Food has always been a huge part of my life. But, for 20 years, that life was in sunny ol’UK. Try shipping it to the other side of Europe. There’s only so many packets of crumpets that my British visitors can entertainingly smuggle in. No mince pies at Christmas being the biggest struggle *cry* (Bee’lined for them at arrivals, soz dad)
But oh Budapest, you do manage to fill my rumbling tum. And by fill I mean that eating moderately here requires some serious will power that I simply don’t have time for. If I come home a size or two bigger then I will have no regrets, judge away.
Hungary is proud of its food and the historically cold winters mean the cuisine is tailored to keeping timber on shivering bones. There’s an abundance of traditional foods here and my description is limited by the word count. Stews, soups or big hunks of meat served with pickles and bread, all washed down with a shot of palinka for digestion, are the orders of the day.
The best thing to grab whilst tottering home after a night at the many ruin bars? Langos…deep-fried dough. Rich sour cream. And some cheese. Deep-fried. I challenge you to think of a traditional food any fattier, greasy, carby and utterly alcohol-neutralising. They seriously have it sussed.
At the supermarkets, near the fridge aisles you’ll find people, young and old alike, going mad for these polka dot wrapped delights which look kinda like a certain lady’s sanitary product. What are they? Túró Rudi; chocolate coated cheese curd strange-but-addictive snack thing. They even have vending machines for these things.
Best of all, the variety and abundance of restaurants and their affordability comparable to the UK means I can eat meals like that pictured for maybe £8?