Land of the Lost

Hi stranger.

If you are reading this because you still check this blog, well, good news, there is more blogging goodness but it had to find a new home. It's all very complicated and had to do with trade laws between England and Denmark and a cow in Greenland named something that I think translates as 'Daisy' but... I digest.

Here is the long story: We moved to England. And now we moved to Denmark. This blog is about England. The NEW blog is about Denmark. If you take your mouse and click on this next line right here, you will find the NEW blog. Forget this one, and remember the new one:

CLICK ON ME!

The Suspense Is Killing Me

The new blog is just taking its first steps.... give it some time. Before long, it will once again be a part of your daily lives. Let's get hygge!

To find out the big winner of the new blog title, just follow this link:

WHAT'S MY NAME AGAIN?

For the last time, Cheers!

Name That Blog

This blog is just about dead -- I can't be the Kept Man in England eating Tatties and Neeps anymore if I am eating... uh, whatever they eat in Denmark.

So, readers -- the four or five of you that are left -- I need some help. I'm taking suggestions for a new blog title and description.

Something like,

Donuts Without Holes:
The Life of an Expat in Denmark

And if you don't get the reference in that title, that is fine, just watch Caddy Shack some night and it will all make sense.

Seriously -- suggestions, please! There WILL be a prize -- IF someone tops my own entry.

Cheers!

Even Dragons Have Their Ending

It's day two of moving out of the Lilacs. Last night I was thankful to still have a mattress on the floor and a fridge with food and drink. Boo concurs. The movers will pack the rest of today then tomorrow they will start loading a bigger truck. A bigger crew comes tomorrow. There is still a lot of work to be done.

All this just brings us to the end of one chapter and the start of another. On Saturday, dog and I fly off to Denmark to start phase two of our European adventures. The big difference that can't be overlooked (and wife and I agree it makes us both a bit nervous) is that we -- except for minor differences -- speak the same language here but there, well, we will be struggling to do things that here we took for granted.

Take my ongoing dispute with SkyTalk, for example. SkyTalk is the phone company that somehow took over our phone services. These jokers have overcharged us an insane amount and for reasons that make no sense, I can't cancel the service. I have written six letters, had at least 30 phone conversations, and now have an ongoing dialog with a government agency that was supposed to help (but hasn't so far.) How would I have done any of this in Denmark?

Ah, well, the movers are calling and I have to run. This blog is about done... all that is left is coming up with a new name and tagline for the new blog.

Cheers!

The Bean Innuendo

Does anyone else see something horribly wrong with these products?

This is a marketing campaign that I think may be only have appeal in the UK market. Take a moment to sit and think about the meeting where people actually came up with the idea to market beans with phallic imagery.

There can't be that many bored expats in England that buy food just because its mildly humorous and/or potentially the most disgusting thing that they have ever eaten.

But it's not just the front of these naughty cans. The entire label is covered with fake news stories, all riddled with saucy content hidden under a thinly applied gauze of innocent context. We know what's for sale here.

The fact that this advertising works here might also explain why the banana is the most popular fruit (true, that) and why you can't find Twinkies at the grocery (also true.)

These beans were, by the way, far and away better than the Hunger Breaks. The meat was much more like, well, meat, and the beans weren't nearly as mushy. I would actually get these again. I may have been reeled in by the sexy label but I was sold on the hot and steamy saucy meat taste. Ew. I just made myself gag.
Well, that's it: the last bean blog before we move on to flatter pastures.

Cheers!

Cornwall's Clotted Cream Arteries

Over the long Easter weekend, we packed into the Volvo and set out for a four day, three night tour of southwest England. Our trip took us through the county of Somerset, then Devon, to the end of the island in Cornwall and back again. Winding roads, single track lanes, and impossibly crooked roads meant that getting around here, like the rest of England, takes much longer than the navigation system in the car can fathom.

Here is a map showing our route (pan and zoom):


View Tatties and Neeps in a larger map

Since our time in England is short, we wanted to get somewhere we were afraid we would never get back to. All of the travel books remark on the climate of this chunk of England that juts out into the warm air of the Gulf Stream and has an (almost) tropical feel with palms scattered about. The area is known for some signature tastes: seafood, pasties, clotted cream, cream teas, ice cream, fudge -- most of it heart-clogging.

Day 1: Hereford to St Ives via Padstow

Stormy weather followed our drive into Padstow -- jokingly known as Padstein since the celebrity chef Rick Stein has opened four restaurants, a deli, a cafe, 40-room hotel, and a cooking school here. After parking in the most ignorantly cramped car park I have ever seen (it took a 10-point turn to fit into the spot and there was no way the guy in the Land Rover next to me was going to get his door open.) We had reservations for a seaside lunch at the simply named, "The Seafood Restaurant" -- Stein's flagship restaurant. Perfectly cooked seafood was outmatched by so-so accompanying flavors and exorbitant prices. We didn't hang around Padstow -- the wind was so strong that neither man nor dog could handle the sand getting whipped into our faces. I was happy to leave -- the place surprisingly oozed "tourist trap" and "irritated locals".

