The Washington football team has one bye week in the 2011 season. Naturally, we decided to spend it at a college football game. We may have a problem.

In our defense, this football game happened to be played in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, where the LSU Tigers were hosting the Florida Gators in an SEC clash in the historic Tiger Stadium in Death Valley. Neither of us had ever been to an SEC football game before, and had always been curious to experience  football culture in the South. We were able to score press passes to the game through some of Jeremy’s connections. Add in 85-degree weather and a local scene known for not messing around when it comes to food and drink? Sold.

So here’s what we learned from our four-day swing through the Big Easy.

• Getting out of the French Quarter is worth it. Sure, we made a routine trip down the smelly, bachelor party-jammed Bourbon Street (and this was at 1pm on a weekday) and made the obligatory visit to Cafe du Monde for beignets and cafe au lait (and a random Jonathan Papelbon sighting.) But our VRBO rental was in the heart of the Garden District and we spent most of our time there and in Uptown, wandering the mansion-lined streets and drinking Abitas in neighborhood bars.
• People are friendly. No, REALLY friendly. Southern hospitality almost doesn’t do it justice. During dinner at Cochon (don’t miss the rabbit & dumplings, oyster & bacon sandwich and apple pie for dessert) we ended up chatting with not only the tables on either side of us, but even the tables next to them. When we commented on how good our neighbor’s soft-shell crab entree looked, she offered us a bite off her plate without missing a beat. No offense, Seattle, but that would never happen here.
• People are friendly, part II. After oysters and gumbo at Casamento’s, we hit up Le Bon Temps Roule for drinks and music. We started chatting with a man at the bar who turned out to be a legendary booster for LSU (as in, supplies all the team’s post-game po’boys from his deli and hasn’t missed a game, home or away, in decades.) After showing us photos on his iPhone of the alligator he’d shot that week, Mike Serio promptly invited us to his tailgate at the game the next day. By the way, this is the same guy who beat Bobby Flay in a muffaletta throwdown.
• SEC football is everything we’d hoped for and more. We arrived in Baton Rouge four hours before the 2:30pm kickoff…and sat in traffic for an hour, barely crawling even before the stadium was in view. The tailgates stretched for miles around campus, with yellow and purple-clad fans drinking, eating, blasting music and chanting “Tiger Bait!” at anyone foolish enough to wear blue and orange. After parking, we meandered over to The Chimes for pre-game drinks and then picked up some boudin balls to snack on on our way to Serio’s tailgate. He greeted us with beer and alligator sausage, plus the best barbecued pork I’ve ever had in my life.
• Oh wait, that was all just the tailgate. The stadium and game experience was just as much of a sensory overload. Our passes gave us sideline access during the pre-game, where we watched the players warm up as 94,000 fans packed into their seats. Upstairs in the pressbox, we enjoyed a thorough beatdown of Florida by LSU, capped with an acrobatic interception by the Honey Badger.
• Did I mention football is kind of a big deal in the South? We ended our weekend by joining a childhood friend of mine at a bar to watch the Saints game. Sitting on couches in a smoky bar surrounded by screaming – yet immensely hospitable – patrons in Drew Brees’ jerseys was the perfect way to cap off a decadent New Orleans weekend.

More soon.

It was a setting not unlike one you see sailing to Orcas Island here in Washington, yet I was halfway across the world.

Lisa and I began the day in Kungsholmen with coffee and kanelbulle, the ubiquitous – and quite tasty – Swedish pastry found at all cafes in town. The idea had been to take a boat out to the Stockholm archipelago, but with dozens of choices available to us, we became paralyzed by the decision. We settled on Vaxholm/Grinda, a combination that would combine the touristy (Vaxholm) with the bucolic (Grinda). Our ferry was filled with tourists from all over Europe, including a couple from Spain who snapped photos and marveled at the way the sun glistened off the water.  Over beers (this was vacation after all), we poured over our guidebooks and sketched out a plan.

