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Journeys | Eastern Europe

2007.06.28. 11:39 oliverhannak

This Summer, It’s Rock Around the Bloc


Marko Kecman/XAOC/ostphoto

The Exit Festival in Novi Sad, Serbia.

DESPITE recent events hinting at its resuscitation, the Cold War pretty much conked out for good 18 years ago. For music fans in the former Eastern bloc, the demise of the old regime brought about an unexpected benefit: the arrival of rock and techno music festivals on a huge scale previously reserved for May Day celebrations. More recently, Western festivalgoers have begun to take notice of these concerts, drawn not only by the acts, but also by the alluring ticket prices and the unfettered enthusiasm of the audience.

Over the next two months, a half-dozen big concerts will bring international stars to countries that were once locked behind the Iron Curtain, a place where rocking out was a near impossibility, if not outright forbidden. In large part these festivals are considerably cheaper than their Western European equivalents, despite often being much larger: a ticket for the seven-day Sziget Festival in Hungary, for instance, is 37,500 forint ($193 at 195 forint to the dollar), while the Reading festival in England clocks in at three days for £145 ($290 at $2 to the pound). Each show gets you Razorlight, Nine Inch Nails, Gogol Bordello and Unkle, among other groups. But Sziget also includes hundreds of additional performances from the likes of Madness, the Chemical Brothers, Tinariwen, Laurent Garnier and the Good, the Bad and the Queen, as well as lots of local talent.

And there’s an easy-to-overlook bonus: crowds here have loads of enthusiasm and precious little snark.

“Outside of South America, I’d say that people in Eastern Europe are the most joyous crowds to play to,” said Tony McGuinness, one-third of Above & Beyond, the electronic music superpower. “With Poland and the other countries joining the E.U., there’s a great sense of optimism there. Whoever’s on, whatever D.J.’s playing, if it’s good music, they love it.”

Above & Beyond will have to wait until July 7 to feel the love at Creamfields Poland in Wroclaw, where they will perform with the Prodigy, Vitalic and a slew of other dance and electronic acts. But this week, Poland kicks off its festival season on June 29 with Open’er, a three-day party featuring noise-rockers Sonic Youth, neo new-wavers Bloc Party and two sets (one instrumental) from the Beastie Boys, all happening at the Baltic Sea port of Gdynia.

Electronic or rock are hardly the only options: Other concerts around the region this summer include folk, funk, punk and a whole lot of world music — in short, pretty much everything.

I attended my first post-Velvet Revolution music festival in 2005, paying the last-minute equivalent of $20 for a ticket to a concert series in pastoral southern Bohemia, about 90 minutes from Prague. There, joining a group of friends, I relaxed in an old and wrinkled but sturdy Communist-era tent we had taken with us (camping fee: $0) before checking out a six-hour show that began with head-banging Metallica covers from the Finnish cello quartet Apocalyptica and culminated with a barrage of psychotic karate kicks from the moody rocker Nick Cave. Somewhere in the middle were Czech electroclash and punk bands, two immense stages, separate techno and hip-hop tents, hair-styling salons, tattoo and piercing artists and tons of food vendors. More notable, there was a very friendly feel wherever you turned. Unlike the mud of Woodstock, the mosh pits of Lollapalooza and the chaos at Altamont, the scene here was clean, strangely placid and oddly familial. There was plenty of alcohol, but no visible drunkenness, plenty of bouncers but no bouncing, just a bunch of people of all ages having a great time.

A similar ambience can be expected at a much larger Czech festival: Rock for People, July 4 to 7, which takes place near Hradec Kralove, about 70 miles east of Prague. This year’s lineup includes punk and post-punk groups like the Killers, the Hives and the Toy Dolls, as well as world music greats like Mory Kanté, the Guinean master of the kora harp.

There are so many other great festivals around the region that choosing just one seems impossible. Beyond Creamfields and Open’er in Poland, there’s the Pohoda Festival in Slovakia, the very name of which is akin to “cool,” a fitting label for a showcase of Air, Basement Jaxx, DJ Shadow and Cansei de Ser Sexy, among others. Or there is the Exit Fest in Novi Sad, Serbia, with more Beastie Boys and Cansei de Ser Sexy, as well as such disparate musicians as Robert Plant and Snoop Dogg, though presumably not together.

And then there is Sziget in Budapest., on Obudai, an island in the Danube, Aug. 8 to 15. Sziget functions less as a music festival than as a kind of small-scale United Nations, bringing in musicians from Iceland (GusGus) to Cameroon (Manu Dibango) and most places in between: Japan (Gocoo), Finland (Varttina), Russia (Leningrad), France (Sergent Garcia), Mali (Salif Keita) plus dozens of acts from Britain and the United States.

Though the big acts create the headlines, there’s plenty of good stuff on the smaller stages scattered around, according to Erik D’Amato, the American editor of pestiside.hu, an online magazine based in Budapest.

“If you want to see something different, you have to seek out the little tents with different stuff,” Mr. D’Amato said. “There’s always a Roma music tent, and there’s jazz and local bands that just show up and play. And you have to see Kiss Forever, which I would say is the world’s finest Kiss cover band.”

Despite the throngs — Sziget had almost 400,000 visitors last year — Mr. D’Amato says that the festival pulls it off very well.

“The last time I went, you could still get a taxi out at the end of the night,” he said, referring to 2005. “It’s pretty well organized. But if you want to do it right, you should definitely camp there. It isn’t as terrifying as it sounds, assuming that you don’t start on the last few days.”

At that point, he said, the island turns into “a central European version of Max Yasgur’s farm.”

Though today’s festivals are longer, larger and probably much louder, none of them appears likely to ever become the generational touchstone that Woodstock was 40 years ago, in part simply because of the surfeit of options.

As odd as it may sound, there are now almost too many festivals showing too many bands in the former Eastern bloc.

By the Time I Got to Hradec Kralove

Prices are for tickets bought in advance; they may cost more if bought at the site.

Open’er, Gdynia, Poland; www.opener.pl; June 29 to July 1. Acts include Sonic Youth, the Roots, Dizzee Rascal, the Beastie Boys, Muse, Groove Armada, Björk and Bloc Party. Tickets are 249 zloty ($86 at 2.9 zloty to the dollar) for all three days, 269 zloty with camping included.

Rock for People, Hradec Kralove, Czech Republic; www.rockforpeople.com; July 4 to 7. Acts include the Killers, Basement Jaxx, the Hives, Flipsyde, the Toy Dolls and Mory Kanté. Tickets are 740 Czech koruna ($34 at 21.8 koruna to the dollar) for all three days with camping available for an additional 50 koruna.

Creamfields Poland, Wroclaw, Poland; www.creamfields.pl; July 7. Acts include the Prodigy, Above & Beyond, Vitalic and Fisz & Emade. Tickets are 37 euros ($50 at $1.36 to the euro).

Exit Festival, Novi Sad, Serbia; www.exitfest.org; July 12 to 15. Acts include the Beastie Boys, Cansei de Ser Sexy, Lauryn Hill, Robert Plant and Snoop Dogg. Tickets for four days are 78.50 euros ($107 at $1.36 to the euro) with camping an additional 15 euros.

Pohoda Festival, Trencin, Slovakia; www.pohodafestival.sk; July 20 and 21. Acts include Air, the Hives, DJ Shadow, Junkie XL, Tata Bojs and Gipsy.cz. Two-day tickets are 1,199 Slovak koruna ($46 at 26 koruna to the dollar).

Sziget Festival, Budapest, Hungary; www.szigetfestival.com; Aug. 8 to 15. Acts include Razorlight, Chris Cornell, Chemical Brothers, Faithless, Madness, Nine Inch Nails and Pink. Tickets for all seven days are 37,500 forint ($193 at 195 forint to the dollar), including camping, with one-day tickets 7,500 forint.

Szólj hozzá!

Wines of The Times

2007.06.28. 11:38 oliverhannak

The Evolution of Sauvignon Blanc


Agence France-Presse/Getty Images

TARTNESS IN THE HILLS The best sauvignon blancs from New Zealand’s South Island are known for having bite.

THE sauvignon blanc grape owes a lot to New Zealand. Thirty years or so ago nobody knew much about it at all. Sure, it was a component of white Bordeaux, and yes, it was part of the blend in the great sweet wines of Sauternes. It made wonderful white wines in the Loire Valley, particularly in Sancerre and Pouilly-Fumé, as it still does.

But the grape’s name never appears on those French labels. Even in California, the grape gained popularity only after it was rechristened fumé blanc by Robert Mondavi.

Only in the 1980s, when New Zealand started to produce bold, pungent, refreshing sauvignon blanc wines, did the name of the grape become something that people sought out. So great was New Zealand’s success that the rest of the world could not help but embrace the grape.

South Africa began making delicious sauvignon blancs, as did Chile. California re-evaluated whether sauvignon blanc was best suited for the oaky pseudo-chardonnays it was making and opted for the leaner New Zealand style instead.

Bordeaux took note, too, and the good, inexpensive sauvignon blanc wines bottled nowadays as basic Bordeaux blanc offer a restrained Gallic nod in the direction of the Antipodes.

The question today is, how much does New Zealand owe to sauvignon blanc?

Not so much, apparently. In a sampling of 25 New Zealand sauvignon blancs the Dining section’s tasting panel found far too few of the bright, vibrant wines that had made New Zealand a worldwide force. Instead, we found too many wines that seemed aimed at being commercially inoffensive. Some were too sweet. Others simply seemed wishy-washy.

“The style has definitely changed,” said Scott Mayger, general manager of Telepan on the Upper West Side, who joined Florence Fabricant and me for the tasting, along with his wife, Beth von Benz, the wine director at Porter House in the Time Warner Center. “The wines showed conservatism. They’re all safe. It’s about moving boxes.”

Florence put it another way, calling them “dumbed down.”

