To go back to New York, we went to Haneda this time instead of Narita. It was a much shorter and cheaper journey to get there, and once we did, we went through security and immigration and ended up at the Japan Airlines First Class lounge for a quick meal and shower before getting on our flight.

There were some fun things we liked at the lounge, including the automated wet towel dispenser, which when you press it, it dispenses a cold, tightly coiled wet towel for you to use to wipe your hands or face. This was especially helpful cleaning Pookster up after her very messy pasta meal.

The second fun thing that I enjoyed was the automated beer dispenser. A number of different local Japanese beers were available on tap, so once you placed your beer glass in the glass holder and pressed the appropriate dispensing button, the machine would tip your glass ever so slightly (and securely), fill it with beer to just the right level, without any over foaming/head on top, and then tilt it back down so that you could retrieve the glass. It was the perfect pour!

These cute little perks and privileges were fun to enjoy in our last few hours in Japan. It only made me want to come back sooner!

Tempura is one of those things that most people love, and it’s for obvious reasons: it is DEEP FRIED food. It’s a common Japanese dish that is usually made up of different types of seafood and vegetables that have been coated in a light, thin batter, then deep fried. If you get cheap tempura, you can expect the batter to be heavier, and if you get heavenly, delicious tempura, you can expect that the batter is super thin, yet results in a crunchy, crispy exterior coating. And the oil will be barely detectable.

Since tempura is common, it’s typically at any Japanese restaurant you will go to, assuming they do not just specialize in one thing (e.g. sushi, onigiri, ramen, katsu). But finding really notable, drool-worthy tempura is a bit of a challenge pretty much anywhere outside of Japan. Years ago, when I discovered a Japanese restaurant that specializes in tempura that opened here in New York, Chris scoffed at it when I told him it had one Michelin star.

“Tempura is so easy to fuck up,” he retorted. “Why would I have questionable tempura here (in New York City) and pay a lot of money for it when I can just fly to Japan and KNOW that it’s going to be good?”

And so, I suppose that’s what we did. We flew to Japan. And this time, we would eat tempura. So, tempura at Tempura Hisago it was for our last dinner on our second Japan trip together. Chris’s cousin and her husband dined with us, and we got a set menu, which included assorted seafood and veggie tempura, red miso soup, a rice bowl, various pickled vegetables (tsukemono), salad, your choice of alcoholic beverage, and a yuzu sorbet at the end. Once you place your order, all the food is made to order. There are chefs in the back of the restaurant that you can watch who are frying all your tempura right there. You can hear the sizzle of the oil, though somehow you cannot smell it. And when they bring the tempura over to you, it’s super hot and fresh. The tempura is served lined by parchment paper on plates, and when you remove the pieces, the tempura is so well drained that there is barely any oil remaining at all! The tempura was perfect: super lightly battered, with every bite nice and crispy. The seafood was cooked well with no rubberiness, and the vegetables were soft and tender.

And the value was excellent, as well: for all that food, which certainly made all of us full, we spent about $20 USD/person. We will miss this quality at these price levels.

Today was our last full day in Tokyo, and I wanted to make sure I got in as many Hokkaido milk products as possible. Since about ten years ago, I kept stumbling upon articles and food references that would always say how delicious and superior Hokkaido milk was to the average milk. It started with a Hokkaido milk candy. Then, it became about the Hokkaido soft cream ice cream, then about the freaking milk itself. It has now ballooned into constant social media posts I get bombarded with regarding Hokkaido ice cream, Hokkaido milk cream cheese cakes and tarts… you name it, and I’ve likely already heard of it.

Granted, I already knew that American milk, overall, was inferior: the majority of cows in the U.S. eat grain (read: not natural) and have little time outside to graze (I think this also goes without saying, but again, not natural), whereas a happy cow would have vast amounts of land to graze and eat grass and insects, which is what nature intended. Because of this, I immediately noticed the taste difference in milk we’d drink in Australia or New Zealand (always grass fed cows) vs. in the U.S. Something about the milk just tasted brighter, fresher, and creamier. It’s hard to describe until you have it for yourself. Hokkaido is the second largest main island of Japan, a nation of islands. With only about 5.2 million people, Hokkaido is also one of Japan’s less populated main islands (compare that to the island of Honshu, home of Tokyo, Osaka, and Hiroshima, which has a population of of about 104 million people). Hokkaido is characterized by a cooler, more rugged climate, vast plains, and extensive forests. As such, it is the perfect place for cows to have vast amounts of fresh air and land to happily graze on. And happy cows always produce delicious milk, which makes for happy dairy consumers such as myself.