Vaxholm was our introduction to the archipelago. We wandered through the streets and browsed through the stores. Lunch was an open-faced sandwich and cake on a deck with a majestic view. Everything was homemade, and we salivated over (but avoided) a platter of fresh-baked desserts the restaurant had put out on a table. Following lunch, we hopped back on the ferry and headed over to Grinda, one of the smaller islands in the archipelago. You can traverse Grinda in less than an hour by foot, and there’s just one hotel on the island. The draw is the serenity of everything. My phone doesn’t buzz with urgent work emails. There wasn’t another English-speaking tourist within earshot. We drank up the view from the beach, where a few feet away a Swedish couple was preparing to get married.

Everything was perfect.

The sun was still high in Stockholm when we returned, and our stomachs were rumbling. Because eating out is so expensive in Sweden, we bought meatballs and salads from the Salluhallen in Ostermalm, a fancy grocer in one of the city’s trendiest neighborhoods. Back in Kungsholmen, we devoured our purchases in Rålambshovsparken, a park so full of hipsters we might as well have been in Brooklyn (we gleaned that immediately after seeing a bocce ball setup and a run of American Apparel gear). The park also explained youth and Swedish culture. Taxes have made drinking prohibitively expensive in Sweden, so we noticed a popular summertime activity is to gather in parks like Rålambshovsparken, grill some food, crack some beers and check out the opposite sex, which made for some excellent people-watching.

With temperatures hovering near 80 degrees in Stockholm, what could be better?

On this vacation, not much.

While wandering around the mass of people hustling on and off trains, Lisa and I both remarked how Stockholm felt like a full-on metropolis. This was in comparison to Copenhagen, which feels like a more historic version of Portland, Ore.

After checking into our hotel room (thanks Marriott points!), Lisa and I set off to explore the city. We walked across the bridge to Sodermalm to find dinner, only to find out how expensive dining out really is in Sweden. So we settled on a filling plate of fried herring with lingonberry jam and mashed potatoes from a cart, a food truck trend that I wish we could import to the States.

Then we set about to stroll along the cobblestone streets of Gamla Stan, the historic (albeit tourist-filled) district of Stockholm. Both of us were somewhat on-edge from traveling, so our night ended with a gelato and a few beers at the hotel. Little did we know what we were in store for tomorrow.

Outdoor weddings in the Pacific Northwest, even in August, are risky endeavors.

But since the summer of 2011 has been sulky as a teenager, we were happy to enough to have a few generous sunbreaks in time for the 5 p.m. ceremony. Yes, ideally, the white wicker arch at the end of the aisle should have framed Mt. Rainier perfectly. Still, we had warm air and a soft breeze off Puget Sound, and really, being able to have the wedding near the water was ultimately the most important thing.

I’ve been to enough weddings to know the drill, but this was my first time as a key member of the bridal party – my stint as a 5-year-old gender-bending ring bearer notwithstanding. Turns out being the maid of honor presents challenges not encountered in everyday life. (Pro tip: when you’re booking a bachelorette party, make sure the entertainment at the venue isn’t the melancholy stylings of a local emo band.) I’d also not recommend waiting until 15 minutes beforehand to prep for a speech on your fiance’s iPhone before delivering it to 160 guests.

But anyway, this isn’t about me. It’s about a weekend of ferry rides and suspension bridges, forest trails and picnic benches, white dahlias in mason jars and two blissfully happy people celebrating having exactly what they want in one another.

Lisa and I took full advantage, spending the day about the city, hanging out with friends, drinking cold beers and grilling hamburgers. About as relaxing a Saturday as one could possibly draw up.

Some other notes. For a city with no real skyline, Copenhagen is striking. My only gripe would be the weather; we often felt as if we brought the Northwest with us to Denmark … I also enjoy the simplicity of European breakfasts. Eggs, bacon and a few slices of rye bread were filling enough to start the day, or a bowl of strawberries with milk. For most Danes/Swedes, a cup of strong coffee and a sweet roll is all that’s needed.