New Zealand sauvignon blanc used to be a go-to bottle. Confronted with a dull wine list or a menu of dishes not traditionally associated with wine, you could happily count on New Zealand sauvignon blanc for its piercing, vivacious refreshment. You can still find wines like that, but now, as our tasting demonstrated, you have to choose carefully among producers.

The most welcome example of the freshness and liveliness associated with New Zealand sauvignon blancs was found in our No. 1 bottle, the 2006 Cellar Selection from Villa Maria. This wine had the classic tart pungency that wine writers so often liken to gooseberries. For the gooseberry-deprived among us, let’s just call it an instantly recognizable flavor that combines lemon, lime and tropical fruit with a sort of grassy herbaceousness.

For every wine like the Villa Maria, though, it seemed as if we found two like a 2006 Daniel Schuster, sweet and tutti-frutti with little refreshing acidity, or like a 2005 Spy Valley, as pallid as a dish of lemon water.

The good news is we did find more wines that we liked. The 2006 Pioneer Block 3 from Saint Clair was a throwback to brasher times, when a New Zealand wine wasn’t afraid of forthright, pure zinginess. The 2006 Cloudy Bay was a little quieter than the top two wines but nonetheless bold, zesty and delicious.

It was a good showing for Cloudy Bay, kind of the granddaddy among New Zealand sauvignon blanc producers, but another Cloudy Bay entry, the 2004 Te Koko, the oldest wine in the tasting and the most expensive at $55, was overwhelmed by the vanilla flavor imparted by oak barrels. Perhaps it was an effort to make a refined white Bordeaux-style wine, but I’m afraid it didn’t work.

The vast majority of the wines we tasted came from the Marlborough region on New Zealand’s South Island, which has been the home of the country’s best sauvignon blanc. Only one of our top wines, the 2005 Palliser Estate, came from outside the region, from Martinborough to the north, yet it, too, had the signature New Zealand flavors of tart lemon and lime with a little mineral tang as well.

Other wines worth noting were the 2006 Whitehaven and the 2005 Mud House White Swan Reserve.

Even though we did find 10 wines that we liked, the tasting was a disappointment, and we were left to ponder the reasons. I’m sure that some producers have cynically decided to push quantity at the expense of quality, overcropping so that the wine is thin rather than concentrated, and manipulating the wine with techniques like adding sugar or acid to make up for picking grapes at the wrong time. Both techniques are legal in New Zealand, by the way.

I don’t think that’s the issue, though. Every corner of the wine world faces similar problems. But I’ve talked to enough people in the New Zealand wine trade to suspect that they take the grape for granted.

As successful as they’ve been with sauvignon blanc, New Zealand producers nowadays would much prefer to talk about all they’re doing with pinot noir. Now there’s a trophy grape! New Zealand hasn’t exactly jilted sauvignon blanc — it still pays the bills — but perhaps some flowers and a romantic dinner would be in order.

In another way, though, New Zealand has shown that it really does take its relationship seriously with its long-term signature wine. Of the 25 bottles we tasted, 22 came with screwcaps and only three with corks. Vivacious wines like these, meant to be drunk when young and fresh, are the perfect opportunity for using screwcaps and removing the potential for cork-induced taint. Now that’s respect.

Tasting Report: Pungent and Refreshing, With a Citrusy Tang

BEST VALUE

Villa Maria Marlborough $17 ***

Cellar Selection 2006

Vibrant, with classic pungency and high-contrast fruit and floral flavors. (Importer: Vineyard Brands, Ala.)

Saint Clair Marlborough $25 ** 1/2

Pioneer Block 3 2006

Brash and lively with clean lime, anise and mineral flavors. (Winesellers Ltd., Skokie, Ill.)

Cloudy Bay Marlborough 2006 $30 ** 1/2

Sedate and refreshing with lemon-lime, herbal and grass aromas and flavors. (Moët Hennessey USA, New York)

Whitehaven Marlborough 2006 $19 ** 1/2

Lemon-lime, green apple and floral flavors, with some tropical fruit thrown in. (Whitehaven, Haywood, Calif.)

Mud House Marlborough $17 ** 1/2

White Swan Reserve 2005

Bright, pungent and refreshing with tangy flavors of lime, ginger and grass. (Michael Skurnik Wines, Syosset, N.Y.)

(Michael Skurnik Wines, Syosset, N.Y.)

Allan Scott Marlborough 2005 $13 **

Subtle and spicy with balanced flavors of lemon zest, herbs and pepper. (T. Edwards, New York)

Palliser Estate Martinborough 2005 $17 **

Tart flavors of lime, lemon and minerals. (Negociants USA, Napa, Calif.)

Cable Bay Marlborough 2005 $18 **

Straightforward with pungent flavors of grapefruit and lime. (Martin Scott, Lake Success, N.Y.)

Kim Crawford Marlborough 2006 $12 **

Lemon, lime and herbal flavors with a touch of bell pepper. (Vincor USA, Esparto, Calif.)

Dog Point Marlborough 2006 $22 * 1/2

Grassy and herbal with a little sweetness. (Ex Cellars Wine Agencies, Solvang, Calif.)

Szólj hozzá!

36 Hours in Bali

2007.06.22. 09:28 oliverhannak

Frank Pinckers for The New York Times

Enjoying the sunset at Ku Dé Ta, a chic Bali nightspot.



SAY Bali and most people think paradise. There are stunning sunsets, sculpted rice terraces and a temple on almost every corner. And for less-spiritual seekers, this steamy Indonesian island also has great surfing and a rollicking nightlife. Sure, it's gotten pretty touristy, especially on the pub crawl along Kuta Beach, where beer-swilling Australians rule. And while recent terrorist bombings have rattled Bali's blissful pace (it is a Hindu-majority island in a Muslim-majority nation), they have done little to temper its popularity or discourage super-chic resorts from being built. Paradise, after all, is as close as the nearest temple, finding yourself on your knees with a blue flower pressed between your fingertips, asking for blessings from Brahma or one of the other gods.

Friday

3 p.m.
1) MONKEYING AROUND

There's nothing like 200 macaques grooming each other, snuggling together and nibbling on small bananas to make you realize you're not in Kansas anymore. To find the Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary (Jalan Monkey Forest, Padangtegal, Ubud; 62-361-971304; www.monkeyforestubud.com) drive an hour north of Kuta Beach to the town of Ubud, often called the cultural heart of Bali. The monkeys, the town's most beloved residents, live in a dense, jungley stretch of green at the southern edge of town, complete with its own temple. A word to the wise: Leave your snacks at home and don't buy any bananas on the way in unless you enjoy being mauled by possibly rabid little tykes. When it comes to bananas, the monkeys will win. Admission is 10,000 rupiah, or about $1.10 at 9,270 rupiah to the dollar.

4:30 p.m.
2) FOUR HANDS BEATS TWO

It's said that labor is cheaper than electricity on Bali, so why not book a four-handed massage at Spa Hati (Jalan Raya Andong 14, Peliatan, Ubud; 62-361-977-578; www.spahati.com), a stone and thatched-roof compound at the edge of town. Add in a lulur body scrub — a traditional Javanese blend of rice flour and herbs — for 90 minutes of rapture (225,000 rupiah). Afterward, the unhurried staff lets you relax for as long as you want in the hot tub, listening to little frogs make big noises in the rice paddy next door. And about that cheap labor: spa profits help support the Bali Hati Foundation, which runs community programs, including a school for local children.

7:30 p.m.
3) DANCE, DANCE, DANCE

Bali is brimming with fire dances, mask dances, trance dances, monster dances and puppet shows, all of which have been refined over the centuries to the point that eyeballs, fingertips and toes all move in elaborate choreographed precision. On a typical night in Ubud you can take your pick from a half-dozen different shows. It's worth ducking into the Ubud Palace (Jalan Raya Ubud; 62-361975057; 80,000 rupiah) to watch good and evil duke it out in the Barong dance. Set in a Balinese-style pavilion, the dance is performed by two fat guys whose choreographed fight scenes draw inevitable comparisons to the WWF.

9 p.m.
4) GO FOR THE GRILL

For tasty Balinese food in a relaxed setting, expatriates flock to Naughty Nuri's Warung (Jalan Raya Sanggingan, across from the Neka Art Museum; 62-361-977547), a cozy hangout opened by Isnuri Suryatmi and her husband, Brian Kenny, who grew up in New Jersey. It does justice to classic Balinese dishes like chicken sate (27,000 rupiah) and nasi goreng — Indonesian fried rice with vegetables and meat (17,000 rupiah). But the main draw of this grubby little warung, or food stall, is the grill. There are succulent pork chops, steaks from Australia and even great hamburgers — and something uncommon in Asia, a good microbrew: Storm Pale Ale (12,000 rupiah).

Saturday

9 a.m.
5) GET DOWN IN THE RIVER

Most of the super-luxury hotels in Ubud are built along the top of the gorge that the Ayung River runs through. There's a good reason for that: the views are gorgeous. Down on the river, climb aboard a rubber raft and watch the thick vines, low-flying swallows and waterfalls go by. Bali Adventure Tours (62-361-721480; www.baliadventuretours.com) runs 90-minute trips down the river starting at $60 for a morning trip that includes a basic lunch of rice and egg rolls.

2:30 p.m.
6) MUSEUM MILE

Ubud's artistic appeal is, for the most part, historical. Its reputation dates to the 1930s when Western artists and intellectuals like Walter Spies, Colin McPhee and Rudolf Bonnet moved in, boosting the local arts scene and sparking foreign interest in this tiny island. To understand that history and see some fine examples of Balinese art, start at the Neka Art Museum (Jalan Raya Sanggingan, Campuhan; 62-361-975074; www.museumneka.com), which was founded in 1982 by Suteja Neka, an art dealer whose son now runs the slick Komaneka Fine Art Gallery (Jalan Monkey Forest; 62-361-976090; gallery.komaneka.com). For some high camp, make a quick stop at the Blanco Renaissance Museum (Jalan Campuhan; 62-361-975502; www.blancobali.com); the only thing grander than the peccadilloes of Antonio Blanco, a Spanish painter who settled in Bali in 1952, was his ego.

