I'm adding my bit to the post Bruce put up yesterday regarding Burlington, Wisconsin's Chocolate Fest:
In one word, yuck.
If it's called Chocolate Fest, why is the carnival part so much larger than the chocolate part, which is supposed to be the main draw? And why is there so little imagination to the whole thing?
The parking is $5, or if you're intrepid enough to walk two blocks, you can find it for free. So we walked in along (cough!) a very dusty (cough! cough!) road. At the ticket booth, we were unpleasantly surprised to find out that the entrance fee was $8 each. We were given two tiny Nestle Crunch bars, then we walked two more blocks through the noise and chaos of a typical carnival, with the usual garishly lighted rides, blaring music, and hawkers.
We anticipated what we'd see approaching the big white tent housing the chocolate division of the festival. Entering, we found the place hot (even though it was in the low 60s outside), and very chaotic. I could hardly see anything because of people crowding the tables set along the edges of the tent. Someone was yelling countdowns over a loudspeaker, which made conversation impossible. People from Nestle, a Burlington-based company, were baking tiny cookies, but we had to get our hands stamped and stand in line to get the single-bite goodies. The flavor was excellent, and they were right out of the oven. At least Nestle wins points from us for that.
Bruce and I expected to see chocolate comparisons, gourmet chocolates of all sorts (including European), and chocolate experiments going on, but we were disappointed. There were about 12 tables lining the outside edges of the tent that offered either hand-dipped or hand-made chocolates, but most of what I saw was chocolate-covered popcorn. One booth had a little chocolate at the front, and several shelves of original-recipe jams. That's not chocolate. This is Chocolate Fest. The countdowns being yelled over the loudspeaker were for a children's chocolate-eating contest, and there was a section where kids could beat on huge chocolate blocks with hand tools. The only venue for adults to enjoy in that end of the tent was the man carving chocolate blocks into statuary. That was fun for about a minute.
We discovered that to taste any chocolate in the room, we were expected to buy a $6 Tasting Ticket. Another $6 on top of the $8 entrance fee, and the $5 parking? Not on your life! We didn't even taste the chocolate being offered at one table for fifty cents per one bite in a teeny muffin cup. We did find other chocolate for sale, but it was bags of Nestle products that we can find in any local market. Talk about frustration!
At that point, we were so disappointed that we left. We had our hopes set on buying some really delicious gourmet chocolate to take home, and we exited with nothing but irritation. Lesson learned. Until Chocolate Fest expands to fit its name and gets some reasonably-priced samples in their tent, we won't be back. We may never go back. We're also telling all our friends about our terrible experience.
On the way home, we stopped at Gooseberries Market, and bought three bars of 60- and 70% non-alkali processed REAL chocolate for less than the price of one Tasting Ticket. We went home and had our own Chocolate Fest, a much more satisfying one than the event we paid for.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Delicious messy sandwiches
My partner/co-author Bruce has persuaded me to put a couple of recipes up for my Slippery Sandwiches. They're slippery because the ingredients can scoot away from one's mouth and fall out the back of the bun, and therefore difficult to eat. But delicious, and very satisfying, especially if you're hungry or just need some vitamins and minerals in their natural states. These make a great lunch, and everything's in one package. So here goes:
Egg, Onion, and Veggie Slippery Sandwich
2 free-range, vegetarian-fed eggs (or one if you have a smaller appetite)
thinly-sliced Vidalia onion (two to four slices, depending on how many eggs)
Miami onion bun
plain Greek yogurt
3 slices Pepper Jack cheese
Several slices red bell pepper
Two or three slices of tomato, depending on size
Extra-virgin Olive Oil
Dry parsley
Red pepper flakes
Put a thin film of oil in a non-stick saute pan, and heat. Arrange the Vidalia slices in the oil, allow to cook until they're soft. (You may have to add a little liquid: I use a splash of Chardonnay.) Crack eggs over onions, add parsley and red pepper flakes. Continue cooking, covered, until the yolk is as solid as you like it. While the egg cooks, toast the Miami onion bun until golden. Apply the yogurt to one or both sides, depending on your preference. Remove the eggs from the pan and cut apart, being sure to slice through the Vidalia onion with a plastic spatula. Transfer one egg to the bottom part of the bun, add the cheese, then put the second egg on top. Add sliced red bell pepper, tomato, and spinach. Put on the top part of the bun to (hopefully!) hold it all together, and enjoy. Lots of texture, and great taste too.
