Air Canada sucks

There is a seemingly fine man living in Toronto who seemingly went out of his way to do a charming, gallant (and maybe even romantic?) thing for me this evening. A surprise of quite astounding proportions — foiled as surprise by his need to confirm my attendance somewhere, the lack of delivery of such and this lack made worse by his tantalizing description of its contents (see below. You will drool seriously. grab a hankie).

Air Canada bollocksed it up.

Not only did they leave me alone, hungry, New Year's Eve at the office AND ruin his woo, but they claimed to have delivered it at 7 p.m. They lied. Which they eventually admitted.

There is some ongoing tipsy plan to head out to the airport and break into the cargo storage but saner minds and laughter at the ensuing headlines (Journalists, Public Security staff caught NYE with bomb: Loud laughter roused suspicion, offered arresting officers champagne and kisses) have derailed our cunning plots.


This is what sits rotting in the cargo area at the Ottawa International Airport:

Missive from chef in question:
The food should be there soon - the plane arrives now and will be picked up right away.
Without wanting to sound as though I'm making excuses - it's not what I would normally make, and I feel it's a bit over-worked, so please take it as symbolic of a gesture, not as the penultimate expression of a young man's culinary skills.
Just so you know: lobster is butter poached in vervain, the tail is layered with haitian mango, cardamom, black pepper and capers. the clams are a salad of lemon zest, a bit of ginger and basil oil. the scallop is from hokkaido and is tossed with sorrel and a mild chili.
the greens are mizuna, the beets are tossed in walnut oil.
As I say - the dish was a product of some obvious constraints (time and space), but as you asked for a lobster and mangoes with side references to vervain, ginger and cardamom- this is the sum, if not more of those parts.
(for myself, I am resting on the laurel of acquiring lobster on a monday morning before 9)
i said clams - I mean scallops...



a r g h. Off to go drown sorrows in champers.

the writer's strike

(I'm supposed to be in bed right now. ssssssssh.)

As foil to some bizarre belief I am pithy and intelligent, I shall now not expound intelligently on the plight of writers and the ongoing strike in Hollywood. Instead, I shall wax indifferently on a very trite show which would probably maintain its calibre without writers, or, say, with its writers replaced with drunk squirrels.

Its premise is so clichéd as to not even be found in Harlequin romance novels. A man, turned vampire (by mysterious ex lover/wife some centuries ago) has ongoing friendship (read: sexual tension) with the now grown child he rescued from the clutches of his wife. Said wife believed to have been killed by him in battle to rescue the girl - now woman. Wife is dark haired, woman who was girl is blonde. The script includes such pithy and complicated lines as "You saved me. It was you. You saved me. It was you all along." and a narration by lead vampire character worthy of faux Dashiel Hammet spoof.

So, why write of it here?

Because i LOVE this show — rather unimaginatively called Moonlight. The script is horrific but the acting, by both lead protagonists, is remarkable. I can not imagine the angst and effort to deliver such noxious lines. I've seen skilled actors flattened by Chekhov but this show is impossible. The script is a cesspit of foul.

That said vampire is deliciously delicious delicious does help augment the show's appeal; but the actor's deliciousness is only extant in that he is obviously a smart cookie, able to navigate such triteness. I'd let him sit quietly on my sofa any day.


I'm beginning to realize a vast proportion of blog entries seem to be about delicious men. Methinks I need to go take advantage of some standing offers ....

scotch and quiet vs pee

I am having a good-ish day involving Getting Things Done and Being Busy and Having Drinks. Am now slightly tipsy, at home with accomplishments accomplished with little things to do and early night ahead.

It is quiet in my flat where I have luxuriously been able to pile freshly folded laundry on my freshly cleaned floors in anticipation of being put away into freshly organized drawers. Pleasant. But I am somewhat sad, despite this tasty scotch at hand.

