Village Dining (a 3 part story) The last one folks...

It has taken me ages to write the last part of the saga that was our Valentines dinner in the village.  Partly because it contains odd bits of conversation that might not make sense to the random reader and partly because I have been too busy downloading apps on my iphone and doing taxes.  I have realized, however, that if I don't get it out I might never write another blog again.  So here goes, the remainder of our evening.

If you recall, during our dinner we:

1. Did NOT get eaten by zombies.
2. Did feel strangely uncomfortable by the fact that we were the only people there for the better part of 30 minutes.
3. Thought the olive plate was our 'starter sampler for two'
4. Found out we were wrong

Dinner was finally served after the montrosorous (it's a word ask any of us) appetizer and while we were eating our entrees, Matt and I embarked upon the type of conversation that we normally have when in public, social situations - random and bizarre.

It began when I picked up my silverware to cut into the sausage stuffed chicken I had ordered.  As you do, I picked up my utensils, cut the meat, set the knife down, switched my fork to my other hand and took a bite.  After the third run through of this, Matt commented that he had only ever seen American's eat that way - except for a guy he once knew.  The guy, he explained was teased for eating this way, until he bragged that he lived in the States for awhile (apparently that made it okay).

Brits keep their knife and fork at hand, using the knife as a kind of pushing vessel to ram food onto the fork.  I have actually found myself eating this way more often than not over the years and Matt wondered why the change.   I said that I really enjoyed being able to wield a knife around while dining (very liberating).  I have found that gesticulating with a knife in your hand will ensure your table mates are listening to your story - every time.  It is also particularly useful when sitting at a large table and you need to point to an item out of reach.

"Why wouldn't you just ask for the item?"
"Most likely my mouth would be crammed full of food - pointing with a knife is the less rude option."
"That's true."
"You're agreeing with me that it is the less rude option?"
"No that your mouth would be full of food."

The utensil story segued into a conversation about making vile things sound edible at fine dining establishments.  The item in question that evening was black pudding. There was a delicious menu item that I had almost chosen but it was accompanied by the stuff.  Black pudding (in my opinion) is nasty. It is a coagulated blood sausage-type thing - don't ask me what actually goes into it - I don't care to know.  We decided that the French were masters at disguising the nasties and came up with an apt name - Pud Noir. Doesn't sound so bad does it?  We were just about to recommend a menu change to the waiter in between fits of giggles when I looked at the time - it was about 8:30 and we told our neighbor we would be back by 9 at the latest.

By now the restaurant was busy and we had a hard time getting our waiters attention (Matt dared me to snap my fingers and make a writing gesture on my hand to signify we wanted to get the check, but I didn't fall for that one again).  The waiter finally arrived and asked us to make a dessert selection - when we politely asked if we could have it to go I thought he was going to choke on his tongue.  Was everything not okay, did we hate it and the restaurant, were we on to the whole zombie conspiracy?  We explained that everything was lovely, but we had to get home.  He agreed to box up some Bailey's Cheesecake and dropped off the bill.

As Matt was signing the bill I asked him why he didn't sign the credit card slip in cursive writing.  I kid you not folks - he looked at me point blank with this innocent expression and said:

"What, like with swear words?  Is that like explative writing?"
"No - you know cursive writing - loopy"
"I don't know what you mean and I am not loopy"
"You know you call it..." (I was struggling to find the right words) "conjoined writing"
"What like twins?"
"Huh?"
"Do you mean joined up writing?"
"I guess so - joined up sounds like a 5 year old coined the term though"
"What do you think the French would call it?"
"I am not sure, but they could probably make it sound good"

On that note - we left with our boxed up cheesecake in hand (with the entire restaurant watching us leave) and headed home after our first dinner in the village.

Village Dining (a 3 part story) Part Deux

At the end of Part 1 - Matt and I had just been seated in a cozy, quaint and very empty restaurant in our village on Valentines Day.  Being the only people there, we were a bit nervous about the diner to staff ratio going on and briefly thought the whole thing was a scam.

