Everyone around me is speaking a different language. This is not new to me. I've been in kitchens with everybody around me speaking nothing but Spanish. But this isn't Spanish, it's French. And I'm not in a kitchen. I'm in Montreal.
This, I must admit, is my first time outside my own country. I got a passport a few months ago in anticipation of some international travel, but after a while I didn't really expect it to happen. Then the Bossman decided to send me to our neighbors up north. I packed carefully, being sure not to bring anything the least bit suspicious with me, such as food. Consequently, I have no chocolate with me right now. Fortunately, I think they sell chocolate in Canada. I may survive the week.
The trip was largely uneventful for the first of two flights. There are no direct flights from Salt Lake to Montreal, so I had to connect in Atlanta. We even arrived about fifteen minutes early, giving me time to grab a quick bit at the food court. We boarded on time, and then sat at the gate for nearly an hour as somebody unloaded checked bags for passengers who were still in the air, and would not make the flight no matter what. Apparently it's illegal for somebody's bags to arrive internationally before their owner arrives. All checked luggage must be on the same plane as the person to whom it belongs. Still, we managed to arrive in Montreal only about a half hour later than scheduled.
On the plane, we were handed cards to fill out for customs/immigration. It stated that we needed to "declare all goods", no exception. I wasn't entirely sure what that meant. Did I need to make a list of everything with me? There wasn't enough room on the card. Fortunately, it only ended up asking about things like food, weapons, alcohol and the like. I had a package of airline cookies saved (just in case), so I declared it. It also wanted to know about any equipment that I was bringing for work purposes, whether not it was intended for sale, so I declared my laptop. I wonder, if I weren't teaching a Linux class, would I have had to declare it? Would I even have thought to declare it?
When we landed, we spent a long time making our way to the terminal. I was starting to guess that YUL is a pretty big airport. By the time we made it to our gate, I was thinking that we could have circled the SLC airport at least a couple of times. We got off the plane and started following all of the "Arrivals" signs. We walked for forever. And then we walked some more. Eventually I saw a sign pointing out customs. We rounded the corner and I saw a waiting area so large that I was suddenly glad to arrive late. We still waited in line for several minutes before I made my way up to a customs agent.
I don't know what he said, other than that it started in French and ended in "Hello and welcome." This was to be the first of many greetings that I would receive in two languages, always French first. I responded with, "hi." He said, "Hi. What is your purpose for being in Canada?" I was glad he decided I wasn't worth spending much time on. He asked me what food I had, and I told him that it was all from the airplane. He asked me what kind of class I was teaching, and when I told him it was a computer class he said, "and the equipment you have brought is your notebook computer?" I replied affirmatively, and he decided that that was all he needed to know. He stamped my card and my passport, and wished me a good evening.
I found a currency exchange booth and turned $30 of my American money into $22 of Canadian money. I then walked for another eternity and found the taxi waiting spot. The sign told me that American Express would be accepted and I relaxed. I wasn't sure how much the taxi ride would be, but I figured I wouldn't have enough in Canadian dollars. My driver ended up being a man from some place who's name I could not distinguise. His accent was neither French nor English. As we talked, I picked up Algiers a couple of times. His family moved to Montreal 21 years ago, he went to school for electronics, couldn't find a job in electronics, and now he drives a taxi. He didn't drive it well, I might note. I often wondered if he was going to run somebody else off the road. Then again, the lanes here don't seem to be very wide.
At one point in the city he signaled a right-turn (the first signal I had seen him make), and then stopped at a red light. I asked if it was illegal to turn right on red in Canada and he replied, "only in Montreal. Nowhere else in Canada. I don't know why. Very expensive if police see you do it though. Especially for taxis."
He dropped me off at the hotel, and I tried to give him my American Express card. He got a worried look on his face and told me that he didn't have his card machine with him. Great. I ended up being able to pay him with a mix of Canadian and American dollars.
The hotel looked like a dive from the outside. Little more than a hole in the wall, surrounded by other tightly-packed shops. I began to wonder about the lavish photos that I had seen on their site. When I walked in, I saw a very nice, if a bit old lobby. The men at the front desk greeted me bilingually and asked for my "family name". Once checked in, I asked about shuttle service to my training center. I showed them the address and they laughed. They told me that it was a five minute walk. Go out the front doors, turn right. Go two blocks, turn left. Go two more blocks and it will be right there. The next day I would discover that another five minutes and another couple of blocks should have been added to the end of those directions.
The room is nice. It's very French and fairly large. The mini-bar is well-stocked, with everything from booze to Pringles. I haven't touched a drop or crumb of it, not even the chilled bottles of water. There are prices posted, but even with the Canadian conversion I'm still sure I'd be getting ripped off. The TV doesn't get Food Network, and most of the channels that it does get are in French. Discovery Channel is in English. There is a balcony and I can see a Hard Rock Cafe a block away. The mattress is almost as confortable as mine at home, certainly better than I've ever seen in a hotel.
The room service menu is very French, with everything from onion soup to duck terrine. It also has a hamburger. There is free wireless Internet access, and it's very fast. In fact, not only is it faster than any hotel Wi-Fi that I've ever used, it's also fast than some wired access that I've used. Kudos to the Hotel de la Montagne's technical staff.
I'm pretty worn out at the moment, so the room service menu beckons. I'll post more later.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Buying a GPS
I've been meaning to write this for a while, but as you've probably guessed, I've been pretty busy. I had an experience a couple of months ago. I was teaching a Linux troubleshooting class in Santa Clara, and the client apparently decided that their instructors need better than average treatment. I was a little surprised when the girl at the rental car counter said, "well, it looks like you have a mid-size car reserved." She looked at the computer for a moment and said, not quite to herself, "let's see, what kind of car should we give you? How about an Impala?" (Side note: now that was a fun car to drive.) She asked me if I wanted a GPS and before I could answer she said, "actually, it looks like [Client X] thinks you should have a GPS. Oh, and [Client X] also wants you to know that you are to return the car with a full tank, rather than having us do it." As it turns out, [Client X] doesn't enjoy paying double for gas.
