I will have even more opportunities to eat in Europe this year. By dint of beating Manchester City in the FA Cup final – a game I saw at Wembley, drunk with adoration and bonhomie – the mighty Crystal Palace have qualified for next season’s Europa League. Soon begins our first-ever major European competition after winning our first-ever major trophy. Palace are on the march, and so am I.
When I’m in Europe to watch the Eagles, I’ll be eating too. Maybe we’ll go to Bratislava, for their take on goulash, in which the beef is wonderfully tender. Or Prague, for pickled carp with carrots and onions. Or Warsaw – obviously for pierogi, dumplings of exemplary design. And in Bilbao – well, I really do hope to be there next season as it is one of Europe’s food focal points. All you really need to do in the Spanish city is walk a few metres and you’ll find something beautiful in a pintxo bar.
There might be trips to the middle of Italy, blanketed by fine sheets of pasta, or small-town France, where I will try to avoid talking about politics and also avoid the duds often hiding in complacent traditional bistros – flabby steaks and metallic mange tout. There are many gems to be found if you look hard enough, though – remarkable fish soup and a chef from nowhere who still does good pork in mustard sauce.
We might go to Slovenia, which can be a dream, a place full of peas and dandelion roots, shavings of mighty truffle and wild mountain thyme. In fact, Slovenia might be a closely guarded secret. More than likely I’ll be visiting European cities I’ve never been to, drinking new beers and trying new dishes. The marriage between football and food is strong.
Some leagues haven’t finished yet so who we’ll end up playing is anyone’s guess. But a number of positions in next season’s competition have already been confirmed. Palace could be off to Seville, Porto, Lille, Genk, Freiburg, Bologna, Deventer in the Netherlands and Olomouc in the Czech Republic,
I’ve been to a handful of these places, but not all. Freiburg, for example, would be a new destination for me. I’m told it’s a smallish city in the south-west of Germany, not far from the French border on the edge of the Black Forest. What might I eat there? Sausages, probably, with big steins of beer, but there’s more.
Maultaschen is a German ravioli usually filled with meat, herbs and thickened with bread. Maultaschen actually translates as “mouth pockets” and the dish is sometimes referred to as something more amusing still: “meat pockets”. It’s good stuff.
But Bavarian food culture – and that of central Europe generally – is among the least enamouring for me. I enjoy schnitzel, but I don’t care for fondue, a restrictive and tiresome joke of a dish. Sausages, boiled potatoes and sauerkraut is fine but there’s often too much cream, the flavours are bland and sweet baked goods I can happily live without. Bread and sugar? Boring.
Then again, I could end up in Genk, Belgium. Research tells me there are credible bistros in Genk and a selection of fine dining restaurants. If Palace are drawn to play there, I’ll likely settle for moules marinière and a glass of house white. The city is not top of my list.
It’s higher up the list than Deventer, though. I haven’t been, but the Netherlands is a country which might offer the worst food in Europe. All that ever seems to await me there is boiled pork and stodgy bread, hard cheese and bitterballen.
The latter are agreeable while drinking: beef stew, thickened with roux, breadcrumbed and deep fried? Excellent, actually, but that’s largely where typical Dutch food ends. I’d have to hope some of Amsterdam has rubbed off on the city and there’s fine seafood cooked simply, as well as phenomenal kebab shops.
What I’m most hoping for when the draw is made in August is the opportunity to see new cities around Europe. There are few things more exciting than landing somewhere different, better yet, alighting from a long train full of characters.
Few feelings match that which follows a period in transit, when you are so tired and disoriented as to be almost delirious. I like not quite knowing where I am for a time, feeling slightly lost but committed to the cause. There are always elements of adventure at play in foreign travel and, at least for now for me, there is no greater cause than being a part of a merry band joyful at the prospect of seeing their football club perform better than it ever has on stages it has never graced.
In a world so connected and up front, there is something in feeling disjointed. To brave a world I’ve not seen or explored, with history in each cobblestone and each spread of butter on baguette. Even if the mouth pockets are overcooked, I shall enjoy the experience. I will revel in Crystal Palace and in the release of personal discovery.
