The breakfast eaters look like a herd of strangely-patterned zebras as they throng around norimaki, croissants and scrambled eggs. Yasuragi Hasseludden encourage their guests to wear the signature navy-and-white yukata at all times, but whether this does confuse any hunting lions hiding behind the string curtains is unclear.
We had arrived the afternoon before, and as is our habit, we drop on the beds and sleep until dinnertime, when we don our yukata uniforms and find our way to Restaurant Tokyo where a cheery waitress, not dressed in yukata, takes our orders. Neither risotto nor reindeer fillet feels very Japanese, but it’s all very good and dessert is absolutely divine—Honeybuns orders the sampler plate with one of each offering. There are several other parties having dinner at the same time as we, but, whether thanks to the bathrobes or the string curtains hanging here and there, the place never becomes noisy.
Finally we head for the pools. It is no longer as cold as it was the week before, but we shiver when we step outside and quickly dive into the hot water. Steam rises from the water surface and obscures the other bathers sitting just a few metres away, creating private presence bubbles. We half-float in the water and watch the stars—the sparse lighting by the pool is still enough to blot out all but the brightest stars. Honeybuns tells how Stjärnhuset made her fear the violent Orion. Clearly not all childhood trauma is Staffan Westerberg’s fault.
Next morning after breakfast we return to the outdoor pool. Considerably more people are up and about now than the evening before, but somehow the pool never gets crowded. Hot water soothes all that ails me, though Honeybuns grows impatient while I with placid interest watch a sheet of ice slowly sliding down a glass pane.
Thanks Mom for the excellent present.
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
2012-02-18
2012-01-22
Aquarium, with a few fishes as well
As it had been a long time since for both of us, Honeybuns and I went to the Skansen Aquarium, a somewhat misleading name as most of the space is taken up by primate cages. Just inside the entrance we found a two-toed sloth hanging by its feet, munching cucumber pieces with gusto. (They had been placed on a tray, I presume that means they were betrayed.) It seemed all alone, but after ten minutes or so we suddenly noticed the other sloth, well hidden against another tree stem. In the meantime I had spotted small lizards rushing about. These turned out to be pygmy marmosets, so primates, but the way they kept their tail flat along the surface and their legs splayed out was utterly reptilian. Honeybuns and an iguana attracted each others’ attentions and watched each other through the glass.
Then outside to get to the next building. The baboons and lemurs were indoors somewhere, but there were several meerkats about in their enclosure, even though they were shivering with cold. I presumed they felt the necessity to keep watch of their territory, even though it was freezing cold.
Inside: Snakes, snakes. And frogs. It’s fascinating how tropical frogs manage to look completely artificial, as if made of wax or porcelain, sitting perfectly still on a branch or on the ground. (Some of them were at least visibly breathing, so they must have been alive.) I was a bit incensed on behalf of the Gila monster, who really hasn’t done anything to deserve such a name—even its scientific name is Heloderma suspectum.
Further in, a rain forest. I noted with surprise how much easier it was to breathe the humid air, Stockholm climate doesn’t really agree with me. So I just stood for a while breathing in and out, while monkeys clambered around the branches above me. I took the little rainforest tour, guided by a four-year-old who in rapid sequence showed me her new dress, the skellington in a corner, the monkey up in a tree, a puddle on the floor and so on.
Now we got to the aquariums proper. Rays and sharks swam around in a big pool, another aquarium turned out to contain three unimaginably huge alligator snapping turtles. We looked for a while at the crocodiles. The juveniles, kept in a separate terrarium, were constantly on the move, but the adults lay dead still. Honeybuns remembered how her grandfather once, doubting they were even alive, had knocked on the glass and been rewarded by a crocodile lunging at him. That time the glass had held, but there were prominent signs to stay away from the glass surfaces and that any objects thrown into the enclosure would have to be retrieved by the thrower.
One terrarium held naked mole rats, but they had to make do with pre-prepared perspex tubes, rather than getting to dig on their own. I thought that probably must feel strange to them.
The final room contained the spiders and scorpions, but most of them managed to hide quite effectively, so one couldn’t see much of them. I wonder if they consciously stayed away from the front of their cages.
We exited through the shop. It was very child-oriented, containing huge amounts of cuddly snakes, animal stickers, all kinds of plastic animals, etc, etc, but nothing in the way of books or DVDs, which disappointed me, surely a learning opportunity such as this should be made the most of?
By now we were quite hungry, so we went up to Stora Gungan for a late lunch. They had locked their doors and were just ushering out their last guests. Gubbhyllan then? Sorry, the kitchen had closed. Hm. Let’s leave Skansen then. What about Lilla Hasselbacken? Ah, maybe a tad too fancy for our current needs. We continue to Blå Porten. Do they offer hot food? The staff look a bit uncertain. Eventually it transpires that they had just had a fire in the kitchen extinguished and the fire brigade has forbidden them to even go in there right now. But would we like some tea and cookies? We decide to move further into town. BarCelona, our usual backup site? Completely full. Ah, but what about Grace Tea House just across the street? Yes, they’re open, even if we seem to interrupt the staff in their own lunch. What about dumplings? Ah, they're fresh out of vegetarian dumplings. Honeybuns settles for a Szechuan soup. It turns out to be spicy enough to give her a nosebleed, but at least we finally got fed.
Then we return home for weekend cleaning.
Then outside to get to the next building. The baboons and lemurs were indoors somewhere, but there were several meerkats about in their enclosure, even though they were shivering with cold. I presumed they felt the necessity to keep watch of their territory, even though it was freezing cold.
Inside: Snakes, snakes. And frogs. It’s fascinating how tropical frogs manage to look completely artificial, as if made of wax or porcelain, sitting perfectly still on a branch or on the ground. (Some of them were at least visibly breathing, so they must have been alive.) I was a bit incensed on behalf of the Gila monster, who really hasn’t done anything to deserve such a name—even its scientific name is Heloderma suspectum.
Further in, a rain forest. I noted with surprise how much easier it was to breathe the humid air, Stockholm climate doesn’t really agree with me. So I just stood for a while breathing in and out, while monkeys clambered around the branches above me. I took the little rainforest tour, guided by a four-year-old who in rapid sequence showed me her new dress, the skellington in a corner, the monkey up in a tree, a puddle on the floor and so on.
