A MAGNIFICENT CAFÉ AND A FAMOUS MOVIE by Kathleen Bittner Roth

A MAGNIFICENT café and A FAMOUS MOVIE

by

Kathleen Bittner Roth

Having lived in beautiful Budapest, Hungary for the past six plus years, I have yet to grow weary of this incredible city. I am in awe of its architecture, where even the most seemingly insignificant building is festooned with cherubs and angels. Coffee houses abound here, and frequenting them is a way of life. One of my favorites is the baroque, palace-like New York Café. Built in the mid-1800s, not only is this work of art a part of the history of Budapest and Hungarian literary life, incidents that took place there became an inspiration for Michael Curtiz’s iconic movie Casablanca, starring Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman.

Once a meeting place for artists and poets, Michael Curtiz, an up and coming writer and producer of film, became a regular. It’s a historical fact that these imaginative types wanted the café open at their discretion. After all, creativity did not run by a clock, and many of them got their inspiration in the middle of the night. One evening, near closing time, the lot of these rowdy patrons stole the key to the front door from the owner, and ceremoniously raced to the Danube and tossed it in!

New York Café (the building was so named because it was built by the New York Insurance Company) became a popular home away from home at all hours. That is, until the Nazis arrived. The film Casablanca was actually adapted from a play, but there were no Germans in Morocco. The SS officer featured in the film was an adaption of one leather-coated officer who roamed the New York Café ferreting out dissidents. Artists were the first to be singled out by Hitler, ahead of the Jews and Gypsies and were considered dangerous to his movement.

Michael Curtiz was both a Jew and a liberal artist. Soon, he and his dissidents were in danger of being plucked out of the café and loaded onto trains to Auschwitz. Curtiz escaped to America, as did many of his fellow artists, where Hollywood became an enclave for Hungarian talent. Not only were most of the founding fathers of film Hungarians, so were many of the actors, including Bela Lugosi, Peter Lorre, and the Gabor sisters (Tony Curtis and Peter Falk, both Hungarians came along later).

The end of WWII meant the dividing up of countries. Unfortunately, Hungary was handed to Stalin. The communists moved in, closed down gathering places like the iconic New York Café, and used it as a warehouse! Perhaps doing so wasn’t so bad during that nasty era because the original interior, which earned its fame as being the finest coffee house in the world, was saved. Although photographs cannot begin to capture the ambiance and grandeur of this awesome place, look closely, and you can make out the intricate detail of the original paintings on the ceilings and walls. If the coffee and food are not enough to satisfy, the precious Venetian lamp shades, intricately designed gold-plated columns, and abundant frescoes are a feast for the eyes and soul.

Stepping inside the New York Café never fails to take me back in time, to the magnificent era of sophistication when Budapest was the wealthiest city in the world. I even enjoy watching the first timers ogling the splendor that abounds. I sip cappuccino here, revel in the exquisiteness of the place, and write stories in my head.

If visiting Europe is on your agenda, do consider a trip to Budapest. And to the New York Café. You won’t regret it. I’ve included this YouTube link to a visual tour. Enjoy! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W_sEkMl6Nfc

  

He marries for her dowry. She marries to escape a hanging. HIS LORDSHIP’S WILD HIGHLAND BRIDE. 

Kathleen Bittner Roth creates evocative stories featuring characters forced to draw on their strength of spirit to overcome adversity and find unending love. Her own fairy tale wedding in a Scottish castle led her to her current residence in Budapest, Hungary, considered one of Europe’s most romantic cities. A PAN member of Romance Writers of America®, Kathleen was a finalist in the prestigious Golden Heart® contest. 

You can find Kathleen at:

Website:          www.kathleenbittnerroth.com

Facebook:        facebook.com/Kathleen.bittnerroth.author

Twitter:           @K_BittnerRoth

Book trailer:    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GzWQNWFHvhU

Pinterest          https://hu.pinterest.com/bittnerroth/

Goodreads       https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7306082.Kathleen_Bittner_Roth

The Scent of Roses by Kathleen Bittner Roth

Welcome back to History Undressed, our regular first Tuesday blogger and author, Kathleen Bittner Roth! Kathleen Bittner Roth! 

THE SCENT OF ROSES

by Kathleen Bittner Roth

Budapest, Hungary became my home six years ago. This expat is forever tied to the U.S., but I have felt compelled to live in other parts of the world and experience a country’s history and heritage. I’ll start with a trip outside the city—my journey to Krakow, Poland.

