When in Holland Have a Haring (Sandwich)

The chef and I traded bites, and my paling paled beside his haring. I got food envy, and I immediately forgot my obsession with eel broodjes in favor of a new food fixation; sandwiched in a brown or white roll, two large pale pinkish slabs of just slightly brined raw herring were layered with crisp sweet pickles and diced white onion. It is a genius trifecta of taste, and I ate one every day of our five day trip.

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Savory Surprise at a Sweets Stalwart

Unlike the pan de quejo at O Café, the pogácsa at The Hungarian Pastry Shop have more puff than cheese—tiny baked curlicues of Parmesan on top-- and flaky layers that separate easily as in the best Southern biscuit. Ask for them to heat it up; it will take 20 minutes in a strange hamster cage contraption that warms items just enough to soften the cold, luxurious butter.

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On the BQE to Samarkand

Before our meal came, the lights turned off so abruptly we thought a fuse had blown, further thwarting our attempts to eat. A thumping Uzbeki-English pop rendition of Happy Birthday blared in surround sound (Hippy Hippy Birt-day tooo Yooo). My shy sister looked at me, dagger-eyed. But the cake went to another diner. “If you do this to me, I will kill you,” she whispered, as I looked sheepishly into my lap.

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