Cabbage Festival
Got your attention, right?
I love autumn. I love the mostly crisp, dry weather, the orange, red and gold that announce the change of season, the almost frosty morning that is just slightly cooler than the one before. Fall is the start of school, a new beginning I've been making almost every year since I was four years old. It's football season and another try for Da Bears, because you never know, this could be the year. So now I get to experience fall in Slovakia...
We continue to enjoy Indian Summer, babie leto, where the temperature has climbed into the low 70's by most afternoons for the past three weeks. The explanation of babie leto concerns old women and spiders, and I'm still not sure if I understand it. When spiders weave webs, the threads are thought to resemble strands of grey hair, as seen in old women. So babie leto really means "old women summer". I don't get it either.
Around here, fall brings on the wine festival (in even-numbered years) at Modra, a typical ribbon-village with really good wine. The star of the show is burciak, the new unfermented wine that almost resembles grape soda, but not that sweet. Because I had traveled to Austria the week-end of the festival, I missed sampling the young wine. But not to worry, Kathy's hair stylist clued her in to yet another harvest celebration, the Cabbage Festival. A local recommendation by a Bratislavan? Kathy, Janeil and I were all over this, and hopped the bus to Stupava to catch the action.
We met at the main bus station, with not one but two buses leaving at the same time for the same destination. We got seats, which later on would become precious, as we continued to make many stops along the way. (As is very common here, Janeil had given up her seat to an older person. Thankfully, no one has done this for me - yet!) For about the last six stops, I thought no way is one more person getting on. But board they did, and the bus was packed. Janeil told us later, it was quite ripe in her part of the bus.
As we traveled north of Bratislava, the terrain became hillier and more rural. We saw some mammoth-size pumpkins along the way, but not one sign announcing the big deal Cabbage Festival. In fact, when we finally stopped and most of the people exited the bus, we deduced that we were probably in Stupava. There was not one sign referencing the festival, and not even a posting that, indeed, this was the town. "Stupava?", we questioned the driver. Yah, big nod (you knuckleheads, he's thinking), Stupava. We get off the bus not really knowing which way to go, and in good old Fulbright tradition, walk the wrong direction. Ah, but we're scholars, and quickly figure it out. Honestly, there was not one sign, not one picture of a cabbage - nothing. (For you SW suburbanites, Bengston's this was not!)
So we follow the crowds to...a flea market? It seems you have to walk through the riff-raff to get to the actual festival, and yes, I am going to talk about food. We all agreed that we would like to sample any and all things that looked interesting, usually just sharing a little taste. Kathy bought the first sweet, a pastry baked on its own dedicated metal cylinder, then slid off the rolling pin-size baker, and rolled in sugar and cinnamon. It was oppressively sweet, but somehow we finished it.
We continue walking, but are also thinking where the heck is the cabbage? Are we not at the Cabbage Festival? Not long thereafter, we find a booth where two brothers are operating a family food stand featuring the famous vegetable. We chat them up and they tell us their wives and mothers have been cooking at home for weeks and sleeping little in order to get ready for this week-end. They have prepared a number of treats, and we sample two. Are we worried that this has been prepared in someone's non-FDA-approved kitchen? Are you crazy?! We knosh on a small cheese delicacy and a pastry-stuffed cabbage, both remarkable, and probably involving lard, I'm thinking.
Janeil found a whole grains booth and we all purchased a variety of of breads. At this point we determined it was time for a beer break to counter all that test tasting. While seated at picnic tables we got a feel for where we really were - a few blocks off the main drag in an intersection that had been closed off to set up shop. This was an anniversay year festival, the mayor had visited, and there were said to be an especially large number of booths and more entertainment than usual.
Walking on, we finally came upon the festival center, a large open air barn housing a wide variety of plants, fruits and vegetables. We received our free slaw (paper cup, no fork) and washed it down with a thimble-size sample of wine from someone wearing a sash and tiara. Are you the Cabbage Queen? we wanted to know. Yes, she proudly replied, filling our thimbles to the brim. She was quite attractive - with babie leto grey hair and about 65 years old!
