What We've Got Here Is... Failure To Communicate

In response to a previous rant, I got some feedback that service wasn't really that bad here. Humph! Pffffftt!

The wife and I were trying to resolve why every month our Sky (satellite) TV bill was getting more expensive. We just noticed this problem since most companies here bill quarterly instead of monthly and even though Sky says they recently sent some bills, I haven't seen them. Oh, silly me -- here's an update: Sky's bills come through your TV... like a poltergeist...except that the phone line the installers put in was crimped too hard at one point and split the wires leading to the box. No phone line, no bill.

Anyhoo, I called Sky to find out we somehow were signed up on their phone service. We had already signed up for BT's service with a slick international plan that we thought we had been using to its fullest. Instead, Sky had somehow intercepted those calls and charged us. Charged us lots. Of quids.

BT is almost the shining star this time around. They have no records of the switch to Sky service and they were aware that we were on their good international plan. But they can't help me with Sky. I now have to send our bills from BT to Sky showing that both companies have been providing phone service to the same phone line -- and both have been charging us. I hope that they will take pity on us, the poor souls who have wandered in to a land that one phone tech claimed was 'technically impossible'.

I now have about four hours invested in phone calls, looking through records, and now putting together a letter and copies of bills to send to Sky for consideration of a refund. I'm convinced it could only happen here or maybe in that country Borat is from.

WARNING! Don't play the following clip with speakers on where any one offended by f-bombs is nearby. It's worse than Gordon Ramsey. You've been warned! DO YOU COMPREHEND???

But, Yes, We Have No Salisbury Steak

This past weekend we did a very quick run through Bath, England then stayed the night in Salisbury. Our host in Salisbury gave us a condensed history of the town and told us about Old Sarum. Sarum, the old one, was the first settlement that was near present day Salisbury.

Present day Sarum (now Salisbury), was established when the top of the hilltop establishment became too small for both church and castle. The clergy moved out and established a new cathedral (picture top left) about two miles south and this became the Salisbury that still stands. Legend has it that the Bishop of Old Sarum shot an arrow from the hilltop, declaring that where it landed is where they would build the new cathedral. The arrow struck a deer and the deer ran and died on the new site miles away.

The Salisbury Cathedral features the tallest spire (404 ft) of all churches in the United Kingdom. Modern engineering has been added to the structure to keep it from collapsing under its own weight. This year marks the 750th anniversary of its consecration in the year 1258.

On our host's tip, we decided to take a quick pass by Old Sarum Castle -- or what's left of it. Like Stonehenge, this place is also bordering on ancient. There is evidence that people lived here over 3000 years ago. It also shows up on Roman maps of the area as Sorviodunum. The pictures don't show much -- you really had to use your imagination to see the castle as it once was but walking over a moat can help get you in the right frame of mind.

For reasons we discerned later, Boo loved this place. She ran here and there in quite a spirited fashion and liked to pop up and look over the broken down walls. On our way out, I noticed that the place was posted for guard dogs that roamed the grounds at night -- this place was dog scent Nirvana.

Cheers!

I Like That Word, "Quid"

Over here, I get to say 'quid' when I'm talking with my mates about how expensive that new pub is over on the high street. A pint of bitter for 5 quid? That's shite, mate. Quid, I like it. It works for me. I also like 'pence'. I like to wriggle my fingers and then say, "ninety-nine pence" in a very, slow and annunciated way -- drag out the ssssss. Try it, you'll like it. Nine-ty-niiiiine penssssse. Makes me tingle.

Ancient Dominoes

We took the Volvo out this weekend for a quick road trip. Saturday, we ambled through Bath then on to Salisbury for the night. From there, we hit an old castle and then Stonehenge before getting back home Sunday evening.

Here is the basic gist of Stonehenge: It's really freakin' old (5000 years or so), it's built in the middle of a huge open plain, and the stones are as heavy as 50 tonnes each. They really don't know for certain what it was used for -- there are lots of opinions -- but since it was built before any reasonably sort of written history, it's really anyone's best guess. It was definitely a religious site, and people were definitely buried or cremated there -- but who or what was worshipped here is a bit of a mystery.

