Brussels Confidential

Return of the Stig

2009-10-20T14:55:00.005+02:00

Mondays are usually drab. Not this past Monday tho....

About 8 PM I heard the faint rumbling of the engine blocks away. I could hear the distinct revving of the Triumph Motorcycle as it sped closer to my house. The pit of my stomach was trembling with excitement like when you wait in front row seats at a huge rock concert. Anticipation - this speed is not fast enough.

Suddenly the roar was intensely loud and powerful. Everything shaking and big as if the motorcycle was on the ceiling! Goosebumps and heavy, fast breathing. The roar softened and came to a deep idle, a few seconds later, a powerful spit and click and it was off.

I was slightly warm...waiting...

And there he was. Casting a shadow 20 feet high in the night light of the entryway.

All of him.

Black Leather, Textile , carbon fibre, Kevlar and reinforced nylon with pads in all the right places. Dark visor down, shiny, mysterious. Big manly boots, huge gloves. The squeak of leather clad thighs fighting muscle to muscle as he strode. A cruising, cool, confident, waking dream of hot engine-fueled man.

The Stig had returned.

Never, ever underestimate the power of foreplay. Watching the Stig strip his leathers is pure foreplay to me. The minute the visor goes up, I'm done for.

The gloves, the helmet - all salty and sweaty and hot. Everything from the sound of the straps being undone to the leather and kevlar rubbing together to the slap of taut skin being peeled of hot and sweaty layers.

He's so wonderful. He's so BIG. And kind - always greets Bunny Dog first. A man after my own heart. Though he knows I would rocket launch myself on him if he didn't break up the foreplay a bit....smart Stig. In control Stig.

Needless to say, he did take care of me in my rather overwhelmed state. He knows what he's doing. He's a romantic with a good heart and he's the sexiest man on the planet.

Thanks for the visit Stig. Come again soon

Food TV Addict

2009-09-24T09:26:00.005+02:00

It's getting out of hand. The amount of foodie TV on BBC is overwhelming. And the real problem is that I love it. I love it too much. I'm addicted. I can't get enough. Last night's scheduled programming - a foodie TV overdose.

Last night I watched, The Hairy Bikers food tour of Britain, Nigel Slaters' simple suppers, and back-to-back episodes of Master Chef: The Professionals. When 11pm came around - I was in a food TV coma.

I watched over 50 plates of food being prepared on TV last night. Made my head spin!!

And for goodness sake, how do you decide what to make for dinner when watching all those options?

I can't remember half of what I do at work. But I do have incredible brain capacity for two things - in this order.

1. Food - What I ate for dinner last night or anytime in the past, what I am going to make for dinner tonight, what is in my fridge for dinner, what is in the cupboards for dinner and anything really, related to dinner....

2. I know every item of Gap clothing from between 1989 and 1996 - (1000s) and in which collection they first appeared. I know! It's a gift! My favourite collections being 'Lifeboat' - for it's class and jaunty weekend elegance and 'Picnic'- for being the most entertaining, garish crap anyone has ever spent money on.

I digress...

Back to number 1. In the back of my head, I always have a complete inventory of the ingredients in fridge and what I want to cook, serve and eat for dinner. I subconsciously prepare dinner in my mind while multitasking at work - women can do this...So for dinner last night, I had planned to simply roast the two little birds in my fridge (Cornish game hens) with an apricot glaze. Then I started watching foodie TV.....which led me to consider the following cooking options

Spatchcocked grilled and served with Portuguese pepper sauce
Moroccan stylee in my lovely tagine - Ras el Hanout and cous cous
Stuffed with wild rice and served with mushroom sauce
Glazed with reduced pomegranate juice
Roasted with oranges and Fennel
Roasted with thyme under the skin served with orzo and pine nuts
on and on

Well. Needless to say - the silly birds are still in my fridge! I couldn't decide what to do with them and eventually it was too late to cook and eat. Plus, I was glued to the TV anyway.

Now, don't get the idea that I just sit there all night eating and that I am getting to be the size of Jabba the Hut!! I am not! Last night, like many nights, I did my work-out DVD between The Hairy Bikers and Nigel Slater...and of course, I took Bunny Dog for his evening constitutional. Tonight I shall go bike riding too.

I have a lot of work to do today - in the back of my mind I will be planning a sumptuous and sensual supper for Saturday night...

Sexy Food

2009-09-23T12:32:00.009+02:00

Regularly, I make food for someone I refer to as my 'food boyfriend'. He's an ex (truly) but we are still tied to one another through our mutual love of good food. He's the best eater I know and completely appreciates the effort that goes in to each meal. He 'gets' me in a food way not many people do. He understands my need for a challenge and to show off and cook as a way of showing love.

When I ask him what he wants for dinner, he knows not to ever say the words 'oh, anything' or 'whatever you like'. That's non committal. That's an answer from someone with anything other than food on their minds. And if you know me, you know that's not the right answer. I want specifics. I want to know exactly what would make your heart beat faster in anticipation of the meal. I want to know what you have been craving. Because for me, feeding the need, the desire, is what gives me a buzz.

I also like the challenge. Although sometimes I get a bit caught out. Not with technically tough things as I usually prepare well in advance, but with those dishes I think I can whip out in no time after work! The other night - great example. A seafood lasagna. Technically - easy peasy. Time and effort... nightmare. Prep a lot of seafood (including shrimp) , make enough bechamel for an army, assemble lasagna, grate cheese etc. Make salad, prep garlic bread. I was exhausted by the time the lasagna went in the oven. It was worth it though. It tasted delicious. And most of all, it was appreciated and loved. And bonus - only one pan to clear after dinner!

This Saturday night I have offered to cook a sensuous meal for another friend. He gets the foodie thing too. He's a good cook himself. He's suggested things he likes. Things he wants. Good start....

Did you catch the word 'sensuous'up there? Sure you did. Now, exactly what I meant by that, I don't know. I don't know why I said it. I'm not thinking the 9 1/2Weeks kind of thing - spread-eagled on the kitchen floor having whipped cream and jars of condiments poured over me and slurping raw oysters off each other's bums - although I guess that depends on how much Champers we drink....

I have learned the hard way that cooking in lingerie is seldom a good idea...I wasn't planning on blindfolds or anything kinky like that...I haven't rented My Dinner with Andre or The Last Tango in Paris or anything. I won't do strawberries in chocolate like served at a white trash wedding on Valentines day. I think I'll just make some damned nice food and serve some damned nice wine and enjoy the appreciative company.

Maybe I'll visit the jungle drawer for some inspiration...

Wonky

2009-09-22T14:07:00.005+02:00

Every once in a while things go wonky. I've just had a wonky week - although I am scared to use past tense for fear that wonky is still a present tense situation....

Names of the 4 rabbits in the children's story The Tale of Peter Rabbit kept running through my brain this week. - you know: Flopsy, Mopsy Cottontail and Peter.

I was Flopsy - I fell down a couple times and at times felt like a rag doll with no muscles - therefore flopsy. Last Sunday, I slipped on a lovely 'gift' Bunny dog left for me in the middle of the stairway. I crash landed on my lower ribs and back, and then thumped down step by step. It was one of those falls where you have to sit for a few minutes to determine whether or not you're seriously injured. The bruise is still tender to the touch.

I felt pretty wobbly and flopsy for the rest of the week largely due to that. This week I ever so slightly lost control of a couple scallop shells filled with scallops, bechamel sauce and cheese topping, I couldn't possibly drop them and have a clearable mess to clean up. Not me, I awkwardly manhandled and mis-ballanced them all the way down my legs trying to stop them from hitting the floor by pinning them between my thighs and the kitchen counter. A huge mess. And like a Mr. Bean episode.

I knocked glasses off tables, I dropped bags, boxes, papers, pens, full cups of tea, turned over bowls of cereal and spurted yogurt all over myself when opening a pot the other day. I bought a super jumbo pack of light bulbs so I wouldn't run low and dropped them by accident on the pavement right outside the shop.

I was Mopsy - well, you can't have a flopsy week without being mopsy. I had to mop the downstairs floor 6 times this week. Between my flopsiness and Bunny Dog's dogginess I couldn't win. So it was really OK when the cap split off the bottle of floor cleaner and splashed all over the house - needed it anyway.

I was Cottontail - I went out on Saturday night with friends. I had 'it' that night. That special something that works like a man magnet once in a while - I clearly thought I was the cutest and hottest bunny out there. (And I was fer shur) Everyone loved my dancing and I was surrounded by 5 good looking men all evening (I was).

That was me!! Sweet loveable Cottontail by night!!

The next morning however, more like - horrendous, monster, screeching, Cotton-MOUTH. URF. wa, wa-t, wa-, wat, wat-er .....gasp.

On to Peter. There's nothing to tie in to Peter unless the guy Cottontail was chatting up at 2 in the morning at Archiduc the other night was named Peter...but I don't think so. (Think it was something horrifying like Guido- no offense to people named Guido, but you know...). Beer goggles should be illegal don'tchya think?

So that's the story of my wonky week. I am sorry to tell you I just tripped in the office, fell on to my desk and broke my favourite tea cup, and my mobile phone just died. Wonky's not over yet.

Gormand's Week

2009-07-03T10:11:00.007+02:00

Last week I took my annual holiday in Normandy. As usual, Mom flew across and stayed with me in Brussels for a night before we headed off. We take our time driving down, usually staying in Honfleur or Deauville over night.

The journey is something I have come to look forward to very much. Crossing the Pont du Normandie is such a liberating feeling. Once I get over the bridge, I feel holidays are truly starting. It's like the Chesapeake Bay bridge for those of us who grew up spending summers going to the beaches in Delaware and the like. It just feels different on the other side.

We had very close family friends along this time. It was lovely although a bit overwhelming on the food front. I am a bit of a gourmand but I was not prepared for spending a week in close proximity to people with Gourmand's Disease. Not only did they buy everything in site at every market, but they planned meals all day and every day. They ate meals at meal time just because it was meal time and not because they were hungry. And one of them was a bit of a kitchen Nazi if you know what I mean...sort of controlling everything going in and out of the fridge, monitoring what's eaten, what's left. It was weird. I was overfed the whole week. At one meal - I swear, we were all seated at a table (heaving with seafood, salads, bread, cheeses, and fruit) and just as I took the first forkful of food, one of the friends announced exactly what we would have for the following day's lunch and dinner. Seriously, had it all already planned out! I thought OMG - let's do one meal at a time folks - oink!!!

At the start of the holiday Mom announced that she was going to eat oysters every possible chance. She wasn't lying. She hoovered Oysters - I calculated the number of oysters I think she consumed that week - somewhere around 70 - no kidding. She ought to have a pearl in her stomach by now!! But the Oyster thing paled in comparison to the butter and cheese thing. For the love of god that small woman can eat a lot of cheese. It's no wonder that every few days she would discuss he inability to go number 2! Waay Too much information - but lay off the cheese Mom - eat a peach or something - geez!! Leave a tiny bit of Pont L'Eveque for the rest of the planet. Don't get me started on the butter....

Bunny Dog had a nice time until he hurt his dew claw on his right paw. He was in terrible pain and couldn't be persuaded to really chase rabbits. He chose to quietly stake out briar patches and huge rabbit warrens in the dunes hoping a rabbit would just pop out. Kind of like when he hangs around the kitchen hoping I'll drop a roasted chicken on his head or something. He was pretty sad for a couple days though. He soon perked up when we spent a whole afternoon splashing in the salty surf together. I think the salt helped his wound heal a bit.

The weather was spectacular this time. Not a bad day the whole week.

All in all, it was lovely. But I never want to eat again. YA right

Jungle Drawer gets a make over

2009-01-07T09:55:00.005+01:00

My lovely housekeeper comes on Tuesdays. She's only in my house for a few hours a week, but that's just enough for me. She's a very pretty, young Polish woman who is a meticulous cleaner. She has a particular fondness for tidying things like shelves and cupboards.

She worked over the holiday period and even though I was in DC, I left her a few projects to complete. I came home to a kitchen organised with military preciseness -I can now actually count how many pairs of chopsticks I own - way more than I need as it turns out, well, way more than anyone needs really.

I asked her to tidy up my closet - where I have a huge pile of sweaters about 3 feet high. Somehow they get tried-on and thrown back in the closet and never refolded, not sure how that happens...do I do that?? YA

Anyway, I told her not to bother with the drawers - I mean - come on, how could I ask someone else to tackle jungle drawer anyway - I would be embarrassed.

So, imagine my horror when I came home from work last night and found that she had completely organised and tidied my jungle drawer. Not only am I horrified that someone did that chore for me, but I am horrified that someone has seen my stash of sexy lingerie.

She folded my regular daily panties into the size of postage stamps and lined them up by colour on one side of the drawer - a novel experience for me - I can actually see my huge selection of under garments! The slightly less fabric-y items - like thongs and stuff, are so perfectly packed in the drawers it puts Victoria's Secret to shame. My thing-highs are all tucked in to small parcels and easy to find.

No more digging around in a frantic spazz when trying to find sexy lingerie to throw on - in order to pretend to my date that I had the stuff on all night while we were out.

Now I can see everything. I have a LOT of lingerie. I feel obligated to wear everything just to get it out a bit. Give those bustiers a bit of a runway trip through the bedroom. Get those garters snapping over the Christmas thighs and figure out what in the hell that silky, strappy, slinky thingy is for....

This is actually going to be a real project. I think this should be done systematically. I think I need volunteers to help me with this project. I shall start to interview prospective volunteers this weekend...

Return to Schedule

2009-01-06T10:23:00.004+01:00

I need work rehab. I am on day 2 of my first full week of work in 5 weeks and I can't handle it. I had so much vacation time left at the end of the last year that I took off the first two Fridays in December and went home to DC from the 17th to the 29th. I made it in to the office on the 2nd of January - but I was like the only one on the planet working that day and it was pretty quiet. I feel disconnected and demotivated. Like there's nothing to look forward to. I need some work therapy. Something to challenge me and get me fired up....not another flipping business review to prepare....

I spent the whole first day back going through 1100 e-mails I received while gone. I have categorized them by urgency. Some were apparently very urgent and needed my undivided, immediate attention...then. Now, not so much. It's pretty interesting how things are so urgent when they really aren't. Actually, it's not interesting at all.

To add insult to injury, it's bitterly cold out. Like -10 C (14 F). It snowed the other night and Bunny Dog has been loving his walkies - he goes nuts in snow. So I have been freezing my toes off waiting for him to burn-out his crazy winter energy zipping to and fro in the drifts. And the house only feels warm for a few minutes after coming back in from the cold. I can't get really warm.

I need a nice new man to spice up my life - add an air of mystery and a bit of romance. Well, that thought has already put a smile on my face!

I have just agreed to Hairy Canary for this Friday night - a few drinks with my Swedish friend A-K. She's a hoot. Perhaps I can meet a new 'special friend' that night too. It's been known to happen. Especially when I have 'it' and I have a feeling after this week (which seems as if it's already gone on for 15 days) I will definitely have 'it'.

OK - only 3.5 more work days before 'it' night. Back to the grindstone, take that call, chase that customer, file that report, prepare that presentation, get on the conference call at 5, make travel plans - return to schedule.

Holiday Cheers

2008-12-08T10:03:00.005+01:00

Mom was here for a week during Thanksgiving. Since good family friends have moved here, we decided to have a true family feast on the day. My first in 8 years, many Belgian friends are tired of hearing me babble on about the turkey and all of the sides. But too bad... I never realised how much I missed it. The moment we walked in the door of Judith and Daniel's house, I went a bit weak in the knees for the smell of the roasted, rich, turkey permeating the whole house. Yum ee. I ate entirely too much.

During her visit, Mom drove me half mad in the way only one's own mother can. It's a fact of life that your own mother drives you crazy while other people think your mother is completely reasonable. People don't pick up the same nuances of guilt and passive aggressiveness from other people's Mothers. Only their own. But it's a fact.

I did well to bite my tongue and harness my temper with her a bit. Yeah... (Sorry, it likely was at the expense of other people - well, definitely at the expense of others...) I think it was a great precursor for the Christmas holiday. Of course, when I go home I will have to Drive Miss Daisy all over town, at her whim and clearly - I am not going home once a year to visit friends but to be a personal slave to her and her 607 year-old dog.

But the time together eased the panic of my usual Christmas visit. We've had time to suss one another out - see if we've lost weight, gained weight, doing well, losing minds etc. Of course, there's no worries about me - I am in perfect shape, and clearly as sharp as a tack...Ya. Mom, not so much. She knows she's repetitive and when I remind her that she's already told me about Cousin Johnny's new job 14 times, she claims I am making her out to seem like she's senile or losing her mind....(or both I say under my breath). But all in all, she's not bad for 81! In fact she's great.

Mom has reported that the Christmas boys (men) are already calling in for my schedule. Christmas boys are the non-committal men in my life who love the idea of being chivalrous, gentlemanly and ultimately enchanting during my visits home for Christmas. The words 'I live in Belgium' are like an aphrodisiac to DC Men. Not only do they not have to call after a date, but there's no chance of running in to me at the local bar and getting their head chewed-off for not calling. No commitment, no crime. Music to a DC man's ears. And frankly, about as much as they can muster.

Don't get me wrong - I enjoy being flava flave when I get home. It's very nice to know that there's always someone who wants to go to a party with you. Like my friend David pretty much expects to go to the annual party at Ingleside terrace - he likes me but I suspect he likes to hear lovely Sio and members of Fugazi and French Toast banging out funky renditions of Christmas songs. Rum-pa-pum-pum. (I go to get a look see at the hunky Brendan of course :-))

I really, really look forward to spending time with my girlfriends. The most incredible, intelligent, funny and loving group of women in the world. Empowering, supportive, creative and caring. I draw strength from just being in their company. I can't wait to see them.

Another holiday highlight will be my annual Dim Sum brunch. Mom and I try to make it as non-Christmassy as possible. Not intending to act like Scrooges or anything...When Dad died a month before Christmas 2 years ago, we couldn't face all the garbage that goes with every Christmas gathering. The star-shaped cookies, the egg nog, the sparkles, the nut-covered cheese log, the Santa hats, the sugar sprinkles and all that stuff. So we decided to have an event which featured none of the regular stuff that is presented to us dozens of times over the holiday period - and it was a hit. This will be our 3rd Dim sum brunch and I expect all of the excitement of the past years (well, maybe not ALL of the excitement... but most of it!!)) The opportunity to see all of my best friends and their amazing children. The best time ever.

Anyway - here's to all of my good friends. Have a really nice holiday season. I hope you do whatever makes you feel fantastic. Have a safe and healthy year to come and remember how amazing you are. I am truly lucky to know you all.

Cheers!

Afternoon Delight

2008-11-12T13:58:00.003+01:00

Just for 'You Know Who'!

Afternoon Delight
The Starland Vocal Band

Gonna find my baby, gonna hold her tight
gonna grab some afternoon delight.
My motto's always been; when it's right, it's right.
Why wait until the middle of a cold dark night.
When everything's a little clearer in the light of day.
And you know the night is always gonna be there any way.

Sky rockets in flight. Afternoon delight. Afternoon delight.

Thinkin' of you's workin' up my appetite
looking forward to a little afternoon delight.
Rubbin' sticks and stones together makes the sparks ingite
and the thought of rubbin' you is getting so exciting.

Sky rockets in flight. Afternoon delight. Afternoon delight.

Started out this morning feeling so polite
I always thought a fish could not be caught who wouldn't bite
But you've got some bait a waitin' and I think I might try nibbling
a little afternoon delight.

Sky rockets in flight. Afternoon delight. Afternoon delight.

Please be waiting for me baby when I come around.
We could make a lot of lovin' 'for the sun goes down.

Sky rockets in flight. Afternoon delight. Afternoon delight.

Repeat chorus.

Window Boys

2008-10-31T10:03:00.004+01:00

It's Friday - I've had a long week. Too much work and tired as heck. The morning seems to be dragging on for ever...

It's cold and grey and Belgium -ish. Just dreary.

What could possibly perk me up today?

The Window Boys! The Window Boys are here!!!

2 rather handsome, young Belgian guys who climb all over my office to clean my windows. For a few minutes, these guys work in tandem, up and down and around my huge office window. It's like watching a Chippendales routine (fully clothed sadly). A breath of energy and fresh air. A whish of nicely fitting blue jeans and buff bodies. A whirlwind of man, men! And they are so totally nice.

At the risk of sounding like a Diet Coke commercial - yum ee

A few winks and smiles and the cuties are gone.

They missed a teeny weeny spot on the glass (or two), but honestly, I think they might be the very best window cleaners in the entire whole wide world, really.

6 days and Counting

2008-10-30T11:00:00.005+01:00

In 6 days, there will be a new President of the United States (POTUS). I literally cannot wait. I have spoken with fellow Democrats over here and we are all arguing about which venue we should attend on election night. I know we won't get in to any of them though - people are predicting double and treble capacity crowds at each site. For the Primaries, a friend stood in line at a hotel event for over 2 hours just to get to the coat room.

This election has people so excited and fired-up - I even know a Canadian guy who's been to all of the Democrats Abroad events over here. You know it's hot if you get a Canuck interested.

Although I can't wait for election night, I am enjoying watching the slow and dramatic car crash that is the McCain campaign. It's like the back hallways in a Shakespeare tragedy - back-stabbing, lies, murder, deceit, treachery. And oh, of course lunacy (Palin). Not pretty, but like a car crash, irresistible. Seeing a car crash, I usually look away from the gory bits. I can't help but devour every bit of the Republican mess on display.

Leaders of the low-brow, ignoramus set - the Rush Limbaugh's of this world, are frantic about losing face with their lucrative fan bases. They are desperately trying to discredit Obama with thinly veiled racist and derogatory remarks in an effort to entice more voters to ignore facts and policies and vote from their irrational, scared and bigoted bellies. 'That's how to win folks!!' Remember, they don't want a terrorist as president - especially one who is a Muslim, or an AyRAB. Their mission is to relate Obama to a terrorist gangsta and to make Sarah Palin out to be a competent woman. Both very hard to do.

It must be really embarrassing to Republicans because McCain can't pick a stable hard-line message/or tag line and stick to it. Every day there's another new and very weak allegation about Obama which makes McCain look disorganised, discombobulated and - well, like an old fuddy-duddy. It looks like McCain is playing 'Pin the tail on the Donkey'- blindfold and all. He really should target the biggest ass of all - his running mate - who is throwing him under the bus for mis managing her 'roll out'. ha ha!! Just wait - he'll pin it on her when they lose - he'll get there eventually!

The dim bulb that is Sarah. Yes, Sarah Palin! It's the McCain campaign's fault you are nothing but a redneck in a skirt. It's his fault too that your state has the highest teen pregnancy rates in the country - even though you oppose sex education in schools (clearly your daughter got some sort of sex education, somewhere). It's McCain's fault that you never read anything but your local NRA newsletter and therefore can't formulate an opinion on anything of value. It's his fault that the campaign has to spend weeks prepping you on basic geography, history and current events so you can stand at a podium and talk about being a Hockey Mom. Yes, it's McCain's fault that you are so stupid, you don't even realise how you were insulted on Saturday Nite Live - twice.

Now, don't think I take anything for granted. Nightmares happen on election days. I talk about this with my neighbour all the time. He's the Bureau Chief for Wall St. Journal here in Brussels, he says it will be a landslide victory for Obama and he's going to bed the minute they call Virginia a Blue state. (as we are 6 hours ahead of East Coast here). Fair enough.

I look forward to the excitement of the next 5 days and the feeling that we are about to embark on a really interesting journey as Americans. History is in the making and we are part of it.

Obama '08

Brussels Confidential gets Busted

2008-10-29T12:57:00.005+01:00

My mobile phone might as well be a Greek labyrinth. I don't know my way around it. I am terrible at fussing with settings and I don't bother. I also make tons of mistakes. Only a month ago my girlfriend AK from Finland - who is first on my phone contact list - asked me to enter a fake name at the top of my contact list - so that I would stop sending garbled message txts to her each time I throw my phone in my briefcase.

Last week, a friend sent me a txt message asking if I still have my blog and asking for the web address again. So I sent a reply txt with the blog address as requested.

Little did I realise, I had sent it to the wrong person. Of course.

Now this isn't such a bad thing. I don't usually slag anyone off in my blogs so it's ok to share. (OK I may say some things about 'the Slave' once in a while - but come on - that's a given) However, I like to be in control of deciding who sees what and when.

Now, if there's someone I might fancy, it goes without saying that I would prefer that he not really know about some of my escapades - or indeed about my Jungle Drawer until he's either hooked on me or safely tucked away in the 'friend only' file.

So, you can understand my frustration when a Smokin' Hot guy I know gets a look see at Brussels Confidential's blog before he gets a touchy feely with Brussels Confidential herself.

And when I say 'Smokin' hot' - well, those of you who have dated Crew Boys in University can understand. A rower's bum to die for and thighs to swoon over. Am I that shallow? YA. I am.

The real question is this: Will it help or hinder my social interaction with 'Smokin' Hot guy' if he knows I fancy men in Motorcycle leathers (helmet required), cook for men like I want to make love to them, and dream of a man in my kitchen wearing only an apron and holding a roast chicken?

Gee, I hope not. There is a lot on this blog tho!

It's not like I play around or anything (those of you who may have known me in University or in the 10 years immediately after University please refrain from laughing so hard you fall off your chair) I am an honest woman just feeling her way through the quagmire of men out there.... Still looking for the man with a chicken.

Here's the good news. Brussels Confidential had another wonderful evening with Mr. Smokin' Hot guy' and hopes to have more of them. Nothing was said about my documented activities, the 'slave', nor mention of the Stig - so all is well.

Update From Idaho

2008-10-24T13:16:00.005+02:00

I saw the weirdest thing in my office parking garage this morning. I walked past athe normal row of parked cars in the dimly lit garage - but was startled to see a man sitting int he driver's seat of one car playing a trumpet. Really. The sight was so out of place, I was startled. I guess he's got to find places where he can practice and not bother people - it's just weird that it happens to be in his car in the office parking lot at 7:30 am. Anyway, that weirdness, reminded me to write an update on my Idaho family.

Auntie Mary, who used to be the 'normal' one has been visiting Mom for the last two weeks. Each time I called Mom during the visit, Mom begged me to stay on the phone just so she could speak to someonoe sane. Auntie Mary was driving her mental.

Auntie Mary is a curious one. She's outlived 4 previous husbands and is well on her way to badgering the current one to death. Uncle Stan hides in his hobby room most of the time making wooden airplanes to scale from scratch. He was a bomber pilot in the 2nd world war but a man can take only so much. Auntie Mary is almost 85 years old and her brain is short circuiting a bit. She never listens to anyone but she always has a conversation going - with herself. Once, I think she spoke non-stop for 6 hours. Ok - I didn't sit there for 6 hours timing her, but she was talking when I left and talking when I got back and I can't imagine she stopped in between.

She's got a real Idaho accent - she says 'ruff' instead of roof and 'crick' instead of creek. She slaps her thigh at the start of every sentence and sort of screams when she speaks. Driving Mom mental. I guess Mom was expecting it though. What she wasn't expecting is that Auntie Mary had taken up smoking. And pretending no one can tell. She's staying in 'my' room - and sneaking cigarettes in the bathroom. Mom promises to air the place out and give it a good scrub when Auntie Mary leaves.

Uncle Ben and Auntie Bette over in Homedale escaped near-death when their boiler blew up. Friends and neighbours got ailing Uncle Ben out just before the house blew to smithereens and scattered itself over the Snake River Valley. Auntie Bette is like a cat with 9 lives -remember, she's the one who ran over herself in her own car - told you about that a while back. Amazing - she's still got a couple lives left I guess.

We had an update about Auntie Sada who is over 90 and as ornery as ever. She's been in a food fight at the old folks home. But this was not like a funny food fight, it was an old people's, mean-assed, food fight. Apparently Auntie Sada went a step too far and winged her cofee cup at some poor, old Colonel. No one can really figure out what happened and who started it it. But Auntie Sada was punished. I think they held off on her Jello serving for a day or two.

The rest of the clan over there are ok. I suppose many of them will vote for McCain and Palin because they are Republicans - and no matter how horrid the Republican candidates are, they are still republicans through and through. Plus, they don't get too many Arabs (pronounced Ay-RABS) over there and they aren't about to start.

Crash landing in the Mid 80's

2008-10-09T15:09:00.005+02:00

I have been in Dublin for work the last two days. Yesterday morning I went to a customer meeting south of Dublin in Cherrywood. Afterwards, I hopped the tram system called Luas back in to town. Dublin is a pretty small city but it has a very concentrated city centre that is chock full of people and life and action. It seems as though everyone has to pass through the centre for something or other - like there's nothing worthwhile in the outer parts.

I jumped off the Luas at St. Stephen's Green, I headed for the top of Grafton Street where my Dublin office is located. As usual, there was a maze of pedestrian and taxi traffic all around me. As I was looking to cross the tram tracks safely, I crashed right in to a man and his little kid - It wasn't a hard crash or anything -just a slow, but full-on collision.

I looked down at the kid and mumbled my apologies and then looked up at the man.

Within a nanosecond, I was transported back to the early 1980s. I was nose to nose and toes to toes with Andrew McCarthy.

Instant recognition - images of the Breakfast club, brat pack, Pretty in Pink, the stupid Weekend at Bernie's movies and most recently episodes of Lipstick Jungle flooded my head. I smiled.

Even though Andrew McCarthy is relatively tame on the fame-o-meter now, it wasn't always that way. He was a teen heartthrob back in the '80's. He had that 'nice guy', 'could be a good boyfriend' kind of appeal - nothing edgy - all safe and cute.

He sounds exactly like he did in Pretty in Pink - same voice, same intonation. He's shorter than I expected, but all actors are shrimps - really. I walked in to Sylvester Stallone in Georgetown which is part of Washington, DC in the late '80's. (it's a gift). Stallone in real life is like a caricature of himself because he's really tiny. You start to understand the chemistry of movie stars on screen when you see them in real life and think - that's it? It's a weird science.

Andrew McCarthy is still safe and cute. He's pretty wrinkly up close though and seemed to have a yellow tint to his complexion - Like he's had the 'South-east Asian' setting on his spray tan. He's still got sweet eyes and a nice smile though. He's on the hit prime time show Lipstick Jungle so things are still going his way.

Anyway, my crash into the 1980's was a nice break in my day - no one in the Dublin office was that impressed though. Apparently Colin Farrell is a regular at the pub down below the office windows and they often watch him have his coffee there. He's more of an A-lister I guess.

Show him the Shark

2008-09-29T13:45:00.004+02:00

In last week's presidential debate, there was no clear winner. Both candidates circled around answers without answering them. Both candidates missed opportunities for One-Two punches that would have put some life back in to this mess. I wish Obama had hit one out of the park that night - because he was focused on Americans, the people...the most important consideration of any president's job. But somehow the message wasn't said loudly or clearly enough to have an impact.

I think both McCain and Obama seemed extremely weary and tired. No doubt the serious financial crisis and the jockeying done by McCain in the last minutes before the debate added to the stress and anxiety of the whole situation. But a president has to handle this type of thing on a daily basis.

There's no doubt that McCain has shot himself in the foot with some of his 'maverick' decisions. The biggest one - being the 'Disasta from Alaska'. His campaign spends most of it's energy baby-sitting Sarah Palin (referred to on a CNN message post as) Caribou Barbie! (Perfect). They make sure she doesn't speak to anyone while microphones are present. They can't afford to let her speak her mind because you know, she's a redneck and might say something stupid like 'I don't know the answer to that.' The new, hip term for the ripples of energy generated by a smooth campaign move is called 'bounce'. People mistakenly thought her addition to the McCain ticket was generating interesting and positive 'bounce' on the whole. They were wrong. The bounce was merely a period of confusion and disbelief. The ball ended up bouncing out of the park as people saw the huge effort it takes to control the spin-out of Palin's private mess of a life.

I know that Republicans are so embarrassed by McCain and Palin that all they can do is feign huge enthusiasm to save face. Not even they see any benefit to her being on the ticket. McCain is older, a bit more tired and a bit more shopworn in the health department. They will pretend that it's OK for a person with little understanding of world politics and extremely questionable values to be a heartbeat away from where the buck stops. All this, just to save face. Please don't bother criticizing her - it's seen as badgering or disrespectful (not the other was around though). Scary.

My father, a lifelong Republican voted for Bill Clinton twice. Dad always said - He was the better man for the job. There were a lot of Republicans who did the same. What happened to doing the right thing? In the years since Clinton, I think Republicans have realised that their constituents actually might get wise and do this again - so they invigorated their grass-roots efforts and created a GOP brand that is stronger than candidates have to be. Like the new Burberry or Gucci - brands that have been elevated to tacky, horrendously overpriced schlock for the slapper set rather than the classy brands they started as. Now absolute nuts cases and complete morons can run for office and the Republicans will back them simply because they are Republicans. G Gordon Liddy and the fat fart, Rush Limbaugh love American ignorant Republicans who blindly follow every nasty, short-sighted word they broadcast. It's lucrative to make money off of people who are ignorant.

Here's my bottom line - aside from all the bizarre qualities of the McCain-Palin ticket (and there are many) and the Republican/Democratic divide - the most important thing to really understand is that McCain represents the past and Obama the future.

McCain thrives on the past, his strengths are in the past and his mind is in the past, his successes, and bravery and relevance - past past past. I hate to be picky - but the man has never sent an e-mail in his life. OK, there are a lot of older people who don't know how to e-mail, but I don't want my president to be one of them. I actually think that my president should know how to communicate with the 500 billion other people on this planet who communicate in the most common language in the universe - e-mail.

I don't have the confidence that McCain even mildly 'gets' the IT world or even slightly connects the dots in terms of how the world is universally connected. I bet Obama can explain the effect of this global crisis with relative detail all the way from Fannie Mae to the fact that you have to cut out that Starbucks coffee in the afternoon because you don't have the extra cash in your pocket. I don't think John McCain could explain the basics even on a peripheral level.

I know John McCain doesn't really get it when people have to dump their homes and risk bad credit ratings because they cannot afford to sell their homes - even though their house is worth less than 1/5th the original value, they don't have the cash to go to closing on the mortgage. He doesn't get it - but of course, he has many houses to go to if he loses one, no worries.

