To Cook or not to Cook

Well its Jamie and me tonight.

Bloody ‘ell. What’s a bloke to do when he’s been on the other side of the counter most of his life.

I am well versed with the essential meals. To this I am true. A real breakfast. A bit of eggs, and chips messed all up with some bacon for an artery clogging, heart stopping breakfast. Soup and sandwiches for lunch. Dark rye bread with caraway seeds, german pepperseed salami, aged white cheddar cheese and a slice of tomato. Barbeques for dinner. Steaks, breasts, legs and fish. And don’t forget the potatoes, tossed with some pepper, salt and spicy seasonings. But once you expand beyond the basic ingredients, I step aside for the passionate cooks, the ones who can unlock the wide range in tastes and senses that lie waiting to be released and enjoyed. Someone who’s specialties go well beyond successfully pouring milk into their cereal bowl for breakfast.

But never doubt my love for food. In fact I can honestly say I have enjoyed every one of the delicacies served. Sipping wine from across the counter while the real artists are at work. The recipient of a never ending stream of appetizers and entrée’s; emerging from the pots on top of the stove or in the depths of the oven. The wider and broader range of ingredients that come together in a heavenly aroma. More matter with less art. (and I am not even going to touch on dessert in this posting). Never one to rest with the most recent success, there almost seems delight in finding the next intriguing concoction. My waistline approves. My doctor is happy. What’s more to life than this?

And over time I have become familiar with the names of many of the keys to success. Herbs de Provence, coriander, fresh basil, Rosemary & Thyme; and on and on it goes. We have even reached the stage where the freshest of herbs adds that little extra element of taste, herbs scrounged from our garden, at our beck and call. Pots brimming full of spices that magically appear once the sun starts shining again. There seems to be a never ending realm of possibilities. New names, variations in combination and recipes from different sources. How hard can this be? The recipes the thing.

Well it’s Jamie and me tonight.

You see, “Cook with Jamie” is my guide. It does seems quite straightforward enough. Aside from the fact there are limited ingredients in my kitchen and I am substituting on the fly. I am up for the challenge. I have the book, the man. But what of the instructions? Therein lies the rub. How do you teach an engineer to follow arbitrary guidelines? How do you take someone who measures twice to wrap his mind around Jamie’s ramblings?

What’s a glug of olive oil? Does it matter if it’s a small bottle with a small opening or a bigger one with a larger opening. And how much is a good glug? Two normal glugs? Let alone a splash. Or even a drizzle. I'll be through the Oxford dictionary before I’m done. And let’s not even try to figure out what a knob of butter is. I’m not letting him into the apartment. Then there is a pinch of salt. And how much more is a good pinch. Let alone a sprinkle. Unless of course it’s season to taste. But to taste like what?

What the ‘ell. I might as well scrunch it all together, chuck it in, add a bunch of basil leaves, a squeeze of lemon and top it all with a block of cheese.

mmmm. Not bad for the first time. Jamie, pull up a chair. The lad doth protest too much, methinks.

Curse you Microsoft

Always having been one to use the proper Queens English (or at least my interpretation of it coming from the House of Hanover), I always go the extra step and select Canadian English as my default language setting for Windows. It is the considerate thing to do. As an engineer living in a house of eloquent english majors, it is always a struggle to keep ones head above water in any conversation. As mentioned in my previous posting, I am one who would rather experiment with the abstract meanings of words. And find it a struggle to properly punctuate and string together appropriate adverbs and adjectives in a structured sentence. Let alone maintain the proper tense throughout a thought. Life without those nefarious language rules leads to a much simplier opportunity to express ones self. And keep the others at bay as they wrestle with what was actually said. (before the suppressed chuckles start).

Fortunately I have multiple, pervasive, editors only a shoulder away, ready to pounce and pronounce and purify any deviations from Britania's printed edition. I don't mind this as it gives them something to delight in as well as making all ends of conversation topics for future dates. In fact when the book, Eats Shoots and Leaves appeared in our home, despite all claims to the contrary, as a novel of humour for the Honours degree crowd, I unmistakably noticed it magically appearing close to where I had settled in on more than one occasion. Feeling parinoid? Subtle reminders? Who knows, but these thoughts did not linger long as I am easily distracted and on to the next flow of consciousness.