My GPS was a model by Magellan that I'm assuming was made specifically for Hertz. It was already mounted on the dashboard when I got to the car, and I spent a few extra minutes playing with it before leaving the rental lot. I gave it the address to my hotel and took off, not really knowing what to expect. By the time I left the rental lot, the voice was already giving me turn-by turn directions, generally with enough warning for me to get into the correct lane beforehand. By the time I got to the hotel, I was hooked. I arrived at the hotel just after 10am, convinced them to let me check in early, took a quick nap, and then spent much of the rest of the day driving around with the GPS.
Now, you should know some things about me at this point. I hate traffic. I also hate being lost. Being lost in heavy traffic really kills me. And unfortunately, I'm norotiously bad with dealing with more than one driving instruction at once. When I drove to New Hampshire, it took me 5 1/2 hours to get from the Vermont border to Dover, NH. That's pretty sad. How well does this work when I travel for work? Generally speaking I get a hotel close to the training center, so it's rarely an issue during the week. But high-traffic areas, such as California, stress me out just by thinking about them. Armed with a GPS, my stress levels dropped considerably (though I still hate heavy traffic).
I knew that when I came back from Santa Clara, I would be spending the next two weeks in Boston. Despite famously crazy traffic, I've loved Boston ever since I lived in New England. But I also knew that a GPS would be vital to my survival there. By the time I got back to Utah that weekend, I had already been doing research. Saturday morning became an extension of that research, as I drove from store to store to find out which GPS I would be buying that day.
Before long it became obvious that regardless of which model I bought, I would be doing so at Best Buy. I hate them like poison, but not nearly as much as certain "W" stores, so at least I am willing to buy from them on occassion. My first salesman knew next to nothing about the products, and I probably took a little too much delight in hazing him:
Me: How do I update the maps on this unit?
Salesweenie: Oh, you can just pick up the latest map software on CD.
Me: I'm seeing that this software is for Windows or Mac. How do I update the software on my Linux box?
Salesweenie: Well, um. I'm sure that, um. Well, you might be able to run this anyway under, um, Linux.
Me: You are familiar with Linux, right?
Salesweenie: Well, yeah! Of course! Um. I don't know how well this works with Linux.
Me: Well, this unit also has a memory stick slot. Can I buy an SD card with the new maps?
Salesweenie: Oh, um. No, I think that's only for photos. And maybe MP3's. No, wait. This unit doesn't do MP3. I think it's just for photos.
After a few stores and a little online research, I decided the following, based on what is likely entirely biased opinion: Garmin is the best, with Magellan being a very close second. Third is Tom Tom, which was largely considered to be a joke by every salesperson I talked to. One recounted that a customer told him that if you followed Tom Tom's directions blindly, then you would end up in a ditch. Other brands were barely worth mentioning to them, and they seemed almost embarassed to be carrying them.
I went home and thought about GPS units. It finally occurred to me that the best way to decide was to taken them for a test drive. Unfortunately, these stores all seemed to have a very strict return policy, and then chances of any store letting me borrow a GPS for half an hour were pretty slim. In fact, it was starting to look like buying a GPS was a pretty serious (and expensive) gamble. I thought about the most important features to me, what my price range was, and which models were actually supposed to be in stock.
The most important thing to me was turn-by-turn voice navigation. Having to look at something other than the road while driving, especially in places like Boston, is pretty dangerous. The directions needed to be accurate, and that was going to be a gamble. I also needed a decent interface, which was just about the only thing I could experience firsthand at a store, other than pricing and availability. I also wanted a stand-alone unit that was thin and easy to pack in my luggage. My boss loves his unit that plugs into his Treo, but that just seems weird to me. Until my Treo can manage windowing, I'm not interested.
I eventually decided upon the Garmin Nuvi 200, which was advertised on Best Buy's website and on their shelves at about $300 (though I couldn't help but notice that the Best Buy website on the in-store computers priced it at about $350). When I went back to Best Buy to pick one up, I decided to test the grey matter of another salesperson. This one fared a lot better:
Me: I don't have Windows or Mac, I'm runinng Linux. How can I update the maps?
Salesguy: Not a problem. Head over to Garmin's website and pick up an SD card with the updated maps. Then platform won't be an issue at all.
Me: I thought the SD slot was just for photos.
Salesguy: No, of course not. That would be kind of useless, wouldn't it?
Unfortunately, they did not have the Nuvi 200 in stock. They did however have the Nuvi 200W for about $500. It was, as near as I could tell, exactly the same unit but with a screen that was an extra 2 inches wide, at about $100 an inch. Fortunately, the Best Buy 12 miles up the road claimed to have a Nuvi 200 in stock.
It took me nearly 10 minutes to track down somebody there to actually sell me a unit, and then they told me that they were out of stock. I pointed at one on the shelf and asked about it, and they gave it a surprised look and told me that they guessed they could sell me that one. With the box in hand, I checked some last minute specs and discovered that a car A/C adapter was listed as one of the contents, but not a wall adapter. I asked if there was a wall adapter available and after three associates that knew absolutely nothing about any of their GPS units in general, I was assured that there would be a wall adapter inside. I was also reminded that I had 10 days to return the unit, and they would only take it back if it were unopened or defective, and that there would be a restocking fee in either case.