Obama does get it. He represents the future to me. He has looked at the big picture and can see how it all fits and how what we do in the big picture affects my bottom line. He doesn't live in a fantasy world of past war heros, wild west maverick decision-making and shock value. He lives in this world. He cares about how Americans will save enough for pensions, he cares about how Americans can afford school for our kids. He cares about heathcare and social security and local programs and organisations that get no press, but provide critical, social and economic support to millions of people every day.

Don't forget, he cares about us as a nation in the global sphere of influence. He cares about what other country's leaders and people think about us. He knows that the way America acts sends direct messages to terrorist groups, world leaders and trade partners alike. he knows that to be open-minded and fair means you have the opportunity for discussion. Living abroad for 8 years I have been really waiting for this from an American leader! I think the international world likes Obama already.

Now, Barack. I know it has been your campaign strategy to sit back and 'take the high road' and wait for your opponents to stick their foots in their own mouths - this has been a pretty good strategy up to now. But you have to move man!! Show them there's a bit of shark in you! Nail that McCain, challenge him on the future, make everyone associate him not just with the Bush past but with the old, tired, dusty past. Give him your A game. Turn on the juice!

Oh yeah, and at the next debate ask him why he didn't answer your e-mail

I am woman - hear my power tools roar

2008-09-09T13:30:00.010+02:00

I just had a beautiful weekend with a man I totally love, but can never have.

He's a hottie at 6 foot 6, shaved short- blond hair with green eyes and a cheeky smile, intelligent and well read - exactly what sends my adrenaline pumping overtime. He's a good friend too, the kind who sits up with you and talks all night, cares about the things that move me, wants to share also. We've known one another for about 8 years and have bonded through a mutual person who is no longer in our lives. Though he would deny it in mixed company, this ex-rugby player is a totally romantic sweetie pie: the holding hands and cuddling type.

I took off Friday to get a breather from work and to let the stress ease out of my face before Mr. Totally Handsome came to town. I had to look good you know. I even took Bunny dog to camp so I could have a dog walk-free weekend.

Needless to say, Brussels Confidential got her groove on and enjoyed every minute of the weekend. He's so right and we just click. In many ways. OK, get me some ice....getting hot

He left on Sunday night and while I tried to be my casual self and shrug off the feeling of being cut off from oxygen, I didn't do such a good job. I was more than a bit mopey for the rest of the night.

I try to do my 'single gal at 43' thing - you know, the stoic 'I like my life the way it is' thing. 'I don't need a man in my life' thing.

And the honest truth is I do like my life the way it is. I love my life and I actually love myself (big surprise there hey?) But goodness gracious wouldn't life be just grand if I could have the one person I really want when I want them? Just once I want it to work out my way.

I know that all of the living and experience and baggage and hurt and love and ups and downs make me and everyone else who we are, those are what makes the fiber of ourselves. I never think to myself, 'gee if I had met that person 20 years ago, things would have been perfect'. That would be crazy - we wouldn't be the same people we are now. Maybe we wouldn't click like we do now. The same with people who divorce, life changes people. Maybe the exact situations we find ourselves in make us who we are at that time of life and that's what actually makes us click with one another- total chemistry of the moment - no matter how inconvenient the situation may be.

Oh well.

Luckily, I had taken Monday off too. I went to sleep quite late on Sunday in my mopey state and I slept until 10 am Monday - the deep sleep of release. Re-dreaming of the weekend and smiling. I woke fresh and happy. Confident - well, why not? I'm pretty great!

I drove out to get Bunny Dog at camp about an hour away - blasting B-52's along the way. 'Roam if you want to'. I shall.

I Got back home and with all of my energy re-focused, I started to tackle the garden.

Whenever, I get over an attack of vulnerability I like to march out the garden tools and redefine my self confidence. The mower, the strimmer, the hedge trimmer, the clippers, the secateurs. Gloves, eye goggles, boots. All the control, in my hands the power to define and shape and conquer.

Ahh. I am single woman at 43, hear me roar!

Czech-In

2008-08-12T14:29:00.004+02:00

Sorry for the long break in writing. I have been very busy with work and decided to give myself a bit of a break from the blog world. I missed it though!

A couple of weeks ago I had to go to Prague for a meeting. It was lovely. I don't often say this after a business trip - but I am definitely going back. Maybe I can organise a nice long weekend in the autumn when the Japanese, Korean, Spanish and Portuguese tourists have left. I think that was the most touristy place I have ever been in my life. I couldn't find an spot anywhere in the city away from digital camera-weilding freaks.

Especially in the hotel. My goodness. The Angelo Hotel looked so very promising when I walked in - modern luxury and first class service. They booked me in to the executive floor - you know, free coffee and tea in the hall and all access to the printer...executive fluff. Beautiful anyway. Except once I turned away from the reception desk, a huge mass darkened the light coming in from the glass-fronted building. A double-decker tour bus crammed with tiny, little, old, Spanish persons was parked two feet from the front entrance. And the bus started to burp Spanish geriatrics two and 3 at a time.

They were all over the place. And for the next 12 hours, I spent countless minutes sharing elevator rides with confused and distracted Spanish biddies who couldn't figure out how to use the key-card activated elevator. And so many of them had rooms only one flight upstairs to boot. The breakfast room was chaos. the staff just gave up. Usually you have to show your key-card and room number, not that morning. The staff just shrugged as if it was a free for all and I was on my own. I managed to elbow my way to the fruit bowl and also managed to slide 2 pieces of bread in to the toaster - the kind they have here in European hotels where there's a lever to put the toast down, you turn on a timer and then lift the lever up when the toast is done. Someone stole my toast. I bet a Spanish person stole my toast. Just a hunch.

Anyway - I did manage to get out and walk the city - it's astoundingly beautiful. St. Nicholas Church, Prague Castle, Charles Bridge, National Theater so intensely old and historic and colourful and pretty. I didn't get to the Jewish Section or obviously to any museums so I have to go back.

I did have a chance to eat at a lovely restaurant for lunch my last day on the banks of the Vltava river at the foot of the Charles bridge. It was lovely and sunny and breezy and we watched the boats, groaning with tourists, zip up and down the river.

My food was incredible. My starter was beetroots, sliced over sour cream which was over a healthy layer of pesto. It was so good and I will be repeating this at my next dinner party. Just have to figure out if the beetroots were cooked in plain water or flavoured water.

I had a chance to spend some time with the country manager of our Czech operations. She's lovely. She told me that when she was 13, they were allowed to exchange currency for the first time - The Czechoslovakians had to have special vouchers to allow them to change Czech money. They could go only to Germany and buy luxury goods for the first time.

She told me of that first day of shopping as if it were the fondest memory in her life. She bought herself a pair of real denim jeans. In Czechoslovakia, there was no real denim. They only had clothing made from other materials made to look like denim - apparently pretty yucky. So she treasured the experience buying a pair of real jeans. Then she bought fancy toilet roll -you know - with flowers printed on the paper. She thought this was the ultimate in luxury and style because of course, she grew up with brown, sandpaper-style toilet paper before. Then she bought the single most important thing on her list. She got a Barbie Doll with a full set of clothes.

She had heard of Barbie and seen pictures of Barbie but of course, had never the opportunity to have one until she was 13. She didn't care that she was a teenager pining for Barbie - she got her Barbie doll at last.

It's no surprise that since Czech republic has been open and she has become professionally successful, she has travelled as often as possible. I guessed that she and her husband had taken what I refer to as 'The 2 pilgrimages' to the states - I was right. They have been to Disney World Orlando and Disneyland in California. I guess when you don't grow up with Mickey, Minnie, Goofy and Donald and MacDonalds being shoved down your throat, you kind of find the concept of Disney rather attractive. If you grow up with nothing like an amusement park anywhere nearby and never seeing spectacles that are Disney parades - it's all a fantasy come true when you do experience it.

These trips make me realise I can't take anything for granted. I loved my time in Prague and I can't wait to go back.

I think Prague for a birthday weekend in October.

The Hotel Cure

2008-05-28T13:34:00.006+02:00

Sorry for the delay in writing. I have been so busy with work and feeling a bit like I am losing my sense of humour. I have also been travelling a lot.

Monday and Tuesday I went to Dublin for a bunch of meetings. I have been winging around by plane, train and car for the last couple months and am really exhausted. Luckily, my holiday is only a couple weeks away.

On this last trip, I felt the need to spoil myself a little bit so I booked myself in to a 5-star boutique hotel in Dublin - called The Dylan Hotel.

The Dylan Hotel is scrumptious. Really. My every need was meticulously catered for and my room had the coolest gadgets, equipment, super elegant soaps, vanity kits, shoe shine, excellent mini bar and really amazing furniture. Just sitting on the bed made me drool. (not really, but I wanted to)

I am used to pretty nice hotels, but I usually have to hit the hotels that cater for the typical business traveller. All of us lugging our super small overnight suitcases and our laptop briefcases over our shoulders. Grouchy because we had a long day and need some sanity and sleep.

I have a hotel routine. When I get in to the room - I do a 20-second recon on all of the amenities making sure there's a hair dryer, iron, face washcloth (not standard in Europe), check the TV, and the lock on the door. Then I carefully unpack and hang/up or lay out my clothes for the next day with the suitcase all ready for fast packing in the morning. In the bathroom, I lay out the bath mat and check the plumbing - ALWAYS check the plumbing. In Europe, do not take for granted that showers and faucets are easy to use or even work - no matter how many stars the hotel has. (I forgot to do this when in Montpellier a couple months ago and after a very long night out with my VP and many too many Mojito's, I discovered the shower function didn't work in my room - running late as it was, and I ended up laying down in the tub to get my hair washed under the tap - very nice and elegant and classy.) Often in England the sink in the bathroom has a hot water tap and a cold water tap - so you can't regulate the temp of water out of the faucet, you have to fill the sink with a little of both to get the right temp and splash from there - hate that soooo much.

Ok - after all checks have been done I work or relax or work out or eat or whatever. I do my hotel thing. Most of the time I channel surf TV stations I don't usually have access to. If I am late arriving to the hotel, I usually order room service for dinner. I don't like to eat alone in a hotel restaurant. When I do, I get hit on all the time and frankly, I don't have the willpower to resist half of those times. No strings attached, pure pleasure, steamy, sex with a good looking businessman I don't ever have to see in the morning or call is pretty tempting. I am trying to be good though!

At the Dylan - I was so in love with my room (and completely exhausted anyway) there was no thought of going down to the fancy bar and resto for me. I was going to have 5 star, in-room dining, a hot bath with rose petals and then sink in to the delicious bed. Had I wanted hotel tryst, the fancy mini bar in my room thoughtfully included an 'Intimacy kit' - complete with condoms, and hygienic wash packets - how sweet! Wonder what the refrigeration does to a condom?

Anyway - after a wonderful night, sleeping like and angel, I woke to the splendor of my room and was instantly in a good mood. I love beds set on really high frames with huge thick mattresses. And I love jumping down from the bed in the morning - it feels so luxurious. Showered, pampered myself and dressed for my meeting, I went down to breakfast. The dining room was incredible - Very Alice in Wonderland with harlequin-studded, cushioned booths in ivory velvet and each table in the middle set with curved back chairs. The end of the room was dramatically set with chairs with huge tall backs shaped like the Mad Hatter's hat.

Breakfast was a bit dissapointing. I think if anything, a hotel should be able to make a good plate of eggs. And that's really the only thing this place screwed up a bit. It didn't matter because a handsome maitre'd chatted to me through breakfast and practically wiped toast crumbs from my lips as and when needed.

The hotel set me off for a wonderful day and I had several meetings with a customer which all went well. I was in such a good mood, I radiated happiness. I was on form and sharp.

Even at the end of a very long day, in the pouring rain and wind, I made it to the airport with a smile. And that's saying something, because Dublin airport is like going to a cheap holiday camp. Long lines, people, disorganisation and garbagy crap all over the place.

By the time I got to my gate - with a serious detour through the duty free perfume and Clinique counters I was just about to lose my shine when I locked eyes with Mr. Hottie at gate A27.

Not to exaggerate or anything, but he was absolutely, totally, amazingly, the perfect guy for me. 6 ft 4 or so, brown hair, blue eyes, about my age, nice suit - not OTT style, prominent nose, good teeth (a must), a very slight tan, strong hands, and a smile directed right at me - Yum - eee.

OK - we chatted. Our planes delayed in the bad weather he bought me a smoothie. Planes delayed again, he bought me a drink. My plane was delayed again, he bought me another drink and we had a small bite to eat. Then, all of a sudden, my flight was ready to go sooner than the expected delay and we had to scramble back to the gate. Damn.

Oh what I could have done!!! One more delay and I would have called the Dylan hotel and asked for my room back!.....And an extra 'Intimacy Kit'.

http://www.dylan.ie/gallery.php

Life is like a Box of Missing Chocolates

2008-05-06T12:56:00.006+02:00

My family has always been a Mother's day, Father's day, and birthday family. My parents insisted that we celebrate each occasion somehow. Birthday's though, are second to Mother's and Father's days by a long shot. Mother's day and Father's day my parents expected full-on productions.

My father grew up as a lonely, only child whose parents often left him in their chi chi apartments at night while they went to the Stork Club or some fancy lounge. I think he craved that wholesome traditional family life that was probably advertised in black and white Time magazines and billboards while he grew up.

Mom was the fifth of 5 children in relatively poor Japanese American family farming and picking fruit for major canning companies in California. Her mother died when she was 5 years old. Her father passed away a few years after they got out of WWII internment camps in the west and south-west of the states.

Somehow, my parents got me and my brother to make breakfast and serve it to them in bed on their special day. We were already dab hands at making breakfast on Saturday's and Sunday's starting from very young. Mom and Dad would lay in bed and let us prepare the breakfast and call them down to the kitchen on a regular weekend. David would make the eggs and bacon or sausage and make toast - because he was 4 years older. I was in charge of setting the table and making the orange juice. Back then you had those small frozen cans of concentrated oj which you emptied into a jug with 3 cans of water. Mix and dissolve the frozen lumps and voila crappy oj. Breakfast is still David's specialty.

Anyway, on the 'occasion' days, they expected the royal treatment. A gift, a flower in a small vase, both nestled next to a nice breakfast served on a tray to them in bed. The alternate parent would take photos. Really.

As the years went along - it was expected that we would perform this duty on each occasion. I think Mom and Dad felt entitled to some special attention on their special days.

My brother became a bit wild and naughty in his early teens and started to branch out of the family patterns. He slept in on Mother's Day or Father's day and would have to be roused angrily. He started to go away or plan things like attending his Civil Air Patrol meetings on Sundays to avoid the guilt of not wanting to make a fuss over Mom and dad. That left me to deal with it myself.

Into adulthood, my brother had almost completely abandoned any participation in these events. We had graduated from serving breakfast in bed on MOther's and Father's day to going out to brunch. Just. I think I still came over to my folks house on Mother's Day and Father's day with gifts and flowers early enough to make breakfast in bed for a good few years after I graduated college. At this time, I would have to beg my brother to come along to brunch - if he wasn't too busy. He usually was.

Both Mom and Dad had this guilt inspiring sigh that said 'Oh well.. guess he doesn't care. (referring to my brother) At least you're here.' Gee thanks. And from that moment on - it was my fate to make sure any and every occasion was properly recognised.

When I moved to Europe 8 years ago. I was still in the guilt grip of feeling like I had to make up for my brother not participating in family. I sent massive gift boxes to both Mom and Dad for their birthdays, Mother's day and Father's day each year. I would call as usual on the Sunday and listen to them opening the gifts and ooing and aahing over them.

No small amount of effort those boxes! Usually a shoe or boot box packed with anywhere from 5-9 wrapped pressies - try doing this for years without too many repeat items. Key chains, ties, pocket silks, perfume, scented soap, candies, exotic spices - you name it. I must be mad. But I think I compensate for my guilt of being so far away from them by trying to lavish them with goodies. It's a huge pain though. Now, sadly - but kind of gladly, my gift box production has halved due to Dad not being around anymore.

Mailing from Belgium can be hell. I have mailed things that have never arrived. I have mailed things that take 3 months and have had packages which arrive in 2 days - presumably by accident. Completely unpredictable. In order to use Belgian post, I have to plan well ahead and send the box early so it's there in time. A few times, the box hadn't made it until the day after or so. I could hear the guilt being manufactured in each syllable by my mother - 'it's all right...I don't need anything for Mother's day....' usually followed with 'it's not as if I will hear from your brother anyway...' Knife, now deep and twisting...Guilty as charged: I should have taken a day off work and mailed the package 13 weeks ago so Mom would not have to suffer so. Bad child!

So, this year, I was prepared. I planned a few weekends ago to do all my shopping, pack the box and get it in the mail nice and early. My plan would have worked beautifully if only I had not gotten terribly sick with a stomach virus. Really sick. I practically dragged by bed in to the rest-room. Sorry, but that's the only way to describe how sick I was.

So when Mom called to find out how I was, I said I couldn't do the shopping for Mother's day as I was so sick and the package wouldn't get there in time if I didn't. (I was hoping she would say 'forget it - Don't send me anything get better and don't worry about any of that') But she replied: 'Oh well, that's OK, Mother's day is still ages away. You have plenty of time...' Yes she did. And she also said. 'I am sure I won't hear one word from your brother....'. Knife, deep, twisting. got...to... get... out...of death...bed and shop for chocolate, perfume, marmalade, crap...send ...to...mother.

No, sorry. too sick.

As I lay there dying (not really) - I decided I would fed ex the package at the last moment and buy myself some time. You would think....

I set the fed ex box out yesterday to be picked up. Fed ex man came. rejected the package as it said these were gifts including food (chocolate, candies, olive oil some other stuff). In order to ship food to USA - one had to make 4 copies of a pro forma invoice itemising the contents and sign each copy. He left and I did as told and had to call them for another pick up. He came later that afternoon and very reluctantly took the package.

Fed ex is the company with the line 'When it absolutely, positively has to be there overnight' right? Well, good news everyone! My package has made it to the USA.... But fed Ex called and the FDA is holding it because I did not register for a Prior Notification that I was shipping food for import to the USA. It's a fucking mother's day gift, you would think I was trrying to send a warehouse full of olives and sun dried tomatoes for crap's sake!!

I was informed that I had to go to the FDA Registrar Corp website and register myself and then get confirmation numbers for each item of food I had sent - for which I needed prior notification. Really. This never ever happened when I sent parcels through the regular Belgian post. Fed ex must be too organised and scrutinised. Damn.

So I do all this extra stuff. Close to 2 hours of paperwork and phone calls etc. I had to pay another $14.95 for the registration by the way...And as I am about to log off this web site, I catch some fine print at the bottom of the screen. FDA Registrar Corp assists businesses with FDA compliance. FDA Registrar Corp is not affiliated with the US Food & Drug Administration. A brilliant money-making ruse. Damn. I bet one can go directly to FDA site and get registration and Prior Notice stuff without paying...I bet Fed Ex gets a slice of the fee...damn. What a pain. Grr.

I have done all I can. If Miss 'Me Myself and I' doesn't get her Mother's day box on time then so be it. I have tried. If my brother doesn't call, it won't be a surprise. If she tries to make me feel guilty, I will not let her. I can only do my best.

Life really is like a box of missing Chocolates. You pretty much know what you're going to get.

Mad Hatter

2008-04-10T13:42:00.006+02:00

Here's an e-mail exchange I got from a pretty good friend of mine...

Guy friend: Hey, you left your hat in my car the other night
Me: Wasn't me, I don't wear hats.
Guy friend: It's yours, it's black
Guy friend: Sorry, it is not yours, just remembered whose it is, never mind

Now, let me take you on a journey through my mind. This is the actual sequence of thoughts I had during this e-mail exchange and in this order.

1. What night?....
2. I don't ever wear hats do I?
3. Typical guy, I tell him I don't wear hats and he still says it's mine...
4. Wait. Is he saying it's mine because he's thick or just because it's black?
5. Hard to tell, he's pretty thick
6. Do I wear too much black? (all of you at home stop nodding your head)
7. Probably
8. Does it matter?
9. Yes, if that's how people are defining me - 'Look everyone!! It's the girl who
wears too much black!' Not good!
10. No it doesn't matter. I look good in black...
11. Hey...wait a minute...How many people leave hats in his car? Who cares?
12. At least I didn't leave any other clothing...I think
13. Even if I did wear hats - I wouldn't have left it - I wouldn't have taken it off...

- 'You can leave your hat on' - but take off your socks!

Canteen Envy

2008-04-07T15:21:00.004+02:00

Last October, my office moved from the interesting, cultural and vibrant downtown Brussels to an office park wasteland between NATO and the Airport. I have a few problems with this move.

Hey, I love my office and the view from my window. I can see 6 cranes from my window - all busy building more crap to obscure my view of anything non crappy. Many, many nondescript buildings and many more that have no other description than the name of the company hoisted above the roof in neon lights. Microsoft, Deloitte (pronounced 'Dell-uu-watt-a' here), HP, Fujitsu etc etc.

I do like passing NATO each morning. Nothing raises my spirits and blood pressure like scrillions of men in uniform looking all sharp and ready for the day.

I hate two things most about moving out here. The first is that I had to get a car because there's no logical way of getting out here without one. I mean unless you think 2 bus trips and a long walk are logical - nope...or going downtown to get a train to take me outside the city...no way Jose. It's really not that I hate having a car again, I like it if I am honest. It's that I now have to watch what I eat and god forbid, exercise. Yes, I said exercise. You can connect the dots. No running around, no up and down metro stairs and no 5th floor walk-up office means no croissants and lots of working-out.

The worst thing though is that my office is in a standard Office Park complex where a lot of companies are housed. And there's no company sponsored canteen. In fact there's NOTHING at all to eat around here. Not even a vending machine, no receptionist desk with complimentary candies, no coffee shop with fat drizzled muffins nearby, no sandwich shop, no cafe, no bistro, no pizza. And I think this is actually illegal in Belgium: - NO FRITES nearby. Nada.

The only thing for the average worker who doesn't have a company sponsored canteen - to do is to get in the car and drive over to the Shell Station down the road. It's got a shop inside called On-The-Run. Which should be called Run-for-the-Border because it's shite. They do crap very nicely there. Crap sandwiches, chips, salads with more crap in them than salad, sodas, beers, porno magazines for the truck drivers and candy. That's it. They used to have 1 type of fruit. Sliced apple snacks in bags. But it proved so unpopular with the clientele, they got rid of it. Guess I didn't buy enough...

So, I am reduced to bringing my lunch to work. Just writing it makes my stomach go sour. I have never been one to enjoy or appreciate brown bagging. I hate knowing what I am going to eat for lunch. I hate the idea that I don't have a choice. Sick really.

I am tormented by a man I barely know who works at Eurocontrol down the road. He brags about his company canteen relentlessly. He put the nail in my lunch coffin a little while ago - he sent me a copy of their menu - for this week. As if the agony is not enough - they have a different menu for each week. Drool. pass out.

Do you know, at Eurocontrol, workers have 1 option in each of the following categories every day: Soup, Warm First Course, Chef's suggestion, Fish, Vegetarian dish, Grill Item and Dessert. And you are going to die - 2 choices in the following categories each day : Vegetables, Pasta and Pizza...And each day is different. Is there no justice in the world?

There must be a team of 100 people making food for this huge company campus and I am sure the meals cost the equivalent of one lunch voucher. (Provided to all of us who work in Belgium for each day we work of the month - perk of being in Belgium. meaning, they probably cost very little. Drool.

Ok - it's mid afternoon - I need to forage in our barren office 'kitchen' for a snack of something! the 'kitchen' You know, that room with the gross coffee machine (I don't coffee). The room with cabinets packed with sugar and powdered creamer. The room with a fridge that has nothing in it but milk for coffee and old yogurts leftover from Francois' failed diet. There's a secret weapon. Dried, fake hot chocolate in pouches. With mini marshmallows which are like tiny, Styrofoam, dots. They stick to your teeth and harden immediately. But in the absence of a full service canteen serving afternoon tea, they'll have to do.

Rain on my Parade and a Blood Orange Bonk

2008-03-17T09:48:00.005+01:00

This weekend the Fete de Chien Noir was held on Avenue Georges Henri. The annual street fete is held on Saturday and Sunday. The fete is made up of many amusements for children (jupiter jumps, merry go rounds, bungee trampolines etc) and hundreds of stalls hawking everything from cut rate beauty goods and potholders to artisanal wild board sausages. It runs the stretch of Georges Henri all the way from Boulevard Brand Whitlock to the cemetery park at the foot of the hill.

On the Sunday, there is a parade - which is actually the Cavalcade for the Chien Noir. Every year a few scraggly bands make it down the crowded street, hopelessly separated from one another and having to fight the crowds that fill in the gaps between bands as they slowly move down the hill. There are a few bands with oompa loompa sounding horns and military inspired costume designs that look as if they once proudly represented the commune but since have lost a bit of their sparkle. The band members throw blood oranges to the crowd. Not sure what this symbolises, but they do. As always, the Brazilian band is next to last and all you can see are pink and white feather plumes bobbing up and down over the sea of heads. The beat of the drums reverberating down the street and the whistles and screams of the noisemakers. The final act is a car-drawn wagon containing a few jester type clowns and of course some poor soul dresses as a black dog. The jesters throw oranges to the crowd as well. Some rite of spring I guess. The whole mess goes down the hill and turns around and slowly makes their way back up.

As usual, I had invited a few friends over to wander the fete. I usually have people to my place for coffee and then we wander out the door and down the street as the fete is literally steps from my home. One very lovely friend arrived at my door with an armload of iris, pink Gerber daisies and lots of wild flowers and greenery as a spring gift for me. He always gets it right. Unique, warm and thoughtful - Mr. Flowers.

Though the day was grey and a bit foreboding, the clouds held and it wasn't too cool. We wandered down the hill and eventually had to stop at a cafe at the bottom for a beer and to give Bunny Dog a chance to chill. So many people, children, dogs and noise. He was a bit overwhelmed. We finished our beers and wandered back up the hill stopping for various fete foods to share on our way - we had tiny fried fish served in cones with a tarter styled sauce - they tasted like salty popcorn shrimp but looked like mini goldfish. We shared a sloppy but required doner kebab, we snarfed a sausage roll with sauteed onions among us, nibbled a couple spring rolls from the Vietnamese tent, some ate funnel cakes, and a few sugar spun peanuts.

We stopped at artisanal tables and my friends got thinly sliced smoked wild boar, Ardennes salamis, jams and speciality wines to take home.

As we came made it to the last block we anchored ourselves to a great table outside a local pub and waited for the last few bits of the parade to pass. Mr. Flowers was awfully funny and very attentive. All my friends having a great time - no one really paying attention to the clouds.

The Brazilian band inched up the street throwing confetti in the air, their drums a cacophony of noise. All the parade watchers shaking their hips, clapping their hands to the beat or whistling. Bunny dog and several others were barking but could barely be heard. As the thick of the crowd surged pass the table and the noise was at it's height, several things happened.

1. A blood orange hit me in the forehead with a painful zing
2. Someone knocked our table leg and all the wine and beer poured on to me
3. The heavens opened up and dumped masses of water on us

Luckily, I live so close it was not a big deal to run home. I let everyone in and got them fresh towels and they turned on the music, made themselves at home and then looked at me and started to laugh.

I had a big red spot on my forehead where the orange had whacked me and I was drenched head to toe, smelling like a brewery and covered in paper confetti!

Mr. Flowers wrapped me in a towel and kissed my forehead.

I went up for a quick hot shower and when I came down, my friends had laid out a table with sliced ham, foie gras, pate, several cheeses, fresh bread, grainy mustard, fruit, wine, beer and all sorts of lovely little things like pickled onions, cornichons and onion confit.

We listened to music, Watched the rain fall. Cuddled on the sofa and chairs with warm throws we talked and talked and shared wine and stories.

So there was rain on my parade and I got bonked with an orange. Life is still wonderful.

Stupid

2008-03-06T14:19:00.005+01:00

Eggheads is a quiz programme on BBC where a team of 5 seasoned quiz experts go head to head against 5 novices. Price money is £1,000 per match and the money rolls over to the next match if the Eggheads win. Which they usually do.

The Eggheads are 3 men and two women who have all had a measure of success in the world of TV quizzes. The crusty and dorky team members Daphne, Chris and Kevin have won Brain of Britain and Master Mind various times. CJ and Judith hail from more showy and commercial game shows - like 15 to 1 and Who wants to be a millionaire? (Judith did).

About 4 months ago, a team of nerdy university students beat the eggheads after 74 shows and walked away with £75,000. The nerdy team's questions were not all that hard but all it takes is one question that the Eggheads just don't know and their bridges come tumbling down. If I recall correctly, they lost on a question regarding Udon Japanese noodles - I think the Eggheads said Udon was a dumpling. Oh well.

The questions range from the completely inane and easy to the completely bizarre and obscure. Which I guess the producers think is the key to fast moving yet competitive and compelling games.

OK - so last night there was a group of 5 women on to challenge the Eggheads. They were all midwives from some health centre. The team chose their contestant for the Geography round very quickly and lightly. She wanted to go against CJ. She chose to go first. The Question was - The American Islands of Hawaii lie in which Ocean? (really, I swear) The answers to choose from were: Arctic Ocean, Pacific Ocean and Indian Ocean. I am not kidding. That was the question.

The woman actually hemmed and hawed over the answer. Every person in the studio was in amazement that this woman was struggling with the answer. I mean - come ON!! This woman is presumably an educated, middle class Brit who has enough knowledge to assist in child birthing techniques... Hello. Unless someone is from a remote village in the Amazon rain-forest, or completely mentally disposed, illiterate and/or suffering from rabies, anyone from a 3rd grader on up knows where Hawaii is. It's like the coolest thing about US geography and smack in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

Look, I don't think many Europeans know much about most US states (just like Americans know shite about European geography - don't argue with me - tell me what countries are now part of the former Yugoslavia???) But Universally - European - and Especially Brits know 5 key things about the USA.

1. That Elvis is alive and well in Memphis and you can see his 'grave' at Graceland, 2. Anything and Everything about 'Vegas'
3. New York City (No idea there's a state called New York though)
4. Disney World is in Florida and Disneyland is in California - they have been to each 16 times - without children
5. The state of Hawaii is a group of Polynesian Islands in the Pacific Ocean put there for Honeymoons

OK - so this complete moron of a woman actually contemplated the Arctic Ocean, but then decided that it 'sounds too cold and Hawaii sounds warm'. WTF??? Then she finally came to her decision - Indian Ocean......

You could hear a pin drop in the studio - The host didn't actually know what to say... You could tell he was ready to say 'it' in his deep game show presenter voice...'Ohh...Sorry June, that's not the right answer, nice try though! We have enjoyed having you on the show, but you are the most stupid pile of dog poo we have ever encountered! Goodbye and don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out!!'

How stupid can stupid get?? Pretty stupid as it turns out.

Jungle Drawer and a Date with the Stig

2008-02-29T12:58:00.005+01:00

I am pretty good at doing the chores I promise myself to do. I clear out the garden when I set my mind to it. I wash every single bit of the table linens and put it all away nicely. I throw out newspapers, organize magazines I want to keep and put finished books upstairs in the loft. I do clear out the downstairs closet semi annually - and repaint where and when needed. I am pretty good.

Why for Pete's sake don't I ever get around to sorting out the huge 'jungle drawer' in my closet? It's mayhem. Every morning as I get ready for work, I end up digging through the jungle drawer upper-arm deep for bras, panties and matching socks (the biggest issue). It's insane. It could take up to 30 minutes to match a pair of trouser socks appropriate enough for the outfit and the office. It takes ages to find them in the mountain of lace, pretty prints and elasticised cotton bikini briefs. Every morning I swear to get it done 'this weekend'.

I have a bit of an Imelda Marcos addiction to underwear - pretty panties and stuff. I think it's a throwback to my days working at Victoria's Secret where it was ingrained is us that women deserve luxurious lingerie, sumptuous robes and indulgent, pampery bubble baths just because we are women. (The sales pitch to get professional business women in the door even if they were destined to be single and fugly their whole lives - money talks). The result is, that I sub conscientiously buy lingerie all the time. I have matching bra and panty sets in a lot of different colours, shades of cream and of course, black. Many, many black sets.

I also have this theory that if I purchase 6 sets of trouser socks at a time, I will never not find one or two which match and therefore - no problem. This theory doesn't work. Either there's a magic sock fairy in there who steals my socks or they just get lost in the vortex of elastic, underwired, laced hell and disappear forever. I suspect there's a hole in the back of the drawer but I haven't found it yet - ... if there's a hole in the drawer, why doesn't the mountain of crap get any smaller???

I love wearing skirts - yes I do. I hate sorting through my tights or stockings to dress for skirts. (I do not own or wear PANTYHOSE. Pantyhose are so totally 80s it's insane. I do not see the benefit in wearing 'flesh toned' nylon rubber bands - especially since the makers of panty hose seem to think the shade of 'cinnamon' matches anything in our wardrobes. Sorry - NO offence to those of you who still wear those energising, sheeny, shiny, support control, satiny beige-hued panty hose - really) I do wear cotton and Lycra blend opaque tights or thigh high
stockings. They are classic and clean looking AND right now - they are tangled in a huge snarl in the 'jungle drawer'. Like a snake's wrestling match. The strategy for finding tights or stockings: Find a bit of tights fabric and just pull and pull and hope there's another leg attached.

The real problem is that I buy lots of things that I end up not liking at all. Victoria's Secret made the greatest string bikinis for 20 years and I had hundreds of pairs of them. But they have changed them - they are cheap imitations of what they once were. They are crap now. So I tried all sorts of other brands until I found the perfect one. All of the rejects are perfectly fine and always think I will use them but I don't!

Anyway - I must to clear out the drawer this weekend . I have a date with the Stig and he likes the pale yellow lace set! Whatever the Stig wants, the Stig gets. Welcome to the Jungle.......

Miss Me Myself and I goes to Mexico

2008-02-18T10:23:00.002+01:00

My mother has been in Mexico for the last week and a half. She has gone to visit family friends who are so close, they really must be considered family. The couple she went to visit are Judith and her husband Daniel. Judith is with the US Embassy in Mexico City and her husband - a French chef, travels the world with her - usually securing a great position in some embassy kitchen - more recently he has been working with security firms who specialise in expat safety. Judith's father was my father's longest friend - they knew one another since they were 5 years old in Detroit. Relationships don't get much older than that one!

Judith and Daniel were in Washington to help Mom move house last summer. They are godsends. And because they are extremely fond of my Mom - they have a lot more patience with her than I. You know, that whole thing with how annoying mothers can be to their own kids. I don't think it ever goes away.

