Getting back to the market near Medborgarplatsen… I was on my way to my favorite little Södermalm boutique when I spotted a stall selling fruits and vegetables. Aha, an outdoor market! Naturally, I had to check it out and take surreptitious photos when nobody was looking.

Södermalmers are a lucky bunch. The market includes both organic and conventional foods, including produce, meats, cheeses, sausages, seafood, bread, honey, natural body care products, and wool rugs. Everything is meticulously fresh and appetizing, and the shoppers are amusingly organized in their browsing. When the market gets a little crowded, people instinctively queue up to get through the long, relatively narrow row of market stalls. No elbows are used here, and the sellers quietly explain their wares to curious customers.

Had I stayed longer in Stockholm, I could have easily bought quite a lot. Here are my photos:

Gorgeous green beans.

This is the bread guy, captured from an angle because I was too embarassed to photograph him head on. He sells delicious whole grain rye breads, which I was tempted to take back to California. These very fresh breads probably wouldn’t have survived the trip.

Beautiful fresh carrots. Swedish carrots are the best I’ve ever tasted.

This fellow only sells fresh corn, and he’s got a large corn plant to prove it. Passing his stand, I wondered whether his corn is non-GMO.

Pickled crayfish, just the thing for a weekend crayfish party. In Sweden, crayfish season is greeted with crayfish parties, where crayfish is consumed by revelers wearing crayfish hats.

The goat cheese stand. The cheese tastes like a mild chevre, but is packed in olive oil labneh-style.

Squash, heralding the arrival of autumn.

Herbs for your kitchen garden.

The outdoor market includes several meat stalls, each focusing on a different type of meat, among them turkey and pork. These charcuterie are made of wild boar (vildsvin, right?).

Fresh jams and juices made from a variety of berries.

A variety of preserved vegetables, probably an important staple in the old days before refrigerated imports. It’s nice to see this tradition alive and well in an outdoor market.

The tavern keeper quickly appears with a menu. He inquires about the welfare of Úlfr’s wife Tórfa, and about his travels at sea. Úlfr exchanges pleasantries and is soon perusing the menu.

Úlfr chooses the boar stew, a warm, satisfying meal at the end of a long day. The tavern keeper quickly brings him a mug of mead and a bowl of cabbage soup to start with. (The tavern keeper has learned from experience that Hungry Vikings tend to get peevish.) The soup is sweetened with honey and fortified with meat stock. The cabbage is buttery and warm.

Next comes the boar stew, along with warm, coarse bread and creamy farmer’s cheese. Úlfr hungrily digs into the stew with a spoon. The stew is a mess of flavors that mingle in his mouth. The boar is gamey and fresh, the prunes are soft and sweet, the mushrooms are earthy. The chunks of parsnip surprise him, their tuberous, grassy flavor deepening with each bite. Strong, dependable parsnips, rich, grounded, mushrooms, and sweet, plump prunes. “Like Tórfa,” says Úlfr, laughing to himself. He eats a big spoonful of stew with tangy sour cream and lingonberries, and thinks of home.

The tavern keeper appears and takes away the empty plates. He soon returns with dessert, prepared by the tavern keeper’s wife. A long board with three earthenware bowls is placed before Úlfr: forest berry compote, curd cake with nuts, and whipped cream. Úlfr wipes dribbled stew off his beard with the tablecloth and finishes his mead. The sight of the red berries and sweet whipped cream have piqued his hunger again. He scoops up a spoonful of soft, sweet berries, then crumbly, nutty cake, and airy whipped cream, and devours it. He closes his eyes as the textures and flavors blend in his mouth. Úlfr repeats the ritual while a minstrel plays a lute and sings.

Belching loudly, Úlfr stretches his arms and heaves himself off the bench, tossing his payment to the tavern keeper. He yawns and gathers his pack, then takes his hatchet and spear off their hanging place on the wall. He picks up his shield and makes his way towards the door. Stepping out into the cold night, Úlfr heads home to Tórfa.

Sjätte Tunnan
Stora Nygatan 43
111 27 Stockholm
Tel: 08-440 09 19

I have to say that Jansson’s Temptation was my favorite—a sort of potato casserole made of grated potatoes, cream, butter, and anchovies. The sweet cream, salty/umami anchovies, and earthy, dense potatoes make an tasty and unique dish, melding disparate flavors and textures. I’m still not sure how to describe cloudberries. There’s something vaguely familiar about their flavor, but I can’t pinpoint a specific taste memory that is even remotely similar. They were delicious as Anne prepared them, cooked briefly with a little sugar and spooned over Swedish vanilla ice cream.

I’ve been swooning over Swedish vanilla ice cream, and for good reason, it seems. According to Anne, most cows in Sweden are pastured, not fattened on soybeans and wading in cow cookies. Grass-fed-pastured-non-rbST-happy-healthy-Walt-Whitman-reading cows are the *norm* here, because there is no real agribusiness machine to rage against. The result is very fresh-tasting, full-flavored dairy products.