They have found ways, using methods that would have been available in ancient times, to move, shape, and position stones that big - but some think it would have taken 500 men working in tandem to get each stone to the site and then put them in place. The smaller stones (4 tonnes each) likely travelled a route 240 miles long , while the bigger stones came from about 25 miles away.

These days, the site is associated with the fantasy-novel type Druids: guys wearing KKK robes and worshipping trees and such. This is a notion that seems to be mostly nonsense since the real Druidic ideas didn't come about until long after the stones were put in place. That doesn't stop an occasional Druid wannabe from showing up and tossing some magick around. Hey, nice staff.

Cheers!

Boozapest

Hungary has some long standing traditions in their liquors. One of them, Unicum by Zwack, is on sale literally on every corner - I think it's as much a tourist thing as it is tradition. The formula that goes into it is very secret and I read somewhere that only a few members of the immediate Zwack family have access to it, in addition to a bishop somewhere who is sworn to secrecy. The taste is intense -- think herbal cough drop mixed with Jagermeister. Try their website. It's all in Hungarian which makes eventually getting some message popup with a cartoon bottle of Unicum next to a revolver all the more interesting.

The next one is Pálinka, a traditional type of Hungarian lighter fluid, er, I mean, brandy. At a small grocer, the wife and I were treated to a taste test of several flavors of the stuff. I tried plum, apple, and what the serving lady called 'gypsy cherry'. They all burn on the way down and the flavor is the after-taste. I bought a bottle of the cherry flavor, but plum was very good as well. My lady friend thinks they all taste like fire.

Cheers!

The First Way of Telling the Truth

I think I have a penchant for gloomy art. In high school, it was Albrecht Dürer's Knight, Death, and the Devil. Then there's Picasso's Guernica. Recently there was the guy in Rome who was burned at the stake and now stares eternally at the Vatican. And now there is Anonymous.

This statue sits behind Vajdahundyad Castle in the Városliget ("City Park"), Budapest. It was created in 1903 by a Hungarian, Miklós Legeti and is well-known as one of Budapest's favorite works of art. The statue is of a historian of a king of Hungary that almost nothing was known about except that he was an important contributor to the written history of the country. The statue was designed to hide everything except what was known about the man. His face is hidden, but he is in a contemplative stance with pen and paper in hand.

Cheers! (or cheer up?)


There are only two ways of telling the complete truth--anonymously and posthumously.
-- Thomas Sowell (1930 - ?)

The Price Is Wrong, Bob

Ok, this might be a new favorite flight search engine. Over here, we have a few bargain airlines (RyanAir, Sterling, bmibaby) that have some unbelievably cheap flights. Often they are from odd airports (London Luton? Where the hell is that?!) or have very limited cities you can fly between. Combining these flights with a major carrier route isn't easy -- until now. SkyScanner will combine major carrier flights with bargain airline routes to find some deals that you otherwise might miss. There are lots of little things to think about when taking a bargain airline - like extra baggage charges -- but this site will be helpful for getting ideas.

http://www.skyscanner.net/

Something Is Rotten

We had high hopes for our English garden but time and shite weather wore us down.

The horseradish plant was gigantic and we expected to find one big root like a human leg underneath it. Instead we found some skinny toes. Nevertheless, it has some kick and has found good use.

The tomatoes are all but a complete loss. Whilst I was away in Oregon, the plants attacked each other in a smothering war. By the time we broke it up, rot had set in and the weather went to hell. We might get one or two but almost all have went very funky. The eggplant and peppers we had near the tomatoes appear to be following a similar course and have started to go bad.

The potted Dwarf Apache (is that doubly offensive?) pepper plant has been a surprise. It has produced a very bright and red selection of peppers that vary from tame and tangy to some that are sure to provide a solid case of the ol' HH. Trust me on this.