Our Hokkaido milk-themed food crawl started with the famous Hokkaido milk lady stand at the Akihabara train station, between platforms 5-6. To access this point, you’d either need a frequent train card or already be inside the train station itself. So once we got off our train from Ebisu, Chris and Pookster waited for me downstairs while I went up to platforms 5-6. I easily found the milk stand: it was run by a smiley, friendly Japanese lady who spoke just enough broken English so that we could communicate with each other. It was cute, humble, simple stand: while she had some ready made sandwiches and snacks, along with an array of packaged treats, milk was clearly her dominant item being sold. Her glass case was lined with various types of milk, most of which I could not read. But some were obvious based on the photos: lesser/low fat, apple-flavored, peach-flavored, etc. What I did not realize until I asked for Hokkaido milk and bought it from her was that she sells milk the old-school way: once you order and pay, she takes out a single-serve glass bottle, pops off the top with her can opener, and hands the glass over to you. You’re expected to drink the glass of milk right then and there, enjoy it, then hand the empty glass back to her for recycling (or, perhaps even sterilization and reuse, because why not?!). While I savored my single glass of cold Hokkaido milk, I marveled at all the people who rushed over to buy their glass, chugged their milk, handed it back to her, and then rushed onto an arriving train on the same platform. I would expect that this was an everyday or every-week ritual for a lot of people, and many of these people buying and chugging her milk were likely regulars who had a relationship with her who she knew. I thought it was really sweet to have a relationship with a milk person, and I wondered if she did know the inner workings of any of their lives at all.

I asked the milk lady if there were any takeaway options. She indicated that she usually doesn’t sell them, but she did have a small number in her fridge for a 10 JPY upcharge. She also tried to sell me on the apple Hokkaido milk, but I insisted on the original. So I picked up one to bring down for Pookster and Chris to share. Chris got in a few sips, but it was Pookster who really enjoyed this milk: it was truly love at first sip! She had this huge smile after slurping through the straw and got so upset when it was time to discard the bottle! I had only wished we had recorded her reaction to her first and only taste of pure Hokkaido milk.

We then proceeded to two other places for Hokkaido milk products: Cow Cow Kitchen, which makes what they call “milk pies,” which are cow head-shaped pastries that are essentially a cross between a croissant and a cream puff, filled to the brim with a delicious, thick Hokkaido milk custard; we also went to Azabu Sabo Hokkaido Milk Ice Cream just steps away, all at Akihabara Station. Today, we got lucky, as the special limited edition rotating flavor was pistachio (it’s like they knew I was coming!). Given Chris’s cousin and her wife were with us, we got to buy more and got a full box of six to share! We got three of the original milk custard and three of the pistachio. The pastry just shatters in your mouth upon the first bite, just like the perfect croissant. And the model “milk pie” was not lying at all: it really was filled very generously with custard. The milk custard was sweet (but not too sweet!), super creamy and milky, with a hint of a vanilla flavor. The custard was a bit on the thin side, but I couldn’t get enough of it. And as if that wasn’t enough of a treat, the pistachio one perhaps may have been even more impressive: the filling was a very pale green color (probably a hint that the coloring is JUST from toasted pistachios and no artificial green coloring, and it had just the right amount of nut in it to tell you that the flavor was most definitely sweet, toasty pistachio nuts! The custard was a bit thicker than the milk custard, and it just sang in your mouth!

Azabu Sabo Hokkaido Milk Ice Cream was also a treat. They had a number of flavors that we would never find at the average U.S. ice cream shop, even the Asian ones, such as cassis (black currant! YUM!), super matcha, genmaicha (roasted rice with green tea), and of course, their classic Hokkaido milk ice cream. We got a double cup with two flavors, the Hokkaido milk and the genmaicha. The genmaicha tasted exactly like genmaicha tea – roasty, slightly sweet, with a slight bitterness at the end from the green tea. And the Hokkaido milk was super creamy and almost vanilla-like. I will miss access to these rare flavors when we go back home. Chinatown may have matcha or green tea ice cream, but SUPER matcha or genmaicha — no way!