Anyway - since being home for Christmas, I have conducted my regular calls home as a dutiful (if only slightly clingy) daughter and have listened to Mom warble on and on. It dawned on me that for the whole month of January - Mom spent each phone call talking about herself non-stop. I have to put aside the 80-year old excuse because Mom is not a typical 80 year old woman. She's as active and vibrant and intelligent and interactive as someone much younger and is a pleasure to be around - generally! But something has happened in the last few months and I have started to refer to her as 'Miss Me Myself and I'.

The world has shifted slightly. And is still shifting... just a bit to the left and a tiny bit up, no, down a bit, there. It's now entirely revolving around my mother.

I know that Judith and Daniel are absolutely rolling out the red carpet for my Mom and two cousins (Dorothy and Norio - the ones who depleted the Camembert stocks in Normandy last summer and ate so much butter I tried to sell them to OPEC). Judith and Daniel will take them to museums, markets, galleries, breathtaking vistas, amazing ethic and secret gourmet restaurants, side trips to Inca ruins and amazing resorts. They would have their guestrooms made up with crisp sheets, and fresh flowers and chilled bottled water. They would have their lovely housekeeper tidy the rooms daily, wash and iron everyone's clothes as needed and even do emergency sewing jobs in a second. Judith and Daniel would bring the car around and plan the walking tours with the least stairs possible, and ensuring they passed by benches for Mom to take mini breaks throughout. They are incredibly thoughtful and caring.

I called to check up on them yesterday. Judith answered her phone and recounted the fun they were having and the things they were doing. Yesterday, they were driving out to the beach from Merida to see a beautiful Flamingo farm and spend the day on the water. They had been staying in a beautiful Hacienda with luxurious amenities such as vanilla scented jacuzzi baths and massage therapists, fresh fruit prepared anytime anywhere etc. Judith and Daniel standard treatment.

Judith handed the phone to 'Miss me Myself and I'. Miss Me Myself and I started in with 'yes', she having a good time although the first day she did bang her shins in the van (rented especially for driving everyone around in comfort) and that produced terrible contusions. She's a had a fine time wandering around even though her knees are acting up a bit. She has had incredible food even though she's had a bit of tummy trouble as usual. She's been napping extremely well, but sleeping only fitfully through the night in the gorgeous bedrooms she's in. She is enjoying the fine warm weather, but her skin is a bit dry and she feels a bit overheated at times. She would be having the time of her life is only she didn't bang her shins in the van they rented...round we go....

Conscious of the fact that all parties were sitting in the van with Mom - I did manage to swing the conversation around to talking about other people or things - and she did pretty well. A sentence or two and then it was back to 'she, herself and her'.

OK. Maybe it is the 80-year old thing. All the talk of physical ailments...typical of some old biddy. But I am not ready for that. I mean my mother has travelled all over the world in her lifetime. I remember when we were having dinner with my cousins at a bistro next to my home in Brussels last summer. We were talking about traffic in Paris and Mom just uttered, 'I think the traffic is OK in Paris - I mean compared to Mexico City , Karachi and Bombay...' It hit me just how much my mother has travelled - with or without Dad. Maybe she has reached that age where she has shifted from 'cosmopolitan foreign service world traveller' to 'freak of nature who amazingly, made it there and back without requiring the help of the UN emergency medical aide disaster team...' God help me.

I have rented the beach house this summer in Normandy as usual. Mom is making her annual trip to see me. Correction, she comes to see her 'grand-dog' not me...seriously! I am just a by-product. A chauffeur, a caterer and a housekeeper. I must take her to Honfleur on the way down for an overnight, stop wherever she wants and make sure she gets enough butter everyday. I can't understand why my brother and his wife don't want to come along....gee

(The plan for that trip: to get her wined and dined enough each night that she's asleep by 10 PM - that way I can sneak out the patio door, run down the dunes and scream at the top of my lungs to save my sanity......Or make sure I have some hot guy there to help me loosen up a bit....hmm, I like the sound of option 2)

Anyway - you should know that Miss Me Myself and I is having a wonderful time in Mexico and you'll hear all about it on next weeks call.

You are my Master, Chef

2008-02-15T10:40:00.006+01:00

You may have missed it in an earlier blog, but the Master Chef series is on. Those of you who know how I feel about cooking shows will be very surprised that I have not blogged about the show or contestants the way I normally do. Why is that you think? (Or maybe you're not thinking that at all...but read on anyway!)

This year, the regular heats of Master Chef have been like watching high school home economics courses. The contestants are only marginally better than those 'can of soup' cooks - You know, those people who make casseroles from cans of cream of mushroom soup, canned green beans and flavourless hygienic chicken breasts. Or people who can make whole meals from Ritz crackers, a few pimentos, spam and a can of processed cheese whiz. (no offense or anything..)

This year's contestants are generally terrible. their skill levels are below the standard of the show - truly. Judges John Torode and Gregg Wallace have to argue each night about who is the lesser of all 3 evils and therefore allowed to win the heat. One woman in heat 2 or 3 showed such promise. She did funky creative things like make a chocolate mud-pie dessert with delicate chocolate tuille biscuits and deep dark creamy chocolate pudding decorated with sugared herbs to look like grass. The taste and creativity was apparently stunning. She fell flat in her mud pie when she grilled a few slices of blood pudding for her finale and lost to two completely mediocre cooks who got points for knowing how to mash potatoes without lumps. The bar is set very low indeed.

Last week, there was a guy who wilted like a wet noodle in the professional kitchen test and admitted to John and Gregg he didn't want to go forward because he couldn't stand the kitchen work. Well, then dude...WTF are you doing entering Master Chef then? Did you misunderstand the show's purpose? Hey, if you can't stand the heat - then by all means get out of the kitchen - BUT For crying out loud - You should not be there at all - your Master Chef spot could have gone to someone who WANTS to win -and yes, wants to win the MASTER CHEF prize - which is -...wait for it..... to be a MASTER CHEF in a famous kitchen. Grr. breathe...

This week - FINALLY - there's some skill. This week is known as 'Comeback week'. Contestants who won their heats in Master Chef last year are invited to come back and try again - this week the 'comeback kids' who really ant to try again are competing against eachother. They know the Masterchef pressures, they have been through the food mill already - and they want more. These cooks are in it to win it. And they are REALLY GOOD!

This week's contestants want the title. They have practised, they have quit their day jobs to cook all day, they have cooked for friends, family and co-workers to perfect their dishes, they have struggled with improving flavour and presentation, they have done everything to improve their knowledge of food. They are passionate and it shows.

Now John and Gregg fight over every detail of every dish served - desperately trying to find some crack in their work which will help them separate the damned good from the extraordinarily excellent. Someone has to win the heat. Sadly. I wish each one of these wannabee chefs could replace the winners of the previous weekly heats.

Anyway - I am back in love with my Master Chef for the time being.

When a Salesman becomes a Stalker

2008-02-05T10:28:00.000+01:00

In early December last year, my colleague and I went up to London for a meeting with our boss and our colleagues.

Of course, we took the Eurostar and were massively late. The train we boarded at the crack of dawn stopped dead about 15 minutes out of the station. Due to a total power failure, we sat still for almost 2 hours and were starting to get pretty chilly before the decision was made to get tugged back to Brussels Midi station. At that point, we were to wait for the next train that was departing - in over an hour. Not only that, but we had to disembark and stand in line to check-in manually -presumably taking the seats that were not filled by the original ticketed passengers on this particular train.

Needless to say, we were pretty fed up by the time we arrived in London and ran to the office. We didn't get there until after 1 PM.

We walked in on the end of a presentation given by an outside company - an HR intelligence and data compiling company. The presenter was just taking last questions. As he left, he shook hands all around and dropped a card in front of me. Just at this time, a colleague mentioned that I had missed a good presentation and that this guy's company might have something good for one of my customers. Overhearing this, the presenter guy's ears pricked up. Just like any slobbering sales monkey - when there's a whiff of an opportunity, they are all over you like white on rice. He was. And is.

Well, he's been calling me 2 to 3 times per week about business opportunities. I have enjoyed some of the more strategic discussions we have had early on - but have not been in a position to engage his services for any of my projects. I have repeatedly told him this, but he's getting pretty annoying - like a cheap car salesman in a used car lot - he 'touches base' with me every chance he gets to make sure he's right there when I make my decision. I have no reason to use his company's services right now!!

He's taken to calling me every Monday (and usually other times of the week) but he's told me he has it in his agenda to call and touch base with me every Monday. No amount of dissuading him. Mondays about 10:30-11 am there he is all salesy and pushy and chipper and pretty fakey! I now have his number plastered to my phone in the office so I can recognise him as the caller and let it go through to voice mail.

Yesterday, things took a turn for the weird. I absent-mindedly answered the phone while returning to my office - the note stuck to my phone as a reminder not visible from the other side of the desk - and on the line - there he was. Cringe. My sales nightmare.

The first thing he said was 'I swear, I am not stalking you!'. Immediately - I am thinking uh oh. Geez, the mere mention of the word Stalking means he's thought about it and probably IS kind of stalking me!! Yipes.

Confirmation comes a few minutes later when he takes things in a super weird direction and says he wants to take me for dinner next time I am in London.

Ya, um....no....

He didn't ask about coffee, or lunch, or just a meeting - but dinner.... What is he thinking??? (I wouldn't have done any meetings anyway) He said he would enjoy have an evening out with someone who really knows the business and can 'talk shop' followed by a load of other crap about having good company for dinner etc.

Don't you think that's weird? I mean come on! Scary!! No answering the phone again, ever!!

I may be wearing those huge, black Jackie 'O' glasses and a floppy hat to go to the London office next time...no one will recognise me!

PS - There's only one sales guy I want - he works for my own company and he knows - However, he's firmly and severely chained to a heavy ball with rug rats and suspicious, 24-hour surveillance. So I steer well clear.

Happy Birthday Friend

2008-02-04T09:39:00.000+01:00

Saturday night I went to a birthday party for a friend's 40th birthday. It was a great party and I was so happy I could be there. It means a lot for me to be there for special moments in his life because he was there for me at a time when I needed friends most.

Just after moving my whole world to Belgium 8 years ago - I was far away from home with no friends and I was extremely lonely. I had to travel all over Europe each week to see my customer sites and would get home at 11 or 12 on Friday evenings - or worse, be stuck at Heathrow Airport that late alone, tired and wondering what to do with myself - realising that no one cared. There was no one waiting for me. No one wondering why I was delayed. No one worried about me. I went for 2 months without touching another living soul with exception of shaking hands with colleagues or business associates. It's pretty damaging to one's soul. You really don't realise how important friends and family are until you are too far away from them to do anything about.

So, I made a pact with myself. I had to make myself go out and explore the city and try to meet people. I made myself go to the biggest meat-market pick-up joint in town just to feel like I was in a crowd. I went to O'Reillys. Within a short while a group of men came over to talk to me.

The first thing anyone said came from this man who would become my first friend in Belgium. This man told me that he liked my lipstick - and then asked if I wanted to go bungee jumping the next day. What a line!! I said no. I asked his name - the first and only question I had been able to ask - and he said 'Why so many questions?'. This was my introduction to Crazy Jan.

Jan decided that it was his responsibility to represent Belgium to me - this silly American girl - and to make sure I explored and got to know Belgium. Thus he embarked on an effort to expose me to a different aspect of Belgian life each weekend.

He took me to Ghent to drink Genever in quantities and flavour combinations that I would prefer to forget. I am pretty sure we looked at some churches and canals and art galleries, but couldn't tell you anything substantive about them. I do remember he took me to see the world's largest hanging basket of flowers - Yep. - I know, I know - you want the details of how to get there - booking a flight as you read this....

He took me kayaking on the Lesse and Meuse rivers near Dinant where he egged me in to tipping the boat over a waterfall - or three of them - with us in it. He encouraged me to steal a better kayak from other people while we were on one of many beer stops down the river run. He lost the keys to his car and set the alarm off which rang at top volume non-stop for 2 hours until his best friend drove all the way out to Dinant with an extra set of keys. He thought it was hilarious.

He took me for Moules near the Begiunage in Brugge and then bicycle riding in Zeebrugge where he insisted that we ride out to the cargo dock miles out the causeway to the cargo load in freezing wind. When we encountered a 10-foot chain link fence on the way out to the cargo load - which pretty clearly meant no trespassing - he insisted that I climb the fence - with my bicycle no less!!! We road out by these massive cargo ships that hold thousands of those cargo boxes like on 18-wheeler trucks. We drove around stacks of boxes waiting to be loaded (later learning that we had ridden around the one filled with immigrants who perished days later) - scary! But he made me do it. And I did.

He invited me to parties, took me to receptions (many of which we crashed without my knowledge until it was exposed) He gave me adventure. Most importantly, he introduced me to his friends - many of whom have become good friends as well. A couple of whom who have become my very best friends.

Crazy Jan has this ability to bring people together and to make everything a fun experience. I was honoured to be present at his wedding a while ago and recently to get a chance to hold their beautiful new baby Nele.

His wife Tania is an amazing woman. She is kind, intelligent, beautiful and funny - it was she who planned this 40th birthday party. She had planned it for a year - and it showed. There were servers bringing gourmet bites all evening, foie gras and onion confit, crevettes salad, Camembert with toasted nuts, marinated anti pasta bites, tiny mousse cups and tarts and petit fours etc - Open bar, DJ, and a really good live band - along with a slide show going all night and featuring over 600 photos of Jan's life - I was tickled when photos of my parties came up - photos of my dog. Like I fit in to the puzzle a bit. Like I was part of someone's life history - not in America, but here in my adopted home country. It meant so much to me because it verified that I have been woven in to at least a small part of Belgium and not lived on the periphery like so many expats do. I think my Dad would be proud of me for that alone.

I have said this before, but it bears saying again. Friends are the most important thing in the world. And I certainly appreciate the friends I have here and back home. Thank you all for being so wonderful.

Mr. Handsome Does it Right

2008-01-24T09:10:00.000+01:00

Over the past two days I have had the flu. A weird kind of sinus flu. Someone will probably say it's a virus or something but the fact is - I have been sick. I had laryngitis over the weekend which is odd for me - I usually never lose my voice(how could I whinge without my voice??) Should have known something was up. Tuesday I woke up feeling rather badly. Went to work anyway and things got worse.

My sinuses were painfully tight and my throat was very sore. I managed to stay up for Master Chef Tuesday night but had to hit the hay immediately afterwards. My whole body felt like crap - well, like I had the flu. Problem. Sleep wouldn't come to me. I couldn't put my head down or lie down for the pain in my sinuses. It was terrible. I think I got 2 hours of fitful sleep. Bunny dog had tired of me flinging my comforter about and sneezing, whining and snorting (pretty huh?) He was up in the loft - or perhaps sleeping on his friend the 'old sofa' in the back bedroom.

Either way - this silly Bunny Dog had abandoned me when I needed cuddling most - and to make matters worse, when you live alone - you gotta get up and walk the darned dog no matter how you feel. Wednesday morning I somehow got up and walked him in the park - but I don't remember exactly. I think I wore my pyjamas under my long coat and some Wellies without socks. The dog walker did come and give Bunny Dog a nice hour-long romp at lunchtime, but the thought of getting out of my warm bed and having to walk the dog at dinner time and late night was too much. I kept avoiding the thought until later.

Throughout the day on Wednesday I checked my blackberry for important work mails. I propped it up on the bedside table and periodically came out of my daze long enough to open one eye and see if the light was red. One mail was from Mr. Handsome -I replied that I was in bed and close to death. He mailed back and told me to quit being so dramatic and to get better. Fair enough...

I made it through the mealtime walkies and then took an evening nap. I was dreading the last walk of the night when something very nice happened.

Mr. Handsome showed up at my door with mint tea and biscuits. He made me tea, wrapped me in a duvet on the couch, put the biscuits in front of me, turned on the telly and then took Bunny Dog for his last walkies. What a total Gentleman.

Just the thoughtfulness of it all. When I kept gushing about how nice it was for him to come over he reminded me that each time he fell ill or was under the weather, I had offered to pick up anything for him, bring him anything he needed or come over and cook for him. He was repaying the kindness. And he wanted to see me looking terrible for blackmail purposes....

You know, there are very few people in this world made of real class and kindness.

Mr. Handsome to save the day

Sofa So Good

2008-01-21T10:28:00.000+01:00

As much as possible, I try not to fall in love with inanimate objects. I am not a jewellery girl - I am not anal about my car, I like a few items of clothing a lot, but I don't fall in love with these things the way I have fallen for my new sofa.

I want to hug my new sofa when I leave and I want to hug my new sofa when I get home. I am not crazy - I swear!! The odd thing is - I don't really like the colour.. and I actually don't sit on it regularly - but I love the whole idea of the sofa so much. I had a wood-framed sofa and matching chairs and the room had too many hard lines - the sofa just brings it all together with a softness. The colour picks up on some colours in my Oriental rug and other things in the room and it just works. I can get different slip covers any time I need so I will leave this colour on for winter and decide how I feel when spring comes along.

Bunny Dog is still deciding if he likes the new formal sofa. It's higher and bigger than the old one and he's definitely taking a while to feel it out. It sort of overwhelms him. He runs upstairs to visit the old sofa every few minutes - like an old familiar friend. Security.

I can't quite figure out what makes me like this sofa so much. Perhaps because it's a bit like me - pretty rigid in structure and softer on the edges with a bit of curve. A bit preppy at first glance and a bit wild when you sink in.

I plonked down on my sofa at 3:30 am when I got home from my Saturday night out. Was a fun evening of dancing to well-covered 80's pop rock done by a local party band. The sofa enveloped me and held me tight. (Well, if you're not going to 'pull' on a night - sofa is the next best thing!)

OK - you think I am so weird!! Just in Sofa love - don't worry - it will wear off but Sofa so good!!

Mid-Winter Smiles

2008-01-17T10:20:00.000+01:00

The breakfast news and radio shows are scraping the bottom of the barrels for interesting things to fill up fodder air time - you know, the human interest part of the shows - usually reserved for items that make you realise what a slow news day it is. Well, this morning was no exception - the topic on one radio station was about how quickly we all drop our new year's resolutions. 2 million Brits have already broken their promises to themselves - gee. How fascinating....

Mid winter - no real weather to speak of. No snow to exhilarate and excite, just grey skies and dreariness. But I have a smile on my face for sure! Two things are happening that when put together can make for very happy times indeed.

1. The sales are on in Belgium. 2. The 2008 Series of MasterChef is in full swing.

The country is allowed to put things on deep clearance sale twice a year. You can find your favourite designer clothing anywhere from 20% to 80% off. It's a crazy scene though|!

I went to Inno Department store at Woluwe Shopping Centre on my lunch break. I prefer Woluwe because I find I can elbow and kick yummy mummies and preppie expat wives more easily than I can the North African Mama Ayeshas and Russian Babushka grannies who frequent the downtown store. There's less of a pawed-over feel to the clothes that have made it to 70% discount - though they have surely been through the same wars.

I laugh at customer service - or customer disservice - in Belgium. A friend told me he was shopping at Inno last night. At closing time, they repeatedly announced on the loudspeakers that the store was closing and everyone was to make their way to the cash registers to pay and leave. But of course, this is Belgium!! Only 1 cashier was open and the line was enormous! Logical?

I spent way too much on a jacket that is absolutely divine and worth every euro cent - even at 40% off it was a bit much. But who cares - I wouldn't have even touched it had it been on full price. And I would have missed the pleasure of how cool it makes me feel and how utterly sexy I am when wearing it...ya. Well at least I have smile on my face!

Last night's Master Chef was brilliant. In the first elimination round, one guy forgot to blind bake his pastry shell so he screwed - up his little quiche. He tried to make another one and ran out of time - He ended up serving an uncooked, greenish yellowish blobby mess on a plate - it was hilarious. 40 minutes and the guy couldn't cook scrambled eggs with a bit of cheese in them.

But it was Gregg's comment about the uncooked chicken that had me in stitches.

Gregg is precious! After cutting in to a chicken breast that was completely and utterly raw inside - he said - 'Well, thanks for plucking the chicken at least, because that's all you have done to it'. Classic.

John Torode said that the cook could 'Kill Someone with cooking like this'. All they ask is for a simple plate of food that is edible. Quite a departure from the range of real talent and strength shown in previous years of the show - but hilarious anyway!

The weather is so-so here. The skies can't quite commit to drizzling rain or fast moving dark and sad clouds. Mid winter January is taking it's toll. People are surfing the net at work. Travel web sites are burning hot with window shoppers - Belgians dreaming of hot sand and the brightness of light from the sun.

But I am in a very good mood. Master chef is on for a whole hour tonight, I will get a new sofa delivered tomorrow, I will have dinner with a very hot man tomorrow night, and I will go and play with lots of friends on Saturday night - wearing a super jacket. I am smiling.

Check out http://www.mailorderchickens.org/

The Joys of January

2008-01-15T14:30:00.000+01:00

There's nothing like being in a whole city full of people with cabin fever. Everyone is raring to go out and dance and move and drink fancy cocktails and shake off those mid-winter cobwebs. Kitty O'Shea's, Hairy Canary, James Joyce, Wild Geese, Celtica, O'Reillys, Nua - here I come.

Work was in hyperdrive after my long holiday in the States. I have spent many late nights working and have already done quite a bit of travelling this year.

Holiday was nice but very long. I got to spend some time with the amazing 'girls' the greatest group of beautiful, professional, genuine, intelligent and creative, loving people on the planet. The best group of friends ever.

Mom went on strike the minute I walked in the door of her new apartment in DC. She no longer served herself, cooked for herself or drove anywhere. The theme for the two weeks was a bit like the movie 'Driving Miss Daisy' punctuated with the tag line 'Why is my glass empty?' (champagne glass of course)... I think I got the beginnings of repetitive motion strain from opening champagne bottles over the holiday.

I had a wonderful 2nd annual dim sum non-holiday party - which included a very professional and convincing performance of a vomiting child played by one of my friend Lisa's kids. Was fun! Excitement had by all!

So, back in Brussels. It's raining like mad. Cold, fat wet drops of rain just slamming on my office window. I'll take a quick break and enjoy my Steven Klein Calendar of the French Rugby Union team - yum.

I have 6 mails from friends wanting to meet up this weekend. I have arranged to have Bunny Dog sleep over at his dog walker's on Saturday night so I can meet up with some of them. Want to hear a band at the Wild Geese that night - fancy the keyboard player - he chatted me up one night at Kitty O'Shea's.

And the real joy of January is that Master Chef is on each night! It's like heaven for me! But this time around, the contestants don't seem as skilled as in previous years. All of my friends agree. And there's something quite odd about these contestants. There's rarely a stand-out in each group and if they stand out, it's because they look normal. One friend is convinced that all the cooks are rubbish and John and Gregg are just choosing the one they can stand to look at more than once. The contestants are really wonky this year - and their teeth!! My god. I thought that British teeth were improving - but no - Master Chef proves that this is not so. These people have meat-grinders for teeth at best. geez. Sorry. teeth matter to me - I don't think it's just an American thing - but they do. Says something about self worth and taking care of oneself you know??

Anyway - back to the food. Not so amazing this year, but always nice to see what people will do to win a competition. And ever so fun to watch John and Gregg eat under/over-cooked onions, burnt meat, raw eggs, and baby sick-looking desserts!

Anyway - adventures new start this year - I am really on the hunt for Mr. Right - and I will take you along for the ride!

Christmas Boys

2007-11-21T09:46:00.000+01:00

Around this time of year, things start heating up for the holidays. I go to more parties and get invited out more often. I tend to work out every day and take the stairs instead of the elevator to keep the holiday pudge at bay. I get out my favourite party clothes and polish my shoes. I love the holidays.

However, I don't really celebrate Thanksgiving anymore - In Belgium it's kind of hard to get a group of Belgians over for a weekday meal of an 18 lb turkey and all of the trimmings - much less have the time to cook it. And I am sorry, there's nothing sadder than joining the American Women's Club of Brussels (AWCB) for their Annual Turkey Buffet. The AWCB is chock full of Junior League June Cleavers and State Department Spouses who make little to no effort to assimilate in to Belgian culture -they do not attempt to speak French or Flemish, they keep to themselves and form cliques. Plus, I bet they use cranberry jelly from cans bought at the NATO PX.

Since Thanksgiving is not a holiday here, people have already started with Christmas decorations and planning because there's no unwritten rule for when that stuff starts. Heck, my commune just leaves the lights up all year round anyway! It's a bit different because Saint Nicholas comes on Dec 6th or something - that's when the kids get candy put in their shoes overnight...or coal if they were bad and/or the parents have a wicked sense of humour and a drinking problem.

So many of us travel to far and distant places for Christmas, we try to get together as often as possible before mid December - when much of Europe goes into holiday hibernation - as it should be. If I were still working in the States, I think I would have customers who are panicking about year-end figures and throw deadlines at me - or worse, don't even think about Christmas and schedule meetings and conference calls around Christmas day. Blackberries burning overtime.

Here, I can say I am going to the States for 2 weeks and people decide to forego any calls and meetings until next year - no worries. Companies have annual shut downs and everyone just works around it.

Mom has started to plan my trip home. And by plan, I mean plan. So far she has scheduled every second of my first 5 days home and by my calculations, we will have to eat every meal out over the 16 days to visit all of the restaurants she wants to check out.

Another annual occurrence - the reappearance of the Christmas Boys. Around this time of year, Mom starts getting calls from various exes of mine wondering when I am coming home for the holidays. Now, as a seasoned dater of 27 years, I have a few 'friends' in my past(along with several fiances). It's curious, most of them are those who didn't really step up to the plate and couldn't at the time imagine being tied down with anyone - yet during the holidays, they like to reminisce and try it on a bit. Mom just keeps a list and reports to me each week. 'So and So called - he wanted me to make sure to tell you he called and is looking forward to seeing you at Christmas.'etc etc.

When I see these old 'friends' during the holidays, there's lots of 'I want to come see you in Belgium this spring!' Or 'Hey, let's plan a trip and met up somewhere in Europe this summer!' Or 'I will call regularly and keep in touch.'. But it never happens - they still they can't step up to the plate. And it's not their fault really. There's something so reassuring to a Washington DC man about someone who lives elsewhere. If you live in Timbuktu, they don't have to make an effort.

A few of my girlfriends used to joke that the best pick up line in DC is 'I am moving to Australia tomorrow' - (Substitute Australia for anywhere too far to travel to on a regular basis) Hours later, you are guaranteed at least a long boozy smooch if not a 'Where did those panties get to? morning after. (Not me of course, not my style) But you get the gist :-))

OK - Social calendar getting packed up. Tomorrow night at Kitty's with my Finnish, Australian Bombshell friend A-K and others (including Mr. Handsome). Various dinners and cocktail do's to attend. Gift sharing with friends - then off to DC - - Having a big Dim Sum brunch two days after getting home - can't wait! Maybe a visit or two from a Christmas Boy.

Dog Daze

2007-11-20T14:01:00.000+01:00

My dog runs the show. Those of you who know me may find it hard to believe - (that's a joke) but yes, my dog runs the show. I am not sure how this happened. But when I'm reduced to negotiating which side of the bed I get, I know I'm pretty much done for.

I took Bunny dog to the groomers on Saturday. A very good friend does this for a living. Though she usually grooms well-mannered, obedient dogs, she has always agreed to groom my dog. She's nice like that. Bunny Dog is a Jack Russell with short and long hair. Groomers pull out the long, wiry hair and leave the short straight hair on certain types of terriers. Most dogs sit patiently and quietly and let the groomer get to work. It does not hurt the dog - as far as every other groomer and dog in history experience. However, when one watches my dog being groomed, it looks as if he's having electroshock treatment.

The first minute or two, everything is usually fine. Bunny Dog sits patiently and lets the grooming commence. Then, after a few minutes, he will sort of look around and it's almost as if you can see his thought process change ...hmm. 'I am being held on this table against my will, I am not in control! If I let this continue, I will lose my position as world dominator - therefore must do something horrible and make this a terrible experience to show the strength of my power!!'

At that point, Bunny Dog goes ballistic. He thrashes and screams and bites and growls and shakes and scratches. He whines and cries and leaves nice tooth marks on the Groomer's knuckles. He becomes completely unbearable. An hour later - after having tried a muzzle :chewed in half and spit across the room, a harness: torn and shredded, and the brute strength of 3 people: who will never, ever get the dog hair off of the clothes they were wearing - his grooming session was done. I insisted she take well above the cost of the grooming session because I was so embarrassed. (again)

Then and there I made a (new) pact to change my ways. Put some of the rules and obedience back in to our lives that have so badly gone missing. No more Miss Nice!

You know, hang on a sec'....Bunny Dog is so CUUUUTE after he's groomed! We will definitely start boot camp...tomorrow...

A couple days later and I am back to square 1. Last night I went to bed and found him on my side of the bed. I asked him to move, I attempted to move him myself - but I sort of think my fingers are useful, if not that attractive, so I stopped short of amputation. I tried to convince him a leg of lamb had fallen on the floor in the kitchen so he would move. He didn't buy that... Eventually I found something crinkly and made noises like I was unwrapping food in the next room. When he came rushing into the room, I raced back to bed and took my rightful position. Pathetic.

There I was in my bed, reading peacefully...and then something happened. You couldn't make this stuff up. I swear.

Bunny Dog thought he saw a spider on the ceiling above my bedside table. He rushed over the bed, and spying the most logical way to boost himself up to the highest level to get the spider, he basically climbed up my torso, neck and pounded on my head to get up and claw at the spider.

All at once, he slipped, knocking my bedside lamp over, hanging on to my bedside table, he began to tip it over, all my books slid to the floor in great thumps and then he landed sideways with a back paw catching the lip of his water bowl. His water bowl had been only half full. You know when you spill liquid, it's amazing how far it reaches? (Like a gulp or two of red wine when spilled looks like a gallon was poured on the carpet?)

Well, my book looked like I had dropped it in the bath tub. My duvet was soaked. My floor was flooded, there was water in the closets, on the walls, and I even found a puddle of water in a shoe. I swear, it was like a perfect movie scene from a crappy Disney after-school special. The only thing that wasn't wet was - not surprisingly, his damn dog bed. Which is why he chose to sleep there after all.

Cartoonist Lynn Johnston has been writing a newspaper comic strip called 'For Better or Worse' since 1979. Before my Dad passed away, he had saved one of her Sunday paper comics. This one showed her washing her dogs, refilling their water bowls, feeding them and letting them snuggle on the sofa with her in front of the TV in a nice warm living room. In the last panel of the strip she is watching TV coverage of the crisis in Darfur where people have no running water, no drinking water, no food, no shelter, no safety, no security nowhere to sleep, no hope, nothing but despair and violence.

She looks down at her dogs and herself - and feels ridiculous.

One of THOSE nights

2007-11-19T10:41:00.000+01:00

Friday night I met an old friend out for drinks. I have known him for 8 years. He was one of the first people I met in Brussels. He's a lovely guy. He's hot too. We have always had this 'thing' for one another... He has a cool job too. He built the software Euroclear uses for flight planning and he approves all of the pre-booked flight plans in and out of Zaventem airport himself - so I routinely moan at him about the cargo flight that roars over my house on Thursday mornings at 6am.

There's nothing like old friends who fall right into conversation as if you saw them yesterday even though you haven't seen them in months. That's how we are together. He's going through another phase of reading the classics - he's deep in to Shakespeare right now. Really deep. I think he's the only one I know who's read King John for crying out loud. with Shakespeare, I stick to the juicies, Macbeth, Romeo and Juliet, Othello, Hamlet you know...Taming of the shrew.

Anyway - he's a food TV addict too - it's nice to hang with someone who jonz-es for the same things you know.

Anyway - I brought Bunny dog with me to Kitty's and we sat and chatted for hours over various drinks - the place was hopping that night - it was fun. We talked about Food Poker, Saturday Kitchen and Something for the Weekend. We talked about our mutual discomfort when we watch Nigella make herself a small snack frittata with 6 eggs 3 cups of cheese and a jar of jalapeños and eat it with her hands because she can't wait long enough to reach over and get the cutlery. We discussed the next series of Master Chef - to start in January. (So excited - SO EX-CI-TED). His best mate tried out for the new series, but didn't make it on to TV.

Through the magic of tipsy, we came to the educated conclusion that in fact, we were ravenous and could no longer talk about food, but had to get some immediately or we would perish. We chose to head back to my 'hood in the hopes of getting to a new Pakistani carry-out in time. We were going to die without curry - of course - odd because it's the first time I have wanted a curry in years.... Sadly We didn't make it for curry. They close at 10 and it was almost 11 - So with very little disappointment, we settled for one of the 6 carry-out pizza places within a block of my house.

We ordered a medium Mexican Pizza (as you do in Belgium)- extra hot. We grabbed a couple of beers and sunk into a sticky, orange pleather couch to wait for our pizza. Sipping beers on a plastic couch at 11 PM on a Friday night - super classy! Cla-saaay! But it was fun watching a group of young teenagers at the only table in the room - they were trying to act all cool. One bossy, super pudgy girl, about 14 years old was doing all the talking. This girl was a pretty big young lady - like pretty much nothing in the food world gets by her without a fight... But of course, she was poking at her pizza crust - You know, the way kids do when they think it's cool to dislike something food related to offset the fact that they look like they eat bowling balls for breakfast? - 'eew, you eat the crust?? I never eat the crust....' (yeah right honey - there aint much you don't eat sweetheart!)

It was funny and laid back and we were giggly and hysterical in turns. When with some friends, it's nice to just do whatever. It's easy.

We managed to talk well in to the night and get through 2 bottles of good wine and about 20 CDs. Just one of THOSE nights when everything clicks in to place.

May I just say, there's nothing more satisfying than watching a handsome guy with sleepy, bed head and stripy, boxer shorts scrambling down the stairs to catch the beginning of Saturday Kitchen. Ahhh. Bliss

Food Poker

2007-11-15T10:15:00.000+01:00

I have always had a weakness for Foodie TV - I scan the TV listings to make sure I don't miss my favourite episodes of Rick Stein trundling along the Med pontificating about how lovely the food is outside of Britain and reading passages from Elizabeth David.

I am utterly and completely addicted to a new show called Food Poker. Drool.
Food Poker is brilliant. There's a savoury round and a sweet round and the winners of each round compete in the final head to head.