5:30 p.m.
7) BEST SHOW IN TOWN

Ubud closes early. By 11 p.m., everyone is home, leaving the streets to bands of marauding but basically harmless dogs. If you want to make a night of it, head south to Seminyak, a sophisticated beachside alternative just north of Kuta. The hour-long taxi runs about 150,000 to 200,000 rupiah ($16 to $22). For a front-row seat for the dazzling sunset, grab a chair at Breeze, a sleek beachside bar and restaurant at the Samaya Hotel (Jalan Laksmana; 62-361-731149, www.thesamayabali.com), and order a glass of wine (about 70,000 rupiah). The teak deck juts out so close to the surf you can almost feel the foam from the breakers.

7 p.m.
8) BUST THAT BIKINI

When the last ray of sunlight has faded, head next door for dinner at La Lucciola (Kaya Ayu Beach, Temple Petitenget, Kerobokan; 62-361-730838), a popular beachfront spot, for rich Italian fare like prawn and snapper pie with truffled potatoes (125,000 rupiah) and orecchiette with pancetta and gorgonzola (80,000 rupiah). There might be a line, but don't worry. Sit at the bar for free hors d'oeuvres and watch the frangipani flowers fall around you.

9:30 p.m.
9) BLING IS THE THING

Ratchet things up among the macramé-clad, flash-bulb popping babes at Ku Dé Ta (Jalan Laksmana 9, Seminyak; 62-361-736969; www.kudeta.net), a modern and trendy spot that faces the surf . It's shamelessly sceney — a DVD is sold showing highlights of the high season. Score a beachfront chaise and watch the waves, illuminated with floodlights, come crashing in. After hours, all roads lead to the Double Six Club (Jalan Double Six, Blue Ocean Boulevard, Seminyak; 62-361-733067; www.doublesixclub.com; 70,000 rupiah admission), which sports a giant dance floor and bungee jumping on weekend nights. But don't show up before 3 a.m.

Sunday

10 a.m.
10) ESPRESSO IT

If for some unfathomable reason you tire of Bali's thick, rich coffee, duck into Tutmak Warung (Jalan Dewi Sita, Ubud; 62-361-975754 ) for an iced latte (14,500 rupiah). It's a favorite of local expatriates — a casual, breezy place that looks out on a scraggly soccer field frequented by local kids.

11 a.m.
11) PARADISE WITHIN PARADISE

The six-hectare Botanic Garden Ubud (Kutuh Kaja, Ubud; 62-361-970951; www.botanicgardenbali.com) opened last summer — a magical park with white fairy lilies, weeping figs, a labyrinth, banana twist orchids and a miniature rainforest. Stay for lunch at the Chocolate House Cafe, which is housed in a 130-year-old jogglo, a traditional Javanese hut made of teak wood. The guava and passion fruit juices (12,000 rupiah) are garden fresh and the chicken kutu kaja, which is cooked slowly in banana leaves and served with red Tabanan rice, is a local specialty (42,000 rupiah). The menu rotates, but if it has it, don't miss the coconut and jackfruit ice puter, ice cream made with coconut milk in a hand-cranked drum.

2 p.m.
12) SARONG AS ART

Ubud is famous for art, which is probably why an awful lot of drek is now on sale. Fear not. For the good stuff, start at the Seniwati Gallery of Art by Women (Jalan Sriwedari 2b, Banjar Taman; 62-361-975485; www.seniwatigallery.com), which Mary Northmore, the British-born wife of Abdul Aziz, a prominent Indonesian artist, founded in 1991 after she was told by several Indonesian art experts that “Balinese women don't paint.” For textiles, stop in at Threads of Life (Jalan Kajeng 24; 62-361-972187; www.threadsoflife.com), which commissions local weavers to make textiles the same ways their grandmothers did, which is to say painstakingly. Even if you're not in the market for a handspun sarong for 4.3 million rupiah, it's well worth the visit.

The Basics

Cathay Pacific flies from Kennedy Airport to Denpasar, Bali, via Hong Kong. A recent Web search showed fares starting at around $1,500. From Ngurah Rai Airport in Denpasar, a taxi to Ubud costs 150,000 rupiah, or about $16 at 9,270 rupiah to the dollar. Taxis can also be hired for half-days or longer; negotiate a price in advance, but it should run about 350,000 rupiah.

Central Ubud can feel like an outdoor mall. If you're on a budget and want rice fields instead of retail, stay south of the Monkey Forest. Alam Shanti and its two sister hotels, Alam Indah and Alam Jiwa are situated along Jalan Nyuh Butan in tranquil Nyuh Kuning village (62-361-974629; www.alamindahbali.com). Rooms are $50 to $175.

For luxurious solitude, try the Four Seasons Resort Bali at Sayan (62-361-977577; www.fourseasons.com/sayan/). The hotel was built around a rice paddy, and villas come with private plunge pools. The hotel's Jati (Bahasa for teak) Bar is perched on the edge of the Ayung River and an excellent place for a sunset cocktail. Rooms start at $460.

Szólj hozzá!

Practical Traveler | Mobile Devices

2007.06.19. 20:19 oliverhannak

A Guide to Anywhere, Right in Your Han

JUST off the plane in Columbus, Ohio, you have a craving for Italian food. You hop into your rental car and drive straight to Buca di Beppo on North Front Street, where supersize pasta dishes are served family style.

You knew exactly where to go even though you’ve never been to Columbus, even though you don’t know anyone in Columbus, even though you didn’t bother to do a bit of research on Italian restaurants before you set out for Columbus.

All the information you needed was three clicks away on your cellphone thanks to Earthcomber, one of several new services designed to make browsing the Web easier on your cellphone, BlackBerry or other mobile device. These so-called location-based services are trying to revamp the Web experience to be less cumbersome on mobile devices, freeing users from what has been a pretty dismal experience involving lots of typing, scrolling and waiting.

The new services, with names like Mobio and Where, are aimed at anyone with a mobile device that can connect to the Internet. But the kind of online information they are making available on cellphones, BlackBerrys and other devices can be of particular use to travelers.

After downloading the application onto a phone, as you would a cellphone ring tone, a user can enter a city or a ZIP code and, in very few clicks, find the cheapest nearby gas station, locate a good restaurant, find an ATM or a Wi-Fi hot spot, call a cab, view movie times and more.

Say you’re driving around San Francisco and you suddenly realize you’re running low on gas. With Mobio, offered free at Getmobio.com, you can select the Mobio icon on your phone and choose “cheap gas” to pull up a list of nearby gas stations. Earlier this month, the Arco station on Fell Street at Divisadero, with gasoline for $3.35, was at the top of the list.

Looking for something fun to do in a new city? Choose Stepping Out and Events to get a list of local concerts, comedy shows and other happenings, including maps showing how to get to them. Need a cab? Select Panic Kit and Cabs for a list of local taxi and car services. Then go to the Option menu and select Click to Call to be connected.

Where, a subscription service from uLocate Communications, based in Framingham, Mass., takes the concept a step further. Instead of requiring that the user type in a city or ZIP code, Where works with G.P.S. phones to find its users and automatically provide information — everything from the weather to where to find the world’s largest ball of twine. The service, available in early June at www.where.com for $2.99 a month on 17 different Sprint phones, plans to expand within months to other carriers and phones.

Earthcomber users with G.P.S. phones don’t have to plug in ZIP codes either. And those with Palm and Windows software on their mobile devices have another nifty feature. They can have automatic alerts sent to them when they pass by something of interest. Users first set up a profile online, preferably from a computer, picking and choosing from a list of favorites or “look lists” they might want to find while out and about — from banks to art galleries to wildlife areas. They can also search for special interests and add those to the lists. For example, if you have a Palm Treo, adding minigolf to your favorites with the distance range of five miles, should ensure you get an audible alert every time you are near a minigolf course. “I wanted it not just to find the needs and interests you stop to look for,” Jim Brady, president of Earthcomber, wrote in an e-mail message, “but to eliminate the ‘shoulda’ syndrome. You know: ‘Oh, you were in Cincinnati? You were just __ blocks from the most incredible __.”

The new location-based services are part of a big race to push the Internet — and all the advertising, sales and information it entails — onto cellphone screens. Just about every company with a Web presence, from Google and Yahoo to travel sites like Orbitz.com and Kayak.com, has been adapting certain services or search capabilities for mobile devices.

“All big brands want to extend their franchise into mobile,” said J. Gerry Purdy, a mobile analyst at the consulting firm Frost & Sullivan. Because of that, he added, “We’re going to see these handheld devices get much more useful.”

Most location-based services mainly offer information, like local weather, events and places of interest. But their goal is ultimately to allow users to conduct transactions in just one or two steps as well — making restaurant reservations, for example, booking hotels, or changing flights. Mobio, for one, already allows users not just to find movie show times but also to buy the tickets from certain theaters using a mobile phone through Mobile Movie Times, available at www.getmobio.com/landings/universal.

For now, location-based service companies are being careful not to turn users off with ads, even though advertising provides the main revenue for services that are free to users. Those that do include ads try to display them only during the time it takes to connect to the Internet or in context — offering a coffee coupon, for instance, when a user searches for the nearest Starbucks.

“They don’t bother me at all,” Rahul Gilani, a 24-year-old from Long Island, said of the ads on Mobio, which he recently downloaded. While commuting on the train to work, he found the service helpful in researching restaurants for a summer trip to Las Vegas. The ads “just go into the background,” he said. “I know this is how they’re able to provide the service for me.”