I would love to go to Hokkaido next and indulge in all things Hokkaido, and definitely get my further fill of Hokkaido milk products!

When Chris originally booked this trip to Japan, he didn’t book it realizing that New Year’s is the biggest holiday of the year in Japan, so he didn’t think much about booking shinkansen tickets in advance. Somehow, we got lucky with the Tokyo > Osaka shinkansen booking, as that was only done a couple weeks out: we were not only able to get preferred seats on a Nozomi for oversized baggage space (directly behind our seats), but we were even able to move up our ticket to about an hour before since we had more time than we’d anticipated getting from Narita into Tokyo station when we first arrived. But when we got to Osaka, this was a bit of a false security. When Chris looked to book tickets for January 3 to return to Tokyo, every single train and seat he looked at after 8am was sold out. The only seat options remaining were between 5am to 7:39am. So he booked us on a Nozomi at 7:39am on Wednesday to return to Tokyo late morning. Unfortunately, this would cut our Osaka time by about half a day, as we were hoping to visit Osaka Castle and also try the local Osaka version of okonomiyaki, but those things, sadly, would have to wait for another future visit.

It wasn’t the end of the world, though. While it wasn’t great to have our Osaka time cut short, especially since we didn’t even visit Osaka in July 2015, it is in no way disappointing or awful that we had extra time in Tokyo! We used the day to re-visit Tsukiji and got a table at Sushiko, a restaurant that had been on my list from our last visit, and who was happy to accommodate our active toddler. Pookster had a high chair to sit in. We folded her stroller and placed it in the front, and given we’re in Japan, there was never a worry that anyone would steal it (I would NEVER feel comfortable leaving my stroller unattended in New York City, as I’ve heard the worst horror stories about strollers being stolen in broad day light when the owner was just steps away from it!). And to our surprise and delight, the menu even had a kid’s plate, which was recommended for children ages 5-10, but that’s fine: we got it for Pookster anyway, and we figured that if she didn’t eat it, we could eat it as our own appetizer. At about 700 JPY (or $4.81 USD), it was quite the steal: it had four pieces of rolled sushi stuffed with natto (Japanese fermented soy beans, a sticky and acquired taste!), two pieces of tamago (Japanese rolled omelet that is a little sweet), three generous, fat pieces of nigiri (tuna, salmon, and a very, very sweet and large prawn!), and a small bowl of medium grain, steamed Japanese white rice topped with a beautiful helping of ikura (salmon roe, a salty-sweet, flavorful, mouth-popping wonder!). To be honest, Kaia had bits of the natto sushi and gave up. She then tried a bite of the ikura and decided “all done!” So, appetizer it was for us!

As for ourselves, we got a massive sushi/nigiri platter with so many types of fish, prawn, and ikura that I am in no way educated enough to know or share what they all were, but I can say with no doubt that each bite was incredibly fresh, sweet, and delicious. Initially, I found my respiratory pathways cleared suddenly with the strong smear of freshly grated wasabi on each bite of nigiri, but my body quickly adjusted to this spicy addictive root and savored each zing. We washed it all down with some sake and a yuzu sour (I was determined to get my plum wine and yuzu fix as often as possible while in Japan!). In total, for all that gorgeous fish and two alcoholic drinks, our total bill came to about $80 USD. It was a very, very delicious bargain.

After our sushi fix, we wandered a bit around Tsujiki, then headed to Ginza for some shopping, had tea at a Mariages Freres tea salon, and then ended up at the Marunouchi Building. I love how all these big tall Tokyo buildings have SO much packed into them. There are the food basements that have endless omiyage (gifts/souvenirs) you can pick up, along with food to eat; and floors and floors separated by a quick up and down on the elevator or escalator of different restaurants and dining options. In the Marunouchi Building, we ended up at the Akanoren ramen joint for Hakata-style tonkotsu ramen. For $7-9 USD each, we had a large slurpy bowl of straight thin ramen noodles in a creamy white rich broth. I was pleasantly surprised to see how lean my slices of chasu were. And even though tonkotsu broth is supposed to be on the heavier side, I didn’t feel like it was too fatty or rich at all. The broth was actually a bit lighter than I’d originally thought based on looking at it. In fact, both of us finished ALL our broth, which almost never happens when we have ramen in New York! Kaia especially enjoyed these noodles soaked in the rich broth and ate a helping of ramen that even her dad was shocked about!

