Seeing Architecture in Helsinki without leaving Berlin

Hi all,

*I began writing this post nearly a MONTH ago. My word. So while the main content is still valid, 'this week' is now a couple of weeks ago. Bad blogger!*

It has been a busy week in the Von Strudel WG (Wohnungsgemeinschaft, aka Share House). On Wednesday last week, I took a trek out to Potsdam to see the Palaces of the Prussian Kings. Spring is arguably the best time to venture to Potsdam, as the extensive gardens are bursting with blooms of all shapes, sizes and colours. That may be a blog post unto itself.

Postdam, she's so pretty

After a long day wandering around P-dam, it was time to grab the Scooby Gang and head to another round of live music.

Architecture in Helsinki took a moment to breathe between albums in producing their most recent LP Moment Bends. Four years have lapsed since we were pow-ed with 'Heart it Races' and 'Hold Music'. In those four years, the band reconfigured, and made a move towards a more synthy sound, losing a lot of the orchestral fixings of previous albums. There are no clarinets or tubas this time around, as in 'Tiny Paintings' or earlier work like 'The Owls Go'.

'That Beep,' the first single from Moment Bends (which was actually released three years ahead of the album) gives you an idea where the band was heading with the album. A little late 80s, the beeps and other chewing-gum synth noises set the tone for a lot of the tracks. Their second single, 'Contact High' is catchy, and the throwbacks to the 80s continue.

Front man for the band, Cameron Bird, dominates the vocals on the album, with Kellie Sutherland ( the sole chick in the group) given only a couple of tracks to lend her sweet sound to. In calling Bird the 'front man' of Architecture in Helsinki, I feel I'm discrediting the other members of the band, who all play vital roles in the balance of the group's sound. Not only that, they play musical chairs with their musical instruments (i.e. they all play multiple instruments), not only on the album, but on stage too.

We saw AiH at the soon-to-be defunct venue, Maria am Ostbahnhof (ed note – as of 22 May, Maria is now closed). Sadly the venue was nowhere near capacity, and we arrived just as the warm-up act were finishing.

Maria am Ostbahnhof - RIP

AiH began their set with 'Desert Island' a song from their new album. Considering the album was only released on 6 April and the gig was exactly two weeks after that date, the crowd were enthusiastic in hearing a song they weren't familiar with.

The performance was evenly distributed with new and old material, which had the crowd bopping. Huddled up front were a noisy group of Melbournians (the band's home town) who received a special shout-out from the band, which was in-turn met with an even noisier cacophony of 'yeahs' 'Go Melbourne' and maybe even one 'Sydney sucks'.

I mentioned earlier the band's ability to play musical chairs with their musical instruments, and their live performances are no different. The stage was littered with keyboards and synthesisers, no less than four guitars were played by three band mates.

For me, the highlights of the show were 'Wishbone' and 'Heart it Races'. Getting caught up in the riotous Melbourne gang at the front of the crowd, I was too busy screaming lyrics along with another girl to notice what the rest of the crowd were doing.

Overall, I was really happy with the live performance by the band, who manage to replicate a very unique and distinctive sound outside of the studio. I was especially impressed with the charisma of vocals man Bird, who to me echoed the writhing, mic stand caresses of a young Michael Hutchence – perhaps it's the hairstyle? What do you think?

xoxo Fifi

Frohe Ostern!

Well, well, well, if Berlin didn't suddenly decide it's Spring! This week's weather has been superb – stockings and coat banished, summer dresses and sandals donned; I don't even feel insecure about my casper tan, because everyone's in the same boat! Well, apart from those Germans that feel the need to be tan all year round – yes old buff dude at my gym who looks a lot like Gianni Versace, I'm lookin' at you! 

Anyway, Easter seems to be quite the celebrated affair over here in Germany. Supermarkets and department stores have cleared way for all manners of Easter paraphernalia, from the usual Lindt bunnies, to the more obscure fake grass in which to line Easter baskets. Oh yes, you don't just get one measly little Easter egg over here in Germany, land of the carb, you get a whole BASKET: “The Easter Basket ritual has its origins in the German folklore of the Easter Hare. According to a German legend, a white hare would leave Easter baskets filled with candies, brightly coloured eggs and other goodies for kids to gorge on Easter morning.”

