City of Schnitzel and Schicklgruber (part 1 - grub.)

So, Vienna. I feel very serious and grown-up heading to this hub of European culture and catastrophe, anticipating the strains of sedate waltzes from every window, grand statuary on every corner, and nicotine-yellowed cafes where the only sound is the rustle of an occasional page as another volume of Freud is lovingly thumbed by some bearded intellectual or other. And that's not so far from the reality, except modern Vienna just about manages to push through the cracks in the city's potentially suffocating historical past. For all the weight of antiquity that could condemn it to becoming a living museum, this city has a vibrancy and quirkiness that's already calling me back. I barely scratched it's gracious, granite surface in the time I was there. So let me give you a suitably potted version of Kolley Kibber's Best Bits of Vienna (so far).

1. The Beisl. You can get your hands on pretty much anything you want to eat in Vienna - it has a surprisingly cosmopolitan take on grub, despite its landlocked Mittel-European situation and reputation. But though there must be a hundred sushi joints around town, and as many varieties of pasta from over the mountains in Italy, what you come to Vienna for is Austrian food. Meaty, beefy big and bouncy Austrian food, such as may have helped the young Arnold Schwartzenegger to develop into the superb human being he remains to this day. So get yourself along to a Beisl. These are the most traditional restaurants the country has to offer, and are beloved to an almost fetishistic degree by the native Viennese. If you're vegetarian, you may struggle a little with the aggressively carnivorous head-to-toe-eating on offer in these little wood-pannelled, darkened palaces, but you'll almost always be able to fill up on apple and potato dumplings (one should do it) or a thick potato soup (Carb Warning!).

We started off here at Glacis on our first night, and ran straight into our most pronounced taste of variable Viennese standards of hospitality right on entry. The maitre d', a small, beetroot-faced man driven almost cross-eyed from thirty years of glaring at his customers, made it agonisingly obvious to us that we were there on sufferance, making a huge, theatrical show of scanning the two-thirds empty restaurant furiously before reluctantly conceding one of the spare tables to us with a look of such pure hatred that it would have curdled the cream cheese in your strudel. By contrast, though, the waiter he sent to kill us/take our order couldn't have been nicer, a laughing, friendly young dude who offered advice and recommendations which turned out just fine, and who made us feel more than welcome and more than gluttonous within moments. The freshest, richest blood sausage, deep crimson gulash (better than the Hungarian goulash in my book) and, er, dumplings, all vanished from our plates with a good glass of Gruner veltliner and not much talking. When we left we made a point of saying goodnight to the maitre d', who stared back at us and completely ignored us. So don't be put off by him, but do give the place a go, especially if you're around and about the Museum Quarter anyway, which you are bound to be at some point.

Others we tried and loved were Figlmuller (booking advised at weekends, especially if you want to eat at the small one in the alleyway which has a little conservatory area; much nicer) for the plate-defying (pork) schnitzels and potato salad (carb warning!), and the oldest inn in Vienna, the Griechenbeisl, where previous patrons included Beethoven, Motzart and Mark Twain (though not all at the same time - their autographs are on one of the walls.). Staffed by some serious older men who look like they mean business but who on approach turned out to be friendly and funny (and the free schnapps was a welcome if unwise gesture), we had a fine time here on our last night, listening to the zither player in the next room and wondering if Harry Lime was going to materialise from the darkened doorway opposite (he didn't. Poor Harry.). Anyway, there are loads more of these and I intend to go to most of them before I turn up my boots.

2. Sturm, with an umlaut. Only available for a few weeks from early September each year, this is partly-fermented grape juice with a mild kick and a strongly moreish quality. You drink it by the tumbler, though I could have drunk it by the gallon. Delicious. Vienna, all you geography spods out there, is the only capital city in Europe to have productive vineyards situated within its city limits. And if we'd been out there this coming weekend, we'd have hit the annual Wine Hike, when normally closed-off private routes around the wine areas are opened up to the public, with tasting stops along the way. A reason to go back, perhaps?

3. The Nachtsmarkt. Another one of these brilliant Northern European outdoor markets, packed to the gills with everything a glutton could need. Eat your plunder right there at one of the hundreds of food stalls, or take it home if you can wait. If you only buy one thing to bring back, make it a jar of Austrian horseradish; it will clear your sinuses in seconds and enhance your steak like nothing else.

4. Cake. So they tell me. I lost my sweet tooth years ago, so apart from one custard croissant (very good) I didn't eat any. And I don't much care for coffee, so that was lost on me too. But the Viennese scarf away the strudel like it's going out of fashion, and are freakier about their coffee than even New Yorkers, so I assume it's all good if you like it.

5. Beer, wine and spirits. Austrian wine used to be famous for it's high anti-freeze content. But now it's rather respectable. You can get a good glass of Riesling, Gruner Veltliner or Weiss Burgunder almost anywhere. All the beer is crisp, dry and flavourful. And a little schnapps can be fun.

That's the stomach taken care of. Next, I will turn to matters of culture. Back later.