One small programming note: This summer has moved along much faster than I thought, and there’s a lot of things going on in Seattle right now. Setting aside time to blog has been pretty hard.

###

These photos were from our second day in Copenhagen, most of which we spent cycling around the city. I can’t champion enough the ease which you can traverse the cityscape on bicycle in CPH, thanks to protected lanes, traffic lights just for cycles, and trails that weave throughout the city. At just $17 a day, renting a bike is a far more enjoyable option than the metro. Highlights included the Little Mermaid statue, the Danish Jewish Museum, the Royal Palace and the Carlsberg factory, where you can sample a special dark version of the beer not sold in the States.

Eating out in Copenhagen is not cheap, so we cruised over to Kodbyen (literally, the Danish meatpacking district) for pizza. Our ride home was marred by a cloud-bursting rain storm, but we were having so much fun on the trip it hardly seemed to matter.

A few random photos from Copenhagen, Denmark.

Copenhagen is a city that prides itself on functionality. A haven for creative design & urban-planning enthusiasts, Copenhagen is a place you visit and wonder, “why can’t all cities act like this.” This is the same thoughts swirling through my head as you ride on its efficient light-rail link from the airport, cruise around the city on its endless array of bike paths or wander the ample green spaces. Copenhagen is always in the cadre of cities listed as “most livable,” and it’s easy to see why.

Everything just … works. Of course, this is all by design and dedicated planning. Copenhagen didn’t just luck into its situation.

Be back soon with more photos (I took way too many). Enjoy.

Our goal: secure a reservation at noma, ranked the No. 1 restaurant in the world. No, really. Renowned for its focus on Nordic cuisine sourced from the highest quality ingredients of the region, noma’s culinary cred is only matched by its exclusivity – chef Rene Redzepi’s establishment only seats about 40 people a night. Reservations open three months in advance, and would-be diners slam the online reservation system and phone line with frantic attempts to snag a seat.

Miraculously, after about 20 minutes and numerous browser refreshes, we made it into the reservation system and booked our table for two at 7 p.m. on June 7.  After taking care of minor details – you know, booking Icelandair flights and lodging – three months later we found ourselves standing outside the unassuming brick building on a quiet Copenhagen block.

At noma, the food is naturally expected to be exceptional. But the level of service is also stunning. As we entered the dimly lit foyer, the maitre d’ was waiting to welcome us. He smiled at me and said, “Welcome, Ms. Kennelly.” This was before we had said a word or made any kind of introduction. How did they know who I was? There were other diners arriving at the time. Magic. Or maybe Facebook stalking. Either way, we were impressed.

We were escorted to our table by the window overlooking the water and downtown Copenhagen. After making sure we were comfortably seated with wine on the way and checking if we had any allergies or food concerns (nope), our server smiled at us and said, “Your first course is actually in your flowerpot.”

That was about when I started giggling uncontrollably.

Those brown, stick looking things were actually “malt flowers” that tasted like crackers, meant to be dipped in creme fraiche.

As we nibbled on those, they brought out the next amuse bouche. At this early point, we hadn’t realized to listen closely to their descriptions of the food so we’d know what to eat. We heard something about “reindeer moss” and then Jeremy tentatively attempted to bite the stick. Turns out that one actually was a stick. We were supposed to eat the brown fluffy things (kind of like a savory cotton candy.)

Next was an “acidic berry cooked as a sheath” with rose petals and salt. It was a bit like fruit leather – you picked it up with your fingers and ate it all in one go.

This was followed by a platter of empty mussel shells, with two mussels remaining covered by a top shell. We were instructed to remove the top shells and consume the fried mussel beneath. It had a bottom “shell” made of dried squid ink.

Above is a “savory vinegar cookie” with duck fat and black currants.

Spring garlic with seaweed butter – you bite off the entire end up to the green part.

A crispy chicken skin “sandwich” with smoked lumpfish roe and rye bread.

Pickled and smoked quail eggs served in smoked hay.

“You can eat everything but the pot,” said our server. This is a famous noma dish – raw radishes with creme fraiche in “edible soil” made from malt and hazelnuts.