Like Christmas, Germans like to get all 'O Tannenbaum' at Easter too, and decorate trees with brightly coloured eggs, hanging from equally colourful ribbons. The effect is festive, and the eggs come in all manner of decoration – Faberge, decoupage and dyed. 

source

I mentioned earlier that people gift baskets of eggs. Well, these aren't any old Cadbury mini eggs. At our nearest department store, an entire wall of the first floor has been cleared to make way for chocolate. Lindt's presence in Germany is large; at Christmas and Easter – and particularly the latter – it is huge. Lindt bunnies in several sizes and types of chocolate are frozen, huddling on shelves, watched by the Grand Master Lindt bunny, poised above them all, with a bell the size of my head.

Pralines, truffles, marzipan and more marzipan, Lindt chocolates in all Easter-related shapes and sizes, packaged in tins and bags and squeaky plastic cellophane. Would you like strawberry-centered Niederegger mini eggs or a white chocolate Ladybug (a sign of spring)? For a chocolate lover, the sight was slightly overwhelming. I grabbed my over-sized Kinder Surprises (known as the same name in German – Kinder Uberraschung) paid, and bolted for the door, before I could trigger the addict in me who was dying to tear at emerald green and rose pink foil. 

Not quite THIS big, but still pretty big!
source

With such festivity surrounding my favourite holiday (do I have to explain this? The one holiday I can legitimately eat chocolate for four days straight) I couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. If I'm honest with you, the feeling had been around since late February, and usually happened around breakfast time.

Then the one-a-penny, two-a-penny dropped. Hot Cross Buns.

Subliminally, I had been missing them, but my conscious mind failed to catch up until a week or so ago. Good thing for my waist line! With an abundance of time on my hands, I set about researching a recipe that didn't look too scary. The rest is history – very delicious history!

Recipe from Taste.com.au with additions by me

Makes 16 buns

Ingredients
1 1/2 cups (375ml) warm milk
2 tsp (1 sachet/7g) dried yeast
1/4 cup (55g) caster sugar
60g butter, melted
1 egg, lightly whisked
4 cups (600g) plain flour
1 tsp salt
1 tbs mixed spice

Decoration
1/4 cup (40g) plain flour, extra 

2 tbs water
2 tbs caster sugar 

2 tbs water

Combine the milk, yeast and 1 tbs of the sugar in a jug. Set aside in a warm place for 5 minutes or until frothy (I turn the oven on and leave the jug on the stove top).

Add the butter and egg to the mixture and whisk to combine. Place the flour, sugar, salt and mixed spice in a large bowl and stir to combine. Make a well in the centre. Pour the milk mixture into the well and use wooden spoon to stir until just combined, then use your hands to bring the dough together.

Turn onto a lightly floured surface and knead for 10-15 minutes or until smooth and elastic. Place the dough in a bowl and cover with a damp tea towel and place in a warm, draught-free place for 1 hour or until dough doubles in size. 

Preheat oven to 200°C. Grease a 23cm square cake pan. Punch the dough down with your fist. Turn dough onto a lightly floured surface and knead for 2-3 minutes or until dough is smooth and elastic. Divide dough into 16 even portions and shape each portion into a ball. Arrange dough portions, side by side, in the prepared pan. Set aside in a warm, draught-free place for 30 minutes or until dough has risen 2cm. 

Combine the water and extra flour in a small bowl until a smooth paste forms. Place in a small plastic bag and snip off the end. Pipe a continuous line down the centre of each row of buns, lengthways and crossways, to form crosses. Bake in preheated oven for 10 minutes. Reduce heat to 180°C and bake for a further 20 minutes or until golden and cooked through (buns are ready when they sound hollow when tapped on the top).

Turn onto a wire rack. Place the sugar in a small saucepan over high heat with two tablespoons water. Cook, stirring, for several minutes until the mixture becomes a syrupy consistency. Using a pastry brush, paint cooled buns with mixture to create glossy buns. 

Enjoy!

Xo Fifi von Strudel

P.S. You wouldn't believe how hard it was to find Mixed Spice in this country!