Now we got to the aquariums proper. Rays and sharks swam around in a big pool, another aquarium turned out to contain three unimaginably huge alligator snapping turtles. We looked for a while at the crocodiles. The juveniles, kept in a separate terrarium, were constantly on the move, but the adults lay dead still. Honeybuns remembered how her grandfather once, doubting they were even alive, had knocked on the glass and been rewarded by a crocodile lunging at him. That time the glass had held, but there were prominent signs to stay away from the glass surfaces and that any objects thrown into the enclosure would have to be retrieved by the thrower.
One terrarium held naked mole rats, but they had to make do with pre-prepared perspex tubes, rather than getting to dig on their own. I thought that probably must feel strange to them.
The final room contained the spiders and scorpions, but most of them managed to hide quite effectively, so one couldn’t see much of them. I wonder if they consciously stayed away from the front of their cages.
We exited through the shop. It was very child-oriented, containing huge amounts of cuddly snakes, animal stickers, all kinds of plastic animals, etc, etc, but nothing in the way of books or DVDs, which disappointed me, surely a learning opportunity such as this should be made the most of?
By now we were quite hungry, so we went up to Stora Gungan for a late lunch. They had locked their doors and were just ushering out their last guests. Gubbhyllan then? Sorry, the kitchen had closed. Hm. Let’s leave Skansen then. What about Lilla Hasselbacken? Ah, maybe a tad too fancy for our current needs. We continue to Blå Porten. Do they offer hot food? The staff look a bit uncertain. Eventually it transpires that they had just had a fire in the kitchen extinguished and the fire brigade has forbidden them to even go in there right now. But would we like some tea and cookies? We decide to move further into town. BarCelona, our usual backup site? Completely full. Ah, but what about Grace Tea House just across the street? Yes, they’re open, even if we seem to interrupt the staff in their own lunch. What about dumplings? Ah, they're fresh out of vegetarian dumplings. Honeybuns settles for a Szechuan soup. It turns out to be spicy enough to give her a nosebleed, but at least we finally got fed.
Then we return home for weekend cleaning.
2012-01-10
Enjoy it while you can
Today I had an appointment with a gastroenterologist, to see what modern medical science can do about my recurring tummy problems. As a starter I will get a full course of anal probing and biopsies (and we all, or at least I, remember my experiences with those) in about six weeks. BUT, until then, I am to eat gluten in order to provoke the suspected inflammation into clear showing. So, leaving the hospital I walked through a lightly snowy Stockholm, realising that what with living in two suburbs and working in a third, I don’t see much of the city proper these days. There was construction work going on, new shops had appeared and when I arrived at my target, Hötorgshallen, they were renovating (way overdue!), but still had their full complement of shops. I looked over the bakery desk for a long while and eventually decided on a rounded crisp Italian loaf. And then some Milanese salami to go with it.
2011-07-17
Utö and Ålö
The Mill House is a short walk through the woods from the main building.
The next morning we have breakfast outdoors and then make use of the bike tour we won last Christmas. We get a couple of sturdy bikes with balloon tires, buy us lunch in the local shop and then strike out to explore the map with secret bathing places we have been supplied with.
The sea is never far away.
A TGB m/42 SKPD
Eventually we cross a little bridge to Ålö, separated from Utö by the narrowest of sounds. Here is our first stop, we sit on a rock, looking on the sea and eating our lunch and then we just sit there and enjoy the day.
A Södermanland forest at its most beautiful.
Soon we find ourselves by the centre piece of the firing range, a long rail track on which I surmise targets are pulled during exercises. A seriously shot-up skip stands by the track.
Faithfully guarding the ramparts.
Now it is time to return to the harbour and get home. Rather tired by now, we pedal along sedately when I see something brownish moving out of the corner of my eye. Another squirrel, no, a dog, no, AN ELK! The elk jumps up on the road behind me and I, flustered, pedal away as fast as I can, wishing I had a ten-speed. Luckily the elk drops the chase after just a few steps and returns in among the trees without showing much interest in Honeybuns, so she soon rejoins me. We return along the side of the shooting range and while we have seen very few people all day, now returning bikers appear on all tributary roads, heading for the harbour. Soon we are a convoy, heading north.
Luckily the Earth has revolved enough that it’s still mostly downhill, because by now we are really tired. We return the bikes and sit down for a breather. We have dinner in the restaurant on the main street and then get on the boat.
2011-06-27
Annual rites
Few things are quite as desolate as Stockholm on Midsummer’s Eve. Honeybuns and I, having nothing else on the programme, decided to go out for dinner, but found that our chosen restaurant, as well as plans B and C, was closed. We strolled along Hornsgatan, and while a few fast food places were open, we continued in the hope of something better. Eken was open, but having sat in the conversation-killingly loud mood music for ten minutes without the staff paying the slightest attention to us, we decided that our patronage would be better off somewhere else.
When we reached the Old Town, we realised that the only ones still in the city were the tourists, and of course the tourist traps along Västerlånggatan would be open in order to cater to their needs. Honeybuns suggested we go for Slingerbulten, which turned out to be a good idea. I was at first surprised to be greeted in English, but of course, given the tourist-only population, this made sense. The staff was very friendly, if somewhat confused at times, and the food was quite OK, if nothing remarkable. After dessert we continued towards the Central Station. At Tegelbacken we helped out a couple of Germans who had difficulty orienting their map in the right direction and sent them on towards the Old Town.
Midsummer’s Day started out with rain and thunder, but the skies cleared somewhat in the afternoon and we decided to go visit Gröna Lund. We were rather shocked to find that bus 47 has been disappeared, so we took the tram out instead. It was not crowded. The weather was still unstable and we had both rain and sun at the same time.
We had dinner at Kaskad, which was so-so. The food was decent, but way too expensive. While they pride themselves on being allergy-aware, the staff claimed for the longest while that their Spaghetti Bolognese was gluten-free until I had them double-check, on which they had to admit that wasn’t exactly the case.
After food we went for the rides. Most Stockholmers still being away, all queues were pleasantly short. Honeybuns is much more fond of g-forces than I am, so on all the in-ride photographs that are de rigeur for roller-coasters these days one could see a happily beaming Honeybuns and a clenched-jaw me. Despite much cajoling I absolutely, positively, refused to ride the Insane.
