Birthday Weekend

My birthday was this past Saturday.  I really didn't have anything planned, and really wanted just a low-key celebration -- maybe dinner with my dearest and my in-laws, definitely cake (more precisely frosting; as I firmly believe that cake is merely a frosting delivery device), but I wasn't thinking about an indulgent weekend.

Then we got an invitation to attend one of my dearest's friends fiddle recital.  It was being held on Saturday evening in Melbourne.  Checking with the in-laws to see if we could delay the planned birthday dinner, we headed off to the City for the weekend

The drive up was very pleasant.  We left mid-morning and had a lovely drive, listening to George Harrison and David Gray as we drove along.  My dearest may disagree, but I think David Gray is perfect driving music.  Interstate highway systems look the same the world over, but there is some beauty to be found.

We were passed by this interesting looking car, so dearest asked if I could get a photo of it, and its personalized license plate.  I thought it was a good sign for the weekend.

After negotiating the interstate, a number of roundabouts, and some dicey right turns on busy streets, we made it safely to our hotel, where we were escorted to the room by the cheerful front desk clerk who checked us in.  After dropping our gear and confirming parking arrangements, we were off.  We needed to drop some recording equipment with dearest's friend and then we had an appointment.  Well, I say we, but it was really for me, though all I knew about it was that it was at 1:30 on the corner of Bridge Road and Lennox Street.  Beyond that, dearest was unwilling to discuss it.  Arriving at the corner, I was still a bit confused, until we happened upon the day spa.  I was still in the dark as to what was happening, until dearest checked in and told me it was "the one I liked."  Whoo-Hoo!!!  Pedicure.  Unknown to dearest, I had just been thinking about how it was over a year since my last pedicure (on my last cruise, while sailing into Newport harbour).  When dearest returned a little over an hour later my pampered toes sparkled in their coat of Port Macquarie polish (Aside:  what is it with nail polish companies and the ridiculous, meaningless names for the colors?  My signature color is Essie's "Can't Film Fest."  I am sure I do not have to tell you that is a sparkly magenta.  All the colors at this spa were named for cities in Australia.  Who knew Port Macquarie was a sparkly strawberry pink?)

(I had to take advantage of the spa's disposable thongs as dearest had not told me what was up and I prepared for a day of walking and sightseeing in tennis shoes and padded socks.)

After the luxurious pedicure, dearest had another surprise for me.  He had scouted out the area while I was being pampered and had found a high-end grocery for me to wander through.  I did more than wander through it, I indulged in such luxuries as Hershey's Chocolate Syrup, Celestial Seasonings Blueberry Tea and Lorina Sparkling Lemonade, and celebratory macarons (lemon, caramel and cocoa varieties).  Dearest indulged in sweet potato chips, blue corn tortilla chips, and a couple of varieties of loose tea.  I will definitely have to go back.  They have Dr. Pepper and Jones Sodas.  Sometimes a little bit of home is just what you need.

After a bit more wandering, we found just the perfect place for birthday lunch -- Salsa's.  I indulged in Nacho Fries, which will be better known to my US audience as deluxe chili-cheese fries:  seasoned french fries with taco meat, beans, cheese sauce, fresh tomatoes, onions, cilantro, pico de gallo, and sour cream.  They rate as the best chili-cheese fries I have had yet.

After stuffing ourselves (dearest went semi-healthy on me and had a wholemeal cheese quesadilla), we headed back to the hotel to have a little rest and to prepare for the recital.  Dressed and ready, we headed to the lobby to wait for our cab, and the front desk clerk could not have been more helpful.  She carefully monitored the situation, even coming over to us to explain the delay -- the dispatched cab had been hailed by another fare, so she had to reorder ours, not once, but twice.  We made it to the venue in plenty of time, and saw dearest's friend before the recital started and again at intermission.  She met up with us again towards the end of the second part of the performance and we made arrangements to go for a late dinner.