The plastic shell was nearly impossible to penetrate, and I was not able to play with my new toy until I had gotten home and pulled out the sharp instruments of my kitchen. By then it was late, and I had to get to bed so that I could wake up in time to get to the airport. I did notice immediately however that there was no wall adapter. I also noticed that the car adapter was USB-based, so I was probably okay anyway.
I didn't get the chance to play with my new toy on the way to the airport. In fact, my first test with it was from the Manchester, NH airport to Westford, MA. It took a few minutes to pick up any satellite reception, and then promptly directed me to the nearest toll road, even though I had the option to avoid toll roads selected, and there was another route available. The voice-based navigation worked well, right up until I actually got to the hotel. Then it told me to take a turn that didn't seem to be there (it was almost midnight, and the turn was actually there). The next few frustrating minutes the voice almost seemed to fight with me as I ignored her seemingly-inane promptings and got increasingly lost. As it turns out, Massachussetts roads in general aren't the friendliest in the word, and my GPS was doing its best.
The next day worked better. I got more used to the directions, and we got along well. At one point I discovered that there was a voice language option for "British English", and I never looked back. The woman's voice took on a slight accent, and suddenly she seemed to have a voice that was appropriate to the situation. She became a British dominatrix bent on consuming my soul, a woman so evil as to make Angela Lansbury in the original Manchurian Candidate look like Angela Lansbury in Beauty and the Beast. And yet, we now get along. Mostly.
Her directions aren't always the best. And yet, they almost mirror the directions that I get from Google Maps. This denotes to me a flaw in the local road system, more than in the technology. As you may recall, my first trip to Houston began in horror, as I painfully worked my way around I-10 with its series of exits which had all changed in the few months between the release of my maps and my time in Texas. This was not Garmin's fault. I also don't believe it was Garmin's fault when in West Monroe, LA, the evil woman informed me that I had arrived at my hotel as I pulled into the parking lot of an IHOP. I called the hotel and told them that I was lost, and that I was sitting in an IHOP parking lot in West Monroe. With no other information, the woman at the hotel told me to turn right as I left the IHOP and keep driving until I saw them. There were only two or three blocks away, obscured by other buildings. When I checked Google Maps later, the hotel's address also pointed to the IHOP.
The unit is still largely useless in Houston. She always tells me to take the toll road to and from the airport, despite two other routes which even the locals recommended instead. When driving on a service road, she will often decided that I am on the interstate (or vise versa) and give me directions that are essentually useless to me. But in Louisiana, she was dead on about everything, except for getting to and from the Monroe regional airport. Again, that's not her fault. The roads to and from that airport seemed to have been designed by sadists.
I still wish I would have had the chance to test other models. This one has been worth every penny, and I don't regret having bought a GPS in general. But I can't help but wonder if I could have done better at my price range, or if GPS units don't really get good enough to be proud of until you start spending about double what I did.
My GPS was a model by Magellan that I'm assuming was made specifically for Hertz. It was already mounted on the dashboard when I got to the car, and I spent a few extra minutes playing with it before leaving the rental lot. I gave it the address to my hotel and took off, not really knowing what to expect. By the time I left the rental lot, the voice was already giving me turn-by turn directions, generally with enough warning for me to get into the correct lane beforehand. By the time I got to the hotel, I was hooked. I arrived at the hotel just after 10am, convinced them to let me check in early, took a quick nap, and then spent much of the rest of the day driving around with the GPS.
Now, you should know some things about me at this point. I hate traffic. I also hate being lost. Being lost in heavy traffic really kills me. And unfortunately, I'm norotiously bad with dealing with more than one driving instruction at once. When I drove to New Hampshire, it took me 5 1/2 hours to get from the Vermont border to Dover, NH. That's pretty sad. How well does this work when I travel for work? Generally speaking I get a hotel close to the training center, so it's rarely an issue during the week. But high-traffic areas, such as California, stress me out just by thinking about them. Armed with a GPS, my stress levels dropped considerably (though I still hate heavy traffic).
I knew that when I came back from Santa Clara, I would be spending the next two weeks in Boston. Despite famously crazy traffic, I've loved Boston ever since I lived in New England. But I also knew that a GPS would be vital to my survival there. By the time I got back to Utah that weekend, I had already been doing research. Saturday morning became an extension of that research, as I drove from store to store to find out which GPS I would be buying that day.
Before long it became obvious that regardless of which model I bought, I would be doing so at Best Buy. I hate them like poison, but not nearly as much as certain "W" stores, so at least I am willing to buy from them on occassion. My first salesman knew next to nothing about the products, and I probably took a little too much delight in hazing him:
Me: How do I update the maps on this unit?
Salesweenie: Oh, you can just pick up the latest map software on CD.
Me: I'm seeing that this software is for Windows or Mac. How do I update the software on my Linux box?
Salesweenie: Well, um. I'm sure that, um. Well, you might be able to run this anyway under, um, Linux.
Me: You are familiar with Linux, right?
Salesweenie: Well, yeah! Of course! Um. I don't know how well this works with Linux.
Me: Well, this unit also has a memory stick slot. Can I buy an SD card with the new maps?
Salesweenie: Oh, um. No, I think that's only for photos. And maybe MP3's. No, wait. This unit doesn't do MP3. I think it's just for photos.
After a few stores and a little online research, I decided the following, based on what is likely entirely biased opinion: Garmin is the best, with Magellan being a very close second. Third is Tom Tom, which was largely considered to be a joke by every salesperson I talked to. One recounted that a customer told him that if you followed Tom Tom's directions blindly, then you would end up in a ditch. Other brands were barely worth mentioning to them, and they seemed almost embarassed to be carrying them.