St Ives was better. We had booked a cottage at the decent Garrack Hotel for the night and it had lots of grass for the dog to explore. From our room, we had a great view of the coast and the town. That night was dinner in town at the funky St Andrews St Bistro where I had pork belly (again) and it was the best I've had yet.

Day 2: St Ives to Penzance via Lands End


In the morning, the weather had cleared and the sun was warming things up. We toured the town and visited the Tate St Ives -- a little sister to the Tate Museum of Modern Art in London. The coastal main street of St Ives was packed with chippies, ice cream shops, fudge peddlers, and about a million Easter tourists. Boo had about as much fun as a dog can have on the beach here. A pasty and some fish and chips for lunch and then we were on our way to Land's End.

I hadn't done my homework or maybe I wouldn't have been as shocked to see that Land's End was a giant gaudy theme park venue, featuring things like Dr. Who Up Close. We skipped all that to get to the coast line behind the eye-sore buildings. This is the westernest most tip of southern England. The rugged cliff walks made for some great views and the dog enjoyed the abundant rabbit "kibble".

Next stop was Minack Theater, a open-air theater built into the side of a cliff over the ocean. It is used for active productions even now -- one local told me that they perform in all but the nastiest weather. We didin't have time for a show in our schedule but they were prepping for the night's show while we walked around.

Last stop for the day was the Abbey Hotel in Penzance -- highly recommended. The place is loaded with character (windy stairs, a mix of modern and old, and rich colors) and the staff was great. We had the best meal of the trip by far at the newly opened dining room of the hotel -- a boudin noir (black/blood pudding) ravioli was one of the highlights. My dessert -- a "deconstructed pina colada" -- was in the top three best desserts I have ever had.

Day 3: Penzance to Lynmouth via the Eden Project

Saturday morning found us on our way to nearby Marazion to hike across the low-tide causeway to St Michael's Mount, a part-time island that is home to a castle and chapel. It is historically the twin of Mont Saint Michel in Normandy, France. It was also closed on Saturdays -- allowing us to walk up to the base of the hill but no further.


Next stop was the ambitious Eden Project outside of St. Austell -- a place I have wanted to visit since we moved to the UK. In the bottom of an old clay pit, two 'biomes' have been built, one of which is the largest greenhouse in the world. The biomes, one dedicated to recreating a rainforest and the other to a Mediterranean climate, are intended to provide an educational view into the importance of these climates and how what we do as humans to interact with them. The whole place is a smart, eye-opening look into things the average person doesn't think about every day.

From here, it was the neverending drive to perfectly-placed Lynmouth. Lynmouth sits directly on the coastline of north Devon, on a gorge splitting a steep hill. The hill to cruise into the tiny town was a 25% grade -- you could smell the burning brakes of all the cars just arrived into town. Another cottage was our home for the night, this time it was Shelley's Cottage -- part of the Rising Sun Hotel. The cottage is famous for the supposed stay by Percy Bysshe Shelley (famous poet) for his honeymoon in 1812. The history of the place was great but I think the couch and bedding has needed replaced since Shelley was there.

Day 4: Heading Home!

On Sunday, we had breakfast brought to the 'cottage' -- awful! Greasy fried eggs on top of toast that had been -- no kidding here -- deep-fried in what tasted like the oil from last night's fish fry. Ewwwwww. We then spent an hour or so exploring the shops and streets (all two of them) of Lynmouth. We finally tried real Cornish ice cream -- I 'supersized' mine by getting a dollop of real Cornish Clotted Cream on top. Gross. Imagine a spoon of creamy butter on top of your ice cream. We set out of town across the north coast of Devon and back to the M5 to home.



Cheers!

Gluttony For Punishment

One of the best things about travelling is getting to tour grocery stores in different parts of the world. You don't know the brands, you might not be able to read the package, and in a lot of cases you just don't have a clue what you are looking at. On top of that, you may find that the importance of certain foods has shifted quite a bit from what you are used to. Last night, I was wandering around ASDA (becoming more and more like Wal-mart every day) and noticed that the canned food section is much smaller than the USA but most of it is different kinds of beans. Frozen potatoes (chips!) occupy about 60 feet of the frozen food section. You could get lost in the cheddar cheese section. There are a lot more kinds of bacon here. You can buy off-brand Marmite. And so on. If you look, there is as much culture at the grocery store as there is at a museum.

So, back to beans. I've blogged about the Hunger Breaks products before and just how nasty they are. I know I said I wouldn't do it again but oops I did it again. I stumbled upon another variety in the store and since our days in England are numbered, I had to check it out. That can was a beast to open.

This time its, "All Day Breakfast". From the can, a tantalizing mix of baked beans, tomato sauce, sausages, button mushrooms, bacon, and the real highlight: pork and egg nuggets with cereal (this was the deal closer for me.) I was pretty excited (not really) to find that the pork nuggets had a fancy yellow egg center, kinda like a Cadbury Creme Egg.