Ducks don't need satellites..

Phew, can someone put the brakes on this week? It's already Thursday and I feel like I'm stuck back at Tuesday. Of course this makes quite a nice change.


This has been a week filled with music.


Monday saw Mr von S and I hot-footing it to a part of town we haven't spent much time in (which is everywhere except Kreuzberg, Neukoelln and Mitte) to see an old school friend playing in an orchestra. Now, don't get visions of Brahms or Schubert. Instead, imagine yourself in a scene from 1972's Cabaret (because we ARE in Germany after all) and replace Liza Minnelli with once-was-a-concert-pianist Montmorensy. Just as infectious as infectious as Liza's trilling, Montmorensy's tracks have been doing laps in my mind the past few days. In particular, as the title suggests, the tune Ducks Don't Need Satellites. 


Perhaps it's the funny title, the easy repetition in the song or the almost melancholic feel the song carries, but the lines "Give a 'quack', get a 'quack quack' back" should be enticing enough for you to have a listen to a couple of his songs.


I was rather impressed with Montmorensy. Firstly, his compositions are telling of his classic, orchestral background; the music was beautiful. The arrangement of strings in some pieces really got my skin all plucked-goose-like. Secondly, the man can perform. In a room of 200-odd people, his voice was clear and strong, his piano-playing faultless (to my untrained ears, anyway) and his use of Denglish (German and English, like Spanglish) got the crowd on-side and giggling with every Australian-accented 'Danke schoen'. The mix of songs - serious, not so serious, orchestral, ballad-like, poppy, also made sure that a variety of tastes were catered to. 

Montmorensy playing at Bar jeder Vernuft (if you look very carefully!)

The performance - held as part of his first album release - was great fun. We sat next to two German woman who looked like they also loved every minute. I'm not sure how much they had had to drink before we got there, but there was lots of clapping and cheering from both them and us (sober). 


Backing it up on Tuesday night, we encountered a very different musical performance. 


I had missed seeing Lykke Li in Melbourne in 2009 due to my inability to buy tickets in a timely manner. However, friends had been more organised said her performance was great. I kicked myself; it was something that I regretted on numerous occasions, such as when talking to people who had been at the concert.


Well, it's not something I regret quite so much anymore, because - you guessed it - I got to see Lykke in Berlin! Hooray. 


Following up her first album, Youth Novels, her sophomore album Wounded Rhymes is a bit of a different Lykke. Where Youth Novels was naive and fun, Wounded Rhymes is darker; it makes me fear that poor old Lykke may have been thinking of self-harm while writing it. The back-story to the album is that LL was involved in a bit of a love triangle, and from the contents of the album, she didn't get the man. 


The pain was obviously good for her, creatively. In performing, Lykke actually came off a little bit nuts. Like the psycho ex-girlfriend. Dressed head-to-(camel)toe in black lycra, she swathed herself in what looked like a black bathrobe, and at one stage covered her head and the microphone with the excess fabric. Flailing around stage in song-breakdowns like Kate Bush in Wuthering Heights, wrapping herself in the stage curtains, her brunette hair a frazzled birds-nest, Mr von S and I both remarked that she didn't look so healthy. A recent interview she gave with local English-mag EXBERLINER was a great example of the kind of nuts I'm talking about.

Lykke looking particularly pained

Anyway, the music. Look, she played us Dance, Dance, Dance, and her collaboration with Kleerup, Until We Bleed. I was pretty happy about that, as was the rest of the crowd. But her mic was heavily filtered with lots of reverb, her backing singer gave her most of her power, and sans ear-piece during the encore (which the crowd struggled to even get, more on that below) she was sharp, sharp, sharp.


I think I've mentioned before on the blog that the Deutsche Volk can sometimes be rather reserved and law-abiding - like only crossing the street at designated crossings, on the green man, and shunning anyone who doesn't. I haven't really seen this behaviour at other musical performances I've been to in Berlin, granted those have mostly been in nightclubs, but it was clear to see the Lykke was wanting the crowd to go wild for her. Instead, she got a couple of 'woos' and polite - but not out of control - applause. She told the crowd they were 'the worst ever'. Ouch, Lykke. Just 'cos you got dumped doesn't mean you can go around giving everyone 'tude. But that's what's she's doing. And so sadly, the naive, sweet Lykke of Youth Novels is gone and the grumpy, adolescent Lykke is here. For now. Perhaps her next album will be about mortgages and job security?


