Eating our way through Vienna

In Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert celebrated Italian food, putting on 20 pounds while researching the first third of her book.

For a mere three days of our month-long stay in Europe, we celebrated Vienna, which involves food excesses just as much as lavish culture, art, music, parks, the heady scent of flowers and boxwood hedges, the clopping of horse-drawn carriages, and edifices larger than life.

"I need to take dieting more seriously," I thought, after we returned to Prague.

In Vienna, everything, including me, became bigger and grander than in Prague, and I had only its food to blame.

Lithe young things waft through the streets of Vienna in pastel-flowered frocks, much like they might have done a century ago. Sooner or later, they end up with a gelato held delicately in one hand, which adds not an ounce to their weightlessness. Elderly ladies, dressed to the nines in floppy hats, flowing silks, all their worldly jewelry, and elaborately perfect makeup, meet up in cafes for pastries and cappuccino. A greying older couple at Cafe de l'Europe--he in a stylish white fedora, tucking into a towering ice cream creation; she curled intently over a more modest sundae--enjoy another routinely pleasurable afternoon in the Innere Stadt.

Our first stop in Vienna was the stuffy, but historic, Cafe Schwarzenberg--the original center of Vienna's cafe society. It was by sheer accident that we ended up there, simply following our noses from our hotel near the Belvedere until we reached the Schubertring portion of the Ringstrasse. Cappuccinos and a cheese curd strudel floating in vanilla custard, served by a waiter older and more serious than time, introduced us to Vienna, where you can easily spend every day hopping from cafe to cafe, cappuccino to cappuccino.

From there we continued along the Ringstrasse, by now acutely aware that bicycles have the right of way, on green-painted pathways set aside just for them. Hapless pedestrians who bumble onto a green zone end up stranded, pinned and unable to move between aggressive flows of cyclists and other two-wheeled vehicles. One path, as we interpreted it, was designated for cyclists and pedophiles, so we steered clear of it entirely and ambled instead through the pedestrian-friendly Stadt Park.

We'd never heard of Tafelspitz, where we were headed next, but Viennese native Ruth Hofer had told us it wasn't to be missed. Many Viennese restaurants offer its boiled-beef specialty, but she recommended the ultimate Tafelspitz experience, at Plachutta at Wollzeile. There, even approval of reservations can take two days.

Boiled beef sounded so unappetizing at first that I nearly veered toward salmon or prawns instead, but quickly thought better of it. The suave Plachutta waiters present diners with a full-color, hand-illustrated card that not only describes Tafelspitz and its trimmings--fried potatoes, vegetables, chive sauce, horseradish applesauce, and black bread for the spreading of marrow--but also lays out detailed instructions for what to do with it all. They take so much trouble, how can you disappoint them by ordering fish?

First, your waiter will serve a soup of beef broth and root vegetables, ladled from a heated copper pot. Then, you spread bone marrow on your bread, season, and eat it. Finally, you plate your choice of beef cut, potatoes, and smooth, pureed spinach. The beef might look grey but is more mouthwatering and flavorful than the tenderest pate.

After dinner, we wandered the neighborhood, visiting a sweet shop that sold everything from the sublime to the silly (for seniors).

Bill was starting to get into the princely swing of things.

Steps away from our hotel, a historic biergarten served traditional Austrian fare, including bread dumplings the size of an infant's head and exquisite sauerkraut--both hot and cold, served alongside slabs of meat and on salad.

We began the next morning in Viennese style, with a sidewalk breakfast of rolls, jam, butter, cheese, ham, juice, and coffee.

During our trip to the Prater amusement park, we could have indulged in everything from pillow-sized sacks of cotton candy to hamburgers, hot dogs, and Mexican food. But we resisted.

We had a much better lunch planned, after a stop at the awe-inspiring Stephansplatz cathedral. Our goal? Cafe de l'Europe, another classic Viennese institution, noted for the excellence of its food, "spaghetti eis," and other treats.

I ordered that default of every American woman who fears she has overdone: Caesar salad with chicken. Bill had an equally thin carpaccio plate. Both were utterly delicious. I had never had such a delectable Caesar salad, all perfectly prepared, from the croutons to the tenderly seasoned and grilled chicken. 

I was savoring each bite, shooing away a fly that wanted to share my lunch, when I noticed a much larger luncheon guest--a garden snail, glistening and twitching its antennae from atop a piece of my lettuce.

I've always wanted to wave over a dignified Viennese waiter to indicate such a problem on the plate. Now was my chance. 

I beckoned grandly, gestured toward the offending creature, and watched the handsome server blanch. He was aghast, seized the salad immediately, and retreated with it, showing it to his colleagues along the way. All were scandalized, laughing uneasily. 

Not being prone to fainting, I joked, "At least it wasn't half a snail."

What did the cook have to say for himself? 

"I can't control for everything."  

So that's how I received a gratis salad from one of the pricier venues in Vienna, along with a complimentary "spaghetti carbonara" hazelnut spaghetti eis creation. 

I didn't complain.