This is Europe's hottest new food destination

Paris. Bologna. San Sebastian. Rome. What do these places all have in common?

They're a few of the European cities to which food and drink lovers flock. While each offers plenty in the way of other attractions (well, except for maybe Bologna where the cuisine is the main event), the food is a significant factor in their buzzworthyness.
Many people plan their trips around the food of the city or country they're visiting, making dinner reservations 30 days in advance, booking flights to far-flung destinations all for a three-starred Michelin restaurant's tasting menu.
I wasn't thinking of Michelin stars when planning a recent trip to Helsinki, Finland. The design? Sure. Beauty? Check. Agreeable weather in July? Yes, please. But the food? Not on my radar.
Until now.
Vibrant, ingenious, inventive, fresh and fun, the food of Helsinki deserves top billing. Travelers looking for another European food destination to write home about need look no further. It is right there in Finland's relaxed capital.
The value of roots
Dishes at Juuri, a small-plates restaurant in the city's design district just off the main square, are composed of myriad ingredients belied by spare menu descriptions such as beef with beetroot and chicken with celery.
"Is this considered eclectic Finnish food?" the server was asked, to which she responded succinctly: "This is Finnish food. This is typical." Nothing unusual to see here, unless you consider plated works of art something to see -- and taste.
Full disclosure: The dishes did not feel world's apart from a recent meal at Eleven Madison Park, a highly acclaimed Michelin-starred restaurant. One of the world's best restaurants, EMP deserves its every accolade, and yet it doesn't feel blasphemous to say that Juuri can hold a candle to it -- at least, insofar as taste is concerned.
Heidi Kavander-Sundström, Juuri's office sales manager, pointed us to the website, explaining that it would reveal how Juuri was born, where its roots are and what the establishment's values are.
Click on the website's "Roots" tab and you'll see it plain as day: "Our roots in this country," reads the headline, below it a hard-to-argue-with sentiment: "Times change but one thing remains unchanged: Tasty food is always topical, preferably several times a day and without rushing."
Juuri calls its bite-sized tastes "sapas" and encourages sharing. The menu offers little in the way of description. Tomato with bread gives you only a sense of the most basic ingredients but does not indicate how richly flavored the seemingly simply toast will be. Potato with garlic doesn't sound exciting, but your palette would have to disagree.
If Juuri, "Finnish cuisine with attitude" leaves an indelible mark with its modern take on the country's cuisine, then Kalakauppa E. Eriksson, a fish shop in the Old Market Hall of Helsinki, gets points for pure, unadulterated taste.
Market meals
Helsinki has two main markets: Vanha Kauppahalli and Hakaniemen Kauppahalli. Each is worth a visit (or three).
The wide variety of pastries at Hakaniemen are worth seeking out. A favorite, viineri (from Danish pastry), is a cream puff croissant-like concoction. Filled with lightly sweetened, whipped cream and a smattering of jam, it's like eating a cloud but 10 times tastier.
Vanha Kauppahalli, Helsinki's Old Market Hall, has been around since 1888 and though the sheen and polish inside suggest that it's undergone a facelift in recent years, it still gives off an old-school air.
Fishmongers present the catch of the day. Butchers hawk reindeer (more on this meat later), jerky and the thickest cuts of aged Porterhouse you've ever seen.
A boutique liquor store selling wine, beer and local gin among other spirits advances the market's one-stop shopping cause, and Mari's Smoothie, featuring gluten-free baked goods and fresh juice, entices health-conscious shoppers.
The market isn't all Finnish though, as evidenced by the gluten-free vendor above. Local Finns craving an American-style cupcake or cookie can turn to Blondie Bakes, a bakeshop boasting made-from-scratch items.
And market visitors with a hankering for Asian flavors should beeline for Hanoi Vietnam. Along with the Vietnamese mainstay, the bánh mì sandwich made with pork and terrine and crunchy vinegar-soaked vegetables, this stall offers a Finnish take on the classic sandwich by substituting crayfish for the savory meat when the seafood is in season, which it was in July during my visit.
