Office Politics

Just something silly that developed from a conversation I had with my dearest this morning:

The Office Dinner Party

The bartender and head waiter at a popular Brussels restaurant checked over the reservations for the night.  “It’s gonna be a long night,” the head waiter mused.  

Looking out the window, the bartender commiserated, “Yes, indeed, it will be a long night.  And it’s already getting started.  I think I see the early arrivals at the valet stand.” 

The evening was loud and raucous, and lingered longer than the diners originally anticipated, as these kind of office get-togethers tend to do.  It was a busy evening for the staff, who were kept hopping with 27 picky, demanding diners.  

“But the worst is yet to come,” the bartender thought as he saw the head waiter putting no so little pieces of paper in the slick vinyl portfolios to deliver to the parties. 

“This is going to be trouble.  It always is,” the head waiter thought to himself.

Germany picked up the bill, glanced at the total, and quickly calculated an equal per-person share, assuming that the bill was going to be split 17 ways.

Italy piped up first saying that he had only credit cards because he never carried cash, and everyone knew that; it ruined the line of his suit.

France then complained that they were at this place only because Belgium’s brother knows the owner and they were supposed to have gotten a discount as a result.

Belgium retorted that no one else had any better suggestions, so they defaulted to the usual place.

But the arrangements were in Germany’s name, so he can pay for the outing, announced Portugal. 

Austria muttered under her breath about Germany never allowing for dissent anyway, just look what happened the last time they all decided not to go along with Germany’s plan.

Ireland grabbed the bill, checked the items he had ordered and promptly reminded everyone that Spain had arrived hours earlier than anyone else and ran up a huge tab at the bar, which ended up on the table’s bill.

Slovakia, or maybe Slovenia -- who could tell them apart anyway? -- was complaining that Greece had ordered the most expensive things on the menu, while they had only had a salad, and there was no way that either was going to pony up for a share of the filet mignon!

Finland griped that Luxembourg had ordered expensive bottles of wine, while Luxembourg countered that everyone at the table had shared in the wine.

Malta and Cyprus argued that they had split an appetizer, so there was no way they were paying more than half a share each, while everyone else grumbled about how much vacation time those two had.

Estonia shouted that she was late, arriving just in time for dessert, after the bar was taking orders, so there is no way she is paying for anything other than the ice cream that was brought out to her.

No one bothered to count heads, so no one noticed that The Netherlands had ducked out for a smoke just before the bill arrived.

Meanwhile, a smaller table was watching the larger party.

“And that, my friends, is why we requested separate checks,” England laughed.

Sweden and Denmark nodded in agreement, while Latvia and Lithuania giggled tipsily with Poland over the word “Zloty.”

Romania, Hungary, and Bulgaria were glad they had escaped Germany’s influence and toasted the UK with raised glasses.

And the Czech Republic just wondered why everyone was talking so much about him, but then, they always did at these kinds of events.

Indulgences

One of dearest's friends was celebrating his 50th birthday with a party at a pub, complete with a band, a U2 tribute/cover band.  Dearest didn't want to miss the party and I never miss an opportunity to explore a bit in Melbourne, so we headed up to the city for an overnight getaway.  We had a list of must-dos:  (1) an afternoon indulgence at the Koko Black Salon; (2) a visit to the Oriental Tea House to pick up a package of Raspberry-Lime herbal tea to send to my mother; (3) the party on Friday night; and (4) breakfast at "our" breakfast spot on Saturday morning.  We had no other real plans, and while it sounds like a full to-do list, there was ample time for wandering about and checking things out along the way.

The drive up was uneventful, well, except for my nervousness to get going.  I am always a bit jumpy when I have planned to get out and on the road.  Dearest is a bit more easy-going than I am.  I tend to schedule things and live by the clock -- if we had planned to get out by 11:00 a.m., I am ready by 10:30 and nervous until we get out the door and on the way.  I tend to dally, but not when we have plans.  When we have to be somewhere, I'd rather leave early, pack a book and do the dallying once we get where we are going.

Once we were on the road, the trip up to the city was uneventful.  We arrived at the hotel with no problems, parked in the hotel's small lot, agreeing to have the car out of the lot by noon the next day, and checked in.  The room was basic, but more than adequate for the night, and actually much larger than I anticipated.  After dropping our gear, we headed in search of the Koko Black Salon, checking out a book store on the way.  On a previous visit to the city, dearest was very disappointed to learn that the long-time Melbourne institution independent book store had closed.  On this trip he was overjoyed to see that the it had re-opened, in a shiny new location, in the lobby of an office building spanning the block.  I was glad as well.  I found the next-in-series Erast Fandorin book I was missing to complete my series (at least until the final book of the series comes out in September), and I was very surprised to see books I thought were out of print, and a number of series I read in the US but had not seen here.  After spending a bit more time and money than planned at the unscheduled stop, it was off to Koko Black for afternoon "tea."

I had been looking forward to the indulgence, and a trip to the Koko Black Salon can only be described as an indulgence.  We knew we were getting nibbles at the party, so we didn't really plan dinner, but an afternoon "snack" was just the thing.  And I had been wanting to share Koko Black with dearest since I had visited last March with my college friends.  It was exactly as I remembered it.

The last time I was there, I indulged in a Chocolate Affogato Spoil -- a tasting plate with chocolate cake, Belgian chocolates, drizzled shortbread, and a goldfish-bowl sized brandy snifter of decadent hot cocoa poured over house-made vanilla bean ice cream.  This time I was not in the mood for anything quite so indulgent.  