Of the three Hunger Breaks, this was actually the best -- edible enough with a healthy covering of Vulcan Fire Salt. I was happy to find that the mushrooms weren't 'pressed and formed.' Or could it simply be that I am just getting used to bland, mushy, soggy meat coupled with bland, mushy, soggy beans? Will I miss this stuff when we go?


Only one bean blog left before... the end.

Cheers!




"Better beans and bacon in peace than cakes and ale in fear." - Aesop

It's All Blarney

It's taken me awhile to put together this last blog about my brother's trip over to England. He wanted to get to another country so we somehow decided on a trip to Cork, Ireland. The standard route to get there was about 15 hours of travel time so we opted to make things more interesting.

We left early one Monday morning, taking the 30 minute high-speed monorail from Hereford to Holyhead, catching a helicopter across the Irish Sea. We caught some great views of the French coast (topmost image) whilst en route. The boat we arranged met us just off the coast of Kinsale, Ireland. We made the 40ft drop into the water (cold!) and climbed aboard and made our way inland up the River Brandon. Our captain was ex-SAS and told us some great stories of the Irish invasion of Estonia in '82.


View Tatties and Neeps in a larger map

Kinsale is great little town -- so great that we decided to buy it. We named a restaurant after our third brother. We didn't eat there, though (the food sucks.) Instead we ate at the acclaimed Fishy Fish. That meal was so good we bought that place, too.

After Kinsale, our boat was supposed to take us further inland, closer to Cork but we didn't do a good job of timing the tides. Our boat was stuck.


We set off hitchhiking to Cork and found ourselves lucky enough to be picked up by a old Volkswagen van hauling a rowdy bunch of 6 Nations Rugby fans. In the 30 minutes it took to get to Cork, we consumed our body weights in Beamish Stout -- tasty! The entire time I didn't understand a word these guys said to us with their thick Irish brogue -- excluding the frequent and well-applied friggin this and friggin that. Brilliant. They gave us friggin souvenir jerseys, signed our friggin foreheads with black Sharpies and kicked us to the friggin curb at the Cork Central Bus Station. We stumbled to our hotel from there.

Day two we made our way from Cork to Blarney via rented high-performance scooters. Mike got a ticket from the local pigs -- I was too fast for that. Squeeeeeeeel.

Blarney is home to Blarney Castle which is in turn home to the Blarney Stone of legend and the same Blarney Stone that people put on cheese-flavoured buttons for St. Patrick's Day. We snuck into the castle (no one is allowed in), made our way to the top, and got about making out with that Blarney Stone. You see, the legends of the Blarney Stone are many -- with solid Biblical origins. Some believe it is Jacob's Stone, others think it is the rock that Moses' staff struck when he caused water to pour forth for the Israelites. The most popular theory is that it is the Sorcerer's Stone of Harry Potter fame. Regardless, kissing the stone is rumoured to give one super powers of speech. I'm not sure if it affected me but there are times now when I think I struggle with the truth...

More photos, less Blarney:


Cheers!

Caerphilly Cheese Steak

On our journey into Wales, we hit two major castles and crossed into Mexico.

The first stop, about 2 hours drive from home, was Caerphilly Castle -- a monster of a place sitting on 30 acres in the middle of Caerphilly, a modern town outside of Cardiff in south Wales. The place is well-known for its castle and the cheese it gives its name to. The castle is the largest in Wales, the 2nd largest in Britain (only smaller than Windsor), and is an amazing example of 13th century military technology. It was a concentric design with walls inside walls -- to get to the middle you needed to cross three drawbridges and get through 4 massive doors and portcullises.


View Larger Map

From Caerphilly, we set out for Carreg Cennen (kare egg ken in) with a planned pit stop at the Pant-yr-Athro Country Inn and International Hostel. More importantly, the guidebook we had for Wales mentioned they also served up some Mexican food. The place ended up being quite out of our way and also closed and seemingly desolate. It was hard to tell if they were actually still a functioning business. Yet another attempt to find decent Mexican in the UK has failed!


From there, we finished the trek to Carreg Cennen -- a castle in by far the most dramatic location I have seen in Great Britain. Perched atop a high hill in the middle of rural Wales, it is quite a sight to see.

The castle actually sits in the middle of private farm land, surrounded by pastures of roving sheep. The hike up to the castle is a leisurely 30 minutes. The side of the castle opposite the winding hill approach is a limestone precipice that drops sharply down into a quiet brook and then again into more farmland.


View Larger Map

We left about 9AM Saturday morning for our little adventure, and returned back to the Lilacs around 6:30PM that night. We guessed we spent only about 2 and a half hours not driving. The last leg, after Carreg Cennen, was a crazy trip through the tiniest, steepest, narrowest, hedge-encroachedest, farm-vehicle obstructedest roads I had been on here yet. I was glad to get out of the car when we finally made it home!

Here you go, mum: more pictures!



Cheers!