With companies only beginning to adapt to mobile devices, expect some bugs. Most location-based services tend to work only with certain phones and certain carriers. Mobio, for example, works on only 50 phones linked to Sprint and Cingular, though the company says it will soon work for Verizon and T-Mobile customers as well. And when it quietly began to offer service to BlackBerry users a few weeks ago there was a glitch in the system that prevented users from typing in the number 0, which rendered certain ZIP code searches useless. (It has since been fixed.)

The services are generally only as good as the partners each company works with to provide the information. Earthcomber, for example uses CitySearch to provide its restaurant information. Where offers “widgets” or clickable icons that offer information directly from a variety of partners from Burger King to Eventful, which lists concerts, art exhibits and other events. Mobio’s Cheap Gas feature uses information from Gaspricewatch.com, a searchable database of gasoline prices submitted by real people. Eventually, Mobio plans to allow users to update gas prices to the Web site from their mobile phones.

“That way the entire community benefits,” said Ramneek Bhasin, the founder and chief executive of Mobio.

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The Inevitability of Bumps

2007.06.14. 16:34 oliverhannak

Steve Morris/AirTeamImages

Wake turbulence was captured in this photo of a British Airways flight descending through thin clouds near London last July.


People who fly a lot tend to be nonchalant about the experience — until the plane hits a patch of choppy air. Then, as cups start skidding across tray tables and luggage jostles overhead, even some frequent fliers admit to gripping the armrest with fear.

“Logically and rationally, I know that planes are designed to withstand pretty severe amounts of turbulence before anything bad would happen,” said Lawrence Mosselson, who works for a commercial real estate company in Toronto and flies about 50 times a year. “And yet I find that at the first sign of any turbulence, I’m almost paralyzed in my seat.”

Industry experts say turbulence rarely causes substantial damage to an aircraft, especially as systems to detect and respond to it have improved. Most of the injuries caused by turbulence, they say, could have been prevented by a decidedly low-tech measure: a seat belt.

“The airplane is designed to take a lot more aggressive maneuvering than we are,” said Nora Marshall, chief of aviation survival factors at the National Transportation Safety Board. “We see people getting injured in turbulent events because they’re not restrained.”

Because of the way the safety board defines an accident — an event involving substantial damage to the aircraft, a death or a serious injury — the agency has officially investigated 94 accidents in the past decade involving turbulence as a cause or factor. Almost all were classified as accidents because 119 people (mostly flight attendants) suffered serious injuries, ranging from broken bones to a ruptured spleen. Only one of the accidents involved substantial damage to the aircraft.

The safety board attributed one death to turbulence over that time. In 1997, a Japanese passenger on a United Airlines flight from Tokyo to Honolulu was jolted out of her seat when the plane encountered turbulence; she suffered fatal injuries when she hit the armrest on the way back down. According to Ms. Marshall, who participated in the investigation, the woman was not wearing her seat belt, perhaps because the announcement advising passengers to keep seat belts fastened while the seat belt sign was off was not translated into Japanese.

That announcement is required by the Federal Aviation Administration. But Ms. Marshall said most passenger injuries still involved people seated without being buckled in. Including minor injuries, like a cut or a twisted ankle, safety board data indicates that about 50 people a year suffer turbulence-related injuries. But that is only the number of accidents the agency investigates, so the true figure is higher.

Now for the reassuring part: the plane should be able to handle the turbulence.

“People really shouldn’t be too concerned about the airplane having difficulty in turbulence — it’s designed for turbulence,” said Jeff Bland, senior manager for commercial airplane loads and dynamics at Boeing, adding that structural failures because of turbulence are rare.

Although there have been airplane crashes where turbulence was a factor, accidents typically involve multiple factors so it is often impossible to say that turbulence caused a crash. Industry and safety officials agree that such accidents have become unlikely as more has been learned about turbulence.

According to Mr. Bland, aircraft manufacturers have been collecting data since the 1970s to determine the maximum stress that planes experience in turbulence, and they then design aircraft to withstand one and a half times that. In fact, a video clip available on YouTube shows Boeing’s test of the wing of a 777; using cables, the wing is bent upward about 24 feet at the tip before it breaks.

Systems to detect and respond to turbulence have also improved, including the technology that automatically adjusts to lateral gusts of wind. And Boeing’s 787 aircraft will have a new vertical gust suppression system to minimize the stomach-churning sensation of the plane suddenly dropping midair.

Pilots say those drops are typically no more than 50 feet — not the hundreds of feet many passengers perceive. They also emphasize that avoiding turbulence is mostly a matter of comfort, not safety.

“The mistake that everybody makes is thinking of turbulence as something that’s necessarily abnormal or dangerous,” said Patrick Smith, a commercial pilot who also writes a column called “Ask the Pilot” for Salon.com. “For lack of a better term, turbulence is normal.”

A variety of factors can cause turbulence, which is essentially a disturbance in the movement of air. Thunderstorms, the jet stream and mountains are some of the more common natural culprits, while what is known as wake turbulence is created by another plane. “Clear air turbulence” is the kind that comes up unexpectedly; it is difficult to detect because there is no moisture or particles to reveal the movement of air.

Pilots rely on radar, weather data and reports from other aircraft to spot turbulence along their route, then can avoid it or at least minimize its effect by slowing down, changing altitude or shifting course. But even with advances in technology, it is not always possible to predict rough air.

“We still don’t have a really good means in the cockpit of seeing turbulence up ahead,” said Terry McVenes, a pilot who serves as executive air safety chairman for the Air Line Pilots Association. “Sometimes we can prepare ourselves; other times it does sneak up on us.”

Yet that has not deterred some fearful fliers from trying to gauge whether they are going to have a bumpy ride. Peter Murray, a computer network administrator from Lansing, Mich., created TurbulenceForecast.com to offer nervous fliers like himself a way to view potential turbulence along their flight path.

At the time, he was frequently flying to Baltimore to visit his girlfriend, and would sometimes change his flight if it looked as if he would encounter choppy air. “I have never been in anything that could even be considered light turbulence because I could avoid it so well,” he said.

But for those unable to avoid a shaky situation, technology also offers more ways to cope. That is why Tim Johnson, a frequent flier who works for a satellite phone company in Washington, posted a question on the forums at Flyertalk.com asking other travelers about their favorite turbulence tunes. (His choice was the “Theme From ‘Rawhide’ ” on “The Blues Brothers” soundtrack. Other suggestions included “I Will Survive” by Gloria Gaynor and “Free Fallin’ ” by Tom Petty.)

“I was on an A340 and it was flying all over the place,” Mr. Johnson said, recalling a particularly bumpy flight. “But something about that song had me laughing out loud.”

At least these days, he added, “You’ve got a lot more tools to distract you.”

That is, as long as your iPod does not fly out of your hand.

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Journeys | Shanghai

2007.06.09. 07:25 oliverhannak

An Outsider’s Camera Provides a Ticket Into a Secret World

I CAN still perfectly recall those moments, a handful of times late in my first year here in Shanghai, when the late afternoon light was at its limpid best and the very special beauty of this city seemed distilled for me in all its clarity.

There was the scene around a blackened wok in which thick sections of river fish had been freshly deposited in dancing, golden oil, drawing a hungry and animated crowd that was more interested in focusing on matters at hand than in locking in on the foreigner with the big, old-fashioned camera who was busily taking their pictures.

There was the pudgy boy taking his time with a mass of cotton candy as he clung to a street sign post, circling it now and then like a game park carousel. He eyed me more warily, probably never having seen anything like my Rolleiflex, with its bulging eye-like twin lenses. But eventually his pink snack provided just enough distraction, allowing me to get a shot that even now feels like a ticket into a secret world.

There was the grizzled man in the wool cap and greatcoat, perfectly still, with one foot perched on his bicycle cart stacked high with mushrooms. He had parked his cart smack dab in the middle of the street, as if he were holding the line against the encroachments of a new and unwelcome kind of lifestyle: one built around honking automobiles and fluorescent-lit supermarkets.

All three of these scenes were shot on a street so obscure that I found most taxi drivers needed directions to get there. It is not that the neighborhood is so far from the center of the city. It is not. Rather, Shanxi Road, just north of Suzhou Creek, had been more or less spared the unsparing onslaught of demolishing crews that precedes the breakneck redevelopment of this city, making it a very special, if neglected place.

Standing in the middle of Shanxi Road along with its salt-of-the-earth traders in those early days couldn’t have been more of a revelation for me than if I had I stepped into a time machine and strapped myself in for a journey. Here was a slice of that increasingly rare thing in China, indeed anywhere — the authentic.

Neighborhoods like these, and the city that was built from them, were Shanghai’s unique contribution to a culture whose experience of cities was long and distinguished, going back at least 3,700 years, but which had nonetheless never seen anything like this before.

Other large Chinese cities had in fact always been more like oversize villages; the greatest of them, Beijing, being a gigantic imperial village. But Shanghai, a precocious forerunner of today’s globalization, with its influx a century ago of bankers and industrialists from the world over, was new and different. And byways like Shanxi Road with their busy grid layouts, their European-influenced housing of two-story walk-ups, their internal courtyards and endless alleyways were built to accommodate a new kind of lifestyle created for and by millions of migrants drawn by the novelty of cash-paying jobs in factories.

My love of Shanxi Road gradually led me toward other discoveries, and over the last three years, I have come to relish nothing more than finding these unspoiled outposts of the past in the middle of Shanghai’s ever thickening forest of skyscrapers and losing myself in them for hours at a time, camera in hand.

None of the neighborhoods that I began to plunge into were truly hidden. Rather, they lived on in their quiet timeless way, wholly unsuspected from just a block or two away, obscured as it were by flashy new neighborhoods composed of jostling tall structures or roped off by looping expressways. I stumbled upon one after a stroll down Huai Hai Road, one of Shanghai’s great modern shopping boulevards. The telltale sign of traditional black Chinese-style roof tiles, just barely visible, lured me down a narrow, gently winding side street, which I followed for a short distance until it spilled onto a larger street, which took my breath away.