After perusing the menu, I selected a milk chocolate mousse slice -- an almond shortbread cookie base topped with a layer or milk chocolate mousse, vanilla-rose water cream, and white peach jelly (I could have had bowls and bowls of the white peach jelly and been perfectly content), topped with a milk chocolate lattice.  The plate was highlighted with an apricot coulis, perfect for dipping the cookie base in.  

I did not want a chocolate overload, and there was a fresh strawberry-mint iced tea on the menu, so I had one of those.

Dearest took a bit of time deciding, going back and forth between a couple of options, finally settling on the Belgian Spoil Plate -- a tasting plate of house-made dark chocolate ice cream with a dried raspberry studded milk chocolate fan, a dark chocolate mousse, drizzled shortbread, Belgian chocolates, and a chocolate cake.  

He selected to wash everything down with a Belgian hot cocoa.

After leisurely enjoying our treats, we headed out to tick off the rest of our Friday must-dos.  On the way out, we saw the last of the Easter chocolate display, including these:

(chook-o-lat -- yes, it's a very bad Aussie pun)

We were in no real hurry, so we wandered here and there as the whim struck us.  Dearest had gotten his friend a birthday present at the book store, and we needed a nicer bag or wrapping, so we were on the lookout for a card/wrapping store.  We found one, and in the same mall, a lingerie shop specializing in larger sizes.  At dearest's urging, I stopped in to check out what was on offer.  I am in the market for a few new bras, but as usual, I am picky about what I want, and while I was very appreciative of the knowledge as to what is available, I was not really in the mood to purchase anything, and certainly not a $90 something that was not exactly what I was looking for.  But I will keep the shop in mind when I am ready to make a purchase.

We next wandered back past our hotel in search of the Oriental Tea House, to get the tisane for my mother (and, as it turned out, an impulse purchase box of vanilla-scented black tea for me).  On the way, we passed T2 and noted its location to have a wander after getting what we came for at the Oriental Tea House.  T2 is a hip, urban tea shop, while the Oriental Tea House is a more traditional, sedate shop.  I like both, but I have to say I prefer the tea at the Oriental Tea House.  Sometimes hip, happening tea is good, but more often the flavours are lost on me.  I prefer to have my tea iced, and iced tea is still in the introductory phase here in Australia -- it's much more of a novelty than a staple -- and in my opinion, most hip, happening teas seem wasted when used for iced tea.  But I still like to check in at T2 when I have the occasion.  I was pleased to see "iced tea jugs" were on display.  It may mean that the ubiquitous drink of the Southern US is on its way to becoming mainstream here.  (Not a moment too soon if you ask me!)

After T2, we realized we needed to head back to the hotel to change for the party if we were going to make it on time.  I noted a shop to visit tomorrow and scurried off after dearest to the hotel.

We had planned to get a bit of dinner on the way to the party, just in case the nibbles were not to our liking.  We passed through the restaurant district around the hotel, but every place was understandably packed on the busy Friday evening of the Melbourne Comedy Festival (I missed seeing Hannah Gadsby to attend the party -- not a bad thing, but she is one of the acts I would not mind seeing when I have the chance).  We had hoped to find a McDonald's or something similar on the walk, but did not.  In the end, we found the outlet mall associated with Spencer Street Station and nibbled a fairly good steam-table pizza from the food court.  So fortified, we headed out to the party.

We arrived relatively early, which was good for me, because it meant we got to talk to the birthday boy before it got to loud or crowded.  And we could stake out a table before they were at a premium.  It was a fun party, though anyone observing me might have guessed I had a terrible time.  It was louder than I would have preferred -- I MUST remember to get earplugs and bring them with me! -- and a bit darker than I would have liked, but I really did have a good time.  

It was after 1:00 when we left, and I was a bit sleepy.  We considered walking back to the hotel, but then thought a taxi would be a better idea.  Dearest called the number for a taxi but, as he was put on hold for a while, we decided it was probably just as easy to walk up to Spencer Street Station and grab a taxi from the taxi rank there.  My luck with taxi drivers is no better than it has ever been -- this driver was a bit confused as to where we were going and dearest had to direct him.  At least in Melbourne we had an idea of where to go and how to direct the driver.  We made it back to the hotel without too much trouble, and I was asleep before I remembered much else of the night.

Morning broke early -- about four hours after we turned off the lights.  I was rudely awoken by a man on the street below loudly proclaiming he was God.  I grumbled about being dragged from dreams to that reality, but managed to get another three or four hours of rest before we got up to start our day.

We checked out of the hotel, and on the suggestion of the parking lot attendant, dropped our bag in the car (rather than paying for a storage locker) and headed out to our breakfast spot.  By that time, we had about an hour and a half to see what we wanted and get breakfast before we had to bail the car out of the parking lot.

Our first stop was the stationery store I had noted yesterday, but finding nothing I could not live without, we headed on for breakfast.  Since our visit to Melbourne in 2009, we have had breakfast at the same cafe on every trip to the city.  And we usually have the same order -- two eggs, any style, with toast, bacon, orange juice, and tea or coffee.  This time dearest changed up his order and had a spinach and feta pastry, but it was still our breakfast spot and I enjoyed it.

We made it back to the hotel's parking lot with about fifteen minutes to spare, and headed out of the city on our way home.  We discussed it and decided to stop at the Springvale Ikea on the way.  That was a whole other adventure.