PS - Sarah Blasko was the support act and she was gorgeous. She's like a little doll! Go the Aussies!

Hai Sarah!

Berlin, I love you, but you're getting me down.

Dear Berlin, 

I love you because you are poor, but sexy (arm, aber sexy). Yes, you are a very affordable place to live. Where else can I buy 500ml Paulaner beer for 70 cents a bottle? Where else can I buy a kebab for EU2,90? Where else can I get away with paying 1/6^th of the rent I was paying in Melbourne (yes, it's THAT cheap)? Where else do the homeless stalk you at train stations for your empty bottles so they can return them and receive 8 cents back?

Our nearest U bahn station - a place to buy tickets and leave empty beer bottles for the homeless.

Until a month ago, I would have added 'where else can you ride the subway for free and never be fined?' to that list, but it seems that the Berlin transport authority have decided to crack down on schwarzfahren (fare evading, or literally, driving/riding black). Schwarzfahren used to be a SPORT in Berlin; our housemate believes he has a sixth sense for undercover ticket inspectors, which he has tried to pass on to us. He takes his schwarzfahren very seriously. Thus, he is disappointed when his padawans return home with fines in hands, telling us we should have seen the signs (badly dressed – jeans and runners, usually male, approximately 40, generally no bag, but sometimes a satchel, a puffy jacket to hide the ticket machine on their belt). Having officially been fined twice, with one near-miss, I now buy tickets religiously. Although the fine's no big deal – EU40, ticket prices are outrageous, and eat up my dwindling funds like a carb-crazed Atkins junky.

Berlin, I love that you stay awake all weekend. From Thursday until the early hours of Monday morning, 'vibe' can be found in most places. And unlike Melbourne, where memorable nights happen every couple of months, you can have those sorts of nights in multiples every weekend. In that sense, Berlin is like a fantastic sexual partner. Plus, it's only EU12 to get in to even the hottest clubs, and beers still only cost about EU2,50. The music is fresh (if you like techno – almost a prerequisite if you live in Berlin, even if it is only Paul Kalkbrenner or Ellen Allien) and the crowd is mostly unpretentious; everyone is there for the same reason – to enjoy the music.

Party thrown in abandoned supermarket

However, hangovers and generally feeling like shite is no good. Boo.

Berlin, I know I mentioned food earlier in the 'arm aber sexy' bit, but it warrants a second shout. Your food is CHEAP. I have had some of the most amazing kebabs in the past four months, and just quietly, I am cheating on Mr von Studel with Mustafa of Gemüse Kebap fame. Can I mention the price? I'm talking protein, carbohydrate and vegetables for under EU3. If you pay more, you're eating a durum, or simply in the wrong place. Berlin, you had me hooked with my first bite of currywurst. Protein, delicious, carb-friendly protein. And, if I want to get all sit-down-to-eat, then yes, even that is affordable. Except for Mexican, which is expensive regardless of location. Yes, we feast on Tibetan momo regularly, Vietnamese pho, steamed pork buns and chicken vindaloo – this all sets us back about EU7 – including a drink.

Purportedly Berlin's best currywurst, and around the corner from my house!

Of course, I didn't say that the vindaloo was any good. It seems that while Berlin can sure put out in terms of variety, we are yet to find a really good curry. Expats who've lived here for years are still in search of the illustrious decent curry. It seems that Indian restaurants here tend to cater to the German palate, which is a little on the bland side. Spice? No way! After all, this is the country that thrives on sausage, potato, deli meats, cheese and the most gloriously heavy, seeded bread I've ever tasted. But my gosh, they can't do a good curry!

Berlin, I love you for giving me the opportunity to use my years' worth of German tuition. Money well spent. It makes me feel not quite so lost in a country that could be potentially daunting, except for one thing...