Keleti Train Station, Budapest

My friend and I boarded a train to Krakow from the Keleti Train Station in Budapest. The facility, built in 1881, was considered the most lavish station in Europe at the time, and is still beautiful today. How novel—a slumber party aboard a sleeper train, and we’ll arrive first thing in the morning, fresh and ready to explore Krakow and its surroundings.

Near dusk, and about an hour outside of Budapest, a sweet scent of roses enveloped us. Bushes laden with lush, powdery-pink blooms appeared for miles beside the tracks, so thick it seemed as though delicate, tinted clouds had fallen from the sky. I have never seen such a sight. We closed our eyes and breathed in the intoxicating perfume that swept through the train, feeling as though we floated on a fragrance created exclusively for us.

Then a jarring thought gripped me: My God, we’re riding the very rails that carried Jews, Gypsies, and political prisoners beyond Krakow to Auschwitz and Birkenau!

Hundreds of thousands of innocents on their way to their deaths. Hundreds of people packed in each car—women, men and children cramped so tightly together they were forced to stand the entire trip with no food, water or toilets. Even the dead and dying could not fall in the crush. Suddenly, the small compartment we occupied didn’t seem so cramped.

And what of the roses?

Had these fragrant flowers lined the tracks back then? After all, wild roses can regenerate for decades. I choked back tears, and turned to my friend whose countenance told me she held similar thoughts.

“Do we really want to visit Auschwitz?” I asked her.

We grew silent for a long while as we gazed at the blur of pink, and breathed a scent no longer light and sweet, but suddenly heavy and funereal. Then, strange as it may seem, we came to the conclusion that we had to honor those who traveled these tracks before us by remaining focused on their plight during our train ride, and commit to visiting the camps upon our arrival. What would our decision produce? Would it heal any lost souls? Would it heal us? We didn’t know, but we felt fractured, scarred by the past, and compelled to see our journey through to the end.

Eventually, we left the roses behind and traveled for a long while beside a lovely river. We didn’t know which river, but the countryside was beautiful. Bucolic. I wondered if the farmers who lived alongside this lazy river back then, or the people in these tiny villages, knew what horrors the trains carried.

Had anyone realized they were death trains?

Had anyone ever wandered close enough to the tracks to hear the wailings of the forsaken?

Had there been any cries to even be heard at that stage of the journey? After all, the trains were nothing more than windowless cattle cars, their doors nailed shut once the people were packed inside, and the only light to be had was what seeped through cracks in the boards.

Interior of boxcar used to transport Holocaust victims

Dear God, how could this have happened?

While my friend did fairly well with sleeping in her little bunk, I slept fitfully. I awoke once feeling disoriented. For a moment, as the clickety-clack of wheels against rails filled my ears, I didn’t know if I was on a train some sixty six years ago or now. I felt like a dark-haired teenager, confused and wondering where we were going, and what and why everything was happening. It was almost as though I had inculcated a miasmic memory that still hovered above the tracks. I came fully awake feeling desolate. I could barely breathe. I curled up on the other end of the bed, next to the window, and gulped in fresh air until my racing heart found some semblance of normalcy.

But my mind refused to wander elsewhere.

Hundreds of thousands of people rode these very rails to their deaths. What were they thinking? How were they feeling? A great sob welled up in my chest, one that wouldn’t release—at least not yet.

Had the guards and engineers aboard those trains known what was happening? Had they known these people were to be worked until they dropped or would be gassed within hours of arrival if they were too old, too young or infirm? Did they know that any twins or ‘little people’ aboard would be used for hideous experiments by the death camp’s macabre Dr. Josef Mengele, ironically known as The Angel of Death? Or were these workers kept naive, only informed of their own jobs, and they saw nothing beyond where the train disappeared from sight? I would tend to think so, since it would have compromised the Nazi program of creating an Aryan society of healthy blue-eyed blonds had word leaked out of what they were up to.

Auschwitz

Suddenly, I had a deep sense that for whatever reason, I was meant to ride this train, that I was meant to have these experiences. That I was meant to know and understand what the Hungarians had suffered through (Hungarian Jews comprised the greatest number sent to Auschwitz, but don’t forget the Gypsies and political prisoners—nuns, priests, businessmen, housewives. Any Hungarian labeled a spy became a political prisoner to be gotten rid of).

