If you ever wanted to get a tan in your sleep I recommend trying a hotel in Sweden. Every morning I wake up at 2:30 am and if you were here in my room now you would say that my room more resembles a tanning salon than a hotel room.
For those who are just as ignorant as I in the ways of life above the 59th parallel , let me explain. Because it is so North, the sun goes down at 11 PM and comes back'a blazin at 2:30 am during this time of year. I guess I had to learn that little bit of geography the hard way, because it is as FREAKING BRIGHT as a my little pony magic rainbow in my room.
Compounding the problem is the fact that i sleep with my eyes open. Yep. OPEN... ask Elodie.. she will confirm.
So I've been invited to do some work in Sweden for a week and got super lucky with the fact that the hotels are fully booked. So i basically had the choice of being put into a room with no windows (it's no wonder they have a high suicide rate here) or the luxury suite on the top floor (sweeeeet). Well, I got placed in sweeeeeet for a week!
Its my first time to Sweden and I thought that I did have some notion about what life in Sweden might be like. I was actually quite surprised to see how much of it I got wrong:
Surprise #1 - You indeed are ugly.
So of course, you would think that if you came to Sweden you are surrounded by beautiful blonde model quality women all around you. Not at all true. There are beautiful brunette model quality women all around you as well. Having just flown in from Paris, I was quite surprised by the fact that there is no way you can't feel underdressed around these guys. It's like they are all dressed for a private yacht party, and you were dressed up as their galley cook.
Surprise #2 - The Swedes are not as progressive as you would think
The princess of Sweden just married her gym coach..which you could say is pretty progressive. The rules state however that a commoner male can never marry into the family and become king. A woman can however make it all the way to the top. Eh hem.. glass ceiling???
Surprise #3 - Swedes sit upon a throne of lies.
I've been here for an entire week and not a god damn meatball in sight. Who said swedish people eat meatballs? All I see is freaking sushi bars. And these sushi bars aren't even japanese. They are thai and chinese people prentending to be Japanese. Whenever I ask a Swede where to go for some meatballs, they say "Try Ikea"
Surprise #4 - I am getting a stocking full of coal for Christmas this year
I have never seen a reindeer in my lifetime. Yet someone asked me to buy a reindeer fur as a present. So I've got this incredibly huge Rudolph Rug rolled up in my suitcase.
Surprise # 5 - Koreans are allergic to Reindeer
My eyes are freaking itching like crazy ever since I bought that damn thing. Who knew that Koreans had this genetic weakness?
Surprise # 6 - Swedish people like to make fun of Norwegians
They nickname them "Seal Clubbers of the North" or simply just call them Norwegians.
Surprise # 7 - ABBA is for the tourists and Mama Mia is not shown year round
Even those damn Paraguay flute players with the funny hats play "Take a Chance on Me" on the street corners. It's kind of like listening to Rod Stewart played on the bagpipes.
Surpise # 8 -
The alcohol tax is uber expensive. Buying a round of drinks for your friends cost as much as a round trip ticket back to France. Since the country is cold, freezing, and envelopped in darkness half the year, the gas companies lobbied to make this reliable source of social heating less accessible to stifle the competitive market.
Surprise # 9 -
Don't ever do anything nasty against the Swedes. The Danish beheaded a bunch of Swedish aristocrats 200 years ago and they are still pissed off about it today. There's not a moment that doesn't pass where the Swede's don't talk about their retarded neighbors and how they got to go to the World Cup despite the fact that they they are cold blooded murderers.
Surprise #10 -
If you are famous and die in some gruesome way, the Swedes immediately think about the retail value of your demise. A visit to the Royal Costume Museum has on display all these original bloodied and muddied outfits when the Kings and Princes were all stabbed, shot, or clubbed in the name of their country. Even the poor horse of the king got stuffed and preserved in clever decision to increase ticket sales.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Korean Fried Movie
I have come up with a new rule that I should try to live my life by:
It's 6:30 am and I'm wide awake. In any other location I would be sleeping just until the dreaded morning buzzer of my alarm sounds off. I mean, I should be sleepy.... But with this much fun, how can I not jump out of bed?
My first month was spent living a month with a fanatical Green Peace spanish hippy vegetarian archeologist, which got to be a little tiring after a while. She was clean. She was quiet. But she had this talent for making slight snipey comments about my ways from the top of her legume crested throne.
"No need to throw your leftover food into my garden compost box. You boiled the vegetables so they have no more vitamins left for my plants."
"Your cheese is non-organic and full of chemicals."
I have since been liberated from the veggie-nazi and feel like every day is a new opportunity for precious memories to be made.
Scotland has got to be one of the greatest places I have visited in Europe. I now live a 5 minute walk away from a castle. Wait, I live next to a castle? How freaking cool is that? I live in an international heritage site! Getting lost has never been so fun, with the cobblestone roads.. smokey grey buildings.. It feels like your in Disneyland, but that mouse you see on the path is a real one who's ancestors spread the Black Death to a quarter of its inhabitants.
What's it like to hang out with the Scots? Well, first off get used to saying "Huh?" .. because you won't understand a freaking thing they say until you've been here for about 3 weeks. My only real reference to the scottish accent is Mike Myers SNL sketch "If its not Scottish its Crrrrap!"
I have an affinity for Scottish people because they are very proud of who they are but will never radiate an ideology that they think that they are better than anyone else. While they do have a few historic lows (losing to the English, potato famine, the deep fried mars bar..) they have created some of the worlds greatest stuff (golf, whisky, Sean Connery).
So while I am here, I would like to share a bit of my action packed days by giving you my Top Tips on how to have a successful visit to Scotland!
1) Play Golf:
Personally, I wake up at 7 am to practice golf in my front yard. I live on the steps of a centuries old public park and golf course and take advantage of the empty surroundings and free facilities. Only in Scotland can you find a place that believes that every citizen should be entitled to a chance at the sport.
2) Drink Coffee:
I mean drink good coffee. The place just inspires a morning coffee to soak in the atmosphere and get the mind into its creative state. JK Rowling spent a year writing Harry Potter in the Elephant Café just up the road from my place. You can get the idea of where she took all of her inspiration from.
3) Buy some fish:
They are more of a rare occurence than before but you can still find a real classic fish monger in many local neighborhoods. You can buy fish that is fresher than Big Foot's dick for the same price as a Mcbarfburger here. Throw a white filet of fish in a pan with melted butter topped with lemon juice and you will never reacher a higher point of enlightenment.
4) Take a ghost tour..I mean a REAL ghost tour:
What do you get when you combine an ancient castle, violent neighbors, and a plague? Really Bitchin' ghost tours. Many of the pubs I frequent seem to have their own local ghost... I hang out often at the Last Drop pub which is right in front of where they held the village executions. The spookiest is the underground city where the city's poor used to live. During the black plague they declared a state of emergency and mercilessly sealed the entrance, leaving its thousands of inhabitants to die. Lot's of paranormal activity there evidently...
5) Drink a real Whisky:
None of this Glen Fiddich/Johnny Walker crap that you can buy at the airport duty free. A glass of the local fire water will actually cost as much as a pint of beer yet make you wonder why you ever mixed the stuff with a coca-cola. Aim for a small production or something from one of the smaller islands off the coasts.
