Here's What I Ate In Europe

I came, I saw, I consumed.

Greetings from Stockholm! I’m here, typing in the glistening daylight — despite it being the middle of the night (it’s June) — and taking a long look back at what’s been a Northern European odyssey for me. I traveled out here in mid-May for some live shows with Watch What Crappens and then stuck around to be a tourist. It’s been wonderful, but the downside is that I haven’t cooked anything in weeks — well, actually, there’s sort of an exception to that, which I’ll get into briefly. Basically, I’m in kitchen withdrawal and headed for Substack jail for not writing a newsletter in over a month.

Update: since I started writing this newsletter, I’ve returned from Stockholm and cooked things, but in the spirit of laziness, I’m keeping this intro as is.

Usually when I sit down to write, I share a breathless story about something that happened with a recipe, but since I haven’t been cooking, I’ve been at a loss. Then today, as I sat eating a delicious ball of chocolate on a narrow Swedish street, I realized I could just offer up a food-oriented travelogue. Sure, it’s more about eating than cooking, but it’s my newsletter, and I can bend the rules here and there. I might even throw in a few tourist recs along the way.

I’m not going to mention every single place I visited; just the ones that were particularly memorable (for good reasons or bad). Let’s dive in…

London

I spent five days in London and absolutely loved it. I can’t wait to go back. I’m already mentally preparing a visit for 2025. The one drawback was the saltiness of the food… or lack thereof. I think every single restaurant I went to had under-seasoned meals. It was shocking. Notably, there were salt shakers on every table too, which seemed to suggest that this was a known issue.

At first I chalked the seasoning up to being American and addicted to salty American cuisine. But every other country I went to had perfectly fine seasoning. So, London, I shame thee for not dabbling in the fine art of salting. Nevertheless, here are some noteworthy spots.

The Ivy: Apparently this is a chain. We stumbled into this dark and very British-y restaurant our first night in Covent Garden because it looked cozy and lovely. Unfortunately, the food was pretty mediocre at best. Every local has since laughed knowingly when I’ve mentioned we ate at The Ivy. “Food’s terrible, but it’s very cute in there!” is the common theme. Skip it, people. Or at least just stick to drinks.

Dishoom: The line at this famed Indian institution stretches down the block every night — at least at the Covent Garden location. A high end culinary landmark in the city, nearly every guide recommends it. I’ll say it right now - I would never wait in such a long line for it. Luckily, at lunchtime, my boyfriend Dominique and I were able to snatch a table in seconds. The food was very good - lovely, dare I say - and yes, it was seasoned! But there was something soulless about the whole place. I’m really glad I went, I had no memorable complaints, but I missed the homeyness and warmth I normally feel in South Asian restaurants.

Chicken tikka at Dishoom.

Ave Mario: The worst restaurant meal I’ve had in perhaps years. The place was full of spray-tanned influencer types salivating over pizzas with crusts as big as above-ground pools and parmesan wheels overflowing with mounds of carbonara inside. I mean, I was salivating too… until I tasted this wretched food. No seasoning, no flavor, no thank you. It was so bad that it was actually worth going to so we could laugh about the restaurant’s ineptitude. You’d never know, given the **14,500 five-star reviews** on Google. A saving grace: diners can pay via a QR code on the table, which meant that mid-entrée we settled up and walked out.

J Sheekey: Another very British restaurant, but much better than The Ivy. I loved the vibe in this place, and the food was by and large very good! A sticky tiger prawn appetizer was downright delicious - as was a lovely banoffee choux bun dessert. A skate wing entree was nice but not very exciting. Overall, I’d happily go back to J Sheekey for drinks and apps.

Bocca di Lupo: After a few martinis at Dukes (where a dress code is required but based on the Americans there, definitely not enforced — unless hoodies are now considered formalwear), my group made the impromptu choice to visit Bocco di Lupo in the Soho neighborhood. We loved the trendy, modern vibe, and the antipasti was absolutely delicious. Strangely enough, everyone’s pasta dishes had no salt. Curses! But a gelato dessert got us back on track. Kind of hit and miss with this place.