Dinnertime came, and we settled on a Thai place next door to the pub where dearest was meeting another friend.  After a nice dinner of Pad Thai and spring rolls shared over discussions of all kinds of things, we said goodnight to dearest's friend and went into the pub.  There was a special live performance -- a David Bowie tribute -- and dearest was keen to go.  It would never have been on my radar, I would have gone back to the hotel for a shower and a cozy night with my book, but I am glad we went.  If only because it was my birthday.  The last birthday I had spent in a bar was my 21st, and that one was in the Officer's Club at the Air Force Base in the same town as my college.  The nights had many things in common -- I was just waiting for the Spin Doctor's Two Princes to be cued up by the DJ after the gig finished and it would have been almost exactly the same as the celebration 17 years earlier.  After a drink, we all decided it would be better to continue our getting to know each other session in a more conducive environment, so we left the bar in search of one.  Dearest and his friends had their backs to the bar, so they missed the entertaining goings-on I saw -- namely one guy being the loser in fights with the other 4 people he was with, including one which involved all four victors buying shots and pouring them in the loser's eyes.  I was happy everyone had decided it was time to go.  We ended up finding a 24-hour McDonald's.  Not quite the Waffle House of my 21st, but still interesting in its own way.  And I enjoyed the frozen coke more than the waffles and coffee.  We got back to the hotel at 2:30 and I was in bed setting my alarm 8 minutes later.

Sunday morning we had no plans, other than catching up with dearest's friend to pick up the recording device, so we slept in as long as possible before check out, and then went for a wander in search of brunch.  We found it at a combination used bookstore/cafe, where dearest indulged me further with two new-to-me books:  Maeve Binchy's Whitethorn Woods and Alys Clare's Girl in a Red Tunic.  I was thrilled by the combination of pre-loved books, food, and tables for lingering and enjoying, and even more so by the iced tea as a featured beverage.  I have missed big (free refill) glasses of iced tea at restaurants, and leapt at the chance to experience something so familiar.  Admittedly, $3.50 is a lot to be paying for iced tea, but it was worth it for me.  I would have been happier had it been served with free refills, but I think that will have to be a one step at a time thing.

After brunch we went for a bit of a wander, before meeting up with dearest's friend and, abandoning the plan to download the recordings, we headed out with them for a Sunday afternoon in the Botanic Gardens.  I had never been to the Botanic Gardens in Melbourne, despite plans to see them on all my visits.  We didn't wander too far into them, only as far as the Tea Room, where we stopped for a refresher after the long-ish walk, and then past one of the pools, where I met what was long thought to be an impossibility -- a black swan.  I also checked out some eels, though none had the personality of a certain "Dutch Moray-Eel" who makes his home at the Audubon Aquarium of the Americas in New Orleans.

(Foiled by a vowel.)

(Our hotel.)

 

(St. Kevin???  I giggle every time I see it.)

 (They're everywhere.)

(I loved the way the tower looked from this angle.)

 (This reminded me of a house in New Orleans that has been in a state of constant renovation for at least 25 years.)

 (I loved the details on the windows of the church.)

 ("The clock on the silo says 11 degrees.")

A walk back to the hotel to pick up the car and we were on our way home.  We had been invited to a birthday dinner at my in-laws, so we needed to get back.  Frosting was calling me and I am not one to deny the call of frosting!  So we had a quick stop at JB HiFi for dearest to check out speaker systems, and were home in plenty of time for dinner.  And a very good dinner it was -- chicken schnitzel, mashed potatoes with gravy, and roast winter vegetable mix.  And cake! A homemade mocha cake with excellent frosting, and plenty of it.  There was also a surprise for me.  My in-laws had a present for me -- a book, Michael Dobbs' The Edge of Madness and another surprise, a dozen napkins.  My hunt for and use of cloth napkins has become something of a family joke, so when my mother-in-law saw the dozen, she could not resist them.  And I cannot wait to use them.  They look very similar to an Irish linen set I found at my great-aunt's house.

It was a very successful birthday weekend.  Now though, I must go find a copy of Two Princes, it was the only thing missing from the weekend...

