Reindeer Meat for Everyone!

It's 1AM in Stockholm and I'm watching The Devil Wears Prada (just for grins) on the hotel TV, on the TV of the fabulous, fabulous hotel that sits overlooking the sea. I'm waiting until I can call and talk to my boy.

We went out to eat tonight at a restaurant called Magnus Ladulas in "the Old City," which true to its name is genuinely old. The cobblestone streets, walking distance from my ultra-fabulous hotel, are not quite as wide as a Chevy Suburban, lined with handsome patinated 3- and 4-story stuccoed buildings with deep window sills. The foundations of the buildings, according to my guide, date from the 15th century. The wooden structures above them burned repeatedly, but the foundations are that old.

I had the smoked elk with endive and balsamic vinaigrette as an appetizer, and grilled reindeer in lingonberry sauce and some delicious potato thingy with sauteed mushrooms. Yes, really. And God, it was so good. I need more fillet of reindeer in my life. We all do.

Our conversation careened from the cultural differences between the Swedes and the Germans to alternative fuels (i.e., is ethanol really good for the environment?) to how "secular" and "liberal" became epithets in America, to why there aren't more women in engineering engines (is it genetic?). My Swedish colleagues rock. I wish I didn't have to go home.

Oh, wait. Soon I won't have to.

:)

P.S. I still miss my boy like crazy. When I finally got him on the phone tonight after his play date with one of the many "older women" in his life (she's six), he said all the things I've been wanting to hear: I love you, Mommy. I'm at _________'s house playing with _____. I miss you! I love you whole world. And then he dismissed me, in a very diplomatic 4-year-old way: Do you want to talk to ________?