A Bowl of Kicked-Up Comfort

Last night for dinner, I wanted comfort food, but a little different.  Dearest is a vegetarian, so I like to plan at least three vegetarian meals a week.  So I needed vegetarian, different, comfort food.  Looking through my cookbooks, I found a recipe for Chili with Cornmeal Dumplings.  Perfect!  It was comfort food with a twist.  The only problem was that the chili in the recipe was ground beef-based -- no good for the vegetarian meal I wanted.  But that recipe planted not only the idea, but the taste for chili with cornmeal dumplings in my head.  What could I do about it?

First, check the pantry.  Aside from staples, I had canned tomatoes, canned kidney beans, tomato paste and a variety of seasonings.  A search of the fridge yielded onions and garlic.  I had all the makings for chili.  My kicked-up comfort food dinner was on.

Vegetarian Chili with Cornmeal Dumplings

3 ounces tomato paste

1 teaspoon vegetable stock powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon chili powder

1/2 teaspoon ground cumin

1/4 teaspoon ground coriander

3/4 teaspoon sugar

1/2 teaspoon dried oregano

1 small onion, chopped fine

2 gloves garlic, peeled and chopped fine

1 tablespoon oil

1 can kidney beans, undrained

1 can tomatoes, undrained

1 box corn muffin mix

2 teaspoons dried parsley

1 egg

1/3 cup milk

1/2 cup finely shredded sharp cheddar cheese

• Combine tomato paste and enough boiling water to make one cup. 
• Stir in vegetable stock powder, salt, chili powder, cumin, coriander, sugar and oregano. 
• Set aside. 
• In large pot (I used a dutch oven), saute onion and garlic in oil until onions are translucent and tender. 
• Add beans and tomatoes, and tomato paste mixture.
• Bring to a boil over medium heat.
• In bowl, mix corn muffin mix and parsley until lumps are broken and parsley is combined. 
• Add milk and egg, stirring until moistened. 
• Using half the corn muffin mix, make four dumplings by dropping tablespoons in the boiling chili. 
• Reduce heat to low, cover and simmer for 15 minutes, or until knife inserted in center of dumplings comes out clean.
• Bake remaining corn muffin mix according to package directions.
• Sprinkle hot chili with cheese before serving. 

Makes 4 servings

(501 calories/65 grams carbohydrates per serving -- 1 dumpling and 1/4 baked cornbread)

Adapted from:  "Chili and Dumplings," Better Homes & Gardens Jiffy Cooking, 1967 and "Vegetarian Chili with Cornbread Topping," Favorite Brand Name Vegetarian 3-Books-In-1, 2010

Getting Lost and S.A.D.

This weekend, dearest and I headed up to Melbourne overnight on Friday to attend a birthday party for a friend. More on the party and Friday's adventures later, but now, we'll talk about Saturday's big adventure:  we stopped at Ikea on the way home.  That was an adventure all unto itself.

The Springvale Ikea is the anchor at one end of a home-furnishings mall.  All the other stores in the mall sell either furniture or home-furnishings.  I think that alone is interesting -- the mall is anchored by Ikea, but the other stores are in direct competition with Ikea.  It surprises me that all the stores can stay in business.  Of course, the mall has only been open since last September, so the newness of it all hasn't worn off yet.

We didn't really plan the visit to Ikea, which we later found was probably a mistake -- we just decided on a whim to stop by, because it was on the way home.  We entered the parking lot (big bonus for having ample parking!) and found a spot.  Neither one of us are the kind of people who have to have the closest spot, and both of us quickly lose patience driving around parking lots, in the vain hope that there might be a spot.  We found a spot a bit away from the crowds, but still in the sight line of the door and set off to begin the adventure.

We entered the shopping mall at the end furthest from Ikea, and decided to wander through the shops as we came to them, rather than going straight to Ikea and backtracking.  We are shopping for bookshelves, and we stopped in almost every store that may have stocked shelving units.  We saw some options, but none that were perfect.  We want adjustable shelves, but also the option to purchase additional shelves.  As dearest noted, the shelves sold as "book shelves" are designed "vase height" not "book height."  And as you know if you have read this blog, what I have are books, not vases.  I need book shelves to be functional as book shelves, not as vase shelves.

So, on to Ikea.  Wow.  We entered the bottom floor, and went forward, not up.  My mother will tell you that I have to be contrary, that I have to buck the system.  She is right.  In college, I went to a walking track at the hospital, which had a sign posted indicating that on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, walking proceeded in a clockwise direction; Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays were counter-clockwise, and Sundays alternated.  I annoyed my friends regularly by pondering what would happen if I were the only person on the track and walked in the opposite direction to the day?  Yes, I am contrary.  So in true Lynn-fashion, my first introduction to Ikea was though the Ikea Food section and the checkouts.

We turned around and entered the store through the escalators like the thoughtful Swedish designers intended.  And what was the first thing we saw?  The most perfect bookshelves available right there, first display.  The shelves were displayed with real books, albeit Swedish versions, not the printed cardboard boxes most other stores use to indicate that the shelves may be used to store books.  Now that we found the perfect bookshelves, how do we buy them?

Ikea has thoughtfully painted arrows on the floor leading to, what I could only assume was the checkouts.  I had picked up a map/shopping list, but had really paid no attention to it, thinking that Ikea would be like other furniture showrooms and have salespeople on the floor ready, willing, and able to sell me all kinds of things I did not want or need all in the name of commissions.  I led dearest along the path of the black arrows, meandering our way deeper into the maze.  We finally came upon a salesperson and asked our questions and armed with the information, needed to head home to discuss our options.  The only problem is, once you have made a decision, or gathered the information necessary for decisions to be made, it is near impossible to head out without wandering through the entire store.