Memories of India: Another Indian restaurant, but unlike Dishoom, this place felt warm and inviting. Familiar scents of cumin and coriander hung in the air, and the doting staff made sure we were well fed. It wasn’t a life-changing experience, but Memories of India was the cozy meal I had been looking for.

Tea at Fortnum & Mason: Since we’re tourists, we had to do afternoon tea somewhere, and we elected for the fancy culinary department store Fortnum & Mason. It was opulent, over the top, and of course so fun. The finger sandwiches and scones and pastries were all delightful, and for what it’s worth, I really loved the tea.

Ben’s Fish & Chip / Gigs Fish and Chips: We checked out two fish and chips places, and if I had to select a favorite, I’d pick Ben’s - and not just because of the name. The batter was crisp and ungreasy. But the truth is, both restaurants lacked seasoning. I honestly wouldn’t go back to either. Instead I’d head to The Ship Tavern, which my friend Lauren tried and said was great.

Arôme Bakery: This Covent Garden spot is famous for its honey butter toast. I wasn’t totally won over at first - my initial bites were a little dry - but by the end I understood the appeal. I’m not sure I would go out of my way for Arôme’s honey butter toast, but if in the neighborhood and hungry, it’s a worthwhile snack.

Ottolenghi: One of the most pervasive authors in my cookbook collection, surely Yotam Ottolenghi wouldn’t steer me wrong with his café. Well, we didn’t actually go to this place. We instead ordered takeaway from Ottolenghi; so please take what I have to say with a grain of salt. Literally. I’m begging for salt. Even Ottolenghi’s food was woefully underseasoned. If a renowned chef like Ottolenghi doesn’t have proper seasoning in his restaurant, was there any hope left? This was when I gave up on the dream of seasoned food in London.

Dublin

The Boxty House: It’s not like The Boxty House was the most amazing thing of all time, but considering its location (read: the heart of the most touristy section of Dublin), the food was pretty good! I really enjoyed my seafood chowder, and the titular boxty (basically a literal potato pancake) was a delight. A solid option should you find yourself meandering around the Temple Bar neighborhood.

The Shack: Another ground zero tourist spot - in this case directly adjacent to the eponymous Temple Bar - I really wasn’t expecting much from this place, but again, I was surprised by yet another fish chowder and delicious homemade bread. The convivial manager even let me snap a photo of the bread recipe out of the restaurant’s cookbook. Perhaps an attempt to come…

Seafood chowder.

L. Mulligan Grocer: On a rainy Sunday in Dublin, my friend Derya proposed that we find a Sunday roast, which led us to this absolutely adorable restaurant. We kicked things off with a surprisingly robust cheeseboard before gorging on our entrees. In my case, that was a juicy, impossibly tender slab of pork with black pudding. We stayed for hours and had a grand time.

Bar Italia: Located across the River Liffey from Temple Bar, Bar Italia presents like one of many decidedly OKAY tourist traps, but in reality it was shockingly good. And as a bonus, the waiter talked in an affected falsetto not unlike Mario of Super Mario Bros.

Guinness Storehouse Tour: First of all, not a factory tour. Second of all, not really a tour of anything at all. More like a slow ascent through various branding activations made for Instagram. But, as many people have noted, it all culminates with a free Guinness overlooking the city, and you know what? All tourist trap sins are forgiven. Turns out this ridiuclous experience ends on a really pleasant high note.

Glas: Probably the best restaurant I visited in Ireland. After a week and a half of heavy meats in Dublin and London, this elevated vegetarian menu was a godsend. Think radish carpaccio, spiced beets, and oyster mushroom thingamabobs. Admittedly, the desserts were kind of a miss, but I still really appreciated this hipster veggie experience.