6) And my final trip suggestion....Eat something NASTY!
Nothing gets you into the inner circle of trust with the locals than manning up to the challenge of local fare. My personal favorite is to walk into a gastro-pub and say in my really LOUD american accent "Soo Whats a HAGGIS??!" You can almost hear a pin drop after that. They are waiting for it to come.. They can't wait to see the expression on my face when I find out that its a sheeps heart, liver, and lungs, wrapped and simmered in its own stomach. I'll turn to the local group of Scots next to me and ask them if I should try it... followed by a resounding "YES!" In my opinion, its the best way to meet locals and you will most likely be bought a beer for your bravery. Scotland is the only country where a stranger has offered to buy me a beer (and I swear it wasn't a gay bar!)
So while I pause to take some time to write this blog entry, I am rushing right off again to share in the splendid bliss of Scottish culture.
I leave you with this photo of me eating a King Rib from the local Fish and Chips shop. Its basically a deep fried patty of processed pork, breaded, deep fried, and then sitting under a heat lamp for 8 hours.
Enjoy!
Live life as if you only had three more months to live...in Scotland.
It's 6:30 am and I'm wide awake. In any other location I would be sleeping just until the dreaded morning buzzer of my alarm sounds off. I mean, I should be sleepy.... But with this much fun, how can I not jump out of bed?
My first month was spent living a month with a fanatical Green Peace spanish hippy vegetarian archeologist, which got to be a little tiring after a while. She was clean. She was quiet. But she had this talent for making slight snipey comments about my ways from the top of her legume crested throne.
"No need to throw your leftover food into my garden compost box. You boiled the vegetables so they have no more vitamins left for my plants."
"Your cheese is non-organic and full of chemicals."
I have since been liberated from the veggie-nazi and feel like every day is a new opportunity for precious memories to be made.
Scotland has got to be one of the greatest places I have visited in Europe. I now live a 5 minute walk away from a castle. Wait, I live next to a castle? How freaking cool is that? I live in an international heritage site! Getting lost has never been so fun, with the cobblestone roads.. smokey grey buildings.. It feels like your in Disneyland, but that mouse you see on the path is a real one who's ancestors spread the Black Death to a quarter of its inhabitants.
What's it like to hang out with the Scots? Well, first off get used to saying "Huh?" .. because you won't understand a freaking thing they say until you've been here for about 3 weeks. My only real reference to the scottish accent is Mike Myers SNL sketch "If its not Scottish its Crrrrap!"
I have an affinity for Scottish people because they are very proud of who they are but will never radiate an ideology that they think that they are better than anyone else. While they do have a few historic lows (losing to the English, potato famine, the deep fried mars bar..) they have created some of the worlds greatest stuff (golf, whisky, Sean Connery).
So while I am here, I would like to share a bit of my action packed days by giving you my Top Tips on how to have a successful visit to Scotland!
1) Play Golf:
Personally, I wake up at 7 am to practice golf in my front yard. I live on the steps of a centuries old public park and golf course and take advantage of the empty surroundings and free facilities. Only in Scotland can you find a place that believes that every citizen should be entitled to a chance at the sport.
2) Drink Coffee:
I mean drink good coffee. The place just inspires a morning coffee to soak in the atmosphere and get the mind into its creative state. JK Rowling spent a year writing Harry Potter in the Elephant Café just up the road from my place. You can get the idea of where she took all of her inspiration from.
3) Buy some fish:
They are more of a rare occurence than before but you can still find a real classic fish monger in many local neighborhoods. You can buy fish that is fresher than Big Foot's dick for the same price as a Mcbarfburger here. Throw a white filet of fish in a pan with melted butter topped with lemon juice and you will never reacher a higher point of enlightenment.
4) Take a ghost tour..I mean a REAL ghost tour:
What do you get when you combine an ancient castle, violent neighbors, and a plague? Really Bitchin' ghost tours. Many of the pubs I frequent seem to have their own local ghost... I hang out often at the Last Drop pub which is right in front of where they held the village executions. The spookiest is the underground city where the city's poor used to live. During the black plague they declared a state of emergency and mercilessly sealed the entrance, leaving its thousands of inhabitants to die. Lot's of paranormal activity there evidently...
5) Drink a real Whisky:
None of this Glen Fiddich/Johnny Walker crap that you can buy at the airport duty free. A glass of the local fire water will actually cost as much as a pint of beer yet make you wonder why you ever mixed the stuff with a coca-cola. Aim for a small production or something from one of the smaller islands off the coasts.
6) And my final trip suggestion....Eat something NASTY!
Nothing gets you into the inner circle of trust with the locals than manning up to the challenge of local fare. My personal favorite is to walk into a gastro-pub and say in my really LOUD american accent "Soo Whats a HAGGIS??!" You can almost hear a pin drop after that. They are waiting for it to come.. They can't wait to see the expression on my face when I find out that its a sheeps heart, liver, and lungs, wrapped and simmered in its own stomach. I'll turn to the local group of Scots next to me and ask them if I should try it... followed by a resounding "YES!" In my opinion, its the best way to meet locals and you will most likely be bought a beer for your bravery. Scotland is the only country where a stranger has offered to buy me a beer (and I swear it wasn't a gay bar!)
So while I pause to take some time to write this blog entry, I am rushing right off again to share in the splendid bliss of Scottish culture.
Enjoy!
Sunday, January 31, 2010
The saddest date I ever eavesdropped on
Morningside is the richest district of Edinburgh, and most notably known as the residence of J.K. Rowling and Scotlands patriarchs of culture. Its not your typical rich neighbohood with displays of wealth dripping at every corner. I find it to be rather a caricature of Scottish culture with churches side by side and little old grandmas in country clothing checking out the displays of little shop windows. The wealthy seem to just lock themselves up in their estates and send the servants to run the errands, making this seem more like a little country church town more than a Scottish Beverly Hills. The men dress like Sherlock Holmes and the women dress like they are on their way to a knitting club reunion. I'm here for 2 weeks as my new flat won't be ready until mid February so I'm renting a room with an old spanish hippy lady that sells jewelry next to Edinburgh Castle.
Living amongst the elderly does give you a different perspective on life. Conversations seem to drift towards loved ones lost and spirituality.
My heart is going out to this elderly couple on their first date sitting next to me at Falko, a popular German coffee shop in the neighborhood. Its impossible to not hear their conversation as much as I try to drown it out to give them their own privacy. These two seem to have met through a church lecture and are having their first coffee together. She confesses she doesn't understand much about men anymore and he it seems is clueless about the needs of women. It seems to me that both of their partners have passed on and now they are looking to restart their lives with the companionship of someone new.
She begins to talk about her faith and its clear she seems to be seeking a spiritual partner to share her life with. He seems to be of the gendre of old historians you see on the BBC that enjoy lecturing on arcane subjects that interest only a handful of people, none below the age of 60.
I can sense the heart sinking in the lady next to me. She begins to get deeper into discussion about her church lectures and he begins to fly this plane into the side of a cliff by continually changing the subject back to his history lessons. Evidently, he is convinced that the Holy Grail had come to Britain in the past and had passed hands with Merlin the Magician. As the druid religions were converting over to Christianity at this exact time, Merlin, as their religious leader thus had some involvement in the exchanging hands of the Holy Grail.
