fermented shark shots

Sal is now in London (!!!!) and to start his adventure off properly I took him to a lovely multi-national dinner party hosted by a couple of my coursemates. The hosts are both from Iceland, and introduced us to a local favorite treat called Hákarl - small chunks of fermented shark. It's fermented, she explained, because sharks don't pee and thus the ammonia gets all trapped in the meat and you have to let it out via decomposing.
Wait, it gets better.
We were to follow a bit of shark with a shot of 'black death', or Brennivín - a type of schnapps so nicknamed because it was about the only safe thing to drink during the Black Plague.
The shark was kind of tasty for the first few seconds - but then something terrible started happening with my nose. Suddenly shark was everywhere - I could see, hear, and smell in shark. I took the shot of black death. It made me brave. I took some more shark. The room started to swim.

You know what we brought to the party? Chili. Or, rather, what Sal calls 'white people chili.' He toned the spice level down to accommodate the Nordic/European delicate palate. That was a mistake. I'm bringing stuffed cayenne peppers next time. These people are badder than we ever imagined.

cultural differences

"Guinness is blood," a guest informs me at the pub.
I raise an eyebrow, wondering if he's quoting some colloquialism or commercial I haven't seen.
He raises his glass to me and grins. "I don't know how they do in other places, but in Ireland they don't sell the blood. You give it, as a donation. Well, back some time ago they would give you a half-pint of Guinness after you donated your blood."
Now both eyebrows of mine are raised. "A half-pint you say?"
He nods. "They said it restored what you were missin' after the blood was taken. So they would give you a half-pint, and a cup of tea and a biscuit."
My fellow bar-maid is German and tells us that they get paid for giving blood there.
"We donate blood in America too, but they don't give us Guinness," I say, grinning, "Back in college they gave us pizza and a Coke."
We laugh.

I guess in America, Coke is blood.

most awesome money?

Just got home from a trip back home....wait. Let's try that again. Just got back to London from a brief visit to Virginia. When I finally got all of my crap unpacked I discovered four different currencies in my travel purse. Pounds, Canadian whatevers, Euros and American Dollars. What am I going to do with 10 Canadian whatchamajiggers? I mean, it's pretty and all, but useless unless I happen to layover in Ottawa again. 

This begs another very serious question for the world traveler. Which money is the best? I'm taking votes here. The results will be judged on your best argument for categories other than exchange rate: 

1. cool-looking 

2. usefulness (coins vs. notes, denomination efficiency) 

3. transferability (where it can be used.) 

Here's your big chance to rant about how boring your money is or how totally awesome. 

Go.

wish list

Around this time of year, every year, it's the same rhetoric. What do you want for ______ (insert holiday)? What are you doing for ______ (insert holiday name) break? What are you thankful for?
I remember as a kid, I knew what I wanted for Christmas by the brand name, listed in priority order, by Halloween or earlier. My wish list featured all toys I had seen on TV or clutched in some other lucky kid's arms, and I was thankful when I got most of them. Or the BIG ONE on top of the list at least.

Every year of growing up has shrunk my wish list and lengthened my thankful list. This is strange and ironic, like a 'want' hyperbola. The closer I get to having all the stuff I want the farther I get from appreciating it. I don't know if something intrinsically changes in a person as he sheds his training wheels and braves it in the real world, or if it is simply the lens through which he views his priorities.

But I do know this: being away from home makes you yearn for home. Being away from friends makes you want to check facebook every few hours just to see what new silly thing they've posted about their everyday life. Being away from family makes you look forward to every video chat, every phone call, every e-mail.

I have barely thought about what I want for Christmas this year. Most everyone I know is skint on account of the crappy economy - even if they weren't, what would I ask for?  I just want to go home. I want to see my husband, pet my evil cat, laugh with my goofy family, drink some tea with my friends.

And my thankful list - well, it's pretty much the same as my wish list. Just one addition: I'm thankful for wine gums. Man those things are tasty.
 