That's right, everyone here speaks bloody perfect ENGLISH! If I falter for a second, mishear you, pronounce something a little dodgily, SNAP, straight into English. And of course, every one's English is better than my German which makes it very easy to give in and switch to the mother tongue.

Berlin, I love that you have four very distinct seasons, although thus far I've only really seen a tiny bit of autumn, all of winter, and spring is just around the corner. But my goodness, I can feel it coming. Everyone can feel it coming. After the joy of snow was called off early, (thank you global warming, or climate change, whichever you believe in) days with a top of -5 got boring really quickly. Going outside was an epic effort. Layer upon layer of clothing. Tights with leggings over the top, two pairs of socks, a singlet, a long sleeved top, a cardigan and a blazer, and then a heavy woolen coat, scarf pulled up over the nose and hat pulled down to the eyebrows and industrial-strength mittens from Nepal. I am grateful that the sun is setting later and rising earlier. Sunshine, warmth, crocuses, freesias and daffodils all pushing their way through the moist earth and smiling with their cheery colours. I have learnt to appreciate the changing of the seasons.

Cold winter sun is better than no sun at all. Almost forgot I had a shadow.

Although of course, that doesn't change the fact that winter is a bitch.

Berlin, I love that you have given me the time to breathe deeply, away from the daily grind of 9-5 (or 8-6 rather) and that I've had the opportunity to think about what I'd really like to do with my life. I love that you are full of 'free spirits' and more creative types than a Steiner school. I love that you are full of inspiring, recent history, fascinating stories and quirks. I love that people can work here part-time and still afford to live, in order to pursue their more creative, less lucrative passions.

Only thing is that jobs are ridiculously hard to come by (i.e. I'm still looking), and there are only so many poems I can write about Kreuzberg.

So Berlin, while I love you, you are getting me down. I've shown you the areas you can improve on. Now get to it.

All my love,

Fifi xox

Dearest friends,

Apologies for the radio silence on the blog of late. The only excuse I have is that my foodspiration has dried up a little of late. Believe me, food is DEFNITELY still being consumed, but I'm having a hard time deciding whether certain subjects would be of interest to my audience or not. Thus, I have found myself in a paralysed state of not writing for fear of being dull. Which is more boring? No writing at all, or writing on something of little interest?

Given that one of my aims for the year was to write more, I've decided that writing about something is better than not writing at all. So excuse me as the blog deviates from being strictly about food and moves to a quasi 'Life in Berlin' mashed in with some baking and other general musing. Yes, baking, because while I'm not necessarily chowing down on interesting food every day (hello salad) I still manage to bake frequently. My housemates love me.

New posts us soon, I promise!

xo

Putting the 'nerd' in Knödel

Hi friends,

Sorry for the complete nerd-out in my prior post. My mind was numb and easily influenced and I had just finished watching this episode of Family Guy. I'm pretty sure my mind had turned into a Knödel. Really.

Now before I go into my long-winded story about Knödel, let's get our facts straight:

• Knödel, der – noun: round dumpling, often made of potato and/or bread.
• pronounced k-ner-dl 
• delicious
• can be found in Germany, Austria and Czech Republic
• consumed by the tonne at Oktoberfest
• can be savoury or sweet.

I believe I first encountered this Bavarian native in 2000, at the fabulously kitsch German restaurant in the Dandenongs –  Cuckoo. Among the smorgasbord of sausage, I spied the innocent/over processed-looking ball of potato/polenta/Deb. Reoccurring theme on the blog? TEXTURE!! Yes, the texture is what appealed to me. With the ball of something on my plate, along with some roast meat and gravy, I was on-board.

I repeated this scene at Oktoberfest last year, almost ten years since that first encounter (yikes, I just gave away a rough estimate of my age) and it was still love – although I may have been a little drunker this time around. Regardless, the fact remained that whatever it is about Knödel that Germans, Austrians, Czech and whoever else wishes to join this bandwagon, like, I like too. 

So, you can imagine my joy when rolling around my local Kaiser (name of my nearest supermarket) I came across a whole pop-up stand of Knödel! Mini-Knödel, big Knödel, Semmel Knödel, halb und halb Knödel, all there. There were even different brands, including a no-name brand for all the skint Berliners, of which there are many. Although I think they generally shop at Penny Markt, Lidl and Aldi.