She changes subjects back to church and he then asks her if she would be interested in reading his book on the Holy Grail. I imagine it must be hard to move on when your older. You take it for granted that your partner listens to you and puts up with you for the past 50 years and suddenly you have to start dating again and become a good listener.
Their conversation has ended and she is digging to find a spark. She kindly offers to pay for the drinks and he suggests that each pay for their own coffee. That puts the final nail in the coffin. Perhaps in another life, another age, another time. This time though, both will go back to their homes empty handed. Her being dissapointed and him wondering why no one is interested in his stories.
Living amongst the elderly does give you a different perspective on life. Conversations seem to drift towards loved ones lost and spirituality.
My heart is going out to this elderly couple on their first date sitting next to me at Falko, a popular German coffee shop in the neighborhood. Its impossible to not hear their conversation as much as I try to drown it out to give them their own privacy. These two seem to have met through a church lecture and are having their first coffee together. She confesses she doesn't understand much about men anymore and he it seems is clueless about the needs of women. It seems to me that both of their partners have passed on and now they are looking to restart their lives with the companionship of someone new.
She begins to talk about her faith and its clear she seems to be seeking a spiritual partner to share her life with. He seems to be of the gendre of old historians you see on the BBC that enjoy lecturing on arcane subjects that interest only a handful of people, none below the age of 60.
I can sense the heart sinking in the lady next to me. She begins to get deeper into discussion about her church lectures and he begins to fly this plane into the side of a cliff by continually changing the subject back to his history lessons. Evidently, he is convinced that the Holy Grail had come to Britain in the past and had passed hands with Merlin the Magician. As the druid religions were converting over to Christianity at this exact time, Merlin, as their religious leader thus had some involvement in the exchanging hands of the Holy Grail.
She changes subjects back to church and he then asks her if she would be interested in reading his book on the Holy Grail. I imagine it must be hard to move on when your older. You take it for granted that your partner listens to you and puts up with you for the past 50 years and suddenly you have to start dating again and become a good listener.
Their conversation has ended and she is digging to find a spark. She kindly offers to pay for the drinks and he suggests that each pay for their own coffee. That puts the final nail in the coffin. Perhaps in another life, another age, another time. This time though, both will go back to their homes empty handed. Her being dissapointed and him wondering why no one is interested in his stories.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Mars Bar Krispies
Whoaaahhhh... My head is spinning!!!!
I had always heard of the infamous deep fried Mars bar, but I never thought that the scottish had so much of a true affinity for the snack that it transgressed to other recipes.
So Yes, I am now in SCOTLAND... You may find that strange... I find it strange myself. I was just in Jordan, then in France, and now in Gods gift to human kind... Edinburgh.
This place is truly magical... you feel like you are in a harry potter movie with all of the dark smoky churches and the truly impressive site of the Edinburgh castle. Holy cow, its hard to imagine that people live in Disneyland.. but they do.
I always am amazed to see people walking to work.. its just pleasant to be walking on cobbled stones, ancient passage ways, castles and bridges.. Imagine legoland, the castle version, but the real thing.
Edinburgh castle is just next to my office and apartment(i didnt take the photo though):
So I have been to Scotland in the past but at the time I worked in Glasgow. Glasgow has a bad rap because it was known as a depressed dump.. but I found it to be rather hip in some areas. As in, there were a lot of big hips. I actually had to leave the project there because it was getting way too unhealthy for me to live there. After work, we would all kip out the door and head straight to the pub. We would drink rounds and rounds of lager and guinness and when we finished at 10 pm, there was nothing to eat except for pizza hut and fish and chips. Every colleague of mine must have had a +45 waste and I decided that I was on a fast track to beer gut time if I didn't get out of there.
So this time around, I'm in Edinburgh. I'm working at a large insurance company in the heart of town and we have about 1,000 people working in the building. These guys know how to live... barely anyone is fat, yet everyone seems to be freaking snacking around me all day. It seems like everyone is eating a cookie, candy bar, biscuit, yogurt and everyone is a gym fanatic.
It reached a pinnacle today when we held a bake sale for Haiti relief this morning. I had sampled the usual.. carrot cake, banana bread, chocolate chip cookie....
At the end of the day, I heard a 'something something mars bar krrisps (thats my best scottish accent)." Evidently I just thought it was legend that Scottish like to eat deep fried mars bars... so I had to see if it was true that there was another snack made out of an already existing snack.
So, at the end of the bake sale table I found this heavy, dense block sitting with the crumbled pieces of banana bread and half broken cookies. When I say dense, I mean this sucker could be used as a paper weight. I took it back to my desk and took my first timid bite.
The first thing that hit me was a sudden sensitivity shock to my teeth and gums. It was as if you had dipped them in caramel and then soaked them in pepsi cappuccino (yes, it does exist). Next my saliva glands kicked into hyper overdrive much like popeye's forearms turn into locomotive engines after he eats a can of spinach. I was finally able to down the morsel of solid chocolate crack until finally it hit the digestive juices in my stomach and then into my bloodstream.
Suddenly my head started spinning and I was getting dizzy from the sudden jolt of sugar to my system. My face and throat swell whenever I eat something sinful and this time it was off the charts!!! Whoaaaahhh I'm buZZINGGGG at work!!!!! I'm BALLS Tripppin!!! Woohooo!!!!!! Look at me everyone!!! I'm eating my first mars bar krrrisp!!!
What the hell is in these things???
So I asked my colleague Paul how these are made.
"First you get a pan heated and you melt the mars bars in BUTTER."
When I asked him if he was serious about the butter, he said rather matter of factly, "Yes, its really the way forward you know..."
After you get it all melted then you add the rice krispies and spread it out on a cake pan.
THEN when the snack is cooled you melt some more butter and some more chocolate and you pour THAT on the mars bar krispies.
So as I look up the recipe on google.. try it yourself even.. search on "mars bar krispies recipe" and you'll get a whole list of recipes stating "Great snack for the Kids" and "I've never known a child who doesn't like these"...
Check out this website for the full recipe: http://www.rampantscotland.com/recipes/blrecipe_mars.htm
Mars bars, with their nougat centre with toffee on top and covered with milk chocolate, are a favourite the world over. And the snap, crackle, pop of rice crispies are found everywhere, including Scotland. Put the two together and you get a treat that's enjoyed by children (big and small) everywhere. And not a deep fried Mars bar in sight!
So you heard it everyone! Great for the kids... Go off baking (or microwave baking in this instance) and turn your friends and family into mars bar krispie junkies!!!
I had always heard of the infamous deep fried Mars bar, but I never thought that the scottish had so much of a true affinity for the snack that it transgressed to other recipes.
So Yes, I am now in SCOTLAND... You may find that strange... I find it strange myself. I was just in Jordan, then in France, and now in Gods gift to human kind... Edinburgh.
This place is truly magical... you feel like you are in a harry potter movie with all of the dark smoky churches and the truly impressive site of the Edinburgh castle. Holy cow, its hard to imagine that people live in Disneyland.. but they do.
I always am amazed to see people walking to work.. its just pleasant to be walking on cobbled stones, ancient passage ways, castles and bridges.. Imagine legoland, the castle version, but the real thing.