Wishing all of you in cyberspace a peaceful Christmas, surrounded by those things on your list that bring you joy.

drinking cheese

Next to the yogurt in the Marks & Spencer today were these tiny containers of Petits Filous. Hmmm. Tiny French yogurt? I'll try it. 

It tastes like yogurt, only slightly grittier. 

Wiki says it is fresh cheese. Like drinkable cheese.

I feel violated.

the blue-eyed maid

Finding a job in London when you are an international student is not for the faint of heart. Even my modest quest for a part-time service job took almost 2 months and lead to several dead ends.  I talked to this one girl at a copy shop who said that for her position, they went through 89 applications. Wow.
This past Thursday I made a round with my CVs (like a resume but longer), papering pubs and retail shops with my American credentials. That very afternoon I was offered a 'try-out' at a pub called The Blue-Eyed Maid. For bartenders, try-outs are basically working 3 hours or so for no pay so that the manager can decide if you've got what it takes.
Friday was my first official shift (10 hours!) and gave me a crash-course in English pub-ology.
The Blue-Eyed Maid is a charming old pub with a hodgepodge of mismatched comfy chairs and wooden tables, ornate wallpaper dotted with (inexplicably) photos of Bruce Lee. Its clientele - a mix of salty regulars, groups of young 'mates', couples, a splattering of professionals, etc. What is unique to the pub or typical I am unqualified to say, but it boasts a manual dumbwaiter which is still used (!!!) to send food orders down to the bar from the kitchen upstairs. The menu offers traditional English fare alongside Indian curry dishes (this is typical) and despite having a limited cocktail menu, no one orders cocktails. The place doesn't even HAVE sour mix. I found myself itching to mix something, staring plaintively at the 'spirit' bottles all night. What offended my American bartender sensibilities the most was their recipe for a 'Margarita', which included GIN instead of tequila and sounded disgusting.
Clearly my mixology skills are going to rust over here. Guess I've got to get used to being a pub wench. And the low wages + non-tipping culture of London as well. Actually, not being motivated by tips takes a lot of pressure off a bartender to preform. The relationship with the customer is more relaxed, more friendly somehow. Expectations are low on both sides of the bar!
Oh, and sports? That's exactly the same across the pond. You'd better have that channel on the right football game on Sunday. (and it better be football!)
BTW - for those of you that don't follow football (soccer) religiously - today I watched a game for like an hour before EITHER TEAM scored a point. Yeah. I'd almost rather watch American football.

oxford!

Last Sunday I joined some fellow adventurers from my residence hall on a day trip to Oxford. What a photogenic day - graceful trees littered with golden leaves, stately buildings glowing with the little bit of sun that shone that day - and 13 frozen students huddled on the top of a (roofless) tour bus snapping a zillion pictures.

As you can see from the photo, they gave us headphones so we could hear the tour guide describing all the historical sites, but I wasn't paying attention and just took a bunch of pictures.

Which means now I have loads of pictures of buildings that mean nothing to me. But they're pretty!



What impressed me most about Oxford were the vast opportunities to nerd-out.
For instance, we ate lunch at this tiny pub called The Eagle and Child , which was where Tolkien and C.S. Lewis hung out together. I could really imagine a hobbit living in that pub. The ceiling was all cadywompus - it would slope at different levels, and was drafty and cozy at the same time. They had a lot of meat pies. A LOT OF MEAT PIES.

Oh, and then there was Hogwart's, AKA Christ Church . As I stood before the church, I could imagine all of my Harry Potter friends squealing in nerdtastic glee. The inside was incredible - it had the very cafeteria area featured in the movie. Or so I'm told. I was too cheap to pay the £3.50 entrance fee.

Are you obsessed with The Lord of the Rings and/or Harry Potter? Did you like Alice in Wonderland? Come to Oxford and give the nerd in you a holiday to remember.