I went home and thought about GPS units. It finally occurred to me that the best way to decide was to taken them for a test drive. Unfortunately, these stores all seemed to have a very strict return policy, and then chances of any store letting me borrow a GPS for half an hour were pretty slim. In fact, it was starting to look like buying a GPS was a pretty serious (and expensive) gamble. I thought about the most important features to me, what my price range was, and which models were actually supposed to be in stock.
The most important thing to me was turn-by-turn voice navigation. Having to look at something other than the road while driving, especially in places like Boston, is pretty dangerous. The directions needed to be accurate, and that was going to be a gamble. I also needed a decent interface, which was just about the only thing I could experience firsthand at a store, other than pricing and availability. I also wanted a stand-alone unit that was thin and easy to pack in my luggage. My boss loves his unit that plugs into his Treo, but that just seems weird to me. Until my Treo can manage windowing, I'm not interested.
I eventually decided upon the Garmin Nuvi 200, which was advertised on Best Buy's website and on their shelves at about $300 (though I couldn't help but notice that the Best Buy website on the in-store computers priced it at about $350). When I went back to Best Buy to pick one up, I decided to test the grey matter of another salesperson. This one fared a lot better:
Me: I don't have Windows or Mac, I'm runinng Linux. How can I update the maps?
Salesguy: Not a problem. Head over to Garmin's website and pick up an SD card with the updated maps. Then platform won't be an issue at all.
Me: I thought the SD slot was just for photos.
Salesguy: No, of course not. That would be kind of useless, wouldn't it?
Unfortunately, they did not have the Nuvi 200 in stock. They did however have the Nuvi 200W for about $500. It was, as near as I could tell, exactly the same unit but with a screen that was an extra 2 inches wide, at about $100 an inch. Fortunately, the Best Buy 12 miles up the road claimed to have a Nuvi 200 in stock.
It took me nearly 10 minutes to track down somebody there to actually sell me a unit, and then they told me that they were out of stock. I pointed at one on the shelf and asked about it, and they gave it a surprised look and told me that they guessed they could sell me that one. With the box in hand, I checked some last minute specs and discovered that a car A/C adapter was listed as one of the contents, but not a wall adapter. I asked if there was a wall adapter available and after three associates that knew absolutely nothing about any of their GPS units in general, I was assured that there would be a wall adapter inside. I was also reminded that I had 10 days to return the unit, and they would only take it back if it were unopened or defective, and that there would be a restocking fee in either case.
The plastic shell was nearly impossible to penetrate, and I was not able to play with my new toy until I had gotten home and pulled out the sharp instruments of my kitchen. By then it was late, and I had to get to bed so that I could wake up in time to get to the airport. I did notice immediately however that there was no wall adapter. I also noticed that the car adapter was USB-based, so I was probably okay anyway.
I didn't get the chance to play with my new toy on the way to the airport. In fact, my first test with it was from the Manchester, NH airport to Westford, MA. It took a few minutes to pick up any satellite reception, and then promptly directed me to the nearest toll road, even though I had the option to avoid toll roads selected, and there was another route available. The voice-based navigation worked well, right up until I actually got to the hotel. Then it told me to take a turn that didn't seem to be there (it was almost midnight, and the turn was actually there). The next few frustrating minutes the voice almost seemed to fight with me as I ignored her seemingly-inane promptings and got increasingly lost. As it turns out, Massachussetts roads in general aren't the friendliest in the word, and my GPS was doing its best.
The next day worked better. I got more used to the directions, and we got along well. At one point I discovered that there was a voice language option for "British English", and I never looked back. The woman's voice took on a slight accent, and suddenly she seemed to have a voice that was appropriate to the situation. She became a British dominatrix bent on consuming my soul, a woman so evil as to make Angela Lansbury in the original Manchurian Candidate look like Angela Lansbury in Beauty and the Beast. And yet, we now get along. Mostly.
Her directions aren't always the best. And yet, they almost mirror the directions that I get from Google Maps. This denotes to me a flaw in the local road system, more than in the technology. As you may recall, my first trip to Houston began in horror, as I painfully worked my way around I-10 with its series of exits which had all changed in the few months between the release of my maps and my time in Texas. This was not Garmin's fault. I also don't believe it was Garmin's fault when in West Monroe, LA, the evil woman informed me that I had arrived at my hotel as I pulled into the parking lot of an IHOP. I called the hotel and told them that I was lost, and that I was sitting in an IHOP parking lot in West Monroe. With no other information, the woman at the hotel told me to turn right as I left the IHOP and keep driving until I saw them. There were only two or three blocks away, obscured by other buildings. When I checked Google Maps later, the hotel's address also pointed to the IHOP.
The unit is still largely useless in Houston. She always tells me to take the toll road to and from the airport, despite two other routes which even the locals recommended instead. When driving on a service road, she will often decided that I am on the interstate (or vise versa) and give me directions that are essentually useless to me. But in Louisiana, she was dead on about everything, except for getting to and from the Monroe regional airport. Again, that's not her fault. The roads to and from that airport seemed to have been designed by sadists.
I still wish I would have had the chance to test other models. This one has been worth every penny, and I don't regret having bought a GPS in general. But I can't help but wonder if I could have done better at my price range, or if GPS units don't really get good enough to be proud of until you start spending about double what I did.
Friday, October 19, 2007
George Duran
When my wife called me last week and asked if I wanted to go to the home improvement show that weekend, my brain started shreaking in fear. Fortunately, my more level-headed voice said simply, "well, not really." My wife responded by informing me that George Duran was going to be there. My brain was too startled to be embarassed. My fingers were already heading over to Google to find out more. From that point on, it became only a question of when he would be presenting, and whether or not I would be back from Louisiana in time. It was decided that we would attend his last demo on Saturday afternoon.