Thanks, Anne, for a great day and a lovely dinner!

Fresh cloudberries in their own juice.

Cakes at a confectioner’s stall.

A fishmonger’s stall.

Crayfish

Havskräftor, of course. I’m guessing they’re langoustines.

American and Nordic lobsters, from the Atlantic and Northern Atlantic, respectively.

Fresh hazelnuts. Who knew?

Nuts (not sure what kind… anyone?). A few almonds thrown in for good measure.

A box of famously delicious new potatoes. The grocer said they need to be refrigerated for optimal freshness and flavor.

Cabbage plants for sale at an outdoor nursery right outside of Östermalms Saluhall. According to the Vasa Museum, growing cabbage is an old Swedish tradition.

Östermalm is a quiet, upscale district in the eastern part of Stockholm, hence the name Östermalm, meaning, roughly, eastern district. (It is also, apparently, the name of a Swedish rock band.) I wound up wandering around Östermalm in an effort to attend one of the food meccas of the city, Östermalms Saluhall. My abysmal navigational skills were indispensable in getting me lost. By the time I arrived at the general environs, the square outside of Saluhall was deserted. A chef on his way to work confirmed my suspicions that I had arrived too late. Saluhall was closed.

As a consolation, I wandered around the neighborhood taking photos of the serenely beautiful buildings while looking for a place to eat. I managed to locate Restaurang Elverket, a local restaurant recommended by a guide book or other that I had read. I really enjoyed my dinner here, which I ate outdoors in the warm evening sunlight with a glass of bubbly prosecco.

I ordered:

• prosecco
• baked salmon
• potato salad with capers, dill, carraway seeds, herring in cream, garnished with red onion matchsticks
• strawberries with vanilla ice cream

“This salmon is like butter,” I exclaimed to the amused server. “Is it rich? Heavy?” he asked. “Not at all,” I replied, “it’s wonderful.” The flesh of the fish melted on my tongue like butter. It had a buttery flavor as well, which contrasted nicely with the crisp salmon skin and crunchy coarse salt lightly sprinkled on top. The bottom of the salmon fillet was lightly crisp and browned, a result of being slow baked in a 100° C oven and then quickly fried in a sizzling hot skillet just before service. The result was the most flavorful and meltingly delicious salmon I have ever eaten. No surprise, said my server, Scandinavian salmon is the best on earth, second only to an obscure Japanese variety.

The potato salad was, of course, delicious—I’m not sure, but I suspect it was prepared with freshly harvested new potatoes. The tubers were fresh and creamy, but still a bit al dente. The creamy herring dressing was the perfect foil. The herring was likely whizzed in a food processor, as there were no discernable bits of fish, just a light, briny, creamy sauce. Capers provided salty green crunchiness and carraway seeds added an unexpected touch of spice.

The potatoes and salmon were decorated by a “salad” of frisée, purple endive leaves, and dill. The bitterness of the endive and frisée complemented both the richness of the salmon and the mildly sweet creaminess of the potato salad. To my vegetable-happy Californian palate, the salad was more of a garnish. To the meat-and-potato Swedes, it was salad enough.

For dessert I had strawberries and vanilla ice cream. The strawberries were pleasant, but I think they’d only just come into season, which the server confirmed. They would have been sweeter a few weeks hence. The vanilla ice cream was wonderfully smooth and creamy, with a heady vanilla flavor. Indeed, the ice cream was generously flecked by bits of vanilla bean, forming a pattern of tiny polka dots. It was a little sweet for my taste, but Swedish desserts tend to be fairly sweet. Still, it was excellent the ice cream, tasting strongly of actual vanilla beans and fresh cream (I would guess it was ekologisk—organic).
Altogether, it was a very pleasant late supper.

Restaurang Elverket
Linnégatan 69
Stockholm, Sweden
tel 08 661 25 62

A gazebo in Skansen, a large park area featuring numerous museums, an amusement park, and lots of greenery.

The Nordiska Museet, or Nordic Museum, in Skansen.

The back of the Nordiska Museet.

This is a detail from the Vasa, a Viking ship over 300 years old that was salvaged from the Stockholm harbor in the 60′s. I think it’s a dragon’s tail.

A painted replica of a bust that decorated the mast of the Vasa ship. This bust represents death, the fate of any foe of the Swedish king.

She vants to be alone.

Street artist, or statue? Dare to touch him and find out?

Our first stop was a restaurant in DjurgÃ¥rden, a pastoral area full of parks and museums, cafés and restaurants. The main attraction at Wärdshuset Godthem is the plank steak: a steak broiled on a bed of mashed potatoes atop a wooden plank, served on a hot copper tray. Since its inception in 1874, Wärdshuset Godthem has served 1.6 million plank steaks, with plaques to prove it. The wall in the foyer proudly displays numerous wooden planks proclaiming milestones from one hundred to over one million. My twisted American mind immediately thought of McDonald’s—”over one million served!”—a far cry from this staid old Swedish establishment.