As Chris says, even the average restaurants in Japan for dishes like ramen that do not have endless queues are still, on average, going to be delicious, especially when you compare them to what we can get back home. And that’s really the comparison, right? It would be challenging to say that this bowl is inferior to any other tonkotsu we’ve enjoyed in Japan that had a long wait. We think they’re all freaking delicious and perfect.

Assuming that you actually have taste in food, eating in Japan is like a dance on your tongue: there are endless textures and flavors and mouth feels that it could never possibly get boring. There are the regional differences, such as okonomiyaki (fried savory pancake) of Osaka (ingredients all mixed) versus Hiroshima (ingredients are layered, AND they include a very generous layer of NOODLES!), differences based on different climates, geographies, and specialities (Hakata style ramen with its milky white pork bone broth vs. Sapporo ramen for its miso-based broth vs. Kitakata ramen for its soy sauce based pork broth, etc.), and one thing many people don’t think about when they think of Japanese cuisine: chili peppers! While Japanese food is not known to be spicy, very hot chili peppers are used liberally in southern Kyushu, southern Kanto and Izu, and Okinawa.

Given all this, it’s hard to spend any time in Japan and not eat well. You can eat well regardless of whether you are going to an onigiri stand off the street that sells stuffed rice balls for the equivalent of $1.50-3 USD each, $6 non-descript ramen shop, a 3-Michelin star sushi omakase, a renowned French restaurant (according to the New York Times food section, Japan is the place to go for the world’s best French food now. They wrote that French people just don’t want to take the time and energy to slave away in kitchens, while Japanese people not only love French food, but they are obsessed with the technique, learn it in France, then bring it back to Japan for everyone there to enjoy), or the takeaway counter at the nearby train/shinkansen station. Our first meal was takeaway from a spot at Tokyo Station, where Chris got us three ekiben (“eki” means “station,” and “ben” is short for “bento,” so station bento boxes or boxed meals) of A5 beef over rice with tamago, unagi over rice, and another beef bento. We inhaled our food, which in total cost about $12 each, but could easily sell for twice that amount if you had sold the same bento in New York. These are the relatively inexpensive things you can enjoy while visiting Japan; you know you are getting “value” because something equivalent (and likely lower quality, relatively speaking) will either cost a lot more where you came from, or just be a smaller quantity.

We took a day trip to Kobe on Tuesday, where we (of course) sought out a Kobe beef restaurant that would be comfortable enough for a toddler. We landed on a spacious restaurant called Mouriya, which specializes in Kobe beef. We chose two set menus, one for Kobe rump steak and one for Kobe ribeye, which came with ample additions, including seasonal soup (ours was pumpkin – very creamy!), rice/bread of choice, a generous helping of various vegetables (even lotus root!), and tea/coffee to end. The quality of the beef was just as high as you’d expect it to be, and the ribeye really did melt in your mouth almost like butter. I especially liked that Mouriya had chefs that would cook all the food in front of us, so it served as entertainment both for us and for Pookster, who really loved interacting with our chef. She giggled endlessly in the beginning as he made cute gestures and waved to her. It probably also made our seating arrangement more bearable for her for a longer time, especially since as a toddler, she cannot sit still for too long anywhere.

Kobe beef was expected, but what we weren’t quite expecting was the ubiquity of sweet potatoes in desserts everywhere. I was aware of this trend before this trip because I’d see social media posts and videos about this recent Japanese food trend. You couldn’t go to any neighborhood in Osaka, Kobe, or Tokyo where there was not at least one or two sweet potato dessert options. Certain places were fully devoted to the sweet potato theme, serving sweet potato custard, ice cream, and cakes. Others sold sweet potato based smoothies (wow!). A lot of stands just sold sweet potatoes that were roasted, split open and given a sugar topping, then “bruleed” on top with a torch. I saw so many young children running around with this sweet. I suppose this was a “healthy” dessert option for a child, so I totally understood why parents would give this to their school-age children. While we didn’t indulge in the sweet potato brulee, we did pick up a little custard from a train station stand in Osaka that was topped with a pureed sweet potato swirl, sprinkled with candied baked pieces of sweet potato. It definitely DID taste like sweet potato, but a little sweeter of course. These types of desserts can actually make you feel less “guilty” about indulging in dessert. It’s no wonder it’s so popular here!