Kalakauppa E. Eriksson is a popular fishmonger residing in a large corner of the market hall. One side has seating for folks who'd like to enjoy the premade offerings (including salmon soup, a must-have regional dish) at a more leisurely place, perhaps with a glass of sparkling wine.
Opposite the few tables and stools is the to-go seller, which sells fish by the pound, about half a dozen open-face smoked sandwich sandwiches on nutty, brown pita-like break, shrimp salad, fried herring and last but not least, crayfish salad.
By the pound or as a sandwich that fits in the palm of your hand, this is the market champion.
Made simply with good-quality, slightly sweet mayonnaise and topped with a dill sprig and thinly sliced lemon wheel, the crayfish sandwich may be the single best food item in all of Helsinki.
Kauppias Juha Lindberg, who oversees the E. Eriksson Market Hall (they sell fish wholesale too), offered up a most modest reply via email when asked to describe the company's food and ethos: "Our seafood in a tiny bistro is very popular because it is so fresh. I have created my career for 17 years with passion for seafood."
Crayfish season begins on July 21 and goes through the end of October.
Old and respected
With menus in Finnish, Swedish, English, Russian and Japanese, Sea Horse may just be Helsinki's most touristed dining destination, but it is no tourist trap. Founded in 1934, the restaurant serves traditional Finnish cuisine in a simple space marked by white table-cloth lined tables.
Known for both its meat and seafood dishes, Sea Horse appears to be the kind of restaurant that has no desire to fix what isn't broken. There are a handful of vegetarian options, but that's not why you dine at the institution that is Sea Horse.
Multiple preparations of steak are available -- pepper, beef topped with fried onions and sour cream, and filet mignon for two -- but you don't go to Sea Horse for the steak or even the Sweetbreads a la Sea Horse. You go for the reindeer.
Fillet of reindeer appears close to the bottom of the menu, but as it's such an unusual menu item, it's unlikely you'll miss it.
The Sea Horse version is served medium with a cranberry-red wine sauce. On the side in its own separate dish is mashed potatoes with onion and butter, and, more butter from the taste of things. The richness of the starchy side is a nice accompaniment to the lean reindeer meat, similar to elk or venison.
But in spite of its low fat content, the reindeer, prepared medium as per the chef, is juicy and flavorful. It's also the type of meat that soaks up sauce nicely.
Sea Horse's portions are generous, but they are happy to do dessert to go. The Finnish squeaky cheese with cloudberry jam and the cheesecake are both recommended.
Belly up brunch
"Breakfast is included and is from 7 to 11 a.m. in the restaurant off the main lobby," the receptionist informs upon check in at Hotel Lilla Roberts, a former police station building turned art deco boutique hotel in the city's design district.
Krog Roba is the hotel restaurant serving breakfast, lunch and dinner. It takes hotel dining -- not to mention pejorative breakfast-included connotations -- to another level.
Velvet green banquettes and chairs provide ample seating in the large space anchored by a long bar on one side of the room. During breakfast and brunch, the bar space is covered with pastries, porridge, fresh fruit and homemade honey mead.
A round table just off the bar presents thick slices of smoked honey ham, a creamy hunk of blue cheese, sliced tomatoes and a bread station featuring multiples types of fresh-baked bread and rolls. There is also the star of the show: juniper salted salmon.
Karri Knaapila, executive chef at Krog Roba, credits Finland's "pure and clean air, fresh water and nature," with guiding the vision of his menu composed of "high-quality ingredients."
He explains that the "short but very intensive and light full summer season" contributes to the flavor profile of a number of items, including vegetables, berries and wild mushrooms.
"Nordic madness is shown for example in ingredients, plating and seasoning food: juniper salted salmon, frozen dried wild berries and honey mead are a few things where you can feel this touch when you are eating our breakfast."
Knaapila is excited about Helsinki's rising food scene.
"Past years have brought many new chef-owned restaurants in Helsinki. Good restaurants bring even more good restaurants."