“The Castle Aaahhhgggg - our quest is at an end.” - Month Python and the Quest for the Holy Grail (1975)

The Revolution Was Not Televised

Mon frere and I took a day trip up north towards Shropshire -- about a 2 hour drive -- passed by Ludlow and ended up at the Iron Bridge. It's at a scenic spot with a quaint town along side the River Severn. The highlight of the town, and part of the reason its one of less than a thousand World Heritage sites worldwide, is the Iron Bridge.



The bridge was opened in 1781 as the very first iron-wrought bridge in history and is considered by many to be the symbol of the Industrial Revolution. It was near this site in 1709 that Abraham Darby I pioneered a process for producing coke from coal. Darby's grandson, Abraham Darby III, later built the bridge. The whole process meant that iron could be produced much more cheaply than before -- the process spread and brought significant change to human development and is now known as the Industrial Revolution.


View Larger Map

Since it had never been done before, the iron-wrought bridge was built using techniques from wood carpentry and used things like dove-tail joints. It was also a bit over built and later bridges covered longer spans using less than half the iron of this one. The bridge is now closed for all but pedestrian traffic.



A striking contrast to the Bridge and its surroundings, straight up the River Severn loom towers from what looks like a huge nuclear facility -- we were surprised to see it at a World Heritage Site. But we were mistaken: true to the coal heritage of the site, it is a coal "super station" that began construction in 1929.

Cheers!

Oh Brother

My brother Mike came to England. Cheap tickets and extra unpaid vacation (courtesy of the economic slowdown) made a spontaneous trip materialize out of nowhere. I had to find stuff for us to do for 10 days. We covered a lot of ground: most of Herefordshire, a big chunk of Wales, and even a journey into Ireland. Nearly 3 tanks of gas in the Volvo -- at a range of over 400 miles each, about 10 trains, a tram, and two ferries, and a handful of buses were used in the making of this trip.

I've been promising Mum some photos so this is part 1 of several covering the past two weeks adventures.

The Weir Garden is a site just outside of Hereford city in Swainshill. Rach and I had driven by it often enough on our way out to Oak Church, a relatively upscale food store and the first place we found Frank's Redhot for sale. We had never went in to the Garden.

The Garden is managed by the National Trust, an extensive charity that preserves hundreds of sites in the UK and makes them available to folks everywhere. The garden was built back in the 1920's by a guy by the name of Roger Parr. No idea who he was -- but he picked quite a spot. A steep and terraced hillside with tall trees sits on the edge of winding spot of the River Wye. Each season brings out a different set of flowers. The pictures say it best:




Cheers!

Sheep Stuffed Sheep

If food-borne illness would have had its way, I might not have been able to deliver this blog.

January 25th is the birthday of Robert Burns, a Scottish poet that is a hero and revered figure in that country. The typical celebration of his birthday is a Burns Night, a simple affair involving poetry and a meal consisting of haggis and its sidekicks: tatties, neeps, and a dram. In other parts of the world, that simply means mashed potatoes, mashed turnips, and a shot or ten of Scottish whiskey. Oh, and haggis is, according to Wikipedia "[a] sheep's 'pluck' (heart, liver and lungs), minced with onion, oatmeal, suet, spices, and salt, mixed with stock, and traditionally boiled in the animal's stomach for approximately three hours." Yummy.

This past January 25th, I realized it was Burn's birthday. I frantically called the wife at work and told her she had to stop at the Super Shell Station. Yep, the super-Shell has that, too. Always a sport, she came home with not one, but two haggi (plural for haggis, I think.) One was a normal haggis, the other was one of these new fangled vegetarian haggi -- a concept which only barely makes sense.

Unfortunately, one thing led to another and we never got a chance to eat the haggis. Trips to Denmark and a later revelation by the wife that she wouldn't eat the haggis with me led to one delay after another. Until this past Friday, March 13. Friday, the 13th. Over 30 days past its expiration date, and the time was finally right for haggis-eating.



The haggis was much better than I expected. I've had it once before, and this one was the better of the two experiences. It was lighter (it's all relative when you are eating organs blended with fat), more flavorful -- I would even say just a bit spicy. Worth doing again at the very least! Cheers!








Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the pudding-race!
Aboon them a' yet tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o'a grace
As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin was help to mend a mill
In time o'need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An' cut you up wi' ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin', rich!

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an' strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
Bethankit! hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad make her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckles as wither'd rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash;
His nieve a nit;
Thro' blody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll mak it whissle;
An' legs an' arms, an' hands will sned,
Like taps o' trissle.

Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer
Gie her a haggis!
Robert Burns, Address to a Haggis, 1978

Building A British Hot Sauce

Boring. That could sum up the last two weeks in England. The wife has been out and about all over the world and I have been holding down the fort. The weather here has finally started to come around and its already time to start mowing the lawn.

Left to my own devices, I was craving spicy food. No sense trying to go out and find spicy food here, I had to make my own.