In the savoury and sweet rounds, 4 Celebrity chefs are each dealt two food cards showing ingredients they MUST use in their dishes. They have the choice to add up to 3 of 5 food cards dealt face up in the middle of the table. Each Chef must pitch to the tasting panel what their possible dish would be. The tasting panel decides which two chefs will battle it out based on their proposed dish. Then they decide which one wins the round after tasting.

Nicholas Watt, a Kiwi who specialises in Southeast Asian and Far Eastern food - is renowned in Tokyo and Sydney for his fusion style and has opened up a new resto in London. He was dealt a lemongrass card and a coconut milk card!! Some guys have all the luck !!

....Or not - the main ingredient in the 5 food cards in the middle of the table was not fish, poultry or meat per se - but cooked haggis. Yes, haggis. That Scottish delicacy of mixed offal meats and unrefined oatmeal cooked in a sheep's intestinal sack. I call it 'gaggis'. Although I am sure the variety of haggis used was a fairly innocuous version. He pulled it off though - who would have thought of opening up the haggis and making fritters with the meat speared with a lemongrass stalk - not me. For sure....

I have seen a few episodes with one of my least favourite chefs - Galton Blakiston. He's so awkward and poncy. His cooking is very traditional, French style, old school and he acts as if that's the only way to cook. It's lovely to see him struggle with squid and green beans or, star anise and marshmallow! He's a goober!

Food Poker is an addiction like the real game I suppose. And because Simon Rimmer is on often, I can see Food Poker Gamblers Anonymous (FPGA) in my future. I love his sweet smile and comfortable, easy way. I can gawk at him on Sunday's too because he does the food portion of Something for the Weekend. (The only reason to watch the programme as the other presenters, Tim Lovejoy and Amanada Hamilton are useless. Particularly Amanda Hamilton - though she's a 'Respected Nutritionist' she can't boil water and wouldn't know a ham hock from a rhubarb stuck up her tight Scottish arse) ......Ahh, back to Simon. That's better.

Tonight - a special treat. Food Poker, work out, light dinner, Rick Stein on the Med on BBC and a special Ricky Stein DVD to share with someone in bed.

Anyone know of a 10-step programme for Foodie TV Addicts?

Thursday Night on the Town

2007-09-21T10:32:00.000+02:00

Rewind

Last thing I remember was the really tall, blond, handsome man who winked at me from across the room at Celtica. And of course, he came over to chat with me just as we were leaving. The whole time at Celtica we were exchanging glances. I was thinking 'Hey dude, you want some of this - you have to come and get it'. Of course, typical - he only thinks to come over when we start donning coats and scrabbling for our purses and scarves scattered all over the place.

I lie. The last thing I remember was Fritland. UG. I know for a fact that I had more tomato sauce and mayo than frites. Gross.

Celtica was hopping last night. I was dancing like crazy. Good Acoustic guitar player with a sense of humour. Played a bit of everything - although I enjoyed his broken up Stevie Miller cut with Tracy Chapman - believe me - it worked. OK - don't believe me.

Before Celtica, we stopped at that little bar just down from Mappa Mundo - an alternative place. Two middle aged - and by middle aged I mean on the higher end of 50 - came in - reeling from a happy dinner. Reeking of garlic and red wine. They immediately honed in on sassy A-K - my Finnish friend who was raised in Australia. (She has a great accent! - Imagine Mika Hakkinen with a Crocodile Dundee vocabulary.) A-K had very bright red lippie on last night and these older men were hooked. She was a bit on the tipsy side already so she thought everything they said was terribly funny.

A handsome guy at the end of the bar bought us a round of wine. He kept making eye contact. I was watching a hot guy across the bar. And when we were leaving, the guy who bought us wine gestured to me, palms up to say something like 'Where are you going?' He seemed a bit peeved.

We met at place Luxembourg. Happy Hour. Two for one. The root cause of last night's misconduct. Met up with several of A-Ks friends. The hottie totties of Place lux. Was fun to be in the 'in' crowd. All the suits from the commission buzzing around us - queen bees of the hive. Wine is plonky there. A-K spilled hers on some Italian guy. When she went to wipe it away he said don't touch my privates!! She was already a wee bit saucy!

So all in all - I think I was over-served last night. No one's fault but my own. I feel slightly as if I have eaten a heavy appliance. There's a vice grip firmly clamped to the back of my brain. I am way too old for this. But last night I felt like a million bucks.

Moving Office

2007-08-29T13:44:00.000+02:00

Well, after 7 years, my office in downtown Brussels is moving. It's sort of a bittersweet move. We are really close to the heart of things down here - a few blocks from the heart of the city centre. We are moving to an office park structure off the highway on the way to the airport. Charming.

I will miss being able to step outside and shop Rue Neuve (behind my office block) any time I want. I will miss having lots of lunch choices within a few blocks. I might even miss the bells that peel every quarter of hour outside my window.

There are definitely a lot of things I won't miss though....
Working in an office on the 5th storey walk-up of an old, non air conditioned building
The 6-stop metro journey that seems to take forever - and is stinky - (Of course, they just put new metro trains in this week...)
Being in the red-light district - or as I am apt to say 'Near the boobie bars' (Strangely where The Plaza Hotel and chi chi shops like Hugo Boss are located too...)
The throngs of Gypsies, vagrants and huge gangs of North African youths who troll the shopping district clogging doorways and escalators
Pickpockets in the subway at De Broukere
The grime, cigarette butts and gum on the office doorstep
The long and crazy lines at Inno, Exki and a hundred other shops where the staff goes on break at the busiest times of day
The misconception that this area is up-and-coming.....I agree, it's always changing. But it seems to be regurgitating rather than improving.

If I didn't work on this block, I likely wouldn't ever come down this street. I would stay nearer to the charming Grand Place and the cool restaurants and bars near Place St. Gilles or Place St. Catherine. I certainly don't need to visit all the sex shops near my office and if I did, I would have a hard time deciding which one to go to!! I would never intentionally come down here for shopping. The weekends must be insane with bargain shoppers with multiple baby prams and extended families in tow. The grocery stores are perfect for the urban dwellers - No value packs, short on variety, short on freshness. (Save for the Asian supermarket which is splendid).

Luckily I travel for work quite a bit. Because the daily trudge down here gets pretty glum after a while. A lot of the buildings are impossibly black from soot. Desperate construction is going on every 10th building in an effort to transform this block into a hip area. (Yes, it's a kick ass apartment, but there's still a night shop and an all-nude dance club next door!) In the winter, it's a bit creepy to leave the office late since it's so dark so early. Strange people hovering close to the front door of the office. No one watching the street.

Now, I will be closer to home - as the crow flies. I live in Woluwe and it's just a few blocks to the exit leading to the airport. The new office is located on a slip road across from the dual carriageway that NATO is on. Wind down the slip road, past business hotels and nondescript office parks until you get to our new offices. Should be OK though - I will have a door on my office - (which I don't have now - but then again, I have the whole floor and no one ever comes up to my floor - too far up!!).

So, we will give up lively and crazy and dirty outside our office door for the tranquility of outer-city planned space. Plain little walkways, trees, bushes, grass, car park. Road. I will resort to bringing my lunch to the office (did I just say that???) Carrefour and Ikea and lots of other shops that offer good selection, clean vibrant aisles and freshy fresh fruit and produce are on the way home though!

Here's to the office move! - Downtown is for weekends anyway :-))

Fa fa faaaahh

2007-08-28T16:25:00.000+02:00

I was in the States last week. Had a conference to attend at my work HQ near Detroit - the conference was great. However, I am still dragging my tired bum around after a 4-day trip over there. Seems I didn't get enough time to acclimate to the time over there and worked very hard (and partied) - so - not enough sleep - and then came right back. My bod' is still wondering why it's not lunch time at 3 am.

The travel back to Europe was a nightmare. I hate when corporate does my bookings - it always comes out terribly.

Starting with the 100% heat and the 'mini-van' that took a small group of us European employees to the airport for the transatlantic flights which leave for Europe in the evening. The 'mini-van' was actually a party bus. You know, like something a group of Essex girls would hire for a hen night to go pub crawling. It had pleather (plastic leather) booth seats wrapped around the interior with little bar areas in between each banquette area. Strobe lights, dvd player, radio, coolers, arm rests - but no seat belts and no air con. A miserable hot, sticky and uncomfortably topsy-turvy hour-ride later - we arrived at the airport.

4 of us had to stand in line for over an hour and half to check in! All of us routed through Frankfurt. Colleagues going to Istanbul, Munich, Zurich and myself to Brussels. There were only 3 Lufthansa agents - 1 of them was for business class and slower than molasses so she never took on any economy check-ins to help out. The agent who finally served me smelled of liquor and moved like a slug. We barely made it through security and to our gate before boarding time was to start. The British Airways gang of colleagues had checked-in and gone to the bar at the Westin hotel 5 minutes after we got to the airport. Snots. Panting and hungry because we hadn't time for dinner, we rushed down the long departure halls and got to the gate in time for boarding - which of course was delayed in 5 minute intervals over a period of 30 minutes with requests to stay close by. Dang. (looking for the linty mints stashed in my purse at this point)...

My flight back was torture. My seat in row 42 - the airplane equivalent of nose bleed seats at a ball park - was so tiny and cramped it was practically folded in to itself. I had an end seat on the group in the middle row of 4 - except our row only had 3 seats and instead of directly facing the passenger in front, we faced between the two seats in front. We were to look at the monitors to the left seat in front - slightly uncomfortable - and awkward. Mine didn't work anyway....of course. I couldn't raise and or open/close my tray unless I politely requested the person in front to put their seat-backs up. I pinched my index finger in the folding contraption to store the trays and boy did it smart. Some steward named Rolf or Ilmar or Ludwig dropped a salad on my head while serving. You know - torture. After a long night with only 25 minutes of sleep and a severely bumpy flight - we arrived in Frankfurt and parted ways.

I spent a good half hour going around in circles looking for Terminal A - and bumping in to colleagues doing the same - looking for their own terminals in the poorly signed airport. Finally by the time I made it to my gate I was in a daze. I didn't care that the flight from Frankfurt to Brussels went through a thunderstorm and shook the small plane to it's core. I laughed wickedly at the businessman next to me hanging on to his arm rests with white-knuckled grips. Nothing can save you now!!! ha ha ha ha aha aha aha aha - going crazy.

Home late Friday evening and everything was normal again. Bunny dog had been delivered from his camp on time and he was happy to see me. Saturday I managed a cardio work out to try to sort out my jet-lag. Sunday I took Bunny dog to the woods for a run - I twisted my ankle quite badly - it hurts more a few days later than it did then.

Anyway - am back at work - catching up on the whirlwind of customer problems that blew threw my office last week. Thousands of e-mails - OK - a slight exaggeration. Lots and lots of e-mails!!

And I need something to look forward to - and guess what - THERE's loads to look forward to. Aside from friends coming to visit and trips to take. There's a fun party for a friend's 40th birthday - this Saturday. To be held at Havana - a Cuban (obviously) club near the Palais du Justice Downtown. Invitations and all. Date sorted and the only thing left to do is get a great party frock!

So Fa Fa Faaaa dahling!

Cocktails with 'The Slave'

2007-06-28T09:56:00.000+02:00

Last night I had drinks with 'The Slave'... For a couple of years now, I have had this friend who wants me to boss him around and make him clean my house, run errands, buy me chocolates, lick my feet... EEW. I won't do it of course. Not my thang!

We had this really long talk about how he never gets in to a proper relationship because of his desire for being submissive and subservient to women in charge is what 'drives' him - you know, sexually. He knows he jumps the gun by letting on to this fact right away, so he never really gets to know someone - or lets them get to know him before he lays on the slave crap. I told him he should hold off and see if he gets to know someone well enough that they would consider that role-play stuff with him.

Who knows what will happen to him. It's sort of a lonely life I guess. I mean, I have said this before, nothing would make me happier than getting a big strapping lad in to do the chores, clear out the garden and then bring me croissants in bed. But I sort of have my own fantasy - that someone who does all that for me would be doing that because they like being in my life and doing things that enrich my life. Someone who would appreciate having some attention back from me. You know, someone who loves me.

Not someone who wants me to boss them around just for kicks!

At this point, you're probably asking - why do you still have drinks with 'the slave'? The answer is - because he's ALWAYS a nice guy and a good friend. And when he's not hot for some dominating female to order him vacuuming and scrubbing the tub, he's a considerate and kind person. He called on Father's day to make sure I was OK. Just wanted to touch base on a day that he knew would be hard for me. A good guy. So, I try to make an effort to meet up with him occasionally and be a supportive friend.

Usually we discuss the above issues and I think he appreciates having someone who listens without judgment. I mean - I don't judge him, but can't stomach details of the domination stuff. eew.

Anyway - I was looking super hot last night and had 'it' - whatever that is - and a bevy of hottie Commission guys were marking the territory around my table at Ralph's, offering many glasses of plonky wine, making eye contact, flirting - (Aussie Girl would have loved it) Until - my 6'5, strapping 'Wannabe Slave' showed up and they sort of scampered. Darn.

For some reason I have a headache this morning. Perhaps someone can bring me some aspirin...hmm. Who would do that for me ...lets see...

Puppy Good

2007-06-18T10:55:00.000+02:00

Happy Father's Day Dad.

Though you have been gone for 7 months I can't quite believe it.

I talk to you every day as I did before you died.

You knew what was going on. You always knew what to ask, what was relevant and what to share.

You made me know that the adventure was about finding myself and learning about others.

You knew that an experience like this would help me see how important my family and friends are and not to take them for granted.

Take nothing for granted.

Work hard on your profession and harder on life.

People matter.

Mom has been clearing out your desk. She's keeping the cards and notes I sent you over the years. She's especially fond of a birthday card I sent 25 years ago. You were so sentimental!

You kept everything - little shreds of articles torn from magazines, pictures of weird things - like a picture you once took of a TV in your hotel in China - featuring a Chinese game show. That was more interesting to you. Cultural perceptions, trends, attitudes, life of the living people - all mattered to you.

Me, and my friends mattered to you and you couldn't wait to soak up my stories of travelling somewhere new.

I am so proud of you.

You were so proud of me.

You gave me love and support and a wonderful life.

You give me a legacy of grace

I only hope I can make you proud forever Dad

I love you very much

You were Puppy Good - which is very good indeed!

Frankenstein Shoes and Some Good Advice

2007-06-15T11:59:00.000+02:00

How to make your own Frankenstein Shoes:
Take one pair of high heeled espadrilles (which are the rage in Europe this summer) Wear them because the day starts out sunny and pleasant. Add a massive thunderstorm which dumps 3 inches of water on you in 10 minutes. Let espadrilles soak up 7 lbs of water per shoe and continue walking. Frankenstein shoes.

Good Advice
When someone shows you their true colours (true self) you should believe them. Save yourself a lot of time.

Have a wonderful weekend

A Bad Day and a Good Day Dream

2007-06-06T17:01:00.000+02:00

I want my holiday back. Let's rewind to last week. Please. Last week - when life was relatively simple and the hardest thing to do was go to the market and buy more cheese and butter.

Since I came off holiday, things at work have gone from bad to just plain stupid. Yesterday was crappy, today is awful.

A theft issue with one of our temps at an Amsterdam site - started badly and just got worse the more details I knew. And today, to make my misery complete, I found
£245,000 of outstanding debt owed to us by one of my customers. YA - that's a quarter of a million GBPounds! Like WAY a lot of dosh.

This is aged debt that should have been cleaned out by the last Account Manager - who was fired for non-performance of course. Just when I got the customer working on clearing debt, I found this huge hunk and I have to hit them with it. Not a good day. I have spent weeks building this customer's confidence in our data integrity - and in one day - crash - bang.

As I wait for the UK back office gurus - over in Kingston - to rework yet another spreadsheet so I can send it to the dragon lady customer, I start to day dream. It's the only way to deal.

My mind plays with thoughts of the 'Stig'. I imagine I can hear the bangs and thrusts of his motorcycle engines whooshing down Boulevard Adolphe Max and coming to an exciting stop outside my office building. I imagine I hear the sturdy footsteps of the 'Stig' climbing the 6 flights up to my lonely office at the top of this old Belgian office building - a former house. No one has an office up here but me. All alone. (In my daydream the 'Stig' is not breathless from the many flights of stairs like everyone in real life).

I try to keep Roasted Chicken out of my day dreams most of the time - today is a good day for no roasted chicken in my day dream - doesn't fit.

The 'Stig' enters my office - well, there's no door, he simply gets to my floor and he's pretty much there. Helmet on - Visor down. Silent, strong, mysterious. Broad shouldered. Pretty damned scrumptious.

I want to sit him on my desk and slowly, slowly remove his boots and mighty thick gloves. I want to unzip the full body leathers one zipper tooth - tic-tic-tic - at a time - slowly. First around the ankles, wrists, then waist and legs...Like I am performing detailed surgery. I want to carefully and ever so slowly peel the leathers off his shoulders and pull the arms to reveal the 'Man'. Heat rising. The mystery still in tact because his heavy helmet is still shielding his face, eyes, soul.

My damned phone rings and ruins my day dream. It's dragon lady - I will give her a special customer promotion - to Lizzie Borden - because I think she looks like Lizzie Borden the axe murderer. Oh, I know that's mean - it's not like I even know what Lizzie Borden looks like.

I digress.

Anyway - basically I want to ravage the 'Stig' and pour a cool Vodka lime and soda for the two of us and chill.

Time to go home.

Holiday with Buttery, Cheesy and Stig

2007-06-05T09:48:00.000+02:00

I took my 80 year-old Mother and two cousins to France for the week.

Mom's been many times before, but she sort of turns off her power switch when she visits me in Europe - which is fine - except when she wants to decide what and when everyone does anything. She was even dictating when people go to bed and who uses which toilet first - you know that kind of Mom thing. Drives me crazy. But hey, all parents do stuff that drive their children mental.

Mom has a tendency to speak VERY loudly in restaurants in France. I cringe when she proclaims - in stereo sound no less - that she 'just LOVES watching French people eat, they REALLY love their food!'. This is usually when she thrusts her head over to the next table and inspects what the neighbours are eating, inches away from their plates with a huge smile.

But let's get real. Mom came to Normandy for one thing and one thing alone. Sorry Bunny Dog, it wasn't you and it certainly wasn't me. Mom came to visit so I would take her to Normandy and she could eat the best butter in the world - and a lot of it. Tubs of it in fact. She was so shiny after 24 hours of being in Normandy I had to wear shades. She smeared butter on top of butter on top of butter on her slices of baguette. Once she missed the bread and liberally buttered her thumb - I swear! She was unapologetic when she licked her fingers at the table. She slathered butter on her all butter croissants. I caught her sopping up the melted butter we had for our langoustines with great big hunks of soft French bread until they were golden yellow sponges dripping with her nectar of choice - butter. Buh ter. Buh Buh Butt ter.

Cousin Dorothy got hooked on the butter thing too. The beach house was like a butter crack den. But Dorothy developed a second addiction even more powerful. Cheese.

Never, ever, ever (not even Matt Blakey with a wheel of brie in book group) have I ever seen anyone put away so much cheese. She became a cheese snarfer of the highest order. And she ate every type of cheese out there. Even those cheeses that could get up and slap you they were so strong. Cheeses that make chopped liver and onions smell like roses. To her credit, Dorothy - who had never been to France or Europe for that matter - learned all of the famous cheeses and everything about them while here. She tried plate after plate of cheese, accepted samples at markets, shops and stores. She turned in to a fromagier. We suggested that she open a cheese shop when she retires from the California State Government. She should get vanity license plates that say 'Fromage' and drive around Sacramento.

My cousin Norio was great. He rode in the front seat down to Normandy. Mom and Dorothy and Bunny Dog in the back seat. Mom snoring away and Dorothy rummaging around for cheese and nibbles she had acquired on the transatlantic flight the night before, stashed in her ample purse. Norio stayed alert by and large - but I quickly learned that he couldn't read a map to save his life. He had issues with the north-south, east-west thing so I thought I shouldn't ask his opinion when I had to navigate around Amiens - a poorly signed section of the journey. Later in the week, he and Dorothy took the car off to explore the D-Day beaches and toot around - blissfully. Dorothy can read a map so it wasn't too bad, they only missed a couple major exits during the week. All part of the adventure.

The week was turning out to be crazy - my family were becoming round, cheesy butterballs and driving me nuts - the cousins were asking a million questions all day long: How do we get to Omaha beach?, Where can we buy cherries?, What is Calvados?, Where does the trash bin go?, How do I work the dishwasher?,
What's the rule for passing on a two lane highway in France?, Why are the cows whiter in France? What kind of shells are these? Is that a sailboat or a house in the middle of the sea?'(no joke)..What kind of meat is this anyway? What's the weather forecast? Are we there yet? And Mom deciding what we will have for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the next 3 days at what times, all the while leaving loads of laundry in the hallway for me to do and announcing to everyone that it was her nap time. etc etc.

So, it was with a huge sigh of relief that a hot sexy man on a hot sexy Triumph motorcycle appeared at the gate in the pouring rain. He looked like the 'Stig' from Top Gear all kitted out in helmet and leathers, dark visor down. Mysterious and strong - Just the sight of him and my stomach was doing back flips with excitement. So hot. In fact, here's nothing sexier than a man when he dismounts from a bike after a journey and starts to take it all off. (Unless he's got a roasted chicken strapped to his chest - but hey, that would be gross).

So, I was going a bit nuts to say the least. He had a swagger in his reinforced kevlar suit with hard leather-covered patches in all the right places and superman speed racer boots. One super glove off, another super glove off, then the helmet. It was like watching strip tease at NASA. Once the helmet was off, I was ready to pounce. But you know what? Before he came near me, he smiled and bent down to say hello to Bunny Dog first because he knows dogs. A good 'Stig'.

Once the Stig got in to civilian clothes, he saved me from the insanity of family. After lazily sunning on the beach with me, walks and a few manly performances - My faith was restored in humanity.

A couple of days later, the 'Stig' suited up for the ride back to Cherbourg ferry to Portsmouth. I wanted to attach myself to a bungee cord at the back of his bike and be dragged away from the whining butter and cheese addicted family. As the last grumble of his Triumph faded in to the distance, I heard Mom's voice drifting out of the window asking 'Where's the butter?!'

Already Bean Thread

2007-05-22T11:11:00.000+02:00

Joy of joys, there's a new Asian market around the corner from my house. It's just been open a few days so they still have a lot of stock to get. But I know it will be a regular haunt.

I always get overexcited in specialty markets and end up buying some weird food that I can never figure out how to make - Usually, I can't even figure out how to make them taste good. Once I purchased rice cake from the super Chinese grocery on Chinastreet in the city centre. I sort of boiled it and tossed it in with a regular stir-fry of chicken and veg. Needless to say, it looked like I had dumped a bunch of rubber erasers in the stir-fry and they were like sticky lumps of congealed fat.

There are not many good Chinese restos in Belgium. Chinese food is still in the egg foo yung stages here. Belgians think real Chinese food is stir-fried rice and lo mein. Luckily, due to the French influence in the region - southeast Asian restos like Vietnamese, and Laotian are pretty good. Thai and Malaysian restaurants are excellent. And due to the Dutch colonisation of Indonesia - there are plenty of Indonesian restos with rice tables or rijsttafels as the traditional meals are called.

I don't want orange-coloured sweet-and-sour glop suffocating pieces of dried-up fried meat. I don't want bone dry (really spare) ribs and I don't want huge chucks of onion and cabbage thrown in to every dish. I don't want slimy mushrooms from a can. I don't want leftovers re-fashioned in to a special lunch buffet.

I want whole steamed fish with ginger and lemon, crabs in their shells sauteed with black beans and garlic, fresh bok choi stir-fried with garlic and hot peppers, turnip cake, razor clams with oyster sauce, I want what the Chinese are eating!

By the way - I am always on the look out for rice crepe - so if any of you see them. Grab them. Rice crepes are my very favourite dim sum and I cannot find them over here.

So, at my new store, I grabbed a few items on the cheap. They haven't figured out how much to charge people yet. They are the only Asian supermarket for many blocks and they could charge a bit more. A ketchup-sized bottle of black rice vinegar for 90 cents. Have I stepped back to the 70's?? A standard package of rice vermicelli (Usually called rice noodle or rice stick) for 85 cents...really.

I also grabbed a packet of rice paper wrappers thinking 'Hallelujah! I have found rice crepes!'. But no. They are those things you use for wrapping spring rolls - the cold ones that are translucent and usually have cold cooked shrimp, coriander and rice vermicelli inside - usually served with a hoisin dipping sauce.

Bean thread is so fun and for me represents the whole point of Chinese food. The textures. Rice cake aside, food has to have character and taste. Textures are celebrated as importantly as flavour. The crunch of just stir-fried Chinese broccoli, the wobble of rice crepes as they slither into your mouth, the way black beans make you pucker and swirl your tongue around the salty grainy bits stuck in your teeth, the feel of steamed rice and a solid piece of meat in the same bite.

Transparent bean thread has all that fun and takes on any flavour because it has none of it's own. It's satisfying to slither up the light thin strands coated in soy and sesame and ginger and because the mung beans they are made from make for a slightly gelatinous texture. Biting into bean thread is like the perfect al dente pasta. So pleasing to the tooth. Soften in water and throw in to stir-fry dishes, soups, spring rolls. Have in cold salads.

So. Here's my one tip for bean thread, cellophane noodle, glass noodles - whatever noodle. If the noodles are not in sticks - You need to cook the whole package. Trust me on this. There is no way to cook only part of the noodles. They come from very long strands that are twined around and twisted in to the packet. There's no beginning and end and you will have to cut them somehow if you want to use only part. My suggestion is that this should not be attempted. The noodles prior to being softened in hot water are like plastic twigs that are strong enough to keep Superman tied down.

Bunny Dog rarely shies away from me. Last night he was watching me through the sides of his eyes from halfway up the stairs so he could be a safe distance away. I attempted to separate some of the dried noodles and make only a portion. Within seconds thousands of dried noodle bits where snapping off and projecting in all directions of my kitchen. The noodles turned in to a mass of insane knots. It was so frustrating - how could all these little hard, sharp bits be flying all over the place, when I couldn't break, twist, cut or sever the tangled mess to get one portion off. I got a knife and a pair of scissors stuck in the nest of noodles and finally gave up. It was like trying to cut up a coil of steel enforced copper twine. Whew.

Just do all of the damned noodles and save what you don't eat for the next day. Never was a bowl of noodles so deserved and so delicious.....

:-))

Foodie Heaven Again

2007-05-21T11:05:00.000+02:00

There's so much to be thankful for in food television these days! BBC comes through for me with the daily dose of scrumptious recipes presented by interesting people.

The Great British menu showcases the UKs best talent region by region. Relatively un-star-struck chefs are challenging the previous winners of the Great British menu for the Queens' Birthday event last year. This year's event is to put together the most British menu to be served at the British Embassy in Paris - a banquet where top Michelin starred chefs and super French foodies will be included on the guest list. The challenge is to show the new talent for excellent cooking techniques using very British ingredients and traditional British style.

It's been great because the chefs who make hearty earthy food using simple ingredients, plainly and well cooked - have generally won out over the French-Styled, over-worked, over complicated chefs who fancy themselves Michelin star babies. Fancy cooking doesn't get you all the accolades. The judges are looking for innovation and clean, clear ingredients and distinctly British fare. It's a good competition.

My other favourite treat was on Wednesday nights the last 5 weeks - Starting with Neneh Cherry and Andi Oliver. I loved this show. They cooked like I do with my friends from home.

Laughing and tasting and experimenting. Always cooking for people they love and it shows. Both Andi and Neneh bring their mixed cultural experiences and musical flair to the food and you just wish you were a guest when they serve huge platters of curry or jerk chicken, sumptuous salads of herbs and my favourite - crisp duck salad.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/tv_and_radio/dishingitup_biographies.shtml

Alas, it's over now and hopefully there will be another series.

For the second half of a yummy double bill on Wednesday evenings - the ever-handsome and cheeky James Martin. I can't get enough of this guy. Apparently I am not the only one. Though I don't go in for his over the top sicky sweet traditional English puds, I could lick him with a spoon. Really. The only thing that's ever disappointed me about James Martin is that he allowed his show on Desserts to be called Sweet Baby James....rip off.

So, have I been inspired at all? Well, yes a bit. I made a wonderful rai (or skate) a la Normande. Poached the rai in the oven - covered with foil - in fish stock with peppercorns, bay leaves and a splash of wine until the flesh was tender - just before sliding off the cartilage. Then I removed it form the oven an kept it covered, while I made the sauce. Saute 2 small (or one large) finely diced white shallot in a sauce pan until translucent, I use olive oil and a tiny bit of butter. Add a glass of white wine and reduce for a minute or two, add a half cup to 3/4 cup light pouring creme, and a cup and half of small crevettes - those yummy baby shrimp from the North Sea. NOT OUT OF A CAN PLEASE! Get them from a reputable fish monger. (For substitutions, small regular prawns will do, and also fresh steamed mussels out of the shell, cockles, clams or anything like that). Add a squeeze of lemon, salt and pepper to taste, and heat through . Add chopped parsley at the very end saving some for the plate. Remove your rai and drain a bit, place in a shallow plate and spoon over the cream sauce and sprinkle with extra parsley. Yum.

The other night I was inspired by some extra-ripe, juicy tomatoes I had. I also had some nice butter lettuce and lardons - those are chopped bacon bits that you fry up. I thought why not make a BLT salad? It was a perfect springy meal. Cooked up the lardons and drained them and immediately added them to the lettuce and chopped tomatoes. Then I added a couple tablespoons of light vinaigrette thickened with a teaspoon of mayo and tossed. The heat from the lardons wilted the lettuce a bit and heated the tomatoes and it was like biting in to a hot toasty BLT at a good diner.

I have lots of basil this year and have made batches of Pesto - which I have made without garlic - I know, seems odd. However, my basil is very strong this year - verging on astringent - and I don't feel it needs the garlic. My latest trick is to heat up a log of regular Goat's cheese - found in every grocery store wrapped in white waxy paper. I heat the cheese up and smear it warm on to crispy baguette slices and then a dollop of the pesto on top. It's nice - extra nice if you have some of those baby, yellow teardrop tomatoes, just slice them in half and put one half on top.

My tarragon is growing a pace too. I like tarragon leaves in my hollandaise sauce. It's asparagus time and nothing's better for brunch than grilled asparagus with a poached egg on top and tarragon hollandaise.

My mother comes over from the states this Thursday. She's flying over with my cousins and we will all go to Normandy for the week. Can't wait. The food is amazing there, the markets a symphony for the senses. I get to cook for those I really love several times a day!
I am in foodie heaven.

A Bit 'O Irish and a really good English

2007-03-26T11:06:00.000+02:00

Saturday Morning I had to get up early. Bunny Dog needed to get to the groomers to have his long, scruffy, winter coat trimmed for the spring and summer season. So, I set the alarm to get up and have time to shower and dress, watch a bit of Saturday kitchen and then get Bunny Dog off to Grimbergen where a friend runs a trim salon for pets.

The weather was a bit cloudy and drizzly, but fine for a Saturday of chores. Everything was peachy keen. That is....Except for the fact that my head felt like a melon that had been split in two with a machete. You see, I went out with the fabulous Lara the night before. And I think I got home around 4 am. (therefore it was probably later). Anyway, I was feeling a bit worse for wear. I do have a rule though, I do not allow late nights on the town to have an adverse impact on my life. The minute I can't get out of bed because I partied too much the night before, well, then I stop. (Unless there's company in bed and it would be impolite to get up...of course).

Anyway. Whatever headache I might have had, it was well worth it. I had such a blast Friday night. And it was one of those nights when I just had 'IT'. I never know what that 'it' is, but I had 'it' Friday night. I was a sexy, dancing queen and everyone was watching me (not staring I'm sure) but watching. I Imagine if we hadn't gone to eat gourmet Mexican before going out - I would have been borderline silly.

It sounded like such a good idea really. Starting at Chi-Chi's for Margaritas and quesadillas, tortillas, nachos and any manner of 'stomach-coating-Friday-night-out-on-the-town' food. Yes, it did SOUND like a good idea. There's like only 2 Mexican places in Belgium. I don't get that stuff often - ever!! I had a taste for good guacamole and pico de gallo. UGH. How wrong. I should have known when a colleague screamed 'WHAT?? You're going to Chi-Chi's????'- As if I was going to dive naked in to a sewer.

Well, I don't have to tell any of you that I had never been to a Chi Chi's in the states - but I am sure the crap Tex-Mex food is probably properly made there. In Brussels, not so much. I'd never had a plate of food that was completely inedible before that night. Really. I'm not exactly sure how one messes up a quesadilla - but ask Chi-Chi's in Brussels - they know how. And Lara's Barbecue platter - it had to have been BBQ-ed at least two days earlier and reheated. It was a greasy slimy mess.

Ok - an attempt at dinner done and dusted -- the night started.

One Margarita at SHIT-Chi's, 3 Mojitos at PP, countless Vodka Lime and Sodas at OR's, an unsolicited, slobbery kiss from a guy with an Irish (County Kildare) stag party at O'Reilly's - Eew. 'Ore ya gonnah kyss ma? Give a kyss girrrl!'.

We turned and ran as fast as we could - ran right over to Celtica! (Let's face it, if you want to get away from slobbering Irish drunks, where else would you go???) Yeah yeah! Probably not Celtica!! ha ha!! But that's OK - we ran right in to a group of 6 hilarious, sweet and funny guys from Southern England who were on a motorcycling weekend. Ahh.... Aussie Girl would have approved....yessssssss

We danced and danced and danced. Lara was a bit subdued to start, but then Scissor Sisters came on the sound system and she was up off her stool and and boogying down with the best of us. Excellent!

You're getting no more details though... Suffice it to say, a fun time was had by all.

So, another night in downtown Brussels. Amidst hen night parties, stag parties, weekend beer warriors, groups of people in search of freedom, expression, insanity, Blanche beers, Fritland, gaufres, and moules. Another night of wanton debauchery and over-served men in Rugby jerseys and beer goggles. Another night of North African, Dutch, French, Spanish, English, Scots, Irish (Northern too), American, Swedish, and Russian voices. Another night of chance encounters or preplanned rendezvous. Fun.

When are you coming to town?

