Tag Archives: thirteenth district

Friss Pisztráng at Siesta Cafe

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Györgyi and I had a fantastic day yesterday, which we weren’t really expecting since all we’ve been thinking about it is buying the things on our list and packing to leave this week.  But suddenly, yesterday, things fell into place and we had a really quintessentially beautiful Hungarian summer day.  We woke up at about 5:15am.  The above picture is a view of our neighborhood at that time, and I swear I never get tired of look out over a peaceful thirteenth district skyline.

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Even though we weren’t going to run, since we had covered a really long distance the day before, and hadn’t rested in about seven days, we just couldn’t help being lured out by the cool, almost crisp weather for a short jog.  This picture above is from the Margit Bridge looking the opposite way of Parliament on the Danube.  Go that way and you’re heading toward Slovakia and Austria.  Everything is so quiet and peaceful at that time of day.  It’s important, when living in a big city or a city with tourist attractions, to find times when you can just be out there among things without many people scuffing it all up.  Early morning is definitely the time go to.

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So we did some early morning shopping at the Mountex for a few last minute clothing items and essentials, and then decided to go to Szentendre to find a gift for my Mom that I haven’t been able to get anywhere yet and kept putting off.  And I really wanted Györgyi to be there b/c there is always what I call the I’m Hungarian and local discount of a few thousand forints, especially when buying touristy things:  linens, porceline, etc.

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Szentendre is a great little side trip for anyone visiting Budapest.  You can take the city train there, or a car (it’s about 20 minutes drive from the city) and it’s a cute artsy town filled with galleries and shops from the many artists who have settled there over the centeries.  It’s very busy in the summer, but we found a perfect seat in the center of the square to have a leisurely cappuccino.

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I was never a big afternoon cappuccino drinker in America.  Actually, I can’t recall ever having an afternoon cappuccino in America.  But now it’s a regular occurance, and I’ve come to recognize the virtues of just being still for a few minutes.  Europeans know this very well.  I think Americans could definitely benefit from the slowing down it takes to sit and have a quiet afternoon drink.  Of course a glass of wine or beer is also perfectly acceptable.

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So we sat for a little while and then decided, since we hadn’t eaten since early morning, that we were starving.  And we had the perfect idea of where to go:

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The Siesta Cafe, which we had been to last summer, is, in my opinion, the best place to get fresh trout (friss pisztráng) in and around Budapest, baring your own ability to catch it on the river, season it, and cook it.  It. Is. Just. Amazing.

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The Siesta Cafe is about 15km past Szentendre on the side of the road (between road and Danube actually) on the way to another must-see little Hungarian town, Visegrád, where you can see the Danube Bend.   This place is a classic roadside fish joint.  Plastic chairs and tables and a guy in a little wooden hut frying or grilling up fresh trout and assembling fresh salads and fries.  They catch their own fish and serve it up fresh every day.  It’s absolutely my favorite kind of place.

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I had the trout on the left, which is covered in fresh pesto.  And Gy had the one on the right, which is encrusted in a parmasan crumb before fried.  We both had the recommended side, which is a gigantic salad covered in a spicy honey mustard dressing.  Yes, it’s ice burg lettuce.  No, there are not a lot of nutrients or fancy garnishes.  But it’s just perfect.

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Served with a little bit of fresh lemon (in addition to our lemonade and Heinekens) it was the perfect meal.  Right now, I can say it confidently, that it’s my death row meal.  We were so engrossed in our eating that we pretty much only said oh my god and this is so amazing the whole time we sat there.  People were talking around us, other were walking by the river, we could hear the sizzle of the new fish going into the oil, but we were just there, enjoying ever moment of it in exquisite silence.  I can’t wait to take my parents there next summer (and probably go again in September when we get back).

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We didn’t stay too long after eating, since there were lots of folks eyeing our table.  We drove back to Budapest (about 30-35 minutes), stopping along the way to buy some peaches and some jams from a guy on the side of the road.  It was the perfect summer Sunday, and since I’ve been so pre-occupied and stressed about packing and flying, it was a totally unexpected and amazingly pleasant surprise.

If you’re in Budapest Spring-Fall, you must go to the Siesta Cafe (and make a reservation if you can).  They don’t have a website, but we snagged their contact info and location.  In addition, I might also say that if you are visiting Budapest, you owe it to yourself to see some of the Hungarian towns, the real Hungary.  As I was, I’m sure you’ll be happily surprised by what you find.