On our first full day in Osaka, we knew that it would be a lot quieter because a lot of people would be taking time off for the New Year, which is Japan’s largest holiday of the year. Unlike in places like China, Vietnam, or Korea, Japan had actually adopted the Gregorian calendar, so they do not follow the Lunar New Year calendar. Businesses tend to close for a few days or even a full week for New Year’s. So unfortunately for us, we would not see Osaka in its total prime from a restaurant/eatery standpoint. But never fear: there’s always something delicious around the corner!

While wandering through the Shinsekai neighborhood of Osaka on New Year’s Eve, we passed not just the Tsutenkaku Tower, but also walked through this relatively small and almost hidden shopping arcade called the Shinsekai Shijo. Inside, while a lot of stalls were closed likely for New Year’s, there were still a few stalls open, including a fresh noodle stall, a stall specializing in different tsukemono (Japanese pickles!), and a little grocer. What really caught our eye, though, was a little queue that was forming in front of what appeared to be a butcher stall. It was called Niku No Sakamoto Butcher, and we could smell some delicious deep frying happening. Upon closer inspection, we realized that people were not actually lining up for raw cuts of meat, but freshly fried beef katsu and pork katsu sandwiches! As soon as I saw there was fresh food and a tiny line, I did what any curious foodie/traveler would do: I joined the line!

There was one person in charge of deep frying and taking orders/handling money. There was an Indian man behind the counter whose sole job it was to cut the bread crusts off the perfect thick white slices of milk bread. And then there was another worker who was in charge of cutting meat into perfect, square shapes. One queue was there to order. A second crowd/pseudo queue was there to pick up the fresh order. There were markers to designate where to stand, where to order, where to pay. It was Japanese efficiency at its finest.

We ordered a tonkatsu sando, so pork katsu that was served between two pieces of thick cut toasted milk bread with what appeared to be a little Kewpie mayonnaise and a tad bit of mustard. There was also a sweet-savory brown sauce slathered on the katsu that was delicious. But what really got us when we picked up the sandwich, tucked into a plastic takeaway container and cut perfectly and symmetrically into six even pieces, was exactly how crispy the outside of the pork was. Each bite was extremely crunchy and just shattered in your mouth. There was certainly no reusing of any oil here, and those panko crumbs had achieved their desired effect of crunch, crunch, and more crunch!

If that is what a proper tonkatsu sando is supposed to be, then that was definitely perfection. My only regret was not ordering an additional beef tonkatsu sando, which was over double the price, but I did notice so many people ordered this and seemed to be salivating all over theirs.

Until I was 28 years old, I had no idea why wafer cookies/biscuits were so popular. My grandma had quite a sweet tooth, so we always had all kinds of packaged cookies at home growing up. This vast cookie selection included wafer biscuits, which I never really understood. The ones she used to buy always had a weird, cardboard-like texture, seemed semi-stale, and were rarely satisfying in the least bit. The flavor was always muted, some form of vanilla or chocolate, and I always wondered how anyone could think these things were tasty. They seemed like the kind of cookie you’d eat when you were just hungry and needed something to eat, rather than something you looked forward to eating because of how delicious it was.

Then, while in Vienna, Austria, during our European Thanksgiving trip in November 2014, my outlook of the wafer biscuit changed forever. Every market or grocery store we went into had these Manner wafer biscuits on display in this bright pink packaging that was hard to miss. The packaging was simple: bright pink with a picture of the wafer biscuits along with whole hazelnuts, along with the name “Manner” written in cursive letters, with the Vienna Rathaus in the background. I figured it couldn’t hurt to try them, so I bought a few packages. They were also super cheap — one of the few items in Austria at the time I actually thought WERE cheap.

I opened a package and took one bite… and was wowed. Each layer of the wafer biscuit was super thin, very crispy, and the hazelnut flavor was extremely distinct within the chocolate. There’s no way that if you knew what hazelnut tasted like that you wouldn’t know there was hazelnut in those thin chocolate wafers. And in that moment, I realized that it wasn’t that I didn’t like wafer biscuits… it’s that I just never had the opportunity have a REALLY GOOD wafer biscuit. None of the wafer biscuits I’d had to date came even remotely close to how delicious this one was, in both taste and texture. In that moment, I’d had finally had a delicious wafer biscuit — one that I’d be loyal to forever.

