Red Wine Reduction in a Hostel
Saturday, November 24th, 2007
It’s been almost a year since we left Mothership America. There have been brief bouts of homesickness, usually related to food and family and friends. Thanksgiving in New Zealand stirred about a bit of homesickness in both of us.
We reserved the last available (hostel) room in the village of Franz Josef, home of the Franz Josef glacier. It’s the kind of settlement that only exists for tourists. No one is from Franz Josef, and no one lives there aside from those working in tourism. A place that faux-outdoorsy hippies love, and the kind of town I can stand for approximately 30 hours before running for the border. We planned on a holiday feast at a proper restuarant, but the choices in Glacier Country were slim. So we took over the hostel kitchen.
Hostel kitchens are accustomed to easy, cheap fare. The Brits and Germans are always making sausages, the Italians and anyone who speaks Spanish are always incorporating canned tuna, and the few young Asian girls struggle with anything…due to foriegn ingredients and the cultural tradition of living with their mothers (who cook for them). Last week I couldn’t resist an intervention as two young Japanese girls attemped to make pancakes without oil or butter in the pan. Domestic nightmare.
Turkey wasn’t an option, but we did score the last roast chicken off of the supermarket’s warming rack. Then I asked the manager if they carried canned pumpkin. He let me down, but proudly delivered me to the produce section where they sold fresh pumpkin. I stared, bewildered, at the orange squash wrapped in celophane. Who the hell makes pumpkin pie with fresh pumpkin? I’m willing to wager that even Martha sticks with Libby’s. Supermarket Manager shrugged when I told him it wouldn’t work, and I began sulking immediatly. [read on]
brooke.pearson8