I’ve learned a great deal about the history in this part of the world, through my travels and by meeting Hungarians who have their histories to share. I have a story in mind that I hope will honor those who were taken from their homes in Budapest. I have four books to complete first, and then the story begins.

Kathleen Bittner Roth thrives on creating passionate stories featuring characters who are forced to draw on their strength of spirit to overcome adversity and find unending love. Her own fairy tale wedding in a Scottish castle led her to her current residence in Budapest, Hungary, considered one of Europe’s most romantic cities. However, she still keeps one boot firmly in Texas and the other in her home state of Minnesota. A member of Romance Writers of America®, she was a finalist in the prestigious Golden Heart® contest. Find Kathleen on Facebook, Goodreads, Twitter, Pinterest and www.kathleenbittnerroth.com.

PORTRAIT OF A FORBIDDEN LADY is book two in Those Magnificent Malverns series: A young widow returns to her childhood home after a forced absence and faces her first and only love, but despite their powerful attraction, danger compels her to remain his forbidden lady.  ORDER YOUR COPY!

THE SEDUCTION OF SARAH MARKS is book one in Those Magnificent Malverns series: When a proper Victorian miss awakens next to a handsome stranger, she must rely on the man's benevolence as she struggles to regain her memory and hold onto her heart. ORDER YOUR COPY!

A LIVING HOUSE OF TERROR by Kathleen Bittner Roth

Welcome back to History Undressed, our regular first Tuesday blogger and author, Kathleen Bittner Roth! Kathleen Bittner Roth! 

A HOUSE OF TERROR

The former  Headquarters of Two Terrible Regimes

by Kathleen Bittner Roth

My late husband Hans, was German, born well after WWII. For whatever reason, I never asked Hans how he felt about Hitler and the people who joined in with him. About a year before my husband passed away, we were sitting in a restaurant across from each other when I finally gathered the courage to ask the question I had hesitated to ask for so long.

“I have tried to wrap my mind and heart around what it would be like to live under the radical leadership of a man like Hitler. After spending so much time in Germany and visiting your parents, I don’t understand how people could’ve let this happen. How has this terrible part of Germany’s history affected you?”

I saw pain flash through Hans’s eyes. He said, “I don’t get it either, Kathleen. How could a cultured people who raised up the likes of people like Goethe, commit such abominable acts?" He said, and rightly so, that at first the people did not know Hitler was insane, or that he was up to no good, because he’d brought Germany back from the brink of total bankruptcy, had given everybody jobs, and had rid the country of communism. By the time the people realized the truth, it was too late.

As I said, Hans was born after the war, but when he went into the first grade, he was told by the teacher that all Germans had to accept historical guilt for what Hitler had done. Frightened, Hans ran away from school. He told his parents, “I didn’t know that guy, why should I feel guilty?”

Even at the age of six, Hans knew his own mind and refused to accept responsibility for a war that was over before he was born, and for what Hitler had done. But when questioned further, Hans told me he’d always felt pain for what had occurred.

I thought of his parents, both German teenagers during the war, one living in Southern Hungary, the other in what is now northern Serbia. They were young innocents caught up in a war they wanted nothing to do with run by a political party they wanted no part of. Both of these teenagers ended up in the hands of Russians—the supposed co-liberators of the war.

His parents were sent to concentration camps not so very different from what the Nazis had set up. Shoeless during the Siberian winters, and with barely enough to eat, both nearly died of mysterious illnesses. By sheer will alone, they managed to survive years in those cold, horrid Russian camps. 

We were living an idyllic life along the Adriatic Coast of Croatia when Hans took ill. We rushed him to a specialized hospital in Hungary but he passed two months later. I had to remain in Budapest to take care of legal matters. As part of my grief process, I would walk and walk around the city. I thought of the Hungarians who had it particularly rough during the Communist era, and whose population dwindled during Russia’s wieldy grip. Although there were no death camps like those the Nazis constructed, there were prisons, both the Gulag and local ones. Sadly, Russia was little different from the Nazis in her terrible rule of Eastern Europe.

There is something called The Terror Museum in Budapest which is located not far from me. It was the actual headquarters of the Nazi command, followed by the Russian command. The museum is living proof of what went on under both the Nazi and Russian rule. It took a long while for me to work up the pluck to enter that museum. I finally realized that I had a responsibility to what happened to those who died during this terrible time. I found the museum equally split between the Nazi occupation of Budapest, and the Russian occupation. Both were devastating. Judging by the name, I thought the Terror Museum would resemble a Hollywood movie, exaggerated and overdone.