It took another 20 minutes to get to the restaurant cafe, which marked, what we thought was near the end, but we found was only the half-way point.  Down the escalators we traveled, hoping there was a direct route to the exit, but found only another maze, this time with arrows projected onto the polished concrete floor, rather than painted.  Another 40 or so minutes of wandering, and we were at the checkouts.  Here we were faced with an interesting situation -- there is no easy way out of Ikea if you are not making a purchase.  It seems that there is a toll, in the form of a purchase, that must be paid for the use of the air.  We managed to escape without a purchase, but only by declaring so to the self-checkout observer.  While we managed to wander through the main showroom and the warehouse without a purchase, we did not escape Ikea without purchasing anything.  Dearest bought a "festive Swedish drink" and I bought a "blueberry drink" for much needed re-hydration from the Ikea Food area.

Back out in the shopping mall, dearest found a JB HiFi, and needed a wander through the cd section to decompress.  I agreed to the request and off we went.

Some years ago, my younger brother and I were watching a science news show and there was a story on Seasonal Affective Disorder related depression research in Sweden.  The reporter on the story suggested several humorous reasons for the unusually high incidence of S.A.D. in Sweden:  the fact that there are no pubs in Sweden?  the shape of the Volvo?  I can now add another reason:  the idea of a visit to Ikea.

Actually though, I was glad we went.  And we will be going back, just as soon as we figure out the logistics of getting the perfect bookshelves home.  And I will be trying the Swedish Meatballs on the next visit.

In other news, I have been awarded The Versatile Blogger Award by Eva at Eva Bakes.  (Thank you so much, Eva!!!)  Please stop by and check out her recipes.  The homemade granola bars and 2-minute chocolate cakes are well worth testing out in your own kitchens.

According to the award rules, I need to:

1.  Thank the person who gave you this award.
2.  Include a link to their blog.
3.  Select 15 blogs/bloggers that you've recently discovered or follow regularly.
4.  Nominate those 15 bloggers for the Versatile Blogger Award.
5.  Tell the person who nominated you 7 things about yourself.
6.  In the same post, include the set of rules.
7.  Inform each nominated blogger of their nomination by posting a comment on each of their blogs.

As honored as I am to receive the award for something I do mainly for myself, I don't know that I have recently discovered or follow regularly 15 other blogs that either have not already received the Award, are eligible for, or open to the Award.    So I do not know to whom I would pass on the Award.  Sorry to be a party-pooper.

Now for 7 things about me:

1.  I collect crayons.  I have 8 boxes of 64, with the built-in sharpener, unopened and still pristine, as well as about 20 other boxes of assorted crayons, most of unopened and unused.  I still use the box of crayons I had in grade school.
2.  I tried out for the College Jeopardy! Tournament.  I did not make it past the first cut, despite the fact that I answered 48 of the 50 questions correctly.  I did, however, get a vacation at Disney World as a consolation prize.
3.  Despite the existence of this blog, I really prefer old school writing with pen and paper.
4.  I would really like to be a redhead, but I am too lazy to even consider having my hair colored, as I would never keep it up.
5.  I have had a Hollywood crush on Pierce Brosnan since I was 9 years old and saw him in Remington Steele.  I sat through the Tailor of Panama and Mars Attacks merely because he starred in both.
6.  I was born and grew up in New Orleans, but cannot peel a crawfish to save my life.  When I go to crawfish boils, I usually manage to peel about 5 so that they are edible, but generally eat substantially more corn and potatoes.
7.  I choreographed a tap-dance routine to the rhythm of the copier at the law office where I worked.  It was an intricate dance, with interludes for refilling the paper drawer and for clearing jams.

Checking Out the Chambers

Dearest and I lazed in bed a bit longer than we had planned on Saturday morning, but it was still relatively early when we headed out for our day's adventure at Parliament House.  Friday's adventure had been my Canberra indulgence and Saturday was for dearest.  I knew that he would not be happy with a 45-minute guided tour of Parliament House before we headed for other sights and I prepared for spending the whole day there.  Because I knew that I would get bored and want a sit long before dearest was finished exploring, I popped my book in my bag with my camera and other essentials for the day.  Walking around the same area on Friday, I noticed a distinct lack of fast food places, so I planned to eat at least lunch at Parliament House.  I was really hoping there was dining room or cafeteria similar to the ones in the Capital in Washington, D.C.

We set out on the walk, taking a different route than the one we had walked Friday afternoon.  Canberra is laid out as a series of concentric circles, connected by spokes.  It's really a sensible way to lay out a town with a large, important building at its center.  For this trip to the center of the city, we opted to wander up to one of the inner circles rather than around an outer one.  This route took us past a Jewish Cultural Center, with a very modern Menorah in the garden.  I was sorry we were not there in December so I could see it lit for Hanukkah.  We also walked past a church having a Fair on our way to Parliament House.  The Fair looked interesting, but Canberra is home to mosquitoes that would need FAA clearance, and as I seem to attract every mosquito in the metropolitan area, I made a decision to keep walking.  In a very interesting city plan, the area between Parliament House and the rest of the city is left very much in its natural state -- almost as though there is a forest to protect the legislators from invasions mounted by disgruntled constituents -- and I thought the best option was to head toward the cleared area sooner rather than later.