Some of you are asking yourselves, "who is George Duran?" Others are becoming increasingly excited for and/or jealous of me. Most of you know that with few exceptions, I really only watch cooking shows. George Duran's "Ham on the Street" is something more than a cooking show. He worked in production in various print, radio and TV jobs, eventually hosting a few shows in Spanish in Miami. And like Alton Brown, he suddenly packed up his life in favor of going to cooking school. His show is informative, irreverent and highly entertaining. Before I had even finished watching the first episode, I had become a huge fan.
Elise came with us, of course. She may only be 8 months old, but I figure one can never be too young to be exposed to good influences. If Alton Brown ever descends to Utah, she will be present for him as well. We quickly found the Chef's Stage and took seats in the back as a local TV chef talked about something or other. He had the bored voice of somebody who had given one demo too many, and had finally switched to auto-pilot. At one point he asked if anyone knew of any decent substitutions for cream cheese, George stuck his head out of the curtain and said, "Laughing Cow!" The local TV chef gave a confused look and asked if they even sold that in Utah. As it turns out, just about every grocery store in Utah has it. As his demo ended and seats emptied, my wife and I moved to the front row.
George came out off and on to set up. He seemed calm and friendly, but focused. His chef's jacket reflected his personality. It looked kind of like a black soccer jersey, minus any markings except for a couple of stripes on the shoulders, with a button-up collar like a chef's jacket. It's actually very similar to the design that I've been thinking about for my own combination bowling shirt/chef's jacket. As it turns out, this is not the only area in which we think similarly.
When George started his demo, it was like a subdued, but friendlier version of his show. As he started talking, more and more people started arriving. The local TV chef (we'll call him Brian) was on hand to help out. George told us that one of his favorite foods is fried chicken, and that he was going to make a version that was healthier and tastier than a certain bucket of chicken from a certain unnamed restaurant who happens to be located in Kentucky. He used a technique which he called oven frying. He mixed light mayonnaise with some spices and a little water, tossed the chicken in it, and then tossed the chicken in some panko bread crumbs. He moved the chicken to a parchment-lined pan, and started talking about cooking spray.
He asked who in the audience was as enamored with cooking spray as him. I was one of the few people that raised their hands. He started joking about spraying it straight into his mouth and asked who else did that sort of thing. I raised my hand again, and he made a joke with me about how tasty it was. He turned his attention back to the food and Brian gave me a strange look and mouthed, "do you really do that?". I gave him a look that said, "no, of course not, what kind of an idiot do you think I am?" and shook my head no.
George sprayed the chicken liberally with cooking spray and moved it to the oven. My wife later remarked that she had never seen anyone use cooking spray the way that I do, until she went to George's demo. Honestly I think George was also a little surprised when he asked how many people did this or that with cooking spray and I nodded my head knowingly. If he had known that I had also gone to cooking school, or had my wife known how cooking school students are taught how to use "pan coating" as we call it, I think they would both have been less surprised.
He moved onto brussel sprouts. His goal with this dish was to convince people that hated this ingredient that it could actually taste good. He informed us that boiling was not that proper cooking method. Instead, they needed to be baked. He also split them in half in order to increase the amount of flavor that could soak in, and then rinsed them in water just in case there was any dirt hanging around in them. He then tossed them with bacon, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, pine nuts, salt and spices, then moved them into a Pyrex baking dish that was then to be moved to the oven. He already had one finished of course, so he started calling up people to try it out.
I hope you can all see his strategy here. Since it's common knowledge that brussel sprouts taste horrible, his plan involved masking their flavor with things that actually taste good, most notably bacon. The dish was a success, and he wound up with several converts. As each person tasted the dish, he would tell the audience to "give a big round of applause... for me!"
I was told that cameras were not allowed, so I got no pictures of the demo itself. But when it ended and the majority of the crowd descended upon the food, I headed over to talk to the man, and see if I could convince him to sign my rolling pin. I had considered asking him to sign my baby, but I then realized that the tatoo parlor would never make it permanent for me (she looks just a little underage), and that the rolling pin might be considered just a little less odd.
George Duran is actually cooler in person than on the show. He was friendly to everyone, and only too happy to talk to people. He gladly signed my rolling pin and talked to me for a moment about chocolate. I instructed him that he needed to find a bar of Amano Chocolate before he left Utah, since I had been unable to procure one in time to give to him. He made sure to write it down on one of his autograph photos so that he could check it out.
My wife managed to convince one of the assistants to take my picture with George, and he was even pretty cool about that. We left the show feeling as if our weekend had already been made complete.
Some of you are asking yourselves, "who is George Duran?" Others are becoming increasingly excited for and/or jealous of me. Most of you know that with few exceptions, I really only watch cooking shows. George Duran's "Ham on the Street" is something more than a cooking show. He worked in production in various print, radio and TV jobs, eventually hosting a few shows in Spanish in Miami. And like Alton Brown, he suddenly packed up his life in favor of going to cooking school. His show is informative, irreverent and highly entertaining. Before I had even finished watching the first episode, I had become a huge fan.
Elise came with us, of course. She may only be 8 months old, but I figure one can never be too young to be exposed to good influences. If Alton Brown ever descends to Utah, she will be present for him as well. We quickly found the Chef's Stage and took seats in the back as a local TV chef talked about something or other. He had the bored voice of somebody who had given one demo too many, and had finally switched to auto-pilot. At one point he asked if anyone knew of any decent substitutions for cream cheese, George stuck his head out of the curtain and said, "Laughing Cow!" The local TV chef gave a confused look and asked if they even sold that in Utah. As it turns out, just about every grocery store in Utah has it. As his demo ended and seats emptied, my wife and I moved to the front row.
