We ate in a ramshackle falafel joint where we could not tell what we had ordered, owing to the girl cashier's limited English and our nearly nonexistent Hungarian. We unfurled our bills of hundreds and thousands of forints, and matched them to the prices that we read from a chalkboard. The cashier pantomimed that we had paid for more food than we had put on our plates. She insisted that we take more from the buffet. Some tourists regard using foreign currency as a nuisance, but, for me, it is one of the minor pleasures of traveling abroad. We liked our food, which was fresh and spiced with our sense of triumph at having obtained it as well as the novelty of eating where local folks lunched.
We neglected to sample the signature delicacy.
A narrow street in the Jewish Quarter
Facade of an Art Nouveau apartment building in the Jewish Quarter