Almighty for $500 Please Alex

2007-03-20T14:40:00.001+01:00

We often read stories or see movies about siblings who are so different, you wonder how they were raised under the same roof. I wonder how my brother and I were raised by the same parents. It helps a bit to know that we were both adopted and that nature may have had more of a hand in things than nurture, but still...

When we were children, my parents took us out to fine restaurants all the time. We were exposed to fine dining and social interaction well before other kids because Mom and Dad were in the foreign service or - (TICAHDC) The International Cocktail And Hors Dourves Club. They entertained people from all over the world for over 20 years. All parties ending with my father's cringe-inducing call of 'Oiy yay, Oiy yay! Please sign the guest book before you leave!'. Years later I found out it was their way of calculating the number of guests entertained for business taxes. Rest assured, since Dad retired, they like you to sign the book because - well, they like you and want to remember you!

We were well behaved children and didn't mind having to dress-up and act properly. We attended church regularly with no fuss. We didn't feign illness to get out of school, we wrote thank you notes to our relatives for the hideous robes sent each year. Our parents were faily normal, or shall I say, less dysfunctional than most and pretty happy. There's no doubt that we had the basis for a good, solid socially gracious and responsible life.

Around 16, my brother found out how cool he was. He became charming to women and men and was very persuasive. Helped along by good looks, a swagger, recreational pharmaceuticals and a generous nature, my brother became Mr. Popularity. He still had all the charm and social grace we learned in our younger years, but the crowds he started to socialise and work with didn't really emphasize manners as much.

My brother found himself not interested in higher education so he ended his schooling after High School. Probably a backlash for being sent to Military High School - where he flourished as the most popular troublemaker. He went on to a series of construction jobs before finally going to flight school in his late 20's - working his way up the long ladder to work in the fledgling airline industry as a pilot. He still takes on construction projects to make ends meet because there's not enough work for a lot of pilots since 9/11.

While not the most popular girl at boarding school, I was not unpopular by a long stretch. I promptly went to University and then started work immediately after completing my degree. I turned out OK - a few bumps in the road during young adulthood, but pretty well.

I do feel I have a fair amount of social grace and am pretty well educated. I read a lot. I do a lot of crossword puzzles, I cook well, I enjoy art and culture and take my commitment to friends, work, my dog and especially family very seriously indeed. I think I have a pretty strong presence when I walk in to a room. I have a strong confidence, but I don't think it's overpowering.

My brother is different. He's certainly a bit rough around the edges and in order to make up for his slight height, he has developed a hugely overpowering presence and ego to match. He's picked up this lovely, Maryland/Virginia coastal accent - from years of boating up and down the Potomac with his river-rat friends - mostly pilots and plumbers from Olney, MD and/or Annandale, VA. He drives a massive black, Ford Pick-Up truck, has a Camaro, a Harley and of course a big cabin cruiser boat - with plenty of space for Budweiser coolers. There's more...but I think you get the picture.

I know I'm no Emily Post, but he's about as classy as a tube-top at Daytona Beach racetrack. He's so totally different than I. And that's fine - but we don't work well together. We need to figure out a way to do this though - and soon.

My brother and I don't speak much and usually have no problems - mostly because we never talk about anything important - ever. I'm defnitely more analytical, concerned and cautious when it comes to family issues. I plan ahead and look forward and double check things- make sure all are in agreement - ...he's non engaging, non communicative, not involved. He's a crisis guy. He's a 'Don't call unless it's an emergency' guy. And he's fantastic in an emergency - no doubt about it. A 1. The problem is - life's not always an emergency - but it's often urgent and needy.

Since my father's illness and subsequent paassing at the end of last year, my brother and I have been as polarised as ever. Especially now. No matter what - he wants to disagree with me and the rest of the family.

I got a rare e-mail from him a while back which illustrates how he feels about me. My brother doesn't like to write much. He was trying to tell me I was overbearing and haughty in a way. (Of course I am) He was trying to tell me I was 'high and mighty' - instead he wrote 'High and Almighty'. Though they're pretty close, it struck me as really funny! I Don't know why I laughed for 10 minutes. I know what he meant - but I had to think - Did he really think that I see myself as the Almighty? Does he think of me as the Almighty? Did he just mean 'high and mighty' and make a mistake? I'll never know!!

Praise tha' lord Almighty !!

I'll take Almighty for €500 please Alex :-))

How to Woo a Man with a Langoustine

2007-03-06T10:21:00.000+01:00

Mr. Handsome mentioned how much he's been missing Langoustine. Those are the small lobster-shaped, craw fish-like creatures found in Northern waters - like The North Atlantic and North Sea. They have long, narrow, spiny claws and nice hearty tail meat. They are sometimes called Norway Lobsters, called Prawns in Scotland, Dublin Bay Prawns in Ireland, Scampi in Italy and Langoustine in France and the rest of continental Europe. And I think they are delicious. My favourite chef - Rick Stein thinks they are divine.

When Bunny dog and friends go with me to the house in Normandy, we get crates of Langoustine and stuff ourselves silly with the sweet shellfish tails. There's nothing like langoustine grilled for a few minutes on the barbecue, brushed with garlic, parsley butter and eaten with your fingers. A crisp Sancerre goes down nicely with those.

It's funny, the Brits and Irish don't rate Langoustine. Over 80% of the Langoustine caught in the frigid waters off of Northern Scotland - in the Faroe and Shetland Islands and further afield, closer to Iceland - are shipped to France and Spain - where they are considered a major delicacy. The French and Spanish can't get enough of them.

Trawlers leaving from the grey and icy port of Peterhead, Scotland hope and pray that they will get loads of Langoustine each time they leave port. It's the most lucrative catch for them. They will weather terrific swells and horrendous storms if there's even a hint of a good Langoustine catch.

The French serve them on their famous cold seafood trays available at almost any seaside restaurant in France. They use the tiered sliver trays and pile them with with brown crabs, Langoustine, oysters, carpet shell clams, cockles and winkles - all displayed on rock ice with lemon wedges and strewn with seaweed. Just what's needed after a hot day on the sand, soaking up the sun. French purists just have a plate of cold Langoustine and drawn butter for dipping - as an entree (appetiser in French).

In Spain - it's a whole new world. Langoustine are treated like the most royal of scampi or shrimp would be. Prized for their beautiful pink shells and long spiky claws, they are artfully laid upon Paella dishes as the ultimate decoration. At tapas bars, served in a sauce of chili and sweet garlic, or almonds and tomatoes - or sauteed with Choritzo sausage - glistening in the red paprika oil that is rendered from the Choritzo. Poached and served with an aioli that knocks your socks off with garlic.

OK - so Mr. Handsome wants Langoustine. He's British, so I should go with boiled and cooled - serve with a couple of nice dipping sauces. Ailoi, or parsely butter, basil mayonnaise ... But he's a keen cook so he likes experimenting and trying new things. He has even been watching Masterchef Goes Large - Like me !! He runs home to get his evening chores done before it comes on at 7:30 pm.

Perhaps I can be more adventurous for Mr. Handsome. Lets see....

Cassolette of Langoustine? No - too much work...
Langoustine tails with green curry? No - Why kill the taste with curry?
Langoustine and scallop ceviche? No, I prefer ceviche with fish.
Langoustine with zucchini cake and bean salsa? Um. No. I. Don't. Think. So.
Langoustine and shaved fennel salad with lemon dressing and juniper? How Fa dahling.

How about Langoustine with Chili and Garlic?

Saute 12-16 Langoustine (in shells) in sunflower oil, toss in
1 medium onion - finely diced
Green chili - seeded and diced
Pinch of black pepper

When the Langoustine are pink and the tail meat is just firm, toss in
a handful of fresh coriander - lightly chopped
And squeeze the juice of 1 lime over them
Cook for 30 second more and on to a platter

Serve with a lemongrass butter and a chili mayonnaise

That ought to do it !

Mr. Handsome

2007-02-28T12:00:00.000+01:00

Nothing lifts the spirit more than a really fun date. A proper night out - drinks, dinner, dancing and pleasant conversation with an intelligent, successful man.

Thank you Mr. handsome, from the bottom of my heart!

It's been ages since I've had a night like that! (Get yourself an apron and a chicken and meet me in the kitchen next time)...

Dating tips for the men who need the help - you know who you are!!

1. Good grooming is paramount !

2. Intelligent conversation and knowledge of current events is always appreciated

3. Being able to pay for the evening is always a plus.....

4. Expect to dine out that evening - she probably hasn't had a can of soup at home before going out like some people....

5. Do something special - different - inventive or thoughtful and make it sexy at the same time! (champers, chicken, apron - you know)

6. Dance closely and hold her tightly

7. Walk off the excesses of the night with a stroll in the moonlight

8. Make her know how special she is

9. Know where everything is so to speak - come on - you've done it before...

10. Know how she likes her eggs in the morning .....

brought to her in bed of course!

Role over baby

2007-02-23T12:59:00.000+01:00

Lately I have had several conversations about gender role reversal. Not so much about career and family stuff, but more about the way men handle relationships and dating. It is a consensus amongst my friends (males and females - of all persuasions included) that women are now taking the alpha role and men the submissive role in many instances.

There seem to be more cases of women being the ones to end relationships (do the dumping) or define the next step in the relationship. My friends also agree that men are taking things much more emotionally than ever before.

Not only are men much more clingy and insecure during relationships, they are much more emotionally wrecked after the relationships - often teary and mopey and depressed for far longer than women were.

Many of my friends can either relate or have experienced this phenomenon - dating a guy and having his single and lonely friends interfere, intervene, criticize and critique the whole relationship - It's as if a bunch of Jewish grandmothers were schvitzing over the new single woman at a bar mitzvah. Or like the bickering in a Sorority house on a Sunday morning! Ridiculous.

Many friends have experienced or know of times when men went off the rails completely after a break-up. What happened to the Cary Grant cool -ness - when guys just shrugged off breakups and got back in the dating scene right away - garnering snipes from women for being insensitive cads? Not so now. Now there's multiple phone calls all hours of the day and teary confrontations - along with a bunch of hard knocks from the man's single friends who are feeling the sting of the breakup as well. It used to be more typical for the woman to be seen as the emotional basket case and have spiteful girlfriends protecting their gal pal's honour - not anymore!

Not only did my friends mention a rise in the general emotional responses from men they have known, but a rise in disturbing and often stalker-like behaviour. Several people in my office shared stories of guys who spread vicious rumours about their exes in the dating scene, sent mean text messages and e-mails on a regular basis for months and months. Beverley Hills 90210 all over again!!!

I think this phenomenon worsens with age in this era. When a woman reaches around 40 and is still on the dating scene, they have already been through their ultra emotional 20s and 30s and have resigned themselves to the fact that they may not have children and possibly not get married. Certainly, they don't need the security of a marriage - they are making great money and have good careers. Nice to be married, have a partner, but not a tragedy if it doesn't happen.

However, I think a men start to panic when they are around 40 and not married and/or attached because it scares them to be alone. This used to be a woman's general fear. Not so for professional, successful and resourceful women. I think it used to be a feather in a man's cap to have a wife and kids by a certain age - smacking of a successful masculine provider and protector. I don't think that's the worry for unmarried men around 40 now. I truly think they are emotionally afraid to be by themselves and to really look themselves in the mirror and like what they see. Just my theory!!

Watch out world, me and the gals are going out 'Tie Chasin'' tonight.

In search of Chicken Paprikash and Someone who looks like me

2007-02-06T09:57:00.000+01:00

I'm on the way to Hungary for the first time. It's for work... I am going to solve the 'service issues' in the Budapest branch office....it's a bit of a dreary job...sometimes my mind wanders...

I dream that I am paid to travel the world in search of gourmet delights to taste. I dream that I am magically booked in to 6-star hotels in the world's finest cities and my assignments are to seek the finest examples of the location's culinary treats. I even get to take Bunny Dog on my travels - in fact, it's a requirement (hey it's a dream ok?)!

This mission - should I choose to accept it - AND of course I DO, is to find the best Hungarian Chicken Paprikash made in Budapest. Now, how to go about this? This dish is such a traditional, homemade favourite, it's got to be like beef stew recipes from home. Every mom makes it and everyone thinks their Mom's stew is the best.

I have done some research. There's an elegant restaurant called Marquis de Salade - how cute - manned by 8 chefs from Hungary, Russia and the Caucasus Mountains which sounds definitely worth a visit - and there's a famous restaurant called Central Kavehaz (central coffee-house) opened in 1887 which not only has amazing coffee, but of course, perfectly cooked staples like Paprikash and goulash. I could go to almost any establishment and get some version of Paprikash. But I know I will seek an old, cosy bistro.

I usually follow my instincts - then I go by word of mouth - I ask a local person. There is no way to find the best, tiny, little, mom and pop restaurants and bistros hidden in side streets and alleyways unless you ask. I'm talking about places where mommas - or grannies even - hold court behind huge aga-like cookers stirring steaming pots of somethings yummy and sauteing surprises in huge cast iron pans. No microplane graters and mandolins in these places. Just wise, old women with gnarled knuckles who can really cook and naturally know good food, tight sauces, fresh ingredients and perfect textures. Wise women who can smell when the meat is cooked, know what tastes best together - sages in the kitchen.

My mouth is watering.

Back to reality. I hope to have time to get out and explore - the Budapest office needs some serious help though. A lot of work. Still, a nice adventure and the start of regular visits to a fun place to explore. Perhaps Cutie Pie will come with me on a business trip sometime and we can stay over the weekend - he likes Budapest.

I wonder if I will feel a certain affinity for the country and the people. Being Hungarian by blood myself - I was adopted - will I feel something special? There are so many things adopted people never know (and mostly don't care about) But every so often certain questions do sort of sit in the back of my mind. What did my parents look like? What was their history? Will I feel like I look like everyone else? Will anyone really look like me?

When my father passed away, there were tons of family members around. My Dad had no extended family and all of the relatives were from my Mom's side - Asian Americans - Mostly Japanese Americans and some married to Chinese Americans. My brother and I were both adopted. He is 4 years older than I and he is from Asian decent - Hawaiian(mix of Asian and Portuguese) and Japanese background. We didn't look that odd as a family because My brother looked as if he could easily be my Mother's son and I looked as if I could easily be my father's daughter (As he was German descent). So we meshed somehow. My brother's son Jason carries on the exquisite Asian features he inherited from my brother and deep blue eyes from his mother's side.

I looked around after Dad passed away and I realised. Hey, without Dad, I don't look like anyone in the family anymore. It's a weird feeling. Maybe I will feel an inherent connectivity in Hungary - who knows?

I keep thinking about what Sio said on the phone the other day. She said that everyone who goes to Budapest for the first time calls it Budapest. And after one visit it becomes Budapesht - you know, because that's the PROPER way to pronounce it. Perhaps I will call it 'just right'.

Photo above of Zsa Zsa Gabor

Farewell Chalky

2007-01-29T13:58:00.000+01:00

The dog of my favourite chef - Rick Stein- passed away a couple weeks ago. I am upset about it for many reasons. One, that Chalky is the same type of dog as Bunny Dog and the two have very similar characteristics and personalities so I could relate to the sadness of losing his close companion. Chalky is my favourite part of Rick Stein's cooking shows on TV and on his DVDs. Chalky would ride in fishing boats, run along the beach, roll in seaweed, climb the dunes, explore garden and frolic in the sun happily trotting along at Rick's heels. Rick posted a note and the following prose on his website about Chalky and his long, full life - 17 years old. Here's to Chalky.

THERE is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Rudyard Kipling

The Best Line Ever

2007-01-23T16:55:00.000+01:00

Masterchef is starting off splendidly!

I know it will be a great competition - there's an out-take from the series where Gregg Wallace is trying some soup made by a contestant.

He says

'My taste buds have been assaulted.' And then directly to the contestant he says 'Have you ever tasted Orange and Potato together in your life?' 'Why do it here?'

I lost it - I thought it was so funny!

OK - Too busy for a whole entry today. Making business trip plans, London, Dublin and Budapest!

Masterchef 2007

2007-01-22T10:33:00.000+01:00

I can't contain my excitement. The new series of Masterchef Goes Large on BBC starts this evening! 6 contestants each weeknight for 3 weeks - compete in a cooking contest to see who will be chosen Masterchef 2007.

The 6 contestants are thrown in to kitchens right away to make a dish using surprise ingredients provided to them. They may use as many or as few ingredients as they choose. Then the judges will narrow the group down to 3 based on the strength and skill demonstrated in the first test. The remaining 3 will be sent to an established restaurant to cook during a busy lunch service and the head chef will choose who he thinks handled themselves best in the kitchen. After a busy lunch service, the 3 must go back to the Masterchef kitchen and make a 3-course meal of their own design in an hour and half and try to wow the judges. The judges then choose who wins that round and moves on the finals rounds.

The judges. Two nuts - One called John Torode - an Aussie chef who came to London - Like all Aussies do - to get - a life/culture/manners/education - and to make a shedload of money - he's got a steak place at Smithfield Market which is supposed to be pretty good. And Gregg Wallace - a cockney-tongued, fruit and veg seller who's been supplying the best quality produce to the poshest restaurants in London for ages. Neither of them have an ounce of style or real taste - but hey, they are the ones who choose the Masterchef and it's kind of funny to see their reactions to things they have never come across. It's funny to see them pooh pooh classic French techniques they have just never encountered.

Alas, Masterchef will always remain a popularity contest thinly disguised as a cooking contest. Jon and Gregg basically chose their favourites with no consistency in the way the contestants are picked - who cares - it's food and flubs for weeks to come!

Saturday night I made a spectacular meal for some friends who came to dinner. This will sound a little like a snotty restaurant in London - but here goes - Endive stuffed with pepper cheese and topped with roasted pine nuts and roasted red pepper as appetisers. Orange braised lamb shanks with haricot vert and orzo and wild mushrooms for mains, and a classic chocolate mocha tarte for dessert. Was a huge hit if I do say so myself.

Bring on the pots and pans and sauté away!

Justifiable Homicide

2007-01-19T09:15:00.000+01:00

You know when you're REALLY tired and on the verge of getting the flu and you need to sleep like Rip van Winkle? You know when you are achy and so tired your head hurts and you just want to get in to your jammies and hide under the covers? Now, imagine that you are this tired and just about anything that could keep you awake does keep you awake.

Last night EVERYTHING, EVERYONE and EVERY animal conspired against me and I could not sleep a wink!!

I couldn't scream at the wind howling at gusts of up to 120 k/hour, the wind couldn't hear me. I couldn't punch back at the pounding rain hitting my drainpipes in violent spurts and spatters because it was too big a force - and come on - really.... (I did move the recycling bin because raindrops on the plastic were driving me batty after a while). I couldn't help but hear the obese cat on the neighbour's porch wheezing, gagging and conjuring up a hairball at 3 am over the screaming wind and rain.

I had Bunny Dog who decided there was no place on earth he would rather be than crawling all over me on the bed last night. I attempted to block out all sounds and irritating distractions which made me toss and turn. Bunny Dog decided to growl at me each time I tossed and to feign biting me when I turned. Yeah, that makes for a peaceful resting place. Each time I ejected him from the bed and pointed at his own - perfectly fine - dog bed a few feet away, he ignored me and hopped back on the bed. At one point he growled at me because I was using too much of the pillow and he had found a nice nesting place at the head of the bed.

I usually don't let Bunny dog get away with behaviour like this - I really don't. I do discipline that spoiled animal - I do. But I was tired and weary and knew that sleep would elude me last night - I wasn't thinking straight.

Even if all of those distractions were not present, I wouldn't have slept. There was an all-powerful energy too large for even Hercules to conquer. That of Cutie Pie's snoring.

Imagine lying there with a jackhammer, a bulldozer, a lawn-mower, a mosquito near your ear, a wheezing, gurgling Mr. Magoo... tormenting you. This snoring is unlike snoring joked about in comics and TV sitcoms - this is evil snoring. This is the kind of noise which makes deviated septum seem like hangnails. This noise is like an exorcist, a poltergeist, an unstoppable satanic, life-blood-sucking torture.

This is the type of snoring that would allow me to get off Scott free in a court of law because the judge and jury would immediately agree that putting an end to Cutie Pie and his snoring would constitute justifiable homicide.

Cutie Pie (whose name should be changed to Moon Pie - for so many reasons) and Bunny Dog BEWARE. I will take no prisoners the next night you keep me awake!

I will however, take the best feather comforter and go sleep on the guest bed in the loft. Now,.... why didn't I think of that last night???

Give good wing

2007-01-16T09:54:00.000+01:00

My California cousins all came to DC and cooked some of our old family specialities around the time that my father passed away in November. Since all of my relatives from Mom's side are Japanese Americans and Chinese Americans, there are a few dishes with far eastern flair. Here's one for the best chicken wings ever.

Magical Chicken Wings

4 pound chicken wings
1 cup hoisin sauce
¾ cup plum sauce
2 teaspoons grated or finely minced lime zest
1/3 cup freshly squeezed lime juice
1/3 cup fish sauce
¼ dry sherry
1 tablespoon Asian chile sauce
½ cup chopped fresh cilantro
10 cloves garlic, finely minced

Advance Preparation:

Cut off tips of the chicken wings. Cut each in half at the joint. In a bowl large enough to hold the wings, combine all of the remaining ingredients. Add wings, mix thoroughly, and marinate in the refrigerator for 8 hours.

Last Minute Cooking:

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Line a shallow baking pan with foil. Coat a wire rack with cooking spray and place the rack in the baking pan. Drain the chicken and reserve the marinade. Arrange the wings on the rack and roast for 30 minutes. Baste the wings with the reserved marinade, turn them, and baste again. Continue roasting until the wings turn a mahogany color, another 20 to 30 minutes. Serve hot or at room temp

Special note - Thanks for wearing the tie Bunny

Groove Report

2007-01-15T08:48:00.000+01:00

Let me preface this report by saying we had too many Mai Tais and never ate dinner. The results are below

1. Please refrain from removing all clothes at the bar or on the dance floor tonight
No problems here
2. Please refrain from picking up bands, whole groups of office mates, circus performers, taxi drivers, chefs, Italians, and Rugby teams - No, wait, scratch that - Rugby teams are OK. Yum ee.

She Met up with an Italian - but nothing happened...as far as I know...

3. Before kissing, please, at least, find out the guy's name.

YA YA

4. Getting your groove back doesn't necessarily require a body lock with a man in his early 20's (doesn't hurt though)

Would have been so good

5. The VP Of Groove Assistance is allowed to kiss her cutie pie if she should happen to run in to him over the course of the evening

Mission Accomplished - Cutie Pie was really sexy that night

6. Shooters are a required element of the evening - Mission not accomplished without shooters (Sex on the beach, Kamikaze, Sweet Tart, Lemon Drops, Tequila etc.)

We didn't have shooters. I think the Mai Tais made up for it though. You know, Mai Tais are Trader Vic's (Polynesian-style restaurant chain) contribution to the world. They pack a pretty severe wallop. Double vision.

7.Under no circumstances are we to visit Fritland

We were there by 11 PM. Lara had a cone of frites with a slop of sauce Andalouse (I held out for a food free evening though - very unwise)

8. Try something new - another required element of the Groove Mission

We went dancing in a Salvadoran restaurant - it was really fun. A bit on the seedy side, but totally different and interesting.

Hey, it was an OK night - but I don't think we lit the world on fire - could have been the Mai Tai's....

Shake Your Groove Thing Baby

2007-01-12T09:07:00.000+01:00

Watch out Brussels! The lovely Lara and I are going out on the town tonight.

She's on a mission. She needs to shake out a few cobwebs, get the lead out, or more specifically, Lara needs to get her groove back. And there's no better support for gettin' a groove back than yours truly!(me). Or so I think. I will be Vice President in charge of Groove Assistance tonight.

My suggestion is that we start out at PP cafe for happy hour - two for one cocktails - like Mai Tais and Mint daiquiris. Yum. Lara has a hankering for ribs tonight so it's off to Ardeo for finger-licking good ribs. After that, who knows?

It's a night for short skirts, cute tops and shaking your booty wearing sexy high boots.

If only I wasn't having a kind of bad hair day.... I caught a glimpse of my hair when I was riding the metro this morning and I kept hearing the line from a B52's song that goes 'What's that on your head? A wig!!' Anyway - I am having issues with my hair today. It's doing exactly opposite of what I want it to. It's sorta wavy around my head, but becomes dead straight on the longer parts - weird. Oh well, maybe the electric shock look will dissipate throughout the day.

Ok - so since I am Vice President in charge of Groove assistance on Lara's groove mission tonight - I do need to set out some rules and goals.

1. Please refrain from removing all clothes at the bar or on the dance floor tonight
2. Please refrain from picking up bands, whole groups of office mates, circus performers, taxi drivers, chefs, Italians, and Rugby teams - No, wait, scratch that - Rugby teams are ok. Yum ee.
3. Before kissing, please, at least, find out the guy's name.
4. Getting your groove back doesn't necessarily require a body lock with a man in his early 20's (doesn't hurt though)
5. The VP Of Groove Assistance is allowed to kiss her cutie pie if she should happen to run in to him over the course of the evening
6. Shooters are a required element of the evening - Mission not accomplished without shooters (Sex on the beach, Kamikaze, Sweet Tart, Lemon Drops, Tequila etc.)
7.Under no circumstances are we to visit Fritland
8. Try something new - another required element of the Groove Mission

OK - Monday I will report on our Mission and it's success

Have a groovy weekend yourself

Slave - Part II

2007-01-11T09:26:00.000+01:00

My slave is back. He keeps calling to ask if he can clean my house, run errands, do my shopping, and basically be bossed around by me. The offer is so tempting. If it were not for the fact that I am not interested in him AT ALL - I would hop right on that offer and get him working like Spartacus (before Spartacus got all rebellious). But because I am not interested in him and because I know it would totally turn him on to be ordered and kicked a round a bit by me - I won't do it. It grosses me out. Eeew.

On Halloween, a few friends came over and we went to a neighbour's party. The party was pretty basic save the odd dominatrix (or whatever they are called) and her guy on a leash. When the dancing started, her 'dog' got on the floor and she went around asking all the women to take a turn at whipping him. Marie Antoinette and several odd witches gave it a try. I was tempted just for the joke of it. But my cutie pie was there - so I thought better of it. (Yes, I do have a cutie pie..and have been pretty well happily occupied with him for 5 months now).

I just don't get the slave, victim, thing. I don't think I will ever understand what turns people on about that stuff. Being devoted to whims of other people seems so futile. Luckily for me, my cutie pie doesn't ever do anything unless you ask 45 times. So, there's no chance of me being grossed out by his desire to be my slave. (Although wouldn't mind seeing him in a Toga and peeling grapes for me).

I know what some of you are thinking. Get the slave over and get all those stupid projects done - clean the downstairs closet, sort out the boxes in the attic, clean the skylight windows, re-plant those window boxes, re-paint the main bedroom, fix the door handle to the downstairs loo, etc etc. But you know, I can't do that. He would get too attached. He would be so aroused that he might want to stick around and demonstrate his secondary addiction - a foot fetish. I know Let's just stop here. Plus, it just grosses me out when he calls and in this low, growly voice (which he thinks is sexy) and asks 'What can I do for you today? You need me to run errands for you? Clean your floors? anything?'. EEEEEW.

No thanks Laundryitus. Thanks for the offer Spick and Spanicus. See ya later DoanythingIwantipus. Hasta la vista Scrubmytoileticus.

I am happy with my cutie pie - 'Lieonthecouch-donothingatallicus'.

Say 'Cheese'

2007-01-10T13:52:00.000+01:00

Well, it's that time again. January/February. Time to get my work permit renewed and then take it over to my commune.

Before I negotiate the maze of bureaucracy in the Belgian system, I have to have more of those dreadful passport photos taken. Each office I have to visit in the journey to renewed work permits and residency status requires multiple passport photos.

I am convinced that I am allergic to the air in January and February and the allergy manifests itself by me suffering huge bags and dark circles under my eyes. One eye is always a bit wonky in the pictures, no matter what time I have them taken. As if one eye is still asleep in bed. My hair looks good and bad in alternating years. And it never fails - I waste at least €5 - €10 on photos where my eyes are closed, I am looking down, slipping off the little booth stool and therefore blurry or just plain fugly looking. One year I swear my left nostril showed up 3 times larger than the right and I had to squat on the stool and wriggle over to catch the light from the florescent bulb just the right way to make my nostrils look evenly-sized.

There are good passport photo booths and bad ones. The good ones are in unsavoury places like metro stairwells and outside downtown 'video' arcades where junkies and ho's prepare their daily toilettes. The bad ones are where you really need them, in the commune, in the post office, in the registry office, at the license approval and official 'Stamp Anything That Moves' department - and of course at the police station. The ones where you really need them are usually jammed, faulty, triple the price and they only take exact change when they are working.

There's a requirement of 3 passport photos with every application for my commune residence card renewal. Of course, they use one of them on the card itself. What happens to the rest? I did catch a glimpse of my file last time I was there - an oversight on the part of the (usually secretive, long lunch taking and multiple coffee-break taking worker) - with dozens of my old photos floating around in it - not used for anything. They have to be getting kick-backs from the Photo machine owners - it's a great scam.

Once you get all the right paperwork delivered to the right window in the right building by the right time, you are good to go. Things pretty much take care of themselves. Of course, it takes two seconds to stamp the new date on it and about 5 seconds to staple the new picture on (which could be done there on the spot) - but it usually takes 2-3 weeks to receive a notice in the mail saying my residence card is ready for pick up.

All of this has to be taken in stride. 2 trips to the Ministere de la region de Bruxelles for my work permit and 3 trips to the commune where I live. Just the way life is in Brussels - and I love it.

Say 'cheese'

Food TV Season

2007-01-09T09:54:00.000+01:00

When I was home in the states for Christmas, I watched the Food Network non-stop. The Food network drives me insane because they have this cast of regulars - like 10 chefs who do cooking shows which they broadcast over and over again ad nauseam. Only a few of them are what I consider to be excellent cooks - a couple of them are OK cooks, but have egos so big who cares if they can cook at all?

I will say this. Giada di Laurentiis is not such a hot cook. Yes, she's a little hot tamale with low cut, Spandex tops, which make men drool and slobber, but she is not really worthy of 3 prime time Food Network programmes. She also has the most annoying habit of speaking in the most American accent ever, then pronouncing every Italian word with an overdone Italian accent. 'I'm gonna put some butter in here and then saute the 'PINCHETTTTAAAA' with olive oil. Then I'll toss it around with the 'SPAHHH GITTTI' and grate a bunch of 'PARME SHAAANNOOO REGGGI AAANNO' over the top'. Ugh. She's revolting. And has anyone noticed that her arms are too short for her body??? Just me I guess.

Don't get me started on Mario Batali. Fat-arsed egomaniac. Drunken slob. Pretty darned good chef, but what an a-hole!!

Who ever thought Paula Dean would be a hit? Just how many recipes do you know require crushed Ritz crackers and a package of Jell-O custard mix? Now that she's on 6 times a day - 'A whole bunch y'all!! And is there anyone more sexually suggestive than Paula when she's cooking up her braised Oxtail? (or anything) 'Y'all want a taste of mah tail? Hee hee! Y'all shore do I know!!' Yeesh! And that husband of hers - looks like the Uncle guy from Dukes of Hazzard!

I like Michael Chiarello. Easy entertaining - he has really good ideas for parties and he's a normal guy. And not too tough on the eyes either. He can cook in my kitchen any day.

Tyler Florence (Shown Above) - scrumptious. Truly. I like his Ultimate series. Where he'll make everyday things but with the very best ingredients and using the coolest techniques. Like Spaghetti and meatballs - they looked so good, I ran downstairs and started to make them myself - then changed my mind and ordered them from the local Italian restaurant for dinner. Tyler is so manly in the kitchen. He's deliberate and fast and un-fussy. OK - he can eat crackers in my bed.

Barefoot Contessa - Ina Garten - good cook. Super annoying giggle when company arrives to eat the food. So annoying.

Bobby Flay - so so. I do like his food and his cooking style, but he is just a bit too smarmy for me - I get the impression he's a real slimy guy off camera. Don't know why I think that, I just do. He also seems like he's bored to death with the food network routine and needs a new challenge. His appearances on Iron Chef America are ridiculous - And since the American version is all scripted and rehearsed, it's a waste of time anyway...

OK - don't be surprised. I know her chirpy voice and super effort at trying to be up-beat and perky is frustrating - but Rachel Ray can cook. She can really cook. She also has a million good tips on making your life more conducive to everyday cooking. I like her tips on cleaning and preparing veg and herbs and storing them. I like her tips on what to have on hand in the pantry, freezer and fridge. I even like her garbage bowl on the counter. You can tell that her ideas come from the fact that she really cooks at home and eats at home. She does stuff we can all do. No fancy ingredients, no over-the-top methods. Just good plain ideas on how to fancy-up regular food and feed families and friends with ease, style and grace. And a bit of EVOO. (Extra Virgin Olive Oil)

Ahh. Soon the BBC will have their winter foodie shows - lucky me - I can start complaining about those chefs!

Van de Pianospeler

2007-01-08T15:26:00.000+01:00

From a good friend - Enjoy

Innige streling

Wit en Zwart slapen zachtjes naast mekaar,

mijn speelse streling maakt hen één voor één wakker...

terwijl mijn ogen zich glimlachend sluiten,

opent zich zichtbaar mijn verlangde ziel.

Zoete klanken dansen over de snaren,

wandelen elegant over de blinkend zwarte rand,

glijden langs de ranke poten naar de Aarde,

die mij hartstochtelijk naar zich toetrekt..

De Aarde wil mij niet lossen,

ik zal mijn Aarde niet lossen,

en toch zweef ik een beetje...

terwijl ik mijn vleugel innig streel....

(Raffamadeus)

A visit to The Chicken Man

2006-11-28T14:03:00.000+01:00

OK - lately I have been feeling a bit drawn and listless. Many people say this is a part of the grieving process. Dad's passing is still so fresh and raw and at the same time totally unreal.

Anyway - Sunday I made myself take Bunny dog for a wonderful walk. Brussels hasn't had a freeze yet and the weather is what my Dad would have called balmy. A lot of leaves have fallen, but there's still a lot to go. The sun was shining bright and both Bunny Dog and I developed a little hop in our steps.

That's because I headed us towards Place Jourdan and to the marchet for a visit to The Chicken Man! Ahhh, the aroma. The colours. His truck is bright red with white stripes and a long, generous awning. Racks of roasting, juicy birds drip and sizzle behind him. The glass case is filled with basted, roasted, honey coloured hens, whole chickens, leg quarters, spatchcocked birds, wings, thighs, drummies, breasts, chicken sausages, racks of ribs based with herb marinade and whole ham hocks for the truly dedicated.

