woolly stylee, yes here there was no graffiti of the common type but upon many of the drainpipes and lampposts instead of the thoughtful scrawlings of Daves love for Jenny or a crude sketch illustrating Micks love for big cocks there was a woven form of graffitiism, a woolen tapestry covered these urban structures with pictures of bright coloured dolls and dogs. Here the old age knitters take back the street through stiching.
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One of the strange knittings in
Simrishamn |
After a meander through these streets we ended up in Maritim, a renowned fish restaurant by the docks, a simple affair inside, looking slightly aged if anything but reflected the majority of clients who could well have been in here after a hard afternoon knitting the streets. My course I chose after some deliberation was a excellent fish soup, the house speciality, a creamy lightly flavoured base was lapping up the sides of a substantially meaty and perfectly flaking piece of cod with the heavenly whiteness shattered by the inclusion of fleshy pink prawns and green feathers of dill, the cod was good but the prawns were excellent, fresh and meaty in a sea sense, and the flavourful liquid allowed each flavour to come through with no competition. Maria had her second dose of herring today with a dish comprising of fried herring, creamed potato with specks of salty anchovies, lingonberries and a artery seizing dose of clarified butter, a true Swedish dish and perfect in its flavour the 2 others had the soup and a flat fish cooked in brown butter almost too big for the plate, the meal was excellent, the fish was top quality, the service was fine and the old people kept quietly conspiring amongst themselves about new knitting patterns.
Opting to take our coffee elsewhere we headed along the coast to a little village, to the cookie house, a old traditional place of Sweden, set on the fringes of a golden tinged forest, you go in, get coffee or tea bought to you then you have the cookie buffet, a selection of coffee and cakes sitting in wicker baskets in the center of the room that is all yours to scoff away at. Initially I had fantasies that it would be like the gingerbread cottage from the Hansel and Gretel fairy-tale, filled with all magical cookies and cakes from your childhood dreams, where you ate and ate the rainbow colored sweet things until the witch decided your time was up, however that's a German fairy tale and the place was more reminiscent of a old peoples home with decorations of lace and photos of old things on the wall, I do think some relative of the witch resided there but instead of a black cloak and crooked nose she wore a blue apron, white hair, a scowl that looked like she enjoyed drowning kittens and had her name written prominently on her board in black marker as if to confirm her board was her board and no one else's.
Back to Malmö again, and on to Marseille
Contentedly full on cookies and tea we made our way back heading to where the sun was setting, west, back to Malmö, full on the gastronomic surprises that the south of Sweden revealed to me. Now I am writing this some several hundred meters in the air heading to Marseille, the home of the legendary Bouillabaisse, a soup which once was the food of the poor but now known as the diamond amongst the coals of the fish soup world, a soup of which there is many versions but only a handful of ”true” ones .I have previously visited Marseille and discovered some amazing versions of this soup but now I am in search of the perfect one after a little recommendation from a friend of mine. If there's any place to get it then it will be here.
Mark Anthony Low