Field Trip: The dreamy island of Aero

I was sitting on a bench in a park in Copenhagen when the elderly lady next to me struck up a conversation.  She was originally from Greece, she told me, but has lived in Copenhagen for over forty years.  “What brought you to Denmark?” I asked.  She told me to guess.

“Your husband?”

“Love would be the only reason to come here,” she said.  “I certainly didn’t come for the weather.”

To be fair, Denmark is pretty cold at the end of October, which wasn’t helped by the fact that it rained practically every day for the ten days my friend and I were there (not usual, the locals assured me).  But there are a myriad of reasons to go to Denmark, not the least of which is the Danes themselves.  I found them to be uniformly tall, stylish, and attractive; they are also some of the warmest, kindest, friendliest people I have ever come across (though if I were tall, stylish, and attractive, I’d be pretty pleased with the world too).  When I got a bit disoriented touring the endless rooms of Frederiksborg Palace, a security guard helpfully volunteered that she thought I had seen that wing already, and walked me to a different section.  When we travelled to the city of Aarhus to see the famous bog bodies, the owner of the apartment we rented told us to just leave the money on the counter on the day we were to leave.

            Another compelling reason would be the sleepy wind-swept island of Ærø, in southern Denmark.  We took the ferry across to Ærøskøbing, a 17^th century fishing town so perfectly preserved it looks fake, like something Walt Disney would build.  The twisting cobblestone streets are lined with crooked, half-timbered, Hobbit-sized houses painted in candy colours.  Affixed to some of the window frames are little “spy mirrors”, which enables residents to keep an eye on any drama and gossip fodder unfolding on the street without having to be gauchely obvious about it.

            We were welcomed to our bed and breakfast with tea and lacy oatmeal cookies.  

     The owner is a transplanted Brit who had the idiosyncrasy of being very particular about her eggs, laid by free range hens living in the back garden.  The first night there were only three other guests; we were awoken the next morning by loud talking and laughing coming from the couple next door.  My friend was not amused, but since we were up we dressed and went down to breakfast.  That couple were the only other occupants in the dining area, where we were to serve ourselves, buffet-style.  We asked the owner for more eggs, since there was only one left, and she said, “But I made five eggs for five people!” then turned and stared pointedly at the couple.  I tried to quash the raucous laughter in my head.

            We rented bikes to tour the island, first stopping at the bakery down the street to pick up some Danishes, or wienerbrød (translated as “Viennese bread”, as they supposedly originated in Vienna).  From the day of our arrival we had been waging a “A Danish A Day: No Danish Left Behind” campaign.  Wienerbrød are nothing like the sickly sweet North American version.  They are lighter, flakier – basically happiness in pastry form. 

            We biked past many U-shaped farms, with three walls surrounding a courtyard of sorts.  Wind turbines lined the shores; Ærø, in contrast to its atmosphere of being frozen in time, is attempting to become completely energy self-sufficient.  We bought some apples from an unmanned stand on the side of the road, leaving the money in a basket.  We made a picnic of it in the churchyard of Tranderup Kirke, a 14^th century church with Viking ships hanging from the vaulted ceiling, rather than your usual candelabras.  My wienerbrød featured a marzipan filling and a poppy seed topping.  It was the best pastry I’ve ever had, and I am a bit of a pastry tramp.

            Afterward, we headed to the cliffs of Vodrup Klint, which descends in earthen steps down to the rugged beach.  I stood on a rock, lost myself in contemplation and gazed out over the grey wrinkled sea.

            And that is one of the greatest beauties of Ærø.  My vacation style is one of frenetic activity, sightseeing and shopping as fast as I can.  Ærø forced me – for two days, at least – to be still and surrender a little to the dreamy air of hushed melancholy.

I’m not kidding about the forced.  After about 7 pm, there is not much open in Ærøskøbing.  We got some groceries and had a supper of smoked salmon and rugbrød, a dark angular rye bread, spread with Danish blue cheese, and dreamed of the wienerbrøds we’d be eating tomorrow.

Hino: Where I Fell in Love with some Mollusks

We decided to check out Hino (1013 Wellington) just down the street from the tragically departed Vino del Mar.  Jon told me that it's a Japanese-esque restaurant, and had heard the owner just kind of opened whenever he felt like it.  We showed up on a Tuesday evening at 6 (happily, it was open that night) and were the first customers.

The place is not a total dive (anyone who has ever eaten in Chinatown has seen worse) though it helped that it was pretty dark; an open kitchen and bar spanned the back wall. 

The menu definitely runs towards Japanese fusion.  There were spicy crab rolls on the specials board but no sushi on the menu, which basically consisted of chicken, beef or seafood done with a variety of sauces - teriyaki, curry, garlic.  Prices were really reasonable (appetizers range from $6-9, mains from $13-19).

We placed our orders, and the server brought out a basket of white grocery store-style bread with a couple pats of butter.  The outside pieces were dried out on one side, and I wondered why they even bothered with bread; they could replace it with something equally inexpensive but tastier.  Japanese rice crackers, maybe?

We shared the scallops in ginger sauce, off the specials board.

They were so good.  I know I will be thinking about them whenever I'm bored.  The scallops were soft and yielding and beautifully cooked, but it was the sauce that really made me swoon - tangy with a bit of a bite.  We nearly had a death match over the last scallop - or possibly just a brief Hungry Hippos duel, pistols at dawn style.  I started trying to lap up the rest of the sauce directly from the dish with my fork.  And that is when I became really thankful for the previously maligned bread. 

Unfortunately, after the mountaintop experience of the scallops, the mains were a bit of a let down.  They were fine, but not transcendent.  I had the miso chicken ($13):

and Jon had the shrimp curry ($14).

The curry didn't have any bite at all, which was surprising.  The miso sauce was sweeter than expected, almost with a teriyaki taste.

We could see the chef/owner cooking in the open kitchen at the back, and chatting with two guys eating at the bar - the four of us were the only customers.  The chef was joking (I hope) about selling the place, and the guys were placing bids - "$50!  $60!"  Jon yelled from our table, "$85!  And all the beer in the fridge!  Except Corona light". 

"I like Corona light," the chef said.

"Then we can totally do business together!"

The chef asked Jon, "Do you prefer Chinese or Japanese?"  After a brief, confused pause, he added, "Beer". 

"No, women," I said drily, and the guys at the bar started laughing.  The chef asked me if I was Japanese (I'm not, I'm Chinese, I said.  All the same, he replied) asked me my name (while hilariously ignoring Jon) and introduced himself as Terry.

"We're not dating, you can have her," Jon said benevolently, and we made our exit.