Egg, Onion, and Veggie Slippery Sandwich
2 free-range, vegetarian-fed eggs (or one if you have a smaller appetite)
thinly-sliced Vidalia onion (two to four slices, depending on how many eggs)
Miami onion bun
plain Greek yogurt
3 slices Pepper Jack cheese
Several slices red bell pepper
Two or three slices of tomato, depending on size
Extra-virgin Olive Oil
Dry parsley
Red pepper flakes
Put a thin film of oil in a non-stick saute pan, and heat. Arrange the Vidalia slices in the oil, allow to cook until they're soft. (You may have to add a little liquid: I use a splash of Chardonnay.) Crack eggs over onions, add parsley and red pepper flakes. Continue cooking, covered, until the yolk is as solid as you like it. While the egg cooks, toast the Miami onion bun until golden. Apply the yogurt to one or both sides, depending on your preference. Remove the eggs from the pan and cut apart, being sure to slice through the Vidalia onion with a plastic spatula. Transfer one egg to the bottom part of the bun, add the cheese, then put the second egg on top. Add sliced red bell pepper, tomato, and spinach. Put on the top part of the bun to (hopefully!) hold it all together, and enjoy. Lots of texture, and great taste too.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Return trip from Nice, with stumbles
Bruce and I got back from southern France a few weeks ago, one day later than we'd planned and sans luggage. We flew out of the airport in Nice early in the morning and made it to Amsterdam without difficulty. By the way, the Amsterdam airport is wonderful: it’s very spread out, but well-organized and varied as to shops, with excellent signage. If I had to choose an airport in which to spend a few hours on layover, it would be this one.
Then we found out a mechanical difficulty disabled the plane we were supposed to take from Amsterdam to Chicago. Our carrier KLM, after a couple hours wherein they delayed the flight twice, couldn't find an available jet anywhere in their system. We milled around the airport for awhile, buying presents for our cat sitters, and talking to several wonderful KLM people who were doing their utmost to find everyone a flight home, most via Paris. Bruce had the brilliant idea of flying to Dublin, which is west, instead of going north. Eventually we got the booking, and received our precious new tickets. During the delay, the airline gave us more vouchers than we could use for meals in the airport, phone calls, and discounts on future trips. The best one was for an overnight stay at a hotel about 15 minutes by shuttle from the airport, necessary because the flight to Dublin didn’t take off until early the next morning. The KLM people said again they were sorry for the inconvenience, pointed us toward the door outside, and said goodbye.
The translated name of the hotel is Toucan. We didn't expect much, and were pleasantly surprised. It sits beneath the path of landing jets, and is also adjacent to a major highway, but it was QUIET! Whoever soundproofed this place knew what they were doing. The room was austere in its Danish ultra-modern style: white and chrome, clean lines, nothing extraneous, no facial tissues, but everything else (which was important because our luggage was still somewhere between Nice and Amsterdam). There was a duvet covering the twin beds pushed together to make a super king-sized bed that must have had four inches of loft to it. And a peculiar rendering of the portrait of Vincent Van Gogh on the wall which appeared made up of large pixels, with a beer bottle cap as an earring. That was the only color in the room. We freshened up as much as possible after we figured out how the unusual shower worked, and headed to the bustling restaurant at the front of the hotel for dinner.
I thought we might be relegated to a restricted menu because of the vouchers, but the maitre d’hôtel waved us right in, inviting us to help ourselves. And oh my gosh, I've seldom seen anything like this buffet! First on the menu were five foot tall towers of fresh fruit, surrounded by everything you'd want in or on your coffee offered from an extended wooden serving bar about five yards long. To the right were stands of fried fish, fried chicken, and other fried bits that looked yummy. The next stand was square, and featured several kinds of sausage and cured meats, also steak tartare. Over there was an overwhelming number of salads. Another display featured pasta. And right next to that were three kinds of shrimp, lobster, and other seafood goodies. AND behind that was an extended display of desserts. Not to mention an extensive hot buffet. The tasteful seating area was almost hidden behind the food, set with crystal goblets, white linens, and brocade chairs at tables for eight diners. Copies of famous Low Country paintings hung on the gold-colored walls above wooden wainscoting.