Edinburgh castle is just next to my office and apartment(i didnt take the photo though):
So I have been to Scotland in the past but at the time I worked in Glasgow. Glasgow has a bad rap because it was known as a depressed dump.. but I found it to be rather hip in some areas. As in, there were a lot of big hips. I actually had to leave the project there because it was getting way too unhealthy for me to live there. After work, we would all kip out the door and head straight to the pub. We would drink rounds and rounds of lager and guinness and when we finished at 10 pm, there was nothing to eat except for pizza hut and fish and chips. Every colleague of mine must have had a +45 waste and I decided that I was on a fast track to beer gut time if I didn't get out of there.
So this time around, I'm in Edinburgh. I'm working at a large insurance company in the heart of town and we have about 1,000 people working in the building. These guys know how to live... barely anyone is fat, yet everyone seems to be freaking snacking around me all day. It seems like everyone is eating a cookie, candy bar, biscuit, yogurt and everyone is a gym fanatic.
It reached a pinnacle today when we held a bake sale for Haiti relief this morning. I had sampled the usual.. carrot cake, banana bread, chocolate chip cookie....
At the end of the day, I heard a 'something something mars bar krrisps (thats my best scottish accent)." Evidently I just thought it was legend that Scottish like to eat deep fried mars bars... so I had to see if it was true that there was another snack made out of an already existing snack.
So, at the end of the bake sale table I found this heavy, dense block sitting with the crumbled pieces of banana bread and half broken cookies. When I say dense, I mean this sucker could be used as a paper weight. I took it back to my desk and took my first timid bite.
The first thing that hit me was a sudden sensitivity shock to my teeth and gums. It was as if you had dipped them in caramel and then soaked them in pepsi cappuccino (yes, it does exist). Next my saliva glands kicked into hyper overdrive much like popeye's forearms turn into locomotive engines after he eats a can of spinach. I was finally able to down the morsel of solid chocolate crack until finally it hit the digestive juices in my stomach and then into my bloodstream.
Suddenly my head started spinning and I was getting dizzy from the sudden jolt of sugar to my system. My face and throat swell whenever I eat something sinful and this time it was off the charts!!! Whoaaaahhh I'm buZZINGGGG at work!!!!! I'm BALLS Tripppin!!! Woohooo!!!!!! Look at me everyone!!! I'm eating my first mars bar krrrisp!!!
What the hell is in these things???
So I asked my colleague Paul how these are made.
"First you get a pan heated and you melt the mars bars in BUTTER."
When I asked him if he was serious about the butter, he said rather matter of factly, "Yes, its really the way forward you know..."
After you get it all melted then you add the rice krispies and spread it out on a cake pan.
THEN when the snack is cooled you melt some more butter and some more chocolate and you pour THAT on the mars bar krispies.
So as I look up the recipe on google.. try it yourself even.. search on "mars bar krispies recipe" and you'll get a whole list of recipes stating "Great snack for the Kids" and "I've never known a child who doesn't like these"...
Check out this website for the full recipe: http://www.rampantscotland.com/recipes/blrecipe_mars.htm
Mars bars, with their nougat centre with toffee on top and covered with milk chocolate, are a favourite the world over. And the snap, crackle, pop of rice crispies are found everywhere, including Scotland. Put the two together and you get a treat that's enjoyed by children (big and small) everywhere. And not a deep fried Mars bar in sight!
So you heard it everyone! Great for the kids... Go off baking (or microwave baking in this instance) and turn your friends and family into mars bar krispie junkies!!!
Monday, December 28, 2009
How to do a French Christmas dinner
We came back to Paris for the holidays this winter to be with Elodies family, but more importantly it was time to gorge ourselves on the french christmas dinner. After living in the desert and eating nothing but reconstituted dried beans (hummous and fhool) and Papa Johns Pizza (our Nigerian American housemate LOVES that stuff) we were just DYING to come home to France and go the distance with their famous 5 course meals (7 courses if your really looking for punishment).
Normally Elodie's parents go overboard so we have to tell them to go LEGER (light) with the food, but this year we gave them the green light to give us a food coma. There is nothing ultra gastronomic about our family dinners in terms of technique. Its simple cooking with a use of quality ingredients. Whats more important is how its presented and staged to accent the food and your appetite at each stage.
The first stage of any important meal is your aperitif. An aperitif is a sweet or light drink that you begin with to open up your appetite. More importantly I find it ties in with the french philosophy that families should socialize and focus on spending time to talk to eachother. The children have juice or schweppes, and the adults have vermouth, porto, or champagne. In our case, we were served a very nice bottle of Charles Lafitte Champagne that Elodies dad had been saving.
After the bubbly is finished, we all sit ourselves around the table and move onto the next course, which is a plate full of giant slabs of foie gras. This is the homemade stuff y'all. We sit around a table in november and blend goose livers with all spice and cognac to make this divine artery clogging dish.
To start, you basically take a knife and you spread it on a fresh slice of bread while washing it down with a sweet wine. Traditionally with a Sautern wine but in our case we went with a more 'minerally' white Condrieu wine.
After all the oohs and ahhs from the foie gras, champagne, and Condrieu, at this point the Christmas dinner is going full steam and there is no stopping it. Everyone is completely focused on the food and what was once an immense plate of goose liver is now being scraped with a knife to catch those last remaining morsels.
By this time, the conversations are broken up around the dinner table to different sections. Elodie and her parents are engaged in catching up on her life in Jordan. I'm sitting next to the grandparents so they are talking about stuff that old people talk about.
The next stage moves onto something more substantial so we are treated to an excellent dish of sauteed scallops with apples, cinnamon and créme frâiche. The Condrieu is still working its magic at this point so we stick with it up to this point.
In Paris, you would be surprised as to how there is a butcher in every neighborhood. In America for example, you do have butchers. But you don't have one in walking distance from every neighborhood. I have one right below me and maybe 5 within walking distance. Sure, you can buy a cheaper roast at the supermarket, but the French seem to uphold a tradition that what you put in your body should be of the highest quality. Our friend Caroline even has 5 side by side next to her house!
In my opinion, to make something for the french dinner table you keep it simple with a high quality main ingredient and combine it with something seasonal. Maybe enhance it with some wine or a special spice to get a little fancy. Take the previous dish for example. You sauté a couple of fresh scallops with a seasonal fruit like apples. When they are close to being finished you add créme fraiche, fresh ground cinnamon, salt.. pair it with a nice wine, and BAM.... Bob's your uncle.
In my Korean home, when you have a big meal you just drop every main course on the table and about 15 side dishes to go along with it. Finding a place to put your chopsticks down can sometimes be a challenge!
With these dinners, it is quite possible to have a few entrees and a few main courses served out in stages. In this case, Elodies family wanted to take it up another level and serve something Antillais Caribbean. The French have former caribbean colonies within the Republic and there is a deep appreciation for their cuisine. Here we have a peculiar dish made with lamb, plantains, curry powder, onions and caribbean chile (similar to mexican jabaneros). Since this dish is quite strong, Elodies dad chose a bold Chambertin wine from the Burgundy region which was gladly welcome as we needed something strong to wash down the heat from the chile.
Normally if I had eaten this much food, I would have stopped at the scallops. But this is Christmas.. NO WAY!! GOTTA CHARGE ON FORWARD since we are only at the Halfway point... Thats right.. you heard me.. HALFWAY(!)