George came out off and on to set up. He seemed calm and friendly, but focused. His chef's jacket reflected his personality. It looked kind of like a black soccer jersey, minus any markings except for a couple of stripes on the shoulders, with a button-up collar like a chef's jacket. It's actually very similar to the design that I've been thinking about for my own combination bowling shirt/chef's jacket. As it turns out, this is not the only area in which we think similarly.
When George started his demo, it was like a subdued, but friendlier version of his show. As he started talking, more and more people started arriving. The local TV chef (we'll call him Brian) was on hand to help out. George told us that one of his favorite foods is fried chicken, and that he was going to make a version that was healthier and tastier than a certain bucket of chicken from a certain unnamed restaurant who happens to be located in Kentucky. He used a technique which he called oven frying. He mixed light mayonnaise with some spices and a little water, tossed the chicken in it, and then tossed the chicken in some panko bread crumbs. He moved the chicken to a parchment-lined pan, and started talking about cooking spray.
He asked who in the audience was as enamored with cooking spray as him. I was one of the few people that raised their hands. He started joking about spraying it straight into his mouth and asked who else did that sort of thing. I raised my hand again, and he made a joke with me about how tasty it was. He turned his attention back to the food and Brian gave me a strange look and mouthed, "do you really do that?". I gave him a look that said, "no, of course not, what kind of an idiot do you think I am?" and shook my head no.
George sprayed the chicken liberally with cooking spray and moved it to the oven. My wife later remarked that she had never seen anyone use cooking spray the way that I do, until she went to George's demo. Honestly I think George was also a little surprised when he asked how many people did this or that with cooking spray and I nodded my head knowingly. If he had known that I had also gone to cooking school, or had my wife known how cooking school students are taught how to use "pan coating" as we call it, I think they would both have been less surprised.
He moved onto brussel sprouts. His goal with this dish was to convince people that hated this ingredient that it could actually taste good. He informed us that boiling was not that proper cooking method. Instead, they needed to be baked. He also split them in half in order to increase the amount of flavor that could soak in, and then rinsed them in water just in case there was any dirt hanging around in them. He then tossed them with bacon, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, pine nuts, salt and spices, then moved them into a Pyrex baking dish that was then to be moved to the oven. He already had one finished of course, so he started calling up people to try it out.
I hope you can all see his strategy here. Since it's common knowledge that brussel sprouts taste horrible, his plan involved masking their flavor with things that actually taste good, most notably bacon. The dish was a success, and he wound up with several converts. As each person tasted the dish, he would tell the audience to "give a big round of applause... for me!"
I was told that cameras were not allowed, so I got no pictures of the demo itself. But when it ended and the majority of the crowd descended upon the food, I headed over to talk to the man, and see if I could convince him to sign my rolling pin. I had considered asking him to sign my baby, but I then realized that the tatoo parlor would never make it permanent for me (she looks just a little underage), and that the rolling pin might be considered just a little less odd.
George Duran is actually cooler in person than on the show. He was friendly to everyone, and only too happy to talk to people. He gladly signed my rolling pin and talked to me for a moment about chocolate. I instructed him that he needed to find a bar of Amano Chocolate before he left Utah, since I had been unable to procure one in time to give to him. He made sure to write it down on one of his autograph photos so that he could check it out.
My wife managed to convince one of the assistants to take my picture with George, and he was even pretty cool about that. We left the show feeling as if our weekend had already been made complete.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Fear and Loathing in Houston
It is a tale of horror. It is a tale of woe. It is a tale that you may not wish to read if you plan to travel soon. But be comforted, my friend. For this is not a tale of ordinary circumstances. It is merely the story of my worst trip ever.
*** DRAMATIC CHORD ***
It all started Saturday night with a toothache. It had been a small, distant pain whic I expected to be able to sleep off. By bedtime, it was a chisel of agony digging into my jaw. I had taken a melatonin pill and and allergy pill, which normally knocks me out pretty effectly. By midnight I was literally in tears. Through a combination of Advil, strategically-placed ice packs and my wife rubbing my neck, I was finally able to fall into a fitful, restless sleep which was ended at about 5:30 in the mornign, half an hour before my alarm was scheduled to go off. The pain had mostly subsided, but traces still lingered in the background. Another dose of Advil made me forget the pain, for the moment.
I arrived at the airport at approximately 8:30am, giving myself more than enough time to catch my 10:30 flight to Houston. As I arrived at my gate I discovered that the flight that shuld have already arrived at that gate was still en route. Ignoring the omen, I bought an awful breakfast sandwich from an airport restaurant and sat back to enjoy my book. The flight finally arrived, but the delay had already caused problems for the next flight, which was the one scheduled before mine. Shortly after 9:30, it was announced that the flight to Houston had been cancelled, and that all of the passengers had automatically been rebooked. We merely needed to check with an agent to confirm the changes and receive our new boarding pass.
Rather than enduring the rapidly expanding line at the counter for my gate, I walked halfway down the terminal and found a Delta counter that was manned, but had no line. The woman informed me that the 1:20pm flight to Houston wa already overbooked, and that I was all set for the 4:56pm flight. I also needed to wait 10 minutes for her to be able to rint my boarding pass, for security reasons (apparently they can't do it at the counter more than 6 hours ahead). I had the option of calling my wife, having her drive an hour from our home to pick me up, and then drop me off a very short time later to go through security again, or just wait it out at the airport. I had my book, I had my computer, and I wasn't about to make her go through the trouble. I decided to wait it out. Besides, Delta had already given me free meal vouchers for lunch and dinner.