Venn-ding Classic Rock

Background:  An episode of How I Met Your Mother, features one of the characters holding up a Venn diagram with one circle representing the "people who are breaking my heart" and another circle representing the "people who are shaking my confidence daily."  In the overlap of the two circles is the name "Cecilia."  It is an obvious reference to the Simon & Garfunkel song of the same name.  (I will pause here while you curse me for implanting the earworm...)

Today I was listening to my copy of Simon & Garfunkel Old Friends Live on Stage, and Cecilia started playing.  Wanting the chuckle, I did a Google search for an image of the Venn diagram from the How I Met Your Mother Episode.  I found plenty of images -- not only stills from the episode, but shirts, travel cups, tote bags, mouse pads, and dart boards for sale with the diagram silk screened on them.  But I also found a link to a blog post reviewing the episode.  As I do not remember the plot of the episode as much as I remember the Venn diagram, I checked out the blog post.  The diagram was mentioned in the plot summary, but what really struck me as interesting as a comment made by the blog author at the end.  I am not sure if the author was being serious or not, but the comment was "Okay, have we met this Cecilia person?"

I was flabbergasted.  The depths of ignorance of the world at large never cease to amaze me, but on this point, I was pretty sure there was no real issue.  Heck a Google search of the terms "breaking my heart/shaking my confidence daily" would lead you to the lyrics for the song.  I will be the first person to admit my ignorance as to the subject of popular music, but I was pretty sure everyone knew Cecilia.

It could be that I was lucky enough to see Simon & Garfunkel in concert in 2009, but still, I was under the impression that it was a well-known song, certainly well-known enough to need no explanation when the lyrics are used in such a joke.

Maybe the latest hot acts/groups -- whoever they may be -- need to put out an album of classic rock covers, just to make sure everyone can get the joke without having to ring up their grandparents.  In the meantime, to the blog author (and anyone else who is confused), I direct you to iTunes where you can download The Essential Simon & Garfunkel for $16.99, featuring not only Cecilia, but 32 other hits you have probably never heard.

Big Thoughts in Small Drops

This evening, while I was in the shower, the Memorare popped in my head. For no discernible reason, I could hear myself reciting it in my head, and soon I heard myself reciting along with my own voice in my head. That particular prayer has always had a calming effect on me. I am convinced that prayer got me through my semesters of swimming in college. I am sure I would have given in to the fear of the deep end and flip turns had I not been timing my laps to the Memorare in French (because in the panic created by the very real possibility of drowning I could not remember the words in English).

Perhaps it’s the act of recitation that is so calming. But I honestly think it’s the meaning of the words themselves.

Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary,
that never was it known that anyone
who fled to your protection, implored your help,
or sought your intercession was left unaided.
Inspired with this confidence, we fly unto you,
O Virgin of virgins, our Mother.
To you we come, before you we stand,
sinful and sorrowful.
O Mother of the Word Incarnate
despise not our petitions,
but in your mercy hear us and answer us.
Amen.

The prayer itself reminds us that Mary hears and acts upon our prayers, no matter who we are, where we are in our lives, or how long it has been since we prayed or attended Mass. The Virgin Mary puts no conditions on those in need of Her intercession. I like the idea of being able to appear before Her, as I am, sinful and sorrowful, with all my imperfectness and know that She will hear and answer me. I like knowing that I can recite this prayer, and that my prayers will be heard -- even the prayers of the lapsed Catholic I am. I can appear before the Virgin Mary as I am, with all my sins and faults and She will hear and act on my prayers.

That is a very calming idea. It’s a very real idea. I am flawed; I am not perfect. I always thought prayers were for perfect people -- the ones who went to Mass every Sunday and Holy Day of Obligation; the ones who went to confession regularly; the ones who agree with everything the church dictates. I am not a perfect Catholic. I do not go to Mass every week; I am not even sure when all the Holy Days of Obligation fall. I disagree with the Church on a few dogmatic issues. I know the Church is not perfect, but then neither am I. I like the thought that I can kneel in prayer (or even stand under a spray of warm, relaxing water in prayer) and that my prayers will be treated the way the prayers of every other faithful person’s are. It’s quite equalizing and calming.