Now you might think that we are total pigs for moving on forward but the truth is that at this point, you take 'La Pause'.. which is basically a short break on the meal. Some folks get up to walk around the yard or play with the dog. Elodie's brothers both succumbed to food coma and flopped onto the couch. I'm still with the old guys who are talking about their medical conditions and I'm busy trying to finish off the rest of the Chambertin when no one is looking.
Once the table has been cleared, its time for the cheese. This plate of cheese is quite simple, but they can get real fancy at times. This is just family, so yes, believe it or not this is just a selection of supermarket cheese. You don't always have to go expensive to have a great french meal. I as a foreigner however, have to go for the stinkiest and moldiest of the cheeses to win their respect. I read in some stupid Polly Platt book about integrating with French..'always cut the cheese in a way to retain its shape and beauty..' I have NEVER seen a French person follow this rule.. They just cut the cheese in any which way and nobody gives a damn.
French food is funny in that with every bite of artery clogging cheese or foie gras, your heart is screaming for help. And then you wash it down with wine and its saying.. ahhhhh... now that's relief.
Here you see my moldy goats cheese... my favorite. Its sharp and creamy and always washes down well with red wine. Once again Elodie's dad went crazy and opened a 1998 bottle of Sarget de Gruaud -Larose (Bordeaux) for this time around. Its been sitting in his cellar collecting dust. The label looks all nasty, from sitting in a dark room under the house for the past decade. Naively, I got laughed at when I once tried to wipe a bottle clean. Evidently, the dirtier it is, the more prestigious the bottle. Dumb americans...
Time for dessert, or should i say dessert(S). You gotta have the 'healthy desert' (because its good for you) accompanied with the 'danger of becoming a diabetic' desert. The healthy desert is a simple bowl of preserved peaches and fruit, covered in an extra dose of sugar syrup (just to make sure it tastes good). Once we pat ourselves on the shoulder for being so health conscious, we attack the 'danger of becoming a diabetic' cake like a pack of blood thirsty sharks.
The cake in question is called a Carolo, a very local specialty from Elodie's hometown. Its a brittle meringue made with almonds and praline cream. Can anyone say sugar rush??? Man, keep this stuff away from this kids. Better yet, give them some and they will love you forever and you can avoid that whole teenage 'rebellion' stage altogether. Its a good thing we served it with candied chestnuts to balance out the sugar in the cake.
By this time, I normally feel guilty as hell but how can you say no? .. Its just SO DAMN GOOD! I mean, I have been eating for three FREAKING hours by this time and yet.. there is still space?!? Which brings me to another notion about the french meal. When you eat slow, and take your time... you can somehow manage yourself through a huge meal. At some meals, you'll get something that will help you digest and move to the next stage.. an example would be a 'Trou Normand' which is basically a shot of distilled apple liquor that helps you digest and get to the next meal. I've had a Danish guy serve peppermint schnapps. You get the picture.
Anyways, by this time we have all but decimated the plate where the Carolo once stood and we are ready to wash it down with something. Some people like to take at this stage, what is called the 'digestif' which is basically a strong alcohol that will burn that lump of food just sitting in your digestive track. Take a shot of cognac, whiskey, amaretto, rum... you name it. If it burns, then its just right for the job of clearing out those pipes.
None of us are the digestif type.. I still have a four year old bottle of whiskey at my house that never seems to get touched..so we move onto coffee. My friend Gerald Wu visited us in France for a year when he did his study abroad and he was pissed off as hell when he saw us drinking nescafe at the end of each meal. WTF??? In seattle (his homebase), you have all these francophile snobs that mock your instant coffee at home. They tell you that in France, they would never dream of doing such a thing because they believe in the ritual of good coffee and using a french press. Yet here we were, drinking nescafe out of grandmas 30 year old coffee chalices. I have YET to see anyone use a french press (except for that one time we went camping), and pretty much everyone drinks the powder stuff and everyone knows George Clooney the nespresso salesman. The end.
So there you have it folks. You can have a french christmas meal with all the french recipes and ingredients, but remember its as much about protocol as it is about the food. If you were to serve all the food at once, you wouldn't get to appreciate all the high notes of the food without the appropriate wines to match. Plus, you would probably burst in about 15 minutes.
Normally Elodie's parents go overboard so we have to tell them to go LEGER (light) with the food, but this year we gave them the green light to give us a food coma. There is nothing ultra gastronomic about our family dinners in terms of technique. Its simple cooking with a use of quality ingredients. Whats more important is how its presented and staged to accent the food and your appetite at each stage.
The first stage of any important meal is your aperitif. An aperitif is a sweet or light drink that you begin with to open up your appetite. More importantly I find it ties in with the french philosophy that families should socialize and focus on spending time to talk to eachother. The children have juice or schweppes, and the adults have vermouth, porto, or champagne. In our case, we were served a very nice bottle of Charles Lafitte Champagne that Elodies dad had been saving.
After the bubbly is finished, we all sit ourselves around the table and move onto the next course, which is a plate full of giant slabs of foie gras. This is the homemade stuff y'all. We sit around a table in november and blend goose livers with all spice and cognac to make this divine artery clogging dish.
To start, you basically take a knife and you spread it on a fresh slice of bread while washing it down with a sweet wine. Traditionally with a Sautern wine but in our case we went with a more 'minerally' white Condrieu wine.
After all the oohs and ahhs from the foie gras, champagne, and Condrieu, at this point the Christmas dinner is going full steam and there is no stopping it. Everyone is completely focused on the food and what was once an immense plate of goose liver is now being scraped with a knife to catch those last remaining morsels.
By this time, the conversations are broken up around the dinner table to different sections. Elodie and her parents are engaged in catching up on her life in Jordan. I'm sitting next to the grandparents so they are talking about stuff that old people talk about.
The next stage moves onto something more substantial so we are treated to an excellent dish of sauteed scallops with apples, cinnamon and créme frâiche. The Condrieu is still working its magic at this point so we stick with it up to this point.
In Paris, you would be surprised as to how there is a butcher in every neighborhood. In America for example, you do have butchers. But you don't have one in walking distance from every neighborhood. I have one right below me and maybe 5 within walking distance. Sure, you can buy a cheaper roast at the supermarket, but the French seem to uphold a tradition that what you put in your body should be of the highest quality. Our friend Caroline even has 5 side by side next to her house!
In my opinion, to make something for the french dinner table you keep it simple with a high quality main ingredient and combine it with something seasonal. Maybe enhance it with some wine or a special spice to get a little fancy. Take the previous dish for example. You sauté a couple of fresh scallops with a seasonal fruit like apples. When they are close to being finished you add créme fraiche, fresh ground cinnamon, salt.. pair it with a nice wine, and BAM.... Bob's your uncle.
In my Korean home, when you have a big meal you just drop every main course on the table and about 15 side dishes to go along with it. Finding a place to put your chopsticks down can sometimes be a challenge!
With these dinners, it is quite possible to have a few entrees and a few main courses served out in stages. In this case, Elodies family wanted to take it up another level and serve something Antillais Caribbean. The French have former caribbean colonies within the Republic and there is a deep appreciation for their cuisine. Here we have a peculiar dish made with lamb, plantains, curry powder, onions and caribbean chile (similar to mexican jabaneros). Since this dish is quite strong, Elodies dad chose a bold Chambertin wine from the Burgundy region which was gladly welcome as we needed something strong to wash down the heat from the chile.