When I finally got my boarding pass, I discovered two things. First of all, I had made it to Silver Medallion status. One of perks of any "medallion" status was my second surprise: I had been upgrade to first class. For free. I was in Row 1, Seat A. I looked forward to my first taste of The Good Life (TM). Unfortunately, my upgrade in class did not guarantee an on-time departure, any more than it did for coach class. By 3:30, our departure time had already been delayed to 6pm. By 4:30, it had been delayed to 6:45. Upon asking the woman at the desk, I discovered that our intended plane had been changed, and that we were waiting for a new plane to arive from a different location. It did finally arrive, and we began boarding by 6:40 (with the departure time still set to 6:45). We finally got off the ground at around 7:30 (mountain time) giving us just enough time to make it to Houston a little after 11:00 (central time).
First class was nice. The flight attendant got my drink order the moment they were allowed to walk around the cabin, and she made sure my glass never emptied. I had plenty of leg room, free headphones for the in-flight movie, a complimentary pillow and blanket already at my seat, and there was even a chilled bottle of water waiting for me when I sat down. I lost count of the number of times the flight attendent brought by the snack basket, even though I waved her off after the first one. Everything else, from what I could see, was still identical to first class. The sound quality was so bad on the movie, I was lost within 10 minutes. For those of you who have seen Ocean's 13 (or 11 or 12), you know what sort of a disadvantage that put me at. There was a family with screaming children in first class, and my toothache was back. I was glad to be landed.
I made my way to the rental booth with little difficulty. Then lone agent at the counter was already helping another customer, so he suggested I try the machine. Within minutes, I was in the parking lot looking for my "economy" car. They were apparently all rented out, so I had to go back and find the agent, and have him direct me to another car, since the lot itself was not staffed after 10pm. He directed me to a Pontiac and I cringed. My confidence did not rise when I discovered that it would not start. I walked back to find the agent again, who seemed slightly exasperated with me by this point, and he decided to try starting the car himself. When he had proven that perhaps I wasn't lying/incompetant, he told me to "just take the PT Cruiser".
A lot of reaers by this point are thinking that perhaps my luck is finally kicking in. That's probalby because you haven't driven a PT Cruiser before. Not only is it a horribly ugly attempt at making a modern-day car look like a cool gangster car from the roaring 20's, it is also the second most uncomfortable car I have ever rented (or been in, for that matter), and it has the worst configuration that I've ever seen. When I return it on Friday, I will not miss it.
My next surprise was to discover that my GPS was having difficulty finding a satellite. Fortunately it kicked in before I got too far from the airport, and I discovered that I was already going in the right direction. Unfortunately, it did not warn me that my route involved two toll boths, both of which were $1.50. Thankfully, I still had a roll of quarters from my recent trip to Boston (where the most expensive toll I saw was ony $0.75), and I was able to get by with no real difficulty. But there were still problems to come.
As it turns out, the roads in downtown Houston are currently under very heavy construction (I-10 in particular), and many of the exits had changed or disappeared entirely. As I got closer to my hotel, my GPS seemed to be more and more useless. I had already driven half an hour from the airport to the general area where I needed to be, andI spent another half hour trying to reach my hotel, which sat on a one-way frontage road next to an especially large interchange. When I finally checked it, it was after 12:30 and I was too tired to bother with anything but popping more Advil and sliding into bed. I had not been able to sleep at the airport or on the plane, and I was exhasted.
Monday morning started too early. When my alarm went off at 6:30, I was in for a brand new round of discoveries, starting with a broken shower. I bathed myself as best I could with the slow trickle of water (and what appeared to be a fully-functioning, but inordinately slow-to-fill jacuzzi), and then called down to the front desk to complain. They promised to fix it during the day. I prepared my belongings and headed downstairs, hoping that the drive to the training center would not be bad. By the time I reached the lobby, I had discovered that the road that the training center was on was not in my GPS. I asked the front desk if they had any maps, and they did not. I tried checking Google Maps on my phone, and it just sat there and said, "Looking...."
Knowing that the training center was close, I asked the man at the desk if he knew where Woodway Drive was. It ended up being a major enough road (with its own freeway exit) that not having it in my GPS (which was loaded with 2007 maps) was a pretty major oversight on Garmin's part. The directions were simple, and the training center was extremely easy to find. When I walked in at 7:30, they had already been open for half an hour. Since the client had sent me the wrong roster last week (I guess this week's problems started well before Saturday night), I was relieved to find that the training center already had a correct roster printed out for me, waiting in the classroom.
The training center was on the ball. There were free drinks in the fridge (which thankfully included my beloved Dr Pepper), and unguarded donuts in the break area. I had no hardware problems, making it the easiest classroom setup that I had ever had. It seemed that my bad luck had finally ran out. As it turns out, it was just lulling me into a false sense of security.
During my second lecture, I switched over to text mode (CTRL-ALT-F1, also known as the first virtual terminal in Linux) to demonstrate to my students. When I switched back to my graphical environment, my monitor suddenly decided that it couldn't handle the resolution. Fortunately, the projector still worked, and I spent the rest of that lecture, and the one after it, getting a crick in my neck from having to look at the screen in front of the class instead of my own monitor, until I finally beat the configuration into submission during lab time.
Because the Ramada is on a one-way road, my students showed me the correct backroads to use to get back to it, easily avoiding the freeway altogether. When I got to my room, my first item of business (before even taking off my backpack) was to check the shower. Still broken. I called down to the front desk to get an estimate as to when it would be fixed, and less than five minutes later I found two repairmen knocking at my door. While they were checking out the shower, a hotel manager came knocking to let me know that I should be expecting to see the repair staff soon. In mid-sentence he saw them already at work, and he conversed with them shortly. He apologized for the inconvenience and then excused himself. Two minutes later he was back to check on things. I was informed that there was a problem with the pipes inside the wall, and asked if I would mind moving to a room with a working shower. I graciously agreed, and the three of them left, the manager promising to return shortly with a new key.
