Dining Out in Stockholm

The word ‘blog’ certainly looks like it belongs in an IKEA catalogue — somewhere close to skubb, grov and krog — but it isn’t a Swedish word. Or perhaps I should say it’s as much a Swedish word as an English one. Like ‘okay’, it’s become universal.That thought came to me because I am writing this in Stockholm, Sweden, where I am maintaining the website for The Salvation Army’s World Youth Convention. Each evening I have gone out for dinner, permitting myself this small luxury in the absence of any spare time during the day for sightseeing. (In fact, most of those working in the ’sekretariat‘ are still there until late at night. One Salvation Army officer, for example, finished writing his reports of last night’s activities in the early hours, grabbed a couple of hours sleep, and was back in his place by 8:15 this morning. Fortunately for me, I have to wait for these reports to be authorised before they can be published, which is not until office hours have begun the next day. The same with the pictures — they need to be checked by any international Salvation Army leaders whose images are included and then have captions written for each of them. This is why official international Salvation Army websites often seem behind the events of the day.)

Anyway, as I was saying before the aside, I go out to dinner each night.

Dining out has been a great pleasure in Stockholm because I love the cuisine. It’s the way I’d like to eat all the time. Sadly, I could not afford to do so were I to live here, and the ingredients aren’t available where I do live. The image (right) shows a food market just down the road from the hotel. I had a look inside on my way to dinner and didn’t want to leave. The fish, fowl, meat, game and dairy products were tastefully (!) presented and looked as wholesome as any of the young Swedish young people I have seen, and more appetising than most.

The chickens had been raised in the open-air, probably died happy (and suddenly), and were then air-chilled before finding a place on the poulterer’s shelves in this market. And Poulet de Bresse to boot! I saw cheeses such as I only dream of in Canada — with nary a one made from ‘dead’, pasteurised and homogenised, cow or goat milk. The beef was hanging on the joint — and what joints they were! Great haunches and sides of beef, with the heavily marbled sirloin and the roasting rumps presented with generous coverings of flavoursome yellow fat. The sight of it almost made me order steak tonight, and if it hadn’t been for the fishmongers’ slabs, I would have. Large, whole cod shared their beds of ice with ugly monkfish, thornback rays, mackerel and flounders, and other fish I have never seen. Mussels, oysters and their related bivalves and crustacea were abundant — I especially liked the langoustines, which can’t be found. at our local Sobey’s (or any other store in Etobicoke).

So I set my heart on yet another meal of seafood (I have eaten fish each evening since arriving here).

I knew where I wanted to dine, and after the food market experience I headed straight to the Sturehof (www.sturehof.com/omsturehofeng), a century-old restaurant with a broad selection of seafood on its menu. To get there from my hotel it’s quickest to nip through the Sturegallerian Mall (www.sturegallerian.se/eng/default.aspx). At least, it was fast for me as I am alone. If my wife were with me, we’d probably never reach the restaurant as she would spend the evening window-shopping, so attractive are the exclusive shops along the passages of this unique building.

Getting a table at the restaurant was not a problem (Stockholm, like Paris, empties during the summer months, I am told), so with a bottle of my customary fizzy water at hand I studied the menu.

I decided on a gazpacho soup, followed by three types of pickled herring, a main course of bouillabaisse, and a Swedish cheese tray to follow. The breads were excellent, and I could find nothing to fault with the whole meal, except, perhaps, too much tarragon in the sauces. I read some of an Elizabeth George novel on my Kindle, then sat and dozed for a while over my coffee before making my way back to the hotel. The meal was not cheap, but it was no more than I’d pay in a first-rate Toronto restaurant. What’s more important is that I was well satisfied with the food, the unobtrusive but very considerate service, and the excellent command of English of the wait staff, which isn’t always the case in Canada.

Last night I ate on an open patio, beside a park, enjoying Swedish-style Thai and Japanese seafood: sashimi (salmon and tuna) and salt baked char with white asparagus and rice. The night before it was fish stew, with bleak fish roe and toast as a starter. What will tomorrow’s dinner be?

Fish, I expect.