Normally if I had eaten this much food, I would have stopped at the scallops. But this is Christmas.. NO WAY!! GOTTA CHARGE ON FORWARD since we are only at the Halfway point... Thats right.. you heard me.. HALFWAY(!)
Now you might think that we are total pigs for moving on forward but the truth is that at this point, you take 'La Pause'.. which is basically a short break on the meal. Some folks get up to walk around the yard or play with the dog. Elodie's brothers both succumbed to food coma and flopped onto the couch. I'm still with the old guys who are talking about their medical conditions and I'm busy trying to finish off the rest of the Chambertin when no one is looking.
Once the table has been cleared, its time for the cheese. This plate of cheese is quite simple, but they can get real fancy at times. This is just family, so yes, believe it or not this is just a selection of supermarket cheese. You don't always have to go expensive to have a great french meal. I as a foreigner however, have to go for the stinkiest and moldiest of the cheeses to win their respect. I read in some stupid Polly Platt book about integrating with French..'always cut the cheese in a way to retain its shape and beauty..' I have NEVER seen a French person follow this rule.. They just cut the cheese in any which way and nobody gives a damn.
French food is funny in that with every bite of artery clogging cheese or foie gras, your heart is screaming for help. And then you wash it down with wine and its saying.. ahhhhh... now that's relief.
Here you see my moldy goats cheese... my favorite. Its sharp and creamy and always washes down well with red wine. Once again Elodie's dad went crazy and opened a 1998 bottle of Sarget de Gruaud -Larose (Bordeaux) for this time around. Its been sitting in his cellar collecting dust. The label looks all nasty, from sitting in a dark room under the house for the past decade. Naively, I got laughed at when I once tried to wipe a bottle clean. Evidently, the dirtier it is, the more prestigious the bottle. Dumb americans...
Time for dessert, or should i say dessert(S). You gotta have the 'healthy desert' (because its good for you) accompanied with the 'danger of becoming a diabetic' desert. The healthy desert is a simple bowl of preserved peaches and fruit, covered in an extra dose of sugar syrup (just to make sure it tastes good). Once we pat ourselves on the shoulder for being so health conscious, we attack the 'danger of becoming a diabetic' cake like a pack of blood thirsty sharks.
The cake in question is called a Carolo, a very local specialty from Elodie's hometown. Its a brittle meringue made with almonds and praline cream. Can anyone say sugar rush??? Man, keep this stuff away from this kids. Better yet, give them some and they will love you forever and you can avoid that whole teenage 'rebellion' stage altogether. Its a good thing we served it with candied chestnuts to balance out the sugar in the cake.
By this time, I normally feel guilty as hell but how can you say no? .. Its just SO DAMN GOOD! I mean, I have been eating for three FREAKING hours by this time and yet.. there is still space?!? Which brings me to another notion about the french meal. When you eat slow, and take your time... you can somehow manage yourself through a huge meal. At some meals, you'll get something that will help you digest and move to the next stage.. an example would be a 'Trou Normand' which is basically a shot of distilled apple liquor that helps you digest and get to the next meal. I've had a Danish guy serve peppermint schnapps. You get the picture.
Anyways, by this time we have all but decimated the plate where the Carolo once stood and we are ready to wash it down with something. Some people like to take at this stage, what is called the 'digestif' which is basically a strong alcohol that will burn that lump of food just sitting in your digestive track. Take a shot of cognac, whiskey, amaretto, rum... you name it. If it burns, then its just right for the job of clearing out those pipes.
None of us are the digestif type.. I still have a four year old bottle of whiskey at my house that never seems to get touched..so we move onto coffee. My friend Gerald Wu visited us in France for a year when he did his study abroad and he was pissed off as hell when he saw us drinking nescafe at the end of each meal. WTF??? In seattle (his homebase), you have all these francophile snobs that mock your instant coffee at home. They tell you that in France, they would never dream of doing such a thing because they believe in the ritual of good coffee and using a french press. Yet here we were, drinking nescafe out of grandmas 30 year old coffee chalices. I have YET to see anyone use a french press (except for that one time we went camping), and pretty much everyone drinks the powder stuff and everyone knows George Clooney the nespresso salesman. The end.
So there you have it folks. You can have a french christmas meal with all the french recipes and ingredients, but remember its as much about protocol as it is about the food. If you were to serve all the food at once, you wouldn't get to appreciate all the high notes of the food without the appropriate wines to match. Plus, you would probably burst in about 15 minutes.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Crushed noses at Al Pasha - $30
The middle east is famous for Hammams, but surprisingly Amman has only one. Al Pasha is a turkish style bath house that provides a steam, scrub down, hot bath, and a massage. If you are amongst the lucky ones (like me), you got a crushed nose thrown in for free.
My back had been aching for two weeks since my trip to London and I did everything I could to get the knot out. I even had Elodie drop WWF style smashing elbows on the offending spot to loosen it up but it didn't really get me anywhere. I finally threw in the towel and resigned to go to 'the Pasha' to get myself fixed up.
The place resembles some big Arabian tent filled with old collectibles picked up by an eccentric old man who likes to horde his treasures and twist his mustache all day while lying down on his side while being propped up by an elbow with his shisha pipe in his hand. It doesn't seem like a place for a hot bath, but who am I to criticize?
Next is the front desk. Every time you have to reserve a service or book a tennis court, there is that front deskman experience here. You have a guy who works there and is employed by the company. He's got 2-3 buddies there too. You however get the feeling that they don't work there. They are playing backgammon, eating, smoking shisha, or drinking tea. You announce your prompt arrival. They stop what they are doing and look rather annoyed at you for breaking their concentration. They then point you where to go and hand you off to someone else. Playing backgammon, eating, smoking shisha or drinking tea re-commences and your on your way.
The first step in a turkish bath is to take a hot shower. Yipeee.. unlimited hot shower. My shower at home requires me to heat the water boiler 30 minutes in advance in order to get a ten minute hot shower. Everytime the hot water goes out on me, you would swear you heard the blood curdling screams of a little ten year old girl emanating from the bathroom. So what if the water smelled like well water and the pile of hair on the floor indicated that some guy with a receding hairline got pissed off and decided to just pull it all out right then and there. It was unlimited hot water and I wouldn't let anything take that moment of joy away from me.
After about 15 minutes, I was escorted to the hot steam room. Passing through the curtains, you enter what seems to be a malfunctioning disneyland attraction. A dark room with kaleidoscope colored glass ceiling sets the tone for the staging room where only the brave can venture to the next level up the steps. A dark hissing from an overworked steam machine god seems to blow angrily at anyone who dares to approach. I was like the first guinea pig in Indiana Jones movies where they send some poor hapless native to check out a booby trap, only to get his head chopped off or stabbed by a hundred poison darts. Well, since I was the booby, I ventured into the second stage room where the ominous steam god rested. Suddenly lava hot water droplets from the ceiling crashed on my neck causing me to jump and stand up....and just like the poor hapless native guinea pig in Indian Jones movies, I got my head chopped off. A cloud of "fry you to death vapor" just floating 4 ft above the groundfloor burned the crapola out of my scalp and fried my ear like a deep fried wonton wrapper (this probably explains why there is hair all over the floor. Others before me probably ran back to the showers and it probably all just kind of fell out from there. I did not see ears on the floor so I will have to rethink this theory some more). OWCH. So like a hapless coward I retreat to the staging room and decide to sit there since it is well below the vapor cloud. By this time, the attendant brings me a tall glass of hibiscus juice with crushed ice and I'm thinking 'do I drink this or pour it over my head?'