Parliament House is marked by the pyramid structure on the roof.  The building is actually built into Capital Hill, but the pyramid rises above the hill and can be seen all over Canberra, an quite clearly from the streets converging on the circle.  As I found out on the tour, the grassy areas are actually over the House and Senate Chambers.  According to sources, that was to remind the parliamentarians that they served under the people, but I think that idea gets lost in ambition and egos these days.

Upon entering the building, you come a large open hall, clad all over in marble.  The brochure says this is to remind visitors of the eucalyptus forests Australia is known for.  Having not spent much time in eucalyptus forests, I am not sure how well the sense is conveyed, but it is an impressive room.

We arrived at Parliament House just in time to join the next scheduled guided tour.  Because the opportunity presented itself, we decided to take the guided tour and then explore more on our own.  (Most of the information came from the guided tour, but the pictures came from our independent explorations.)

The entry hall leads either upstairs to Chamber access or forward to the Great Hall -- a large open room used for official state functions, or it can be rented for wedding receptions or birthday parties.  The highlight of the Great Hall is a tapestry mural of a eucalyptus forest, accented by a sulphur-crested cockatoo in flight, and Halley's Comet, streaming across the sky.  The original painting upon which the tapestry is based does not feature the comet, which we were told serves as an artistic way to date the tapestry to 1986.  As impressive as the tapestry is (and it is an amazing tapestry), standing in the Great Hall, my thoughts were more about how awesome it would be to tap dance around the room, and how lovely it would be as the sound bounces off the walls, and echoes back and forth.  It was making me really sorry I had not dropped tap shoes in my day pack.  Of course, that may have gotten me tossed from Parliament House, so with a parting daydream, we headed to other, less Lynn-tempting areas of the building.

Australia's Parliament is a strange melding of the US Congress with the Westminster Parliamentary system.  It consists of a lower house, the House of Representatives, and an upper house, the Senate.  Both houses are elected by constituents, the House is district and population based, while the Senate has fixed and equal members from all States.  The Head of Government comes from the House, while departmental ministers may be selected from either the House or the Senate.  It's a bit hard to get my head around, because although it is similar to the US system, there are major differences.  I'm still working it out.  We saw both Chambers -- the cool grey-green of the House, and the earthen red of the Senate, colors which were selected to reflect the colors of the chambers in England's Parliament.  Though I have toured the Capital in Washington, D.C., I cannot honestly remember if the chambers were color-coded.  The parliamentarians in both chambers sit facing each other, with the majority (Government) party members on the right of the speaker, and the minority (Opposition) party members on the left.  It reminded me very much of the arrangement in the government chambers in Colonial Williamsburg; I can just see the party members chucking things at each other across the room -- I am positive that left to their own devices, the parliamentarians would devolve to the mentality of a group of fraternity boys.

One of the coolest parts of the Senate Chamber was the Australian Coat of Arms above the President of the Senate's seat -- the kangaroo and the emu are turned slightly so they are not looking at each other, but out to the Senators.  This was said to be the artist's way of reminding the Senators that Australia is watching them, but it is my opinion that as with the symbolism of the underground Chamber, the meaning is lost on the politicians.

After the tour and a good explore, we went in search of lunch and found it in the Queen's Court Cafe.  It was average food in an average setting, with less than average staffing.   But dearest found a nice statue of Queen Elizabeth II on the veranda, which along with the sustenance and the sit, made the stop worthwhile.

Fortified with an adequate lunch, we headed out for further exploration, well dearest did at any rate.  I found a relatively comfortable couch in a quite area and read my book while dearest ran all over the place having a great time.  By the time dearest had seen all there was to see -- or at least all that was open to the public to be seen, it was 3:00 p.m. and we had been at Parliament House for 4 1/2 hours.

We knew we wanted to check out Old Parliament House, and we really wanted more than fifteen minutes in which to do it, so we headed down the hill.  There we took a guided tour, seeing the original House and Senate chambers, party rooms, and the Prime Minister's Office.  I was expecting an iconic room, not unlike the Oval Office, and was disappointed by the utilitarian 1970's era burnt orange and fake wood paneled room.  It was an executive's office, but not the kind of office one would expect the leader of a nation to occupy.  But on the whole the tour was interesting and informative.

After the tour, we had about half an hour to see what was left to see before the building closed for the day, so dearest and I split up.  I wanted to check out more of the political cartoon exhibit and he had other things on his must-see list.  I finished with just enough time to stop in at the cafe (cleverly named The Kitchen Cabinet) to get a couple of bottles of water for the walk back to the hotel.

For the second day in a row, we closed Old Parliament House and walked back to the hotel in the gathering dusk.  Though this walk was considerably drier, without the threat of rain.  We stopped to listen in as iconic historic Prime Ministers sorted out pressing issues:

and made it back to the hotel with plenty of time for a rest before heading out in search of dinner.

My friend had suggested walking a few blocks down to the shopping area of Manuka to see what was on offer at the restaurants and cafes there and we took her suggestion.  Dearest knows I am on a hunt, no quest, for real Mexican food in Australia, and he found a listing for a Mexican place on his iPad maps.  A little exploration and we found the place -- in the center of a shopping mall.  Lack of ambiance aside, it was fantastic Tex-Mex and served to satiate my hunger for Mexican for a while.  I had Chicken Chimichangas with salsa verde and dearest had vegetarian enfrijoles -- enchiladas with beans and cheese and, to him at least, a very spicy blended salsa.  The Tex-Mex made my night and we headed out to the street to try and catch the fireworks show the security guard at Parliament House had mentioned was happening around 9:00 p.m.