As you can see, Wärdshuset Godthem is a charming, old world place with seasoned professional waiters who wear a waistcoat and tie. The atmosphere is a bit formal, a result of the regal, old furniture and just the sheer age of the place, I suppose. But a summer supper in Stockholm can never be too formal. With the sunlight streaming in through the large open windows, our dinner was more like an indoor picnic with really posh dinnerware.

Naturally, I ordered the planksteak, but neglected to specify my preferred level of doneness (medium rare, please!). I don’t care for cream sauces on my steak, so I ordered mine without the house béarnaise. Nonetheless, the steak was succulent and flavorful, basting the bed of mashed potatoes with its juices. The mashed potatoes were slightly browned from broiling, creating a pleasant crunchy contrast to the creaminess of the purée. The plank steak was fun to eat, and washed down well with a glass of Swedish beer. (More like half a glass. I do enjoy a good beer, but a full glass or pint is much too filling. Who has room for beer when there’s so much food to eat? Hmm… Swedish men, that’s who!)

With several more hours of broad daylight at our disposal, we followed up our meal with a visit to Gröna Lund, the oldest amusement park in Sweden. Gröna Lund includes typical fairground games involving shooting at something, or tossing a ball, earning points, and winning a stuffed penguin. (At a pistol shooting game, one of my hosts was surprised to find that I am a terrible shot. “You’re American,” he said, “you’re supposed to be good at this.” Amused, I replied that I am not, nor have I ever been, a member of the NRA.) It also features two roller coaster rides and several pubs (the park is frequented by people of all ages).

Stockholm is a beautiful city seen from the ground, but it’s marvelous to behold from a couple hundred feet in the air. The breakneck speed of Gröna Lund’s winding, loopy coaster is almost a distraction from the magnificent view of city and sea. Just when you think your liver fell out on that last sudden drop, up you go again, and out goes your breath because you just can’t believe the view. There’s something you won’t find at Six Flags.

We topped off the evening with a lovely little ferry ride around the archipelago. My colleagues kindly pointed out particularly noteworthy structures and their histories, which certainly enriched the experience. For those of us from the “new world,” almost every building in Stockholm is remarkable, in that the entire city is so very old and architecturally fascinating. It helps to talk to people who are intimately familiar with the history of the place, just to put everything into context.

After a really fun evening, we all went our separate ways at around twilight, or 11 pm. To all the guys on the Swedish team: Tack så mycket!

Nota bene: If you happen to go to Wärdshuset Godthem, bear in mind that the plank steak is enormous! I could have easily shared mine with a diner of a similar appetite.

I swear, dear readers, that’s how it went down. They let me off easy this time. I only escaped jail time because I promised to update my blog immediately, and pay a penalty of two Cabernets and a rigot pie. I was almost Martha Stewart’s cellmate (*shudder*). You see what I go through for you?

Honestly, though, I do apologize. Did I mention that my wireless card stopped working after my first day in Stockholm? OK, OK, no more excuses. Over the next week I hope to report on the wonderful foods I sampled in Stockholm, my trips to the local markets, the foods I brought home, and more. Stay tuned!

I’ve only seen a tiny, remote region of the city so far, namely the neighborhood surrounding my hotel near the harbor. It’s green and quiet, and incredibly easy to navigate on foot despite all signs being in Swedish only. The train and subway systems are fast, timely, comfortable, and clean. The ride to my hotel was swift and simple.
I didn’t feel much like eating when I arrived. A fifteen hour journey from San Francisco through Munich to Stockholm will do that to you. Airlines must think they need to keep passengers occupied with food at all times so they don’t turn on each other out of boredom and claustrophobia. (Only 8 more hours strapped in a seat made for leprechauns! Will that be chicken or rigatone?).

I really shouldn’t complain though. Lufthansa makes the experience as bearable as they can, even in economy class. There’s something very civilized, for example, about putting the restrooms beneath the passenger seating area. This allows for six (!) bathroom stalls in a plane, plus room for those who are waiting in line. People, you don’t need to bump into flight attendants and wait in a long queue wedged between aisles just to use the WC on a flight! You can just go down the stairs and use any one of the available six (six!) water closets. It’s revolutionary!

As for food, I don’t have much to report yet. I bought a bottle of chocolate milk called Pucko, which seems to be pretty popular. It was, well, chocolate milk—sweet, simple, bringing you back to age ten. Pucko is packaged in a glass bottle with a somewhat retro-looking orange label, indicating that it may actually be marketed to adults. Apparently, pucko is a slang term meaning stupid, but in a nice way.
Off to slough of my jet lag and get some sleep. More food reports tomorrow, if Odin wills it. God natt!