Alicudi: Italy's LSD island

Remote, car-free, steep and serene, Sicily's Alicudi isle is perfect for a no-frills, unplugged retreat, but its mind-bending past gives a different meaning to the phrase "day-trippers."

There are no roads, no boutiques, no cigarette vendors nor ATMs. Only thousands of stone steps lit by the stars, a dozen tireless donkeys to carry bags and a few residents who keep to themselves.They hide a secret.
"See that pink villa over there, overlooking the pebble beach?" says local Giulia Russo, owner of Golden Noir café, as she nods towards a building with white columns and a sea-view terrace surrounded by huge ancient millstones.
"That used to be the old village gristmill where hallucinogenic bread was made every morning by local housewives. Clouds of psychedelic drug grain dust survived for decades in there."
The mill, now turned into a cozy resort called Casa Mulino, lures tourists to the most isolated and mystical of the volcanic Aeolian islands, off Sicily's northern coast.
The 'crazy rye'
Nowadays, visitors are addicted to Alicudi's primitive vibe, crystal-clear water, bright dwellings and the picturesque harbor lined with tiny fishermen boats.
But for centuries, ever since the first settlers landed in the 1600s, oblivious island dwellers got their kicks from their daily bread.
Until as recently as the 1950s, locals ate bread contaminated by a mind-blowing rye fungus called "ergot," fostered by sultry weather.
Ergot is the base element of LSD.
Before Swiss scientist Albert Hofmann chemically synthesized the drug in 1938, Alicudi was a "natural" lab where the narcotic fungus wreaked havoc on the population.
Generations of villagers were fed on so-called "crazy rye" or "horned rye," named after the pointed black ends similar to devil horns the fungus produces on rye ears.
Village women would prepare the hallucinogenic bread each morning, serving kids and husbands their daily dose of LSD. All islanders got high without even knowing it.
Long-term ergot poisoning can cause ergotism, which induces gangrene and convulsive symptoms including mania and psychosis.
"It was a diet mistake, a bad eating habit triggered by poverty, isolation and ignorance of hygiene," says local historian Pino La Greca.
"The first harvests were scarce and food was precious so nothing was thrown away, even rotten bread and pasta covered in mold were eaten.
"Scarcity of other alternative food sources and humidity produced this nasty fungus that when ingested caused mass hallucinations, hysteria, hypnosis and autosuggestion."
Flying women, donkey-men and ghosts
Feeding on crazy bread made people fall into trances, losing consciousness. Visions and mental trips were daily adventures.
Legends flourished of flying women, dubbed "maiara," meaning "sorceress" in Aeolian dialect.
At night, these witches would stare at the mirror, cover their bodies with a special ointment and fly together across the sea on shopping sprees to Sicily's Palermo and to mainland Calabria.
Almost starving to death at home, they'd come back with bags stuffed with food and treats they could only dream of.
Cruel sorceresses would straddle the bows of fishing boats to make them sink and cast "evil-eye" spells on enemies. But they also had the power to heal babies of stomach worms, say the stories.
Tales of talking hemp sacks, ghosts defecating behind shrubs, and of men turned into donkeys, cows and pigs are also popular.
"These people were on a LSD-induced trip 24/7, they spoke to each other and shared their visions, making real what was only in their minds," says La Greca.
Pact with the devil
Some locals don't believe in the "crazy rye" addiction. For them it was pure magic, a miracle.
"These are not fairytales," swears Peppino Taranto, owner of the island's only hotel, Ericusa.
"The last flying 'maiara' died in 1948. These women did fly, just didn't need broomsticks. They would gather with other gliding ladies of the Aeolian archipelago and drift over the sea, having fun and partying on beaches. Even men flew. It was a sect of flying humans."
Taranto even appealed to the Church and found proof it was all true.
"A bishop told me these people had made a pact with the devil in order to possess magical powers and fly, just like Simon the Sorcerer had done to confront St. Peter in the New Testament. He was Christianity's first heretic whom Dante placed in the Divine Comedy's Inferno."