I was wrong.

Everything in the museum was real, the artifacts were real, and the actual black and white films were real. So was the conference table surrounded by slick military uniforms of the Russian and German commands? I was guided to the basement where the torture rooms were left just as they were when the Russians took over from the Nazis, and left as they were when communism fell. I have Hungarian friends who were tortured down there, most for crimes against the state they never committed. 

In the end, I left feeling as though I’d gone to a kind of mass that paid homage to those who died during those terrible times. I noticed that as I filed out of the building, those exiting with me appeared to be in the same state of reverence. We left in silence and continued our silence into the street. About two blocks away, I started thinking, were those angels painted on the walls as I exited? Were there statues of cherubs? 

I shook my head as if to clear the cobwebs. To this day, I don’t know if I saw these seraphim and cherubim painted on the walls or if they had symbolically gathered in the reverent corridors of my mind.

Kathleen Bittner Roth thrives on creating passionate stories featuring characters who are forced to draw on their strength of spirit to overcome adversity and find unending love. Her own fairy tale wedding in a Scottish castle led her to her current residence in Budapest, Hungary, considered one of Europe’s most romantic cities. However, she still keeps one boot firmly in Texas and the other in her home state of Minnesota. A member of Romance Writers of America®, she was a finalist in the prestigious Golden Heart® contest. Find Kathleen on Facebook, Goodreads, Twitter, Pinterest and www.kathleenbittnerroth.com.

PORTRAIT OF A FORBIDDEN LADY is book two in Those Magnificent Malverns series: A young widow returns to her childhood home after a forced absence and faces her first and only love, but despite their powerful attraction, danger compels her to remain his forbidden lady.  ORDER YOUR COPY!

THE SEDUCTION OF SARAH MARKS is book one in Those Magnificent Malverns series: When a proper Victorian miss awakens next to a handsome stranger, she must rely on the man's benevolence as she struggles to regain her memory and hold onto her heart. ORDER YOUR COPY!

A HUNGARIAN GYPSY, AN AMERICAN PRINCESS, AND A CAKE by Kathleen Bittner Roth

Welcome back to History Undressed, our regular first Tuesday blogger and author, Kathleen Bittner Roth! Kathleen Bittner Roth! Today she's got a fascinating and scandalicious article for us. Enjoy!

A HUNGARIAN GYPSY, AN AMERICAN PRINCESS, AND A CAKE

By Kathleen Bittner Roth

Clara Ward (1873-1916), born in Detroit to Michigan’s first millionaire, had a destiny unlike other American women. In 1889, Prince de Caraman-Chimay of Belgium toured the United States. He took one look at the very wealthy fourteen-year-old beauty and declared his love. 

No matter that he was twice her age, had virtually no money in his princely coffers, and was of little consequence in the looks department, on May 19, 1890, fifteen-year-old Clara married the prince in Paris. Americans were ecstatic over their legitimate European princess, and the press went wild. 

Perhaps Clara, Princess of Chimay, as she preferred to be called, shouldn’t have married quite so young.

In early 1896, two years after the birth of her second daughter, Princess Clara and Prince de Caraman-Chimay were dining in an elegant Parisian restaurant when she met a dashing Hungarian musician by the name of Rigó Jancsi (Rigó was his family name. Jancsi means Johnny in Hungarian. To this day, Hungarians use this formal presentation of their names.)

Rigó was a ruggedly handsome Gypsy violinist who began a series of secret meetings with the lovely Princess. In December of 1896, the two declared their love for one another and departed Paris for Budapest.

Prince Josef immediately began divorce proceedings. Once again, the press went wild with headlines screaming—Gone with the Gypsy!

Rigó, a primis violinist, not only played for his new wife, one evening he ended up in the kitchen of their favorite Budapest restaurant where he helped to create a chocolate mousse sponge cake, a gift to his Belgian Princess. In honor of the romantic love story, the chef in collusion with Rigó named the cake Sutemeny Rigó Jancsi. 