Here is my recipe for British-inspired hot sauce/marinade:

• About 100 chile de arbol peppers, stems removed.
  
• 3 Scotch Bonnet peppers (or more, I should have had more!)
• 4 cloves garlic
  
• Lots of Marmite. Seriously, lots. A whole jar might be about right.
  
• 1/4 c. dry Coleman English mustard
  
• 1/2 c. raisins
• 1/2 c. vinegar
• Mix and match chile pepper from the Turkish bazaar.
• Allspice, whole, maybe a tablespoon.
  
• A good splash of good, smoky grappa from Rome. Trust me, this was perfect.

Steep chile de arbol peppers in hot water for about an hour. Remove stems from Scotch bonnets. Mix Coleman's with cold water to make a paste and let it sit for about 15 minutes. Put the allspice in a dry pan and toast over medium-low heat until fragrant, then crush in a mortar and pestle. Throw everything in a good blender and blend for a while. Season to taste with salt and Marmite. Pack in old bottle. Slather on Pig-in-a-Box pork shoulder chunks, broil until brown and your eyes burn. Serve with dairy products and more grappa!

The end results were excellent and the hot sauce has proved to be good on most everything with meat in it. Good just as salsa for chips, too.

Cheers!

85 Million Bites

Ok, if you haven't watched Charlie biting his brother's finger, than you might be the last one on earth. When I first posted the link in my "Worth Watching?" box over on the right there, Charlie had 35 million views. That was about 4 days ago. Charlie now has 85 million views. Sure... it's cute. Sure... they have funny little English accents. And no question Charlie is a large baby in an oddly humourous way. But 85 million?

See Charlie here.

It's My Pig In A Box

To recap, last weekend we stopped in to Frasers of Turnastone on our way into the Welsh hills. That set in motion the delivery of a Pig in the Box: a delivered box of fresh pork. After an email and a phone call with Chrissy - the most enthusiastic meat-representative I have ever met - we switched up our pig in the box for the Turnastone Taster. The Taster was a bit cheaper and allowed us to mix in some other cuts. We also could select from a list of other meats and charcuterie.

Saturday morning while we were out running errands, the box was delivered. Keep in mind, Frasers had no payment information from us, no credit card, no check. They didn't leave an invoice. We'll just settle up later.

We picked the pork belly for dinner. The meat slideshow tells the rest.

Cheers!








"1: Cut a hole in a box
2: Put your junk in that box
3: Make her open the box
And that's the way you do it"
-Saturday Night Live, 2006

Humpbacked Wales

This weekend we decided to get up and see some of the countryside. We knew we wanted to make a stop at Frasers of Turnastone to get, maybe, a Pig in a Box. They didn't have fresh pork available -- but they will for next weekend so I am on the list to get a box o' pork delivered directly to the Lilacs next Saturday. Surely, that experience will be bloggable.

On the approach to Frasers, we could see a large, green "hill" in the distance. After negotiations for the Pig in a Box concluded, I asked the lady at Frasers how far away that hill was and if we could go up it. Fifteen minutes later we had a map on the back of a paper bag, and wife, dog, and I were on our way to Wales.


First stop on the map was supposed to be Hay-On-Wye, a small town on the border between England and Wales but it I was easily distracted by sign-postings for Arthur's Stone -- an ancient tomb that has more recent connections to the legends of King Arthur. The stone wasn't too exciting unless you try to fathom how folks 5,000 years ago perched the big 25 ton rock on top of the little rocks.


After the Rock, we made our way into Hay-On-Wye, a very quaint little town just barely inside of Wales in the county of Powys. Hay-On-Wye is known nationwide -- some would argue internationally -- as a mecca for book-lovers of all kinds. The town has a population of less than 2000 and over 30 bookshops, many very specialized or dealing in rare books (Sci-fi Cookery?) The tourist appeal was immediately obvious: the car park in town was one of the largest I have seen in the UK.



The true highlight of our day was everything after we left Hay-On-Wye and headed into the hills of Brecon Beacons National Park. We spent the next 5 hours winding up and down a single-lane track (paved, for the most part) across a ridge of the Brecon Beacons, a mountain range so-named for the old practice of lighting signal fires ('beacons') on the top of hills to warn of things such as those nasty English attacking again. I marked our route on the Tatties map below.


View Larger Map

Near the end of the overland route, we arrived at Llanthony Priory. The Priory dates from around the year 1100 and has a colorful history. It was thought to have its beginnings from when William de Lacy, a Norman nobleman, found a ruined chapel of St. David at the Priory's current location. Now it conveniently hosts a trekking center for hiking and horseback riding and also a quaint pub serving up a pint and some pub food (fish and chips, of course.)



This was also the virgin outing for my new GPS camera gadget. Now, when I take photos, they get tagged with their location using GPS satellites. If you click on the slideshow, it will take you to my public album. On the right-hand side you will see a map of where the photos were taken. Never again will I have to wonder where I took that photo...

We soon hope to make our way back up the hills when we are more equipped for hiking to the top. Til then. Cheers!