After we were sat, our waiter (and also one of the owners as we later found out), explained how the evening was going to proceed.  The Valentines menu was a 4 course dinner including:

A set starter platter for two

A choice of entrees

A choice of desserts

Coffee, chocolates and mints

We were encouraged to peruse the menu for our entree and told again that the platter for two had no choice - it came as is.  He took our drink order and walked away.  He came back about 2 minutes later with our drinks and asked us if we had any questions, were we ready to order, etc?  The entrees sounded spectacular and we did not want to hurry our choice (plus I was debating on the best option/combo so that I could get Matt to 'share').  We were again reminded to "take our time, table's ours for the evening."  A few more minutes rolled by and he came out holding what amounted to a large side plate on which sat:

A small bowl with 6 olives

2 celery pieces about the size of a thumb filled with something

2 small filo dough parcels filled with something else

Still not ready to order, we sent him away.  The ensuing conversation went something like this:

Matt:  'do you know what you want?'
Me: 'I thought I did, but now I'm not sure.'
Matt: 'Why?'
Me: 'If this is the size our our sampler starter for two, then I might go with a larger entree.'
Matt: 'Hmm?  What?  Do you think this is the starter platter?'
Me:  'Well, I suppose it could be an amuse bouche, but we are in Bardney - my money is on the platter'
Matt: 'They can't seriously charge that kind of money and expect to pass this as a platter'
Me:  'To quote the great Eddie Izzard - it is Britain - scale it down'
Matt:  'That is a bit beyond scaling it down - that would be taking the piss.'

The waiter arrived again to take our order (on which we had finally decided) and started to remove our half eaten "platter".   I almost grabbed his arm to force the plate back on to the table whilst screeching 'leave it!'  There were 2 olives left in the bowl and was going to be damned if he was going to take them away.  In my defense, I must mention that I was STARVING and had half a gin and tonic fueling the situation.  He relinquished the plate and walked away.  I decided that I was going to make those 2 olives last until our dinner came.  I made it a challenge - took teeny, tiny bites.  Every couple of minutes or so our waiter walked by to see if the plate was empty so he could remove it.  It became almost unbearable and I started to wonder if we weren't going to get served until the last olive was gone.  No sooner had I popped it into my mouth in a frenzy, than the waiter came around the corner holding what looked like a banquet serving tray.

Now - I failed to mention that at this time the restaurant had slowly started filling up.  When I saw the tray I assumed that it was for the large table of the owner's friends/family that had arrived.

Me:  'Obviously pays to know someone.'
Matt: 'I think that it is ours.'
Me 'Holy shit, I think you're right - obviously it pays to be cute'

At this point the waiter is trying to wedge this tray full of food onto our petit table for two.  I can't remember everything on it but here goes:

Langustinos

Chilled Meditaranian Vegetables

Deviled Eggs

Fig and Passionfruit Salad

Smoked Herring

Cold Salmon

Canapes

At this point I was wishing I had gone with my first entree choice of salmon instead of upgrading to a hefty sounding portion of chicken stuffed with sausage.  Matt and I sat staring in amazement at the amount of food.

Me: 'This is ridiculous'
Matt: 'Who eats this much'
Me: 'Do you think they heard me complain about the olive plate'
Matt: 'Maybe - you are easily heard'
Me: 'Why would anyone eat this much before dinner'
Matt: 'I'm not eating anything with eyes - you can have the langustinos'
Me:  'I don't have to shared the eyed creatures?!?!?  This is the best Valentines Day ever!'

That concludes part 2 (of our 3-part story).  In my final segment I will regale you with fascinating conversations about cursive writing and cutlery use and conclude my tale with how things went when we asked to take our dessert 'to go'.

I would  also like to leave you tonight with a question:  Have you ever  been to a restaurant where you have been either overwhelmed or underwhelmed by the quantity of food (or confusingly both at the same time like I was on V-Day)?

