Category: General

It’s a wet and chilly autumn morning here in the Baltic Badlands. Perfect conditions for pining. And remember: whenever one’s heart is broken, life is always a monotone of grey (to risk coining a phrase).

So in the final hours available (24), prithee pour out your bleeding heart and vie for the cup that runneth over with literary kudos.

https://charioteers.org/2012/09/02/the-next-poetry-competition-lost-love/

 

On Thursday, as I was sitting in my little office at university, I was summoned by a professor to her office. Although I am yet to have had a course with her, we have worked together on the preliminary stages of my master’s thesis. The purpose of the summons, other than to inform me that she may be in need of my assistance on Monday, was to let me know that she will recommend me for a fellowship at one of Korea’s top universities at my leisure. Both she and my boss/supervising professor have expressed disappointment in my choice of universities. While accepting that it was the best option at the time, they have both given me warning that they will under no circumstances allow me an easy go of it. They are both determined that I will produce a work of doctoral standards. The reason why I am mentioning this is not to be a prat, but to solicit edified and erudite opinions from my academic and intellectual betters on this site on this matter.

You have to understand that Mrs M is the dog expert in our family. In my youth, I never had a canine pet for reasons which I have explained before.

One cat,’Stripey’; one goldfish, ‘Goldie’, who came home in a small plastic bag from the shows (Scots for a fair) and went belly-up six short months later and one hamster, ‘Goldie’, who lasted four years but who, I later learned, had actually been three hamsters. My parents told me the truth when they thought that I was ready to face it. That was a terrible 22nd birthday when I think back. Continuing to think back, I was seriously rubbish at naming my pets, if truth be told. Continue reading “It’s a Worry!”

I recently read reviews about a small tea firm in Mie Prefecture, Japan. For the most part reviews were highly favourable, though a few buyers were rather bitter that their experiences did not match their expectations. On one occasion the buyer attacked the product as tasting “cheap and not good”. The product, in this case, being a 1 pound, 1 ounce bag of gyokuro that sold for £27.00 in proper currency. Gyokuro, for those not overly familiar with Japanese teas, is a shade-grown green tea that is among the more dear. Because it is processed somewhat differently than a typical sencha, a more potent tea, brewing recommendations are somewhat different. To obtain the same strength as an average sencha, twice the amount is needed. If one does not take into account the differences, it seems readily apparent that there will be unavoidable disappointment.
Furthermore, if an average lapsang souchong runs £8.00 for just over an ounce and a tolerable Darjeeling goes for £2.00 per ounce then it should be clear that 17 ounces of a higher-tier tea for £27.00 is rather on the low end. After all, a ceremony-grade matcha costs approximately £15.00 per ounce and the inferior cooking-grade costs a mere £9.00 per ounce.

In case anyone is wondering why I am prattling on about the price of tea and the occasional idiot whingeing about not buying gold for the price of lead I will try to make my point now. The whinger was a septic; probably someone who has the pretension of being a connoisseur. I by no means suffer from this delusion, although I humbly claim to be able to note the difference between Lipton’s at a cheap American restaurant and tea at Claridge’s.

Today was another beautiful day in central Minnesota. It’s been three weeks since I moved here. In those three weeks I’ve generally got over missing California and do not miss San Francisco in the least. From my kitchen I can watch the sunset; something I often do. It’s also nice having a balcony. The view isn’t overly memorable. A car park, trees, bushes, two roads, etc. Yet the light is beautiful. In the afternoons my flat is bright, so bright that I almost have to draw the curtains.

My life has established itself into a pleasant, predictable order. I have a work schedule, a course schedule, and a study schedule. In between the three I have enough time to do something, be it listen to music, go through the St Cloud city centre, or simply go to grocer’s to buy a few things. The music, as some of you may know, isn’t to everyone’s liking. But, considering that no mob has yet lynched me, it obviously isn’t too atrocious.
The city centre is modest but pleasant. The majority of buildings date to the mid-to-late nineteenth century. Stone and brick constructions, they’ve held up against the elements well. The stores are nothing too impressive, but they’re not helpless, either. The one music store has a fair selection of things, but one that requires eBay or Amazon to complement it. The restaurants are passable. I would not say that any are especially notable, but most are not the stuff of nightmares, either.