I am missing a certain crumb-spewing, water-drizzling, rug-destroying peeing monster of a pup who challenged my authority unsuccessfully over the past three or so weeks.
Bizarre given the nights she roused me from my sleep with choking after inhaling some minute piece of plastic, leaving me dull and confused for days @ the office, and during required mad drives home at noonish to let her out. Or the peeing done on not one, but three different rugs leaving my wood floors rather bare at present. Or the three trips to the vet interfering with work, yoga, trysts over what seemed an interminable period of time — and subsequent destruction after instructions left her housebound. Or the paws and noses in face at ludicrously early hours with threats of more peeing ifIdidnotgetupthen. Or howling and whining as if she were being flayed alive FOR HOURS when I left her in her crate to go shovel the walk, making me popular with the neighbours. Or the collection of vile smelling dog kibble and treats and bones and toys which spread disgusting scents and slobber all over my floors and stuff. A certain coat shall never be the same and a certain cashmere scarf - RIP.







I rather miss her. Except for all that stuff.

snöblissed!

There are people cross-country skiing down Nepean Street!

I'm chuffed at the weather here. We have received about a foot of snow an hour for the past few hours. Parts of the Queensway have shut down, bridges have closed, stores are empty — desolate even — as the snow keeps falling. White outs reported (and experienced by yours truly) even in the downtown core. It is a very good thing my friend left this morning when he did or he'd have had to help in the saga of shovelling and probably have not made it home for days. Contrary to popular belief, that would have been a disaster. ahem.

I dug out my friend's walk, deck, front porch and in the time it took me to shovel out their laneway (and hence rescue their car stranded in snow on the street) they had filled in again. I stood on the walkway with snow past my knees. Their dog (who, by the way, whined as if she was being tortured by the Spanish Inquisition from inside while I shovelled) is only able to go out into their backyard on leash. If not, all 40-pounds of her six-month-old self gets subsumed into white stuff. This, she has come to realize, she does not like. I tried shovelling off their deck but have subsequently given up.

Despite the supposed inconvenience of this snow it is g l o r i o u s !
(warranting an exclamation mark, even)

People are out cross-country skiing on downtown streets! If I did not have a whingey puppy in my care I'd grab my gear and join them; Whingey puppy, and that it would probably take me three hours to walk the few blocks back to my place. Yoga not required today, snow is providing core work out all its own.

It is so gorgeous. Off to buy some Sorel tomorrow, as got a bit tired of snow getting in past my mid-calf high boots. It is time to purchase some hardy Canadian gear, the ubiquitous white boots to which I think I shall add a little Inuit embroidery, for fun.

If I can make it to the stores.

game

Elk is tasty, she writes, while chomping down on some game meat at the office. As of this evening it joins my favourite "other red meats" next to ostrich and bison, edging out bison for the number-two spot. However, unlike ostrich and bison it seems it is possible to find elk at chique little shops in downtown Ottawa, nowhere near an elk or elk farm. ( ... to my knowledge, do feel free to correct me.)

Among gourmand epiphanies miraculously had while working in stultefying environment, mushrooms achieved new classification. Not only are they a tasty addition to provencale omelets, they also have nutritional content; a stunning revelation. They have scads of B vitamins and folate and the ever necessary riboflavin (which I hitherto believed was a fiction manufactured by cereal manufacturers).

If anyone is intrigued, elk with mushrooms, homemade spätzle and kale makes for a rather delicious meal. If only they were more traditional and let us drink booze at the office — what wine to pick?

the sound of snow

It snows, now, gorgeous fluffy stuff, dampening all sound, reflecting light off each snowflake, bathing brick homes and street corners in soft golden light. Am just in from walking the puppy and it seemed she, myself and maybe 20 others were the only ones in the city. A photographer's dream, sans halo.

It's difficult trying to explain the varying sounds and smells of snow to people who have never experienced a Canadian winter. I've been mocked on different continents ("Do these snowflakes scream as they fall?") but Smilla knew what she was talking about, oh unbelievers.

Tonight it sounds like gossamer silk, rustling around my feet and absorbing harshness. It is a night for gentle anticipation ... I wish all such a night as the one I've had. Dreamy, cello-filled, lissome, yes, yes.