The Siesta Cafe

Dunabogdány, Kossuth Lajos u. 129.

Tel. +36 30 9141502

Cumulonimbus

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a look from another time

a look from another time

This weekend was a weekend of opposites.  After three solid weeks of uninterrupted sunshine, storms came racing in from the west, bringing with them patches of violent hail and rain, and even more dramatic cumulonimbus clouds that were hiding the sun in patches and casting amazing light throughout the city.

First of all: Barnabás broke his middle toe on his back right foot.

perfect time for a nap

perfect time for a nap

We don’t know how it happened, except that when he’s outside he runs and plays so hard — just like a little boy — that he probably just twisted it or something somewhere and then suddenly he was limping.  Anyway, he’s going to be healed in three weeks, according to the vet, and when he was being held down by a big vet tech wearing the socialist blue workers’ overalls, he actually fell asleep.  He was getting a cast and he started to snore.  I didn’t think it was possible for him to get any more attention than he already does, especially around town.  But now, with his little red cast, old women are practically throwing strings of kolbasz at him from their apartment windows.

So, he’s fine, and it hasn’t discouraged him from taking a leave of absence from his statue/famous monument/landmarks photography opportunities:

his eyelashes are blowing in the wind

his eyelashes are blowing in the wind

On Saturday morning, we walked through the thirteenth district, which I adore more and more the longer that I live here.  The difference in architectural eras is so pronounced that it’s just such an adventure to walk up and down the streets.  On the one hand, you have buildings like ours which are luxury apartment buildings, new and modern and very “western” looking.  And you go one block (or simply across the street) and you can find an old building with character, a building where people may have flats that have passed hands for several generations.

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Yes, like in every district, there is the soviet-block style housing, but it’s actually few and far between, and mostly you see new construction on modern apartments mixed in with really old houses and schools (some that still have the words for the separate women’s and men’s entrances).

Saturday afternoon, while the rest of the city and all of her tourists were out enjoying the stunning break in the weather, we went into work.  It’s okay though, because Györgyi’s office is arguably the best office in the whole city in terms of the view.  Opening up the latched windows, you have a direct view of both the Lánchíd Bridge and Castle Hill.

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We would have left sooner, but we spent about an hour posing Barnabás in various boardroom “unfortunately, we’re going to have to make some cutbacks” shots.

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When we left, the sun was just starting to set, sending out the most amazing shadows over the city.  And since we worked so hard on oil conference stuff, we finally rewarded ourselves with the first gelato of the year.  In addition, Barnabás met a little white dog named “turo” (which means cottage cheese) who followed him for about five blocks.

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I really don’t know what flavors Györgyi had.  I think white chocolate, tiramisu and something with walnuts, but I can’t be certain.  Mine was plum and chocolate.  So basically, it was a pretty average Saturday.  Yes, average is really great.

Taco Night sans Cilantro

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full sky / empty plate

full sky / empty plate

As a kid growing up on Misty Lane, Wednesday night was TACO NIGHT.  Just like Thursday night was Spaghetti night and Friday night was Pizza night and Saturday morning we were allowed to have a donut from Acme.  (My God, can you imagine—a donut every week?)  But there was comfort to this routine and I know that my parents still have pizza night every Friday, though since my brother moved away and the twenty-first century assault on carbohydrates ensued, they probably no longer do Taco or Spaghetti nights.

Last week when my mom sent me the package of things from home, I allowed myself to crave tacos again, something I’ve been suppressing since the moment I realized that your average Hungarian likens salsa to BBQ sauce and thinks cilantro is a Mexican singer:

So last night I brought back TACO NIGHT and I must say it was a sweeping success.  Wednesday night is also wine night here and the combination of the two in addition to the incredible evening weather made for an amazing night.

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Györgyi has never had a proper taco, which I find to be deeply emotionally and spiritually disturbing.  But she really liked it.  Much more than the Oreos I made her try at Thanksgiving and the jalapeno poppers we ate one time in January.

We sat on the balcony, which looks out over the thirteenth district.  It was the first night where there wasn’t even a chill in the air, and so watching the sun set over the river and slowly sink down the old apartment windows was beautiful.

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I would never have thought to start up a taco night in combination with wine night, but since my mom loaded up my box with taco seasonings, I’ll be able to keep the tradition alive for a little while at least.  Now, if I could only find cilantro.