OK. I get called out. Its time for a scrub. Finally, some action. There is something particular about the staff that works inside of the hammam. They are all this breed of stocky, burly, strong, hairy men. Super friendly, but I somehow I get the sense that they are hired to manhandle the customers and get them scrubbed and washed as efficiently and as quickly as possible.
I am escorted to a small room with a marble countertop built into the wall. One side of it is open to allow water to drain while the other three sides are sectioned off by a wall. The problem is that its not exactly flat and as manhandler #1 starts to rinse it off with warm water, I notice the water starts to pool up on my marble countertop. I am asked to jump on top and lie on my back in this small layer of water and mandhandler #1 begins to scrub the sh*t out of my skin with a wet rag. This is a process where they take the dead skin cells off in order to promote the growth of healthy new skin. Manhandler #1 then takes my hand, puts in on my chest and I feel something that feels like a large mass of rubber from pencil erasings. "Today's skin" he says to me as I am totally grossed out by the fact that he made me feel all my dead skin rolls. In true manhandler fashion, he just flips me over and takes off more of 'today's skin.' So I'm on my belly, looking down at this water film and I get to see this soup of all of my dead skin floating around me. Just as I am thoroughly grossed out he flips me over again and commences to wash me with a loofah pad and aromatic soap. Ok, much better I suppose, but I'm still grossed out.
I get a bucket of warm water dumped on me to rinse and I am promptly moved on next to Manhandler #2 for my massage. I tell him that I have a tightness in upper back and I would appreciate his help in getting the knots out. "No problem. I take very GOOD care of you." Manhandler #2 was even bigger... with a long mullet and hands that can crack a walnut.. He was really going to work on my tight muscles. Right around the time when i was on my back and he was massaging my THIGHS he asked me where I am from. I said "America..where are you from?"
"I am from Iraq" - followed by a short uncomfortable pause.
Did I mention he could crack a walnut with those hands?
The coup de grâce was my final back massage where he pressed and pinched and pounded all those nasty little knots in my back with the force of those huge arms of his. I lay face down in a towel and he moved to the front of the massage table next to my head to push downwards on my shoulder and shoulder blades. I forgot to mention that manhandler #2 also has a huge beer gut and while he was pushing down on my shoulders he was basically burying his belly fat into the back of my head, crushing my nose and cutting off my air supply.
At the end of it all, I got a hot shower, burnt scalp, skin soup, and a crushed nose.. all for $30. I think I got my moneys worth.
My back had been aching for two weeks since my trip to London and I did everything I could to get the knot out. I even had Elodie drop WWF style smashing elbows on the offending spot to loosen it up but it didn't really get me anywhere. I finally threw in the towel and resigned to go to 'the Pasha' to get myself fixed up.
The place resembles some big Arabian tent filled with old collectibles picked up by an eccentric old man who likes to horde his treasures and twist his mustache all day while lying down on his side while being propped up by an elbow with his shisha pipe in his hand. It doesn't seem like a place for a hot bath, but who am I to criticize?
Next is the front desk. Every time you have to reserve a service or book a tennis court, there is that front deskman experience here. You have a guy who works there and is employed by the company. He's got 2-3 buddies there too. You however get the feeling that they don't work there. They are playing backgammon, eating, smoking shisha, or drinking tea. You announce your prompt arrival. They stop what they are doing and look rather annoyed at you for breaking their concentration. They then point you where to go and hand you off to someone else. Playing backgammon, eating, smoking shisha or drinking tea re-commences and your on your way.
The first step in a turkish bath is to take a hot shower. Yipeee.. unlimited hot shower. My shower at home requires me to heat the water boiler 30 minutes in advance in order to get a ten minute hot shower. Everytime the hot water goes out on me, you would swear you heard the blood curdling screams of a little ten year old girl emanating from the bathroom. So what if the water smelled like well water and the pile of hair on the floor indicated that some guy with a receding hairline got pissed off and decided to just pull it all out right then and there. It was unlimited hot water and I wouldn't let anything take that moment of joy away from me.
After about 15 minutes, I was escorted to the hot steam room. Passing through the curtains, you enter what seems to be a malfunctioning disneyland attraction. A dark room with kaleidoscope colored glass ceiling sets the tone for the staging room where only the brave can venture to the next level up the steps. A dark hissing from an overworked steam machine god seems to blow angrily at anyone who dares to approach. I was like the first guinea pig in Indiana Jones movies where they send some poor hapless native to check out a booby trap, only to get his head chopped off or stabbed by a hundred poison darts. Well, since I was the booby, I ventured into the second stage room where the ominous steam god rested. Suddenly lava hot water droplets from the ceiling crashed on my neck causing me to jump and stand up....and just like the poor hapless native guinea pig in Indian Jones movies, I got my head chopped off. A cloud of "fry you to death vapor" just floating 4 ft above the groundfloor burned the crapola out of my scalp and fried my ear like a deep fried wonton wrapper (this probably explains why there is hair all over the floor. Others before me probably ran back to the showers and it probably all just kind of fell out from there. I did not see ears on the floor so I will have to rethink this theory some more). OWCH. So like a hapless coward I retreat to the staging room and decide to sit there since it is well below the vapor cloud. By this time, the attendant brings me a tall glass of hibiscus juice with crushed ice and I'm thinking 'do I drink this or pour it over my head?'
OK. I get called out. Its time for a scrub. Finally, some action. There is something particular about the staff that works inside of the hammam. They are all this breed of stocky, burly, strong, hairy men. Super friendly, but I somehow I get the sense that they are hired to manhandle the customers and get them scrubbed and washed as efficiently and as quickly as possible.
I am escorted to a small room with a marble countertop built into the wall. One side of it is open to allow water to drain while the other three sides are sectioned off by a wall. The problem is that its not exactly flat and as manhandler #1 starts to rinse it off with warm water, I notice the water starts to pool up on my marble countertop. I am asked to jump on top and lie on my back in this small layer of water and mandhandler #1 begins to scrub the sh*t out of my skin with a wet rag. This is a process where they take the dead skin cells off in order to promote the growth of healthy new skin. Manhandler #1 then takes my hand, puts in on my chest and I feel something that feels like a large mass of rubber from pencil erasings. "Today's skin" he says to me as I am totally grossed out by the fact that he made me feel all my dead skin rolls. In true manhandler fashion, he just flips me over and takes off more of 'today's skin.' So I'm on my belly, looking down at this water film and I get to see this soup of all of my dead skin floating around me. Just as I am thoroughly grossed out he flips me over again and commences to wash me with a loofah pad and aromatic soap. Ok, much better I suppose, but I'm still grossed out.