“There are many paths to the top of the mountain, but the view is always the same.” - Chinese Proverb

The Fish Is In The Chips

Walkers -- a crisp/chip brand that looks a lot likes Frito Lay because it is -- released six new flavors of crisps that consumers (even me!) can vote on to pick a favorite. I only saw four out of six flavors at the rest stop we were at so here are the prelims.

Crispy Duck and Hoisin: The wife says it was ok but wouldn't buy it. I was impressed at how closely it really did taste like duck from a cheap Chinese restaurant. Or maybe it just tasted that crap sauce in the little packets.


Next, the oddly named Cajun Squirrel. Pez and I made Squirrel Stew once from squirrels he terminated. We put a few too many chillies in it and it burned me twice. The crisps were like a mild BBQ with a bit of clove or something. Just ok.


They did a good job of making this next one taste like its name. And that's a bad thing. If you have ever had fries that were cooked in the oil used to cook a few dozen orders of frozen fish dinners, sprinkle on some vinegar and you have a good idea of what these mistakes taste like.


My favorite, by far. A bit of spice, a nice robust cocoa overtone -- well balanced and unique. Like a good molé.


Now I need to hunt down Onion Bajhi (sp?) and Builder's Breakfast -- the two flavors I somehow missed. Until then...

Cheers!


“Experts in ancient Greek culture say that people back then didn’t see their thoughts as belonging to them. When ancient Greeks had a thought, it occurred to them as a god or goddess giving an order. Apollo was telling them to be brave. Athena was telling them to fall in love.Now people hear a commercial for sour cream potato chips and rush out to buy, but now they call this free will.At least the ancient Greeks were being honest.” - Chuck Palahniuk (American freelance journalist)

Winter Bewilderland

The blog has been a bit slow lately -- I'm going to go ahead and blame it on the weather. We had 4 days of snow in Hereford last week. It was a beautiful disaster. Most of the schools were closed, roads were impassible, and they ran out of salt. I heard on the telly that they were bringing in salt from France and Tunisia. I think there may have been five or six inches of snow.


We made a trip to London right in the middle of it and ended up backtracking a 100 miles or so because the only two bridges between south Wales and England were shut down (we found out later it was because of ice falling off the bridge towers.) The navigation system kept telling us to re-route but we always ignore it -- this time it had a pretty good reason to keep chirping at us. Live and learn.


Cheers!


“So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their ending.” - J.R.R. Tolkien

Dégustation Bohême Bourgeoise

On our trip to Prague, you might be surprised to find out that the highlight of our eating wasn't the giant pig knuckle. It was the meal we had at a restaurant called La Degustation. This place offers three tasting menus: a high-end meal that uses luxury items like truffles and foie gras, a menu featuring relatively lighter fare, and finally, a menu based on a Czech cookbook that is a couple of centuries old.

The wife had the lighter menu and I had last option, the Dégustation Bohême Bourgeoise (we share every course anyway!) And both were amazing. Every course (there were 7 on each menu) was preceeded with one or two small tastes of something: the amuse-bouche. We also super-sized the meal by getting the 7-course wine pairing to go with it.

We got a copy of the menu to take home so I could actually remember what I was eating. Here is the detail on my menu:

• entrée: poached Prague ham, mailner foam, apple sorbet, egg bread
• soupe: wild poultry soup, poached quail egg, poultry loaf
• poché: organic beef ouster blade, creamy sauce with fresh dill, barley dumpling
• fumé maison: freshly smoked beef tongue, chickpea purée, pickled shallot, roasted onion with marjoram
• braisé: rabbit livers, onion sauce, carrot purée, red beet, home made lard
• grillé: coated veal entrecôte, cucumber granité, braised potato
• sucré: apple gingerbread, vanilla foam with rum

The wife's menu, Dégustation Terre et Eau:

• entrée: organic parsnip ravioli, saffron velouté, aceto balsamico extra aged
• soupe: soup of jerusalem artichoke, orange jelly, bell pepper preserve, olive oil la crianza
• poché: fiji egg, cauliflower velouté, caviar ossetra
• fumé maison: lightly smoked turbot, orange glacé, beluga lentils
• braisé: salsify, alba velouté, lamb lettuce
• homard: butter poached canadian lobster, creamy leek, cashew nuts, red beet essence
• sucré: macaroon of pistachios and black currant, caramel ganache, lime ice cream
  

If you feel overwhelmed, imagine this with basically another course between each course. One of the servers -- bless her soul -- made a mistake and delivered the best amuse-bouche (the best taste all night?) to our table an unintentional second time. It's the first picture below: sweetbreads with foie gras sauce. If you are a foodie, this should mean something special to you. In my world, sweetbreads are rich man's bacon!

Top to bottom, we really enjoyed this meal. There were a few courses where unless you tried every flavor on your plate together all at once, it was good but not great -- but once you combined the flavors as they were intended: taste bud fireworks. My favorite main dish (not a bouche) was probably the smoked beef tongue. Now there's a meat that just doesn't get enough respect in the USA.

