The Baltic island of Hiddensee has long called out to travelers. An oddly shaped strip of land, it’s known for its reedy beaches, waddle-roofed huts, and ban on cars: the only way to get from one tiny village to another is on foot, by bike, or via horse-drawn carriage.
All cookbooks, at some level, are aspirational or nostalgic. Some tell you how you ought to live, and some delve into a lost culture from the old country, pages filled with family secrets coaxed from formidable matriarchs. The German-Jewish Cookbook is a bit of both.
“Football is a simple game,” legendary Scottish soccer manager Bill Shankly once said. The sport, he added, is “made complicated by people who should know better.” He probably had a point.
The German verb erinnern was always one of the hardest for me to master. I struggled with where to place each part of this word-phrase in a sentence, especially when every German sentence has multiple correct versions. It turns out that erinnern has two meanings.
If the personal is political, then how we choose to eat may be the most personal and political act of our daily lives. No one knows this better than Honey and Bunny, the Austrian performance artists.
At Faviken, his beloved restaurant in Are, Magnus Nilsson adds a rotating pop-up restaurant Uvisan, cocktail bar Svartklubb and cafe and bakery Krus.
A 45-year-old fantasy novel by the author of The Neverending Story is in many ways a fitting companion to A Wrinkle in Time.
Portugal definitely knows its fish. But until recently, the country was better known for its traditional fish dishes than for innovative and contemporary seafood preparations. In the last few years, however, as Lisbon becomes one of Europe’s epicenters of cool, a number of hip, fish-focused restaurants have followed.