In French cotton candy is known as barbe à papa and there was indeed pink strawberry-flavoured cotton candy as well.We also did some small amount of betting on the chocolate wheels, but no jumbo packages of candy for us this time. Around this time I suddenly realised that the Ferris wheel also has been disappeared. First they rebuilt the view tower into Free Fall and now they’ve taken the Ferris wheel away. Are there to be no calm and dignified rides at all left? At least the Circus carousel is still around.
Finally we took the ferry to in to the city and arrived home around midnight.
The Sunday was spent eating strawberries at my mother’s.
When we reached the Old Town, we realised that the only ones still in the city were the tourists, and of course the tourist traps along Västerlånggatan would be open in order to cater to their needs. Honeybuns suggested we go for Slingerbulten, which turned out to be a good idea. I was at first surprised to be greeted in English, but of course, given the tourist-only population, this made sense. The staff was very friendly, if somewhat confused at times, and the food was quite OK, if nothing remarkable. After dessert we continued towards the Central Station. At Tegelbacken we helped out a couple of Germans who had difficulty orienting their map in the right direction and sent them on towards the Old Town.
Midsummer’s Day started out with rain and thunder, but the skies cleared somewhat in the afternoon and we decided to go visit Gröna Lund. We were rather shocked to find that bus 47 has been disappeared, so we took the tram out instead. It was not crowded. The weather was still unstable and we had both rain and sun at the same time.
We had dinner at Kaskad, which was so-so. The food was decent, but way too expensive. While they pride themselves on being allergy-aware, the staff claimed for the longest while that their Spaghetti Bolognese was gluten-free until I had them double-check, on which they had to admit that wasn’t exactly the case.
After food we went for the rides. Most Stockholmers still being away, all queues were pleasantly short. Honeybuns is much more fond of g-forces than I am, so on all the in-ride photographs that are de rigeur for roller-coasters these days one could see a happily beaming Honeybuns and a clenched-jaw me. Despite much cajoling I absolutely, positively, refused to ride the Insane.
In French cotton candy is known as barbe à papa and there was indeed pink strawberry-flavoured cotton candy as well.
Finally we took the ferry to in to the city and arrived home around midnight.
The Sunday was spent eating strawberries at my mother’s.
2011-06-10
SJ, get your act together!
I was going to Ballerup for a job-related course, so I booked tickets on the usual X2000 to Copenhagen. As occasionally happens, first class tickets turned out to be cheaper than second class, so I went for them. Meal reservation? Yes, please. However, SJ still can’t prebook dietary restrictions, so I’d have to call them again 24 hours before departure to order my meal.
It struck me later that it would be unreasonable to have to call exactly 24 hours before departure, but that it was a bit unclear whether one should call 24 hours beforehand at the earliest or at the latest. If the latter, one would think they should be able to do the booking already when I booked the tickets, if the former, it’s unclear when the last possible moment to call is. Presumably the actual window during which one should call is something different entirely. In any case, when I called, approximately 24 hours before departure, the person at the other end took my dinner requirements and claimed to leave a message for the uptrip as well. Good, then I wouldn’t have to call from Denmark and sit in a telephone queue for that.
I left in the afternoon of Grundlovsdagen. At first I had to struggle a bit to get the wireless connection to work on the train, but a reboot of the machine (my office XP box) eventually solved the problem and I was able to get some crucial job done.
Eventually I got my dinner, which was perfectly decent for a micro-waved readymade.
We stopped on schedule at Malmö C, and then we remained stopped. For quite some while. The train driver explained that we were waiting for a “timetable” from the Transport Administration to continue into Denmark. I found it a bit surprising that a daily train would not have a pre-prepared timetable, but regardless we sat waiting for it for an hour.
Finally the hassle was solved and we rolled the last bit of the way into Copenhagen. Now to get on the local train to Ballerup. There were ticket machines in the station hall, but I was not able to figure out what kind of ticket I was supposed to buy, so I got into the queue at a manual desk and got my ticket. Pretty steep at 48 DKK, I thought, but then Stockholm has in general fairly cheap (in several senses) public transport. I located my platform and looked at the ticket cancelling machines, but my ticket seemed to be the wrong size, so I asked a railway employee how I should go about matters. “Oh, you’ve wasted your money. Today’s the first Sunday in the month, so travel is free.” Argh!
Anyway, I got on the train, which was quite spacious and equipped with wireless Internet and television screens. I got off at Malmparken, which was the station closest to both my hotel and the training site. The only other people getting off was a couple of young women, also looking a bit disoriented. They turned out to be Portuguese students, there for a course at the university. As is my (bad) habit, I took the lead and we trundled away in the general direction I remembered from the map lookup before I left. (Stupid to not have printed out the map, but it had looked as if the hotel would be visible from the station. Not quite so.) I poked my head in at a McDonald’s we passed and received a course correction and soon we arrived at Zzzleep. Friendly checkin and the room was clean and nice, but had the narrowest beds I’ve ever seen. I carefully centred myself and soon slept.
In the morning I checked the map and took out the course to the training site. What I saw of Ballerup wasn’t all that exciting—an industrial area quartered by motorways. The course turned out to exceed my expectations, it proceeded at a breathtaking pace and I had to struggle to keep up. At least the teachers were kind enough to talk English, rather than Danish, though I noticed chatting over lunch that the Danes had even more difficulty understanding my Swedish than I their Danish. How strange, Swedish that is so clearly enunciated… By 17 I was tired but pleased—I would have lots of things to improve when I got back to the office. I bought some postcards and stamps (“Two to Sweden and one to Uruguay!?” Yes, please.) and then proceeded to an Italian restaurant I’d noticed along the way. It was nice enough and I had a pleasant meal. Back at the hotel I flipped on the TV to find a Columbo episode just starting and watched it. Good stuff and I noted with interest that Steve Bochco had written the teleplay for the episode.
The next morning, break-neck work again. When we finished for the day I started towards the train station, as I didn’t have all that much time before my train, the last for the day, would leave from Copenhagen. Now I would have to figure out how to operate the ticket machine, as it was an unmanned station. This machine had an, in principle, more obvious interface than the ones at the central station, on the other hand it was not very responsive to button presses, did not like to read my credit card and in general was hard to operate. I in fact missed one train while attempting to get a ticket, fortunately it was only ten minutes to the next.