And so, with the words of the Memorare filling my head and my ears, and my prayerful intentions on my mind and lips, I gave over the troubles and stresses of my day to the aid and intercession of the Virgin Mary. And I came away from the shower not only physically clean, but mentally and spiritually clean as well, and with the knowledge that even if I cannot make good on my intention to get up and go to Mass on Sunday morning, my prayers will be heard and answered.

Kitchen Magic

Today, I made beer bread.  There is really nothing to it -- self-rising flour, sugar and beer -- it's a very simple recipe that turns out something spectacular.

As I was mixing the batter, I commented to my dearest how amazing it is that you can mix flour (and a few other pantry-staple ingredients) with a liquid and create so many wonderful things -- bread, cakes, scones/biscuits, cookies, noodles, dumplings, pie crust.  It is truly a kitchen wonder.

Here in Australia, I watch MasterChef to get my food-show fix.  In the US, I watched Chopped and Top Chef almost religiously.   As I was pouring the beer batter in the pan, I was thinking that if I were going to create a challenge for the chef-testants on those types of shows, I would give them flour, a liquid, a fat, and pantry staples, then assign them a mealtime to see what they could make with such simple ingredients.  Of course, I can see it now -- they would all protest that they are chefs, not bakers.  Well, I'm not a baker either, but I can turn out a decent loaf of beer bread.  I can turn out a decent coffee cake from scratch.  I can make a mean batch of cream biscuits, shortbread, and in a pinch, pie crust.  I can take flour, eggs, salt and come out with the best dumplings ever.  My dearest, who has far less kitchen experience than any chef-testant, can produce a loaf of Irish soda bread to rival any I have ever had.

The skills needed to turn flour, liquid, fat, and pantry staples into something edible are not the skills of a baker, these are the skills of a person who knows what they are doing in a kitchen.  They are not chef-skills, they are life-skills.  I fully believe that everyone should know how to cook a meal for four, even if that meal is nothing more than a simple spaghetti sauce, dry pasta, and sliced white bread with garlic butter.  It is a decent meal you can serve for dinner.  Everyone needs to know how to feed themselves, and sometimes budgets only allow for staples.  Everyone should know how to create a luxury out of staples.

My flour challenge would be a true test of the chef-testant's basic skills.  Can they turn basic ingredients into something good?  It's all well and good to give a chef a piece of beef and let their imagination run riot.  There are only so many things you can do to the beef and still have it be edible.  The possibilities in flour and basic pantry staples are nearly endless, but you need to know basic techniques in order to produce them.  On one episode of Top Chef, established chefs were to pick through the chef-testants to serve as their assistants for the challenge.  Michael Chiarello asked the chef-testants to do basic tasks in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and breaking down a chicken, or something similar.  One of the chef-testants flat out told Mr. Chiarello that he was too good to bother demonstrating his skills in such a fashion.  I think Mr. Chiarello's "interview" was a great one.  If he was hiring an assistant chef, he needed to know that the person he hired had a good understanding of the basics, and what better way to judge the command of basic skills than by asking the chef-testant to demonstrate them?

The flour challenge would do what Mr. Chiarello's "interview" did.  It would prove to the judges that the chef-testants had command of basic skills and basic cooking techniques -- not baking, COOKING.  It would show they can take basics and turn out something luxurious.

Food Network once ran a reality-cooking show called The Worst Cook in America, taking people who admittedly could not cook and teaching them chef skills.  The first thing the established chef mentors taught the non-cooks was how to chiffonade basil!  Yes, it is awesome to know how to create ribbons of basil, but if the person in question cannot even figure out how to boil water to cook dried pasta, chiffonading is one of the last skills they need!  Better they know that if they take 3 cups self-rising flour, 3 tablespoons sugar, and 12 ounces of beer, mix it all together well, turn the resulting batter into a loaf pan, shove the pan in a 350 degree oven to bake for an hour, and cool the loaf on a wire rack for an hour, they have created a better-than-store-bought loaf of bread.  They have actually done more than that.  They have created kitchen magic.