Miniseries: Oslovian Adventures

Bar Lorry

"I'll have a gin & tonic"

"Great, and which gin would you like?"

Now... I like gin, but the extent of my knowledge of it is limited to a handful of the most recognizable brands. If you poured me the finest gin in the world and a glass of turpentine I likely couldn't tell the difference. Upon the bartender's query I leer at the chalkboard of available offerings, attempting to divert his scrutiny of my neophytic grasp of the spirit, searching for salvation amidst the chalky scribblings.

"Hmmmmm well..... oh! I see you have Bareksten! That will make a fine gin & tonic!"

My choice of Bareksten is predicated on the simple fact that it's from Norway. While a simple fact it may be for me, a simple fact it is not for the distillers. Nay, for them it is a point of immense pride.

A quick perusal of their website offers the reader a panoply of piny proverbs, an array of arboreal aphorisms. It's so over the top it feels like reading the output of an AI chatbot. In fact I asked an AI chatbot to write a product description of Norwegian botanical gin, which I present alongside the official Bareksten copy.

Which is the true Bareksten? You be the judge:

Ode to gin #1:

Ode to gin #2:

I order myself a G&T with a magical gin inviting me to wander through Norway's mystical boral forests. Or is it a dark, wild, breathtaking, and dramatic gin inspired by ‘Hulder’ wood nymphs? Whatever it is it's presented in a splendid crystal goblet accompanied by a glass bottle of tonic to adulterate as I see fit. The sharp elixir perfectly complements the vibe of the Lorry, which I would best describe as eclectic sophistication.

The bar/restaurant dates back to the 1870s and has been a favorite hangout for notable Oslo writers, artists, intellectuals, and all-around rabble-rousers for 150 years. Throughout its history tortured artists bartered for cocktails using the work they crafted while toiling in the booths. And many of these works are still hanging on the walls!

With our Gs & T in tow, Sondre, Nora, & I peruse the incredible assortment of art and tchotchkes on display throughout the building. As described on Lorry's website, "Lorry is known for its extraordinary and eclectic art collection, carefully collected from all over the World through the years. Our walls are decorated with 207 art works by over 70 artists."

As we wander around the main dining area we marvel at the artwork, the knick-knacks, the figurines, the zebra head, the display of dozens of corkscrews, the model ships, the old beer bottles. Once again from their website, "you are guaranteed surprises and absurdities everywhere you look. A visit to Lorry will be remembered for a long time."

I couldn't agree more. And the most unforgettable part of the entire bazaar is the taxidermied giraffe wearing a bowtie at the top of the stairs.

Izakaya

One afternoon we're wandering around the Barcode when Nora exclaims, "Oh my friend works at Vin Bjørvika, let's see if she's working!"

So we make a quick ambulatory right turn and saunter up to a wine bar situated on a promenade overlooking the fjord. Unfortunately Nora's friend is not on shift but we circle up 'round a table on the promenade nonetheless.

I order a Solitude Gigondas 2020 from the Rhône Valley, a full-bodied red blend of 70% Grenache, 20% Syrah, & 10% Cinsault, if for no other reason than I've heard people who like wine say things about Cinsault. Can I remember if they were good things about Cinsault or bad things about Cinsault? No. Will I be able to taste the difference? Also no.

We pair our vin with a assortment of charcuterie presented as a three-story tower of epicurean delicacies that perfectly accentuates our waterfront vibes on this beautiful afternoon.

As we graze each delectable morsel of charcuterie steadily swells our hunger. Each swig of wine sharpens our focus.

A plan for supper coalesces.

And just like that the Norwegian gastro gang is off on their next adventure, cruising across town on rented scooters, weaving through historic Oslo neighborhoods. The streets are mostly devoid of automobile traffic, creating a feeling of safety that you'd be hard pressed to find in any US city. The few cars that do occupy the streets, lanes, and avenues of Olso navigate the thoroughfares at a reasonable pace, deferring to pedestrians, cyclists, scooter-ers, and other non-car methods of transport. It's a wholly relaxing urban milieu.

Soon our roving band of heathens arrives at Izakaya, a nondescript Japanese restaurant occupying the garden floor of a residential building steps away from a traffic circle featuring the Lysfonene, i.e. fountain of light.

I have to stoop as we step down to the entrance of the restaurant, a doorway not befitting the Viking bloodlines of its denizens. The low ceilings and modest confines tiptoe the line between cozy and cramped. It has a feel of a place that can only be acquired through decades of repeat customers.

The menu, in its simplicity, "Japanese dishes and Japanese alcohol."

The wooden tables, well-worn.

Evidence of spilt Sapporo. Of sloppy chopsticks. Of late nights in a half-basement where you dread leaving the warmth of your company to bear the frigid Norwegian winter.

I'm in love.

We find our way to one of those perfectly patina'd tables, seating myself in the upsettingly comfortable position of "fifth wheel."

First things first. A round of Sapporos & sake.

With our thinking caps properly fueled we dash around the menu

Edamame; seaweed salad; pork dumplings;

kuriimu chiisu hachimitsu - cream cheese spread with honey, sesame, and miso;

kyuuri no kimuchi - pickled cucumber with chili;

shiitake bataa ponzu itame - shiitake mushrooms with ponzu sauce and butter;

ajitama - soft boiled egg marinated in mirin, sake, and soy sauce;

bangbangji - cold chicken in sesame sauce;

chijimi - spinach & cheese fried pancakes;

In line with their clearly stated policy, "WE SEND THE FOOD OUT AS SOON IT IS READY", we are treated to a steady stream of delicious victuals in no particular order.

Between courses a few more rounds of sake adorn the table at our behest. The meal is rounded out with nama choko - homemade chocolate truffles and kurogoma aisu - homemade black sesame ice cream.