Service was great -- most everyone spoke English very well, especially both of the sommeliers and the environment was classy but you would have felt comfortable wearing jeans (of course, that's how I think most of Europe works.) They even allowed dogs -- the entertainment for the night was a table near us with a dog sitting at the table, on a chair. No, I'm not kidding.

Alright, I'm gonna go eat some homemade pizza.

Cheers!



“"Well," said Pooh, "what I like best -- " and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was.” - Winnie the Pooh

Your Dumb

At Old Town Square in Prague, there was a light show emanating from the Old Town Hall building. It used bright green laser light to write words across the plaza. I'm not sure if it was supposed to mean anything -- SILENCE! -- but at the very least, it was cool to look at.



Cheers!



Dr. Evil: You know, I have one simple request. And that is to have sharks with frickin' laser beams attached to their heads! Now evidently my cycloptic colleague informs me that that can't be done. Ah, would you remind me what I pay you people for? Honestly? Throw me a bone here! What do we have?

Number Two: Sea bass.

Dr. Evil: [Unconvinced] Right.

Number Two: They are mutated sea bass.

Dr. Evil: Really? Are they ill tempered?

Number Two: Absolutely.

Dr. Evil: Oh well, that's a start.

-- from Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery (1997)

Prague In Pictures

This past weekend we went to Denmark to take a sneak preview of what might be the next chapter of our lives overseas... but that story will have to wait.

So for now, back to Prague where I've managed to narrow down about a 1,000 pictures to about 30 of the better ones. Picture-taking conditions were not ideal: it was hazy all day and raining or snowing about half the time. The buildings and bridges all need that first good spring rain to wash the grime off them and brighten them up. I can't wait to go back on a clear, summer day to try this again!

First, a panorama shot from one of the walls of Prague Castle... stitched using the demo version of Autopano Pro. Click to expand:

And then the slideshow:



Cheers!

St. Vitus

The grounds of Prague Castle hold the impressive St. Vitus Cathedral. It is the 3rd cathedral to be built on this spot, the first built in 925AD and the last started in 1344 but not completely finished until 1929. This is largest and most important church in the Czech Republic. We spent a few hours up around the cathedral -- we attended a short concert in the next door St. George's Basilica.

This first picture is another panorama from stitched together photos. This one was a bit more ambitious and stitches 46 photos together -- click to enlarge:


And a slide show...



Cheers!

Fishsticks!

While in Prague this past weekend, Chase Bank, my main bank back in the USA, once again turned off all of my access to my accounts. Even though I have explained to them I live in Europe, they don't care. Any time I use my card outside of England, they shut off all my cards until I call them. They also have their security people call late at night to confirm that I have been shopping on Amazon UK. I just tried to call and get access back to my accounts. Here is the conversation I had with Delores (not her real name but it rhymes with something):

Delores: Hello sir, can you confirm your social security number?

Me: Sure. ###-##-####

Delores: Can you confirm your account number?

Me: Ok. #### #### #### ####

Delores: Can you confirm your complete address to the zip code?

Me: Yes (I give her my old Chicago address -- usually what they want since they won't accept that we live in England.)

Delores: I'm sorry sir, we have another address on file.

Me: Ok -- I live in England. I gave you my last US residence. Here is my English address:
The Lilacs
Callow
Hereford
HR2 XXX

Delores: Sir, can you tell me where in England that is?

Me: Sorry?

Delores: Where is the Callow?

Me: What do mean where is it? It's just outside of Hereford. Addresses work differently here than in the USA.

Delores: I'm sorry sir. Can you tell me where in England that Ka-K... Callow is, exactly?

Me: Um. Do you want directions to my house? It's in the county of Herefordshire?

Delores: Where in England is that?

Me: I'm sorry -- there must be some confusion. My address is like this (now speaking very slowly):
The Lilacs -- that is the name of the house I live in.
Callow -- that is the name of the village I live in.
Hereford -- that is the town near our village.
HR2 XXX -- that is our post code, like a zip code. There are only 8 houses in it.
Ok?

Delores: I'm sorry sir, I still need to know exactly where that is in England.

Me: Can you explain how you want me to define that?

Delores: Can you tell me wha- where Callow is?

Me: Huh?
...
Do you want latitude and longitude??? I'm 2 hours west of London, I am on the border of Wales, on the River Wye, off Ross Road, near the A49, by that snack bar and the two ga-rages. How is that?

Delores: I'm sorry sir, for your security, I cannot access your account for you. You can call our international service number or visit a branch.

Me: I live in England. You don't have branches here.

Delores: Do you have a pen?

Me: ?

Delores: 713-262-1679... you can call from 9 to 5 CST.

Me: Wait, your "international service" number works on Central Standard Time?

Delores: Yes sir, I'm sorry.

Me: Not sure if you have any one to tell this to, but I've been a customer with Chase for 20 years and I plan on closing all my accounts. This has been horribly unhelpful. Cheers!

