Nigella Wisdom

I liked Nigella Lawson before I came to the UK but after getting a bit of flavour from her general neighbourhood, I have to say that I love her good and proper now. I love her ideas about food and indulgence, her rich desserts and literary descriptions of why they are beautiful, how impulsive and impatient she gets to eat what she is making, her full figure that reflects her passion for good food. What I think I love most though is how she articulates and truly lives all that I feel about cooking, eating and enjoying good food.

A couple of my favourite quotes of hers:

"I absolutely love this dessert [I think it was a lemon pie she was doting over]. You know when it is finished when you shake it and it gives you a cheeky wiggle."

"What I'm doing here is seeking to offer protection from life, solely through the means of potato, butter and cream... there are times when only mashed potato will do."



There is nothing more comforting to me than an episode of Nigella Lawson. So many things in a daily routine can be unpleasant. Life can demand so much sometimes. But, as depraved as it may seem, really good food can make up a lot of the difference for me. Nigella understands this the same as I do. She understands that when I have to wake up to an alarm to get me ready for a day of housekeeping and rainy weather, it is the thought of a thick piece of toast smeared in an unholy amount of Nutella that gets me up without complaint. There are a handful of other things that get me out of bed (luckily one of them is a good hard swim/run that can help counteract such excess). Still, I feel unappologetic about enjoying good and, at times, unforgivably superfluous food.* I am surprised that it is the gaunt ndrew Bird who coined the phrase "I am all for moderation but sometimes it seems moderdation itself can be kind of extreme". My hat off to this British lady who taught me that the way to become a domestic goddess is to embrace the rich bounty this earth yields in all kinds of great baking, cooking, recipes, and of course eating. I can't think of a healthier way of life than this philosophy really.

My one lingering question though, and at times frustration, is how she finds such unique ingredients in a British supermarket? I have yet to find chocolate chips (only exorbitantly priced "chocolate buttons") or a tin of diced green chilis in a store here....

*Don't get me wrong, I relish a colourful salad with restrained amounts of dressing or a well roasted trio of veg. These are nice parts of my day as well. But, for my temperament, they can never make up for a missed "pudding".

This is England

Can't recommend it to one and all, the language may just be too unforgivable for that. Still, I can't say I regret seeing it. Three cheers for Matt fanagaling an override on our IP address location - Netflix instant queue prevails over the pond! And it gave us some good semi-local flavour tonight for some birthday "night at the movies" on William Street.

If you can't abide the language and the not so wee bit of violence, let me just give you the best parts here. Play these clips consecuatively. Even if you never been a rude boy or spent a good season of your life being keen on anything The Specials, I think that there is still something in these 5+ minutes for you to appreciate.

Scot's Poetry!

And just in Time for Burns Supper Season! Turns out that one of the quickest ways to shirk off a lonely, homesick bug is to get involved in a good volunteering programme....or 2...or 3... Of course, helping out with the Rainbow Girlguides has been great fun on Tuesday nights but I needed to get my fix of library work. So I am now a volunteer "IT Buddy" as well as a volunteer with the Read Aloud programme through the Edinburgh Public Library. The former position will pair me up with older folk who need a wee bit more help with their technology skills. I work one on one with them to help with anything from learning how one operates a mouse effectively to setting up and using an email account. I am told that "patience" is key but all the same I think that it sounds like a great chance to get to know these unique people that make up Edinburgh.

I just finished with the Read Aloud orientation tonight and I am excited. The programme is set up for a volunteer or two to go with a library staff member into care/nursing homes to read people with memory problems different poems. There is a theme for each visit, sometimes props and pictures as well as conversation prompts to get people responding to the poetry. We practiced tonight, and although I stuck with the trusty e.e. cummings poems I found, it was marvelous to hear some real authentic Scottish poetry from these different members of my current community.

One of the poems read tonight called "Kidsong/Bairnsong" by Liz Lochhead conjured up some interesting conversation about the old "Scot" language. Click here if you want the poetress herself to read it to you (the poem bit starts at about 2:10). This poem is "a wee bilingual poem" as it is first written in Scot and then in "English", with a stanza of reflection at the end about trying to write poetry in an unnatural forced language that is not your own (in this case, "English"). Many tonight pointed out that school children were beaten by their headmasters and poets frowned upon at one time for speaking or writing in Scot. I realized tonight, after some real good flavour of this rich language and culture, what a sad world it would be though if this unique way of expression had been lost through these oppressions. It indeed takes a Utahn/Texan like myself some time to get my mind around the descriptions and follow the narratives but no matter how little I understand, the ride is great fun.

And another favourite of mine from the evening was read by a dear older lady sitting next to me. She stood up and read this very animated poem, playing up her brogue quite a lot. Indeed, in some ways this poem is hard to follow but truly I think every parent can relate, even if they don't speak proper Scot.