Another surprise has been the zucchini (courgette over here) and pumpkin plant. One of each plant has grown to impressive size and we have more zucchini than we know what to do with. The pumpkins are still green babies but doing fine.

We recently found out we have what we think is a yucca plant growing in the yard. This was one of our least favorite plants: it has leaves like spears that destroy Boo's balls on a regular basis and can do some damage if you get too close. That was until it has popped out what appear to be some impressive flowers waiting to do their thing.

So, any way, I mentioned my Dwarf Apache peppers up top and I just can't think the word 'Apache' without having to watch a Tommy Seebach video. You never know where a blog is going to end up. If you have never seen the original, you should find it and watch it in full. Here it is folks: Tommy Seebach's Apache attacked by Disturbed. This is what happens when you drink and blog.

He Ain't Heavy

More than once, when talking to some random person here about the difference between life in the USA versus life in England, a phrase like 'whatever we have England, you have it bigger in the USA' is almost assuredly going to come up. There is good basis for that argument but this past week, I further explored one area where the English have the Americans beat: cream.

I mentioned the cream section when I was discussing the custard section at the market. This past week, I had the wife pick me up some cream -- I wasn't very specific about what kind but I think I guessed at 'single cream' and even then I wasn't all that sure what single cream was. I needed it to mix with the fresh horseradish root (awesome) we had just pulled out of our quickly rotting garden (too much rain!) to serve with the beef joint that was marinating in the fridge.

The wife returned with double cream. Again, I wasn't really sure what it was. I popped it open and gazed in amazement. This stuff was thick. Thicker than cool whip, thicker than mayo, thicker than sour cream. It was somewhere between mallo-whip and butter. When I drink milk, I drink skim. But I love cream -- I could drink a quart of half and half as easy as the quart of custard. Ever drank a Dutch Whistle? It's no secret its addictive powers are based on fat globules. A spoonful of this double cream was heavenly.

I broke out the bible of food knowledge, On Food And Cooking by Harold McGee, and found a very handy chart for comparing U.S. and Europe terms for cream. The facts made my arteries stiffen momentarily.

• (USA) Half and Half 12% fat
• (Europe) Single Cream 18% fat
• (USA) Whipping Cream 35% fat
• (USA) Heavy Whipping Cream 38% fat
• (Europe) Double Cream 48% fat
• (Europe) Clotted Cream 55% fat
• (Europe) Plastic Cream 65-85% fat

Plastic cream? I tried to find out more about this stuff -- it has the same fat content and consistency as butter but unlike butter which is water suspended in fat, its still fat suspended in water like its cream brethren. I don't know if anyone actually uses this stuff at home; I think it has more uses in large scale manufacturing, such as for making ice cream and car seats.

Cheers!

Gentleman, The Lunchbox Has Landed

You might remember a previous blog about a not-so-delicious product we tried here called "The Big BBQ." Through a reader comment, I became aware of another product in the same misguided line of food products: "The Full Monty." The next time we were at the store, it found its way into the cart.

Where "The Big BBQ" just had lots of varieties of chopped and formed meat lumps, the Full Monty has just a bit less meat variety and the addition of potatoes. The potatoes were the highlight; the meat is still disgusting.

Once, when the wife and I were in Japan staying at a traditional sleep-on-a-bamboo-floor hotel, we had some intensely Japanese food. One of the items on our plates was a whole grilled fish about the size of, say, a Heath bar. At the direction of the serving lady (she made a vicious chomping motion with her teeth with an imaginary fish held to her mouth), you were supposed to eat the whole fish, head and all. I bit into that head with a bit of reservation, black juice squirted out from it, and I proceeded to chew and swallow what was undoubtedly the nastiest thing I had ever eaten. The hot dogs in The Fully Monty were on par with this memory.

This is the end of my experimentation with the Hunger Break products. Who eats this stuff, I don't know.

[The team recruits Guy]

Gaz: You don't sing?

Guy: No.

Gaz: You don't dance?

Guy: No.