That was it: I quit looking at the food and savoring the ambiance, and ran toward the plates. I hadn't been hungry before seeing and smelling this place. Everything tasted as good as it looked, too. Their house Chardonnay was not only included in the voucher, it was also an excellent compliment to nearly anything they served. There was no way I could taste everything, but I did my best. I estimate I got through about 1/10th of it by eating no more than two bites of any dish. Talk about variety! And everything was really, really tasty. Bruce and I met at our table to share comments about the food, and to trade bites of particularly delicious delicacies. After dinner, we returned to our room, read our books for awhile, then snuggled down for a night’s rest. And I slept through most of it, which is very unusual.
A similar feast happened the next morning for breakfast. Everyone who wanted coffee made it from one of two cappuccino/espresso machines, and the serving bar loaded again with fresh fruit also offered different types of cream, creamers, and other condiments, as well as green and black teas. Muffins, Danish pastries, croissants, several types of toast, perfectly scrambled eggs with two kinds of sausage, a pile of bacon, fried fish, hash browns, poached fruit in spiced simple syrup, and three kinds of yogurt with various toppings were on the menu, and there was more. And more, everywhere I looked to the left and right. Having the feeling that we might get stuck somewhere, we loaded up, again enjoying the variety and the excellent cooking. The cappuccino from that little machine was great!
Good thing we ate well. The flight on Aer Lingus to Dublin was absolutely packed, and as a bonus featured a crying baby right behind us. Upon arrival in Dublin we were directed toward US Customs because of our wandering luggage. This was my first time in Ireland, and Bruce wanted to celebrate that with a glass of Guinness. The first person we consulted in Customs was a kindly woman who said it would only take ten or fifteen minutes to connect with our luggage. After that time passed, she escorted us back to what I can only describe as a "containment" room for people who carried more than the accepted allotment of liquor or cigarettes. A tall dark-haired square-faced officer who obviously didn't want to be working at that place on that day told us to sit down, it would only take ten or fifteen minutes more, (notice a theme here?) that we were required to be on the premises to identify pictures of our luggage when he found them.
Right. We were there for our entire two and a half hour layover, getting more and more irritated with each passing moment. Bruce and I went up to the officer's desk three times, asking if we could do anything to hurry the process along, as in calling Aer Lingus to verify that our luggage had even made it to Dublin in the first place. Our officer-guard called another seven or eight people to his desk, one by one, to charge them customs fees; otherwise, he spent the entire time tapping slowly with six fingers on a computer keyboard, staring fixedly at the screen and ignoring us. He finally picked up the phone, called a number, and said, "You've got to get someone down here and explain it all to these people." As if he didn't want to, or he was too important for that dirty little job. Grrrrr. Within minutes, a customer service supervisor from Aer Lingus came to us and explained that she was certain our luggage was all right, but it was still was in Amsterdam. Then an Irish-accented voice on the PA system called our flight. Sigh. The Customs officer finally relented and allowed us to leave, without enough time to obtain our Guinness, to board our flight home.
I must have looked pretty stormy when I got on the plane. In my opinion, and Bruce's, we'd been detained due to an unacceptable reason while that US Customs officer did next to nothing aside from making us wait in his uncomfortable hard-edged precinct. It seemed as if he was making us be where he was because he knew we didn't like it either. A dark-haired female flight attendant leaned toward us soon after everyone on the flight was seated, and with a lovely Irish lilt asked, "Is everything all right? Is there anything I can do?" We gave her the short version of our wasted two-plus hours with no Guinness in the Dublin airport. "Ah, I'm so sorry for that," she replied. "Could I bring you some nice hot tea? I find that when things go wrong, a cup of tea helps." We agreed, and within minutes were holding two cups of scalding, strong black tea. It smelled good, and tasted even better. Because of its heat, we had trouble finishing the tea before takeoff. I asked the brand: it was Lyon, one of the most favored teas in Ireland. (I'm still trying to get some from an Irish import store in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. They were out until sometime in April. I'm anticipating its arrival.)
