Are you still stuck at home… not traveling? To help ease the pain, we present a different kind of travel writing — fictional accounts of great travels with great — and real — food experiences. The author — Zoe Messinger — has done everything from running food trucks in Milan and Amsterdam, to cooking in two award winning restaurants in Los Angeles, and performing stand-up comedy. And, like us, she still believes there’s magic around a dining table, even if you can’t get there right now. Here with the fifth in a series of her flash fiction vignettes about some of the best off the beaten path restaurants from around the world — each a love affair with food, a journey of finding yourself through what you eat, and perhaps the best part — each paired with a recipe inspired by the meal. While you’re stuck at home, you can now escape to Paris, The Amalfi Coast, Hong Kong, Spain, Sweden, and Los Angeles. And, in case you’re wondering, Zoe is currently stuck in Pennsylvania, eating her way through the fridge. Zoe’s fifth “report”: Sweden.
Snuffed
The cabin walls were lined with fur pelts, taxidermy and warm-lit wall sconces.
“Snuff?” the swedes asked, lounging on the couches next to us, all blonde. They were Bobbsey twins—near-identical, six-foot, long-legged, fair-skinned, fit-formed and wearing blue. We’d just finished our 14-course meal at Fäviken, forkfuls and fingerpulls of foraged things, pickled things, delectable things, things you find in Järpen, Sweden.
Our waiter was ponytailed and bearded, with a Schnapps belly that kept him warm through the harsh winters. The waiters were also the cooks, and the runners and the dishwashers. Everyone pulled their weight, passion-heavy.
Dinner was served upstairs, but now we were downstairs in what felt like our own intimate living room, filled with candles and draped in shearling. It was almost midnight and the rugged waiters were still flitting about, serving up courses—after-dinner drinks this time, tonics, teas, snacks, plants and desserts—flavor profiles only Magnus Nilsson could come up with, like reindeer foie gras and pickled marigolds.
“I need an antacid,” Dad burped, trying to breathe through the digestion. “Snuff’ll do.” He acknowledged the blondes and grabbed the tin. My mom looked at him disgusted, like a mother catching her son smoking pot behind the local mall. M cozied up to me, nuzzled in my sweater, one sip away from blind drunk. I lost track of how many glasses he’d had. It was fun to see him lose control, a rare occasion.
The Swedes passed us the snuff and we shoved a glob in our gums. I must’ve been drunk too. I’d smoke a cigarette in Paris on Rue de Bac at dusk, but I never thought I’d shove tobacco in my gums—not after a starry meal like this one.
“How do you like it?” the Blonde Bobbseys asked in unison. They were a young couple that had been planning this trip for a long time, just because it was “something to do.” An odd excursion for a couple that merely “liked” food. They weren’t gourmands. They didn’t take pictures or notes. They ate fast. They were there to say they dined at Fäviken, that’s all, la fin. It was something to cross off their bucket list.
Chefs and connoisseurs dreamed of going to Fäviken. I don’t even know how I convinced my parents to go. “If I’m going to be a chef,” I told them, “I need to eat at Fäviken. Maybe they’ll let me mow the lawn or pick herbs. I’ll milk the cows. I’ll scrub the bathroom floor.” It took an 11-hour plane ride to Copenhagen from LA, a 3-hour plane ride to some nameless town, followed by a 4-hour drive to a freezing cold, prairie-filled mountain retreat—but it was worth it. My parents and I had an agreement: they would come, I would pay. I thought it was a joke. I was only 25 with little job security, confidence or brashness.
The snuff had been marinating in my lips for thirty minutes now. “I don’t feel too good,” I said. I looked over at M, his pants freshly unbuttoned, swaying back and forth. He smiled at me like a silly dog. I had such an easy time loving someone who loved me. It was much harder for me to love myself. Maybe that’s how everyone feels at 25, or forever.
Mom sat there eating handfuls of candied fennel seeds—her way of saying, “hey, we can all digest naturally here. No need for tobacco.” Anything for digestion. Anything.
The clock struck one and I knew it was time to go. The server brought the check over to my dad. He redirected it to me, pointing like I was the jester about to be stoned by the king in the courtyard. My eyes scanned down the little slip of white paper like an ancient scroll. It was a lot of digits and commas. I stared at him in disbelief with looney-tune eyes.
“We had an agreement,” Dad said, with a smirk. This was tough love. I shouldn’t have been so surprised. It’s the kind of love I’d been trained for, at home and in the kitchen.
I pulled out my credit card, handed it to the server and took a breath. He looked at me—judging me, holding back laughter. “You can enter the tip here,” he said, as he shoved my card into his handheld machine. Wasn’t tip included? Damnit. I added a big tip. I had to. The card went through. My life was through. I was stuffed—I was snuffed—I was sated.
Fäviken
Fäviken Magasinet
216, 837 94 Järpen, Sweden
+46 647 401 77
Permanently Closed
Two Michelin Stars
Pickles, Pesto and Posies
A take on a classic Nordic pickling recipe—a great way to preserve vegetables
INGREDIENTS
Pickles
8 cups cut, sliced, and/or peeled vegetables: I used radish, carrot, turnip, fennel and some petite habaneros
8 1⁄2 cups water
3⁄4 cup salt
1 cup distilled white vinegar
2 cups sugar
Spices/herbs of your choice: I used 1 bay leaf, 2 teaspoons coriander, 1 teaspoon black pepper, 1 teaspoon white pepper
Small bunch fresh herbs: I used dill
Radish Leaf Pesto
3 cups radish leaf (loosely packed)
30 millileters extra virgin olive oil
19 grams pine nut (untoasted)
15 grams parmesan (finely grated)
salt
*you can also swap out the radish leaves for carrot tops
RECIPE
Prepare the vegetables. Wash, peel, and chop if necessary into smaller pieces. I like to scrub my vegetables with a brillo pad (or the rough side of a dish sponge) in cold water to clean + prep them. Boil harder vegetables in well salted water for 3 minutes.
Prepare the brine with 6 cups of water and ¾ cup salt. Add vegetables to the brine, cover, and allow to sit overnight in the refrigerator.
For the pickling liquid, combine the remaining water, vinegar, sugar, and selected spices in a pan. Bring to a boil and stir until all the sugar has dissolved. Remove from heat and allow to cool.
Remove vegetables from brine and transfer to clean glass jars. Pour prepared pickling solution into jars, scatter with some fresh dill, and seal.
Store jars in a cool, dark place and allow to marinate for at least 24 hours. The vegetables taste best after a full 2-3 weeks of pickling.
Coarsely chop the radish leaves. Blend all the pesto ingredients in a small food processor until they come together, and the desired texture is achieved. Option to add anchovies and/or garlic for a more robust flavor. Good on pasta, or toast with a squeeze of lemon.
I suggest a pickle plate with some bread, pesto, and posies (flowers) thrown around for garnish. Forage for something—you never know what you’ll find in your backyard, or in a secret alley in the middle of nowhere. Make sure the mushrooms aren’t poisonous.
*Editor’s Note: Tell us about your favorite dish from a restaurant!
