Eat Globally; Obsess Locally...

Sheena had another cheese world changing moment last week.
Had the charcuterie & cheese plate at Harrod's for late lunch/early dinner today and the Spanish chef behind the counter mixed up some pungent old bleu, some creamy brie and another nutty something I'm not sure of with some carpaccio and uber salty proscuitto with nuts and grapes and.............. quince jelly (extra firm, in slices).

OMFG. apparently the quince jelly is a traditional spanish cheese accompaniment for desserts. If I don't find some of this locally I will kill myself. I have not slept since returning home, obsessing about this. I could have bought a big chunk at the deli, but it is delicate and needed refrigeration and would not have survived unrefrigerated until Saturday night home arrival.



Sometimes it is the unexpected simple pleasures that make Sheena swoon and smile.

Hey Corporate America! Quit Looking at My Ass

A quick run to Harrod's in London on Friday evening to stock up on Christmas chocolates etc etc before Sheena's flight home on Saturday morning.

On the way out the door and passed through standard security to ensure nothing unpaid for left the premises.

"Beep Beep Beep"....

Shit. Security guard at the door had me pass through again, along with the other woman who went through right at the same time. "Beep Beep Beep". It was me. He took a look through the bags, saw nothing untoward and then asked he he could pass my packages and tote bag through. Went through clean. Dammit. So I took my coat and scarf off, and walked through just on my own. "Beep Beep Beep". At this point Sheena is getting aggravated and annoyed, clearly having nothing on my person or in my pockets.

Then the security guard asked if I was wearing any clothes purchased in America. I nodded. The silk/cashmere sweater set was from my January Cheek Visit to Atlanta and the pants were from Old Navy Waterloo location.

It was then that Sheena learned about things she had only heard rumoured. Harrod's uses a particularly state of the art security system and it picks up any RFID labels.

Yep. RFID labels in people's clothing. He showed me the pair of scissors he kept at his daily work station. Every day he cuts off stacks of RFID tags from customers wearing American purchased clothing, teeming with electronic static. He had about a dozen tags from his current shift and showed me what to look for when I got back to the hotel. (Sheena had made it VERY clear she did not intend to take off her pants in the perfume department, and he seemed to understand my position on the matter).

So lo and behold. He was right. The offending tag is from my Old Navy pants, not purchased in America, but right down the street from my house.

Now Sheena is very much a Web 2.5 kind of girl, and wishes she could broadcast twitter thoughts from her head as she walks down the street so that people could anticipate her needs and wishes without argument, but this is a bit much. Nothing was said when I bought the pants. And the label is pretty non-descript like any other care tag so easy to miss on the first wash.

Heads up people. Your privacy, and more importantly - your dignity at Harrod's is at stake.







Learn more here and here

LHR Day 1

Nothing much to report. Have not left hotel since check in 24 hours ago. Lots of mopey grouchy blokes due to humiliation of England in the Euro Cup qualifying. Sacrificial lamb killed live on BBC in the morning.

Fish and Chips for dinner. Poor choice. Not sure I can handle all that high fibre goodness after 4 days of Bavarian cuisine.

MUC Day 4

Sitting at the Munich Airport with time to kill before evening flight to London. Time for a bite. Realized I had not yet tried the legendary Munich speciality, the Weißwurst. Served with a pint of Pilsner and a warm salty pretzel for 8,60 Euro.

Served tepidish out of a pot of hot greasy water, the colour really didn't turn me on. Grey and non descript, unlike the colour of any other meat product I'd willfully put into my mouth.

They were OK. Probably wouldn't bother again, but when in Rome, yadda yadda yadda.

Thank god I only learned about Zuzeln after the fact...

Zuzeln

Zuzeln is a term in Bavarian slang and means sucking. The technique is as follows; the first half of the Weisswurst filling is sucked through one open end of the Weisswurst. After that, the rest of the Weisswurst filling is sucked through the other open end. You may notice that in order for this technique to succeed, the Weisswurst must be open at both ends. Therefore you have to cut off the knots and metal clips that may sit on the ends of the sausage before starting to suck. You should also notice that you use your hands for this technique - don't even try to work it out with a knife and a fork.

You should be warned that Zuzeln is the most complicated technique. If you are not trained to eat your Weisswurst this way, it might end in a mess. It is an art to use this technique without disgusting the other guests.