In the rear of the shelter, people were filing past an amazing display of gourd artistry. I saw a dinosour, a turtle, houses and much more created by children using all organic materials. No glitter, markers or paint for these creations that I could have lingered over much longer had something else not caught my eye. Across the stall with its owner, could it be...a Bouvier? No, its coat looked less dense compared to Sampson's, it had bigger ears and a long, uncropped tail. (In Bratislava, most dogs weigh less than 10 pounds, and some get toted around in bags. We were in the country, however, so this was really exciting for me to see a large dog.) Of course I had to approach the owner and ask, "Bouvier?" Yes, he nodded and proudly introduced me to Ariella, who even had a surname but I didn't catch it.
(Traditionally, almost all female names end in ova with accent on the a. This means that husband and wife have different names as well as brother/sister. We've been trying it with our American names. As you can imagine, it rarely works and often sounds downright stupid. Vande Veldova? I don't think so!)
Back to our Bouv. After some rubs and pets, Ariella was soon nudging and doing "the lean", a sure sign that she was a Bouvier. I even got to see Ariella's eyes, as she had a silly red bow tying up her hair in a topknot. She was decked out and on her best behavior; after all, this WAS the Cabbage Festival. I explained that I had a Bouvier in Chicago and could I take her picture. No, he said, as he gave me her lead, he would take our picture. So I got my canine fix that day, as well as my fill of kraut and slaw.
We spent a little time in the beer garden, having lunch and enjoying the action up on center stage. One after another, singing groups wearing matching polyester outfits performed up on the bandstand. There was swaying and lots of yip-yipping on stage, as well as great people-watching down below. We saw one man at a neighboring table eat a pork sandwich, followed by a klabasa, washed down by half a chicken! Ran into Peter and Katka, two teachers from my school, and at the time I thought it odd that the first thing she said was, "What did you have to eat?" I get it now. They also had burciak so I was able to try it. It wasn't bad but Kathy said it tasted much different (better) than that in Modra.
Although we were mostly consumers of food, we did buy some wool sox from a Turkish vendor. No one could decide on the sizing and Janeil advised us to buy smaller. I wasn't convinced and bought one size larger than she suggested, and good thing, too, because whose sox would now fit a CABBAGE PATCH DOLL, Janeil?
I love autumn. I love the mostly crisp, dry weather, the orange, red and gold that announce the change of season, the almost frosty morning that is just slightly cooler than the one before. Fall is the start of school, a new beginning I've been making almost every year since I was four years old. It's football season and another try for Da Bears, because you never know, this could be the year. So now I get to experience fall in Slovakia...
We continue to enjoy Indian Summer, babie leto, where the temperature has climbed into the low 70's by most afternoons for the past three weeks. The explanation of babie leto concerns old women and spiders, and I'm still not sure if I understand it. When spiders weave webs, the threads are thought to resemble strands of grey hair, as seen in old women. So babie leto really means "old women summer". I don't get it either.
Around here, fall brings on the wine festival (in even-numbered years) at Modra, a typical ribbon-village with really good wine. The star of the show is burciak, the new unfermented wine that almost resembles grape soda, but not that sweet. Because I had traveled to Austria the week-end of the festival, I missed sampling the young wine. But not to worry, Kathy's hair stylist clued her in to yet another harvest celebration, the Cabbage Festival. A local recommendation by a Bratislavan? Kathy, Janeil and I were all over this, and hopped the bus to Stupava to catch the action.
We met at the main bus station, with not one but two buses leaving at the same time for the same destination. We got seats, which later on would become precious, as we continued to make many stops along the way. (As is very common here, Janeil had given up her seat to an older person. Thankfully, no one has done this for me - yet!) For about the last six stops, I thought no way is one more person getting on. But board they did, and the bus was packed. Janeil told us later, it was quite ripe in her part of the bus.
As we traveled north of Bratislava, the terrain became hillier and more rural. We saw some mammoth-size pumpkins along the way, but not one sign announcing the big deal Cabbage Festival. In fact, when we finally stopped and most of the people exited the bus, we deduced that we were probably in Stupava. There was not one sign referencing the festival, and not even a posting that, indeed, this was the town. "Stupava?", we questioned the driver. Yah, big nod (you knuckleheads, he's thinking), Stupava. We get off the bus not really knowing which way to go, and in good old Fulbright tradition, walk the wrong direction. Ah, but we're scholars, and quickly figure it out. Honestly, there was not one sign, not one picture of a cabbage - nothing. (For you SW suburbanites, Bengston's this was not!)
