Foooooood

Some assorted pics from meals we had.

From the first cafe, near Stefansplatz. Notice the teetotaler and his Almdudler. And notice his drunkard colleagues and their glasses of liquid sin.


This is from the window of a chocolatier. The Viennese are big on cake and chocolate.


The cakes on display at the Kahlenberg cafe. I was torn between apple cake and strawberry and had just enough shame in me not to get both (meaning there were witnesses). Now I shall always wonder how their apple cake tastes.


The pheasant I had in Grinzing. Yummylicious.


My last meal in Vienna was at a restaurant called Böhmerwald. I chose the Czech national dish "Sviszkove ne smetana e knedliky" (I may have the spelling wrong). A slab of meat in a sweet and sour sauce, a dollop of jam and cream and potato dumplings. I must be one of the few non-Czechs to love this. The waitress' face lit up when I ordered it and when I said "djakojem" (= thanks in Czech) she answered back in Czech. It wasn't just a lovely meal; the taste reminded me of Prague and all the lovely times I've had in that beautiful, beautiful city.


The interior of the Böhmerwald. I heartily recommend the place.

Penrhyn Castle

Penrhyn Castle is a lovely manor house just outside Bangor, Wales. It started out as quite a small structure, but during the first half of the 19th century it grew to be a huge, Victorian version of what a Norman castle looked like. Today, one might even say it's a sprawling complex of buildings. As with so many of these castles and houses, it was the punishing death tax that forced the last heir to donate the building to the National Trust - for Wales this time. I suggest you read the wiki article for more info, it was quite a nice place.

All pics here.

Most of the front of the castle.


Great views.


The Great Hall.


There was a guy who played the piano in the Hall. I asked one of the volunteers about it, and he said the player was one of the cleaners. Only in Britain.


From one of the grand rooms further in. You may wonder at the lack of reflection in the mirror. Don't worry, I'm not a vampire, just cleverly concealed behind the clock.


The grand staircase. It took ten years to build.


Detail from the ceiling over the staircase. Half a dozen Italian sculptors were brought in for the last couple of years to work on this.


The fake food in the kitchen looked good enough to eat.


Cake! Tons of caaaaake! Or plastic. Sigh.


Dinner table, anno mid 1890s, when the then Prince of Wales, later Edward VII came to visit.


Nice to have money.


Crapper. I apologize for the blurriness, but flash photo was verboten.


Another crapper.


Some nice colors again. I expect too see lots more in my last two weeks.


Note the bright pink-red color of the vine on the tower.


They also have a train museum on the grounds. Choooo chooooooo! Wheeeeee!


Naturally, I stuffed face while there.

Why I hate modern technology

So I'm sitting in my motel room in Macedonia, Ohio. Starving. Famished. Hollowed out. Why? Because when I ordered a pizza 75 minutes ago, I made the mistake of trusting the internets. Allow me to explain.

I'd gotten a brochure for the pizza chain "Romeos" from the motel front desk and since it didn't list a place in this town, I put the hotel zip code in the pizza place's web page. It told me that "Medina" was the closest to me. I call the number for Medina, give them my address and make an order, then sit back, drooling in anticipation.

I then get a phone call from the delivery guy. He says he's at a motel 6 but they don't HAVE my room number in their building. So I give him the address again and he says he'll be right down.

Fully one hour after I made my order he calls again, somewhat desperate, enquiring as to just where the fuck I am (I'm paraphrasing for dramatic effect, he was professional throughout the whole conversation). I repeat my address for the THIRD time and this time a light bulb goes off. Turns out both the pizza place, the driver and my beloved but rapidly cooling pizza is located 45 fucking minutes away. The fucking internet page has given me the wrong fucking restaurant.

So I call Medina, get the order cancelled, chew them out over their web page and ask them which restaurant I should have called, being in Macedonia. They say Twinsburg. As soon as we end the call I walk over to the reception to confirm this new address. There, they laugh themselves silly over me having tried to get a pizza from Medina before telling me that while Twinsburg is reasonably close, they won't deliver to Macedonia. I need to call Northfield.

So that's what I've done. Now I am waiting for Northfield to deliver. I am starved, nay famished, nay hollowed out. This pizza better be fuckin' GOOD, that's all I have to say.

America on NZ

The architecture in New Zealand, at least the rural parts, remind me of that in Australia, meaning that it is more American than British. Along National Route 1 down to Wellington, I came across this diner, which advertized itself as an "American Diner". It had a large US flag waving out front and the interior was tastefully designed in classic Americana. Even though I was still full from my huge breakfast, I had me a very tasty milkshake.

Have a look at the place...

Sweet, sweet American cultural imperialism.






The menu had many American sounding items.