When I arrived in Copenhagen I could see the X2000 on the next platform, but as soon as I got there it left. It turned out that this was actually the previous train, that should have left an hour and a half earlier. Oh well. On the other hand, the train I should be on was cancelled. What now? A PA announcement was made to the effect that we should jump on any train going to Malmö and continue from there. Well, OK. I do not know if they had managed to screw up the timetables again, but it was a bit annoying. And what if I’d come on the local train ten minutes later, that I saw pulling into the station just as the train I was on left?
In Malmö, the train was at the platform, but not allowing us on board yet. We milled about a bit until we got on board. Ah, good. Now to get home. Internet connection, check. Meal being served…uh, this is not my order. Confusion. Double-checking. Despite the promise of the SJ person I’d spoken to, the order had not been passed to the caterers. Just brilliant. The train hostess was very sorry, but could only offer me meal tickets for the bistro car, where I already knew I wouldn’t find anything edible but fruit, which I already had for free in my first class car. Apples did only a bit to stave off starvation. When I finally got home, about 01:00, I was pretty hungry and stayed up a bit longer to eat something more substantial.
Then up again in the morning to get to work and employ my new skills.
It struck me later that it would be unreasonable to have to call exactly 24 hours before departure, but that it was a bit unclear whether one should call 24 hours beforehand at the earliest or at the latest. If the latter, one would think they should be able to do the booking already when I booked the tickets, if the former, it’s unclear when the last possible moment to call is. Presumably the actual window during which one should call is something different entirely. In any case, when I called, approximately 24 hours before departure, the person at the other end took my dinner requirements and claimed to leave a message for the uptrip as well. Good, then I wouldn’t have to call from Denmark and sit in a telephone queue for that.
I left in the afternoon of Grundlovsdagen. At first I had to struggle a bit to get the wireless connection to work on the train, but a reboot of the machine (my office XP box) eventually solved the problem and I was able to get some crucial job done.
Eventually I got my dinner, which was perfectly decent for a micro-waved readymade.
We stopped on schedule at Malmö C, and then we remained stopped. For quite some while. The train driver explained that we were waiting for a “timetable” from the Transport Administration to continue into Denmark. I found it a bit surprising that a daily train would not have a pre-prepared timetable, but regardless we sat waiting for it for an hour.
Finally the hassle was solved and we rolled the last bit of the way into Copenhagen. Now to get on the local train to Ballerup. There were ticket machines in the station hall, but I was not able to figure out what kind of ticket I was supposed to buy, so I got into the queue at a manual desk and got my ticket. Pretty steep at 48 DKK, I thought, but then Stockholm has in general fairly cheap (in several senses) public transport. I located my platform and looked at the ticket cancelling machines, but my ticket seemed to be the wrong size, so I asked a railway employee how I should go about matters. “Oh, you’ve wasted your money. Today’s the first Sunday in the month, so travel is free.” Argh!
Anyway, I got on the train, which was quite spacious and equipped with wireless Internet and television screens. I got off at Malmparken, which was the station closest to both my hotel and the training site. The only other people getting off was a couple of young women, also looking a bit disoriented. They turned out to be Portuguese students, there for a course at the university. As is my (bad) habit, I took the lead and we trundled away in the general direction I remembered from the map lookup before I left. (Stupid to not have printed out the map, but it had looked as if the hotel would be visible from the station. Not quite so.) I poked my head in at a McDonald’s we passed and received a course correction and soon we arrived at Zzzleep. Friendly checkin and the room was clean and nice, but had the narrowest beds I’ve ever seen. I carefully centred myself and soon slept.
In the morning I checked the map and took out the course to the training site. What I saw of Ballerup wasn’t all that exciting—an industrial area quartered by motorways. The course turned out to exceed my expectations, it proceeded at a breathtaking pace and I had to struggle to keep up. At least the teachers were kind enough to talk English, rather than Danish, though I noticed chatting over lunch that the Danes had even more difficulty understanding my Swedish than I their Danish. How strange, Swedish that is so clearly enunciated… By 17 I was tired but pleased—I would have lots of things to improve when I got back to the office. I bought some postcards and stamps (“Two to Sweden and one to Uruguay!?” Yes, please.) and then proceeded to an Italian restaurant I’d noticed along the way. It was nice enough and I had a pleasant meal. Back at the hotel I flipped on the TV to find a Columbo episode just starting and watched it. Good stuff and I noted with interest that Steve Bochco had written the teleplay for the episode.
The next morning, break-neck work again. When we finished for the day I started towards the train station, as I didn’t have all that much time before my train, the last for the day, would leave from Copenhagen. Now I would have to figure out how to operate the ticket machine, as it was an unmanned station. This machine had an, in principle, more obvious interface than the ones at the central station, on the other hand it was not very responsive to button presses, did not like to read my credit card and in general was hard to operate. I in fact missed one train while attempting to get a ticket, fortunately it was only ten minutes to the next.
When I arrived in Copenhagen I could see the X2000 on the next platform, but as soon as I got there it left. It turned out that this was actually the previous train, that should have left an hour and a half earlier. Oh well. On the other hand, the train I should be on was cancelled. What now? A PA announcement was made to the effect that we should jump on any train going to Malmö and continue from there. Well, OK. I do not know if they had managed to screw up the timetables again, but it was a bit annoying. And what if I’d come on the local train ten minutes later, that I saw pulling into the station just as the train I was on left?
In Malmö, the train was at the platform, but not allowing us on board yet. We milled about a bit until we got on board. Ah, good. Now to get home. Internet connection, check. Meal being served…uh, this is not my order. Confusion. Double-checking. Despite the promise of the SJ person I’d spoken to, the order had not been passed to the caterers. Just brilliant. The train hostess was very sorry, but could only offer me meal tickets for the bistro car, where I already knew I wouldn’t find anything edible but fruit, which I already had for free in my first class car. Apples did only a bit to stave off starvation. When I finally got home, about 01:00, I was pretty hungry and stayed up a bit longer to eat something more substantial.
Then up again in the morning to get to work and employ my new skills.
2011-01-07
Happy birthday
We celebrated Honeybuns’ birthday with breakfast at Hotel Diplomat. The atmosphere was much cosier than at Grand Hôtel, including the “five and a half and a little more” girl at the next table who regaled us with various bits of information and curiosities, such as her father just having gone to have his hair cut, because sometimes it stood straight out just like a dead rabbit on his head. On bad hare days, one presumes.
The selection in the buffet was somewhat smallish, but not inconveniently so, on the other hand they closed it already at 10. We relocated to the lounge and lounged there until lunch, when we went out on town to look for what we could find. Honeybuns found a very cute collar in fake fur, which I look forward to see her wearing on our next outing.