This street, Fangbang Road, in all of its slightly shabby glory, became one of the centers of my photographic world over the next two years, drawing me back again and again, as surely as I was pulled along that late afternoon that fall day by the swift current of foot traffic of people returning home in time for an early dinner. Busier by a good measure than Shanxi Road, with small shops open to the street on the ground floor of just about every building — a fish monger chopping up his catch here, a poultry dealer depluming chickens for a customer by dunking them in scalding water there, the incessant beckoning cry of the fresh fruit and vegetables ladies — it took me a while to catch the rhythm of this place.

Eventually, though, I learned to isolate people taking a break from the bustle, and now and then I managed to freeze, as it were, those moments of absolute calm.

One of the most pleasurable of these moments happened as I came upon a shirtless young boy on a stultifying summer afternoon. He sat on the curb in front of his empty bicycle cart, having sold or delivered its cargo and wearing a look of deep fatigue.

Another day on that same street in that same season I happened upon a family at dinner, their chairs and table in the street. As I crept closer, the boy was being scolded by his mother — ostensibly about not finishing his dinner. I knelt on one knee and quietly took the shot, feeling like a privileged guest at the most intimate of rituals.

To walk these streets is to get a skewed impression of Chinese demographics. Old people are everywhere, and they form an undeniable part of the character of these places, with etched faces that speak of all the unspeakable travails of China’s modern history. With the areas I have focused on — all fast coming under the assault of bulldozers — the gazes of the elderly often seem to convey their deep sense of uncertainty, anxiety even, as the tightly knit neighborhoods where they have spent their lives are plowed under and they are moved to unfamiliar settings on the outskirts of town for the difficult climb of making a new life.

These looks, seen over and over, inevitably raise the question of how Shanghai’s people feel about the extraordinary urban redevelopment process that is under way. For the most part, they have never been asked, certainly not by the government, which executes its grand designs by fiat.

The answer, in fact, is not a simple one. Shanghai’s fast-disappearing old quarters drip with charm, but they are also full of problems, from cramped living spaces that have been subdivided over the years to inadequate heating and plumbing.

Many who can afford to move into the high-rises sprouting up everywhere are happy to do so. Others wear looks of mourning.

Over and over again, I have been asked by the people of these neighborhoods what is my purpose in taking pictures of these lives? Am I trying to show a bad side of China? To make fun of poor people?

I have no trouble answering, and my reply is effective more often than not because it is sincere. “I take pictures in your neighborhood because there is something very beautiful about the lifestyle you have,” I say. “Things may not be perfect, but there is a very special kind of community you have, and soon places like this will all be gone.”

HOWARD W. FRENCH is chief of the Shanghai bureau of The Times. His website is at www.howardwfrench.net.

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Practical Traveler | Sharing Photographs Online

2007.06.09. 07:24 oliverhannak

Snapshots That Do More Than Bore Friends

FEW sentences in the English language are more dreaded than this seemingly innocent offer: “Oh, I must show you the pictures from my vacation.” Who wants to see endless shots of a friend lounging by a pool or in front of a monument, or — worse yet — their kids doing the very same things?

But, of course, those very same shots can be extremely useful when researching your own trip. How big is that pool? What, exactly, does the room at that five-star hotel you’re thinking of booking look like? What’s the crowd like at the so-called hot restaurant? It’s good to have documented evidence from someone who has been there.

And recently, photo-sharing sites like Yahoo’s Flickr.com and SmugMug.com have begun to let users add another dimension to their travel photos. Through a technology called geotagging, users can add G.P.S. data to their pictures, which can then be plotted on a digital map. This not only allows users to see exactly where a photo was taken, but, when uploaded to an Internet map, users can also quickly browse a trove of photos that were taken nearby, providing a kind of scattershot collage of a place.

For example, people planning a trip to Cancún can use Google Earth, a free mapping software, to zoom in on Cancún’s crowded hotel zone and click on dozens of candid photographs, from the lounge chairs at the Fiesta Americana Grand Coral Beach hotel and the pool at the Omni Hotel & Villas, to snapshots of less-crowded beaches and the nearest mall.

Plotting photos on maps also allows trip planners to “see” the terrain before booking a trip. On Everytrail.com — which lets users upload geocoded photos from their favorite hiking trails, biking routes and sailing trips — visitors can check out sights along a specific driving route in Namibia, or examine trail conditions on a hilly bike route near Palo Alto, Calif.

But it’s the odd juxtapositions of randomly plotted photos that may be the most surprising — and useful — to travelers with more obscure interests. For example, fans of graffiti can search the word, “graffiti,” and “New York City,” at Flickr.com/map, and pull up photos of freshly painted tags, all plotted with pushpins on a clickable Yahoo map. A search for “Dumbo Brooklyn graffiti,” for example, finds some 99 photos, including the infamous “Neck Face” tag, spray-painted on a brick warehouse at Jay and Front Streets in Brooklyn. Try finding that in a guidebook.

Geotagging photos brings a whole new level of context to the image, said Andy Williams, general manager of SmugMug.com, a photo-sharing site. “After all,” he said, “pictures are flat.” But the real reason geotagging is getting so popular, he added, are the bragging rights involved. “We want people to know the cool places we’ve been,” he said. “And this is a cool way to show off.”

The steps needed to geotag photos are admittedly somewhat geeky. At photo-sharing sites like Flickr and SmugMug, most users must first upload their photos and then plug in the address or manually plot each image on a map, which can require lots of zooming in, recentering and dragging, before a photo is placed on the desired coordinates.

To streamline the process, several camera makers have released models that are G.P.S.-ready, with either a built-in device or a special accessory. But they tend to be geared toward professionals and are expensive. The Nikon D2X, the company’s current top-of-the-line SLR model ($5,100), works with an optional MC-35 GPS Adapter cord ($139) that connects with a standard G.P.S. receiver (which you must also buy) to automatically save location coordinates with each photograph.

But G.P.S. is starting to show up among lower-priced cameras. The new Ricoh 500SE (about $1,000), a point-and-shoot model aimed at outdoor enthusiasts, has a built-in G.P.S. device. It’s even showing up on camera phones, including the Nokia N95, though the $749 price is still a bit steep.

Once your photos are plotted geographically, others can discover a place through your travels.

In 2005, John and September Highman quit their jobs, took their son and daughter out of school and traveled the world, visiting 28 countries and 5 continents in 52 weeks. Mr. Highman chronicled their adventures on SmugMug (at higham.smugmug.com), mainly to store photos and allow friends back home to track their progress. The project soon drew a following when others stumbled upon their photos and asked to be added to Mr. Highman’s distribution list. Now, he is working on a book, “Armageddon Pills,” that ties together his Web site and geotagged photos.

Web sites are increasingly embracing geotagging as a way to draw users. Last month, Google announced plans to acquire Panoramio.com, a photo-sharing site with more than two million images that allows users to integrate photos into Google Earth. And as photo-sharing continues to evolve, travel Web sites are recognizing how valuable images can be when users essentially act as free contributors and submit their own pictures.

Zoomandgo.com, a travel review site, recently redesigned its site around photos and videos submitted by travelers. A team of four people spent months “geocoding” thousands of hotels and attractions so that user-photos can be displayed on digital maps. A new social-networking feature also allows users to create their own travel profiles, connect with like-minded travelers, and swap tips through photos.

“Facebook meets Frommers” is how Jonathan Haldane, the founder of Zoomandgo.com, described it. Before the social-networking feature went up, he said, users spent about eight minutes on the site, mostly reading or posting hotel reviews. Now, he said, users spend an average of 18 to 19 minutes, sending messages to each other and browsing through photos and videos.

But though travel sites are embracing the flood of user-generated photos, the quality can vary. A Flickr search for the W hotel in New York City, for example, turns up a mix of candid room photos and pictures of friends eating pizza. To wade through the clutter, Stewart Butterfield, general manager for Flickr, suggests adding the words “not portrait” or “not family” in your search to weed out cheesy tourist snapshots.

Zoomandgo.com, which pays users a nominal fee for relevant photos, says it vets every submission. The site says, “As a result, you won’t see any pictures of your Aunt Sally posing outside her house (Sorry, Aunt Sally), or any videos of your neighbor’s dog Yoda peeing on a tree (Sorry, Yoda).”

Panoramio, on the other hand, has a devoted online community that tends to self-edit, and post photos only of places rather than people. “If you’re wanting to see photos to plan your trip, you’re not necessarily wanting to see a couple’s wedding photos on their beach in Maui,” said John Hanke, director of Google Earth and Maps, “You want to see the beach in focus.”

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The Expanding Meatball Universe, From Mama’s Table to Esca

2007.06.06. 16:59 oliverhannak

IF you’ve ever suspected that meatballs were a dead end for a restaurant’s leftovers, you no longer have reason to fear. These days, chefs are free associating with well-sourced ingredients, clever substitutions and dazzling techniques. Others are refining more authentic variations that highlight the meatball’s global appeal (see also: kofte, nem nuong, frikadell, kottbuller, albóndigas, keftedes, tsukune).

In New York, at the seafood restaurant Esca, the fish specialist David Pasternack brings a classic Italian veal and pancetta meatball into his comfort zone, substituting tuna for the veal. Joey Campanaro uses his grandmother’s recipe for meatballs in the sliders he serves at the Little Owl, in Greenwich Village, but the crispy, yeasty-sweet garlic-and-pecorino buns are an innovation he spent months perfecting.