Herb toast, emulsion of smoked cod roe with fresh herbs, topped with crispy duck stock.

I should mention that up to this point, all this was brought to our table without any effort on our end. When I got up to go the bathroom, someone was at my chair to escort me there before I was finished standing up. The dishes were brought out by the chefs themselves, most of them model-caliber, strapping young men who mention offhand things like “I worked at the French Laundry for three years before coming here.”

Also, when Jeremy ordered a beer, it came from a nearby microbrewery that only makes 2,000 liters a year from birch tree sap infused with wild stinging nettles. I’m not making up a word of this. (Also, the beer was excellent.)

We were then offered the choice between a seven-course menu and a 12-course one. The 12-course included seasonal options as well as noma “classics.” It was easy to justify getting the 12-course, though we passed on the 8-glass wine pairing, mainly because combining that amount of alcohol with extreme jet lag seemed like a poor decision.

The meal commenced with a small loaf of Swedish bread, warm from the oven and painstakingly wrapped in cloth. It was paired with goat’s milk butter (left) and pork fat with apple snaps (schnapps) and topped with potatoes and onion. This was, unequivocally, the best bread I’ve ever eaten in my life.

About now is where I had a glass of champagne that I later found out cost $58.

In this bowl are white strawberries, sorrel and a vinaigrette of unripe juniper berries. I started getting really giddy and said, “I’m having a shared emotional experience withe everyone in the restaurant right now.

This is “scallops and grains” – scallops blast frozen and sliced thin, then dried, served with a mix of grains and beechnuts over squid ink with seaweed oil.

Underneath the sorrel leaves is beef tartare with mustardseed oil and horseradish. We were instructed to take it with our fingers, drag it through the juniper leaf powder on the left, then scrape it through the tarragon emulsion at the bottom.

This was one of the most amazing dishes. It’s a langoustine caramelized on a hot beach stone. The dots on the left are a raw oyster emulsion (like mayonnaise) topped with seaweed powder. This, too, we were instructed to eat with our fingers by dragging it through the emulsion.

An oyster from mainland Denmark served in a mini-Le Cruset steamed with seaweed, stones and shells. The oyster was served with beach herbs, cream and tapioca pickled in vinegar.

Next was white asparagus served in sauce made from grilled green asparagus, with pine branches, rosemary salt, lightly whipped cream and pine shoots.

Above is pike perch, a freshwater fish, grilled in cabbage leaves with verbena sauce and topped with butter foam.

“Hen and egg,” my favorite dish of the night. A sizzling skillet resting in hay was set in front of each diner. The server squirted hay-infused oil into the skillet and told us each to crack our egg into it. He set a timer for 90 seconds while the egg fried.

We then added butter and sauteed the greens on the side. The server poured a sauce made from ramps and onions over the top, and we sprinkled on salt and herbs. Finally, we topped it with crispy potato (the curly-q in the background.)

The final savory course:

Veal sweetbreads with a compote of peas, nasturtiums, pea shoots, wild chervil, grilled baby garlic and grilled leek stem.

On to dessert! By now, about 3 hours into dinner, you can see the light was fading.

Ice cream made with bitters, served with milk crisps, dried milk crumbs and sorrel.

Green juniper ice cream with Spanish chervil “gel” and rhubarb sauce with rhubarb dice.

Burnt milk custard with frozen beets, freeze-dried currants and tarragon.

We ordered coffee, thinking the meal was complete (it was 12 courses, after all.) But lo! There were three surprise final desserts:

In this packet were caramels served inside a hollowed out marrow bone. We also received chocolate-covered potato chips with fennel and chocolate-covered lemon foam truffles.

More than four hours after entering, we staggered out of a noma in a daze. It’s easy to be cynical about food-obsessed culture, and we both have a healthy self-deprecation policy when it comes to food trends and fads. But let’s put aside cynicism for a moment. Dinner at noma was truly one of the most amazing experiences, culinary or otherwise, we have ever had.