'Would I like sauce with my order?'... 'Would I ever' (Gosh I sounded like Beaver Cleaver) Drippings from the long-roasted fragrant chicken - hell yes. I ordered a couple cuisses - leg quarters. Nice for dinner after work. And a whole roast breast. Nice to slice and put on top of a hearty salad.

Bunny Dog lingered at the stall hoping someone will drop a whole chicken on his head. A dog's idea of winning the lottery. Not going to happen that Sunday.

I stopped at the fancy schmancy veg stall owned by two gay guys who run their own small farm together. They like to ask what I am cooking. And fuss over me and Bunny Dog a bit.

They like to show off their specials too. They had freshly shredded runner beans. To be cooked as you would, say, shredded cabbage. A bit of shallots finely diced, butter, olive oil. Wilt the beans, add cream and salt and pepper. For an extra kick - some horseradish.

They had their lovely wild mushrooms again this week. Tender and golden. These deserve special attention. Saute for about 30 seconds in butter and then add to a simple omelette made with extra fresh eggs with dark orange yolks. Delicious, earthy, woodsy. Nothing more. Nothing else needed.

Satsumas and Clementine's were on sale. The guys tried to interest me in a box. I like a few, but not a whole box. Mache (lambs lettuce) caught my eye. Tiny plum tomatoes, a huge bunch of fresh scallions, a box of fragrant rockette.

Walking home, Bunny dog and I stopped at the dog run in Parc Cinquantenaire. No dogs just then. We figured we might as well have one of the few chicken wings as a little snack - Bunny dog is a good sharer. All was nice until two nasty little (stunted legged)Jacks came up and flanked Bunny Dog (Who is sweet and friendly) We couldn't be bothered with these little bullies so we left.

No matter, we had smiles - we had visited the Chicken Man

Giving Thanks

2006-11-23T11:29:00.000+01:00

Why I am thankful on this day:

That my father had a lovely, long life, did what he wanted to do, had the means to live the way he wanted to live, loved his family and friends
That Dad waited 23 hours for me to get from Brussels to his bedside so we could say goodbye
My Mother who made sure Dad's last days were dignified, lovely and comfortable
My Mother because she is strong and beautiful, smart and generous
My Mother for so many many reasons
My cousins who make me understand the true meaning of family
Friends who truly do anything and everything for me in my time of need
Neighbours who watch over us and love us
All the cards and phone calls from people far away and near who knew Dad in ways I never knew
That I have a supportive boss, a family of work colleagues who check on me regularly
That I have the means to go home anytime I need to go home
For my Dog who loves me no matter what and snuggles even closer because he knows
That I have the love of my wonderful parents and they are proud of me

Dad you are closer to me than ever before.
I love you.

CTV
October 25, 1922 - November 10, 2006

The Power of Prayer and Saturday Kitchen

2006-10-10T09:14:00.000+02:00

Don't ever tell me that prayer doesn't work. Because I think it does and I always will.

Results from Dad's latest check-up are stellar! The tumour in his esophagus has almost reduced to nothing, there are no signs of the cancer spreading and from all tests and indicators, he is a recovering man.

The other day, Mom said that she just knew - when he was really sick - that it wasn't time for Dad to die because she knew he wasn't through driving her completely crazy. I love that!

So that's the fantastic, amazing, great news I have. Dad is better. In fact, my Mom, my nephew and Dad's nurse were all in the Doctor's office when the Doc delivered the news. The minute the Doc stopped talking all three of them said 'You're not sick anymore Chuck' in unison. That's code for 'No more acting like a helpless, selfish invalid!'.

Got to give Dad credit. He's responded to gentle persuasion and now is up and about doing all sorts of chores. His nurse is glad to help him get dressed, negotiate the steps and get him settled in to those daily routines he was so good at before he got sick. Opening the mail, petting the dog, polishing silver, shuffling papers from one side of his desk to the other - or 'paying bills' as he says.

I am so proud of him and so thankful to my Mom and friends and family who have helped.

OK - hate to change the subject so drastically, but I have to

Subject: BBC - Saturday Kitchen with the dreamy James Martin. I only have a few comments - for today that is...

1. James Martin is such a welcome, refreshing change to growly, grisly, sloppy and grouchy Antony Worral Thompson - and he's cute! THANK YOU BBC
2. I do like the idea of having a celebrity guest on the show - but please - check to see if the guest actually eats food, likes food, and does something other than show their breasts on page 3 of crap newspapers for a living.
3. You can never have enough of a good thing - Rachel Allen and Michael Caines should be on Saturday Kitchen as guest chefs as often as possible
4. Why do you have your knives and utensils on the right side of your stove when you do all of your work to the left of it? You look ridiculous crashing in to your celebrity chefs every week while trying to get around them to get to your tools.
5. And last but not least - shame on BBC for those terrible questions to win seats at the Saturday Kitchen table. Come on. You should have some real culinary questions to be answered by people who know food and deserve to have a spot at the table.

Cagey Bee

2006-10-09T11:25:00.000+02:00

Saturday was my birthday and I went out with friends until the wee hours - as you do in Brussels.

I met the lovely Lara and a friend - (a VERY strong candidate for 'Mr. in the Kitchen with a Chicken'! But more on him another time) We started at PP cafe for mint daiquiris. Then a cosmopolitan.

We went to O'Reilly's and I had a glass of plonk wine and we danced to so-so 80's music until Lara had to leave - she had been suffering from a bout of flu and didn't want to push herself too soon. I went with Cutie Pie (he'd hate being called that...but it's my blog)... to Monk and met up with a couple other friends.

After a few drinks there, we marched over to Celtica - A must when celebrating anything as important as my birthday :-)) and a must when accompanied by an entourage. Too bad Aussie Girl wasn't in town...

The moment we entered the hot, steamy, smoky, packed bar we knew it was one of those crazy, wonderful Celtica nights. Wall to wall people in good moods, smiling, chatting each other up, dancing. At one point a friend decided he was going to become Tom Jones - or The 'Sex Bomb' at least. He stood behind a woman's chair and in front of all of her friends, proceeded to shimmy up and down like a pole dancer - the girls roared with laugher and feigned disapproval - they loved it! His performance included a detailed striptease without removing any clothing which made the girls squeal with delight. How funny it was.

Cutie Pie and I danced for a while and decided it was time to call it a night - or an early morning at least. We got over-the-top huge portions of frites in little paper cones and so smothered with sauces they put us off - we only ate a few and then hailed a taxi for home.

When we arrived home, I found a large wrapped package on a chair in my living room. I got a chill down my spine - the realisation that there has been someone in my house. That package was NOT there when I left earlier in the evening.

I quickly went through a mental list of friends that have my key and unless they were magicians, there's no way any of them could have gotten that present to my house that evening - I was stumped.

Strange package or not - it was my birthday - so I ripped it open like a kid at a party. The package contained a fancy foot spa of all things. One of those contraptions you fill with water and it massages, bubbles and soothes your feet. OK. Who thinks I need relaxation and home pedicures...??? Hmm.

Since it was close to 5 am, my logic told me that it must have been Lara - leaving us earlier and coming all the way back to my house at midnight - yeah, right. 5 am logic.

The phone woke me from a deep slumber at 10 am Sunday morning. It was my housekeeper's husband. They are Russian. Even though his name appeared on my phone, I was a bit foggy and didn't quite connect as to why he would be calling me on Sunday morning. In a deep, heavy Russian accent:

'Do you like your birthday present'
................
'Oh, yes, I do like it - it was so generous of you two. Thank you.'
'You are welcome'
'But, how did you know it was my birthday?'
'Remember I was KGB in Russia - I know a lot of things'
'I didn't know who came to my house in the night while I was away'
'We always look after you - you are safe'
'Wow, even when not in KGB anymore, you look after me - so nice!'
'Once KGB - always KGB - like your father - once CIA, always CIA'

(Had I told him that Dad was in the CIA????? - Don't ask)

Gulp

'Thanks VERY much for the nice gift!'
'You are welcome - have a good day - Goodbye'

White Night and Full English

2006-10-02T10:30:00.000+02:00

Saturday night was Nuit Blanche in Brussels - White night - when all establishments are encouraged to stay open all night for a festival of life. Musicians and performers line the streets of the city centre - for pedestrians only this night. White streamers and white carnival decorations hang on every street light.

Art galleries, The Town Hall in Grand Place, Cathedrals, Churches and even the Bourse, Brussels' tiny Stock exchange is open for visitors all night.

Special food stalls appear, children with waffles and cotton candy follow their parents. Patrons at restaurants spill out on to bulging terraces, feet tapping to the African drums. Adults dancing on the cobblestones, beers in hand. This party is meant to go all night. A romantic and fun night - to be shared with good friends.

We started at PP Cafe for Mint Daiquiris - so good, fresh mint. We wandered to Grand Place for the classical singers, who stood atop a 40-foot podium, dressed in white, singing arias and solos - the amazingly pretty buildings enhanced by blue- white lights as a backdrop. It was so beautiful and peaceful and so right.

We went to Place St. Catherine where they had set-up a Brazilian village. We drank Caiperinhas and ate grilled brochettes, danced, danced, danced. It started to rain. To pour actually. Danced in the rain. Eventually, got a bit too cold and shivery.

We went to the Monk - named for Thelonius Monk - though there's a grand piano in the centre - I have never been there when someone whips it open and jams. Apparently it doesn't happen often. If nothing, it's a warm place to dry off.

Couldn't stay out long enough to take advantage of the free breakfast served all over town at 5am. Too much everything. On the way to hop a cab at 3:30 am we see tons of drummers on the steps of La Bourse with hundreds of revellers dancing on the steps and around the plaza in front. So alive, so fun.

A special night, full of colours, good food, excellent music, fine dancing, fun cocktails, festive moods, happy people.

The flip side - morning (later that day). A request has been made. Sure, I will make a full English breakkie. Nothing else will really do after a night like that.

Open Season for Soup Hunting

2006-09-29T10:21:00.000+02:00

It's getting to be my favourite time of year. I love Autumn. It makes me feel invigorated - I know that's weird - most people think that way about springtime - but not me. I love cool, crisp evenings and the deep blue of the sky and how the autumn sun is a burnt orange ember rather than a blinding white summer fireball. I love clothes for cool weather. I get busy in Autumn!

I must be part squirrel or something. I am a super-gatherer in Autumn. I stock my cupboards with more tins of tomatoes, tomato puree, bags of rice, orzo, beans, lentils, stocks, spices, dried herbs and all sorts of capers, olives, pickled baby onions, relishes and currant jams. I am preparing for my favourite cooking season.

Hearty, warming soups and stews and warm roasts slowly braised with root vegetables and caramelised sweet onions. The welcome smell of wine and shallot sauces simmering on a back burner. Roasted baby hens with rich, red currant sauce. Roast pork shoulder with apple cider and potato pancakes. My mouth is watering!

I have already warned my butcher that I plan on making plenty of braised lamb shanks and to set aside the best meat for stews in the coming months. We have a good relationship - my butcher tells me when his holidays are so I can plan accordingly. He assumes I won't be cooking meat while he's away - of course not.

Late September - I am a woman on a mission.

October is two days away - and it's still a bit warm. Summer is truly over, but I feel like I am in limbo. It's not cold enough for a stew, but cool enough to crave hot soup. I know what I want! Mom's fish soup. I love the simplicity and elegance. Perfect for a dinner party.

Thinly slice a large fennel bulb and a medium yellow onion. Saute in olive oil in a deep, heavy pan until soft. You're not looking for colour, but to release all the fennel essences and the sweetness of the onion.

Add two cans of good quality Italian tomatoes, whole or crushed, no difference. Add a tablespoon and half of good tomato puree and saute for a few minutes. Add your liquid - I use at least 2 pints of liquid depending on how much fish I will be cooking because it needs to be reduced. I use a great fish stock (fond) made by a French company and available in every supermarket over here. Those of you who have the benefit of shopping Whole Foods can get it at your fish counter. Also at good fishmongers of course. Anyway, if you get a salty fish stock, you may want to cut it with vegetable stock or water. I usually add a tiny splash of Vermouth - a good and bad habit depending. A dash (and I mean a dash) of Ricard or Pernot wouldn't hurt either. Add the liquid and simmer on low heat for at least 20 minutes. You are looking to reduce the liquid and condense the tomato and fennel flavours.

Once reduced by a third, put aside and let cool enough to strain in to a bowl through a very fine strainer, pushing with the back of a ladle to get all the essential juices out in to the bowl. Once done, transfer the liquid back to your pan. You can set this aside until serving time.

I say this is perfect for a dinner party because you can have all the liquid done ahead - you can even make it a day in advance if you need and refrigerate. The day of the party I bring fresh fish home, clean it and cut it in to nice pieces so everyone gets a bite or two of each fish. I lay it out on a plate and cover with cling film and put in the fridge until I am ready to serve.

About 10 minutes before serving, bring the liquid back up to the simmer on medium heat, taste and add salt/pepper as needed. Once simmering, gently add your fish. I tend to use a combination of 2 or 3 firm fish - like monkfish, cod, haddock, plaice, ray etc. Of course, add your larger pieces first and in a minute or two, add your smaller pieces. Do not stir or break up any of the fish pieces. Cook until each piece is just cooked - slightly firm and opaque in the middle but not hard. About 3- 4 minutes depending on the amount of fish in the pot.

Extras and alternatives : Mom sometimes adds tiny potatoes when available. She cooks them ahead and just adds a couple to the bowl before adding the soup. This soup is good with toasted bread and aoili sauce - the traditional accompaniment to Bouillabaisse. Once, to flavour the liquid, I used sun-dried tomatoes instead of tomato puree - I blitzed a half jar of them in the food processor - this gave the soup a darker, richer flavour. If you do this, use more fennel bulb because the smokier flavour of the sun-dried tomatoes can overpower the fennel.

Serve in wide, low bowls with slices of mini baguettes toasted with Gruyere cheese on the side. I sprinkle a tiny amount of chopped parsley across the top.

A perfect soup for the season - a nice way to slide into cool weather.

Who's coming for soup?

For the Love of Family, Friends and Dan's Cafe

2006-09-12T13:46:00.000+02:00

I went to DC to visit my father who has been ill. I didn't have much time to see friends over the week, so Sio orchestrated a girl's night out - well actually, it was intended as a Dan's Cafe reunion - not necessarily a girl's night out. Charlie and Mike did show up - but it was mostly the girls - the coolest chicks ever.

Dan's Cafe is not owned, run or operated by anyone named Dan and it's certainly not what one would consider a Cafe. Never has been. A picture of Dan's Cafe interior could be found next to the words - A Hole in The Wall in any dictionary or directory. It's a pit. Clapboard shuttered windows - a remnant of the riots that swept through Washington DC after Martin Luther King was shot. Inside it's dimly lit with bare bulbs, dirty linoleum tiles and wobbly bar stools from 1974. Wonky booth tables made out of leftover two-by-fours take up one side of the room. A poorly hand crafted, rough-hewn bar with round holes for your beer bottles to rest in runs down the other side of the room. A well worn 8-ball pool table sits in the front of the room. Crooked, busted cues rest against the walls. Dust and grime-encrusted blinking beer signs, old, faded photos, postcards and a solitary trophy line the back of the bar. The trophy a reminder of the Softball team we used to have many years ago. There's no food in this cafe since the old hot dog heater/roller died in 1990.

Dan's serves liquor, wine and beer. If you want a mixed drink - 'Make it yo-self'. You will be given a miniature (airplane) bottle of liquor, a can of mixer and a bucket of ice. Tracy or Victor will encourage you to buy a pint bottle if you plan on staying for a while.

Dan's is owned by a black man in his 70s called Clinnie Dickens. His nickname is Dickie. He has 7 sons and a few daughters. Several of his sons have always worked at Dan's at one time or another. Tracy and Victor being the most consistent. There was a period of time in the early 90's where one or the other was always in jail. Dickie plays solitaire at the back of the bar all night every night Dan's is open. (Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights) Dickie goes gambling in Atlantic City New Jersey the other days. We are extremely fond of Dickie and Vic and Tracy.

Last Friday night - Myself, Sio, Mary, Glenda, Lisa, Moira, Sheesh (Sheila), Margaret, Holly, Mike and Charlie were there. Even Alexandra showed for a few minutes - without a baby-sitter, she couldn't really join us. Her 7 year-old son Enrique waited outside - entertained by Vic the door man. Alexandra in an incredibly short miniskirt - as usual, looking ravishing, sexy and confident.

We were 11-12 people in all. We represented part of the amazing gang that used to hang at Dan's for years and years in the late 80's and early 90's. We have always felt proprietary of Dan's. Our turf. We would snarl at newcomers like we were the Sharks and the incomers the Jets in West Side Story. Mike would always yell 'The Bus from Rockville's here' in his Georgia Southern drawl when strangers came in. Back then, he would scream 'NEXT' at the top of his lungs when they were next on the board for pool games and moving too slowly.

Mike brought leftover tee-shirts from our old softball team - one or two left from each year we played. All the designs totally cool and much sought after by the league when we played. My favourite had a print replica of the sign that used to hang on Dan's front door until some loser stole it. 'No running in and out, No loitering outside, no drugs please'.

En masse, we held on to the back half of the bar as long as we could that night. Until too many frat boys and college tartlets crammed in to the bar and eventually shoved us in to a tight corner. Dan's has been discovered and ruined a bit since 2000 by nasty college kids. We had 2-3 good hours of feeling like we were in charge of our old spot - the place where we spent too many hours, spent too much money and definitely wore too many pairs of beer goggles. (Those dreaded - 'who did I bring home last night' revelations in the morning)

Mike and Charlie disappeared before getting flattened in to the back wall by smart-assed, young kids throwing wads of cash at the bartenders whose names they would never know or care to know. Young pricks showing off for college bimbos dressed like high-roller call girls in halter tops and too much Gucci Perfume elbowed their way around the bar. We finally gave up.

We went to Angles. A subdued, real drinking bar a few doors down. Empty but for a few 'old' people in their late 30s and 40's - too old for the hip, young, stupid crowd crawling by the thousands down 18th St in Adams-Morgan most nights. The new, old, tired version of Georgetown.

We got a corner table and smooshed ourselves in and started on a few more cocktails. After some time, we moved to the table in the window and Sheesh decided she would comment on passersby. Loudly! It was funny. Thousands of college-aged kids walking by in their cool 'going out' outfits. Laid-back boys in their droopy basketball shorts or low-slung jeans leaned on cars and sucked their teeth loudly when a juicy woman walked by. Sheesh was an equal opportunity cat-caller.

Through the evening, I had a chance to have a quiet word, one-to-one, with most of the girls that night. My friends, my women, my people. My strength, my wit, my intelligence, my charm, my style, my knowledge, my beauty - cultivated through knowing these incredible women. Never enough time - but even a moment is rejuvenating. I love these women.

We had so much fun.

The past 12 days with Mom and Dad was tough and beautiful. I was definitely challenged this past week but got closer to them than ever before. My father is an amazingly informed man who is physically defeated at 83, but totally with it mentally. My Mom a generous and caring provider. They have a nurse on weekdays to help Dad from 9 am to 9 pm so Mom can have a sense of freedom. She still cannot sleep through the night for checking on him. She is tired and vulnerable. I hope I gave her a bit of respite and security and relaxation. I left with a heavy heart and tears but I felt better. I know what's going on now. Friends who have taken the time to go out with Mom are angels in training - even though Mom is a pleasure to be around - it's the effort that counts.

I keep thinking of Sunday morning a few days after I got home. Standing in my father's bathroom, helping him tidy up. Gently cleansing him with a warm washcloth and combing his hair. His wrinkled, depleted body hanging off his bones and seemingly hunching him over. He looked at me in the mirror and winked at me. I love that. I love him. I am so lucky.

See -Through

2006-08-30T10:06:00.000+02:00

I have been checking the Brussels Airport web site for a week - hoping and praying that they relax the hand luggage restrictions for direct flights to the United States. There's been some progress in that laptops are allowed, but still, one must take only essentials in a clear plastic bag - how attractive.

The web site says that all passengers for a US bound flight must arrive at the airport 4 hours before their flight. Zaventem (The name of the Brussels airport) is pretty disorganised as a rule - being that it's Belgian. But 4 hours?

On my way to Dublin a few weeks ago it took over an hour to get through security and get to the terminal. I kept hopping between lanes hoping for a fast-moving line only to get stuck behind a slow poke. A group of elderly Japanese ladies - who clearly posed a major security threat were practically strip-searched. I felt like a supervisor was watching when I went through - the security guards actually did a good job. I even saw the monitor guy watching the monitor as it was scanning the hand luggage (Which you could take with you then) Instead of watching poor people, disrobe, de-belt, de-key, de-coin and de-shoe like they usually do - I have to admit, it's fascinating watching how people deal with the small but necessary humiliations forced upon us.

OK - all my essentials in a plastic, see-though baggie. Nice. Very chic. Luckily, I have OK skin and I cannot put make-up on anyway so I can live without lippie and blush for a mere 12 hours. (Because I suck at putting on and wearing make-up, not because I can't). I don't know how those ladies with crap skin will feel having to be exposed to the airport passengers at 35,000 feet without cover-up - all spotty and shiny. Are mints essential? How about candy bars?

The other day I wandered around the department stores and soap on a rope shops (like Body Shop) looking for a clear plastic handbag - a chi chi make-up or gift set perfume bag. Or one of those you might get from an aunt at Christmas - filled with pink body lotion, pink bubble bath, pink body shampoo, a loofa and a nail brush - usually called something like 'Tea Rose Berry Fusion Fantasy collection'. I wanted to have a cute see-through hand bag and imagined that all the other women passengers in the airport would be asking 'Oooh, where did you get your bag?'. But alas. When you need something like that, you can never find it. >>>> Note to self - check the My Little Kitty section of the toy store down the street.

So today am working at home because Bunny Dog is getting picked up for 'Camp' between 1100 and 1300. I have never been away from Bunny Dog more than 8 or 9 days I think. And then he's always been lovingly cared for by Lara. He's been able to stay in his own home and keep to his routine with dog walker et al. I am a bit apprehensive. I hope the 'Camp Counsellor' has time to hear my detailed instructions for Bunny dog when he comes to pick him up. He's a spoiled dog. Not my fault - not sure how he got that way....

OK - have a lot of work to finish and two MAJOR conf calls and a presentation to get through before I can focus on final packing and getting sorted for my 8 am journey tomorrow to the Airport hell that awaits me.

Next instalment from 'The Other Side of the pond'.

:-))

Just Go For It

2006-08-29T13:18:00.000+02:00

I have given today a theme. The theme is 'just go for it'.

I have adopted this theme for today because it works perfectly. As it's (of course) raining like all get out again today, I have to remind myself when I step out the door to - 'Just go for it'. I mean, there's NO WAY NOT to get completely soaked in this weather. It's raining sideways and upwards - umbrellas and slickers and boots can't help much. What you cover with protective nylon, rubber or canvas is blown away and demolished in the fierce wind and constant thunderous hailstorms. So, might as well ...'just go for it'.

August 2006 is on record for being the wettest month in Belgium since records began -and even earlier - they say (Really - they do...). This was declared as early as the 20th of August. Those poor souls who packed their caravans for their 3-week holidays next to 10,000 other caravans in the Ardennes and the congested Belgian seashore must have gone insane. Snicker>>snicker

I also thought of 'just go for it' because it seems a lot of people are 'just going for it'. I have a friend who got engaged a couple weeks ago (He did the whole airplane-flying-a-banner-over-the-beach-with-a-proposal thing to surprise his girlfriend - awww shucks!!) They are getting married in early November. That's quick - don't you think? ( Those of you wondering if she's preggers - stop that!!) They know what they want and they are 'just going for it'.

A bestest friend has fallen for a guy who lives ages away from her - another country, another world. They are at least a day's journey apart - by plane and boat. But you know... she's 'just going for it'.

The generous Lara had her remaining holidays for this year rescinded because her colleague had to take maternity leave much earlier than planned. Though there will be no proper management - she and her company are deciding to let her 'just go for it' - she's leaving her staff to their own devices for two weeks so she can get her much deserved rest and relaxation. (HORRORS - the Company VP might have to pitch in and help...)

Cesar, my Peruvian dog walker, has just sent a text message to let me know that he and Bunny Dog are wrapped in towels and trying to get warm again. They went out in the most ferocious of the downpours on their midday walkies - since its cold, it's even more unpleasant when soaked. But they 'just went for it'. Bunny Dog loved it.

And the best one of all - Mom went upstairs on Sunday morning with Dad's breakfast tray and he had helped himself out of bed, to his washroom, cleaned himself up and went back to his day chair all by himself. He 'just went for it'. (Admittedly he probably couldn't do anything else that day - but hey - it made him feel great).

So, I say - today is 'Just go for it day'. Either do something you have to do anyway but with a positive attitude that you are going to 'GO FOR IT!'.

Or, do something you sorta shouldn't - like snarf that ice cream after lunch, or splurge on that fresh lobster, or buy that hardcover book you don't want to wait for in paperback, sign up for that trip to Thailand, leave work and go to the hardware store to buy all the stuff to paint the upstairs hallway, get some POPEYES spicy chicken if you want to, or go home and lie in the hammock on the porch with a gin and tonic and announce that you are not responsible for arranging dinner tonight and that you will gladly eat anything that is presented to you by anyone else - but you 'ain't movin'.

Just go for it.

La Saison de l'amour

2006-08-28T09:41:00.000+02:00

Well, summer is well and truly over here in Belgium. It has rained every day for the last 3 weeks, and most of those days it has rained all day. The street lights come on depressingly early in the evening - already - reminding us that we are we are indeed north of the 50th parallel - About as far north as Goose Bay in Newfoundland. Winter is coming.

I do hope we have a nice autumn this year. Brussels can be gorgeous on a beautiful crisp autumn day. There are so many huge, old trees with big, fat leaves in the many parks and they shimmer with gold, rust, orange, brown and red in the fall winds. But if it's going to be a rainy autumn, all I can say is 'poo'. Leaves will be glued to the cobblestones in a wet mush, a damp will develop in the walls and floors of every building and nothing will ever feel dry again.

The schools are starting back and the metro is crammed with students, half of them sleepy eyed and grouchy and half of them wearing new haircuts, the latest jeans and funky boots and jackets - eager to show off their new school personas. I do love it here in Europe. The handsomest and most macho schoolboys greet one another with a peck on either cheek because that's what you do when you see a friend here. It's not gay. It's so cute really. Jean Paul may saunter up to Marc Henri flipping his prep school bangs aside and go cheek to cheek in greeting. At a high school in the States, a kid might get a whomping for that - or at the very least, a wedgie in the locker room.

The EU, European Commission and European Parliaments are all back from their summer hiatus and self-imposed month-plus holidays. The Euro bars will be packed with well-paid commission workers - pretties in couture suits and handsom-ies in their finest haberdashery. I have always loved the autumn. I used to love going back to high-school and college after the summer. It's always been an exciting time of year for me - as if I come alive in the cooler months. I wonder if people like the time of year they were born in more than any other time of year. That's true in my case. I think I get more attractive in autumn too - not only because I love wearing sweaters and tights and cool boots and stuff, but really, because my skin and hair looks better I think.

I love long nights too. After a couple weeks, my autumn cycle of being drawn to go out and socialise longer in the evening will kick in. And no holds barred. I usually find a lovely man in autumn to snuggle with - he usually lasts until there's a real fight for the duvet in the middle of a winter's night - then he's out.

I will go home to DC for an 11-day visit later this week. Bunny Dog will go to camp (a nice word for a happy, fun kennel in the Belgian countryside). He tried it out a couple weeks ago and came back alive and happy - albeit completely exhausted and worn out from playing 14 hours a day - but he'll be safe and sound there.

I will get to spend some valuable time with Dad. Dad is plugging along and making very small progress with the help of his male nurse - Kabina who is from Ghana. Mom warns me that Dad is terribly emaciated and I am to be prepared for that. The struggle to put weight on him continues - even though he's eating more than when he was well. Mom needs to do some shopping, have a spa-day, eat out, get a life, enjoy her daughter. (Mom so appreciates the attention from everyone - for making sure she feels connected - Mary, she LOVED the dinner with you, Glenda and your colleague. Holly and Sio of course for all your contact)

I appreciate it so much because - well, you know. I am so far away.

So many things to get to grips with when home. Won't be too easy. Lucky my friends will be around. Can't wait to hug them.

OK OK!!

2006-08-24T09:35:00.000+02:00

I have had complaints because I have not written in a while. I have had so much heavy stuff on my mind - I didn't know where to start.

I promise to get back to it on a regular basis - after today

I am in London and will be back in my fair and sweet Brussels tonight

Who knew anyone read my blog?.....

The O'Reilly's Shuffle

2006-08-04T11:09:00.000+02:00

There's this thing - it's called the O'Reilly's shuffle.

No, it's not a dance.

It's the way one walks the morning after spending way too long at O'Reilly's the night before.

I was to meet - the always charming - Lara for Thai food last night. She wanted to try out a new Thai restaurant Fanny Thai. We are always on the look out for a replacement for Davi Thai which has gone from absolutely fabulous to downright terrible over the last 3 years. Davi Thai used to be an institution - I know people who ate there 2-3 times a week because it was so good - that was before it became a touristy food factory.

Anyway - while cleaning out my e-mail in-box (which takes me forever because I always stop and e-mail friends I haven't communicated with in ages) I decided to mail an old friend and ask if he was still in Belgium. He said 'of course', and that he was still going to O'Reilly's regularly as it is right down the street from his flat. What a coincidence. I could pop in and have a wine with him on the way to meet Lara.

I had arranged to have my dog walker take Bunny Dog until late in the evening so I didn't have to go home before dinner to walk him.

I wandered down to O'Reillys - affectionately known as OR in Brussels sms or text messaging lingo (Wild Geese is WG - and so on).

Anyway my friend was there and he looked great - we had a good catch-up over a glass of wine and then Lara arrived, ushered in to OR by the equivalent of Lake Victoria dumped by the bucket-load from the skies. It was rats and dogs raining. Tipping down. So she decided to get sitting and stay put. Another wine? Well, why not?

Talk talk talk - when Lara mentioned that she needed to contact Aussie Girl because she wanted to meet up with her in London next week, my other friend said - I know her! He reminded me that he met her when we went to Le Corbeau many years back. He correctly remembered her as the Aussie Girl who took a massive and spectacular fall off a table while dancing - as you do at Le Corbeau. Yep, Why yes, the very same Aussie ! I think she was in rare form that night too - he reminds me that she had some extracurricular activities that night. Of course she did - hey - it's Aussie Girl after all!! :-))

Ok - Lara and I made it to the Thai resto and it wasn't bad. Lara ordered some honey ribs which were very nice looking, succulent and perfectly cooked, but so honey-laden they were overpowering. Could have used some spice to hot them up a bit. My beef with Thai basil was great. I could actually taste the vegetables - they were so fresh and clean - each with a distinct flavour - even the bamboo shoots. The sauce was not too think and gloopy - very well scented. Pleasing. I had Shu Mai (steamed pork dumplings) to start, which were very nice and homemade.

So, amply fuelled, we returned to OR. My friend had been home and changed from his suit to casual wear. Another wine...some dancing. Talk talk talk. Possibly a few dances and a few flirts and glances. possibly.

I was home and in bed by 12:30. Bunny Dog was a little stand-offish because he knew that I had been out without him. Tough.

This morning it's cold and rainy again - (remember a while back I said there would be a day in August that lets you know winter is coming in Belgium? That was a couple days ago) Anyway - I have a distinct shuffle in my walk today. Something leaden keeping my feet from lifting off the ground more than absolutely necessary for the function of walking. The bare minimum of effort.

At the office this morning. There's a new cleaning crew - this is about the 12th new crew we have had - none of them ever do a good job for more than 1 week. Anyway - these women were awfully thorough and pushy - kinda like Portugese pit bulls - moved me right away from my desk and wiped everything down, whipped out the vac and started to do the carpet.

All of a sudden, a weird noise. The unmistakable sound of something being sucked in the vac that shouldn't have been sucked. The pit bulls dissect the vacuum and it's hose. Finally, finding the culprit of the clogged nozzle.

The cover of the heel to one of my shoes. Seems the O'Reilly's shuffle has worn down my heels and made them lose this morning. Oh well...it was worth it.

Wedding Cake and eat it Too

2006-08-01T11:27:00.000+02:00

Over the past few years here I have met many men who are happily cheating on their wives. Of course, before I came to Europe I heard of the stereotypical European man having a mistress. But I have to confess, I didn't really believe this was anything more than an odd occurrence. I was so wrong. It's rife over there. And I think it's getting worse.

The thing that really bothers me is this - There are men who cheat on their wives excessively - they have long-term relationships, short-term relationships, one-nighters and afternoon liaisons with other women and are surprised when their wives are upset or angry when they find out about it.

Is this just stupidity or macho self centred ignorance? How could they honestly believe that their partners are going to be OK with this type of behaviour? These men act as if it's not natural to actually live the marriage vows and it's a God-given right to act on desires outside of the marriage. Some even pretend there's a carnal desire out of their control and they have to cheat and lie or else they are depressed and manic. It's unbelievable.

Hey, look - stuff happens. I mean, People fall in love, they err, they stray, they make mistakes. But for crying out loud, they should have some remorse for doing so, or some sympathy for their wives. Better yet, they should do something about it.

There's a small chorus of people I know out there who are screaming - 'she had an affair too!'. So it's OK. It's not OK in my book. Oh, And dudes (you know who you are) she had an affair only because you had one (or more) and she knew it would drive you bonkers - which it did. Most of you even went completely crazy knowing that the tables were turned. Serves you right. What's good for the goose is good for the gander. Get used to it.

Better yet, learn from it.

Yeah. Who am I fooling? Men - learn? Right.

Most of these men won't do the right thing - which is to stop cheating - or be honest and separate and/or divorce and carry on legitimately. These men are selfish cowards. They want their cake and they want to eat it too.

I have met many men who are divorced and living in shabby little apartments, drinking in pubs every night, eating out of cardboard and tin-foil packets, slumping around, wishing they could 'pull' a babe for the night. These guys dream of their youth and imagine that every woman dresses in tight skirts and halter tops just for them, they imagine that every pretty receptionist is giving them the 'eye'. They imagine for one moment that they are not pathetic, losers living airless, brown apartments with no pictures on the wall, old Chinese food in the fridge and a musty carpet on the floor.