Manner has several other flavors for their wafer biscuits, including lemon and coconut, but I’m an originalist with these wafers and prefer the hazelnut. Plus, I just love love all things hazelnut chocolate. I read more about Manner after I had these. While they do distribute to over 50 countries around the world, including the U.S., of course the biscuits cost more elsewhere outside of Austria. To this day, it is still a family-owned company headquartered out of Vienna with another production location in southern Austria. The company is named after Josef Manner, the founder of this delicious version of the wafer biscuit.

So when we did that six-hour side trip to Vienna from Bratislava on Friday, we saw a Manner shop, and I knew we had to go in and check it out. I picked up a few Manner biscuit packages, along with some chocolates you buy by the weight. Although it was a small purchase, it made me so, so happy. Manner made me realize how delicious a wafer biscuit could really be. And that’s really how I see most people’s perspectives on what they like and dislike with food: many times, it’s not that we don’t like X food; it’s actually that we haven’t had the best version of it. That’s my optimistic side when it comes to all things edible.

While we do a lot of research for our trips regarding where to see and eat, inevitably, what also happens is that planned restaurants don’t always work out because of vacation closures or no open tables, or we happen to be in a different area where we didn’t map anything for food. Other times, we stumble upon hidden or local gems just by walking around and keeping our eyes wide open. While walking in Bratislava on Friday morning, we came across the Stara Trznica, or the old market hall of Bratislava. It’s a restored market hall, originally built in 1910, that’s also used for various cultural events, that also holds a weekend farmers and local street food markets. Since the farmers market would be open the next day, we came back on Saturday morning to check it out. It was one of my favorite things that we visited and enjoyed while in Bratislava. The entire place had a real locals feel. The market hall had two levels: the main ground level had all the food and farmers vendors, while the second level had arts/crafts/music vendors, plus a large space for children’s performances and a children’s play area complete with bouncy castles and such (which Kaia loved and was mad that she couldn’t stay all day at!).

We got to enjoy both levels and sampled a lot of delicious things, including freshly made crepes (they are huge here in Bratislava! Though appearance-wise, they are typically rolled), fruit and poppyseed-filled strudel, honey wine (medovina), mulled wine, and Slovakian pastries. There was one vendor in particular I made a beeline for that had a long but quickly moving queue: Pekarenske Vyrobky, a bakery stall that had endless tantalizing pastries. I had a difficult time deciding which ones I wanted, but in the end, I chose two: a moravsky kolac and a cokoladovo. The morvasky kolac was a flat round bready pastry topped with a thick layer of plum jam, sweetened poppy seeds, and blobs of sweetened soft cheese. The cokoladovo was a huge, rounded, large-mug-shaped pastry that was twisted and croissant-like, with a very smooth, dark, not-too-sweet chocolate swirled throughout it. While I enjoyed the moravsky kolac, I was totally obsessed with the cokoladovo: I couldn’t believe how pillowy and soft the dough was, and I really, really loved the chocolate in it, which really was not sweet at all. At first, I felt a little confused and was unsure whether it was really chocolate. But I realized it was chocolate, just very dark and not as sweet as I am used to in pastries. Chris was obsessed with the entire market vibe and all the drink vendors. We were also shocked to see how cheap all the Slovakian wines were. If you wanted a glass at any of the stalls, they were no more than 1.50-2 euros for a generous pour, which many people were partaking in. A full bottle was usually around 11-12 euros, all locally sourced and made.

I loved this market so much. I loved the family-friendly vibe and all the samples and all the local foods. I loved how friendly all the vendor workers were. I even liked the bathroom setup, which was super clean, cleaned every hour, and the large, cushy changing table that I used for Pookster. I wish we could have spent more time there to eat and sample more, but alas, so much to eat and see, with so little time.

As you can probably imagine, every time we take a trip, whether it’s to Poughkeepsie or Boston or Bratislava, I always spend a good amount of time researching what to eat and where. I want to know what local traditions and foods are and what regional specialties we can seek out and taste. One of the things that came up in both Czechia and Slovakia was trdelnik, which is a round, hollow baked cake that is wrapped around a stick, rotated and baked, then rolled in sugar, cinnamon, nuts, and other toppings. When I saw photos of trdelnik, I immediately remembered seeing it virtually at every Christmas market we’ve ever visited throughout Europe in the last ten years (in Germany and Austria, it’s called baumkuchen). I just never stopped to try one. It seemed a little touristy to get it, and I wasn’t sure how good it would actually be. But given trdelnik originates in the general Czechia/Slovakia/Hungary area, I figured that this was a good time and place to finally try it.