Village Dining (a 3 part story) Part One

A couple of weekends ago, my husband and I went out to eat in the village.  There is actually a restaurant (which I kept forgetting about) and we decided to give it a try on Valentines Day.  I thought I should call first (since it was kind of a last minute thing) to see if they even had a table (I was warned that they were small).  I took the liberty of calling and this is what I got:

ring, ring, ring

"Yes?"
"Hi, I was wondering if you had any space available for this evening?"
Pause "for a room?"
"Uhm, no.....are you a restaurant?"
Longer pause (like he was thinking about it) "yes."
"Do you have any tables available?"
"Hold the line, I'll check"
Hand over mouthpiece and screams "do we have space?"
Hand off mouthpiece "yes."
"Great, I'd love to book a table"
"Okay - we'll see you tonight - goodbye"
"Wait, do you need to know what time we are coming or is it a set seating"
"What time are you coming?"
"Uhm, 7:30?"
"Hold the line, I'll check"
Hand over mouthpiece "she wants to come at 7:30...."
Uncomfortably long silence  "7:30 is fine - see you then."
"Wait, do you want my name?"
"Go on then."
"Davies."
"Right then, 7:30 tonight."

Although unsure if we had an actual reservation, Matt and I were giddy with anticipation - we rarely go anywhere by ourselves and on this night our neighbor was kindly watching Maddie for us. We both got semi-tarted up and made the 10 minute walk to the place.  We entered this old building (historic old, not falling-down old) and were presented with a very cozy and quaint candle lit restaurant.  There was space for about 6 or 7 tables.  As we made our way in we were greeted by a waiter who led us to our seats and explained that the table was ours for the night so "no rush".  It was apparent at this time that we were the only ones there - with the entire staff watching our entrance with anticipation!  Suddenly it was AWKWARD!  Perhaps we were the first booking of the night (gulp) perhaps the only booking all night? Perhaps they were all cannibal zombies and we were on the menu this evening?

Obviously we were not eaten, because I'm blogging this (or am I)?  The rest of the story will have to wait.   Stay tuned for Part Two.

And THAT, folks, is what we in the business call a "cliffhanger'...

Car Trips - A Love Hate Story

I have just gotten back from a car trip - a long car trip (more on it in a minute) - and it got me thinking about some of the best and worst car trips I have ever had.  Here they are (in no particular order of bestness or badness) within respective categories:

Best Car Trips

1. Driving from Wisconsin to Florida for Spring break my sophomore year of college with my best friend (and her awesome mom) on a whim.  We decided about 2 days in advance to do it - Kim's mom was going down there and suggested we follow her down.  She agreed to pay for our hotel and food because she thought the company would be fun and was just plain cool.  We left at 3 am and made it to Georgia before calling it a night.  So excited we were by the call of the road, that we all decided that come hell or high water, we were going to get to the beach by morning.  We got back up at 3 am again and finished the drive down to Panama City in time for pancakes on the beach.  The trip could have been sponsored by Wilson Phillips and Budweiser because that is all we listened to and drank the entire time (obviously we were not drinking Bud in the car, just to clarify).

2. Driving from Ke'e beach to Polihal'e State beach in Kauai with anybody.  There is basically one main road that follows the coast around the island and it is beautiful!  We normally (by we I mean whoever is with me) stop off at our favorite places along the way and if we see a beach that looks good - we stop!  This drive is best in a convertible, but I have found it almost as enjoyable in a jeep or sedan.

3. The trip from Peterborough to Belfast, which was my first solo journey in the UK.  I had been in the country for about 5 months and had to make my way back to Northern Ireland after dropping Matt off at a course that he was on for a week.  I hit the road with a map, tickets for the midnight ferry and a promise that I would call Matt repeatedly.  I dropped Matt off at 7 am and the first call I made to him was at 7 that night - from our home.  I had made it up to the ferry so early that I caught the one leaving at 4.  I was so proud of myself for navigating not just the motorways of Britain, but the country roads of  Scotland all by my lonesome.  After spending half a year completely dependent on someone for getting me by, it was a nice change to be in control again.

The jury is still out on:

The drive I made with my brother when I moved from Wisconsin to San Diego. It was cramped (bad), we bickered alot (normal), he ended up ditching me in Vegas (bad) and we didn't speak for almost 2 years (the worst). On the other hand, while we were fighting over what music to listen to, my brother and I bonded as adults in a way I don't think you can if you are not trapped in a car with another family member for over 30 hours. (good). I got to see many parts of America that I had only dreamed about (good). I had this sense of independence and freedom that I had never felt before and just KNEW that my life was about to change (the best).