They imagine what it would be like to not have messed it all up. Trust me.

Don't get me wrong. I do know women cheat as well. Certainly not as much over here though. And I do know that some people are in helpless situations. But most of these cheating men are not.

It's funny, I get to be the cheerleader for the single life all the time. Friends who want something else in their married lives envy the single life. It's not what it's hyped-up to be, believe me. Especially when over 35- the pickin's are slim.

There are nights I get home from a business trip at 2 am because my flight was delayed or a train broke down or something - no one cares that I am late, no one is missing me. No one is worried. There's buying a house: No one to share the risk and decision making with, much less the cost! There's always the dreaded new Year's eve. Won't even go there...

And worst of all, being single, an attractive girl meets men who are cheating on their wives and saying things like, 'I'm married in name only', or 'I am in the marriage matrix and trying to get out', 'we are taking a break', 'I am sort of still married but not really', 'we are practically separated', 'we live separate lives', and my all time favourite 'I'm not really married, I just have a wife'.

So, when the next married guy asks me out - he might as well turn and run. I am having none of it and definitely none of him. I don't do that sort of thing, and no offence, it's just - well, I know I deserve better and so do the wives.

Heffalump Hot

2006-07-27T13:42:00.000+02:00

What dreadful hot weather we have! It keeps me in a continual state of inelegance.
- Jane Austen

It's crap hot again today. Europe wasn't built for this kind of heat. I am ever so elegantly seated at my desk in the office with my shoes off and a fan 12 inches from my face. Empty plastic water bottles on the desk, floor, near the trash bin (failed 3-pointers), on my side table, on the 'guest' chair. Like some sort of water junkie's been hiding in here.

I am on the verge of buying one of these Belgian air conditioners. They look like heffalumps - waist high, giant lumps with round expandable exhaust pipes that flop out of the back of the machines. They are completely hideous and you have to find a perfectly round exit hole for the 400' degree heat that comes out of the exhaust pipe. And I mean SERIOUSLY hot environmentally damaging processed scorching air. They look like an appliance from the 50's. - or one of those dishwashers that you can roll up to the kitchen sink and plug in to the tap.

These babies don't fit nicely in a window like the ones in the states - they sit on the floor like a big useless side tables and generate mildly cool air. The issue is that over here, there's not really a standard window size. So many buildings have the original old window frames and new constructions have all sorts of square and rectangular units which flip this way and that - none of the vertical up and down variety where you can snugly fit an A/C unit. No one has perfectly round exit holes for the exhaust in the side of their houses and apartments - so if people have a heffalump, they have them hanging out of windows with all manner of cardboard and plastic and tape closing the gaps - no point in cooling the air off if you're letting in hot air at the same time. Or worse, piped back in to the hallway or stairwell - seriously.

I saw one apartment where the owners deliberately broke the window glass on their front window to make a reasonable exhaust hole for their heffalump. They have taped the rest of the cracked window together and it looks rather tentative. Really attractive too, I must say. And ever so safe...it's only above the busiest bakery in the neighbourhood - no worries there...

Hmm. There's a cat door already installed in my kitchen. It's round and would work p-e-r-f-e-c-t-l-y! Bunny Dog would love it! He could go about his usual daily routine of sleep, sleep, wait for his dog walker, go for walk, drink water, sleep, sleep some more, afternoon nap, sleep, start waiting for me to come home etc. - and he would be as cool as a cucumber. Instead of doing all that panting and drinking tons of water. (he's ok on the cool tiles downstairs) But still, I won't buy it.

What's stopping me you say?

1. As much as I am suffering in this heat, it's Belgium. It's not going to last long. One day in mid-August you will hear and smell a weird feeling in the air - and you will know, that winter is coming. Happens every year.

2. Because these things give off an alarming amount of heat in the effort to cool people down, it seems to be a terrible waste - does it make sense to sizzle more ozone just to stay a bit cooler? (For sick and elderly - yes)

3. These things are fugly. Really bad looking things - and I don't have room for another lump of an appliance in my kitchen - yeesh

On the way home, I am going to stop at Metroshop. It's a paradise. It's got ALL Sorts of wild stuff. Like a mixture between a really well stocked Rite Aid and a PX - never know what's going to be in there next time you go. And it's right at the Metro so you can get your stuff and hop on the subway -easy peasy. I want a really big plastic container - big enough to act like a mini wading pool for Bunny dog and me and but NOT an actual wading pool which would attract the attention of the screaming monkey children next door....

Who's up for a bit of wading in cool water in the garden tonight?

:-))

Lobster Daze

2006-07-25T13:01:00.000+02:00

I had a surprise in the mail yesterday. My Rick Stein DVDs arrived. I love Rick Stein. He's a Chef who has done a bunch of awesome series on TV in UK. He's a bonafide star on the Beeb (BBC). And he's my absolute favourite. He built his reputation and empire on fish cookery. He's a champion for fresh locally caught fish. He owns several incredible restaurants in Padstow on the Cornish coast - well, at this point, he and his wife and his company own pretty much all of Padstow.

Rick Stein gets so excited and passionate about food. The freshness, the simplicity, the importance of well cooked, simple ingredients. It's not unusual for him to stop and read classic literature or quote a famous lover of art and life when he's talking about food.

Anyway - I have hours of Rick Stein at my leisure. I am supposed to wait until I go home to DC for a visit and share them with Mom - but who cares, I could watch him over and over again. What's that noise Homer Simpson makes when he sees doughnuts? Something like .... Aghghlghllgh drool drool. That's me and my Rick Stein. oh, this lobster dish he made in one episode of his Seafood Odyssey Series - he makes his own Indian masala paste - with roasted red peppers, a bit of tamarind water, lime juice, cumin, coriander, black pepper, and cayenne - whooshes up to a paste in the processor. He heats some ground nut oil in a pan, tosses in a great big blop of the paste, cooks it until it splits and adds the meat from a cooked lobster which has been cut in to chunks. He tosses it around and gets the lobster meat well coated. Then he stuffs the meat back in to the half shells (which have been warmed in the oven) and serves. It's so yummy looking.

I stayed up late last night watching an instalment of his Britain's Food Heroes series.

I would be glued to Rick Stein tonight also, but I am going out. Bunny Dog and I are meeting the lovely Lara for a drink. Lara's birthday is in a couple days so we will have her pressie in hand. Oh, and - Watch out men. We are in the mood.

It's still hot as an oven here and I do hope it will cool off this evening. I can't take much more of this. I am melting in to my office chair - well, kinda. I m sticking with my wet paper towel routine - so what if I look like a freak with wet paper towel plastered to my arms and forehead - it makes me feel freshie.

Dreaming of Lobster

Hottie

2006-07-19T14:08:00.000+02:00

Sweet baby Jesus and the orphans - it's hot over here! And it's a hot like 'DC hot' except without air conditioning - at all.

I went over to the mall at lunch to try and cool off in some of the stores - I had already tried the grocery store in the basement of the mall - There were quite a few of us hanging around the freezer section too long - keeping the doors open, making the chocolate mousse ice cream sandwiches melt. So they kind of shooed us out - made like they really had to unpack stock right then and there. yeah, right...

It's the kind of hot where nothing is cool enough to cool you down. Like your core temperature is overheated and about to blow. My fan blows warm air on me - when there's a breeze, it's warm, used up, hot, waste air.

Bunny Dog is hopefully cooler at home - the downstairs floor is tiled and usually quite cool in Summer - well, it was before they cut the trees. Now I go home at the end of the day and it's only a degree or two cooler than outside - still, it's something. Bunny Dog has water in three places in the house. I figure he will drink until he's hydrated and lie on the tiles trying to keep cool. He's also got fans on - I am extra conservative when it's not so hot - I need to use all the fans when it is. He's been putting his paws in his water bowl after his midday walk and printing the house with paw marks - lovely. Show's how hot his little feet get.

I think about one of my first blogs done in January - when it was so cold I could see my breath in the middle of the night while lying in bed. I purchased this kick-ass heater that made me feel as if the sun was right in my bedroom. I could get warm then. I could get results.

Wet paper towel on the forehead is nice. On the arms, nice, on my neck, nice. I let the wet paper get cool in the breeze of the fan and then plaster it to myself. I wish there was an open fire hydrant outside the office. I could use a break to tip toe in cool water. Are there fire hydrants in Brussels?? No, I think they're underground...

I whinge about the heat, but that's not fair. What about the elderly people sitting alone in baking-hot apartments with no respite from the heat at all? - Without the strength and money to do something about it. I have water, I have means. I will be fine. What do I know about suffering, going without water, being hot and dirty all the time? I know nothing of that. There's a local community service which supplies fans and water to those in need. I think I will stop by there on the way home tonight. I can afford to help.

A shout-out to my friend Ed - who is tasked with documenting the horrors of yet another Tsunami in Indonesia. Ed takes pictures of people - he helps us understand the depths of grief, sadness and desperation people experience in this harsh world - while at the same time, he captures the essence of human nature - the willingness of humans to endure, love and heal. Thanks and be careful Ed.

Pain in the leg

2006-07-17T13:35:00.000+02:00

I spent the bulk of Saturday upside down. Think downward facing dog or sun power plough or whatever position a la yoga. Well, not exactly yoga - yard work.

Saturday I bought a lawn mower - a fancy push mower - which - oddly was more expensive than some electric models - but didn't require 14 other parts (sold separately) to operate. I mowed the lawn - not the best job admittedly - who knew there was an adjustable knob for grass length? Let's just say - it's Marine cut in some places, a bit Woodstock -y in others.

Anyway - after mowing, I realised the border had to be done. I was not going to splash out again for a weed whacker. NO way. Scissors worked just fine thank you. Hunched over, I snipped my way around the edge a few times trying to get the ends even with the centre. Once that was done, it hardly seemed right to ignore the weeds in the raised bed on the side - Or to ignore the weeds in the cobblestone cracks. Thought I might as well trim the boxwoods also. So I bent down and snatched up weeds here and there and slowly made my way around the whole garden.

OK - I do cardio aerobics or metabolism booster aerobics at least 5 times per week now (yes, I do). And I do yoga at least 2 times a week. I have played a softball catcher for upwards of 11 years - scrunched down in a squat in the heat. I have lived in Europe for 6 years - walked all over the place and done stairs stairs stairs. I have done other activities I would consider to be quite strenuous and semi double jointed with no issues afterwards. So how come I can barely walk after 4 hours of yard work? So crazy!

Of course, because I was in pain - I had to have a mini crisis that required that I move around and strain myself.

That silly bird got stuck in my garden again. As usual, Bunny Dog found him first. (In which case I have to get him outta there fast - not that Bunny Dog is blood thirsty or anything - he's just curious...) I really think it's the same bird I've 'rescued' several times before - and transplanted to the park down the road. It's got to be. Same wonky wings, same inability to steer, same little chirp, same size, same colour - everything. Same 'mother' bird chirping at me - full volume from the tree-top next door.

The little guy can't get any height when he flies and once he gets in to my garden, he can't get enough height to get over the walls - even taking off from the far end of the yard is not enough. He flies really well at waist height, but that's it. After several attempts - I enlisted the help of my neighbour to capture the little guy and put him in the 'bird box' that Bunny Dog and I keep in a drawer in the front hallway for just this occasion. Bunny Dog is relegated to the windowsill inside during this operation. He would just make things more difficult. He's trying to 'protect me' from the bird of course, but would also try to 'tooth' it a bit just to check out it's bird-y texture - as I said - he's curious like that.

Once the bird was in the box, Bunny Dog and I walked to the park a few blocks away. I released him in to a wooded section filled with medium level trees and plenty of branches. He flew a little higher than usual and landed on a solid branch. There, done. Like a wounded soldier whose strained weary muscled have no rest, I hobbled home again. My legs even more exhausted from the excitement.

This morning I woke to less pain, but still noticeable discomfort. Now thinking I have some strange virus which is attacking my nervous system. No - it's just Monday. Sometimes Mondays feel like that

Bunny Dog and I went for his morning walk at 6:30 - me hobbling a bit, him running and prancing and playing in the expanse of green under the big oak trees. Bunny Dog finished his morning routine and came along side to slip his head in to his leash - and guess what? The darned bird landed right at our feet. Now - to explain how weird this is - we were about 200 yards from where I let the bird go free. And frankly, I didn't have a hope that this tiny guy would make it much past a few hours in the park. Here he was - 9 hours later, having survived the night. Landing right at our feet. How do you like that??

I looked around, there were plenty of other walkers and dogs about - why did the darned bird land in front of us? Bunny Dog shook his head at me and sighed.

Well, it's some sort of sign innit?? But I ain't taking the damned bird back home. I ain't.

OK - if we see the bird again - if it clearly presents itself to us again, I will do something. I am not sure what I will do, but I promise to do something.

Anyway - getting towards the end of Monday - will go home and do a toned down version of my work-out so as not to re-injure myself. Tonight Bunny Dog and I will go to the other park to be safe...

PS - Thanks to MvdG and ST for a lovely evening on Friday - we know how to laugh when we are together don't we?

What's New

2006-07-13T11:11:00.000+02:00

I was so busy with work and life I didn't have a chance to write over the last couple weeks - not a good excuse I know. But there has to be something that piques my writing interest enough to set aside some time and tell you about it.

I was in Dublin Tuesday and Wednesday for work. I was lucky enough to have time for a wander downtown Tuesday evening near St. Stephen's Green, Trinity college and the surrounding area. Dublin was lovely. Sunny, breezy, cool, hip, fashionable, cutting-edge, worn, soft, lively, quirky, traditional, new and old. Nice.

I wish Sio had been with me. Musicians lined the streets and jammed for the passing tourists and locals anchored at popular bars- with their creamy foam-topped pints of Guinness. The trees groaned with heavy lush green leaves and it felt as if the city was draped with a green dappled light shawl.

I revelled in the Marks and Spencer's food hall. Spoiled for choice of prepackaged gourmet, fresh, well done food. Bought my favourite spring onion crackers to take home and serve at the next dinner party.

I remember a group of students wandering along a row of pubs. One girl in a short denim skirt, black tights and gold ballet slippers. Oddly that image stays in my mind more than any other over the last few days.

Home to a happy dog last night. He spent two days with the lovely Lara who was kind enough to dog-sit while I was away. She's patient and sweet yet stern so he has a lot of respect for her and whines appropriately when she leaves - leaving him with me - alone at home. Back to the daily struggle for both of us. Who's in control? The dog or me? I'd like to think it's me but I know better.

Now what to do with this stuff....After two years I have a garden problem I never thought I would have. I have too much grass! Until May of this year, I had 5 huge trees in my garden and the ground hardly saw the light of day. I spent a lot of money over the years on trying to get the grass to grow. I even pressured my friend Marnix into trucking out turf and laying it two years ago. The turf died, nothing would ever take hold and grow. I used super-duper grass seed - developed extra strong for growing in shaded areas.

Since the landlord chopped the trees down, the grass has grown like weeds - and the weeds have grown like, well, weeds! My garden is a mess. And I have to break down and do something I hadn't planned on doing. Buy a lawn mower. For 30 square meters of grass.... I will have to get one of those heavy duty plastic ones that fold up - that's all I need!!

Should be funny though. Problem is - I was sort of thinking about a strimmer too. You know, like a weed whacker thing. The guys at the local hardware store are going to get a kick out of me this Saturday.

I don't often say this - but I need a guy to help this weekend. I also need a cabinet door re-hung. I would make a super dinner to thank him....

Dad is still frail and not eating properly. My Nephew Jason who is a trained EMT is down there helping Mom and Dad indefinitely. He promises me that Dad will get stronger - it will just take some time. I will visit early September and spend some quality time with him.

Eat Up

2006-06-29T09:03:00.000+02:00

Psychologically, my Mom has avoided using the feeding tube for Dad. She has fought it every step of the way. He's even got one and they haven't resorted to using it. But it's time to get over that mental block and use it. Dad is just not getting stronger. He's only got one more session of radiation today and the chemo is over - logic would mean that he will start to feel better pretty quickly. But logic doesn't play a part in cancer especially when the patient is 83.

He needs to keep his energy levels up, but that's pretty darn hard with no fuel. And he can't eat because it's uncomfortable and difficult. And the more he thinks about it the worse it gets. He can sit for hours forcing down the Ensure nutrient shake each morning. Psyching himself in and out of the task. Mom has to come in every 20 minutes or so and nag him - actually, yell is more like it. She's really tried to keep him from being an old invalid and feeling sorry for himself. She sees that as the way down - and when down there, it's hard to turn around and get back up. Sio calls it 'circling the drain'. A lot of our parents and siblings and friends have been dangerously close to 'the drain' lately.

Angel Daniel has been relieved by Angel Norio - my cousin on my mother's side - well, actually my cousin Dorothy's husband. He is a lifesaver too. I cannot think how I will be able to repay their kindness. Norio is retired and my cousin Dorothy offered his services for Dad care. He flew over from Sacramento and has been there a week. Aside from helping Dad get up from the sitting position and chauffeuring him to doctors appointments, he has been on pumping duty. There's been record rainfall in the DC Area and of course, the basement has flooded. Norio has had to keep vigil and go down every few hours and pump with the wet vac. Is there anything else that can go wrong ?

Mom has been so amazing this whole journey. But she is exhausted. She feels like she is tasked with keeping a concentration camp victim alive - except this one refuses to cooperate and whinges at all the food put in front of him. Mom and I were talking about Dad and his vanity the other day - which seems to have worsened through this whole ordeal. I decided if the situation were reversed and Mom was this ill, it would still be all about Dad. He would still talk about the effect it has on his life. And - I would have left work indefinitely because there's no way he could manage things the way she does.

I sent her a special package - just a nice Elizabeth David book - something she can sink her teeth in to. Well written food writing. And best of all, a brown paper package all for her - just because.

Monkeys in the House

2006-06-28T15:54:00.000+02:00

Oh it's been busy in my life lately! Work and travel for meetings - so busy. I can hardly believe it's the middle of the year.

Last Thursday I invited a friend over for dinner. At the last minute, another friend called and said he was in the neighbourhood and would drop in if I had time - I remember my friend Holly once named 1998 the year of the 'drop in' - or was it 1999. Either way - it's kinda nice to have people stop by just to say 'hello'. Back to that connectivity thing - making sure you touch people and communicate, laugh, hug.

Luckily I had 4 of the meatiest brochettes ever from a great butcher shop near Parc Cinquantenaire. I love these because one is plenty for any dinner serving - and there's a tiny, tasty, fresh garlic and herb pork sausage popped on the end. I had two guys with hearty appetites - although the slighter one ate more than the large one - I had just enough food. Served with big salad of arrugula, sweet tomatoes, slices of buffalo mozzarella and my home-grown basil, balsamic and olive oil, sea salt and lots of cracked black pepper. Just right. Between the two men, they drank every beer in the house. I mean it. They just stayed and stayed and stayed at the table in my garden and talked into the night.

I guess they enjoyed themselves.

Saturday I was a bit more industrious. My Italian/Flemish friend came over to have a relaxed meal back in the garden. I made strips of courgette rolled with a ricotta, garlic, and chives stuffing as an appetiser. Coquilles St. Jacques (scallops in white sauce and cheese) for entree and for the maiin course, a beautiful monkfish with black olives, tomatoes, shallots, garlic, baked in white wine. Roquette dressed with lemon and extra virgin olive oil on the side. Strawberry and apricot tartlets for afters.

We finished the evening watching the Mexico v. Argentina World Cup match which went to overtime and then we walked Bunny Dog around the block and dropped my friend at his car. Was perfect.

It's been rather cool the last few days. Like Summer has decided to take a break - either that, or it's over - which is a possibility in Belgium. But I don't think so. :-)) Either way, cool weather keeps 'the babies' quieter and if it's raining - they are INSIDE!

'The Babies'. The neighbours on the first floor. (2nd floor in US) The ones with the baby farm - 3 babies under 3 years old - all live in a studio-style apartment with a terrace overlooking my garden. The apartment is huge with very high, beautiful ceilings and gorgeous period moulding and features, but still a studio!! The bedroom for the twins is below on the ground floor - that's weird - and a bit inconvenient for the tenant across the hall from them - he just leaves the building until after 'bedtime'.

They are nice people for the most part, but - a family of 5 just doesn't belong in that apartment. They spend every waking hour on the balcony terrace to feel like they are really outdoors. It always feels like there's people in my living room when I get home from a hard days work. He 'works' at home - although not sure what he does or when. So they are always there - always. Sometimes when I am in a bad mood, I call them the Monkey family - to myself of course. Mean ain't I??

The twin boys throw their cars in my garden every night. Usually, I come pretty close to getting plonked on the head with a Matchbox racer - last night I counted 16 scattered throughout the grass. Good thing I was out - would have been hard to avoid that car shower.

The babies scream and yell and cry which reverberates through the yards bouncing off the brick walls behind all the buildings. You can hear people closing their windows when one of the babies throws a fit.

The Mom usually lies in the sun all morning on Saturdays and Sundays (and I am sure all other days) and ignores the kids who are basically bored to death. They need to get fresh air and exercise. I have known whole weekends where they haven't taken the kids out of the apartment and off the deck the entire time. I guess it's too much bother with twin boys and a very small baby girl -especially if you're lazy.

The parents used to fill little dishpans with water and put them on the porch and let the twin boys frolic in the water. The boys' arms and legs hanging out and their bums submerged. They would throw cupfuls of water all over the place with plastic measuring cups. I got them a small inflatable pool. They love it. The Mom loves it. It fits right on the deck and both boys can sit together and feel like they are - well, a little more submerged - it's brightly coloured and fun. And Mom can sit in her tanning chair right next to them and do the minimum.

I can deal with kid stuff, but the adults are the kind of people that accumulate, dump and spread. Know the kind I mean? Their stuff starts to pile up everywhere - in the hallway, on the stairs, out front, in the cave, in the storage room (but not stored in boxes).

They take advantage of you too - the kind of people that march in and ask for garbage bags or tape or ladders or to use your ice cooler, or leave the kids in the garden without asking - and then never think to say 'thanks'. The kind of people who happily return an extra outdoor table they 'borrowed' in fine condition - and now it's got two wobbly legs and doesn't stand up straight anymore.
They claim they won't re-sign the lease because the trees have been cut down and it's not pleasant anymore. But I can't see them motivating to go anywhere anytime soon - that would take effort - monkeys.. :-)

OK - enough of me being cheeky

Have a nice day

My World Cup Runneth over

2006-06-19T13:03:00.000+02:00

I am in a fog concerning the World Cup. Football is swirling all around me and yet I don't see anything, can't quite make out what's coming next.

Every apartment is alight with the reflected flickering of their TV screens. Groans and moans and cheers and jeers can be heard rippling through the alleyways and streets - as if a rumble is just around the corner, everywhere. Parks and squares with big screen TVs set up are jammed with double-fisted beer drinkers and colourful jerseys, flags, scarves, and face paint. And for the first time ever, I really don't feel like I am missing anything.

Since Germany is only a couple hours away, there are a lot of World Cup fans staying in Belgium. Cheaper. Huge groups of middle-aged Swedish men roam in packs going from bar to bar. England supporters gird themselves with St. George crosses on their jerseys, faces - everything - someone asks me if they can paint the St. George cross on Bunny Dog for the match Tuesday - gee, I'll have to think about it. Um, NO!

I met some friends out on Saturday night and everyone was wishing me luck. What on earth for? (the other shoe drops) Oh, USA v Italy. Well, really, there's no contest is there? Italy and all Italians assume that they will wipe USA off the planet. Naturally. Football is not a sport in USA - not really - they think.

I don't care, I really don't care. I am not 'in' to footie. When I moved to Europe, I thought I would give it a chance. Then I realised that there was too much to learn. So many clubs, so many teams, so many countries, so many leagues, so many tournaments so many matches, so many - too much! Even Belgium has like 3 football leagues and this is a tiny country! Too complicated.

I know some of the biggies - Ronaldinho, Beckham, Rooney..well OK - I know 3 biggies. But I don't know any USA players - sorry.

So we (USA) tied with Italy that night - much to the Italians' collective chagrin. They felt that a proper bashing of a team like USA would make them feel more secure when they had to face a 'real' football team. Grown men - almost in tears over a draw - I am not exaggerating.

With zero effort on my part, I was on the 'Not-winning-but-not-losing-team'. I was on the team that ALMOST won against Italy - (we had a second goal that was rejected because it was offside)- But we got in the zone time and time again. A threat. Now - remember, I don't care about this stuff at all....

The fog is lifting a bit - a group of handsome Italian men have just come over to flirt with me and communicate to Bunny Dog. (this dog is one great party trick). One of the Italian supporters asks where I am originally from.....dare I?

The Big Dipper

2006-06-10T20:24:00.000+02:00

Last night I had dinner with my dear friend Laura who is Catalan. We don't see one another often enough - That has to change - We are friends for life and I have to work on that as we all must.

She and I went to the new Portuguese restaurant in my neighbourhood. Her father is extremely ill and I could tell by her face that it wasn't good news. Her father had polio as a child and has severe problems with diabetes. A few weeks ago, Doctors had to remove his 'good' foot - ie. the one that wasn't stricken weak from childhood diabetes. There's nothing to be said about the pain of that situation - there's a long uphill struggle for the whole family.

The Portuguese restaurant was an elixir for unhappiness last night. The restaurant is so new! Last night was it's 4th operating night - and it showed! Aside from the fact that dinner took an hour and a half to arrive in front of us, the bashful waiter stayed hidden behind the bar for the bulk of our waiting time as he was not only new, but ashamed of the time it took to get food in front of all of his hungry customers out on the terrace. It would have helped to have water and bread to tie us over until the meal came. We were, for the most part, patient and would have appreciated it greatly if he had come over and commiserated with us. The effect a whole bottle of Vino Verde without sustenance made us giddy beyond belief!

At one point, we looked at a table next to us with three diners holding their knives and forks in their fists ready to bang on the table like orphans in a Dickens novel. (after an hour of waiting!) We saw this and just lost it. Pressures from work, life and a shared sorrow for our Dads health took over. We were giggle monsters. It was so lovely. Like the kind of uncontrollable laughter I get when together with my longest-known, best, growing-up, growing adult - growing everything! friends Sio, Hols, Mary - and from this side of the ocean - Lara. Magnificent. The food was pretty good after all that waiting tho! Not sure if it was hunger ot taste, but good anyway.

When I got home, I sat in my garden and just stared at the night sky. It seemed as if everyone was asleep in the neighbourhood as no lghts were on. The Stars were so bright. I decided that the 'Big dipper' was sitting exactly over my garden in the middle of Brussels. So amazing and all my own for the night.

Dad came home from the hospital yesterday. Not necessarily because he's better, but because he couldn't stand getting worse. (A special 'thank you'goes out to a slightly questionable nurse who tried to find a vein for an IV a few days ago and butchered Dad's arm). He's extremely weak and frail. Mom came down with the flu like a ton of bricks last night. The Angel - Family Friend Daniel is there making life worth living. Thank God.

I had a 45-minute conversation phone call with Dad this morning including details of Daniel's dinner last night -when a few friends popped by. Dad loved it and he is regenerated by being home. He's at his best when the acting as the MC for life, news and culture. Dad is still weak, but so happy to be home with Mom, his dog and good friends. He sounded like himself. That's pretty good. Still, keep fingers crossed and thoughts floating their way ...please.

A very special Happy Birthday Today (Saturday June 10) to Aussie Girl who celebrates today - in her own words - 'The First Anniversary of her 30th Birthday'. I love you Aussie girl! Oh, but stop asking me for advice on men - you know me better than that! I have no clue!

Looking for the big dipper....

eleny keep going - miss you

Strawberries and Sunshine

2006-06-08T12:40:00.000+02:00

On the way to work, I usually pick up my melon salad at the Metroshop just off the De Broukere metro. Then I zig zag over to my office making a special zag over to the croissant shop. This morning, as I turned the corner of the Anglican church on Rue Neuve, I smelled a wave of sweetness in the air. The kind of sweetness that tells you summer is here. Ah. Fresh, juicy sweet Strawberries from Wepion.

Wepion is a small village in a valley about 1 hour south of Brussels. It is surrounded by fertile farmland between the historic Ardennes towns of Namur and Dinant. The Meuse and Lesse rivers flow from the Ardennes mountains through the valley here. All along the rural highway, there are small white shacks with hand-painted strawberry signs propped along the safety lanes. There's even a strawberry museum - I think it's in Anhee just before Dinant.

These strawberries are not the bland, dry, artificial mini-boulders that are flown in from Spain. These are medium-sized, gems of sweetness just bursting with juice. The juice tastes like nectar laced with honey - followed by a sweet puckery berry punch. The actual flesh of the fruit smells as if it's been toasted in the sun - and is a deep, dark cherry colour. These are strawberries that you slurp. Phenomenal.

How lucky am I to be sitting with a box of Wepion strawberries on my desk? Sitting with the sun shining on me as I work - a light breeze. Very lucky indeed.

Update on Dad:

Touch and go - he's eating marginally more. In very small small bites. If he can get his hiccups under control, he can eat more and go home - possibly Friday. A male nurse from Cuba who wheels Dad down for his radiation treatment told Dad his Mom's cure for the hiccups: Tear off a piece of newspaper, wet it in water, and stick it to your forehead. Righto...this is where we are with this whole hiccups thing. Scary.

An angel has arrived in Washington, a dear family friend who is between jobs. His wife is with the State Department stationed in Mexico City - she sent her husband to DC to support Mom and Dad. Besides being a very close - loyal and wonderful friend to my parents, Daniel is a classically trained French Chef (was sous chef at the Jockey Club when they lived there) and a dog lover. My parents are in great hands. I am so thankful. Right now, Dad is probably talking to Anne-Marie, the staff nurse from Vietnam - sitting there with a bit of newspaper stuck to his forehead - it works for him you know....

Easy does it

2006-06-06T09:06:00.000+02:00

I have already mentioned that it's hard getting back in to the work mode - in fact, you're tired of hearing it now. But I have to say, having a 3-day weekend the first weekend after returning from holiday is either really smart or really stupid. Hey, it's Tuesday after the Monday holiday - too early to tell yet, but definitely nicer to ease in to things - hope I get in the zone soon - some customers are getting whingey.

So, my 3-day weekend:
Mom sent me the Julia Child book My Life in France. It was the perfect distraction for me - as I wasn't in the mood to go out. I had plans to catch-up on things at home and have a friend over for a nice summery supper one night over the weekend. I managed to get it all done while still devouring Julia's book.

Julia's first experience with France was in Normandy and it remained one of her most-loved places in the world. I can so relate to what she experienced there. I can relate to setting up her kitchen as a first priority each time she moved. The joy when the best fish monger recognises you and accepts you as a cook who knows what she is doing.

I had a good friend over for pretty mediocre pesto Sunday evening (if I do say so myself - it was the most garlicky pesto I have ever made)and a nice summery salad of lambs lettuce (salad de ble), fresh roquette, baby yellow plum tomatoes and a white balsamic vinaigrette. A very nice Camembert from Calvados which was just about to ripen to the point where it could walk out the door on it's own - but absolutely delicious. My friend seemed to enjoy dinner. As our dinner progressed he told me that his father had died of esophageal cancer and my heart sank in to deep despair. However, the details of his father's illness make it sound like a completely different disease than my father's. His father was 56, smoked and drank heavily, and did not see a doctor until is cancer had metastasized and was well beyond stage 5 and a cure.

My dad is 84 and cancer grows extremely slowly in older people. He also caught this in stage 2. He never, ever smoked - or drank in excess - and didn't drink at all for the last 5 years. So forgive me if I dismiss that conversation - It's not the same thing and it's not hopeless.

Dad had a rough start to the weekend, still suffering severe runny tummy and unable to get anything down his esophagus. Losing weight at 2-3 lbs a day. But the hospital and staff are taking great care of him.

By yesterday (Monday) he had eaten half a slice of bacon and 1/4 of his pancakes for breakfast. A major coup when he's eaten nothing solid for a week!! He has devoured as much soft ice cream as he could bribe someone to get him - he's not allowed to have it - it makes his runny tummy worse but he loves it.

Mom and I agreed to get worried if he didn't have a daily list of 20 things to bring from home to his hospital room. Yesterday he wanted all of the papers and magazines(because he is a news junkie) , he wanted all sorts of radios, ear plugs, gadgets and of course, Sakajaweah silver dollars to give to Nurses, orderlies, and candy stripers who are nice to him. Dad had struck up a conversation with a nurse from St. Sebastian in The Basque area and wanted Mom to bring in brochures of where they had visited and dined when there a couple of years ago.

Mom had brought him a beautiful rose stem from the rose bush in front of their house. It had 5 or 6 beautiful peachy, tea rose blossoms on it and he gave blossoms away to his favourite nurses. He made sure his Hungarian doctor knew I was part Hungarian and that famous Hungarian Artist Paul Tacazs was my god father. (The Doctor was impressed).

He's eating bit by bit. He's asking everyone where they are originally from, he's talking about what makes for major headlines in the news and complaining about the number and repetitiveness of commercials on network TV. All in all - still Dad. His stomach is better but he has the worst hiccoughs he's ever had. Going on a few days of them and he's getting pretty fed up with those.

In between hiccough stutters, We chatted about Bush, Iraq, Afghanistan, East Timor and Somalia. I told him I was reading the Julia Child book that they had sent me in the mail. He said he knew her husband Paul Child quite well in USIA. I never knew that.

All in all, I think the prayers are working :-))

Now - he and I need to just ease back in to things. He needs to ease in to getting stronger and getting some exercise and getting home. I need to ease in to helping these customers who freak over every tiny issue and lend a sense of calm cool collected-ness to the situation. Yeah right.

Thanks to the wonderful, thoughtful, caring friends who have sent me text messages or e-mails to lend support and to make contact. I appreciate it.

Stardate : 2 days after holiday

2006-05-30T09:16:00.000+02:00

I had an incredibly hard time getting out of bed this morning. I hit the snooze button twice before Bunny Dog jumped up and shnuffled me in the ear. (A shnuffle in the ear could wake a sleeping dinosaur - so I got the message).

It's quite chilly in Brussels today which doesn't help my mood. The overwhelming feeling that what I do for a living provides me a comfortable and secure life, but does nothing to feed my soul.

