This is kind of gross if you think about it. . .

This does not include chocolate...

Pope, Soap, Rope

The Pope was in town visiting this weekend, which meant that all the churches put up yellow and white flags (to show support? to help him get through the city? to demonstrate the diversity of God’s real estate portfolio?). Georgia and I were walking through Stephansplatz and we came across a gospel concert.

The performance was broadcast on telescreens throughout the city center. A young man in black was directing an Austrian choir, singing things like Glory, Glory, Glory and Praise the Lord, Lord Jesus Christ. Their diction was excellent, their songs all in English, and their enthusiasm terrifying. Some of the audience were quite moved by the music—they stood up, danced, clapped to the beat, sang along, shouted back. I wanted to run away. It began to rain. The choir director finished a passionate solo.

“Well,” said Georgia, “he does do a good job of trying to be a black woman.”

The premiere of The Magic Flute was on Friday, which we expected to be very good because (1) This is one of Mozart’s only operas in German (the rest are in Italian) and (2) Austrians love Mozart. The opera itself was disappointing—the singers weren’t anything special, the costumes seemed like those of a high school musical, and the orchestra and singing wasn’t in sync. The people watching, however, was fantastic. We saw a woman dressed in a corseted, aquamarine dress, which made me think of Ariel the Little Mermaid, Part XXXVIII. We saw men in full tuxes drinking 9 euro glasses of champagne. And, finally, we saw

Austrians making out in their box seats before the show started
Austrians
making out in the refreshment hall during intermission.

I know Friday night is date night, but I thought Italy was the country of love. I never saw this hanky panky at La Scala.

Maybe this is why Italy is shrinking and Austria is not.

Loafing is hard work

There are times now when I really miss Italy. I wish I could pop into a café and get an espresso for 75 eurocents. (Austria’s fault.) Or speak the native language. (My fault). Or not feel guilty about feeling busy but doing nothing. (Georgia’s fault). We don’t have internet in the apartment (instead, we have several mannequins, a hookah, and a paella pan), so I’ve taken to studying Accounting with the book Bain sent me.

It’s a fill in the blank workbook. Sample question:

“The Garsden Company balance sheet has two sides. The heading of the left side
is A_____, and the heading of the right side is L_________ and E______.”

New-hire training will also include finger painting and naptime! Just kidding. Consultants don’t take naps.

Why do I get vegetables by the kilo?

I went to the Nachtmarkt, which has a wonderful selection of spices and a surprising variety of asian food (homemade tofu!). Most of the produce comes from Italy.

My inability to speak German resulted in the purchase of one kilogram of spinach, which is in fact heavier than one kilogram of anything else because it comes with odd stares on the metro. (Imagine getting onto a crowded subway with a Costco-sized bag of carrots. Or a sofa pillow full of green leaves).

I am not obsessed

Vienna is a culinary enigma. Home of wiener schnitzel—veal smashed flat, breaded, and fried; delicious drizzled with lemon—sausages, and sachertort, it’s also the host to health food stores stocked with brown rice. I’m still recovering from my butter binge in France, so I haven’t had any pastries yet.

Near Georgia’s language school is the fanciest kebab shop I’ve ever seen. It is clean and has leather seats and an LCD TV playing Turkish (?) soap operas. The bread is soft and freshly toasted. The tomatoes are pretty good and the falafel is made to order.

I think I need to start work soon. Or get a new hobby.

Highlights from Paris (only half is about food):

* Rose wine and spring rolls at the rooftop restaurant of the Pompidieu
* Notre Dame at night
* Caramel, chocolate, and salt macaroons from Cacao et Chocolat (36, rue Vieille du Temple).
* Spotting tile spacemen throughout the city
* Lunch at Bastille market (Roast pork, baguette, comte, crepes).
* Wandering around the Marais
* Chocolate and raspberry croissants, courtesy of kind hosts Iris and Irv
* Conversation about the future direction of journalism (and the Wall street Journal), once again courtesy of Iris & Irv
* Roasted tomato stuffed with lamb confit at La pamphlet (38, rue Debelleyme)
* Running along the Seine (morning run through the dew around the Eiffel Tower; afternoon long run)