For myself and perhaps for you, before I forget, some notes from the journey.
Rosendals Trädgård, Rosendals Trädgård, Rosendals Trädgård! This biodynamic farm houses a cafe across three greenhouses, and we were lucky enough to try the wintertime lunch buffet. I seldom taste such intelligence in food, least of all in buffet offerings, but each bite -- of pickled romanesque broccoli and red onions, of gratinéed crab apple halves -- taught me something. Back a day later, we luxuriated in the spiced carrot cake. // Did you know there was a Swedish Muji? How happy I was to stumble across Granit, where I promptly located the rucksack of my dreams, a gray sweatshirt I'll live in this winter, and a black-and-white striped scarf that will let me pretend I am a Stockholmer. // Two mornings I walked through the predawn chill to Brunkebergs Bageri at opening time. I bought a cardamon bun fresh off the tray, steaming, and peeled off strand after buttery strand, watching the baker's thoughtless dance of flouring, slicing and sliding his loaves. // And yes, how strange to taste the spices of my childhood in such unfamiliar places! Cardamon speckled the chocolate cookies at Rosendals too, and at Vette-Kattan I was moved to delight by the gaudy yellow of the saffron bun, easily equal to the burfis of Maharashtrian functions long past. // The food at the Moderna Museet cafe is nothing spectacular but the view is exalting, and with free refills on the coffee, it's a lovely place to idle for an afternoon, writing. // Swedish is close enough to German that you can make it out if you squint, so I couldn't resist the Rosendals Trädgård cookbook. Wish me luck with my first attempt, a creamy chocolate orange cake.