The flight home was painful for me because I had a sinus infection. It affected my Eustachian tubes, which sent stabs of pain from my throat to my head and face every time the plane changed altitude or pitch. Or sometimes just when the infection decided I needed to know it was alive and well and lurking inside. I tried to ignore it and concentrate on my Kathy Reich book. We also had an argumentative curmudgeon and his wimpy wife sitting behind us, who complained about nearly everything. He even objected to Bruce shifting in his chair because it made the movie impossible for him to watch! Otherwise, it was a good flight with an excellent pilot and crew. I'd fly Aer Lingus again without hesitation. After landing at O'Hare, we spent time with a young lady from Aer Lingus giving descriptions of our luggage, and she assured us it would be delivered by courier on Saturday at the latest.
We dragged back to the apartment after more than an hour's drive, greeted our ecstatic cats, and began getting back to normal for work, and blogging, and cooking, and everything else. When it came, the call about our luggage finally arriving at O'Hare was very welcome. The courier arrived with it at 9 pm that night. Even though there were some odd labels on the suitcases, the only casualty was one bent knitting needle.
Good for KLM. Good for Aer Lingus. Bad for US Customs in Dublin. Good for the young lady at O'Hare who found our luggage and routed it correctly to us in southern Wisconsin. Bad for my sinus infection, because my ears still aren’t normal. Things could have been worse.
Then we found out a mechanical difficulty disabled the plane we were supposed to take from Amsterdam to Chicago. Our carrier KLM, after a couple hours wherein they delayed the flight twice, couldn't find an available jet anywhere in their system. We milled around the airport for awhile, buying presents for our cat sitters, and talking to several wonderful KLM people who were doing their utmost to find everyone a flight home, most via Paris. Bruce had the brilliant idea of flying to Dublin, which is west, instead of going north. Eventually we got the booking, and received our precious new tickets. During the delay, the airline gave us more vouchers than we could use for meals in the airport, phone calls, and discounts on future trips. The best one was for an overnight stay at a hotel about 15 minutes by shuttle from the airport, necessary because the flight to Dublin didn’t take off until early the next morning. The KLM people said again they were sorry for the inconvenience, pointed us toward the door outside, and said goodbye.
The translated name of the hotel is Toucan. We didn't expect much, and were pleasantly surprised. It sits beneath the path of landing jets, and is also adjacent to a major highway, but it was QUIET! Whoever soundproofed this place knew what they were doing. The room was austere in its Danish ultra-modern style: white and chrome, clean lines, nothing extraneous, no facial tissues, but everything else (which was important because our luggage was still somewhere between Nice and Amsterdam). There was a duvet covering the twin beds pushed together to make a super king-sized bed that must have had four inches of loft to it. And a peculiar rendering of the portrait of Vincent Van Gogh on the wall which appeared made up of large pixels, with a beer bottle cap as an earring. That was the only color in the room. We freshened up as much as possible after we figured out how the unusual shower worked, and headed to the bustling restaurant at the front of the hotel for dinner.
I thought we might be relegated to a restricted menu because of the vouchers, but the maitre d’hôtel waved us right in, inviting us to help ourselves. And oh my gosh, I've seldom seen anything like this buffet! First on the menu were five foot tall towers of fresh fruit, surrounded by everything you'd want in or on your coffee offered from an extended wooden serving bar about five yards long. To the right were stands of fried fish, fried chicken, and other fried bits that looked yummy. The next stand was square, and featured several kinds of sausage and cured meats, also steak tartare. Over there was an overwhelming number of salads. Another display featured pasta. And right next to that were three kinds of shrimp, lobster, and other seafood goodies. AND behind that was an extended display of desserts. Not to mention an extensive hot buffet. The tasteful seating area was almost hidden behind the food, set with crystal goblets, white linens, and brocade chairs at tables for eight diners. Copies of famous Low Country paintings hung on the gold-colored walls above wooden wainscoting.
That was it: I quit looking at the food and savoring the ambiance, and ran toward the plates. I hadn't been hungry before seeing and smelling this place. Everything tasted as good as it looked, too. Their house Chardonnay was not only included in the voucher, it was also an excellent compliment to nearly anything they served. There was no way I could taste everything, but I did my best. I estimate I got through about 1/10th of it by eating no more than two bites of any dish. Talk about variety! And everything was really, really tasty. Bruce and I met at our table to share comments about the food, and to trade bites of particularly delicious delicacies. After dinner, we returned to our room, read our books for awhile, then snuggled down for a night’s rest. And I slept through most of it, which is very unusual.