Gaz: Don't mind me asking, but what do you do?

Guy: I do this...[strips down pants and underwear]

Gaz: [coughs smoke, then long pause] Gentlemen, the lunchbox has landed.

-- The Full Monty (1997)

Paris of the East

Mama, That Wasn't Goulash

Growing up we used to have this stuff for dinner and we called it goulash. Saute some onions, brown some ground beef, pour in ma's homemade tomato juice and then finish it with macaroni. I'm not complaining -- that was classic, tasty, comfort food. But it ain't goulash.

At the restaurant Bagolyvár (literally, Owl's Castle) in Budapest we had a quick bite before hitting the Budapest Zoo and the Museum of Fine Arts. I had the gulyásleves. Gulyás (goo-yash) is where the word we know, goulash, originates from. The word itself means something like herdsman - back in the day this was their food. Leves is the Hungarian word for soup. The goulash soup I had was a thin stew with slow cooked cubes of meat, diced carrots and potatoes, in a beef stock laden with sweet paprika. No pasta, no ground meat.

At the same place, R had pörkölt, another Hungarian dish that is simply chunks of meat (we had both pork and veal varieties) in a rich sauce with paprika, onions, green peppers, and tomatoes -- or whatever the chef wanted to put in. The sauce is thick but smooth; everything but the meat is cooked down. This is then served with dumplings or pasta.

The American dish called goulash lies somewhere between these two dishes but optimized for time by using quick-cooking beef and macaroni. Unfortunately paprika -- at least of the caliber you get in Hungary -- is notably absent.

One of my favorite things in Hungary was the little dish of hot pepper paste they would bring you to give your soup or stew a little kick. They call it Eros Pista, which literally means "Strong Steve". It's spicy hot and very salty - but addicting. It is more than just heat. My gulyásleves went from good to great with just a small spoonful. At the restaurant in our hotel, I proved my new-found love by using the entire dish of the stuff. My reward was my own jar of Strong Steve right from the kitchen's pantry -- a testament to the very friendly attitude we found in Budapest.

Cheers!

The Dangers of Getting Out of the House

My trip back from Hungary was a not-so-ideal day of travel. For the first time in my life, my name was called over the intercom in an airport. I was waiting with the wife at her gate since my flight was scheduled (pronounced shedgewooled) to leave (due to a delay) thirty minutes after hers. This prompted a run to my gate where I was very quickly handed some "flight interruption" forms and then escorted through another passport control point and then put on a different flight. Now, instead of Zurich -- where I had no chance of making it home from -- I was heading to Paris -- I wasn't even sure what airline I was flying or what my next flight was. My logic was that Paris has a lot more flights than Zurich to get me home.

At Paris, after bouncing between five different counters -- first Swiss Air, then information, then three different Air France counters (at every one, they had to call a manager over to help), I finally received a ticket on a new flight back to Birmingham. The flight I was intended to catch in Paris was already closing its doors by the time I figured out what was going on; there was no chance I was going to make it. My new ticket had me leaving Paris about 4 hours after I was supposed to be landing in England. Argh.

Once I landed in Birmingham, I cleared passport control and I was waiting for my bag to come out. For the second time in one day, my name was called out -- not over the intercom but by the guy behind me. Creepy. He was there to fill out the paperwork because my luggage was still in Paris. Not a big surprise, that. How he knew it was me, I still don't know.

I made my way to the train station to get back to Hereford, arriving at the platform just in time to watch my train pull away. Argh, again. Next train was an hour later.

But, in the end, I made it home and Boo was fine since her sitter had stayed until my arrival. The baggage guys just called to figure out where the Laracks was at and we cleared up that I actually live at the Lilacs. My bag, and my Hungarian booty -- including some of the best "hot sauce" I have ever had -- should be here this afternoon.

UPDATE: The baggage folks arrived but the tiny little nothing they tried to pass off as my giant roller bag didn't work. Its 10PM now and the call I was expecting to explain where my bag really was never came. Uh oh. Someone scrumped my booty.

