Oh, and to add insult to injury? I confidently bought Smantana, KNOWING that it is sour cream. I bought one that is made from goats milk, I thought. Surprisingly, it's not bad altogether, but not like any other chili, ever. Further investigation reveals this sour cream is from Vaca or cow. It is pasteurized. Here's the difference in taste, in the US it's 14% milk-fat. The one I bought is FORTY (40)% milk-fat! Um, we are learning to like it. And it may be fermented instead of soured in the US tradition.
One of the things I like to do is look up local recipes and make them in this country. Layers of polenta and feta topped with bacon and sausage and fresh tomatoes. Mm. Random recipe memory from last week.
I try to go to the little "market" grocery on an almost daily. The other day I held the door for the woman walking a bike down the two flights of stairs in our apartment building on my way out. I'm walking to the market to pick up a couple of items and I'm actually thinking "Boy, I really feel very safe here in Bucharest". There are the usual couples, single women, single men, a baby in a stroller being pushed down the street.
It's a very domestic group today. I'm smiling as I pass an elderly man, with the ubiquitous shopping bag on wheels. You see them everywhere in Europe. And I meet his eyes. He is stone cold mean looking and there's a recent gash on the right side of his head. He gimps past me with his cane as my smile fades....Twenty feet down the road, there's another elderly man, sitting in a splayed fashion, leaning against a light pole with his grocery sack next to him. A women in a small car stops and asks him questions, to which he replies negatively. She drives off when others honk behind her on our small one lane road. I keep walking. I realize how incredibly imaginative we all are, because I have made up this whole story of these two geriatrics duking it out. Cane man won.
Recipes I have made and love. Also, I freeformed feta, diced tomato, apple cider vinegar, olive oil salt and pepper. Yum.
http://www.daringgourmet.com/traditional-hungarian-goulash-gulyas/
http://www.jocooks.com/main-courses/traditional-romanian-polenta-with-feta-cheese-and-bacon-mamaliga-cu-branza-in-paturi/
http://www.uncover-romania.com/about-romania/romanian-recipes/soups/ardeal-cabbage.html
In a grocery store in Bucharest. Pretty simple things on the list. I put seven potatoes into a sack. The scale in the produce section has a sticker machine. I infer that you put your things on the scale, select the produce you are buying and the sticker comes out, because I saw someone else do it. I'm smart like that:) I put my bag of things on the scale. I then punch in the UPC code, 94. Nothing happens. I then hit what I believe is the cancel button. Home screen shows up. I then look at the pretty pictures to find the potatoes I am buying. By now, there are two people behind me. The one right behind me is helpfully repeating over and over again, something in Romanian. I'm not sure if it's "Stupid woman, hit the right button", or "Hey, try this!". Either way, I step aside and wave her over. I say "Please?" and smile. She helpfully spells potatoes with letters that don't begin with P. It spits out my sticker. Next time, google translate potato BEFORE hitting the scale. Also, smiles work. Happy Potato Pentacost Sunday!
We're on a bus. It's fairly empty. But there's a guy seated that I sit next to, as we are only going a few stops. Richard sits across. The man says something in Romanian and gallantly stands up to exchange places with Richard and allow us to sit together. The next few jarring moves are like a puzzle board, shifting the pieces around the square to get us all seated without falling on our asses as the bus is moving. Then the man sits. A minute goes buy and he crosses himself and then he gets up at the next stop, only to move across the aisle from us. I could have made that mean that I have the evil eye. Or that I stink, or that he doesn't like Americans. But I don't. And within a few more stops, I realize EVERYONE crosses themselves every few blocks. Whenever we pass a church, they all cross themselves. Happy Pentacost Sunday folks!
Random things that happen: So we rented the place in Bucharest for a month. An unbelievable rate, with a bedroom, full kitchen, washing machine and an elevator. All things we screened for. Lightening quick internet. No Air Conditioner. We didn't know we had to filter for that one. We expressed concern before we got there, she reassured us it was fine with just the fan. And it was. The whole month. Until 3 days ago. We had been hanging in the Gare de Nord train station here, in an air conditioned coffee shop we found. Today, we gave in and rented a different Airbnb for the final 3 nights here. An embarrassingly low amount to be comfortable and to be able to work for the final four days here in this lovely city. The people in Bucharest are wonderful. What I've learned is that the ones who speak the least amount of English are the most eager to be helpful. *sigh* The security guy at the mall trying to point us to the tram in the wrong direction, for instance. By the way, the mall had a "final showing week discount" for ""Guardians of the Galaxy II, two thumbs up by both of us. How does this all connect? Our new Airbnb is directly across the street from said mall.
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