A similar feast happened the next morning for breakfast. Everyone who wanted coffee made it from one of two cappuccino/espresso machines, and the serving bar loaded again with fresh fruit also offered different types of cream, creamers, and other condiments, as well as green and black teas. Muffins, Danish pastries, croissants, several types of toast, perfectly scrambled eggs with two kinds of sausage, a pile of bacon, fried fish, hash browns, poached fruit in spiced simple syrup, and three kinds of yogurt with various toppings were on the menu, and there was more. And more, everywhere I looked to the left and right. Having the feeling that we might get stuck somewhere, we loaded up, again enjoying the variety and the excellent cooking. The cappuccino from that little machine was great!
Good thing we ate well. The flight on Aer Lingus to Dublin was absolutely packed, and as a bonus featured a crying baby right behind us. Upon arrival in Dublin we were directed toward US Customs because of our wandering luggage. This was my first time in Ireland, and Bruce wanted to celebrate that with a glass of Guinness. The first person we consulted in Customs was a kindly woman who said it would only take ten or fifteen minutes to connect with our luggage. After that time passed, she escorted us back to what I can only describe as a "containment" room for people who carried more than the accepted allotment of liquor or cigarettes. A tall dark-haired square-faced officer who obviously didn't want to be working at that place on that day told us to sit down, it would only take ten or fifteen minutes more, (notice a theme here?) that we were required to be on the premises to identify pictures of our luggage when he found them.
Right. We were there for our entire two and a half hour layover, getting more and more irritated with each passing moment. Bruce and I went up to the officer's desk three times, asking if we could do anything to hurry the process along, as in calling Aer Lingus to verify that our luggage had even made it to Dublin in the first place. Our officer-guard called another seven or eight people to his desk, one by one, to charge them customs fees; otherwise, he spent the entire time tapping slowly with six fingers on a computer keyboard, staring fixedly at the screen and ignoring us. He finally picked up the phone, called a number, and said, "You've got to get someone down here and explain it all to these people." As if he didn't want to, or he was too important for that dirty little job. Grrrrr. Within minutes, a customer service supervisor from Aer Lingus came to us and explained that she was certain our luggage was all right, but it was still was in Amsterdam. Then an Irish-accented voice on the PA system called our flight. Sigh. The Customs officer finally relented and allowed us to leave, without enough time to obtain our Guinness, to board our flight home.
I must have looked pretty stormy when I got on the plane. In my opinion, and Bruce's, we'd been detained due to an unacceptable reason while that US Customs officer did next to nothing aside from making us wait in his uncomfortable hard-edged precinct. It seemed as if he was making us be where he was because he knew we didn't like it either. A dark-haired female flight attendant leaned toward us soon after everyone on the flight was seated, and with a lovely Irish lilt asked, "Is everything all right? Is there anything I can do?" We gave her the short version of our wasted two-plus hours with no Guinness in the Dublin airport. "Ah, I'm so sorry for that," she replied. "Could I bring you some nice hot tea? I find that when things go wrong, a cup of tea helps." We agreed, and within minutes were holding two cups of scalding, strong black tea. It smelled good, and tasted even better. Because of its heat, we had trouble finishing the tea before takeoff. I asked the brand: it was Lyon, one of the most favored teas in Ireland. (I'm still trying to get some from an Irish import store in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. They were out until sometime in April. I'm anticipating its arrival.)
The flight home was painful for me because I had a sinus infection. It affected my Eustachian tubes, which sent stabs of pain from my throat to my head and face every time the plane changed altitude or pitch. Or sometimes just when the infection decided I needed to know it was alive and well and lurking inside. I tried to ignore it and concentrate on my Kathy Reich book. We also had an argumentative curmudgeon and his wimpy wife sitting behind us, who complained about nearly everything. He even objected to Bruce shifting in his chair because it made the movie impossible for him to watch! Otherwise, it was a good flight with an excellent pilot and crew. I'd fly Aer Lingus again without hesitation. After landing at O'Hare, we spent time with a young lady from Aer Lingus giving descriptions of our luggage, and she assured us it would be delivered by courier on Saturday at the latest.