UPDATE: Finally, late Saturday, my bag made it home. My booty was in tact -- except for a missing bottle of wine... hmmm.

Cheers!

Run For The Hill

Whilst in Budapest, we made a spur of the moment decision to take a run to the top of Gellért Hill, a large mound sitting right next to the Danube. The highest point in Budapest, the hill is named after a bishop, Saint Gerard, who had a run in about 1000 years ago with some pagans that stuffed him in a barrel and threw him down the hill. This is a large eight-photo panorama of Buda and Pest (pronounced 'pesht'), the two cities that now are one, taken from the hill. In this picture, Buda is on the left, and Pest is on the right of the river. Double-click to get a better view. Our hotel is near the right hand side of the bridge you can see in the middle of the shot.

There is a monument to Gellért on the side of the hill. It is visible from much of the city and portrays Gellért with a cross in one hand that is out-stretched towards the city. A pagan begs for salvation at his feet. A natural spring feeds a waterfall that forms the backdrop of the site.

The top of the hill now houses a hotel, restaurants, and more than enough tourist trap vendors and attractions -- most of which is inside the Citadella. The Citadel was a fortress built using forced Hungarian labor by the ruling Austrians to intimidate the city below. They kept cannons pointed at the city in case the locals ever revolted. It later served as a Soviet military post during WWII, from which the Soviets could fire into the city.

We ate lunch on top, in the aptly named Citadel Restaurant. I think we may have been the only customers but the food was very good if only a bit expensive. I had veal paprika (braised veal in a savoury paprika sauce) with small dumplings (like German spaetzle) that were tossed with egg (2). The missus had veal tenderloin with a sour cream-based dill and caper sauce (2) -- garlic mashed potatoes on the side. Like a lot of the main courses here, it was all very filling! From here, we decided to walk all the way down and then up the next hill over, Castle Hill (in the wide shot up top, you can see Castle Hill -- it holds the giant buildings middle left), to burn off some of the lunch. Whew.

Cheers!

Notes From A Zoo

No blogs since last Thursday? Sorry kids, I was more or less on holiday. But this carefree post is courtesy of the animals of the Budapest Zoo.

Here is the quick background of this picture. This pen was full of a weird but fun assortment of animals. The mutant jackrabbits were fighting over a loaf of bread. Jackrabbit Bob kept it real when Jackrabbit Neal tried to take too much bread. Note that attack stream from Bob hurtling towards Neal. "Take that, wanker!" says Bob. "Ewwwww" says Neal. I don't get why Neal wasn't similarly equipped to fight back.


The groundhogs at the zoo weren't shy and had quite a party going on. There was a buffet in the middle of the dirt field, lots of shady lounge holes, and then there was Chip, the extra friendly groundhog. You can't see the wife, but that groundhog paw is held longingly against the glass in her direction.


Separation of beast and man isn't so important in some countries. This little monkey-thing was very cute and basically running free inside a large enclosure that you walked through. And it was freaked out. This shot is of the little dude letting out blood-curdling screeches because a horde of tourists was chasing him with their cameras.



One of the few cages marked with a sticker indicating 'dangerous animal' contained a small pack of arctic wolves. This one had no fear of humans and I think was waiting for one of these camera-phone wielding idiots to come just a bit closer. That fence you can see was the only thing between man-fingers and beast.


That's all for now... Cheers!

Smack My Ass and Call Me Augustus Gloop

I thought this sign had the name of the shop on it, but my French ain't that good yet. What this sign says is that someone at this shop was awarded a very prestigous honor: they were named a Meilleur Ouvrier de France (literally, 'Best Worker of France'.) Competitions for this award are held every three years and the awards vary from wood-working to chocolate-making. Once achieved, the honor is held for life. Many spend months preparing a piece of work that demonstrates both artisitic excellence and mastery of their craft. Patrick Roger is both the name of the store and the master sculptor/chocolatier/artist that started it all. The website is a graphical showpiece worth checking out.