Czech, Please!

Hi folks. We are back from a weekend in Prague in the Czech Republic. This is a city with a thick history and a hearty persona. It's been a long day but I had to put a little something-something up on the blog. This quick pic is from a random stop into a place for lunch on our way out to see some sights. This is also the place where I am 99% sure I saw a guy stab a shiv into the front right tire of Audi A6 that was parked in an unfriendly manner on the curb. Seriously but... anyway ... we had an excellent meal at this place and the price was right as well. I think it worked out to about $35 for the whole meal.

To start, we had a Czech cheese, battered and deep-fried -- when you cut open the crispy crust, the innards oozed all over the plate. Then soup: cream of mushroom and Bohemian garlic. Both excellent. The garlic soup was a thin, garlicky broth with tiny cubes of potatoes and crunchy, salty croutons floating in it. I'm going to make it at home and soon. Our mains were equally hearty and good: crispy roast duck with Czech-style dumplings and a beee-you-tee-ful pork knuckle. All this with some dark Czech beer.

It was all nice until the waiter came back and asked if we were finished. The portions were ample and we were quite stuffed. I had done my best with the pig but hadn't eaten much of the skin and fat. The waiter gave us a disappointed look and when I said we were done, he said, "Really?" and shook his head. Ouch. Next time I eat the fat.



More to come, stay tuned. Cheers!

Oh Pita, That's Nasty

After the highlight of my birthday this past week, the rest of the week may have passed for the dullest in my brief English history. The wife's company was doing a count of their stock -- scheduled hours were 8 to 8 but she was getting home at 9 or later each night -- dusty from the warehouse and dog-tired. And, she worked Saturday, too. The dog and I can only entertain each other for so long before we start getting on each other's nerves. We need our better third to level us out.

The big highlight of my birthday was a new iPod Touch. If you have an iPhone, same thing minus the phone. But, linked into our home wireless network, I am simply in awe of what this thing can do. It's a remote to control my music from anywhere in the house, it keeps me on top of Facebook (oh so important) for the first time, I can make calls over Skype, I can browse the Internet while sitting on a giant, orange toilet, and so on and nonsuch. Niner.

Anyway... we are trying to trim down the bulk in our pantry. I walk in, figure what's been there the longest, and then cook it. This past week, I re-discovered a kilo of dried chickpeas -- you know, garbanzos. One of the stores here had them on a discount shelf months ago. I know about two things that you make with these things: hummus and falafel. We made both. I'd never made falafel before.

It's a simple thing: soak the beans for at least a day. Throw them in a food processor with herbs and spice. I toasted and added cumin the wife bought at the Bazaar in Turkey, both coriander seed and coriander leaf, fresh parsley, a healthy dose of cayenne pepper, black pepper, and salt. Also into this mix goes a bit of baking powder -- to lighten up the texture. Just before frying, added finely chopped onions, garlic, and (just to use them up), a couple of shallots. Form meatball sized balls or patties, deep-fry a couple of minutes. Done. It might have beginner's luck but the results were really, really good.

We stuffed them in crappy English pitas with fresh hummus, cukes, tomatoes, some spicy greens (watercress with parsley and cilantro), and a yogurt sauce made with dill. I topped mine with some Indian lime pickle (just to use it up) and some extra cayenne. Fantastic. I stuffed my self. And if you are following along at home, a kilo of chickpeas makes a helluva lot of falafel. I'll be happily eating these things all week.

Til then -- the big news this week is Thursday's trip to Prague -- land of lasting architecture and beer...Cheers!




Did I hear a "niner" in there? - Richard in the movie Tommy Boy, 1995

Everything Here Is Puddin'

Some of you might remember the Jiffy-Pop-pie-in-a-can I tried a month or two back. It's time for Fray Bentos round two:

I'm not sure what voodoo it would take to get the pudding to come out of the can looking like that thing on the lid.

To cook it: Poke holes in can. Drop into simmering water -- up to the rim. Cover, simmer for 30 minutes. Remove water and remove lid. Enjoy.

Appearances can be deceiving -- this thing looked and smelled not so appetizingly. Gross. Or is it? I had to go on.

I ate it. All of it. And it was actually pretty good -- once you got past the idea of chunks of meat and organ hidden like Easter eggs-gone-wrong in a soggy fat-based "pastry".

The damage:

• 21.7 grams of fat
• 358 calories
• 19% beef
• 15% pig kidney
• 2% OXO gravy (mmm, gravy)
• Cost: £1

Here is another look, enlarged to show (lack of) texture:


Cheers!

The Emporer's New Clothes

Gift from my folks to the dog: Boo is seen here modeling a piece from the WOOF collection -- cream fleece with a faux fur collar. She first thought it was a toy and attacked it. It's cold here in England -- it was actually trying to snow this morning -- so she is now glad to be wearing it.

Boo then got a snowman from the wife's folks. She gutted it within 24 hours but two squeakers survived the first attack. I don't expect it to survive the week.

Cheers!