Certain chefs lavish as much care and attention on meatballs as they do on foie gras. Some even combine the two. At 112 Eatery in Minneapolis, Isaac Becker grinds top-quality chicken with foie gras, rolling the blend into little spheres that are poached and served by the dozen over fresh tagliatelle. And at A Voce, Andrew Carmellini brushes duck and foie gras meatballs with a dried cherry mostarda, rooting them to the plate with a slick of celery-root purée.

Whether the interpretations are classical or modernist, one thing is certain: there’s never been a better time to order meatballs in America. Perhaps a meatball renaissance was inevitable, the natural next target in the procession of comfort foods (Exhibit A: pizza; Exhibit B: hamburgers; Exhibit C: mac ’n’ cheese) that chefs have updated in recent years.

The dawn of the meatball enlightenment may have occurred five years ago, in 2002, when the diamond-merchant-turned-restaurateur John LaFemina, who was born in Canarsie, Brooklyn, opened Ápizz on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. He took his mother’s recipe for veal, beef and pork meatballs, and tweaked it heavily, tripling the meatball’s size to that of a softball, coring it like an apple and stuffing the cavity with whipped ricotta and Parmigiano-Reggiano (leaving a beret of the mixture on top), and giving it a smoky finish in a wood-fired oven. An immediate signature dish, it spawned a memoir, “A Man and His Meatballs” (Regan Books, 2006), but more important, Mr. LaFemina showed that simple, rustic food could be over-the-top decadent.

And remember Mama? Rocco DiSpirito’s mother, Nicolina DiSpirito, proved her tender, salty meatballs to be the only appealing player in the 2003 reality television drama “The Restaurant” (and with a future on QVC no less).

By about 2004, the dining public was primed to gobble meatballs up, a fact that Nate Appleman, executive chef at the San Francisco restaurant A16, discovered almost by accident. On a Monday shortly after opening his restaurant, which serves food inspired by the cuisine of Campania, he had a bunch of scraps lying around and decided to make meatballs.

“I thought, no one’s going to buy these, they don’t even come with a pasta,” Mr. Appleman said. In fact, they sold out by 8 o’clock, ushering in the tradition of Meatball Mondays. And though he has cycled through about 30 different meatball recipes at the restaurant, Mr. Appleman has settled on a Monday night recipe: pork, ricotta and pancetta meatballs braised in San Marzano tomatoes.

But the name that trips off the tongue in any meatball discussion among New York chefs is Marco Canora, who put on the bar menu at Craftbar a recipe inspired by the chicken meatballs he learned to make while working in Florence for Fabio Picchi at the restaurant Cibrèo.

“I changed my recipe to veal and ricotta, and added a ton of grated Parmesan,” Mr. Canora said. “They’re delicate and super-light with a subtle cheesiness.”

He brought the recipe with him when he opened his own place, Hearth, but he serves the dish only on Sundays because, he said: “Meatballs are too trattoria. They don’t really fit in with the food at Hearth, which is more elevated. But Sunday’s a family night, and if there was any night we could get away with it, it would be Sunday.”

And although Mr. Canora adapted Mr. Picchi’s recipe, he maintains that his own is deeply rooted in Italian tradition. “I don’t need to take meatballs and turn them into some fancy-pants New York 2007 restaurant dish,” he said.

While no smart chef these days would admit to fancy-pants aspirations, some do appear eager to indulge the kid-with-a-chemistry-set impulse that itself seems part of the appeal of making meatballs.

“Before we opened, we decided we wanted to go beyond spaghetti and meatballs,” Mr. Carmellini of A Voce said. “And we started to have some fun with it. We came up with a list — lobster, shrimp, tuna. Duck and cherry seemed like a natural combination.”

But the duck and cherry pairing was just the beginning. Through multiple tests, Mr. Carmellini found his formula: duck-leg meat, pork shoulder and fatback, ground together and enriched with fresh foie gras that has been strained to a pasty consistency. Eggs and breadcrumbs — both dry and fresh — provide the binding for the meatballs, which are baked, then brushed with a mostarda. Mr. Carmellini makes this classic Italian condiment of fruit and mustard extract from dried cherries, grappa, red wine vinegar and Japanese mustard paste. A creamy, aromatic purée of celery root fixes the meatballs in place on the plate and offers an herbal note, a tonic respite from all that meaty matter.

At 112 Eatery, Mr. Becker’s foie gras meatball, slightly simpler than Mr. Carmellini’s, came about from a similar experiment. But at the testing stage, he was somewhat apprehensive. “I had no idea whether the foie gras would melt into the poaching broth and become mush or what,” he said.

Not only did the meatballs hold together, but the fat that liquefied into the poaching stock helped form an intense consommé that became the foundation for the dish. “I just heat the meatballs up in that stock, add a little parsley and butter, and that’s it,” he said.

For some chefs, like Akhtar Nawab at the E.U. in the East Village, developing a recipe was about finding an angle in a crowded market.

“We wanted to make sure that if we were going to do meatballs, we were going to do them differently,” Mr. Nawab said. Prior to assuming the kitchen at the E.U. he had been Mr. Canora’s successor at Craftbar, serving Mr. Canora’s meatballs. At Mr. Nawab’s new restaurant, short for European Union, he had the flexibility to draw from more than just Italian influences.

“I did some research into an Eastern European recipe, but it evolved into a more Greek recipe, with Moorish and North African influences,” he said.

The cumin-, fennel- and coriander-spiced pork meatballs Mr. Nawab serves are roasted in butter and oil, and served on a skewer, drizzled with two sauces: a sweet-tart slurry of shallot, mint and sherry vinegar, and a yogurt sauce made of thick Greek yogurt emulsified with olive oil and fired up with toasted ground cumin. Mr. Nawab credits their tenderness mostly to his treatment of the protein and the fat.

“I do a really fine grind on the meat, and I use richer pork — 35 percent fat to 65 percent meat. That makes the meatballs a little more succulent, and helps to caramelize them when they go into the fryer.”

On the vital issue of meatball texture, all the chefs we interviewed had good tips and pointers, most of which spoke to the same issue: water. For Mr. Campanaro, the key is simple. “Just like in Italian sausage, the filling is very wet when it goes into the casing,” he said. “So when it cooks, it’s juicy. That liquid that comes out when you cut it? That’s pork stock!”

Moisture is paramount for Michael Psilakis, the chef of the Greek restaurants Anthos in Midtown and Kefi on the Upper West Side, where he serves tsoutsoukakia, a modified version of the keftedes his grandmother made in Crete. (While she was content to fry them and squeeze lemon over them, Mr. Psilakis fries them, then braises them in a rich sauce of tomato and onions that is spiked with garlic confit, olives, fresh dill, mint, parsley and pecorino). But in his meatballs, the liquid in the mixture comes from store-bought bread that is soaked in milk. Mr. Psilakis recommends refrigerating the meatball mixture to make rolling the balls easier.

“Most people are afraid when it’s sticky,” Mr. Psilakis said. “They shouldn’t be. The mixture that’s going to get you that light, airy texture is going to be a wet, tacky substance that’s not so easy to roll.” He recommends a light dusting of flour on your hands, and just a gentle once or twice around in your palms — no kneading — as well as frequent washing of hands and redusting with flour.

Naturally, there are some voices of dissent about meatball mania. Some chefs have found them to be sticky in more than one sense: once they add meatballs to the menu they can’t take them off. And some diners bristle at the more creative high jinks of the cherries-and-foie-gras set. Mr. Carmellini’s duck meatballs reportedly inspired one diner to exclaim, “This is not Italian cooking!”

“You’re absolutely right, it’s not,” he said he replied. “But they taste so good.”

Where meatballs are concerned, results are more important than authenticity. Kenny Tufo, the chef at Bocca Lupo in Cobble Hill, Brooklyn, and a third-generation Sicilian-American, said he was deeply influenced by Maremma, the Manhattan restaurant where he cooked for two years (and where the executive chef, Cesare Casella, offers at least two and sometimes three varieties of meatballs).

“There’s only a couple chefs in the U.S. as authentically Tuscan as Cesare,” he said, “and I learned a lot from him about how to build flavors the Italian way.”

So are the turbocharged veal and porcini meatballs he serves at Bocca Lupo with porcini-infused marinara a Tuscan recipe? He hesitated before answering: “Well, no; it’s Brooklyn.”

Szólj hozzá!

Dinner at the Foodies’: Purslane and Anxiety

2007.06.06. 16:58 oliverhannak

RICHARD FAULK still recalls, with a twinge of shame, the day he and his girlfriend, Jeanine Villalobos, served store-bought tortillas to guests.

“We were mortified that we hadn’t made our own,” he said.

The two, who live in Park Slope, Brooklyn, make most of the elements of the meals they serve from scratch, and spend whole days going to farmers’ markets, cheese shops and specialty stores. They would no sooner dress a salad with a store-bought vinaigrette than serve a suspicious-smelling piece of fish.

“We’re a little self-conscious about being the foodie couple,” said Mr. Faulk, who teaches at Berkeley College in Midtown Manhattan. “But we don’t make everything. I haven’t started curing my own olives or making my own cheese.”

Dinner parties have been fraught with performance anxiety for as long as people have given them. Soufflés, cribbed from the pages of glossy food magazines, have been attempted and botched. Painstakingly wrought amuse-bouches have received lukewarm receptions.

But for some hosts in the age of the armchair Boulud, even a laid-back dinner with friends can be a challenge to their sense of self-worth. They may not care whether they wear Gap or couture. Their place in the Hamptons might be a share. But they would no sooner serve their guests grocery-case Drunken Goat cheese than a Vogue minion would wear an Ann Taylor dress to a party given by Anna Wintour.

Especially in New York, where there are fewer status indicators (like cars and landscaped lawns), adjectives like local, organic and free range are signifiers of taste. In some homes, primarily midcentury modernized homes in metropolitan areas with his and hers subscriptions to The Art of Eating and an embargo on iceberg lettuce, the pork, the mesclun, the salad dressing — they’re all under scrutiny.

