I don’t know why I only blog about food–I guess I’m obsessed.
Saturday I was invited to go to Arriba’s Taquería. They supposedly have the best Mexican food in Budapest, but I have to admit, it’s not Mexico. In particular the tacos al pastor leave a lot to be desired. Perhaps I have unrealistic expectations based on the now defunct Las Tarascas in Provo and a little taco shop in Guatemala city whose name I can no longer remember. That said the atmosphere was cheery and the food was certainly not bad. I quite enjoyed the chorizo taco and it was good to have horchata (which normally isn’t my favorite drink). They speak English and Hungarian and even knew what I meant when I accidentally answered “Sí.” to one of their questions. :) It was also nice to eat something other than my own cooking.
Sunday I made gooseberry jelly (that’s Jello for those of you on the wrong side of the Atlantic). I can’t say it tasted like gooseberries, but I can’t say it didn’t either. I can’t even say it tasted green. Regardless of taste I couldn’t pass up green jello. It’s too bad I didn’t have any carrots or pears and cream cheese to add.
But enough food, I have the inside scoop for those who have been wondering what it’s like to be a legal resident of Hungary. As you can tell from the picture, it’s pretty cool. What the picture can’t tell you is all the trouble that you have to go through to get it. I first had to gather a large quantity of papers. It turns out my landlord’s parent are co-owners of his flat, so I had to get him to get his parent’s to sign a paper saying he could make decisions about what to do with his property. After that I had to get two Hungarians to “witness” it by signing. Thank goodness for neighbors!
Of course his parents don’t live in Budapest, so it took a while and I had to ask for more time to collect the papers. It’s somewhat awkward to be handed a blank sheet of paper and told to write a letter asking for more time. Luckily I could write it in English, but what exactly does one say? How much begging and pleading should one do? I must have done okay though, because when I brought the necessary papers back, the worker called her superior and after some deliberation announced that I had returned in time and they wouldn’t have to reject my application outright. She said it in a way that made me wonder if the proper protocol were to break out singing and dancing with joy. Sadly, you’ll never know whether I did or not sing “Miracle of Miracles” from Fiddler on the Roof since it was not recorded. At the end of it all, after a final trip, and another 2 hour wait I got a really cool sticker to put in my passport.