The selection in the buffet was somewhat smallish, but not inconveniently so, on the other hand they closed it already at 10. We relocated to the lounge and lounged there until lunch, when we went out on town to look for what we could find. Honeybuns found a very cute collar in fake fur, which I look forward to see her wearing on our next outing.
2010-12-19
We’re baack!
Already during our previous visit to Utö we decided to return for their Christmas market, and so we did.
M/S Waxholm II was already pretty full when we boarded so we got seats far aft. A fourish girl sitting in front of us teased me with her giraffe-ears-and-horns head piece. I indicated my great envy.
When we arrived, Utö Värdshus looked pretty different from when we saw it last: In the yard was a number of market stalls, the celebrated Christmas market. The entrance was extended with a tent that turned out to contain a temporary cloakroom. We didn’t think much about it, but went straight in for check-in.
Through magic hotel-staff skills, the receptionist recognises us immediately. Our room is not yet ready, but will soon be. We drop off our luggage and tour the little market. Some parts of it are in fact inside the inn building, we duck in and out, me bumping my head on the low door lintels. Finally I manage to bump my head on some overhanging snow and get a heap of it inside my collar. IH! IH! Honeybuns thinks it’s silly of me to be so tall, she manages perfectly well. A snow fight ensues, until I notice the little girl from the boat. A few stealthy steps and Haha! now I have giraffe horns. I strut about a bit before returning the horns.
We briefly peeked into the mine museum and the ominously-named Boutique Hybris, and chatted with the staff, but didn’t find anything particularly interesting, shopping-wise. As we will have Christmas dinner in the evening, we skip the inn and instead have lunch at the Society House. Pricey, but good. We note that quite a few families with children are visiting the inn and the market—there’s a long line of prams outside. And! The inn is completely packed with people having Christmas luncheon. Where did they all come from?
We pick up our key and retire to our room. Our plans had included studying, but after a week’s worth of early mornings, we just fall asleep. When we wake up, it’s already dark outside. I turn on the telly and “Christmas at River Cottage” spreads Christmas cheer that I decide not to consider the fakeytude of, but just enjoy, though when Hugh goes out into the garden to pick vegetables on the morning of Christmas Eve, I throw a glance at the snow dunes outside our cottage.
Come dinner time we climb the hill up to the inn and it’s clear that the extra cloak room is needed, the place is as full as it was for lunch. Robert, the maitre d’, greets us: “Ah, there you are! [aside to a staffer:] OK, now everybody is here.” Oops, we’re last? Well, as they say, the later, the finer the guests. We are escorted to our favourite table, the one with the best view.
Then, off to sample the 150+ dishes. While we do not taste them all, everything we eat is delicious and even with our respective food restrictions there’s plenty enough both for Honeybuns and me to eat. We peek at the other patrons, clearly many families—children sleeping by the tables here and there— groups of friends, snippets of song here and there (though with the snobbism afforded by a polytechnic education I consider the variety and quality of performance of the drinking songs to be less than adequate). We had thought we’d get some reading done after dinner, but now the lounges are used for dining guests, so we instead, happily sated, walk down the hill, through the driving snow, and in spite of our long afternoon nap, we fall asleep again not too much later.
In the morning, the snowfall has increased in intensity as we walk up the hill for breakfast. Apparently, we didn’t quite live up to classic Christmas dinner standards, as we had no need at all for the head-ache pills and indigestion powders strategically placed in the middle of the breakfast buffet. As we checked out, we made a booking for this summer, and I bought some of the sausages on offer in the Christmas market. We also bought a handful of tickets in the lottery stand and won bike rental for two during the summer—what a useful coincidence.
And then, the boat home through the still-increasing snowfall.
M/S Waxholm II was already pretty full when we boarded so we got seats far aft. A fourish girl sitting in front of us teased me with her giraffe-ears-and-horns head piece. I indicated my great envy.
When we arrived, Utö Värdshus looked pretty different from when we saw it last: In the yard was a number of market stalls, the celebrated Christmas market. The entrance was extended with a tent that turned out to contain a temporary cloakroom. We didn’t think much about it, but went straight in for check-in.
Through magic hotel-staff skills, the receptionist recognises us immediately. Our room is not yet ready, but will soon be. We drop off our luggage and tour the little market. Some parts of it are in fact inside the inn building, we duck in and out, me bumping my head on the low door lintels. Finally I manage to bump my head on some overhanging snow and get a heap of it inside my collar. IH! IH! Honeybuns thinks it’s silly of me to be so tall, she manages perfectly well. A snow fight ensues, until I notice the little girl from the boat. A few stealthy steps and Haha! now I have giraffe horns. I strut about a bit before returning the horns.
We briefly peeked into the mine museum and the ominously-named Boutique Hybris, and chatted with the staff, but didn’t find anything particularly interesting, shopping-wise. As we will have Christmas dinner in the evening, we skip the inn and instead have lunch at the Society House. Pricey, but good. We note that quite a few families with children are visiting the inn and the market—there’s a long line of prams outside. And! The inn is completely packed with people having Christmas luncheon. Where did they all come from?
We pick up our key and retire to our room. Our plans had included studying, but after a week’s worth of early mornings, we just fall asleep. When we wake up, it’s already dark outside. I turn on the telly and “Christmas at River Cottage” spreads Christmas cheer that I decide not to consider the fakeytude of, but just enjoy, though when Hugh goes out into the garden to pick vegetables on the morning of Christmas Eve, I throw a glance at the snow dunes outside our cottage.
Come dinner time we climb the hill up to the inn and it’s clear that the extra cloak room is needed, the place is as full as it was for lunch. Robert, the maitre d’, greets us: “Ah, there you are! [aside to a staffer:] OK, now everybody is here.” Oops, we’re last? Well, as they say, the later, the finer the guests. We are escorted to our favourite table, the one with the best view.
Then, off to sample the 150+ dishes. While we do not taste them all, everything we eat is delicious and even with our respective food restrictions there’s plenty enough both for Honeybuns and me to eat. We peek at the other patrons, clearly many families—children sleeping by the tables here and there— groups of friends, snippets of song here and there (though with the snobbism afforded by a polytechnic education I consider the variety and quality of performance of the drinking songs to be less than adequate). We had thought we’d get some reading done after dinner, but now the lounges are used for dining guests, so we instead, happily sated, walk down the hill, through the driving snow, and in spite of our long afternoon nap, we fall asleep again not too much later.