We found, much to our surprise, that it was raining -- and I still had not rectified my packing oversight -- so we made a run down the street, where there were nice awnings and verandah roofs perfect for sheltering pedestrians.  We wanted to wait out the rain, so we to a wander along the shopping district, stopping at interesting window displays before finding an open bookstore.  Tex-Mex and a bookstore in the same night???  It was more than my excitement meter could process.  About forty minutes, and five books, later we emerged on the street where the steady rain had slowed to a slight drizzle and we began our walk back to the hotel.  We were getting tired, and figured, based on the rain, that the fireworks display had been cancelled.  (We learned from both the taxi driver and the newspaper that the display had gone off early, while we were inside enjoying our Mexican Fiesta.)

It wasn't as late a night as the previous one, but all the walking and standing caught up with me, and I was asleep before I really took notice of anything more than the position of the pillows.

Sunday morning, we were up and out of the hotel in time to check in, clear security, and test out the meagre food offerings at Canberra's airport.  The noodle house menu was not appetizing at 10:00 am, so we went with the Hudson's Coffee stand's pre-made and reheated pastries, which were just as good as it sounds like they should have been.  I washed mine down with a lukewarm hot cocoa, dearest had a marginally hotter mocha.  After the disappointing breakfast, I took a quick wander through the sundries shop to check out souvenirs and found that Canberra Airport had a serious problem with both its identity and geography.  This was the highlighted section of last-minute Canberra souvenirs:

With that as the last chuckle, we bade farewell to Australia's purpose-built national capital and winged our way back to the southern coast to answer the call of the most comfortable bed in the world...

***Note:  All pictures from this trip were taken by someone else and used with permission.

Flying through Friday

One of my friends from college lives in the Australian Capital Territory, at least until the end of April.  And I hated to miss the opportunity to see my US friends when they are so close to me here.  So dearest and I headed to Canberra for the weekend.

After some, but not much, discussion, we decided to fly up rather than drive.  Pricing it out, there was no real advantage to flying, but there was a distinct time advantage, and we opted for having more time in the city, which was fine with me.  We also had discussions about where we wanted to stay -- being close to the attractions versus saving money on a hotel room we would really only use for sleeping.  Having been in a situation where saving money was judge more important than location before, I know that my choice is always to be closer to the attractions, justifying it by being able to walk to the sights rather than spending all the savings on taxi, bus, or Metro fares.  We finally settled on a basic hotel well within walking distance of the sights we really wanted to see.  After settling on a time to meet my friend for dinner on Friday night, we were set to head off.

Canberra marked the sixth National Capital I have visited (Washington, DC, Stockholm, Tallinn, Helsinki, and London are the others), and the second in my "home" country.  I knew that dearest would not be happy with a quick guided tour of the Parliament House before we moved on to the next sight, so I planned our sightseeing to schedule the majority of a day at the Parliament House.  I wanted to see it as well, so this was not as self-sacrificing as it sounds.  Other than touring Parliament House and having dinner with my friends, I really had no other plans for our trip to the city.  I was willing to wander where our whims took us -- until I saw an advertisement for an exhibit at the National Library.  The exhibit was "Handwritten:  Ten Centuries of Manuscript Treasures" featuring handwritten documents from Michelangelo to Heisenberg.  As soon as I read the advertisement, I knew I would hate myself if I missed the chance to see it.  So I checked out the National Library's website and booked my tickets for the free(!) exhibition.  Knowing that we would spend the better part of a day touring Parliament House, and that the tickets to the Handwritten exhibit were for a timed entry, I decided to book that for Friday afternoon, before we were to meet my friend for dinner.  The trip had all come together.  All that was left was getting to the airport and having a good time.

Friday morning was a bit of a rush, because someone decided there was no need to check in for the flights online before leaving the house.  Our house is, on a good traffic day, about 2 1/2 hours from the airport.  We had planned to leave with plenty of time to get to the airport, but things happened and we were delayed a bit getting off.  After some nervousness, I managed to check in from my phone on the drive to the airport, and breathed a bit easier on the remainder of the drive, which felt unusually long -- as they do when you feel rushed.  We got to the airport in time for our flight and breezed through security, arriving at our departure gate with enough time to settle ourselves before boarding the plane.

The flight up to Canberra was scheduled for forty-five minutes gate to gate, and I suppose it was about that flying time, but since we were held on the ground for a while after pushing away from the gate, we were a bit delayed in landing.  The turbulent flight didn't help my feeling of playing catch-up on the day, as I sat white-knuckled ignoring the tempting book I was reading (Buffalo West Wing), praying that pilot was not as distracted and disinterested as he sounded.  We landed safely, if bumpily and headed off to find the taxi rank.

I had checked it out online, but until you are actually there, you are never sure about the airport.  Walking from the gate to the taxi rank, my initial thoughts were confirmed:  Canberra Airport is the smallest airport I have ever seen in a National Capital.  Seriously!  All I could think was that the airports in Lincoln, Nebraska and Little Rock, Arkansas were bigger and had more to offer than the Canberra Airport.  Fourteen gates, one souvenir/sundries shop, and two food outlets were all there were for traveller comfort.  It must be said that the stalls in the ladies' room rival those in Gatwick or Dallas Love for size and convenience; and I do appreciate nice, wide, deep stalls in ladies' rooms.