First you should probably watch this technique several times before applying it yourself. For your initial tries you should especially be careful with your teeth, since the Weisswurst peel is very delicate. If the peel becomes perforated by your teeth, sucking will become impossible. The second thing that is very hard to accomplish is the elegant handling of the empty Weisswurst half when starting to suck at the second end. Since the empty half looks like a condom - which is not very appetizing - you should cover it with the palm of you hand. The same applies if you have finished eating the whole Weisswurst. Then you should try to elegantly put the peel on the plate without dangling it around.

MUC Day 3

Dinner tonight, hotel room picnic for one.

Liverwurst

Morbier

More Beer....

MUC Day 2

Yep. This is a day when Sheena's Ma would be proud. She ate a pork schnitzel at a place with pigs fucking as the official logo. Yum Yum.

Roasted potatoes in bacon fat were in fact to die for....

At least I didn't eat here, where one of the specialties was braised veal diaphragm.

MUC Day 1

Lufthansa ORD > MUC landing on time at 6am. European customs still puzzle Sheena. Seems way more slack ass than trying to get into the USA. Maybe they just like Canadians more.

Luggage and then off to the S-Bahn. THANK GOD ALIVE that the train strike ended yesterday or I'd be up shits creek without a euro. Catch the S8, then the S4. Walk about 3 blocks to my hotel lugging suitcase and laptop bag.

At 8am, nobody is at the hotel. Note that I have not yet slept in approx 25 hours. It is cold out with snow on the ground and the door is locked. So I phone the after hours number on the front door. A nice lady answers immediately, says she expected me later in the morning. Trusts me to give the key combination so at least I can wait in the front lobby and stay warm.

She shows up within the hour, I pull all the covers off the bed and nap on the couch until noon. Work for a bit.

Comb my hair, change the clothes and hit the train to head into the city for sightseeing and something to eat while it is still light out.

Disembark at Marienplatz stop. Lovely architecture. Kind of a pissoff none of the stores are open.

Spent some time in St Michael's Church, the 16th Century Jesuit cathedral that got tasered during WW2 and has been beautifully reconstructed. Bought my postcards from here.

Took a few pictures that I'll try to upload later of the amazingly pretty door handles.

From there off to find some food. Not much open on a late Sunday afternoon. Ended up having Italian food. Four cheese pizza and some local rosé Tafelwein.

Wondered WTF this store was supposed to be and avoided looking in the window.

Wander a bit more and then am getting FC so go back to the S-Bahn train to head back. Eyes and legs are tired. Fall asleep and go past my stop. LOL. I need a vacation.

FoieGrasm

OMG.

Sheena still is struggling to fan herself and soak the sweat off her delicately shaped heaving bosoms after consuming the Foie Gras Brulee at Solé in Waterloo tonight.

If hand raised force fed geese ejaculated in your sugar coated hand, it could not taste any better than this...

Roasted Muscovy Duck Breast... with ice wine and foie gras brulee, duck confit spring roll, and lingonberry sauce.

From the Nov 11 2006 Archives by Request

The Forgotten

Waking up from a jetlagged haze, Sheena looked out the window onto Hong Kong Harbour and thought "Holy crap, I'm really here". Took a few minutes of eye rubbing to remember that it was November 11. 2002. It was a Monday, the officially scheduled decompress and time zone adjustment day before work started on Tuesday.

What to do. Was 9am and it all clicked. Sheena grabbed a map and walked over to the subway. Destination: end of the line. The Chai Wan Stop.

Got out feeling a bit bewildered in the crowds and bustle. Ran to the taxi stand and pointed again at the map. Time was ticking. Driver looked at Sheena as though perhaps she had two heads, and then giddyupped. Out of the traffic, up the hills. Up the winding and ominously named Cape Collision road, hills full of ancient crypts. When we arrived at the destination, Sheena was nervous but pleased. It was still before 11am.

The destination was the Sai Wan War Cemetary. Resting place of the Canadian and British soldiers slaughtered on Christmas Day 1941. Outnumbered 10-1 by the Japanese, these rag-tag lads, including Winnipeg Grenadiers, fought an unwinnable battle - undermanned, undersupplied, under prepared. Hung out to dry by King and King, the less deferential of us might speculate.

Sheena wondered what dignitaries might be there, what kind of pictures she could get of this exotic pomp and circumstance. Would there be media coverage of the Remembrance Day ceremonies? Would she get on Hong Kong TV?