So we follow the crowds to...a flea market? It seems you have to walk through the riff-raff to get to the actual festival, and yes, I am going to talk about food. We all agreed that we would like to sample any and all things that looked interesting, usually just sharing a little taste. Kathy bought the first sweet, a pastry baked on its own dedicated metal cylinder, then slid off the rolling pin-size baker, and rolled in sugar and cinnamon. It was oppressively sweet, but somehow we finished it.
We continue walking, but are also thinking where the heck is the cabbage? Are we not at the Cabbage Festival? Not long thereafter, we find a booth where two brothers are operating a family food stand featuring the famous vegetable. We chat them up and they tell us their wives and mothers have been cooking at home for weeks and sleeping little in order to get ready for this week-end. They have prepared a number of treats, and we sample two. Are we worried that this has been prepared in someone's non-FDA-approved kitchen? Are you crazy?! We knosh on a small cheese delicacy and a pastry-stuffed cabbage, both remarkable, and probably involving lard, I'm thinking.
Janeil found a whole grains booth and we all purchased a variety of of breads. At this point we determined it was time for a beer break to counter all that test tasting. While seated at picnic tables we got a feel for where we really were - a few blocks off the main drag in an intersection that had been closed off to set up shop. This was an anniversay year festival, the mayor had visited, and there were said to be an especially large number of booths and more entertainment than usual.
Walking on, we finally came upon the festival center, a large open air barn housing a wide variety of plants, fruits and vegetables. We received our free slaw (paper cup, no fork) and washed it down with a thimble-size sample of wine from someone wearing a sash and tiara. Are you the Cabbage Queen? we wanted to know. Yes, she proudly replied, filling our thimbles to the brim. She was quite attractive - with babie leto grey hair and about 65 years old!
In the rear of the shelter, people were filing past an amazing display of gourd artistry. I saw a dinosour, a turtle, houses and much more created by children using all organic materials. No glitter, markers or paint for these creations that I could have lingered over much longer had something else not caught my eye. Across the stall with its owner, could it be...a Bouvier? No, its coat looked less dense compared to Sampson's, it had bigger ears and a long, uncropped tail. (In Bratislava, most dogs weigh less than 10 pounds, and some get toted around in bags. We were in the country, however, so this was really exciting for me to see a large dog.) Of course I had to approach the owner and ask, "Bouvier?" Yes, he nodded and proudly introduced me to Ariella, who even had a surname but I didn't catch it.
(Traditionally, almost all female names end in ova with accent on the a. This means that husband and wife have different names as well as brother/sister. We've been trying it with our American names. As you can imagine, it rarely works and often sounds downright stupid. Vande Veldova? I don't think so!)
Back to our Bouv. After some rubs and pets, Ariella was soon nudging and doing "the lean", a sure sign that she was a Bouvier. I even got to see Ariella's eyes, as she had a silly red bow tying up her hair in a topknot. She was decked out and on her best behavior; after all, this WAS the Cabbage Festival. I explained that I had a Bouvier in Chicago and could I take her picture. No, he said, as he gave me her lead, he would take our picture. So I got my canine fix that day, as well as my fill of kraut and slaw.
We spent a little time in the beer garden, having lunch and enjoying the action up on center stage. One after another, singing groups wearing matching polyester outfits performed up on the bandstand. There was swaying and lots of yip-yipping on stage, as well as great people-watching down below. We saw one man at a neighboring table eat a pork sandwich, followed by a klabasa, washed down by half a chicken! Ran into Peter and Katka, two teachers from my school, and at the time I thought it odd that the first thing she said was, "What did you have to eat?" I get it now. They also had burciak so I was able to try it. It wasn't bad but Kathy said it tasted much different (better) than that in Modra.
Although we were mostly consumers of food, we did buy some wool sox from a Turkish vendor. No one could decide on the sizing and Janeil advised us to buy smaller. I wasn't convinced and bought one size larger than she suggested, and good thing, too, because whose sox would now fit a CABBAGE PATCH DOLL, Janeil?
posted by Joan Vande Velde @ 12:51 PM
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