Do we all go through these questions after holidays? Do we ask ourselves if we are making a difference in the world? Is it common end-of-holiday-itis or is it something bigger?

I am sure it's a little of both. There's got to be some chemical change that occurs in a body that is allowed to sleep until it naturally wakes for 10 days in a row after months of early starts, hard work, travel weariness and late nights. And when forced to return to the spinning wheel, the body resists, repels and refuses to work properly. - End-of-holiday-itis.

The something bigger is that there's still people suffering all over the world and I am sitting here in my Brussels office doing work someone invented and I will in turn make more work for someone else and so on. Yeah, I have to pay my bills.

But what can I do to make a difference?

In fact there's a lot I can do.

1. Pray.
Recently, Bunny Dog had gone over to investigate an escalator and had clipped his paw. My vet was on holiday so his back-up vet had to see my dog. He lived out of town - in the countryside - so he made a house call. (Yes, a house call) When I asked him what I should do for my dog's on-going treatment he said. 'Pray'. Of course, I was quite alarmed. Was my dog in such bad shape that I had to pray? He then proceeded to tell me that he had been in hospital for 6 months a few years ago suffering from a brain tumour. He told of these friends who stood by him and made every day a normal, cheerful day during the worst of his illness. When he later asked them how they could be so positive and supportive, they said it was because they knew he would be fine. They had prayed for him to be fine. And he was. To him, it was their praying that helped him through. He told me right then and there. 'Never underestimate the power of prayer,- and your dog is fine - it's only a little cut and he'll be back to normal tomorrow'. No matter where we are, no matter what time of day or night, it can't hurt to send a prayer someone's way. I am very conscious of prayer right now because Dad is ill, but let's not forget to pray for the not-so serious stuff also. Pray for the good stuff that's been sent our way.

2. Follow-through
I have two large plastic sacks of clothing in my closet up in the loft at home. So totally ridiculous... I am embarrassed. These are clothes I sorted out of all my closets to send to the victims of the Pakistani earthquake. People who would go hungry cold and alone through the harshest of winters. I managed to get the clothes sorted, made sure they were clean and useful and sorted by colour and fabric and ready to go. Then I did nothing. Just sort of let it go.. I missed the boat (or plane actually). I had even contacted local organisations who were gathering clothing and doing the tough part - getting the donations in to the hands of those who need them. And I screwed up. Next time, I won't let that happen. I will follow-through and make the effort. For crying out loud, that's the easy part. And I'll bet my bottom dollar (euro) that I won't feel so useless after the next holiday. Because you know what? I won't be.

3. Make Contact
I will make sure to send people a quick note or an e-mail reminding them that I am thinking about them. Just a sign from me that I haven't dropped off the face of the earth and that I haven't forgotten those I love and care about. It's seems so silly, but we don't do this nearly enough. Smile at people you pass in the street, wave at people in shops that you see everyday, but never speak to. Say 'hello' to the old biddy who always cuts in front of you at the bakery. Call friends who are going through a tough divorce and listen to them vent.

4. Make the most of everything
When you have a chance to - sit and contemplate, relax and breathe deeply, listen to the sound of your child's breathing (or dog's :-)), watch the trees blow around in the wind, feel the humidity rise in to thunderclouds, smell your skin after sitting in the sun, watch a caterpillar cross the garden, hug your best friend, buy yourself or someone you love flowers for no reason at all, take long walks with no destination in mind, lie in a field and look at the stars, get up early to spend time with yourself over a cup of coffee or to really watch your kids wake with sleepy grins, you know...live.

There's so much more. But as I do have to make a living somehow, I had better concentrate on work. It does make me feel better though to remind myself that I can make a difference in some small way. It helps to realise that even though I am back on the hamster wheel, I can feel part of the global world, meaningful and worthwhile.

Return to the Death Star

2006-05-29T10:11:00.000+02:00

The Mothership is back in the Deathstar loading dock. After my 10 days off and a week on the beach in Normandy, I am facing hundreds of e-mails from crazed colleagues, customers and a few friends. It's funny what passes for urgent in this world when there's war, famine, drought, earthquakes and volcanoes. Even more humorous is how those urgent matters seem to dissipate if you never respond to the calls.

Get things in to perspective people! I only say this because I spent the last 10 days trying to get my life in perspective - that's what holidays are for right? The week before my holiday, I was like a hamster on a spinning wheel and everything was urgent to me too. But I thought about the bigger picture on holiday - what's important?

I thought about my Dad who at age 84 is battling esophageal cancer with the help of his Commander in Chief - Mom. They have the routine down pat. Get something nourishing down Dad's sore and swollen esophagus in the morning to try to counteract the effects of the chemo, drive to Sibley for radiation and then hit a great bakery they just discovered in the neighbourhood of the hospital. Make it a fun afternoon, lunch out, explore the woods seldom roamed. Make it worthwhile and rewarding.

Dad's starting treatment week 3 of 5. Past the halfway point. It will get better. But it gets worse before it gets better. I wonder why I am an ocean away. Mom and Dad are so strong and amazing and they want to put this sickness in to perspective - a project to get through. Absolutely NOT a 'come home' situation to them.

On our Sunday call yesterday, Dad remarked again how lovely Mom is and how women years younger look haggard and tired. He went on about how Mom looks vibrant and healthy at 79. You know, my parents are in love. I love that.

I thought about what's really urgent in life. I finally got through to my friend Ed Wray. The power of prayer. He's a Photographer for AP and is based in Jakarta. When the earthquake hit Central Java, he was in East Timor watching people unravel through revenge, mistrust and hatred. Documenting fear and loathing through his camera lens. Then he returned to Yogyakarta to capture more images of a people with broken hearts. How much can people take? Quite a lot it turns out. Glad he's safe and able to help tell the story of what's happening there.

As I contemplate the many projects thrown my way, the hard work and travel coming up, I think of Bunny Dog. I can't get the image out of my head. I giggle each time I picture it. Bunny Dog - who is not a blood-thirsty animal - graduated from simple above ground rabbit chasing over the last holiday. He started to enter the rabbit holes! Many times I would look over and just see his haunches and wagging tail protruding from a grassy mound in the dunes. Rabbits flying all around him above ground - he never had a clue! Those rabbits are so used to silly dogs.

Snap out of it! What's wrong with me - back to work 'urgent' (stat)

Darth Vader - my boss - is on the line. Gotta go.

The Fantasy

2006-05-17T14:01:00.000+02:00

Someone once asked me where the fantasy came from about wanting a man in the kitchen wearing an apron and bearing gifts of chicken and champagne. I said 'Where most fantasies come from... real life'.

Long ago, Aussie girl came to town and as usual, we went out with Lara to do some damage to Brussels. Around that time, I happened to have been e-mailing with a man on the xpats web site and since I had never met him, I thought it safe to ask him to meet me in public armed with my best line of defence - the girls.

Of course, when he walked in the door - we all knew instantly he was the e-mail guy. One of those losers wearing an over-the-top, mustard couloured, tweedy European sport coat. He had three strands of hair neatly pulled across his bald pate. He had - I am serious here- teeth like a meat grinder - and a nose like the wicked witch of the East in the Wizard of Oz. Don't get me wrong - I am really not THAT shallow. But, he was snotty and pompous so he had to go - if you want my opinion - well of course you do :-))

Anyway, as he sat there and patronised us to death, I got rolled eyes and sighs from my girls - all the not-so-secret signals - to give this guy the heave-ho, boot, Heisman, shove - - basically - anything to get rid of him. I tried various tactics to send him along his way. Nothing worked, he wasn't moving. OK - I'm guessing he's been in the company of 3 attractive ladies about 1 time in his life counting this one so he's not going to let this situation pass him by.

I had an idea. I left the table to powder my nose. When I came back 3 minutes later, something happened. What happened put me down in the Girls Out at Night Record Book under the section titled Expert and creative ways to ditch a looser.

A handsome young man in a nice dark blue suit came up to the table and kissed me on the cheek - As any old friends would greet one another. He then asked Lara how she was 'Lara, so nice to see you. How are you?' and to Aussie - 'Oz - when did you get in to town from London?'

I wish I had a camera - both Lara and Aussie girl momentarily froze, mouths wide open. Neither of them knew this guy. I could see Lara sort of thinking back - 'hmm... where did I meet him, have I met him? ...no.' It was only a couple seconds - but then they caught on. He was a plant. And he had friends :-))

He gestured over to a large group of very handsome men in suits and nice sport coats who all waved from across the bar and called out our names, and came over for pleasant 'Hello's'. I was instantly elevated to mistress of the conniving world. And I had chosen a master to carry out the ruse.

This lovely man, Diederik - the handsome, young lawyer- did everything perfectly. He suggestively asked if I had to get up early in the morning, wink wink. He draped his arm around me. He had his friends fawn over the girls. And ever so cleverly, he ignored xpat snaggle-tooth who was sitting there completely incensed. Finally sabre-toothed snarlmouth gave up and left. Whew. I didn't hear from him again. Darn.

Yeah, I know. I could have been an adult about it all and told the guy I didn't fancy him and that I wanted to be alone with the girls - goodbye. I could have been honest and mature and pleasant and considerate. I could have...oh.... that's too hard and no fun....

Besides, what I got were 8 men all over 6'3. Trim, handsome, smart, witty, funny, and best of all fun.

I had gone over to this group of hotties and shouldered my way right in the middle of the bunch. All armed with fresh beers they looked down at me and wondered what I was doing barging in to their huddle. They were quite intrigued and if I may say so - I had 'it' that night so they were willing to play my game.

I spoke softly, but quickly.

'OK guys, I need your help. Operation get the loser to leave our table'.

Instantly Diederik took command of the operation. He's so sly.

Within a minute he got all the information he needed and sent me back to my table to await their performance. It was brilliant.

Ok - enough of all that - we drank a bunch of cocktails with them - one guy who looked like a movie star from the 40's was practically drooling over Aussie girl.

I was fortunate enough to see Diederik several times after that for one-on-one consultations.

One night, after a particularly long travel day, he called to ask me what I wanted to do that night. Honestly, I was so tired of travelling and still had another hour on the train from Den Haag. I told him that I wanted to come home to a man in my kitchen wearing nothing but an apron. I said I wanted the man to be holding a roasted chicken in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. He asked me 'what would you go for first? The man the chicken or the bubbly?'

You know me by now.....

I said 'the chicken' !

That night I got home from the train station weary and worn. The doorbell rang. There was Diederik - and guess what I got that night.

A man in my kitchen wearing nothing but an apron. A roasted chicken in one hand and a cold bottle of very good champagne in the other. I also got a dance, a strip-tease, a smile on my face and a headache the following morning!

So, I will forever find that image extremely sexy and I will always go for the chicken first.

Sunny Brussels

2006-05-11T10:29:00.000+02:00

It's a beautiful, warm, sunny Thursday here the European Capitol city of Brussels. This means that the creme de la creme of European Union/Commission/Parliament trash will be oozing from every sidewalk cafe, bistro, pub and bar in the city. Everyone will be well in to their warm weather rituals. When you live in a city that has such long, dark cold winters, you crave the light and warmth and the vitamin D generating rays of sun.

At lunch, every stairway, bench, fountain and spare bit of space showered in sun outside will be covered with bodies. Hippie chicks wearing long summery skirts, crop tops with their ringed navels and plump love handles plopping about. Business people with their suit jackets off, bared arms, fashionista sun glasses, Evian and Vittel waters. Shoppers who stop for a rest with their bags crumpled and crinkly. Mothers with babies in their strollers, tiny little umbrellas shielding bambino's faces and moms stripped down to sleeveless knit tops. Women with head scarves, in tank tops and tight skirts. Even the women in burkas (full coverage a la Iraqi women)wearing summer sandals and letting their toes wiggle a bit.

In the evening - everyone on the prowl. NATO Soldiers off duty will take the tram downtown for a beer in Grande Place, get completely legless by 9 PM and be swaying to and fro to some good 80's pop music at Celtica by 10 pm.

Place Luxembourg will look like an ad for Dippity Do hair gel and Dolce & Gabanna knock-offs. There will be so many people at the bar tables outside that you can't tell which tables belong to which establishment and people will be sitting on the public benches surrounding the bus stop. There will be 1 million cigarette butts on the cobblestones, some scrunched out, some still burning under foot. At least one Commission Secretary level 2 will dance in the fountain raising her skirt and giggling.

Kitty O'Sheas will have all their windows thrown open and a few scraggly chairs and tables outside. Die hards will be inside The Hairy hardly noticing the weather while little old ladies who 'Pub' will be sitting at the small tables outside 'people watching' - lending a respectable air to the place.

My neighbours - who have 3 kids under 3 years old - will be on their balcony which overlooks my garden. They are on their balcony 18 hours a day because they want air and space but can't afford a house right now. They eat every meal out on the balcony. They start the morning sunbathing out there while the twin boys sit in tubs of water and splash each other using plastic cups. The baby girl screaming in her bouncy chair. The father steals 5 minutes here and there for some 'work' when he feels like it. She concentrates on her tan and dead-heading the pots of flowers around her. I am in the office right now - I can picture exactly what she is doing - maximising her time before the sun moves and the porch is shaded - babies screeching.

I know Bunny Dog is waiting for Ghislaine - his French dog walker. He is sitting half on the windowsill and half on the radiator - keeping watch until the big heavy doors to the garden swing open. Ghislaine will take him to Parc Cinquintinaire for a romp in the freshly cut grass. He will play with other nice dogs and come home an hour later exhausted and thirsty - ready for a nap in the sun on my bed.

I have the windows in my office thrown wide open and I am working with the sun on my shoulders and a cool breeze drifting by.

Not long now

2006-05-08T11:27:00.000+02:00

I found the little bag of sand I keep just for these occasions. It's full of sand and shells from Normandy. I like to open it and let Bunny dog get a smell of freedom and heaven. Only 13 days to go now and then we will be hiking through the dune grass, Bunny dog flying through the air on the trail of a rabbits as big as he is. Salty sea spray and breezy sunshine. Fresh langoustines, crabs, skate and moules. Ham served with calvadoes cream sauce. Camembert and fresh bread. My feet sinking in to the sun-hot sand. Good books and magazines, evenings spent with wine and laughter. Sunkissed noses.

Cinco de Mayo

2006-05-04T12:28:00.000+02:00

I am having a Cinco de Mayo party. Belgians don't normally celebrate Cinco de Mayo because - well, they don't have to. In fact, there's very little Mexican anything here.

There's a Chi Chi's downtown in the touristy area. Wow. Although I am not sure if Chi Chi's is Mexican or not. Apparently it's terrible. There's one other Mexican restaurant in Brussels and I have actually been to it - but it is so wrong it's freaky. Suspiciously crepe-like tortillas, basmati rice, watery salsa, no jalapenos, no mole, no good tequila and even a dry mix for their margaritas - a la whisky sours 1979.

The French were in Mexico to collect debts but instead decided to get aggressive and fight. On a hot dusty morning - May 5 1862, the Mexican Army defeated the French at the battle of the Puebla 100 miles east of Mexico City. My neighbour Sven pointed out that Maximilian - who came with the French Contingent- had Belgian ties through his wife Carlota who's brother was the Count of Flanders (...stay with me). Therefore there were also some Belgian officers and Soldiers in the fray. So 144 years later, in a quiet area of leafy green Brussels - it's only fitting - we will celebrate Cinco de Mayo if in an odd way.

It's a bit hard to find authentic Mexican ingredients so I will rely on fresh food, great sprirts and many Old El Paso Fajita and Burrito kits patchworked together in various different dishes - shouldn't be too bad!

Margaritas
Mexican beer (Although not many - as they are 9€ a six pack)
Regular beer and Wine

Chips, Salsa and homemade guacamole
Spinach quesadillas
Make your own tortillas with all the fixin's
Tequila lime-grilled shrimp

See you on the other side - Viva Mexico!

A Wonky Day

2006-04-27T11:37:00.000+02:00

It's one of those days - everything seems a bit off.

I had a hard time getting out of bed this morning - not usually an issue for me. I usually can't resist the wagging tail and happy-to-see-me eyes from my dog - nor his padding around the bedroom urging me to get up and walk him. This morning it felt as if I had lead weights in my arms and legs. I went to sleep at a very respectable time and had a good 8 hours of kip.

Out in the world with Bunny Dog, on the way to the park I realised that indeed, it was as if the world shifted 2 centimetres to the left overnight or went just a wee bit wonky. Missteps, stumbles, missed curbs, bumping in to doors. I wasn't the only one. Bunny dog walked into the wall in the hallway. I saw a woman hesitate, then try to cross the street, then hesitate in the middle, back and forth 3 times before she realised the light had turned and the traffic was waiting - just a bit off and undecided today. A fellow dog-owner off balance and getting pulled-down by his Chihuahua in the park, a crow missing a branch and free falling for a few seconds before flapping to safety.

On the way to the office, saw a woman limping strangely - her heel had come off her shoe. (been there) I went to pay for my fruit at Metroshop and a pen flew out of my bag, skimmed across the cashier's face and under her chair. The produce woman knocked a 7 foot high stack of plastic crates over with a crash. Lots of people who haven't combed their hair, lots of buttons in the wrong buttonholes, uneven, skewed.

When crossing the road in front of my office, a truck came thundering by, it's front wheel crunching and snapping something with such violence I jumped and shielded my face. A tube of lip balm, chapstick, hit just right. Snapped and cracked and the little plastic lid projected like a rocket and as dangerous as a rubber bullet. Sirens moaning on and off for seconds here and there. A plane that sounds like it's too low, on an unfamiliar path. A helicopter in the distance - over the European Commission area. The Anglican Church Bells - usually every quarter of the hour, ringing at 8:37 am. Goose bumps and a feeling that I forgot something important.

The sun can't quite decide if it wants to come out. It's not grey, it's not raining, it's not partly cloudy, it's not partly sunny. It's not cold, not really warm. It's white out there. Wonky.

Maybe there are some days meant for staying in bed. Skip getting up all together. Lie and contemplate our navels, hug one another, stare at the ceiling and listen to the birds. Say nothing at all. Stop and recharge our souls, relax, breathe deeply, appreciate.

Last Thursday I had 'it'

2006-04-25T08:19:00.000+02:00

Last Thursday night I had 'it'. I am not exactly sure what 'it' is, but I had 'it' anyway. And when I have 'it', I am like bait to a swarm of barracudas. Not kidding!

I went out with my friend who clears land mines around the world. He's an explosives removal expert. He has first-hand knowledge of what a land mine can do to a person. He was an adult when he lost his leg while clearing a particularly difficult area in Lebanon. He knows what these things do to people - especially children.

He now visits the Congo regularly to work on multiple projects. He was in Brussels for a meeting before jetting off to Kinshasa again and we had a chance to catch up. As always, he was charming and interesting. And as usual, he thought there would be more to the evening. There's no doubt that he looks and acts like Indiana Jones of the land mine crusaders and is dashing and ruggedly handsome to an extent. He doesn't whinge about his issues and you wouldn't even know he's lost an extremity due to a high-tech prosthesis which is adjusted regularly for natural changes. He's a great friend but I am loathe to get involved with him - for so many reasons - travelling all the time, lives in England, oh, and he works a mortally dangerous job. So, for years we have just been friends.

Last Thursday, there we were at the Hairy Canary and I got a text message from a guy I met through the Xpats web site. It appeared that he was out and about too and within 10 minutes, he showed-up at our table and introduced himself to land mine guy in a propriatary way. Ah. Yes. Sticky situation. My mines friend expected one-on-one conversation (adoration, attention, worship) and this other guy apparently finds me irresistible - (as usual :-)). The Xpats guy a handsome, slim whipper-snapper who at 42 still has the bounce of a frat boy on Friday night out. He's funny and charming, likes to race motorcycles and has a fast car. Nice bod'. Hmm. Indiana Jones vs. Valentino Rossi (or Fernando Alonso - whichever sport you prefer.

I had Bunny Dog with me and he was no help in deciding how to extricate myself from this situation with grace. He was a bit subdued because he had run up the stairs at the metro and run around to the investigate the escalator and clipped his paw. No blood, very little squeak. (Vet visit, antibiotics and several days of walking like a sad gimp followed) But the clean cut didn't seem to hamper him that night.

I could see both men eyeing each other as if each was ready to slip a Mickey in to the other's drink. So, what do I do next? I do something so totally me.

I couldn't help it. There was a table in the corner with 4 nice-looking Greek guys -who spoke English very well, probably worked for the Commission. One of them came to the bar to buy a round for his table and he spotted Bunny Dog. It was love at first sight. He has a dog just like Bunny Dog. He asked me a few questions, hovered around a bit. Promptly got the evil eye from one of the two bull fighters at my table, and he shuffled off with his drinks. Dreamy. When I came out of my flirty cloud, I realised how inappropriate that was. So me though. Both men had sat there and watched me flirt shamelessly with yet another man. So what? If I haven't learned by now...

My Horoscope in Vanity fair - they actually call it 'Planetarium' said the following 'Trouble brewing between your 11th and 5th houses .....likely it's a conflict between your need for intimacy and your desire to keep your options open, your commitments short-term, and your life your own.' Gee got me in one...

The rest of the time at the Hairy, the Greek man and I stole every chance we could to sneak a peek at one another. I was almost bold enough to walk over and ask for his business card, but thought better of it. For once.

I was escorted by both men offering to walk me to the metro - separately - but there's only one me. So both of them walked me to the metro and then the fatal faux pas, Valentino Rossi was taking the same metro as I needed to take. Indiana Jones kissed me on the cheek and whispered, something exasperating - I didn't listen well enough....Then he went down to the opposite platform.

When I was on one platform with the Valentino Rossi guy (Who was on his way home to Stokkel - legitimately- get your mind out of the gutter) We could see Indiana Jones on the other side - a serious scowl on his face. Don't think I will be seeing him again soon. Be careful out there Indiana Jones.

Valentino Rossi is very nice and cute and will be a great friend to me. However, I do think Lara and I have to go to The Hairy Canary on Thursday night and investigate the Greek contingent. This time, I will leave Bunny Dog at home :-))

Handy

2006-04-10T11:05:00.000+02:00

OK - it's official. I need a handyman.

I have tried - again (ever so recently)- to get comfortable with the Champagne and fine restaurant brigade. Sorry it's not on. When being shmoozed with fois gras or Dover sole in a cream sauce (a la Normand even) I can't help thinking if the guy in front of me would have a solution to fix the door handle on the downstairs powder room door. I can't get romantic if I can't imagine being able to ask someone to whip out their Black n Decker and sand down the wooden door that's swollen from the rain.

I know it's ridiculous. I know I so deserve to sit back, relax and have someone really pamper me. And the person pampering me deserves kudos for their efforts. However, I would make a 3-course, Michelin-starred meal for a man who spends a couple hours in the garden with me. I don't know where this comes from. Perhaps it came from my parents.

My Dad is the least handy man ever born. His 'tool drawer' in the kitchen has a roll of duct tape, a ball of rubber bands and some twist ties from plastic bags - which are the most sophisticated tools he can use. It's so unnatural for a anyone (much less a man) to not really be able to do those simple things. Once I went home and found that Dad had duct-taped a brick to the floor under the kitchen table. A brick...! Apparently there's a grill for the central heating under there and the grill was damaged by a chair leg. So instead of sorting it out the logical way, he decided to protect it with a brick and duct tape.

There's two things at work here - Dad is not handy and Dad is 83 years old - a little bit of both makes for very interesting house repairs.... Anyway, I showed him that you can buy a replacement grill at the hardware store and fix it very easily - Mom - the long suffering, patient wife is always ready with the plumber's number when Dad tries to fix the sink himself. When they got married and moved in to their first apartment together (49 years ago!) he called the superintendent of their apartment building to hang their paintings on the wall. My Mother was so embarrassed that she hid in another room.

By the way - I am a bit grouchy with Dad because he found himself in my 'Old Room' the other day when the plumber came to fix something he messed-up. My Dad read all of my high school year books - AND all of the quotes and comments written by friends. How dare he? And why do I have to explain the word 'toke' to my father when I am 41? There is a statute of limitations clause on explaining high school behaviour isn't there? Like aged 25 or something...

You know who is handy? The Welshman, of course. And he loved eating dinner under the trees in the garden petting Bunny Dog and drinking wine - setting the world to rights.....But alas. He lives in Wales now...

Hmm...where to find a handy man...

Chinese Curse

2006-04-07T16:24:00.000+02:00

In a speech in Cape Town, South Africa, on June 7, 1966, Robert F. Kennedy said, "There is a Chinese curse which says, "May he live in interesting times." Like it or not, we live in interesting times..."

Aside from the fact that Chinese people have never heard of this curse - it's a pretty potent one wherever it originated. And it seems to have come true for us humans. These are interesting times as a whole, but individually, I think we all have challenging personal lives.

My mother just called to tell me what happened to Auntie Bette. (Pronounced Bett) Who at 80 years old, still works as a lunch lady at the local elementary school in Homedale, Idaho. (The main thoroughfare in Homedale is called Chicken Dinner Road - no joke).

Anyway, in between bouts of laughter, Mom said Bette might be the first person in history to run themselves over while driving the car. Yep. Apparently she was getting in to her car with the car door open, slipped, grabbed the steering wheel and that gizmo on the side that changes the gear - her legs slipped under the car and she effectively drove over her own legs. Auntie Bette is badly bruised, but doesn't have a single broken bone. I know it's not a laughing matter - but it SO is!!

When Mom called, my 83 year-old Dad picked up the phone to say 'Hello' for a minute or so. He then got off the line because he was 'supervising' the plumber who was repairing something in the bathroom off of 'Your room' (one of 3 guestrooms which will forever be referred to as my room) - anyway about 10 minutes after Dad hung up - Mom asked who was making all the noise? She thought someone was talking in my office. I informed her that Dad had not replaced the receiver on the hook properly and that from my end I could clearly hear Dad and the plumber sorting out the issues, moving porcelain toilet tops, watery noises, etc. I thought my Mom was going to die of laughter. She's in such a good mood today!! She thought it was a hoot that I had been listening to that for 10 minutes. She and Dad will have a giggle about that too.

There are so many whacky things going on our lives right now - and truth be told - we would get really bored if it were all about normal, serene days, with little to no excitement, abnormalities and malfunctions.

May you have an interesting weekend

Food TV

2006-04-05T11:39:00.000+02:00

I have just reviewed the line-up of spring/summer food shows on the BBC. I am mostly excited about what's going to be on.

There's a fantastic series on called The Hairy Bikers - these two ex-hippie dudes travel the world by motorcycle (or scooters when necessary) and every so often stop to prepare local specialties on the roadside. I love them. They will taste anything and stop at nothing to experience the true culture of the locale. They are fat and as the name suggests - hairy with unkempt beards. They often refer to their past overuse of recreational stimulants, in their Northern English lilts. What I really like about them is that they visit local markets and really comb through them showing you where they get the ingredients for that day's cooking. (None of the magic used on most cooking shows where little dwarves behind the scenes are shopping frantically, dicing veggies and marinating meat so the presenter can look casual cooking a curry in the middle of a tea plantation). The Hairy Bikers are shown doing all the work themselves. And they are pretty good cooks.

Saturday Kitchen hosted by Antony Worrall-Thompson is back with fresh episodes following a few weeks of re-runs, rehashed and segmented shows and the winter Olympics schedule. Saturday kitchen shows re-runs segments from some o the most famous cooking show hosts of all time. Keith Floyd, Rick Stein, Gary Rhodes. I shall resume my own Saturday Kitchen 'schedule': get up early, do my marketing with Bunny Dog, do my work-out and be ready to do chores in the house so I can watch the show, then chores in the garden or other planned activities. Fascinating hey?

After Saturday Kitchen, there's another cooking programme on. Usually it's hosted by a pretty good chef. Starting Saturday it will be Bill's Food - hosted by Sydney restaurateur Bill Granger. The BBC website describing his new series finally does justice to the simplicity of Bill and Bill's cooking. BBC uses words such as; basic, simple, everyday, normal, easy, simple, basic, easy, simple, plain etc etc. Of course - this guy is a huge celebrity in Australia and films his show from his amazing house overlooking the most expensive Sydney area beach property.

Bill Granger's claim to fame is scrambled eggs. Really. One of his restaurants has people lined-up around the block for fluffy, creamy scrambled eggs with chives or something. Someone should tell the Aussies that they can buy eggs at the supermarket....

I do get irritated with people seem to make their living so easily and are canonised for doing the bare minimum. He's really just a shadow of Delia Smith with a nice house and blond hair. At least Delia Smith knows she is teaching the basics and doesn't pretend that what she does is ground-breaking. Bill, we can all go to China town and get a Peking duck to shred and add to package noodles - but thanks for the brilliant recipe idea.

The last Bill's Food I saw, he actually made granola. Toasted oats, seeds, dried fruits (bird food) and stuff thrown on a try and in to the oven. That's it. He then showed on TV how to swirl 6 crushed Raspberries in to a bowl of yogurt. 'Not too mixed - it should be like ripple ice cream'. Ok Bill, I'm taking copious notes.........Then he said 'Raspberries may seem a bit extravagant for kids, but you don't have to do it often'. Well Bill, if that's extravagant to you then... - oh never mind - geez. Give me that sunny yellow and baby blue-painted house on a cliff overlooking the Sydney harbour furnished by an upscale Ikea-like store and let me cook something REAL on TV dude!!

There's a slew of new and interesting food related shows on. One of the more entertaining (to me) is Eating With. The show spends a half hour with a celebrity and travels through their personal food history and eating relationships. It's clever and interesting. Last week, Cilla Black (a very popular home-grown singer in England) revealed that during the war she became fond of sliced orange rubbed with an Oxo stock cube for flavour. The deprivation of wartime and rationing helped her develop a taste combination that seemed so decadent and rich to her as a child - and it's still one of her comfort snacks. Eating With chronicles the food people grew up with and follows their evolution or sometimes, non-evolution from those influences. Tonight's episode features the son of Camilla Parker-Bowles (AKA the Duchess of Cornwall) (AKA Charles' Wifey). He's a food writer and it should be interesting to see if he learned any thing from his mother.

Off to scan the stalls of the Gypsy fruit vendors down the road from the office. Want a springy, sweet, fresh snack to eat at my desk....

It never really goes away

2006-04-04T13:10:00.000+02:00

18 years or so, I think
since I last saw you
you came to my apartment in Glover Park after college
once
and maybe to Mom and Dad's house
once

Thoughts of our first encounter even many years before then
when I was sixteen and you were seventeen
young and sweet

You chased me
Preppy, Lilly-Pulitzer-trousered, handsome young man
Working for Senator Kennedy
Me for Senator Inouye
Flowers
Dates
You got me

You were the opposite of boys in town
Georgetown Prep and Gonzaga boys were a little bit tough, a bit dirty
You were clean, fresh, lime scented, eager, smart, foreign, from Frenchtown

There's a picture of us in my storage boxes
You and your brother, me in the middle
Sun kissed happy kids in Maine
Toothy smiles, wind -blown hair

Back then you sent pages and pages
of single-spaced love letters in many volumes
phone calls, visits
learning, testing, trying

The love of my life
peaked too soon?

Grew apart
Me at University and then work
You with the 82nd Airborne to University then work
Worlds apart
Only hours away

Now years, success, life and the real distance of an ocean
between us

A few months ago I saw one of the most handsome men I've ever seen
Reminded me of you
Still, it's been ages since I have seen your face
I'm glad I got in touch

Now we talk regularly long-distance
grown up
experienced
still searching - as you say

I am your friend and always will be
I love you and always will
You should know this
And I think you do

Rain Rain go AWAY

2006-03-30T11:00:00.000+02:00

Get out the tool box, it's time to build an ark. It's been raining for ages. March went out like a lion instead of a lamb. April's showers are early. The sky is dark. It's damp and windy. I am g-r-o-u-c-h-y.

On the way to the metro I got completely drenched. It happened in slo-mo. And a few seconds before it happened - I knew it would. It was like what they do on sit-coms where they show the actor looking both ways to set-up the action. As the bus came pounding down the road at great speed I noticed 3 things at once: a) a huge pool of standing water right in the bus wheel's path, b) that there were no parked cars to shield me in this spot c) there was no room to move away because there's a hedge along the garden for a few meters in each direction. Done for. 10 seconds later, I turned around on the way home to change. My work shoes and dress socks squeaky wet. My trousers covered in a soggy, scrabbly, dirty scumble. Nice.

Brussels seems to get water-logged easily. Every drain seems to be overflowing; the ones by the curbs, in front of buildings, in gardens. The excellent city tunnels routinely close after a downpour because they get flooded within minutes - totally paralyzing the city because even more polluting cars are forced on to the maze of crazy roads. When the tunnels are clear, you can effortlessly get from Montgomery to Avenue Louise or Downtown within minutes. With a day or two of rain - forget it. There's mini ponds in those tunnels. The ground is a splodgy, spongy consistency. Like there's never going to be enough sun to dry the stuff out. A real possibility in Brussels.

There's a super-useless, extra door on the ground floor of my house. Not only is it only 2 meters from my front door, but it's also got a locked iron gate in front of it and no one's ever had the key to unlock it. The super-fun part about having this extra door, (which would so helpfully provide access from my patio to my kitchen were you to be able to open it) is that it's no longer watertight. Since our latest barrage of rain, the bottom seal has been breached and water now sloshes in when there's a major downpour. Nice, nice. I cannot seal it properly again until it is completely dry. A very attractive addition to my decor, I have soggy bath towels folded inside the super-useless extra door as a first line of defense.

I won't talk about the mud pit that is my garden. No one needs to hear me moan about that again. My Wellies are stationed by my front door next to the mop - ready for action.

Tonight I will have a friend over and we will order from Tom Yam - a great Thai restaurant and they deliver! - A rarity in Brussels. I love their spicy seafood salad: a very piquant dressing made of fish sauce, white vinegar, lemongrass, ginger, a bit of cane sugar, fresh scotch bonnet peppers and birdseye chilies over huge, curly, tender rolls of calamari and big, juicy shrimp, tons of cooling cucumber, mild red onions. All the senses - sweet, sour, hot, mild. I also crave their duck with Thai basil: The duck breast slices are tender and the sauce, slow-cooked, is layered with thai flavors - tamarind, Kecap manis, dark soy, fish sauce - and at the last minute, tons of fresh Thai basil, just wilted in the sauce - fragrant, spicy, warming.

Well, that's cheered me right up! :-))