Everyone ducks through the egress portal a little more robust, a little more wizened, a little more contented. I feel grateful for the opportunity to break bread halfway across the world with people I adore. Grateful for my most memorable dinner in Oslo.

"Sondre Hates Breakfast"

Sondre and I differ in many ways.

One of those ways is our diverging affinity for breakfast foods.

So when Nora asks, "do you like breakfast?" I instinctively retort,

"Of course I do, I'm not a sociopath"

"Fantastisk!! I love to cook breakfast but don't make it very often because Sondre hates breakfast. Do you want some breakfast?"

"Do I!!"

And as luck would have it Nora is a chef of dawn's early light extraordinaire.

Fried eggs, fresh bread, brunost, yogurt, strawberries, blueberries, and a stack of pannekaker (Norwegian pancakes) round out the meal with a hot pot of coffee to boot. I just might could get used to all these rooftop breakfasts.

As one does when the guest of an international rooftop summit Nora and I discuss diplomacy, geopolitics, religion, human rights, education. We become so engrossed in the topics of the symposium that Nora looks at her watch and exclaims,

"Oh crap, I'm going to be late for class!"

"Well go on & git then! Don't worry about cleaning up I'll take care of the dishes"

And for once America cleans up its overseas mess.

"Your accent, where's it from?"

"Australia, how ya goin'?"

"No way! My cousin lives in Perth! Beautiful country, I love it down there! How the hell did you end up all the way up here??"

"Well.... it's a little bit of a long story"

And that's how I met Talor Browne, the owner of Talormade, a neon obeliscolychny attracting Oslofolk far and wide with its irresistible good vibes, outstanding coffee, and mouthwatering doughnuts.

Hailing from somewhere between Sydney & Melbourne, Talor departed the scorched landmass she called home for Oslo in 2012 to work for Tim Wendelboe, a man who I have since learned is a goliath in the world of specialty coffee. In a few short years Talor worked her way up to head roaster in Timmy W's outfit, making her the envy of anyone who's pulled a shot of espresso.

After a few years of slingin' beans with the 'boe she got a hankerin' to set off on her own. She began hosting doughnut pop up events that quickly gained a ravenous following (oh yeah, she's a trained pastry chef, nbd) and spun up her own roastery. After all her hard work the universe decided to shit in her latte because the date she finally opened her first brick-and-mortar location of Talormade was... February 2020.

Big oof.

So while the timing was less than superb, her doughnuts and coffee certainly are. As a testament to Talor's hard work I am standing in the same place where she first opened her doors.

"Well seeing as you hail from down under I'm gonna have to order a flat white"

"Great idea!"

As I take a seat on a plush purple couch Talor calls out over the din of the espresso machine, "hey, have you ever had a cappuccino al freddo?"

"I've never even heard of such a thing"

"Well it just feels like a cappuccino al freddo type of day & I'm going to make myself one, would you like to try one?"

"Damn right I would!"

Talor fills me in on the cap al fred - originating in the Greek islands, this cold coffee drink involves dolloping cold, extremely frothy milk over a couple shots of iced espresso and topping it with a dash of cocoa powder.

I don't know where in that process Talor imbued witchcraft because I pick up the glass and can't believe how light it is. Is this glass filled with air??? What is happening??? I take a sip and my brain further spirals into a meltdown of incomprehension. This drink is impossibly smooth.

By the end of the beverage I find that I've taken one giant leap into the world of too much coffee.

Tim Wendelboe

On my final day in Norway, I have one more stop before I board the boat. While I was chatting with Talor she implored me to stop at Tim's shop before I leave, an ultimatum to which I will happily oblige.

As I leave the Technology Museum I hop aboard the 11N train bound for Jernbanetorget. A half hour later I jump off at the Sofienbergparken stop for the 3 block schlep over cobblestones with my backpack and rollerbag.

The shop occupies the bottom floor of a nondescript 4 story building with a stone façade just a stone's throw from the Akerselva. The only indication that you might be near a world renowned purveyor of coffee is the small KAFFE sign affixed to the outer wall.

As I stroll 'neath the sign I glance at my watch. I have some time to spare 'fore my ship sets sail but the coffee shop run by 2004 World Barista Champion Tim Wendelboe is sure to be mobbed right?

Right?

To my surprise the establishment is merely moderately occupied. A dozen-ish small tables line the perimeter of a space no bigger than a drive-thru Starbucks. Most of the tables are occupied by couples making small talk or smartly dressed Millenials gazing intently at laptop screens. I intend to add a shabbily dressed Millenial gazing intently at a laptop screen to the mix.

I step up to the bar to order my jitter juice and I'm greeted by two intimidatingly attractive Scandinavians; we'll call him Sven, and her Olga. Sven & Olga, possessors of a carefree confidence only afforded to the breathtakingly beautiful, greet me with a smile and a menu.

As if the baristas weren't intimidating enough, the menu lists 5 coffees, each with its cultivar (think wine varietals), its country of origin, and even its farm of origin.

I pick one at random and slink back to my table, back to the realm of the normals.

Wendelboe has resisted what must be he opportunity to print money by expanding his coffee empire. But his singular focus on finding the perfect cup of coffee precludes him from cashing in on his name. "I personally find it more rewarding to have one store where I feel the quality we are serving our guests is consistent and satisfying.”

And "coffee shop" is perhaps too crude a term. "Coffee roastery, espresso bar, and coffee training centre" appears to be the presentment preferred by Tim (or more likely the PR firm who runs his website).

At Tim Wendleboe's they pride themselves on light roast coffee,

I slurp down my coffee and head towards the smell of the sea

I have a boat to catch.