A Dug! A Dug!

by Billy Keyes

Hey, Daddy, wid ye get us a dug ?
A big broon alsation ur a wee white pug ?
Ur a skinny wee terrier, ur a big fat collie?
Aw, daddy,get us a dug.  Will yi ?

Whit! An' whose dug'll it be when it durties the flerr,
An' wets the carpet and messes the sterr?
Its me ur yer mammy'll be tane furra mug.
Away oot'n play.  Yer no getting a dug.

But daddy thur gi'en them away
Down therr at the RSPCA.
Yu'll get wan fur nothin, so ye will.
Aw. Daddy, get us a dug, Will ye?

Dji hear um?  Oan aboot dugs again?
Ah think that yins goat dugs'n the brain.
Ah know whit yu'll get: a skite oan the lug
If ah hear ony merr aboot this bloomin dug.

Aw, Daddy, it widny be dear tae keep
An'ah'd make it a basket fur it tae sleep.
An'ah'd take it fur runs away ower the hull.
Aw, Daddy, get us a dug.  Will ye?

A doan't think thurs embdy like you:
Yi could wheedle the twist oot a flamin' corkscrew.
Noo! Get doon aff my neck.  Gies nane a yur hugs.
Aw right.  THAT'S ANUFF. Ah'll get yi a dug.


Aw Daddy.  A dug. A dug.

English Speaking?

It's "Programme" not "Program"

It's "Enquiry" not "Inquiry"

It's "Flavour" not "Flavor

"Colour" not "Color"

"Humour" not "Humor"

"Favour" not "Favor"

It's "Centre" not "Center"

"Enrol" not "Enroll"

and perhaps the most surprising..

It's "Tyre" not "Tire"

High faluting fun in Oxford.

To fend off them January blues, I planned myself a solo trip to go visit my dear pal Mary down in Oxford. It was a holiday filled with great company, adventure, food and even moments of intrigue and adventure. And all at an affordable price! (which is no doubt attributed to having an “in” with someone who knows how to sneak a visitor into dining halls and college courtyards like a proper bandit - more on that later). Although my notion to head south came first from my interest in some quality time with a longtime friend, I have to say the sites speak for themselves as well.  As I begin my train ride home right now from our adventures, I feel I must give Oxford two decisive thumbs up as far as travel destinations go.

Our escapades began on Friday afternoon when I arrived at the Oxford station after six hours of reading and staring out at passing pastoral landscapes of the Lake District. I arrived in time to take a brief run through the Ashmolean Museum and take in some marvelous ancient curiosities, including a Minoan Octopus Vase that brought back all kinds of forgotten knowledge from my Greek Art class of yore.

Then it was off to "sneaking" into dinning hall at Magdalen College for dinner. The thing is, Mary's college has its own dinning hall but apparently it doesn't even hold a torch to the Magdalen experience, indeed the girl has snuck in more than once. This is how it was to play out: "Okay, Cate.", Mary explained under her breath as she led our speedy walk towards campus, "just don't say anything and let me flash my student card. I'll just tell the cashier that I want to pay for both of us. Just follow my lead and pretend you know what you are doing." I followed these commands the best I could, all the while trying to fight a smile from sweeping across my non-Oxfordstudent face. The thrill made me want to laugh out loud, but that could have ruined everything. I tried to keep myself looking very sober minded.

In the end, that Mary pulled the heist off like a real natural. Very impressive for the normally prudent and academically conscious person she is. I was glad for it too, as it was much more that I had even hoped for. In the beginning, I couldn't see how this would offer much more interest than my days of having someone treating me to waffles in BYU Cannon Center. Don't get me wrong, getting to make my own hot Belgian waffle at 4pm is a real treat, but this was a few steps up from even that, to be sure. At the risk of sounding utterly cliche, American, and un-cultured all at once, it was like eating onset of a Harry Potter filming. Check it out:

Turns out that I had good reason for thinking that as this place was first sought after for the Harry Potter dinning scenes but the college refused. No doubt they rue that judgment call as Christ Church, the college where it was filmed, rakes it in from all the visitors that pay to see it.

The next day included lots of great touring through different colleges and libraries,

Mary in front of "All Souls" college - the most elite of them all!

 There were so many pretty courtyards we walked through.

The "Oxford Eye" Library - not even money will get you in there. Students only.

Courtyard and dinning hall of the "Harry Potter" college (Christ Church). For the record, this dinning hall pic is from an online image search since my pics didn't at all do justice to the place.

The day also included a walk through the marshes behind Christ Church college. Mary got devious again, and there was even some fence climbing so I think we really did see most of what there was to see around the place. It was gloomy lovely.



