My European Vacation — Part 1
The day before New Year’s eve (because, who wants to deal with expresssions like ‘the penultimate day of the year’?), the majority of our European vacation in the past, we arrived in Vienna.
As you may know, there is a lot to be said about a European vacation (just ask Chevy Chase). It was great. Pictures were taken. Great food was eaten. Beautiful architecture was admired. But I may talk about that another day.
Today, I would like to introduce you to Helmut Brem. I was going to include a picture of him but thought, without asking his permission, that would just be rude. You can look him up on the team link of his website — look up Wiener Rosthaus. I don’t think putting the url fits in Medium’s policies.
My wife, the two younger children — both adults — mostly, and I had passed a small coffee shop on our search for breakfast and, with agreement from the beautiful one (not as much a pet name as a simple recognition of the truth of my wife’s radiance), determined to stop back by after getting much needed food. (As an aside, intermittent fasting is relatively easy when on a whirlwind trip through Europe.) It is a good thing we had made this serendipitous discovery, first because free refills of percolated coffee is not ‘a thing’ in Viennese cafes as it is throughout the U.S. And, because that little coffee shop is where we met Helmut.
Walking through the door, you are met with the intoxicating aroma of coffee curated from Africa, Costa Rica, and other places blessed to be able to grow such wonderful beans. Passing the neat, labeled bins of caffeinated goodness, we walked through a small island of retail merchandise to find the bar, espresso machine, and four tables we had seen through the window as we had passed earlier. Claiming a table by the window, the other one was occupied by a lady, knitting, as I recall, we began to peruse the German menu. Have I mentioned that none of us speak German?
Helmut, astutely recognizing that we were not (as we would say in various parts of the U.S.) from around here, approached our table and, with an easy smile, and perfect English, asked how he might help us. We requested Americanos (what else) — except for the daughter who we somehow failed in bringing up properly — she ordered tea.
While we were considering some of the locally-made pastries, Helmut recommended the lemon cake. He didn’t recommend, he told of the origin of the Italian lemons and regaled the sweetness of them, compared to lesser lemons everywhere else. By the time he finished his story, there was no question as to what we would have. It was everything he had made it out to be.
We continued our conversation to the point that Helmut joined us at the table. It was like sharing a table with an old friend. Somewhere during the conversation, he paid us the best compliment. He said that we were not like most Americans — always in a hurry, someplace else to be. He had caught us at a good time.
Helmut asked about our dinner plans and, because our visit was during the New Year holiday, expressed concern about the availability of places to eat. Our daughter responded to his question about what we were wanting to eat by expressing her desire to have good schnitzel. With pursed lips, a nod of the head, and an uplifted finger to give hope, he reached for his phone. The first two numbers he dialed were answered by a machine. Not open. He did reach a human voice on his third call, as two men walked in and took their place at the third table. After a brief conversation with the phone, he hung up and, with a slight shake of the head, informed us that the restaurant that had answered had no availability this evening.
He then turned to the two newcomers and relayed, in German, that these Americans were visiting and looking for good schnitzel. Some things can be understood despite not knowing the language. Returning his attention to us, Helmut introduced us to the two regulars, an older gentleman — probably in his sixties, and a younger man — perhaps mid to late twenties. To their names, he added that they were Vienese and worked at the American Embassy.
Their response to the question was like watching a Laurel and Hardy schtick. Whenever the older man would made a recommendation, the younger one would say something, obviously disparaging in German. Likewise, when the younger would make offer a name, the older would shake his head ‘no’ vigorously. They may have played it up a bit when they realized we were enjoying the show.
It turns out that the younger man won out. He picked up his phone, dialed a number, and made reservations with a short explanation. Turning to us, he jotted down the name of a restaurant, the directions to it, and gave us instructions to show up between six and seven, request Allen ,and let them know of the reservation in his own name. We thanked him and, after a few more minutes of chatting, we paid our tab and went about our sight-seeing.
After walking through the city for the day, we arrived at the restaurant (sorry, I don’t recall the name right now) at six pm. It was packed. There was not a free table to be seen. People were standing everywhere. I made my way to the bar, requested a drink for my wife and myself and said that we were to see Allen for a reservation in the name of our new acquaintance.
We were led immediately to a table along the wall where a couple was paying for their meal. While they were picking up thier belongings, the waiter began clearing the table and urging us to take a seat. I smiled kind of sheepishly at the couple leaving. They didn’t appear particularly annoyed by the rush. As the waiter left to attend to our drinks and place settings, we heard an exchange referring to us as the embassy people. We had great service and our daughter got her requested schnitzel. It was very good. We also came away with a repeatable story and a new monicker — the embassy people.
We retuned to the Wiener Rosthaus the next morning to thank Helmut and his friends for their kindness — and to get more of the lemon cake to accompany our coffee.
If you find yourself in Vienna, I strongly encourage you to visit Helmut. Make sure you make time to have good conversation. He is involved and very excited about the coffee business in the city. He reminds me of a friend I have here at home — who had a coffee shop in the area before it was the thing to do. I think I need to check in on Arnold Myers and let him know that there are other enthusiasts like him.