The mountain

In my post from New Plymouth yesterday, I promised you pictures of the very lovely volcano/mountain just behind the city. Well, I fucked up. It was visible Saturday afternoon, but during the night evil, evil clouds came and covered it up. I drove up to the visitor center, but the lady in the cozy little cafeteria said she thought it wouldn't clear for a couple of days. So instead I had a huge breakfast there and then drove down to Wellington.

Eggs? Check. Bacon? Check. Sausage? Check. Beans? Check. Toast? Check. Tomatoes? Check. Mushrooms? Check. Cardiac arrest? Coming soon to an ER near you.


For dessert I had a mountaineer cake. Pineapple, banana & walnut. Heaven.


Mount Taranaki/Egmont, for the moment shrouded in fog. Sigh.

Sugar baby

I stopped for a late breafast around 9:30, at a bakery in the little town of Omeo. At least I think it was Omeo, it may have been some kilometers before Omeo. Anyways, they have a cool little bakery there with the most saliva-inducing goodies you can imagine. Behold:

I had one of the donuts on the upper right.


And a cherry slice so filled with sugar, it had the consistency of a brick. But soooo good.


I also had one of the muddy fairy cakes. I feared it would taste of coffee, which I hate, but instead it had a sugary, berrylike flavor.


I liked the name of this place. The add hung in the bakery.

Victoria coast

Today I've driven from Eden, New South Wales to a place called Lakes Entrance in Victoria. The latter area is part of the system of lakes left here by the last ice age (appx 10,000 years ago), some of them separated from the Pacific by a thin sand bank. There are also several rivers that run out into the sea here.

I'm sure the place is absolutely packed in the summer, but it's quite tranquil now that it's winter. But if you're ever in town, let me recommend an Italian place called Pinocchio; their Beef & Reef (similar to American Surf & Turf) is very good and in addition to prawns they have scallops. Mmmmm. Also good: garlic bread and Italian pancake. Drooolz.

All pics of the Victoria coast here.

Next stop Antarctica.


Mist over the beach. This place was called Sailors Grave. Morbid, I know.


The beaches stretched for miles in each direction.


Stwange rocks.


This little birdie was jumping around on the beach like a tiny, feathered kangaroo.


From another place, just southeast of Sailors Grave.

Best pizza so far

I've just stuffed face with the best pizza I've had so far in Australia - in fact, one of the best ever. It came from Pizza Capers in Port MacQuarie, New South Wales, and it was yummy. This is the list of ingredients: Black Angus Steak, Cajun Bacon, lemon peppered prawns, shallots, onion, capsicum, pizza sauce, mozarella and hollandaise. Also, an extra lemon wedge in the middle. Mmmmm, lemon. The thing is called Reef & Beef. Behold:

Clog my veins

I've given up. My Russian houseguest keeps bringing me goodies from town and insisting that I eat it all. Not wishing to offend, I stuff face as best I can. Donuts, fruits, assorted sweets... you name it, I'll eat it. Just now she came home from town with a big box of donuts, which she put by the pool's edge. If I have a heart attack before I get back to Norway, you know who to point the indignant finger of blame at, that's all I'm saying.

How can I keep from eating?


From yesterday. I tell you, this woman will be the death of me.

A cunning plot?

I think my Russian houseguest is trying to kill me. Last night she came home with a box of yummy donuts for me to feast on and this morning she made Russian pancakes for breakfast. I was told it was bad manners not to eat them all, so I did. Tonight she came home with Danish pastry, which I have so far politely refused. She's up to something, I know it!

Is this the kind of stuff you give away freely, without any ulterior motives?

Vegetating

Since becoming more or less alone in this country I have vegetated into a state where I now spend most of my waking hours slumped in a chair in front of the TV. Every now and then I pop outside to have a quick dip in the pool or a trip to the supermarket. I also spend some time surfing the net. Today I finally wrote down three paragraphs, the first stuff I've written in ten days. Sigh.

On the other hand, I stuff face like a champ. Behold my favorite meal; apple pie and ice cream:

Looks tempting, no?


I thought so too.

Pictures from a travesty against mankind (aka a party at the villa)

Belatedly, the all too few pictures I took from the (in)famous party I had at my villa on Monday. My brother's Thai gf had her birthday party at my place, since I have a poooooool, and lots of space. She and a couple of friends came early to prepare food, although this being Thailand, nobody showed up at the appointed time...

At the most, there were about a dozen Thai girls present, plus moi, brother, a Briton, a Bulgarian and a South African guy. Ah, what bliss to talk to a native English speaker... especially when one of the first sentences out of his mouth was "you sound like an American".

My brother looking his usual, retarded self.


The table with lots of food, glorious food.




The leetle womenses were making ze food, ja?


The grill where the dead animals were turned into cinders.