And now that I am fully enabled and properly equipped to defend the British Empire, out here in the Colonies, I bravely engaged all my busines collegues with appropriate language and spelling. In particular lobbing a multitude of documents across the 49th parallel to my unsuspecting peers and more delightfully, management with colourful, scripted summaries of various engagements. Ah, barely have I depressed the send button when you can practicly sense the defenses springing into action. Half a league half a league, half a league onward. Barely a word survives the intial charge. Spell checkers to the left, Spell checkers to the right, Spell checkers in front. One may sense the futility of it all, but still onward we press. And in a modern fashion, carve out small victories as the defenses higlight the intrusion, briefly flaring up as each deviation is noted and hopefully leaves a lasting impression for future, subconscious retrieval.

While you are reading all this, one might wonder. Was this not a blog on life in Cary. The land to the south. Well I digress a little, surely the heart of the issue is coming to a head. And well it shall. Here I am in the US. And voila, my new laptop arrives. A nice shiny new Dell. And off I go. Enabling all my defenses to continue my noble quest. But to my horror, there is no option for Canadian English. I am at a total loss. Will I finally be absorbed by the Borg to become one of the many faceless bloggers with no descernable skills or principles? This cannot be so. And it shall not be. There is an option, the next selection on the menu. To preserve my ability to maintain my language, I am now the equiped with the UK english option. I have catapulted my workstation across the pond to further protect and insulate it from newspeak.

Unfortunately, I truly did not comprehend the extent to which the forces of MS will go to circumvent my will. It is truly insiduous what they are capable of doing. You have no idea, and neither did I understand the implications of my choice. The forces aligned against one are formidible. The first inkling was a naive web search. A simple request for a local establishment. I was a bit puzzled, as well as slighlty amused, that the first response had the suffice co.uk. And then the next one and the next one. Why would all the primary response be from overseas? And then the next search and the next seatch with the same structured response. Could the language of choice somehow be duly noted, catalogued and then quickly dispatched to other elements of the system. A mindless uniform response? The Borg? Pervasive, omnipresent and extending its tentacles into every facet of my daily existance? What else could they be up to?

Not to be one to give up lightly, this became a minor annoyance I could live with for the greater good. Having to scroll down or go to the next page to fulful my request was a small price to pay. Was there a man dismayed? Not I. It will take more than a mere triffle to disuade me. Unfortunately I was not prepared for what I was about to face. Theirs but to do and die. The onslaught of DST was my undoing.

A missed meeting here, a calendar request in error there. And then the reality sunk in. DST in the UK still changes at the traditional time. The end of March. But here in the US, threre is a one hour change in time. I was out of sorts with the working world. Somehow my system had taken it upon itself to observe UK DST, causing several of my appointments to be one hour later than the other participants. And not to be outdone, the changes were not universal. Some were accurate, some were not. The system, the institution was toying with myself, daring me to respond. And finally, all I could do was capitulate. They that fought so well.

We live for another day. (that being march 29th when I restore the settings to their rightful place)

Like a fine wine, improving with Age

There are a few musical icons in my life. Peter Gabriel is probably at the top of the list. Over my life his work has been there at many defining moments. Helping me grow as well as support me in both good and bad times. Solsbury Hill, Don't Give Up, Watcher of the Skies and currently occupying my mind, Carpet Crawlers. "... Weve got to get in to get out..."

From his early days with Genesis, he always seemed to stay true to his beliefs, passions and vision. And he had the will to move on when he felt he was being asked to comprimise. Unfortunately for us mere mortals, life is a little more complicated. We are the bug on the windshield. But some of us are fireflys. Burning bright in the night. For a brief moment, bringing wonder and amazement to all who wish to see. Hopefully the moment will last longer, forever perhaps.

I write this as I am listening to a playlist from the Leonard Cohen concert at the Beacon Theater. We managed to get tickets to his latest tour. (Can you call it latest if the last one was 15 years ago?). There is no time like the present to start my blog. And Leonard has put me in the mood and is keeping me up, helping me finish my thoughts. It is after midnight, I am a displaced person; joining several other memebers of my family.

Leonard is another one of those personal muscial icons. Another artist who seems to get better with age. And he is filling the empty space here with images, passion, joy and wonder. I have a soft spot for the poets. Artists that open up your mind.

We are now at the last song of the playlist, Closing Time; fitting. Time to take the last sip of the day. Savour the music, the wine, and soon the company. Like a great bottle, aged to perfection and ready to share. Lets live for the moment. Tommorow the music will play again. Another night, another time, another life. Leonard and Peter are waiting.

-- What is your favourite bottle of wine? The next one I am going to drink. ----