Lynham’s of Laragh: Our tour of the Irish countryside included a lunch stop here in county Wicklow. I can’t say my burger was very good - it had a meatloaf consistency - but let me tell you something: the pâté? Could’ve eaten five plates of it. Bonus points for a random Terminator robot in the lobby.

Cologne

Brauhaus Sion: After Ireland (and a brief detour to Birmingham), I headed to Germany where my friend Michelle and her husband Konrad took me to this Cologne brauhaus. I didn’t get the impression that the place was known particularly for its food, but my goodness I loved everything I ate: tangy sauerbraten; crackling, melt-in-your-mouth pork knuckle; herring swimming in cream sauce; a crispy, sour Alsatian flatbread; and of course a classic bratwurst. German food in the states is always so heavy and foreboding. What a pleasure to enjoy all the complex, brightly accented flavors of the real deal

A light meal of schweinshaxe (pig’s knuckle).

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Amsterdam

Bar Bellini: On my first night in the Netherlands, my friend and current Amsterdam resident Michelle Collins brought me to Bar Bellini. I really enjoyed the trendy vibe at this neighborhood joint, and conveniently the food was very good too. So were the martinis. Maybe that’s why the only dish I can specifically remember was a grilled romaine situation — it really fired on all cylinders. There were pastas too - a rich but lovely lamb ragu joined the party at one point - and my neighbor at the bar had some sort of langoustine dish that I deeply regret not ordering. This was a fun place.

Schotsheuvel: when Michelle suggested we order the beef carpaccio at this quiet spot, I wasn’t totally sold. I’m just not usually drawn to carpaccio. But I’m glad I didn’t shoot down the idea because it was divine. I’m a convert.

Zoldering: Reservations for this Michelin-starred restaurant were booked up weeks in advance, but I ambled in solo after 9PM and easily nabbed a seat at the bar. The experience was truly memorable. I started with some bites: a silky smooth pâté followed by the restaurant’s signature tomato toast. The attentive waiter told me the latter, bursting with acidic brightness, never leaves the menu, and I understand why. The true knockout star of the evening though was a langoustine dish that came floating in a citrus-inflused beurre blanc. This was remarkable. I parceled out every tiny morsel slowly so I could extend the experience. Nearly as good was a vegetarian cabbage entree that took me to a very happy place. This may have been my favorite meal of the entire vacation; although, it’s hard to compete with…

De Kas: Another Michelin darling, I managed to get lunch reservations at this famed vegetable-focused restaurant. The shtick here is that De Kas has its own gardens and farms and grows what it cooks, which sounds lovely but doesn’t really matter if the food is crap. Happy to report it’s anything but. My four course meal came with many unlisted surprises - chief among them a green gazpacho that I would have licked from the bowl had I not wanted to perpetuate any stereotypes about tacky Americans.

The Heineken Experience: In perhaps my most unwise move of the trip, I randomly booked what I thought was a Heineken factory tour directly following my De Kas lunch. Who doesn’t love a high-low moment? Or in this case, a high-VERY low moment? I am here to report that the Heineken Experience was dreadful. Unlike the Guinness tour which starts silly and ends sweetly, the Heineken experience actually seems okay at first and then descends into madness. It begins with a vague attempt at education - there’s an audio tour, interesting placards, some historical information (one could argue this stuff exists at Guinness too, but it’s so obscured by wild visual moments that it all gets lost). Anyhoo, the Heineken experience climaxes with a walk through a brewing space (cool!) and then suddenly, you’re whisked into a room where the walls come alive with a strange CGI video that purportedly represents a bottle’s journey from factory to store. It makes no sense. Then we’re sent into a smaller room to watch yet another video - this one even weirder than the first: bottles swirling around in the night sky before descending on a tropical, Miami beach full of people dancing. When this cinematic masterpiece concludes, we eventually are plopped out into what feels like a frat house basement: a dark, low-ceilinged room with techno blaring and lights flashing. This is where we can exchange tokens for beers, but unlike the serene city panorama at the end of the Guinness tour, the only view here is of pimply-faced 22 year old bros (which, admittedly, I used to be). I may not have walked on stickier floors in my life. Honestly, awful.