We dragged back to the apartment after more than an hour's drive, greeted our ecstatic cats, and began getting back to normal for work, and blogging, and cooking, and everything else. When it came, the call about our luggage finally arriving at O'Hare was very welcome. The courier arrived with it at 9 pm that night. Even though there were some odd labels on the suitcases, the only casualty was one bent knitting needle.
Good for KLM. Good for Aer Lingus. Bad for US Customs in Dublin. Good for the young lady at O'Hare who found our luggage and routed it correctly to us in southern Wisconsin. Bad for my sinus infection, because my ears still aren’t normal. Things could have been worse.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
"Prometheus"
I was really looking forward to Ridley Scott's "Prometheus". Bruce and I rushed to a Marcus big-screen cinema on my day off, ready for a fantastic movie. And we were vastly disappointed.
Disappointed with most of the secondary characters, because particularly the engineers are really stupid. Why spend years and millions to send an engineer to another planet who doesn't want to be there? Disappointed in the plot, because there are big holes in it. Disappointed in the score, because there was very little going on in it. And disappointed that what was supposed to be a spooky sci-fi movie turned the corner into iffy plain horror about a third of the way through. And the details of how the alien looked were different from the original. Too, there were some "oh wow" technology items that had superfluous scenes wrapped around them. I was ready to walk out before half the movie was over.
This was a classic case of "we've got some great ideas, but we don't have an ending. Don't worry, we'll figure it out." Fell flat. I wasted my money and time.
Disappointed with most of the secondary characters, because particularly the engineers are really stupid. Why spend years and millions to send an engineer to another planet who doesn't want to be there? Disappointed in the plot, because there are big holes in it. Disappointed in the score, because there was very little going on in it. And disappointed that what was supposed to be a spooky sci-fi movie turned the corner into iffy plain horror about a third of the way through. And the details of how the alien looked were different from the original. Too, there were some "oh wow" technology items that had superfluous scenes wrapped around them. I was ready to walk out before half the movie was over.
This was a classic case of "we've got some great ideas, but we don't have an ending. Don't worry, we'll figure it out." Fell flat. I wasted my money and time.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Just add Vindaloo
Just got some pork tenderloin, and am anticipating tonight's dinner: Bruce's crispy fried potatoes, peas and corn with leeks in a Chardonnay-coriander sauce, and Vindaloo-parmesan coating on the meat. If you haven't tried Vindaloo curry yet, you're missing a great melange of flavors that includes a hint of sweet cinnamon that adds an exotic element. I haven't yet met a vegetable it doesn't compliment, and it tastes great on chicken, pork, or turkey. It's also wonderful in chicken salad or egg salad. I get mine from Penzey's Spices, which is soon to be another blog subject.
Sinusitis, Bronchitis, and all that Gunk
Once upon a time, about eleventy-fortain years ago, I discovered the hard way that I have a weakness for these diseases: I got them twice a year, every year, between April 17-May12, and any time from the end of November through the New Year. When I moved to Wisconsin, I started getting them every 45-60 days. When I asked my ENT what I could do to dodge these unwelcome visitors, he shrugged. "They're allergy-based. Stay healthy, and be careful."
I eventually became more used to Wisconsin's pollens, and discovered echinacea. It's been six or eight years since I had them. Then boom, someone at work started hacking and sneezing. Of course, the beasties made themselves right at home in the next susceptible person: me.
Several weeks later, I still have nasal drainage and a cough that gets worse with exertion, dust, fumes, smoke, and sometimes nothing. A friend has been teasing me about my abnormal husky alto. And sounding like a cat with a hairball is getting old.
I eventually became more used to Wisconsin's pollens, and discovered echinacea. It's been six or eight years since I had them. Then boom, someone at work started hacking and sneezing. Of course, the beasties made themselves right at home in the next susceptible person: me.
Several weeks later, I still have nasal drainage and a cough that gets worse with exertion, dust, fumes, smoke, and sometimes nothing. A friend has been teasing me about my abnormal husky alto. And sounding like a cat with a hairball is getting old.
Friday, April 6, 2012
New Percival story
Bruce Heard and I are working on a new Percival St. Croix story called "The Hand of Justice". The scenes of 1915 Cairo are very intriguing, as is the history involved. We'll have it up on Bruce's blog in a few days.
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