In the morning, the snowfall has increased in intensity as we walk up the hill for breakfast. Apparently, we didn’t quite live up to classic Christmas dinner standards, as we had no need at all for the head-ache pills and indigestion powders strategically placed in the middle of the breakfast buffet. As we checked out, we made a booking for this summer, and I bought some of the sausages on offer in the Christmas market. We also bought a handful of tickets in the lottery stand and won bike rental for two during the summer—what a useful coincidence.
And then, the boat home through the still-increasing snowfall.
2010-11-20
Hedonistic rich man
This morning the Posse converged on Grand Hôtel and its breakfast buffet. The suburbs had been covered in snow, but in the warmer city this was reduced to a wispy drizzle which didn’t enhance the view of the Royal Palace, already partially obscured by ongoing repairs of the quay outside. We concentrated on the food. I’m sure an observing -ologist could have made much of our respective different choices from the buffet.
The conversation as usual degenerated into a punfest and sometimes I looked around to see if we were disturbing the rest of the patrons with our laughing, but nobody seemed to be glaring in our direction.
Two hours later we decided to call it a morning and left, groaning a bit. The weather did not lend itself to strolling, but we did a quick look-through of the shop in Nationalmuseum and continued on to Sturegallerian, looking with shock at the tacky Christmas decorations all along Biblioteksgatan, but found the more plebeian Gallerian to be more to our liking. Just window shopping today, but eventually we’ll have to make the annual sacrifices to the Yule gods.
The conversation as usual degenerated into a punfest and sometimes I looked around to see if we were disturbing the rest of the patrons with our laughing, but nobody seemed to be glaring in our direction.
Two hours later we decided to call it a morning and left, groaning a bit. The weather did not lend itself to strolling, but we did a quick look-through of the shop in Nationalmuseum and continued on to Sturegallerian, looking with shock at the tacky Christmas decorations all along Biblioteksgatan, but found the more plebeian Gallerian to be more to our liking. Just window shopping today, but eventually we’ll have to make the annual sacrifices to the Yule gods.
2010-07-14
Poms vs Bruces
2010-03-07
Saturday Night Special
We were so pleased with our previous visit to Utö that we already then decided we’d return in the wintertime and booked an Archipelago Weekend.
Saturday morning broke with brilliant sunshine from a cloudless sky glittering on fresh snow and we got out the door in high spirits. This time of year there is no ship connection all the way from Stockholm to Utö, instead we had to take the train to Västerhaninge, make a quick sprint to bus 846, which is supposed to leave at the same time as the train arrives at the station, and continue on to Årsta Brygga. Waxholm II was waiting for us at the jetty.
Ice and snow.We crunched our way through a channel of broken ice, passing very secret military installations and a couple of deer running on the ice without any Bambi problems and soon were at Utö.
Summers are short: Presumably a bird was flying by just as the tree was growing, so that it had to give way.When we had checked in and checked out our spacious (though still rather cold, as the season had just started) room we went out for a walk. The little group of houses by the harbour, shops closed for the winter, was soon behind us and we found ourselves in a forest where, when we stopped, all that could be heard was little clumps of snow falling off branches and the wind like the sound of a train in the distance.
This is not your father’s spinach soup.Eventually we were hungry enough that we returned to the inn and a delightful lunch. After lunch we trudged in the snow up to the old windmill and then across the island to the nearby swimming cove. When we returned we found we’d covered two kilometres in as many hours. We decided it must have been good exercise. We returned to our room to dry our snowy clothes and rest a bit. We saw an episode of Merlin and groaned and moaned at the anachronisms and the hackneyed dialogue. The reason for Honeybuns’ big bag was made clear to me as she changed for dinner. I felt very scruffy in comparison.
The dinner was every bit as excellent as the lunch, and specially made for us. We got our favourite corner table where we could look out over the sea and see the lights of the mainland in the far distance. After dinner we sat in the big leather sofas in the lounge and read the books we’d brought. Eventually we walked and slipped down the hill under the starry sky to our room, where we soon fell asleep.
These days, mooring your sailboat requires not just electricity but also WLAN.The morning was overcast and foggy but we got up early for breakfast and dawdled an hour or two over it. Then we went to explore the harbour and the road in the other direction. Another excellent bespoke lunch, with ingredients we’d never seen in combination before and then we had an hour to relax before our ship came in. This day the sound as it moved was slushier.
On the way we passed what seemed to be the carcass of a yearling elk on the ice, picked at by ravens. At least they would not have to starve for a while.
Saturday morning broke with brilliant sunshine from a cloudless sky glittering on fresh snow and we got out the door in high spirits. This time of year there is no ship connection all the way from Stockholm to Utö, instead we had to take the train to Västerhaninge, make a quick sprint to bus 846, which is supposed to leave at the same time as the train arrives at the station, and continue on to Årsta Brygga. Waxholm II was waiting for us at the jetty.
Ice and snow.
Summers are short: Presumably a bird was flying by just as the tree was growing, so that it had to give way.
This is not your father’s spinach soup.The dinner was every bit as excellent as the lunch, and specially made for us. We got our favourite corner table where we could look out over the sea and see the lights of the mainland in the far distance. After dinner we sat in the big leather sofas in the lounge and read the books we’d brought. Eventually we walked and slipped down the hill under the starry sky to our room, where we soon fell asleep.
These days, mooring your sailboat requires not just electricity but also WLAN.On the way we passed what seemed to be the carcass of a yearling elk on the ice, picked at by ravens. At least they would not have to starve for a while.
2010-02-14
Högmål
It’s been two years since Honeybuns and I talked the night away at the anniversary celebrations of the Swedish Cooperative Centre.
A Valentine’s dinner at Gondolen seemed the right way to celebrate our anniversary. To our surprise they aren’t open on Sundays, so we went a day early.
Gondolen fulfilled all expectations: as soon as we arrived we were escorted to our table right in the gondola part itself. Despite the snowfall earlier in the day, we had a fabulous view of Saltsjön—though it was mostly wasted on us.
Service was efficient and intelligent, being able to adapt the menu to my food intolerances at a moment’s notice. And when it arrived, the food was absolutely fantastic.
We were very much satisfied.
