foodie notes: Stockholm

Swedes apparently combat a tendency toward melancholia with strong cups of coffee and large quantities of cake. (See previous post) And lots of fast walking. Stockholm was full of tall, long-striding Swedes with a gait that was far quicker than my own, and I'm known as a fast walker. I waddled along, full of cake, trying to keep up.   

I liked this city of islands and bridges, tolling church bells, ringing bicycle bells, Baltic winds and long sunsets. 
 
Swedes also seem to have the best tasting tap water and best tasting shrimp I've ever consumed. 
I ate well. A good, heavy meal was had at Pelikan, meatball in a creamy gravy, mashed potatoes, lingonberries, with a gullet-warming Snaps (an aquavit, this one fragrant with Elderflower) as my dessert. 


Eriks Bakfickan was a great spot for dinner, where I opted for a lovely, rich bouillabaise (though they called it the "seafood casserole")

Ate this lovely duck confit over bacony saurkraut with a side of potato puree at a neighborhood bistro that I long to return to, called Aubergine. This was a perfect plate. I think of it still. 

The Ostermalm Saluhall, a great food-market, with eateries throughout, in a rambling red-brick building with a perfect lunch spot at Lisa Elmqvists, where I dropped shrimp on my shirt, and, though I loved what I ate, I envied the man next to me with his buttery fried perch and wild mushrooms.  I'd be eating at the saluhall daily if I lived in Stockholm. 

Last dessert in Stockholm- at the old-school, clubby Restaurant Prinsen:  It was as showy and decadent as the waiter, who flattered me with his "Mademoiselle" s and his overwrought descriptions of the dishes, including this one as "like gold."  It was, actually, like gold. 

I didn't get to most of the restaurants on my list. Though, I can't say I regret being persuaded to visit a suburban karaoke joint. Oh. My. God. Those Swedes sure can drink.  The woman who did a face plant onto the stage, the other woman who said she was from Brazil, started to dance lasciviously to someone else's song, occasionally flashing the now slack-jawed crowd.  Good times. Will have to return with Mr. Pants.