Tried to open the door to the cemetary information centre. Locked. Went to the gate and looked in. A breathtaking view:


http://sheenavision.blogspot.com/2006/11/forgotten.html

A breathtaking view of an empty abandoned graveyard. Built into a high hill sloping down towards the azure blue harbour. A rolling mountainside of limestone slabs poking through the lush greenery. And I was the only person there. No ceremony at 11am. No dignitaries. No veterans with brave faces and crumpled berets. Just a 30-something redhead wearing inappropriate shoes climbing up the hill feeling a little lost and lonely.

A profoundly sad realization that these prairie boy teens and 20-something countrymen had been completely forgotten on their very own day of Rememberance. When the shock and tears passed, I strolled down the hill. Looking at the names, smelling some astoundingly beautiful orchids. Sat and rested, accompanied only by a stray dog who wandered cautiously a few rows behind me.

Took a picture of my signature as the only name in the unattended yellowing guest book on November 11, 2002. It's packed away in a box somewhere. Probably go look for it later today. So they don't get forgotten yet again on November 11.

Sick-O-Tinis

Hot Toddies

1 x healthy shot of good quality scotch preferably some that someone else brought over
1 x squeeze of lime juice
1 x spoonful of sugar

Pour into big coffee mug. Top with boiling water. Stir.



Apple Toddies

1 x healthy shot of (see above)
1 x squeeze of lime juice
1/2 cup of warmed apple juice
top up with boiling water and sprinkle some cinnamon on top, or use cinnamon stick if you have any which I don't and it is too wet and cold to go to the store.


More to follow as my quarantine descends into the pits of boredom hell...

Sooey Nails Web 2.0

Brill!

You Left Whingers and Blogging Borings please read this, substitute "politics" for "dinner" and please get a grip on yourselves.

Sick Observations

Sheena spent 4 hours today in Emergency because of a terrible persistent cough that goes so deep she wants to throw up. Paranoia still lingers after a nasty bout with pneumonia 3 years ago.

Now I remember why I hate medical shows.

In the pre-triage waiting room. Mostly elderly couples with one or the other having something wrong. Most have plastic sandwich bags full of their pill bottles as if they've been told beforehand to do this or as though they were about to go through airport security. I put my name on the list and wait.

A few feet away a special needs case worker sits with his charge, trying to ensure that the persistent wheelchair rocking doesn't hurt anyone. The figure in the chair is barely recognizable as human. I find out later that she is a girl.

In the triage nurse station my interview and stats-taking is interrupted by the security guard who is trying to locate some missing organs. Apparently taxis are routinely sent over for urgent transport of organs. Unfortunately the cabbie didn't know exactly what to ask for or who to talk to, so chaos ensues trying to figure out who has the loaner guts. At last a cop figures things out and with the thumbs-up, my new address at last can be written down.

In the next waiting area. The elderly couples sit close. When I get up to go to the can, one of the old guys steals my Frank Magazine. FCS. I keep my mouth shut though when he starts cackling and laughing and points to the pictures asking his wife "Hey, remember that guy? eh? that guy?"

A high school cheerleader type sits with an ice pack on her head. Teary eyed and pouty. Not talking to her mom.

Two fat chicks make googly eyes at the babies, making them laugh.

The creature in the wheelchair wails down the hallway. Bone chilling unhuman wails that make my hair stand on end. Wonder what her parents do to cope.

Buy some high powered cough syrup and run home in the snow in my slippers. Wondering what tier of health care this would be if certain parties got their way. Put extra noodles in my chicken soup and feel thankful.

A Little Rugged, but No Fireplaces...

On Sheena's recent excursion up to Ottawa she availed herself of the brand spankin' new direct service from K-W offered by the Hooterlishciously named Bearskin Airlines. The 19 seat Metroliner looks a little .. er.. experienced. Unlike the pilots. But any niggling wonder was rapidly erased when it dawned on me that taking 2+ hours off the 401 commute to Pearson has probably added several years to my life.

And bonus.... House in-flight rag this month has a feature on my sexy hot foodie buddy Scottie McTaggart, he of the White Truffle Perogy fame.

Girl on Girl Action

Because the innerdnets are full of idiots and stupid heads and Sheena did not get nominated for the WeblogAwards 2007, she hereby asks her loyal readership to think carefully and choose the Best Canadian Blog - the two leaders being Raymi the Minx and that Kate person.

I'm voting for Raymi, mostly because she has nice tits.

Click Here
to cast your ballot and rep your country proud.