Unfortunately, Clara’s finances dwindled. With her greatest talents being her beauty and fame, while Rigó fiddled (on the violin and with other women) Clara took to the stage in Paris at the Moulin Rouge and Folies Bergère wearing skimpy outfits. She sold postcards and photographs in her skin tight, revealing clothing. Her outfits were so revealing, Kaiser Wilhelm II forbad the display of photographs bearing her likeness in the whole of the German Empire.

Clara divorced the cheating Rigó and married again, but the cake and her legacy live on. To this day, you can still find the cake, Sutemeny Rigó Jancsi, on restaurant menus in Budapest. And if you want the film version’s peek into the life of Clara Ward—Princess of Chimay—Cole Porter’s musical Can-Can was based on the Princess, and starred Shirley MacLaine as Pistache, dancing in a skin-tight, flesh-colored costume ala Clara Ward.

If you’d like to try the confection named in her honor, and you aren’t able to make the trek to Budapest (where this author currently resides), here’s the recipe:

Sutemeny Rigó Jancsi

Ingredients

Sponge Cake:

• 3 ounces unsweetened chocolate, melted and cooled to lukewarm
• 3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
• 1/4 cup plus 1/4 cup sugar
• 4 eggs, separated
• Pinch salt
• 1/2 cup all-purpose flour

Filling:

• 1 1/2 cups heavy cream
• 10 ounces semisweet chocolate, chopped
• 4 tablespoons dark rum
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 

Glaze:

• 7 ounces semisweet chocolate, chopped
• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 2 tablespoons light corn syrup 
• 1 teaspoon vanilla

Preparation

For the cake: Heat oven to 350 degrees. Line a jellyroll pan with parchment paper. In a large bowl, cream 3/4 cup butter with 1/4 cup sugar until light and fluffy. Add cooled melted chocolate and beat in egg yolks one at a time.

In a medium bowl, beat egg whites and pinch salt until whites cling to the beater. Add remaining 1/4 cup sugar and beat until stiff peaks form.

Lighten the chocolate mixture by stirring in 1/3 of the whites. Then, carefully, fold in the remaining whites. Sprinkle the flour over the batter and, carefully, fold it in without decreasing the volume.

Pour into prepared pan and bake 12-15 minutes, or until cake starts to pull away from the sides. Do not overbake. Cool a few minutes on a wire rack and then invert onto the rack. Remove parchment paper and let cool completely.

For the filling: Meanwhile, Place 10 ounces chocolate in a heatproof bowl. Bring the cream to a boil in the microwave or on the stovetop and pour over chocolate. Cover with plastic wrap and let stand 10 minutes. Add rum and vanilla and stir until smooth. Refrigerate 1 hour. When cold, whip the filling until volume has doubled.

Assembly: Cut the cake in half and place one half on a rack. Spread the filling over the cake and top with the remaining cake half. Refrigerate for 1 hour.

For the glaze: Meanwhile, Place 7 ounces chocolate, butter and corn syrup in a microwaveable bowl. Heat on full power 1 minute. Add vanilla and stir until completely melted and smooth. Let cool 10 minutes.

Set the rack holding the cake over a pan to catch drips. Holding the glaze 2 inches above the cake, pour the glaze evenly, using a spatula to cover the sides, if necessary. Refrigerate 20 minutes or until glaze is set.

This cake is very rich. Cut into 5 by 7 rows for a total of 35 small squares. Refrigerate leftovers.

Kathleen Bittner Roth thrives on creating passionate stories featuring characters who are forced to draw on their strength of spirit to overcome adversity and find unending love. Her own fairy tale wedding in a Scottish castle led her to her current residence in Budapest, Hungary, considered one of Europe’s most romantic cities. However, she still keeps one boot firmly in Texas and the other in her home state of Minnesota. A member of Romance Writers of America®, she was a finalist in the prestigious Golden Heart® contest. Find Kathleen on Facebook, Goodreads, Twitter, Pinterest and www.kathleenbittnerroth.com.

PORTRAIT OF A FORBIDDEN LADY is book two in Those Magnificent Malverns series: A young widow returns to her childhood home after a forced absence and faces her first and only love, but despite their powerful attraction, danger compels her to remain his forbidden lady.  ORDER YOUR COPY!

THE SEDUCTION OF SARAH MARKS is book one in Those Magnificent Malverns series: When a proper Victorian miss awakens next to a handsome stranger, she must rely on the man's benevolence as she struggles to regain her memory and hold onto her heart. ORDER YOUR COPY!