After chowing down on Knödel und Wurst at regular gastronomic intervals, and after stumbling across what is possibly the World's best cook book I thought: “hey, I'm low on content for my blog, why don't I just make some Knödel and document the process?” Genius, Fifi, sehr sehr klug!

I looked through the potato bible, occasionally wiping saliva (there will be more posts on the potato gems from this book – ha, potato gems) humming and hawing over just which type of Knödel I would make. There are a LOT of different types of Knödel , ranging from straight mashed potato, to mixes with flour, semolina, ham, breadcrumbs, filled centres, boiled, broiled, breaded. It's astounding just how many different kinds of dumpling there are!

Finally, I made my choice: Bayrische Reibeknödel. 

In readiness, I purchased 1.5kgs of potato, four bread rolls and made sure we had salt in the house – just kidding, we ALWAYS have salt in this house! Then, it was go time.

Being radically awesome at German, I didn't use a dictionary to translate the recipe, but I will for you, because I am kind.

-------------

Bayrische Reibeknödel

Ingredients

4 bread rolls

1/8L milk

1000g raw potato

500g cooked potato

salt

Method

Heat the milk and pour over the rolls. Peel, wash and grate the potatoes. Squeeze excess water from potatoes using a dish towel. Combine the cooked and raw potato and bread rolls. Add salt. With damp hands, form dumplings. Place the dumplings in boiling, salted water, and leave them for 15 minutes, or until they are cooked (this may be a bit longer than 15 minutes *sigh*).

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I peeled 1.5kg of potatoes. I felt like I was in the Navy, peeling spud after spud. My hands acquired  a flour-like coating, and one part of my peeling hand was quite red from being constantly stabbed by the implement it was wielding. 

Then, once I was done peeling, it was time to GRATE. Great! (too lame?) 

I grated one kilo of potatoes. Yep, grated me a whole freakin kilo of 'tater. I grated part of my nail too, but thanks to me wearing dark nail polish, was easily able to fish it out and give it a proper burial. And don't give me 'ew, she grated her nail' – we've all done it.

I chopped 500g potato and boiled it to create mashed potato.

I sliced four bread rolls into thin slices and covered them in milk.

I combined. Slowly, the immense whiteness of grated and mashed potato and bread rolls came together, and I was able to shape tennis ball-sized dumplings. They looked marvellous – like the real deal.

And then I boiled. Perhaps too rapidly. Bits of grated potato began swimming about the pot, like terrified tetras, like a snow dome. Fifteen minutes arrived and I rescued my babies out of their boiling-hot bath. They had lost weight. On top of that, they hadn't bothered to cook themselves! 

Being the klug child that I am/not having enough room in the pot, I had only cooked half the batch on my first round. That meant, I could still redeem myself in round two. If Tania Zaetta had asked me at the end of round one, a la Who Dares Wins 'was that your plan?' I would have said 'heck no, Tania.'

Round two saw me turn down the heat, and this gave a much better – albeit slower – result. The round two Knödel maintained their weight and form. I like to think that Knödel are much like children – you always screw up the first one and then get it right the second time around. No prizes for guessing which child I am (sorry Chumbrero!)

So finally, some two hours after I laid eyes on that sack-a-pataytas, we had a result. Sadly (or gladly?) my Knödel didn't really taste much like the dumplings of Oktoberfest, or Cuckoo or even no-name brand: they tasted too real. 

So meine Freunde that was the great Knödel experiment, mark one. There will be mark two. There are just so many different types of Knödel that to NOT make Knödel again would actually be a bit mean to the other Knödel. 

When that time comes, however is another matter.

So until next time, may the force be with you. Or something.

Fifi xoxo

Where no von Strudel has gone before...

Kitchen's log. Star date 9 February 2011. 

I've spent the past two hours fighting with the peeler, grater and 1.5kgs of tuberosum. I have cuts and burns on my hands, and I'm exhausted. The battle was long and tiring, but I won.

While I may have won the battle, I haven't won the war. I'll have to go in again for round two at some stage...I shudder at the thought.

Full detailed report as soon as possible.

Von Strudel out.