Fried Eggs and Creamy Spinach | Umami GirlWell hello there from Seville. It’s been 25 days since we left our flat in London and began — as Cope recently put it — “Tim Ferrissing” Europe, meandering our way back to New Jersey over the course of a month and a half. So far we’ve been to Amsterdam, Paris, Alicante, and Málaga. I’ll post some photos, recommendations and highlights from each city in the coming weeks, none of which will include a repeat usage of Tim Ferriss as a verb, I promise.

Seville wasn’t on the itinerary, mostly because it averages about 97 degrees Fahrenheit in August. But the beginning of our time in Málaga didn’t turn out the way we’d hoped. The town itself is cute, with pretty architecture in the old town and a nice international tourist vibe. Due to the first of our hotel snafus, we stayed in an airbnb for one night in the old town before heading to the hotel. (I feel morally and aesthetically compelled to pause here and register my objection to the shape of the airbnb logo, but otherwise we’ve really loved our experiences in the apartments we’ve carefully chosen through the site.) 

Relaxing in the apartment for an hour before we headed out to explore, Cope Google mapped how long it would take us to walk to our hotel the next afternoon. He was pretty sure it was about ten blocks away. As a point of pride, we usually don’t travel with much luggage. But since we’re in the middle of a protracted overseas move, we’re towing two large suitcases and three carry-on bags, one of which we have to hold our breath and wink seductively to get past check-in personnel. The difference between ten blocks and twenty is one for which we need some mental preparation, if not a taxi.

The girls were playing a game on an iPad. The room was fairly quiet. And then, “Huh,” said Cope. “Six hours and forty minutes.”

The Málaga we thought our hotel was in (namely, actual Málaga) was a six hour and forty minute walk — otherwise known as a one-hour bus ride — from the Málaga our hotel was in (namely, Torre del Mar, a tiny coastal town near Vélez-Málaga, technically still within the province of Málaga). Got it? Because we didn’t. This was a surprise, and not a particularly welcome one. Still, we were game. It’s all an adventure. So here we are, smiling on the bus to Vélez-Málaga.

Surprise Bus to Vélez-Málaga | Umami Girl

Oh, Vélez-Málaga. My Spanish is poor on a the best of days, but when we disembarked from the bus and walked the few blocks to our hotel, I asked Cope whether he thought that Vélez might mean “The Newark, New Jersey of,” or simply “Not.”

There were plenty of young Spanish families and groups of elderly folks having what seemed like a happy vacation in Torre del Mar. I’m at least as happy for them as they were to see us there, and from the looks on many of their faces as they tried to figure out what we might be doing there, I’d say probably a little more so. I won’t belabor our reasons for leaving. I’ll just say that Cope is turning 40 in a few days, and the Newark of Málaga didn’t seem like the right place to do it. Also, the beach is almost definitely made of cat litter. View full post »

Tropical Green Smoothie on Serious Eats | Umami GirlI’m not complaining here, but as I write this post from my home for the week — a lovely little Parisian apartment on Boulevard Voltaire — it feels a tad incongruent to be talking green smoothies. Our recent breakfasts have trended closer to the world’s best pain au chocolat than to anything created in a Vitamix. Still, you all know I love a good green smoothie — and when this little European fantasy ends, I’ll be at the front of the line to buy a new American Vitamix. This will be one of the first breakfasts I make. It’s a fantasy in its own right, though less continental a whole lot more tropical. Get the story and the recipe here on Serious Eats.

Carolyn xx

LIKE SMOOTHIES? WHY NOT TRY THESE:

PB&J Smoothie on Serious Eats

Here’s my latest on Serious Eats. It’s like a really good peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a glass ofView full post »

Gateway Green Smoothie on Serious Eats

If you’re teetering on the edge of the green smoothie swimming pool, curious to dip a toe in but not yetView full post »

Serious Eats Guides to Juices and Smoothies

Well, it’s officially autumn (or should I say “otter-m,” as only my kid from the British nurseryView full post »

View of the Alps from Hotel Waldegg Engelberg Switzerland | Umami Girl

Fourth of July weekend as an expat can be pretty weird. No fireworks, no block parties, none of those red, white, and blue popsicles in the shape of a rocket. It’s strange, but it’s almost like the British don’t celebrate the anniversary of America’s independe…Ohhhhhhhh. Right. Well, this year I decided to up the ante on ways to spend the 4th in Europe, and if I do say so, I totally nailed it. Wedding crasher is a strong term, but let’s just say I loudly volunteered to be my sister Allison’s date at her friend’s wedding in the tiny town of Engelberg, Switzerland. The only fireworks were metaphorical, but there were 360-degree panoramic views, gondola rides up the mountain, yodeling duets, alphorns, my new favorite food raclette, a trilingual ceremony in a thousand-year-old monastery, new friends, and — not least of all — the winning of a whole bell-shaped cheese by yours truly. Rocket pops can wait til next year.