Frens Haringhandel: When in the Netherlands, I had to sample some traditional Dutch herring. I headed to this unassuming shack where I purchased a classic sandwich: herring fillet, pickles, and diced onions in a bun. I took a seat on a bench, looked out over a canal, and enjoyed a truly blissful moment to myself. Just a boy and his herring. Luckily for me, it was early June, which meant we were in peak Hollandse Nieuwe — “new herring season.” This is when the fish is considered the best of the year - not too fat, not too slender. Tender, silky, melt-in-your mouth — it was everything I had wanted. That’s why I promptly headed back and ordered a second sandwich in a row.

Stroopwafels! As an unabashed stroopwafel fan, I of course needed to take a class on how to make Holland’s most famous cookie. I think this was the activity I was looking forward to the most in Amsterdam, if I’m being brutally honest. It did not disappoint. The stroopwafels were a breeze to make — taking about 10 minutes total — and I’m happy to report they were fab. This now begs a new question: do I buy a stroopwafel press??

Stockholm

Restaurang Prinsen: Resembling a Parisian café with its clustered tables and rattan-backed chairs, this traditional Swedish spot was the perfect place to sample Very Swedish Food. I ordered a veal patty on a whim - a very bizarre whim if I’m being honest - and it was actually really good. Michelle Collins, who had traveled with me from Amsterdam, found her Swedish meatballs too firm, but I thought they were perfect. Their gravy was an umami playground. Ew, did I just write “umami playground?” I need to get a grip. Nevertheless, this was a fun — albeit not terribly exciting — restaurant to visit. And more importantly, it afforded a front row seat to a hipster party happening across the street.

Babette: Pizza, boquerones, liver toasts - that was the vibe at Babette, a small trendy spot with warm service and tasty food. While their mortadella pizza was something I admired more than enjoyed, their more classic tomato and cheese option was pretty excellent. Loved our waitress too

Brasserie Astoria: Mostly mediocre. Yes, I had a very nice celery root dish, but this place was mainly a bar scene that excelled more in people watching than food. Some lady brought her mid-sized dog into the restaurant, placed it on her lap, and let it rest its head on the table. Later she let it just flop out onto the floor (unleashed), forcing servers to step over and around it. For that alone, I will probably never go back.

Rosendals Tradgards Café: Nestled in the middle of Stockholm’s equivalent of Griffith Park is this farm / garden / café. I was a little worried it might be a tourist trap, but it was actually so serene, so lovely, and so what I was in the mood for on my final day in Europe. Basically, the place is kind of like a very fancy, very adorable cafeteria. Diners grab a tray and pluck salads and sandwiches and sweets from a rustic table. Like De Kas, many of the ingredients are grown on the premises, and after three weeks of heavy eating, a simple bowl of raw radishes in a bean purée was everything I could have wanted. Oh, and for the record, not a tourist trap at all. Lucky locals can even purchase plants from the nursery. Jealous.

Fika etc: I’m really into the Swedish tradition of Fika - a midday coffee and cake break. Turns out I’d been participating in this activity long before I even stepped foot in Scandinavia. Anyway, I managed to casually consume various slices of cake, brownies and other sundry items over the course of several days - all in the name of Fika, of course - but my favorite was a chocolate ball (chokladbollar) I nabbed in Old Town. It’s mainly just sugar, butter, rolled oats (!), cocoa, and coffee rolled in desiccated coconut. They were all over the city, and I recommend snacking on one if you’re visiting.

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Even though I just got home, I’m desperate to go back to all these cities. What recommendations do you have? Did I miss out on some real winners? I mean, I know I did. Tell me everything!