Worst Car Trips:

1. The trip from Florida to Wisconsin with my parents and brother coming back from a Disney Vacation gone awry.  The trip back was awful - it was the coldest winter on record and freak ice and snow storms crippled most of the South.  My father scratched his cornea about 6 hours into the trip and my mother had to do the driving herself - 5 miles per hour through Georgia, Kentucky and Tennessee.  At one point I believe our car broke down and we had to get it fixed which took ages.  Oh - and did I mention that I had been throwing up for 4 days and showed no signs of stopping on the journey home?  NICE!  My mother still cannot watch the movie 'Vacation' without gagging a little bit and muttering "never again".

2. The car trip from San Diego to Kansas with an old boyfriend who had a mustang convertible.  Why do you ask would this be a bad trip?  Ummmmm - it was 115 degrees and he had no air conditioning!  To cool off we would roll up all of the windows in the car until we were sweating and about to pass out from heat exhaustion, then we would roll down the windows just to feel the hot air blow the sweat away. I lost about 10 pounds of water weight which I guess was kind of good (I like to look for a silver lining.) Outweighing my water deprived weight loss, however, we were going there to pick up his daughter who had been staying with his parents for a few weeks.  On the ride home she asked if she could call me mom.  I was 25, had heat poisoning, hadn't peed for a week and decided that I was not ready for such a romance.  We broke up not long after we got back.

3. The trip across Lincoln to get from my gym to the Staples store (and Starbucks if I'm being honest).  It is 3 miles and takes about 45 minutes.  They say there is a fine line between love and hate, but on this one friends I can tell you that I don't ever cross the line - it is a hate, hate, hate thing!

4. The drive I made yesterday with my neighbor, her two kids and Maddie, from Bardney to North Yorkshire.  In. A. Blizzard.  In fairness to the kiddies - they were pretty awesome, considering that we created a 10 hour journey out of what should have been about 5 1/2.  I don't know which was the worst:

• Getting stuck off the main road and spending an hour fish-tailing through the fog on a road the size of a hair, hoping we weren't going to die
• Trying to reverse my car up a steep gradient to avoid getting stuck at the bottom with the other 2 stuck cars and blowing out my transmission.   
• It could have been the part where poor Lucy threw up pink milk in the back seat while the other 2 kids were groaning "eeewwwww what's that smell?"
• But then it also could have been the part where we finally had a game plan to get out of where we were stuck, which involved several terrifying freefall-type slides down 25% gradient hills only to realize we had to get back up the other side and repeat the process 3 times.
• It also might have been the jerk on the road who decided that - even though the road conditions were hazardous - he would talk on his cell phone and tail me for about 30 minutes. 

(this is not actually my car, but the picture pretty much represents what we were dealing with minus the steep hill)

Yesterdays journey reminded of a couple of things:

1. I love to drive
2. I am pretty awesome in a lot of situations and pretty crappy in others
3. It is not just the journey but who you are with
4. Don't EVER reverse your car in packed snow up a steep hill
5. Long trips (good or bad) have the potential to be messy - bring lots of baby wipes and a towel!

Trimming the Fat (a closet makeover)

I am pretty sure that 90 percent of the population has seen the TV show Friends.  That is probably an overstatement, but I am going with it anyways - roll with me folks!  There is an episode that is particularly endearing because, well, it is all about me.  I am talking about the one with Monica's secret closet.

If you have never seen Friends then here is a quick synopsis.  Monica is a clean freak.  Her friends have put up with it for years.  One day her husband notices a closet in their apartment that he had never seen.  It is locked.  When he finally picks it open he is bowled over with decades worth of stuff that has been shoved in there - untidily.  This closet is her answer to a junk drawer and this is where my story begins.