Airport disappointment aside, we found a taxi and were off to the hotel.  As I said, we decided location over savings for this trip, and we were in a good location for everything we wanted to see.  After checking in, dropping our large luggage, and rearranging the things we would need for the afternoon, we were off on a walk to the National Library in search of the exhibit, and lunch.  It was nearly 2:30 and other than sharing an airplane snack of bread sticks and pumpkin dip, we had not eaten all day.  Both of us were hungry and food was a priority.  Even so, we took our time, stopping for pictures and touristy investigation, on the 2.5 kilometer walk to the National Library.  Upon arrival, we found there was a cafe and a sandwich shop.  We tried the sandwich shop for "real food" but they were just about to close for the afternoon, so we headed back up to the cafe and found an interesting looking trio of dips with ciabatta bread to share.  So fortified, we found the check-in desk for the exhibit and redeemed our tickets.

The exhibit was an amazing collection of handwritten documents including things from Galileo's handwritten reference multiplication table card and Beethoven's draft of his Fifth Symphony.  To me, one of the most interesting pieces in the exhibit was one of Louise Braille's first Braille letters -- it was definitely a first draft using embossed dots in the patterns of Arabic letters, more a raised type, than the 6-dot patterns used for modern Braille.  We took our time viewing the pieces, reading the documents that were in English, (and for me French).  We were in no hurry, and as this was the last weekend for the exhibit, it was busy and crowded.  In some areas, even if we wanted to, we could not have zoomed through.  It took us about an hour and a half to see the approximately 100 pieces in the collection.

Upon leaving the exhibit rooms, we were not at all pleased to find it had started raining.  Even though one of us had read the weather forecast, and knew afternoon showers were expected for Canberra both Friday and Saturday, she did not bother packing for the very real possibility of rain.  We had two options -- stay at the National Library hoping for the rain to blow over, or head out on our way back to the hotel, taking our chances in the light rain.  We made it about a third of the way, and seeing the drips were getting larger, we decided to duck into the Old Parliament House to see what we could see and wait out the passing heavy shower.  We had about fifteen minutes to wait out the rain, and took the time to investigate an exhibit on the Best Political (Editorial) Cartoons of 2011.  I have always enjoyed political cartoons, and was really excited to see the best on offer.  We didn't have enough time to see them all, or do much exploring, but it did confirm that we would need to make a bit of time to visit the Old Parliament House after touring the new one tomorrow.

Old Parliament House closed, and the rain broken up, we resumed our walk to the hotel.  Ominous clouds were gathering, but neither one of us was in any real hurry, and running on slick sidewalks, or trying to beat the traffic at intersections did not really appeal to us, so we took a leisurely, if quick-paced, stroll back to the hotel.  We had made it about another third of the way, when the skies opened and heavy drops began to fall.  Seeing a chance for shelter on the porch of an apartment complex, we took it as the storm passed over.  We made friends with a spider and waited out the brief, heavy storm before resuming our walk, and making it back to the hotel without any further interruptions.

We were not as wet as I had thought we would be by the time we made it to the hotel.  While dearest headed for the shower, I dried off playing a few levels of Angry Birds.  We had over an hour before my friends were picking us up and we spent the time getting ready at a relaxed pace.  I had no idea where we were heading for dinner, and truthfully it didn't matter.  It was one of the meals when the food was far less important than the company, and I knew it would be good.

It was still damp in the gathering dusk as we waited for my friends to pick us up.  I was really beginning to wish I had paid more attention to the weather widget forecast and less to the weight limit for the carry-on baggage.  But soon enough my friends arrived and the lack of a warm sweater was a moot point.

Driving to dinner, we saw a couple of sights that we would not have seen walking, including the fence to The Lodge, the Prime Minister's Residence in Canberra.  I was surprised at the simplicity of the fence, and the seeming lack of security.  But that may just be my American-ism talking.  I have wondered about The Lodge.  I know it's more like Number Ten Downing Street than it is like the White House -- in that it it's an office and a working residence, not a National Landmark/Tourist destination, but even so, I would have loved to have been able to tour it.  The White House is on my list of must dos the nest time I am in Washington, DC.  I have been to DC twice, each time hoping to tour the White House, but each time my plans were foiled, and the next time, it will be done, even if it means sacrificing my travelling companion's bucket list visits.

Back to the drive and the singularly unimpressive fence we were passing.  We discussed the ABC (Australian) show "At Home with Julia" giving it as much mention as it deserved, and possibly more, by saying that the ten or so minutes I happened to catch were one of the most painful television shows I had ever seen -- worse than an audition episode of American Idol and many forgettable sitcoms.

After some more driving -- I can't really tell you what we passed, I was too involved in catching up with my friend to notice the scenery -- we arrived at the restaurant.  My friend had made a booking, but even so, there was a slight wait while the hostess figured out which table was to be ours.  As it turned out, we were seated at a round table for six, even though there were only four of us.  After some discussion, we took seats around the table -- I ended up having a great view of a brick wall, but I was too excited to be with Americans again to take much notice of the wall.

Service at Australian restaurants is slow and indifferent compared to the standard at American restaurants.  All of us had been in Australia long enough to know that the was no hope of quick service, and we were not in a great hurry.  We had plenty of time to peruse the menu and even then there were last minute decisions on drinks and appetizers (or entrees to the Aussies) when the waitress made it over to our table.  Dearest and my friend's husband decided on a glass of the local James Squire Amber Ale, while my friend had a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, and I finally settled on a bottle of sparkling cider.  After a full-table debate, we decided to split a half & half roasted garlic and sun-dried tomato focaccia.  Drink and appetizer orders in, we had a nice long chat about all kinds of things, including the logistics of my friend's upcoming move back to the US and her recent "bucket list" trips around Australia and New Zealand.