We just stumbled upon this place by chance but we were drawn in by the fact that about a third of the store is dedicated to a not-for-sale chocolate sculpture: a rolling cocoa desert with chocolate stack mesas rising up out of it. The cool visual with the sheer volume of cocoa you could breath in made for a heavenly display.

They sold stuff, too. An endless array of chocolates in exotic flavors, various candies in bright colors, and relatively plain bars of chocolate from all over the world. Eye-candy and belly-candy, both at once.














We grabbed some chocolates with exotic flavors like sezchuan pepper, sesame, lemongrass, and lime. We have shown impressive restraint in that they aren't all gone yet!

Cheers!

The Odius Column

Once called an eye sore but now the most visited paid tourist attraction in the world, La Tour Eiffel is a sight to see. Our hotel had a view of it, but from our room we could only see the reflection of the lights. Luckily, right around the corner was a lounge with open-air balcony and a great view. Photos from here and walking around Paris are in the slideshow.




“And during twenty years we shall see, stretching over the entire city, still thrilling with the genius of so many centuries, we shall see stretching out like a black blot the odious shadow of the odious column built up of riveted iron plates.”

Signers of the letter this quote is taken from included Messonier, Gounod, Garnier, Gerome, Bougeureau, and Dumas.

Chrome, Boom!

From out of nowhere, Google released Chrome today, Google's own web browser. It redefines the way your PC interacts with the web and a lot of what Google is saying just makes sense. It doesn't look all that different from, say, Firefox and I think it will take some time to see its benefits over whatever you are using now. Either way, if its on par with Google Maps, Google Earth, Gmail, etc. then a techie revolution may be just around the corner.

Get it here... it's free:
http://www.google.com/chrome

One of these days, milkshake, BOOM!
- The Evil Midnight Bomber What Bombs at Midnight

Freedom Frites And That Older Woman

Ah, the food of France! But I suppose I should just say the food of Paris since I am yet to go anywhere else...


Ah, the food of Paris! Rich, savory... full of things like butter, cream, bacon, and sumptuous cheeses... everything is a feast. Even the simple places serve classic, delicious food. Any diet I perceive myself to be on must be forgotten for a few days whilst dining in Paris.

So here we have it, a long list of camera phone pictures of everything we ate, mostly arrange from left to right, top to bottom -- at least on my screen. Click on the picture for a closer look.

1. A leek and cheese tart (they didn't call it a quiche!) with fries. This was at our first stop and was a great start. Cold beer to drink -- a Belgian Leffe blonde. It was a hot day in Paris and this hit the spot.
   
2. At the same spot, a plate of charcuterie with paté, rillet, dried sausage, boiled ham, and dried ham.
3. A giant, spicy steak tartar. Yep, that's a big ol' pile of raw chopped steak mixed with some onions, spices, and large capers. Fries on the side, of course.
4. Escargot á la Bourguignonne (snails in a garlic, shallot, and parsley sauce) -- excellent! This was at a place near our hotel, Le Suffren, that was recommended by the concierge. Excellent value for the quality of the food.
   
5. Plate of raw oysters and boiled prawns - these were some of the best oysters I've had.
   
6. Profiteroles - a dessert made from choux pastry (an amazing kitchen creation), filled with ice cream, and topped with a rich, chocolate syrup.
7. The house cheese platter to share.
8. Omelette de Campagne (country omelet with bacon, cheese, onions, and potatoes) -- served with a side salad to make a very filling lunch.
   
9. The wife's salad - I don't remember what they called it but it was full of potatoes and dried ham.
10. Boeuf Bourguignonne, a classic French beef stew.
    

We didn't eat a bad bite through the entire trip! I need to go eat something now.

Cheers!





"Every city has a sex and an age which have nothing to do with demography. Rome is feminine. So is Odessa. London is a teenager, an urchin, and, in this, hasn’t changed since the time of Dickens. Paris, I believe, is a man in his twenties in love with an older woman."
John Berger, an English painter and novelist.