We ran out of time to get it in Prague, so when I saw a stall at the Bratislava main square Christmas market freshly churning them out, I knew I had to get it. Thursday was the first night of the Bratislava Christmas markets, so it was quite quiet and there weren’t any crowds. Thus, I was able to walk right up to the stall and ask for a fresh one. I got it the traditional way, simply rolled in cinnamon and sugar. When the vendor handed it to me, it was still warm from the oven. I took one bite, and I was in love: the chimney was nice and thin, super crunchy on the outside, but soft and chewy on the inside. The cinnamon sugar coating was just enough to add a bit of sweetness, but not too much. Pookster started whining immediately when she saw me eat it, so I caved in and indulged her with some. I liked it so much that on our last night in Bratislava, I waited at least 15 minutes in a long line at the same stall for one just-out-of-the-oven (on Saturday, the market was PACKED, nothing like the first night of the market on Thursday!). It was SO fresh, piping hot and steaming when the vendor handed it to me. This time, I got it with vanilla sugar, and I loved it just as much. While the line was long and moved slowly because all the trdelnik were being made to order, it was fun to watch all the workers inside the stall rolling the dough around the spits, putting them into the open oven, and periodically pulling them out to check for doneness.

Now that I know the beauty and deliciousness of trdelnik, I have a feeling I will always get it now whenever I see it being made fresh at a Christmas market. It’s fun to eat and look at, and I loved watching it be made. Plus, I have a feeling Pookster is going to want more, too.

We took a 4-hour train ride from Prague to Bratislava yesterday morning. During the train ride, I thought about how interesting it was that when I was born, the Czech Republic and Slovakia did not exist; they were once a country known as Czechoslovakia; but what’s more notable is that if you ask anyone who identifies with either nationality, it was considered an “amicable split” (unfortunately, we cannot say the same for North Korea and South Korea….). And as I was studying basic words and greetings in Czech and Slovak, I thought it was also interesting that although they are two distinct languages, many words and sayings overlap. Plus, it’s similar to how if you speak Cantonese, you can also understand some Mandarin because of overlap of sounds. So even if someone is speaking Czech to someone who is speaking Slovak, both can understand each other and converse without ever properly speaking the other’s language. So, if you want to say “thank you” in Czech, it’s “dekuji,” but in Slovak, it’s “dakujem.” The sound is similar and if you say it quickly, they can almost sound the same to an untrained ear.

While researching food for both countries, I was excited to learn that duck is a popular dish eaten during this time of year as we enter the colder months. We don’t have duck very often at all, and when we do, it’s usually Chinese style from our favorite Cantonese style roastery in Manhattan Chinatown. We had our first meal at a restaurant in the Old Town of Bratislava shortly after we arrived, and to our delight, both of the seasonal specials on the menu included duck. The first was a seared duck breast served with duck au jus, pumpkin puree, and oddly enough, crumbled gingerbread. The second was fried duck pirohy (dumplings) served with two dipping sauces. We also ordered garlic soup with egg “noodles” (they were shredded omelet strips), which is a popular Slovak dish, as well. All our food was washed down with a local Slovak beer (beer is just as refreshing and delicious in Slovakia as it is in the Czech Republic!) and a hot pear “lemonade” (not lemonade at all, but a warm fizzy dink with pear juice and warming autumnal spices). The dishes were all delicious: the duck breast was perfectly cooked, though I did wish the skin was a bit crispier; the duck pirohy really blew me away. They were clearly fried in duck fat to make them even more decadent, and when you sliced one of the dumplings in half, they were stuffed to the BRIM with shredded duck. There was certainly no skimping here! Chris I both marveled over how relatively inexpensive these duck specials were at less than 20 euros per dish. In New York, we’d likely pay double what we paid here.

Kaia didn’t really eat the duck breast, but she did enjoy the duck pirohy, as well as the gingerbread. It was a delicious first meal in Bratislava, followed by a trip to the main square Christmas market, which was our first Christmas market this season!