“Entertaining and cooking have become an integral part of how certain people demonstrate their cultural cachet,” said Joshua Schreier, a history professor at Vassar College who lives in Harlem and says he is a victim, and a propagator, of culinary anxiety. “There is a specific cachet that only a fiddlehead fern can convey. Saying, ‘I got this olive oil from this specific region in Greece,’ is like talking about what kind of car you have. And people don’t want to be associated with the wrong kind of olive oil. It becomes less about having people over and more about showing off your foodie credentials.”

Colleen McKinney, a freelance food writer and editor who lives in Brooklyn, said: “Food is cocktail party conversation. You cook it and then you talk about it all night long.”

Ms. McKinney is generally confident in the kitchen, except when it comes to one particular couple. When they have her over, dinner might be asparagus three ways, fresh pasta with sausage they made themselves and rhubarb pie with vanilla ice cream — homemade vanilla ice cream. When they go to her house for dinner, they take their own pickled ramps.

“It’s become very important to be all Alice Waters,” said Serena Bass, the Manhattan caterer. “Everyone wants to know where the poor pig you’re serving came from.”

Ms. Bass also pointed out that the new strain of entertaining anxiety extended well beyond food. “You can’t just serve purslane,” she said. “You have to serve purslane on Limoges you found in a Connecticut consignment shop with a fork that has a carved ivory handle you found in a flea market somewhere.”

Andy Birsh, owner of a letterpress print shop in Brooklyn, would rather make a mad, stressful dash to Brighton Beach for smoked sturgeon an hour before guests arrive for dinner than serve the kind he can buy from a market around the corner. And for him, serving a dish that is on the menu at several good restaurants in the city right now — a fava bean salad with shaved pecorino, for instance — would be like being caught reading “The Lovely Bones” right after Oprah Winfrey endorsed it.

“As soon as something becomes overpopularized, I don’t want to serve it anymore,” Mr. Birsh said. “I wouldn’t want anyone to be able to identify something I made as being from a book or a restaurant. I don’t want anyone to be able to say, oh, I see where he got this idea to put microgreens on top of his fish fillets.”

As a graduate of the French Culinary Institute and restaurant critic for Gourmet in the late ’80s and early ’90s, Mr. Birsh may have above-average pride when it comes to his cooking. But it is not out of the ordinary for hosts in this intensely food-cognizant dinner party circuit.

For them, home entertaining can become the white whale. It turns docile cooks into aggressive obsessives, the way an engagement can turn a well-meaning woman into bridezilla or how fatherhood can make a laid-back guy an apoplectic soccer dad.

“My ex got caught up in it,” said a Brooklyn woman who is going through a divorce and asked that her name not be used. “For a while, it was great. Until it wasn’t. We had a birthday party for our 1-year-old son and I ordered pizza. He spent another $1,000 on food. There were plates and plates of cheese and cured meats from this gourmet place. For a 1-year-old.”

Alan Palmer, co-owner of Blue Apron Foods, a specialty store in Park Slope, has seen the new strain of culinary anxiety in all forms. “Some people come in and ask for the most expensive cheese because they think it’s going to be the most impressive,” he said, recalling a time when Carr’s was the must-have brand of cracker.

“But a lot of people come in and ask for help because they’re afraid they’re going to make a mistake. They want raw-milk cheese because they heard it was better, or something local because that’s the new byword. I say: ‘Look, there really is no right or wrong here. People aren’t going to throw rocks at you if you serve the wrong cheese.’ ”

Wise counsel from a cheesemonger. But there is a flip side to this breed of home entertaining agita. Serve the right kind of cheese often enough, and you can end up holding the oven mitt for life. Professor Schreier, the self-proclaimed olive oil zealot, has found that certain friends of his, cowed by his Chez Panisse-style presentations, have given up trying to compete with him in the culinary arena altogether.

“People see the potential conflict and bow out,” he said. “If you’re the biggest foodie in the group, people will have you over and say, ‘So what should we get?’ We went to one couple’s home and they hadn’t even gone to the store yet.”

Szólj hozzá!

Budapest Is Stealing Some of Prague’s Spotlight

2007.06.04. 14:32 oliverhannak

ONLY the barest of murmurs greeted the arrival at the bustling Café Vian of a dozen or so kilt-clad Scots in their late teens and early 20’s and what looked to be their middle-age coach, also in tartan. They ordered a round of vodka shots and erupted in Highland cheers, drawing worried glances from patrons hovering over sweet multicolored cocktails at nearby tables.

Finally, the Scots’ skinny young waiter valiantly ordered them to keep it down. “This is not a soccer bar,” he told them.

Cultures have been clashing in Budapest for a good many centuries, and usually not to Hungary’s benefit. But through several waves of occupation, tyranny and heroic revolt, it has become one of the few places on earth that have learned the trick of transforming that clash into music.

A spectacularly beautiful and subversively lively old royal capital, Budapest has in the last decade or so languished in the shadow of Prague, which emerged more quickly as a tourist destination after the Communist era. Even Arthur Phillips’s best-selling 2002 novel, “Prague,” was actually about expatriates in Budapest dreaming of the higher life across the Czech frontier.

But now the foreign investment that only trickled into Budapest in the 1980’s has become a gusher, spilling new and ostentatious hotels, boutiques for luxury brands like Salvatore Ferragamo and Louis Vuitton, teeming pedestrian-only nightlife districts and smoky bars full of satirical and world-weary graffiti. Budapest seems ready to claim the light.

For more than a decade — since work-related happenstance led me there — Budapest has been one of my favorite places in Europe. When I first came to know it, the city was still fresh from the Soviet collapse, an eager place full of downtrodden buildings, dingy marketplaces, makeshift nightclubs, gypsy violinists and restaurant after restaurant serving goulash and little else. In Buda, the once aristocratic old capital on the west side, bicycles navigated near-desolate cobbled medieval lanes. Russian caviar and Hungarian foie gras could be had for a song.

When a local paper advertised the arrival of a six-month-old Hollywood movie (“Sneakers,” with Robert Redford), I took a rickety trolley to the foot of the Buda Hills and found an old garage with a white sheet hung from the cinderblock wall and a few dozen happy families seated on wooden benches, unpacking dinner. The projector made an awful racket. Everyone had a wonderful time, eating and laughing, and I walked back to my Danube hotel alone through dark Buda streets.

When I went back this summer, I found a city very much changed, and not just because the movies are in multiplexes.

Budapest, with a population of more than 1.7 million, still has bedraggled and struggling outer districts. But Nagyvasarcsarnok, the Central Market Hall in Pest, is a bright, dynamic place full of paprika, aromatic food stalls and sweet Tokaji wine. Sidewalk cafes are alive with thrift-shop fashionistas, canoodling couples and joyful chatter in a dozen languages. In Buda, tourist buses cluster like seagulls at Castle Hill, discharging sightseers from all over the world.

Yes, goulash — that old soupy peasant staple of beef stewed with vegetables and paprika — is still on pretty much every menu, but I also found the world’s cuisines on offer. Where $5 once bought a brick of foie gras big enough to gorge four adults, a few bites in a small appetizer serving now run around triple that.

A collision of forces is transforming Budapest into one of the continent’s liveliest, prettiest and most animated capitals. Attractive prices, especially for housing, have set off a mini-invasion of foreigners setting up second homes in the stylish 19th-century apartment blocks of central Pest. Retail chains from around the world have followed, along with the hoteliers and commercial developers.

The rush of foreign capital and the rising standard of living for Budapesters lucky enough to catch the wave has helped the city resuscitate many lavish buildings that had fallen into ruin, from the spectacular Secessionist-style Gresham Palace — now a Four Seasons Hotel — to lesser-known gems like the Egyetemi Konyvtar (University Library), a pale yellow confection of wedding-cake swirls, and the stately mirror-image Klotild-Palotak buildings, whose imposing Baroque towers rise like sentries at the foot of the Elizabeth Bridge.

“Ten years ago, you’d come to Budapest and it was cheap and a little rough and everything was in cash,” said Colin Burns, who was visiting the city for the fourth time with his Welsh choir group. “Now it’s all cutting edge and credit cards and trendy restaurants. There’s better Italian food here than back in Wales.”

There have been missteps. The New York Cafe, long a center of Hungarian intellectual life, was a smoky, murmuring and impossibly grand space where patrons seemed to have stepped from an Eric Ambler thriller. It has become a gaudy patisserie attached to a swank hotel. The huge and hugely popular Westend Center shopping mall is a flavorless glass-and-steel arc of shops wrapping around the back side of Gustav Eiffel’s soaring Nyugati train station.

Yet odd, distinct elements speak to the atmosphere of dynamic upheaval. An underground market of cheap clothes and bad CD’s blends seamlessly into the mall above it, asserting an older, Oriental culture that refuses to be drowned entirely by American-style blandness. Big, clanging storefront casinos sit comfortably beside the boutiques and bookstores.

A member of the European Union since 2004, Hungary still uses its old currency, the forint, and only its most optimistic economists hope for a conversion to the euro as soon as 2010. Budget deficits are swollen after years of overspending by Hungary’s Socialist government, which was re-elected in April.

At the same time, wages are up and the standard of living has noticeably improved, at least for some. Those new luxury boutiques and elegant cafes are not just for foreigners.

MY wife, Barbara, and I divided this trip in half: two nights in Buda, with its domed Habsburg palaces and crenellated fortifications stretching along craggy hilltops west of the Danube, and two in Pest, the more populous 19th-century commercial city of grand boulevards on the flats east of the river.

Tourism is on the rise in Hungary, up nearly 7 percent in 2005 over 2004, according to the Hungarian Tourist Office. Yet escaping the crowds is still quite easy.