The flying villagers worshipped this Biblical magician, who one day crashed on Rome while soaring through the clouds. A few of Alicudi's wannabe-witches fell off their balcony trying to leap for the sky.
As a kid, Taranto loved listening to the village elders at sunset, when they shared their visions atop brick walls covered in capers and prickly pears.
"Many saw these flying women, and several husbands were also angry that their wives led a double life," he says.
Too bad most of the elders on Alicudi are dead, and those still alive -- but now living on mainland Sicily -- don't want to talk about the isle's hallucinogenic past.
Tornado-cutters
An exception to such "omertà," the Sicilian code of silence, is fisherman and cook Silvio Taranto.
During the day he takes visitors on boat tours, while in the evenings he opens his house for exclusive seafood dinners and a few tales.
Once a year, he casts a spell. Silvio, 68, is a so-called "tornado-cutter."
"There's this ritual I do each Christmas Eve since I was 20. I say a special prayer that gives me the power to kill whirlwinds for 12 months straight," he says. "But it's a secret formula, I cannot unveil it otherwise it brings bad luck. In order to work, it can only be said on December 24, and then passed on to male sons."
Clenching a knife between his teeth, Silvio then performs a series of gestures. He cuts the air with his hands, making zig-zags and cross signs. Or he uses the knife.
"Whenever I see a tornado approaching in the distance, I close my eyes and in three minutes it vanishes," he says.
Whirlwinds were believed to be formed by a vortex of naughty flying women who wanted to punish their despotic husbands.
Silvio has had quite a few visions himself, even though the "crazy rye" is long gone.
"I was working on my plot of land one morning and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, I see the ghosts of a flying dog, bull and pig run over me," he says.
Other tornado-cutters use different methods. They pull down their pants and vent out their fear to the storm. This power apparently lies in the buttocks of the first-born males only.
Opening the doors of perception
The witchy heritage is a visible trait of Alicudi.
The first thing that catches the eye when the ferry lands are the harbor walls painted with images of flying ladies dressed in long black robes, hair blowing in the wind, eyes shut and a smile on their faces. There is an eerie ambiance, and the shore is dotted with disquieting caves and mushroom-shaped grotto houses.
"Women here have always worked mad in the fields, tending crops under scorching suns and in poor living conditions. This remote isle was like a cage to them," says Aeolian artist Loredana Salzano, who paints flying "maiare" sorceresses on hand-made ceramics and canvasses at her Alice Attònita studio in Lipari, the main Aeolian island.
"They were desperate, bored, hopeless. This forced them to open their doors of perception, to create an alternative mental world to fly to and hide."
In the past Alicudi's isolation was extreme, and even today there is no direct ferry.
Up until the 1970s only small boats could reach the shore. The desire to escape and the utter silence that sharpens meditation skills, topped with the magic fungus, induced locals to "live" in other dimensions.
"Anyone can exit the body and travel by astral means through the air. It's part of our interior development," says Vincenzo Anastasi, manager of Hotel La Canna on nearby Filicudi isle and a deep connoisseur of "parallel universes."
"We are on this world to grow in love through body experiences, yet our body is only an instrument."
Spooky money-maker
The ancient Greeks first colonized Alicudi calling it Ericusa, the "purple island," because of its abundance of indigo-colored heath that covers the extinct volcano crater.
The color purple, in Italian superstition, is a bringer of ill omen.
But despite its freaky atmosphere and past, Alicudi is a slice of paradise.
Travelers call it "Neverland," a place frozen in time where a new life is possible. The lack of modern comforts is a luxury; prepare to stretch muscles on the 4,444 rough steps connecting the harbor to the houses.
The workout is rewarded by a breathtaking panorama from the village summit.
But the flying women have created a miracle of sorts -- they've brought money.
Tourists come, some stay, T-shirts are made with the "maiara" logo. Clever residents exploit the legends to draw clients, like Rosita Barbuto, owner of a B&B.
"You bring me tourists, I tell you what I have seen and know of the sorceresses. No clients, no stories. These are delicate issues," she says.