MQ and a tangent to Knedliki

That [pop] you heard was my head imploding during today’s visit to the MUMOK, Vienna’s modern art museum in the MuseumsQuartier. The lower floors were outside of my “envelope of comfort” in a way more extreme than even the Kunsthalle’s “Tram and Trama” (Dream and Trauma”) exhibit. There were just too many deformed babies and naked people in mud for one afternoon.

On my way out, I stopped by the designform, which had an exhibit on the “stuff” people use in every day around the world. It was quite progressive (it emphasized similarities rather than differences) and had a little section on cooking. (Yes, you knew I’d get to food somehow). I think I spent a good fifteen minutes marveling at the different spoons of Japan and watching a video of ladies making dumplings (“Xina – Ravioli”).

Speaking of dumplings, it dawned on me the other day that Austria, the land of meat and potatoes, is actually the perfect place for making gnocchi. I don’t love them, but Georgia does, so I dug up my notes from Italy and went to the kitchen.

Gnocchi – Put whole potatoes in cold water and bring to a boil. Cook until they are fork mashable, drain, and put into an ice-water bath. Peel potatoes and mash until smooth. Add flour (Marco used Type 00, I used Type W480, you should use All-Purpose), a little at a time, and knead. You’ll have added enough flour once the dough stops sticking to your hands. Cut off a bit of dough and roll into a snake on a floured surface. Cut into nickel or quarter-sized pieces. Add grooves by pressing the sticky end of the gnocchi (i.e. the interior of the snake) onto the tines of a fork. Let gnocchi rest on a plate of flour. To cook, add to boiling salted water until they float.
Fresh gnocchi don’t keep long, so I think it’s better to shape them right before you plan to boil them. If you decide to keep extra dough in the fridge, you’ll have to add more flour before shaping them again.

Gnocchi are good in rich sauces and small quantities. Kind of like post-modern art.

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.