Budapest Has The Best Lemonade
How did it become fall? When I wasn't looking, the trees started to lose green, the wind started to lose warmth, and the summer started to fade. And I didn't even get to share my lemonade discovery with you.
Over the summer I traveled to Budapest and Vienna with my family.
This was one of the first trips in a long time for which I did nothing. I did not book the flight, research hotels, read up on sites, or contribute to the overall itinerary. When I arrived at Newark Airport to meet my mom, dad, sister and brother-in-law, I thought we were making our first stop in Vienna.
My mom said, "We're flying to Munich and then taking another plane to Budapest."
"We're going to Budapest?" I asked. "I thought we were going to Vienna first."
"Nope. Budapest first."
"Oh. OK!"
"Yeah," my mom said. "Welcome to our trip!"
An eight hour plane ride--short compared to recent overseas flights--got us to Europe, and soon we were traveling by minivan to the center of Budapest to our conjoined apartments.
A law professor from New York who has an affinity for travel and a penchant for Hungarian culture rented us his apartments in Pest, which sit on a quiet street one alley turn from a busy shopping and dining avenue. He had warmed the place with pastries upon arrival, milk and eggs in the fridge, coffee and tea in abundance, wifi, and a landline phone that "thinks" it's in New York. With all the amenities and bonuses, these small, wood-adorned apartments were a no-brainer over splurging for two plain hotel rooms. The only issues were for my sister and her husband and my parents who each had to walk up a treacherous flight of wooden stairs to reach the lofted bedrooms. I lay safely on the pull out couch downstairs by the bathroom and the air conditioning. No complaints.
The apartment owner dabbles in travel writing, so he had prepared a dining guide for our location in Budapest. The laminated pages painted a picture of Budapest as a city whose homey, joyful café style restaurant scene makes up for not having as many culinary triumphs as other places. We found that Budapest does, indeed, have a relaxed restaurant scene. Sitting for hours is not questioned. Waiters tend to bring around the check only when explicitly asked.
I had stereotyped Eastern Europe as a culinary hole of boiled meats, salted cheeses, and little finesse. In the weeks leading up to the trip I had mentally prepared myself for a lovely vacation devoid of epicurean musings. Thankfully, pleasantly, wonderfully, I was wrong.
The first restaurant we tried ended up being not only a geographic reference but also a culinary staple. We returned for breakfast after such a wonderful dinner. Though I could probably go on about my pomegranate-marinated duck and decadent desert. However, the take-away I am sharing with you is: Budapest knows lemonade. We saw--and ordered--the drink everywhere we went. It put the American notion of lemonade (always over-sugared and often artificial) to shame.
In Budapest, lemonade sparkles. It consists of fresh lemons, limes, and oranges squeezed out and dropped in fizzy water to revive you from summer's oppressive heat, and fresh mint for taste rather than garnish. Oranges in American lemonade? Never. Sparkling water? Only if you're European or borderline bourgeois. But now, I share this BudaPestian Tradition hoping that--next summer--lemonade stands, BBQs, and back porch rocking-fests will be infused with fresh citrus and mint. Maybe make yourself one glass this year before waving goodbye to summer.
Over the summer I traveled to Budapest and Vienna with my family.
This was one of the first trips in a long time for which I did nothing. I did not book the flight, research hotels, read up on sites, or contribute to the overall itinerary. When I arrived at Newark Airport to meet my mom, dad, sister and brother-in-law, I thought we were making our first stop in Vienna.
My mom said, "We're flying to Munich and then taking another plane to Budapest."
"We're going to Budapest?" I asked. "I thought we were going to Vienna first."
"Nope. Budapest first."
"Oh. OK!"
"Yeah," my mom said. "Welcome to our trip!"
An eight hour plane ride--short compared to recent overseas flights--got us to Europe, and soon we were traveling by minivan to the center of Budapest to our conjoined apartments.
A law professor from New York who has an affinity for travel and a penchant for Hungarian culture rented us his apartments in Pest, which sit on a quiet street one alley turn from a busy shopping and dining avenue. He had warmed the place with pastries upon arrival, milk and eggs in the fridge, coffee and tea in abundance, wifi, and a landline phone that "thinks" it's in New York. With all the amenities and bonuses, these small, wood-adorned apartments were a no-brainer over splurging for two plain hotel rooms. The only issues were for my sister and her husband and my parents who each had to walk up a treacherous flight of wooden stairs to reach the lofted bedrooms. I lay safely on the pull out couch downstairs by the bathroom and the air conditioning. No complaints.
The apartment owner dabbles in travel writing, so he had prepared a dining guide for our location in Budapest. The laminated pages painted a picture of Budapest as a city whose homey, joyful café style restaurant scene makes up for not having as many culinary triumphs as other places. We found that Budapest does, indeed, have a relaxed restaurant scene. Sitting for hours is not questioned. Waiters tend to bring around the check only when explicitly asked.
I had stereotyped Eastern Europe as a culinary hole of boiled meats, salted cheeses, and little finesse. In the weeks leading up to the trip I had mentally prepared myself for a lovely vacation devoid of epicurean musings. Thankfully, pleasantly, wonderfully, I was wrong.
The first restaurant we tried ended up being not only a geographic reference but also a culinary staple. We returned for breakfast after such a wonderful dinner. Though I could probably go on about my pomegranate-marinated duck and decadent desert. However, the take-away I am sharing with you is: Budapest knows lemonade. We saw--and ordered--the drink everywhere we went. It put the American notion of lemonade (always over-sugared and often artificial) to shame.
In Budapest, lemonade sparkles. It consists of fresh lemons, limes, and oranges squeezed out and dropped in fizzy water to revive you from summer's oppressive heat, and fresh mint for taste rather than garnish. Oranges in American lemonade? Never. Sparkling water? Only if you're European or borderline bourgeois. But now, I share this BudaPestian Tradition hoping that--next summer--lemonade stands, BBQs, and back porch rocking-fests will be infused with fresh citrus and mint. Maybe make yourself one glass this year before waving goodbye to summer.
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