A Valentine’s dinner at Gondolen seemed the right way to celebrate our anniversary. To our surprise they aren’t open on Sundays, so we went a day early.
Gondolen fulfilled all expectations: as soon as we arrived we were escorted to our table right in the gondola part itself. Despite the snowfall earlier in the day, we had a fabulous view of Saltsjön—though it was mostly wasted on us.
Service was efficient and intelligent, being able to adapt the menu to my food intolerances at a moment’s notice. And when it arrived, the food was absolutely fantastic.
We were very much satisfied.
2009-12-07
What-ho, pip pip and all that
I found myself in the vicinity of The English Shop and decided to stock up on some supplies. The cashier greeted me in Swedish, but immediately switched to English when she espied the Spam and Marmite in my shopping basket. Now I just have to work on the accent…
2009-11-21
A new project
I've just found Cooking for Engineers. I will have to try out the recipes. I wonder if I can make good clam chowder with oat milk.
2009-06-26
One-stop exotism
In Vindeln they don't have enough eaters for several different restaurants, so you have to combine them into one.
2009-05-02
The middle-class intellectual calculating his gut reaction
We were for a change shopping dinner at Coop Forum Rotebro and marvelled at the huge range of foods. We found a shelf with halal meats and I thought: “Cool, they even have halal bacon now!” before I did the double take. Apparently someone had just decided to offload an unwanted packet of bacon on the shelf. Funny place to leave it, though. But then there was a packet of bacon in the halal freezer as well, which was too many coincidences. Probably someone was deliberately attempting to offend the presumed buyers of halal meats. I attempted to determine my appropriate reaction to this. There are right-wing extremists in the area, as evidenced by posters and graffiti, and that makes it more than a mere prank, but I couldn't quite gauge how offensive it would be perceived to be—probably completely subject to personal predilections. Afterwards I realised I should have resolved the issue by simply buying the bacon, thus earning myself breakfast while removing any perceived offence.
2009-01-01
Happy at the New Year
After Christmas celebrations Honeybuns returned to more southern and less snowy climes and there was much rejoicing.
We went to see the gingerbread houses at the Museum of Architecure but eventually ended up in the exhibition on architecture in Barcelona. We noted that just as for modern art, fashionable architects can't just present a neat idea, but have to surround it with grandiose and pompous verbiage. (Possibly they think computer scientists insist on presenting simple ideas with lots of impenetrable jargon, but that's a completely different matter.)
The sub-exhibition on Antoni Gaudí and his work on Sagrada Familia was much centred around his geometrical inventions, both enabling simpler construction methods (so why has it taken so long to build the place then?) and allowing a lighter structure, both in terms of mass and photons.
This would have been an excellent opportunity for some interactive exhibits, letting the audience play around with generatrices and see for themselves how they form various surfaces as they are moved along given paths. I strongly suspect the general audience probably isn't conversant with terms like “hyperbolic paraboloid”. The exhibition catalogue did contain a bit more explanation, but then again, should you have to shell out another 250 SEK just to get the labels under the exhibits explained? So, a good math teaching opportunity wasted.
On New Years' Eve we dressed up in our finest and prepared a candle-lit dinner for two (garlic mushrooms on toast, saffron fusilli with herb-and-lemon sauce and wild strawberry cider), Honeybuns musingly noting that the pleasantness of a festive evening apparently is unrelated to its alcohol content.
Long shutter time and short self-timer makes for fuzzy pictures.
After dinner we changed out of our finery and bundled up in ski pants, scarves and thumb gloves to brave the elements at Skansen where Jan Malmsjö read Nyårsklockan as tradition requires. The fireworks were very beautiful and not too loud from where we were standing.
The huge crowd then moved back into the city, and we had to zigzag to avoid drunk revellers, smashed champagne bottles and thrown firecrackers. SL was running all available busses and trams to move people and even the underground trains out to the suburbs were running at rush-hour frequency to my great relief, especially considering the puke pools on the platform.
We were home again around 02:00 and finished off the night with saffron buns and aurora glögg. The latter was a pleasant surprise, the spices were just a subtle addition to a smooth blackcurrant flavour with a hint of bilberry.
When we woke up again, the sun shone in through the bedroom window.
We went to see the gingerbread houses at the Museum of Architecure but eventually ended up in the exhibition on architecture in Barcelona. We noted that just as for modern art, fashionable architects can't just present a neat idea, but have to surround it with grandiose and pompous verbiage. (Possibly they think computer scientists insist on presenting simple ideas with lots of impenetrable jargon, but that's a completely different matter.)
The sub-exhibition on Antoni Gaudí and his work on Sagrada Familia was much centred around his geometrical inventions, both enabling simpler construction methods (so why has it taken so long to build the place then?) and allowing a lighter structure, both in terms of mass and photons.
This would have been an excellent opportunity for some interactive exhibits, letting the audience play around with generatrices and see for themselves how they form various surfaces as they are moved along given paths. I strongly suspect the general audience probably isn't conversant with terms like “hyperbolic paraboloid”. The exhibition catalogue did contain a bit more explanation, but then again, should you have to shell out another 250 SEK just to get the labels under the exhibits explained? So, a good math teaching opportunity wasted.
On New Years' Eve we dressed up in our finest and prepared a candle-lit dinner for two (garlic mushrooms on toast, saffron fusilli with herb-and-lemon sauce and wild strawberry cider), Honeybuns musingly noting that the pleasantness of a festive evening apparently is unrelated to its alcohol content.
Long shutter time and short self-timer makes for fuzzy pictures.
After dinner we changed out of our finery and bundled up in ski pants, scarves and thumb gloves to brave the elements at Skansen where Jan Malmsjö read Nyårsklockan as tradition requires. The fireworks were very beautiful and not too loud from where we were standing.
The huge crowd then moved back into the city, and we had to zigzag to avoid drunk revellers, smashed champagne bottles and thrown firecrackers. SL was running all available busses and trams to move people and even the underground trains out to the suburbs were running at rush-hour frequency to my great relief, especially considering the puke pools on the platform.
We were home again around 02:00 and finished off the night with saffron buns and aurora glögg. The latter was a pleasant surprise, the spices were just a subtle addition to a smooth blackcurrant flavour with a hint of bilberry.
When we woke up again, the sun shone in through the bedroom window.