I get a bucket of warm water dumped on me to rinse and I am promptly moved on next to Manhandler #2 for my massage. I tell him that I have a tightness in upper back and I would appreciate his help in getting the knots out. "No problem. I take very GOOD care of you." Manhandler #2 was even bigger... with a long mullet and hands that can crack a walnut.. He was really going to work on my tight muscles. Right around the time when i was on my back and he was massaging my THIGHS he asked me where I am from. I said "America..where are you from?"
"I am from Iraq" - followed by a short uncomfortable pause.
Did I mention he could crack a walnut with those hands?
The coup de grâce was my final back massage where he pressed and pinched and pounded all those nasty little knots in my back with the force of those huge arms of his. I lay face down in a towel and he moved to the front of the massage table next to my head to push downwards on my shoulder and shoulder blades. I forgot to mention that manhandler #2 also has a huge beer gut and while he was pushing down on my shoulders he was basically burying his belly fat into the back of my head, crushing my nose and cutting off my air supply.
At the end of it all, I got a hot shower, burnt scalp, skin soup, and a crushed nose.. all for $30. I think I got my moneys worth.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Books at Cafe Amman
Geeze,
This happens all the time. I must have a GPS chip lodged somewhere in my body... but where?
I'm sitting at Books@Café which is THE place for foreigners in Jordan to congregate. A huge sprawling bar on top of a house overlooking the downtown area of Amman. Its decorated in a style of mixed pastels and flower power wall paintings with 'The Reflex' playing on the loud speaker. They sell out of date books at the basement but its one of the only places where you can buy a glass of wine, grilled cheese sandwiches, and cherry flavoured hookah pipes in Amman.
So, I just wrapped up a meetup with my friend Andy Jacobs who is heading a new film school here in Jordan sponsored by Steven Spielberg. Evidently after filming Indiana Jones 3 here, Spielberg has had some sort of love affair with Jordan and volunteered to help build the regions first film school. Andy and I have this great deal going on where he has this empty apartment on the beach and I 'volunteer' to house-sit while he is away on business.
So I'm sitting here with Andy discussing his IT strategy for his school and we here a voice at the table behind us saying... "So how the heck am I supposed to find this guy in Amman? Do I need to just go to Books@Café and just ask if anyone knows Andy?"
So we turned around, and just calmly said.. "Yes, as a matter of I'm Andy. Is there something I can help you with?"
Small world? Try microscopic.
This experience has led me to reflect back on all the times I bumped into people I know. This type of thing really does happen to me all the time. I even bumped into my friend Khaldoun on the road while driving out to Books@Café just an hour ago. The last time I was at Books...about 2 weeks ago... I ran into a dutch couple at the Halloween party and then the Italian guy from Syria I met at a UN party... Weird?
Even three days ago, I was doing another one of those "Lets go hang out at the beach (Andy's apartment) for a week while everyone is working thingamajigees" and before I know it my Japanese buddy Mitsu just happens to be showing the great majestic Red Sea to his mother who is visiting for a week.
And of course, one of the rare times I decide to walk down the road in the hot Jordanian sun, Crazy taxi driver buddy Akhmed screeches to a halt and offers to give me a ride to wherever I am going. Never mind that he has paying customers in his car at that moment who are wondering who the hell this Korean guy is.
I suppose I do have this talent for running into people I know. When I was a student in Tokyo, I happened to be travelling at some random temple in Kyoto 500 km away and happened to bump into my mom.
The cousin of my friend Shana came to visit from Chicago while I was in highschool in california. I asked if she knew a filipina friend of mine named Faith who lived in Chicago. Of course, this girl rolled her eyes and said ' duh... chicago has like only a few million people...' What happens next? They end up living on the same floor in their dormitory the next year during their freshman year.
Encounters can be unpleasant though... like the time I ran into an ex-girlfriend who had recently scrumpled my heart in an unfashionable Ren-and-Stimpy-take-a-tennis-racket-and-swat-the-beating-muscle-out-of-the-yard....Yeah..
We bumped into eachother again at a calistoga hotspring large enough for 8 people with her new boyfriend and myself accompanied with Elodie. Can you say "awkward???"
So the moral of the story here.. especially in Jordan is.. Do not piss anyone off. You WILL meet them again. Perhaps in a hotspring. Perhaps in a Buddhist temple. Perhaps at Books@café.
This happens all the time. I must have a GPS chip lodged somewhere in my body... but where?
I'm sitting at Books@Café which is THE place for foreigners in Jordan to congregate. A huge sprawling bar on top of a house overlooking the downtown area of Amman. Its decorated in a style of mixed pastels and flower power wall paintings with 'The Reflex' playing on the loud speaker. They sell out of date books at the basement but its one of the only places where you can buy a glass of wine, grilled cheese sandwiches, and cherry flavoured hookah pipes in Amman.
So, I just wrapped up a meetup with my friend Andy Jacobs who is heading a new film school here in Jordan sponsored by Steven Spielberg. Evidently after filming Indiana Jones 3 here, Spielberg has had some sort of love affair with Jordan and volunteered to help build the regions first film school. Andy and I have this great deal going on where he has this empty apartment on the beach and I 'volunteer' to house-sit while he is away on business.
So I'm sitting here with Andy discussing his IT strategy for his school and we here a voice at the table behind us saying... "So how the heck am I supposed to find this guy in Amman? Do I need to just go to Books@Café and just ask if anyone knows Andy?"
So we turned around, and just calmly said.. "Yes, as a matter of I'm Andy. Is there something I can help you with?"
Small world? Try microscopic.
This experience has led me to reflect back on all the times I bumped into people I know. This type of thing really does happen to me all the time. I even bumped into my friend Khaldoun on the road while driving out to Books@Café just an hour ago. The last time I was at Books...about 2 weeks ago... I ran into a dutch couple at the Halloween party and then the Italian guy from Syria I met at a UN party... Weird?
Even three days ago, I was doing another one of those "Lets go hang out at the beach (Andy's apartment) for a week while everyone is working thingamajigees" and before I know it my Japanese buddy Mitsu just happens to be showing the great majestic Red Sea to his mother who is visiting for a week.
And of course, one of the rare times I decide to walk down the road in the hot Jordanian sun, Crazy taxi driver buddy Akhmed screeches to a halt and offers to give me a ride to wherever I am going. Never mind that he has paying customers in his car at that moment who are wondering who the hell this Korean guy is.
I suppose I do have this talent for running into people I know. When I was a student in Tokyo, I happened to be travelling at some random temple in Kyoto 500 km away and happened to bump into my mom.
The cousin of my friend Shana came to visit from Chicago while I was in highschool in california. I asked if she knew a filipina friend of mine named Faith who lived in Chicago. Of course, this girl rolled her eyes and said ' duh... chicago has like only a few million people...' What happens next? They end up living on the same floor in their dormitory the next year during their freshman year.
Encounters can be unpleasant though... like the time I ran into an ex-girlfriend who had recently scrumpled my heart in an unfashionable Ren-and-Stimpy-take-a-tennis-racket-and-swat-the-beating-muscle-out-of-the-yard....Yeah..
We bumped into eachother again at a calistoga hotspring large enough for 8 people with her new boyfriend and myself accompanied with Elodie. Can you say "awkward???"
So the moral of the story here.. especially in Jordan is.. Do not piss anyone off. You WILL meet them again. Perhaps in a hotspring. Perhaps in a Buddhist temple. Perhaps at Books@café.
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