When the waitress came back for our mains order, I had decided on a prawn and scallop risotto, dearest had a pumpkin and caramelized onion stuffed rolled pasta, my friend had the chicken special of the day -- which appeared to be a fusion of cashew chicken and chicken marsala, and her husband had ... to be honest, I do not remember what her husband had.  I remember a discussion of a couple of options, but not what he finally ended up ordering.  I am getting bad at remembering the details!!!

Our mains came and we continued the meal and discussions.  I was having a great time playing do-you-remember and what-ever-happened-to with my friend, and every time I glanced over at dearest and my friend's husband, they appeared to be having a nice, friendly discussion.  It looked as though both were having a genuine good time, not as though it was just a case of suffering through the evening on their wives' behalf.  My friend was a bit nervous as the night began, because it was the first time she had left her children (9 and 13) alone for so long, but after she put her cell phone on the table, in case they called,  her apprehension melted away, though maybe the two glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon had something to do with that as well.

Before I knew it, the restaurant had gotten quieter (it was one of the bare walls, open kitchen type restaurants, which are awesome from the photo-shoot standpoint, but really useless for anything other than whispered, intimate conversation) and my friend's husband was commenting that they hated to be party poopers, but they needed to get home to check on the kids.  I checked my watch and found it was nearly 10:30.  Where had the night gone???

The bill was handled and we were on our way back to our hotel, my friend and her husband giving us some tourist tips for our adventures on Saturday, and places close enough to check out for dinner the next night.

After farewells were made at the hotel, dearest and I wandered back to our room and rounded out our evening with some silly tv -- we caught the tail-end of one showing of R.E.D. and then, scanning through the channels, found it beginning again.  I was out before I recognized any of the filming locations in New Orleans.

Links in the Chains

This article on a review of the newly-opened Olive Garden restaurant in Grand Forks, North Dakota and a discussion on a travel-related message board has me thinking about "chain" restaurants and people's attitudes towards them.

Many self-righteous people come down hard on chain restaurants, whether the chains are fast food or casual family dining.  There are thousands of voices all over the Internet complaining about the horrors masquerading as "food" at such establishments as McDonald's, Burger King, Taco Bell, Applebee's, The Cheesecake Factory, or the Olive Garden.  Very few voices come out in favor of these plagues on the American (and by extension world's) diet.  No real food, and certainly nothing worth actually eating, can come from such  places.

And yet, those same people, who complain about the chain restaurant as a blight on the American consciousness, have no problem at all recommending what are, in fact, chain restaurants to people.  I have read several reviews from those same chain-haters gushing about Le Cochon Dingue, a local-to-Quebec barbecue chain.  I cannot count the number of culinary high horse sitters who have raved about having beignets and cafe au lait at Cafe du Monde while in New Orleans.  There are at least nine locations in greater New Orleans, and at one time there was a branch in the Atlanta airport!  It's a chain.

Even fancy, formal restaurants are not immune to being part of a chain.  The much lauded Commander's Palace in New Orleans had sister locations in Las Vegas and Destin.  More recently it has opened related restaurants, albeit not under the Commander's Palace brand.  Celebrity chefs are always opening restaurants.  Though they do not all have the same name, it is not a stretch to consider all of Emeril Lagasse's branded restaurants a chain.

I personally, do not have anything against chain restaurants.  I quite like to check out the McDonald's in every new country I visit.  How else would I notice the menu differences?  McDonald's in Montreal offers pizzas and in Maritime Canada, lobster rolls called McHomards.  Ronald in Tallinn, Estonia touts his McFarmer, a ground pork burger.  And in my adopted homeland, Macca's serves up the McOz featuring beetroot and sauce.  Other chains have similar regional offerings.

Often, too, there is something to be said for consistency.  When sharing a meal with friends and family, what is actually consumed at said meal is far less important than spending time with loved ones.  Sharing those meals at chain restaurants offers the opportunity for everyone to involved to know what they can expect at the meal.  This is especially important if you are dining with children, picky eaters, or older family members who have limited diets or dietary restrictions.  Not that local restaurants cannot serve the needs of a diverse group, but sometimes the group's restrictions are not known to everyone, and chains offer the best options.

Chains can also offer a bit of ease to the tired or homesick.  There is only so much local cuisine one can handle while on vacation, and sometimes the Golden Arches offer just what you need -- familiar sustenance without thought.  Having lived in Australia for just over a year, I know I would leap at the chance to enjoy a meal from Taco Bell or Chili's -- Mexican pizzas and skillet queso have been calling me for 13 months.  I am not going to say no when the opportunity arises.  Similarly, I would not turn up my nose at a visit to the Outback Steakhouse in Sydney, if only because it offers real iced tea and unlimited refills.  Would any of those be a meal I would rave about to others?  Probably not.  But they would be familiar, edible, and what I needed, and wanted, at the time.

I truly do not understand the backlash against chain restaurants -- after all, most chains started from popular local eateries.  Food is food, no matter where you get it, or how you enjoy it.  I do not turn up my nose at those who eat only at what I consider to be over-priced, trendy establishments.  Why should anyone else care if I do not compete for the table space at Butter or The French Laundry (which frankly sounds more like a dry cleaners than any place I might want to eat) by choosing to head to Applebee's or Red Lobster?  I'm actually doing them a favor.

Culinary elitism is just the newest way of seeing yourself as better than others.  Every human being needs to eat.  We need to stop deriding each other for our dining choices.