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I will have even more opportunities to eat in Europe this year. By dint of beating Manchester City in the FA Cup final – a game I saw at Wembley, drunk with adoration and bonhomie – the mighty Crystal Palace have qualified for next season’s Europa League. Soon begins our first-ever major European competition after winning our first-ever major trophy. Palace are on the march, and so am I.
When I’m in Europe to watch the Eagles, I’ll be eating too. Maybe we’ll go to Bratislava, for their take on goulash, in which the beef is wonderfully tender. Or Prague, for pickled carp with carrots and onions. Or Warsaw – obviously for pierogi, dumplings of exemplary design. And in Bilbao – well, I really do hope to be there next season as it is one of Europe’s food focal points. All you really need to do in the Spanish city is walk a few metres and you’ll find something beautiful in a pintxo bar.
There might be trips to the middle of Italy, blanketed by fine sheets of pasta, or small-town France, where I will try to avoid talking about politics and also avoid the duds often hiding in complacent traditional bistros – flabby steaks and metallic mange tout. There are many gems to be found if you look hard enough, though – remarkable fish soup and a chef from nowhere who still does good pork in mustard sauce.
We might go to Slovenia, which can be a dream, a place full of peas and dandelion roots, shavings of mighty truffle and wild mountain thyme. In fact, Slovenia might be a closely guarded secret. More than likely I’ll be visiting European cities I’ve never been to, drinking new beers and trying new dishes. The marriage between football and food is strong.
Some leagues haven’t finished yet so who we’ll end up playing is anyone’s guess. But a number of positions in next season’s competition have already been confirmed. Palace could be off to Seville, Porto, Lille, Genk, Freiburg, Bologna, Deventer in the Netherlands and Olomouc in the Czech Republic,
I’ve been to a handful of these places, but not all. Freiburg, for example, would be a new destination for me. I’m told it’s a smallish city in the south-west of Germany, not far from the French border on the edge of the Black Forest. What might I eat there? Sausages, probably, with big steins of beer, but there’s more.
Maultaschen is a German ravioli usually filled with meat, herbs and thickened with bread. Maultaschen actually translates as “mouth pockets” and the dish is sometimes referred to as something more amusing still: “meat pockets”. It’s good stuff.
But Bavarian food culture – and that of central Europe generally – is among the least enamouring for me. I enjoy schnitzel, but I don’t care for fondue, a restrictive and tiresome joke of a dish. Sausages, boiled potatoes and sauerkraut is fine but there’s often too much cream, the flavours are bland and sweet baked goods I can happily live without. Bread and sugar? Boring.
Then again, I could end up in Genk, Belgium. Research tells me there are credible bistros in Genk and a selection of fine dining restaurants. If Palace are drawn to play there, I’ll likely settle for moules marinière and a glass of house white. The city is not top of my list.
It’s higher up the list than Deventer, though. I haven’t been, but the Netherlands is a country which might offer the worst food in Europe. All that ever seems to await me there is boiled pork and stodgy bread, hard cheese and bitterballen.
The latter are agreeable while drinking: beef stew, thickened with roux, breadcrumbed and deep fried? Excellent, actually, but that’s largely where typical Dutch food ends. I’d have to hope some of Amsterdam has rubbed off on the city and there’s fine seafood cooked simply, as well as phenomenal kebab shops.
What I’m most hoping for when the draw is made in August is the opportunity to see new cities around Europe. There are few things more exciting than landing somewhere different, better yet, alighting from a long train full of characters.
Few feelings match that which follows a period in transit, when you are so tired and disoriented as to be almost delirious. I like not quite knowing where I am for a time, feeling slightly lost but committed to the cause. There are always elements of adventure at play in foreign travel and, at least for now for me, there is no greater cause than being a part of a merry band joyful at the prospect of seeing their football club perform better than it ever has on stages it has never graced.
In a world so connected and up front, there is something in feeling disjointed. To brave a world I’ve not seen or explored, with history in each cobblestone and each spread of butter on baguette. Even if the mouth pockets are overcooked, I shall enjoy the experience. I will revel in Crystal Palace and in the release of personal discovery.