The most remarkable things about life in Minnesota are the Mississippi River and the people. The Mississippi is really an unremarkable thing. Despite its profound length, it does not make itself known to be anything other than an average river. Still, there is something to do — there is this draw, this sense that one has seen something worth seeing.
The people have been the most pleasant. The accent is not as pronounced as one might suppose. Central and Metropolitan Minnesota do not have strong accents. The northern woods and the rural west are said to have a more pronounced Nordic inflexion, though.
The people in general have been very pleasant. While notoriously passive-aggressive, they have seemed content to treat me with respect and kindness while leaving me in peace. It’s simply now a matter of getting used to not being at war with those around me, not having to fight for every last inch. Things come together more easily here, life is more humane.

I get on with my boss well and he’s made my life much easier. He is also my main mentor for my graduate thesis — increasingly a work on Neo-Confucianism in Korea and Japan. I’ve been fortunate to have found a second professor who is eager to actively assist me both find resources, review the quality of resources, and tell me if my work is absolute and utter rubbish. Isn’t it better to learn that from a friendly source before going to the university directors for less sympathetic scrutiny?

The restaurant is in the old library opposite the Corn Exchange, but there is nothing of the cloistral quiet of a library about it.  As soon as you open the door, your ears feel as if you’d stepped into a very noisy swimming baths.  Presumably because of the building’s status, all the wiring to wall lights is very visible, encased in metal tubing.  Not attractive.  The beautiful marble pillars have modern light fittings attached which is not a happy combination.  The serving bar at one side of the room has a collection of hams and salamis hanging over it, which does not really blend in with the decor.

We arrived before our reservation time, but the table was ready for us. But then a napkin with a knife and fork on bare wood does not take much setting-up.  We had our apéritif at the table – vastly overpriced, as was everything else.  One should not have to pay the same for a glass of prosecco as one would pay for a bottle in a wine merchants.  I know about mark ups, but … You wouldn’t pay that on the Riviera!

The starters were good; not too large a portion and served promptly.  The selection of breads and olive oil for dipping was a nice touch – or would have been if we had not had to order and pay for it.  BTW Jamie, good olive oil does not need soy sauce added.  Still, the bread kept us from complaining about the length of time we had to wait for the main course.  There were two parties of 12 nearby, but the kitchen should have been prepared for these bookings and not have kept other customers waiting so long.  Our waitress – a nice little girl who came from near Cracow –  got in a slight panic and had a struggle with the wine waiter as to which of them was going to put the glasses and wine on our table.  The ice bucket came perilously close to husband’s head.  Because I knew about the time limit, I did keep looking at my watch. An hour at table and no main course in sight.  Apparently the booking system was introduced when the “walk-in” became the “turn up and queue”.

All the food was fresh and well cooked, but none of the dishes included vegetables of any sort.  Having ordered side dishes, we were then overwhelmed by the size of the portions.  Suggestion to Mr Oliver:  cut the size of the meat/fish portion and include some vegetables or salad.  Of course we are not starving students, but I doubt if many of them eat there regularly.

We definitely overstayed our one hour and a half, but no one attempted to eject us and I saw no other diners being summarily removed.  Nevertheless the time limit does hang over one rather, slightly spoiling the  experience.  We left knowing that we would never go back of our own accord.  (This, by the way, is a frequent occurence when we are invited out.  We say thank you nicely, while vowing silently never to set foot in the place again.)  I should be interested to try the new Carluccio’s which is only a few steps away.

It may be because English pub and restaurant food has improved so much over the last ten years or so that we found Jamie’s a bit “yuppie” yet behind the times. Or it may be that two months eating out in Germany, Poland, Hungary and Slovakia has accustomed us to excellent food at more reasonable prices.

I have just seen this on the Classic FM website. Warra lorra laffs!

We are invited out to dinner at a restaurant in Cambridge.  I name no names, but it’s one of a chain owned by a TV chef/celebrity, whose wife specialises in giving the most ludicrous names to their offspring. I have just discovered that the rules of this place stipulate that parties of fewer than six are allowed one and a half hours to consume their dinner, while larger parties are allowed two and a half hours.  Left to my own devices, I would tell this restaurant what it could do with its reservation.  As a guest I must bite my tongue. This is the first time I have come across this time limit.  What if the service is slow?  Husband says then we won’t be eating much and they’ll have cut their own throats.  Have other Charioteers come across this? Will we be served the coffee in paper cups we can take with us?