2008-12-03
Christmas season
Honeybuns and I had a most enjoyable last weekend. The Saturday we spent at the Butterfly House. There weren't very many butterflies about though, maybe even the tropical lepidopterans have decided to hibernate through the winter. The museum restaurant was a delightful surprise, the food was actually quite good and not too expensive, an unusual combination in most museum restaurants.
On Sunday we went to Skansen for the Christmas Market. To our joy we found that Skansen has made an excellent effort this year, the main entrance met us with light cascades down the hillside and a choir singing traditional Christmas songs, i e not the ones you'll hear every day in every supermarket, but old and yet less worn-out ones.
As we wandered around the city quarter and looked into shops and workshops we found that they all used period lighting, in other words it was quite dark in most places. It brought home very strongly what wintertime must have meant just a few generations away, Christmas being when you would celebrate and use the half a dozen of tallow candles made at the autumn slaughter. The high point was when we entered Älvrosgården and listened to three violinists playing folk music in almost complete darkness.
The market itself contained more booths than I remember ever having seen there before, selling waffles, sausages, slippers, knives, fish, and whatever other folkloristic Christmas items, all very pleasant in the winter night (i e early afternoon). When the market closed at around 16:00, we haggled ourselves to a bag of discount saffron buns and then stood by Solliden and looked out over the city, glittering in the darkness. I noted how experiences are intensified by sharing them, not least so when shared with my beloved Honeybuns.
We passed through the Skansen shop for some aurora-flavour glögg (I will let you know what aurora tastes like) and then proceeded to Gröna Lund and watched brave people riding roller-coasters in the chilly air while others skated beneath them. The Christmas market was tiny and not very exciting, so soon we caught the tram and continued to Kungsträdgården, which also had a Christmas market. We bought doughnuts and munched on them as we walked towards the Old Town, to see the Christmas market there. I consider it to have lost much of its charm since they discontinued the paper trumpets for children (on account of the complaining residents), but we still found some more stuff for the Christmas table. I would have sung ”Jul i Gamla Stan”, but I don't know the words and besides I think it's a bit tacky.
Tired and satisfied with our day, we went home and made rice pudding for dinner in order to continue with the Christmas theme.
On Sunday we went to Skansen for the Christmas Market. To our joy we found that Skansen has made an excellent effort this year, the main entrance met us with light cascades down the hillside and a choir singing traditional Christmas songs, i e not the ones you'll hear every day in every supermarket, but old and yet less worn-out ones.
As we wandered around the city quarter and looked into shops and workshops we found that they all used period lighting, in other words it was quite dark in most places. It brought home very strongly what wintertime must have meant just a few generations away, Christmas being when you would celebrate and use the half a dozen of tallow candles made at the autumn slaughter. The high point was when we entered Älvrosgården and listened to three violinists playing folk music in almost complete darkness.
The market itself contained more booths than I remember ever having seen there before, selling waffles, sausages, slippers, knives, fish, and whatever other folkloristic Christmas items, all very pleasant in the winter night (i e early afternoon). When the market closed at around 16:00, we haggled ourselves to a bag of discount saffron buns and then stood by Solliden and looked out over the city, glittering in the darkness. I noted how experiences are intensified by sharing them, not least so when shared with my beloved Honeybuns.
We passed through the Skansen shop for some aurora-flavour glögg (I will let you know what aurora tastes like) and then proceeded to Gröna Lund and watched brave people riding roller-coasters in the chilly air while others skated beneath them. The Christmas market was tiny and not very exciting, so soon we caught the tram and continued to Kungsträdgården, which also had a Christmas market. We bought doughnuts and munched on them as we walked towards the Old Town, to see the Christmas market there. I consider it to have lost much of its charm since they discontinued the paper trumpets for children (on account of the complaining residents), but we still found some more stuff for the Christmas table. I would have sung ”Jul i Gamla Stan”, but I don't know the words and besides I think it's a bit tacky.
Tired and satisfied with our day, we went home and made rice pudding for dinner in order to continue with the Christmas theme.
2008-08-17
Let them eat cake
On my first trip to the United States we were in San Francisco when the US Fathers' Day coincided with the birthday of the Only-begotten children's mother, and she decided we should get a cake to celebrate the joint event. So we went out for a walk to locate a cakery. We noted that US cakes were considerably more imaginative than the usual Swedish choices of Black Forest Cake and Princess cake, often making up entire stages with dinosaurs in primeval forests, Dorothy with friends on the Yellow Brick Road and so on. We still settled for a fairly simple chocolate cake. I, having just withdrawn cash, took out a fifty-dollar note to pay with at which the guy behind the counter hissed:
“Put that down! Do you want to get killed!?”
Oh, apparently I hadn't gotten the current USD/life rate right.
I found smaller denominations to pay with and then we repaired to our hotel room.
I had a little bit of cake and found it very rich. The OBCM, considering herself a major league cake-eater, had a larger bit but had obvious difficulty finishing it all.
“It's (oof) rather rich…”
We looked at the cake, its full caloric content now apparent to us, realising we wouldn't ever be able to finish it. Accordingly we invited all our travelling companions. They eagerly took a piece of cake each and their widening eyes showed they also found it quite rich. After some forty male engineering students in the prime of their lives had had a piece of cake each we still had half the cake left. We decided it would probably do as a tip for the cleaning staff.
Since then, I consider American cake as a weapon of waist destruction. There is a blog dedicated to other kinds of cake-related disasters: Cake Wrecks.
“Put that down! Do you want to get killed!?”
Oh, apparently I hadn't gotten the current USD/life rate right.
I found smaller denominations to pay with and then we repaired to our hotel room.
I had a little bit of cake and found it very rich. The OBCM, considering herself a major league cake-eater, had a larger bit but had obvious difficulty finishing it all.
“It's (oof) rather rich…”
We looked at the cake, its full caloric content now apparent to us, realising we wouldn't ever be able to finish it. Accordingly we invited all our travelling companions. They eagerly took a piece of cake each and their widening eyes showed they also found it quite rich. After some forty male engineering students in the prime of their lives had had a piece of cake each we still had half the cake left. We decided it would probably do as a tip for the cleaning staff.
Since then, I consider American cake as a weapon of waist destruction. There is a blog dedicated to other kinds of cake-related disasters: Cake Wrecks.
2008-08-11
Empty in one sense
I open a tin of Grebbestads anchovies. I pour off the liquid and find there's nothing left in the tin. Oh well, I don't really like anchovies all that much anyway…
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