View II of the Alps from Hotel Waldegg Engelberg Switzerland | Umami Girl

Fool that I am, I talked myself out of bringing ye olde camera to the wedding day itself. Here’s a photo that Allison took as the 70 or so guests stood waiting with the bride and groom to release balloons into the mountain mist outside Restaurant Ristis, the site of post-ceremony aperitifs. We all counted down from 10 in whatever language we liked (I heard French, German, Swiss-German, Taiwanese, English, and Frogthroat from my own Ricola-slurping self). Then all of us except the adorable three-year-old flower girl let go and watched as the balloons swirled up and eventually disappeared into the distance. The flower girl cried a little at the horrifying reality of having had 99 balloons and then suddenly not having them anymore. “Adults — friggin’ idiots,” she struggled to conceal behind her sparkling, innocent eyes. 

Bride and Balloons in Switzerland | Umami Girl

Unlike lots of people who seem to think they can use photos on the internet for free without asking, I took the high road and kindly sent my sister a personal message requesting permission to publish her photo. I tried to word it like some of the requests I’ve received in the past. She thumbsed it up, so I think we’re good.

Photo Waiver | Umami Girl

View full post »

  • I visited the itty bitty hamlet in the mountains where my family is from in Switzerland last summer, and what a town. I loved it!ReplyCancel

  • Wowza on those mountain photos! Very beautiful.
    A fun point of fact, two of the most spectacular fireworks displays I have seen were in Geneva when I was an expat there. It was quite fun to celebrate independence (aka drink and watch fireworks) with friends from Germany, Spain, France, Italy and Turkey!ReplyCancel

There have been quite a few perks associated with our three years in London, but I don’t think any of them surpass our brief glimpse of the Virgin Atlantic Clubhouse at Heathrow airport. On our pre-move visit in 2011 to look at schools and apartments, we spent a few minutes there waiting for our flight back to New Jersey. If the clubhouse had a tube stop, the train announcement would say, “Alight here for free haircuts, poolside lounge, classic cocktails and all the sushi you can eat.” We didn’t know in advance how dapper it was, so we didn’t bake in four pre-flight hours at the airport that time. That was a mistake. I haven’t really forgiven us. 

Luckily our return flight in August will give us a chance to make up for things. Although we’ll be traveling around Europe before returning to the states, I made sure our final flight would leave from Heathrow, and not early in the day like our usual layperson flights. A girl doesn’t like to be rushed when eating her weight in free sushi. I’m actually a little worried I might go all ironic goldfish and eat until I die.

Meh, I guess we’ll see.

Behavior like that is the reason I need to eat responsible breakfasts on a regular basis. And yet the same instinct to throw myself in the direction of deliciousness applies at all meals. Hence this oatmeal.

The Gratzer-Cope conglomerate should really have our faces on the canister of oats — no offense to the Quaker — and not just because half the family has Quaker blood. We’ve each got our own oat style, from raw to slapdash to double-blind, placebo-controlled tested. (My mom makes oatmeal in the microwave and has all but patented a system where it bubbles up just shy of explosion and then magically nestles back down to perfection.)  We each do oatmeal differently, but we all love it almost as much as I love free sushi, Champagne, and haircuts. This is the version I’ve been making recently. It’s no poolside lounge, but many a morning I’m happy to dive in just the same.  

 

 carolyn xx long 
{CLICK HERE FOR THE RECIPE}

The Pier Brighton | Umami Girl

As we’re tying up the loose ends of our life in London, it’s time to face the list of outings we’d meant to take — just assumed we’d get to — and didn’t. At the top of that list, a mere hour’s train ride from central London, is the bustling beach town of Brighton. It always seemed so easy to go, so we never actually did it. Until last weekend. Three quarters of us got there, anyway. The other spent the weekend with friends in Worcestershire. Like the sauce, except a town. Everybody wins.

Honky Tonk Brighton | Umami Girl

As committed, if recently absent, members of the Jersey shore community (New Jersey, that is, which I used to think was obvious), we felt a little like we knew Brighton before we got there. Home of rowdy hen and stag parties, carnival rides on the pier, chilly Atlantic water – this is the beach language we speak. I swear that’s the same horse’s ass that rides by on the carousels across the Garden State. As Cope noticed, though, this one rides clockwise. That’s England for ya. Just when you think it’s the same, it’s different.

Before we left London for the weekend, I asked an English friend whether they use the term “honky-tonk” to describe the kind of environment we’d expect to find in Brighton. She said, “No, we don’t,” and then five slow seconds of dead silence elapsed. So I guess they don’t. And I guess I’m kind of an idiot. All I know is we use that term in the states — or at least my mom and I do — and we’re right about Brighton. Along the beach, it’s as honky-tonk as it gets. Except you can also sit on the rocky shore and look out across the English Channel hoping to catch a glimpse of France. That’s not something we offer at the Jersey shore. And that’s England for ya, too. Just when you think it’s tacky, it’s still like a thousand years old and totally, stunningly elegant.

Looking for France from Brighton | Umami Girl

Brighton is also known for having a thriving vegetarian and vegan food scene, and it didn’t disappoint. On the short walk from the train station to the beach at lunchtime, we stumbled upon the tail end of a street food festival with tons of vegetarian and some good-looking vegan food. I wanted to take a photo, but I was too hungry. And I wanted to link to it, but I can’t find any evidence of it online. There’s some chance it was a mirage, but I don’t think so.  View full post »

  • I love Brighton. Don’t get there more than once a year or so at the moment, as I’m in Thailand and only get back to the UK rarely but I always head there when I am. Awesome town with, surprisingly, a lot to do.ReplyCancel

N e w s
B u z z