In Buda, while tourists concentrated on Castle Hill, we found everyday life in the sprawling shopping mall and food market near Moscow Square. Perfectly coiffed mothers in blue jeans pushed baby strollers through narrow aisles of peppers and cabbages while older, weary workmen in gray shirts and kerchiefs sipped tumblers of blood-red wine from nearby lunch counters.

An elderly woman pushing a metal cart paused to scream at a young couple who had parked their Mercedes convertible illegally. They smiled at her impassively and strode away.

Even on Castle Hill, the crowds thin once you get away from Matthias Church, with its architectural elements from the 16th century, when it was a mosque; the 17th, when it grew a Baroque facade; and the 19th, when Gothic design celebrated Habsburg supremacy.

A decade ago, I had a memorable meal at the foot of Castle Hill, with strolling gypsy violinists pouring out the Brahms at a place called Kacsa Vendeglo that looked as if it hadn’t changed its menu or decorations since the Great War. On this visit, we found a fresh violinist, still playing Brahms though he had added some Billy Joel and had his CD’s for sale.

The tablecloths were white and the menu was still an old-fashioned ramble through Hungary’s familiar dishes, emphasizing duck (kacsa in Hungarian) in a blizzard of forms. The place is decidedly out of step with Budapest’s cutting edge, which leans toward fusion at places with names like Baraka, Kepiro and Voro es Feher Borbar (Red and White Wine Bar). Across the river in Pest, a central pedestrian strip called Vaci utca contained the most wandering foreigners, who were weaving among buskers and trying to remember where their tour buses were parked.

Two semicircular boulevards, the Inner Ring and the Outer Ring, end at Danube bridges and define the heart of Pest. Local residents can be found by day in American-style malls along the Outer Ring or in one of the new pedestrian-only shopping areas, echoes of Vaci utca, that are now sprinkled around the city and serve as centers of its street life. One of the biggest, Raday utca, a little east of the Central Market Hall, is five blocks of sidewalk tables, multiethnic restaurants and music-pulsing bars.

“We came up from Vienna by boat and just wandered around all day and just found our way here,” said Carlos Hererra, who runs a design store near Los Angeles and was sipping a tall glass of wheat beer one day at a Raday utca cafe. “Just sitting here for an hour, I’ve heard more foreign languages than I heard in three days in Austria or that I ever hear back in Orange County.”

Tourists and locals mingle in the Great Market Hall, where shoppers should be prepared to prowl. The price of a 400-gram tin of foie gras ranged from $37 to $45, depending on the stall. On the market’s second level are a series of inexpensive minicafes offering German beer, Hungarian wine and all sorts of sausages, pies, sandwiches and paprika stews.

On my early visits to Budapest, I often came across other visitors who had just arrived from Prague or were about to go there. This time, most tourists we met were visiting only Budapest or had arrived from Vienna on one of the Danube cruises now connecting the two old capitals of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

New in the past half-dozen years, the riverboats seemed emblematic — part of Budapest’s shrugging off its midcentury past, when connections were to places like Prague and Krakow, to reflect an older and more durable relationship. One couple we met, travelers from San Diego fresh off a river boat, said they were delighted with Budapest’s street bustle and food — and its prices, significantly lower than those they had found in Vienna.

Most cities have different day and night personalities, but the contrast in Budapest seems particularly stark, almost as if an entirely different geography and cast of characters has been imposed upon the place.

The Danube comes to life as a kind of a kind of floating smorgasbord of moored barges: one offers jazz dinners, another a pulsing disco, yet another a quiet seafood restaurant. Places like Raday utca and Liszt Ferenc Square, just off the fashionable boulevard of Andrassy, attract crowds that are younger, more chic and louder. Often, a club catering to 20-somethings on the prowl reveals itself down a dark Pest side street with a dim glow from a door opening into a hidden warren of lounge rooms and lantern-lit gardens.

For a symbol of how Budapest has changed, an obvious first choice would be Roosevelt Square, at the foot of the Chain Bridge. Previously dominated by hulking old buildings and the state-operated Forum Hotel (now an Inter-Continental), it is now overlooked by the Gresham Palace and a gaudy casino, and it is thick with limos.

If you’re looking for the heart of the city today, I’d make a case for sampling Lizst Ferenc Square. That’s where we found Café Vian, in which Budapest’s clashing cultures made a particularly sweet sound. The youthful crowd, hovering over sweet cocktails and yelling to be heard in the din, was flecked with a handful of older faces, mostly fresh from hearing Stravinsky and Gulda at the venerable Zeneakademia a few steps away.

The State Opera House was doing Wagner that night, “Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg,” so no telling when that crowd would arrive and what mood they’d be in.

Perhaps a generous, $9 plate of chicken paprika or a $7.25 helping of tagliatelle would get their heads out of Wagner and back into Liszt, where they belong. Who knows, they might even share a round with the Scottish soccer team, assuming everyone is still playing nice together.

VISITOR INFORMATION

HOW TO GET THERE

Malev Hungarian Airlines (www.malev.hu) and Delta Airlines offer nonstop flights between New York and Budapest’s Ferihegy Airport. An Internet search for late September found round-trip fares starting around $840.

A taxi ride from the airport to central Pest, where most hotels are situated, should run about 4,000 forints, with a small tip, which is about $18 at 220 forints to the dollar. But some drivers might charge closer to 6,000 if you don’t shop around.

GETTING AROUND

A three-day metro pass (2,500 forints) gives free access to all subway lines and trams. For 6,500 forints, a three-day Budapest Card adds discounts for museums, attractions and restaurants. See www.budapestinfo.hu/en/budapest_card.

WHERE TO STAY

At the Corinthia Grand Hotel Royal (Erzsebet korut 43-49; 36-1-479-4000; www.corinthiahotels.com), peaked glass roofs enclose once open courtyards around an opulent inner structure. The 414 rooms start at 40,680 forints.

Nearby is the Boscolo New York Palace Hotel (Erzsebet korut 9-11; 36-1- 886-6111; www.boscolohotels.com), even more gleaming and gilded than the Corinthia. It has 107 rooms, starting at 50,000 forints. The legendary New York Cafe is adjacent.

The city’s premier hotel, the 179-room Four Seasons Gresham Palace on Roosevelt Square (36-1-268-3000; www.fourseasons.com/budapest), is sophisticated and luxe. Rooms start at 87,000 forints.

On the Buda side of the Danube, the starkly modern art’otel (Bem rakpart 16-19; 36-1-487-9487, www.artotel.hu ), offers sweeping views of the Chain Bridge and the ornate Parliament building, and is a short walk from Castle Hill. The 164 rooms start at $184, $242 with a river view.

WHERE TO EAT

Where goulash once ruled all and still makes a pretty good showing even at the fanciest places, Budapest is now home to pretty much all cuisines. One of the earliest harbingers of this trend was Restaurant Lou Lou, a French-leaning bistro unobtrusively nestled at Vigyazo Ferenc utca 4 (36-1-312-4505), on an otherwise unremarkable side street between Roosevelt Square and Parliament. An antique horse perches over the bar; huge mirrors glisten on the salmon walls while spot lighting illuminates individual tables. A foie gras appetizer is 3,200 forints, and scallops and gravlax are 3,300; among main courses, a duck duo is 3,900 forints and sautéed goose liver is 4,100. Yes, there is goulash, for 1,400 forints.

Costes, at Raday utca 4 (36-1-219-0696), is one of the nicer places along Raday utca, a bustling pedestrian strip, with a menu that stresses game and includes French, Italian and Hungarian flavors. A game consommé or goulash runs about 890 forints, a rack of venison with wild mushrooms costs 4,590 forints and a monkfish filet perched improbably atop a thick omelet is 4,000.

Less than a block away is the louder and more informal Soul Café, Raday utca 11-13 (36-1-217-6986), with all manner of Mediterranean dishes in a California-style setting. A mozzarella and tomato salad is 1,500 forints, asparagus cream soup 913 forints, a Thai cashew chicken only 2,200 and a delicious butterfish in lime sauce over jasmine rice 2,936. Goulash, if you must, is 1,500 forints.

For a blast of old Budapest, Kacsa Vendeglo is across the river in the Watertown area of Buda, at Fo utca 75, (36-1-201-9992). The specialty here is duck in many forms — in a strudel, crispy, stuffed with prunes, as a pâté, homestyle, Tisza style, Rozsnyai style or atop mashed apple. If you’re sick of duck, there’s also goose, as well as pike, perch, lobster, chicken and sirloin steak Budapest style. Paprika plays a prominent role. The wandering violinist accepts requests and tips.

A particularly pleasant place to begin the day is the Angelika cafe (36-1-212-3784), tucked into one wing of an old church building on Batthyany with a terrace overlooking the river. Inside, the dark rooms are arched and illuminated through stained glass. A café American runs just 400 forints and a fortifying four-egg omelet about 980.

WHERE TO DRINK

The swank spot is the Gresham Bar, just off the lobby in the Four Seasons Gresham Palace Hotel on Roosevelt Square, just at the Pest foot of the Chain Bridge (36-1-268-3000). The style is international business luxe, and there’s the marble, the dark wood and the recessed lighting to prove it. A glass of palinka, the traditional fruit brandy, is 2,200 forints, and a glass of Calvados 2,400. Good free snacks, though.

For a more atmospheric, smoky and downscale alternative, there is West Balkan, a warren of darkly lit rooms at Kisfaludy utca 36 (36-1-371-1807), where a happy crowd lived out its John le Carré fantasies — or maybe that was just me. The Calvados here was 550 forints. Beers, of which there were dozens on offer, averaged around 480 forints.

The coffeehouse is also a Budapest staple, beginning with the venerable Café Gerbeaud on Vorosmarty Square in the center of Pest (36-1-429-9000). This 19th-century palace with a huge outdoor patio spilling into the square has been around since 1858 and is famous for its pastries. A chocolate torte is 590 forints and a cappuccino 680.

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