That evening included another sneak in to Magdalen dinning hall and a concert at this place.

Our adventuring went a bit too far though when somehow Mary realized she didn't have her keys once we got back to her flat. After retracing our steps and searching the concert hall to no avail, Mary cheerily pointed out "Really these stone steps here are well lit and would probably be safe enough if we needed to sleep there." Although my humour had not failed me through it all, I am told I was poker faced when I said, "Um...I am not keen on sleeping on the Oxford streets in the middle of January. What is plan A, B, C, and D?" We were probably on about plan F when we found ourselves getting a lift to a nice ward family's home around midnight. The only real penance we had to pay for our misfortunes beyond blistered feet and some waiting around the next day for campus security to find the master key, among what seemed like hundreds of choices was that I had to wear my concert going trousers to church. My casual church clothes, and with the help of Mary's introduction to me in Relief Society as "a good friend of mine who is visiting", I got all kinds of arms of fellowship reached out to me until I made a comment in class that used the terminology "personal revelation". Once I dropped that and some other Mormonese terms, people seemed to stop treating me like an investigator.

In the end I have to say that Oxford is one heckuva place to visit, with much to see and do. Still, I would recommend that to maximize your traveling adventures in those parts, you really ought to find yourself a Mary to add that extra flavour and grandeur to your experience.

Land of the "Weegies"

The other day I went half an hour earlier for my morning swim at the Dalry Swim Centre. The Welshman who I almost always swim alongside in morning noticed and asked me why the routine change. I told my friend that I was going to go visit Glasgow that day and wanted to use all the daylight I could for exploring the sites. Without skipping a beat he said, "I went to Glasgow for a laugh....and came back in stitches!" Right away I recognized that as a joke and a good one too. I even laughed in time. It was a proud moment that I could follow the cultural nuances of the humour in it. Three cheers for anyone who can keep up with why this is funny. I'll give you a hint, Glasgow is considered to be the Baltimore of the UK. ***Got some artsy and cool stuff going for it but kind of a rough place to spend a holiday.

Still we had a great time. Indeed it included a few laughs a long the way - but luckily no stitches....

Thanks to E&K for their Christmas gift (a Lonely Planet guide book to Great Britain) to us last year, Matt and I were able to find our way around lots of cool sites on the walking tour outlined. Just as expected there was some pretty great architecture to take in,

a unique cathedral with loads of interesting stained glass windows (read: art history nirvana for me),

a neocropolis that offers some spooky lovely sites of the city,

*here's my "Good Morning Glasgow" shot*.

A real highlight came when Matt and I took tea at one of the Charles Rennie Mackintosh Willow Room teahouses. Think that it takes an art history snob to know what I am talking about? I submit that it doesn't. Do you like Mr. Frank Lloyd Wright? Of course you do. Everyone does. Glasgow's own Mackintosh was the predecessor for Mr. Wright. To be a bit frank, in some ways, I kind of think that Frank Lloyd Wright is just a really remarkable architect who ripped off an even more remarkable designer. Still I love them both and the teahouse was all that I hoped it would be.

Couldn't get over these delightfully rough sugar cubes. I had fennel tea and Matt had fresh peppermint. We both agreed they were marvelous.

Indeed, we also found time to take a trip over to one of the many modern art museums in town. There was this terrific installation exhibit on the ground floor that we had a great time wandering through. One piece had this great quote about the elusive nature of humour. I couldn't get over how profound it was, especially in the context of Glasgow:

For any modern/contemporary art history nerds, the following plaque may be of interest. I wish I could have had this quote handy on the Centre de Pompidou tour I took the Paris study abroad students on.

 

I am sure there is much more to see but there is only so much one can do on foot. Perhaps we will save it for another day. This trip, however, got 2 thumbs up, even on the bleakest of January days.

***We did find our Lonely Planet's summation of the place to be true. It was something to think about whilst trodding about:

"With a CV that includes City of Architecture and City of Culture, you'd think Glasgow would be a shoe-in for the 2014 Commonwealth games (this book is a bit outdated - it will be the hosting the games). But this is also the city whose inhabitants have the highest choleterol in the EU, and in which there's still a simmering sectarianism between the Roman Catholic and the Prodestant residents. Consider that Glasgow produced both the comedian Billy Connelly and tea-mongul Sir Thomas Lipton, and you'll soon learn what a complex and contrary place it can be.

Part of the problem is Edinburgh. While Glasgow is Scotland's largest city it is pipped for capital by the more sophisticated city to the east. And a (mostly) friendly rivalry has existed ever since. Folk from Edinburgh tease Glaswegians (or Weegies) for their thick, working class accents; you may be saying 'Hun?' more than you expected in an English-speaking city."