I too am a bit on the tidy side, although not quite as mental as my Friends friend Monica.  I too have that closet.  Here is where my story gets sad.  My closet is not some random, spare nook tucked away at the back of the house.  The closet in question is MY closet - and I can barely open it without being knocked on the head from something falling off the top shelf.  Here is a quick list of some of the stuff in there:

1. Clothes (summer, winter, dressy, too small, too big, too old and OMG why?)
2. Games
3. Wrapping Paper (about 20 rolls)
4. Ceremonial Swords
5. Roller Blades
6. Box full of stuff that I have visions of putting in a scrap book
7. An empty scrap book
8. 5 large carrier bags filled with different holiday decorations
9. Suitcases
10. Some of Maddie's old baby toys
11. A box full of Matt's old toys (nothing sick, but please don't ask)
12. An electric guitar amp
13. Old School Papers
14. Hangers that breed at a rate that would make rabbits ashamed

This is not a complete list - I think you get the mental picture.  If not, here is a real one (don't look if you suffer from low or high blood pressure or are on any medications for anxiety, OCD or acne).  Please appreciate that this photo does not convey the depth or bottom half of my closet.

Now on one hand I work in a gym, so my daily garb doesn't include anything that needs to be dry cleaned or even hung for that matter.  Because of this, I have tended to use my closet as a dumping ground for anything I don't want showing when company comes over to stay.  The guest bedroom is actually like crap limbo in our house and my closet, its final resting place.

I decided that today would be a great day to do 'something' about this eyesore.  For starters I have run out of drawer space to put anything that isn't yoga pants, for another I really need to lose some post holiday weight and thought that an afternoon reconnecting with beautiful garments that don't fit me might be just the impetus needed.

I decided that the best way to start was to take everything out of the closet and dump it back into crap limbo.  This was the result.

Then I started separating clothes into categories:

1. Things that were in season now, things that would be in season soon and things that can never be worn in England.
2. Things that needed to be mended and things that would be heinous even if they were fixed
3. Things that I will probably never fit into again thanks to having a kid and things that I could probably get into if I just followed my own advice and worked out more.
4. Things that are precious to me and things I don't remember buying
5. Hangers

Once the categories were decided I only put back the clothes that were in season and fit me.  After hanging up those 2 pieces I decided I had room for a bit more so I added some spring pieces and some formal wear as well.  The result:

I still need to sort out what to do with the rest of the space up top.  Oh yeah - and figure out what to do with all of the limbo crap - because it can not stay in our guest room.  I think this will be a work in progress.  Tomorrow the party supplies will find a new home - that is my goal and I'm sticking to it!

Do you have a secret Monica drawer, closet, room?  Send me a picture so I can feel better about myself!

Happy Birthday to YOU Rachel Doyle!

It is the day of my best friend's birth and firstly, I would like to personally thank her parents for coming up with such a great invention.  Rachel and I have been friends for 11 years now (how I wish I had met her sooner) and have maintained our friendship through 2 moves, 6 time zones, the addition of 1 husband (mine - she was married when we met), some major life hiccups and 2 babies (one each).  Through thick and thin, I do believe what has kept us so close is the fact that:

1.  We have respect for each others differences
2.  We both love cheese so much it hurts
3.  We don't take ourselves (or each other) too seriously most of the time
4.  We both have a disturbingly similar sense of humor (we like watching people fall down)

We both met at a time in our lives when (for many) the BFF in your life has already been a BFF for about 10 years.  I don't know about you, but the older I get, the harder I find it to make great friends.  Don't get me wrong - I have met plenty of lovely people as an adult - many of them good friends whom I adore and hang out with regularly.  I am not talking about those types of friends.

I am talking about the kind of BFF who can hold your hair back while you are puking tequila out of your nose because you are laughing so hard at the chick who just slipped in her 4 inch platforms on a wooden bar floor and is now sprawled out with her thong showing, screaming at her boyfriend to pick her up.

The kind of BFF that you can call at 4 am (even though you know she would really prefer it if you didn't) to tell her that you are angry that she moved to Texas and why won't she just come back so you have somebody to do stuff with.

The kind of BFF that forces encourages you to re-take up ballet at the age of 28, because she too remembers how great it felt to be a ballerina and needs a partner in crime.

The kind of BFF that will sit in the back of a convertible (top down), while it is pouring rain and allow you to pull over (not to put the top up) but to snap a picture of her soaking wet.

The kind of BFF who can convince you to tart it up to THE MAX in Vegas, comandeer a sequined saddle on the empty stage in the entry lounge bar of the Stratosphere and (politely) ask a group of Japanese business men to snap some pics (then offer autographs).

The kind of BFF that will let you dress up in her evening gowns and every piece of jewelry she owns while she dons her wedding veil to play some crazy Texas Hold'em with the girls.

You know the kind of friend I am talking about?  If you don't have a friend like this, I highly suggest that you find one, you can't have Rachel, she's my BFF and I don't share well.  She is a southern bundle of hospitality, charm and wit and makes the best damned cheese-based dishes I have ever had the pleasure to stuff myself with.

I wish, more than anything that I could spend her birthday with her - unfortunately due to work/child commitments I am stuck here in England.  This blog will have to do (and the Lush stuff being sent her way)!

Happy Birthday to YOU Rachel!  I love you more than I love to watch people trip and hurt themselves!

Smooches........Kittyn

Why I might never eat cheese again...

I write this blog with a heavy heart (and an even heavier digestive tract).  If you do not know me, you won't understand the complex and long-term relationship that I have with cheese.  Even if you don't know me, perhaps you have seen me stuffing my face with it in a restaurant, my car, the library....

To me, cheese is the food of Gods.  It goes with everything - like beige.  Cheese is the food equivalent of your favorite pair of neutral khakis.  You can put cheese with salty foods, spicy foods, bland foods, sweet foods, junk foods and healthy foods.  Of course, if you are a cheese purist, you can also eat it BY ITSELF!

I had a close encounter with cheese last night, however, that has left me with a lump in my throat and the desire to never eat cheese for the rest of my life (or at least a week, which ever comes first).

So, last night I was contemplating a very late night dinner.  I was tired and a container of Mexican Rice I had made a few nights ago was calling my name.  Seriously - it said "Robyn" as I was opening the lid.  As I opened the container I did a sniff test - I do this with all left overs even if it was made the night before.  I also did a visual check - and it was all checking out just fine!  I was about to put the dish in the microwave when I spied a bag of mozarella and thought outloud "this rice and this cheese NEED to be together as one!"  So I grabbed a fistful (okay 3) of the cheese and sprinkled blanketed the rice.  Shoved it in the microwave.  Waited for the 'ding'.  Took it up 3 flights of stairs to my bed to eat while watching some crap TV.  I got about 2/3 of the way through the delicious dish when I happened to look down at the bowl.  "hmmm - I don't remember putting green herbs into this rice dish!"  As I am putting the next forkful into my mouth it dawns on me - "coulditbethecheesenoIamsureIwouldhavecheckedohgodcoulditbemold?"  For a split second I actually considered finishing it, because it tasted lovely but then my SANITY took over and I flew back down all three flights, flung open the fridge door and grabbed the bag of cheese I had used.  As I am doing this I was really thinking "don'tbesillyyouwouldneverbesodaftastoputmoldycheeseonyourriceandnukeitandeatitfortenminuteswithoutnoticing!"  I opened the bag of cheese and what greeted me was a bag of very moldy cheese that I had just zapped in the microwave - AND EATEN!

Now I know that many types of cheese have mold.  I also know that it will not kill you and probably not even upset your stomach, but knowingly eating moldy cheese (of the non blue veined variety) is not nice when you come to the realization.  Surprisingly - I did not get sick.  Not surprisingly - I did drink 5 large glasses of water and brushed my teeth 6 times all the while saying the mantra "itsnotthatgrossitsnotthatgross".

I woke up this morning with what felt like a ball of lard in my stomach.  I have not eaten yet today because my body is still digesting the fist size ball of melted cheese mold that I ate last night.  The thought of cheese is making me ill right now.  I think I have found the cure for all addictions.  Cover your addiction in mold and eat it.  You will want to stop - immediately!  The addict in me right now is trying to justify a situation where cheese might be acceptable.  Tonight folks - that situation is not coming to mind.

And so I go to bed tonight on an empty stomach with visions of cheese mold dancing in my bowels!