It would seem that while regular maintenance is not their strong suit, their response time is outstanding. Not five minutes later, I received a call from the front desk asking for confirmation to move me to a new room. I took the opportunity to note that the description in Expedia said that there would be a kitchenette as well. There was a nervous pause before the woman informed me that they had no rooms with both a jacuzzi (which was also in the description) and a kitchenette. It would seem that somebody had misrepresented their rooms to Expedia, which does not surprise me in the least. She sounded relieved when I told her that I didn't care about the jacuzzi, and that all I was interested in was a mini-fridge and a microwave. She let me know that they would be right up with a new room key.
The manager returned to my room 10 minutes later with a new key, for a room just down the hall. He needed to take a moment to check on other rooms, and told me that he would be there shortly. Imagine my surprise when I opened the door and found a full kitchenette, complete with two counter-top burners, a full-size fridge, a mini-bar fridge (which was empty), a microwave, a full-size kitchen sink, a bar-style counter and two barstools. There were even dishes, cookware and utensils in the cupboards. The kitchenette shared a room with the living room, complete with a desk, couch, TV and double-doors opening into the bedroom, which had its own TV. Each room even had its own heating/cooling unit.
The first item of business was to check the shower. Nothing else mattered if I ended up smelling bad in class. I noted immediately that the bathroom light was already on, and that there was already water on the walls of the shower. It would seem that the manager tested it before coming to give me my key. I tested it again myself, and it did seem to work. I thanked the manager for his help as he scrambled around the room to replace a couple of burned out bulbs that I never would have noticed myself. I would later discover that the couch had no springs left in it, but I was already in a much better position than before anyway.
So it would seem that my bad luck might actually be slowing, and my first trip to Houston is starting to become enjoyable. I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous about the trip back home, but it no longer seems as bad as it once did. Despite what was turning out to be the worst travel week ever has turned into something quite liveable indeed.
*** DRAMATIC CHORD ***
It all started Saturday night with a toothache. It had been a small, distant pain whic I expected to be able to sleep off. By bedtime, it was a chisel of agony digging into my jaw. I had taken a melatonin pill and and allergy pill, which normally knocks me out pretty effectly. By midnight I was literally in tears. Through a combination of Advil, strategically-placed ice packs and my wife rubbing my neck, I was finally able to fall into a fitful, restless sleep which was ended at about 5:30 in the mornign, half an hour before my alarm was scheduled to go off. The pain had mostly subsided, but traces still lingered in the background. Another dose of Advil made me forget the pain, for the moment.
I arrived at the airport at approximately 8:30am, giving myself more than enough time to catch my 10:30 flight to Houston. As I arrived at my gate I discovered that the flight that shuld have already arrived at that gate was still en route. Ignoring the omen, I bought an awful breakfast sandwich from an airport restaurant and sat back to enjoy my book. The flight finally arrived, but the delay had already caused problems for the next flight, which was the one scheduled before mine. Shortly after 9:30, it was announced that the flight to Houston had been cancelled, and that all of the passengers had automatically been rebooked. We merely needed to check with an agent to confirm the changes and receive our new boarding pass.
Rather than enduring the rapidly expanding line at the counter for my gate, I walked halfway down the terminal and found a Delta counter that was manned, but had no line. The woman informed me that the 1:20pm flight to Houston wa already overbooked, and that I was all set for the 4:56pm flight. I also needed to wait 10 minutes for her to be able to rint my boarding pass, for security reasons (apparently they can't do it at the counter more than 6 hours ahead). I had the option of calling my wife, having her drive an hour from our home to pick me up, and then drop me off a very short time later to go through security again, or just wait it out at the airport. I had my book, I had my computer, and I wasn't about to make her go through the trouble. I decided to wait it out. Besides, Delta had already given me free meal vouchers for lunch and dinner.
When I finally got my boarding pass, I discovered two things. First of all, I had made it to Silver Medallion status. One of perks of any "medallion" status was my second surprise: I had been upgrade to first class. For free. I was in Row 1, Seat A. I looked forward to my first taste of The Good Life (TM). Unfortunately, my upgrade in class did not guarantee an on-time departure, any more than it did for coach class. By 3:30, our departure time had already been delayed to 6pm. By 4:30, it had been delayed to 6:45. Upon asking the woman at the desk, I discovered that our intended plane had been changed, and that we were waiting for a new plane to arive from a different location. It did finally arrive, and we began boarding by 6:40 (with the departure time still set to 6:45). We finally got off the ground at around 7:30 (mountain time) giving us just enough time to make it to Houston a little after 11:00 (central time).
First class was nice. The flight attendant got my drink order the moment they were allowed to walk around the cabin, and she made sure my glass never emptied. I had plenty of leg room, free headphones for the in-flight movie, a complimentary pillow and blanket already at my seat, and there was even a chilled bottle of water waiting for me when I sat down. I lost count of the number of times the flight attendent brought by the snack basket, even though I waved her off after the first one. Everything else, from what I could see, was still identical to first class. The sound quality was so bad on the movie, I was lost within 10 minutes. For those of you who have seen Ocean's 13 (or 11 or 12), you know what sort of a disadvantage that put me at. There was a family with screaming children in first class, and my toothache was back. I was glad to be landed.
I made my way to the rental booth with little difficulty. Then lone agent at the counter was already helping another customer, so he suggested I try the machine. Within minutes, I was in the parking lot looking for my "economy" car. They were apparently all rented out, so I had to go back and find the agent, and have him direct me to another car, since the lot itself was not staffed after 10pm. He directed me to a Pontiac and I cringed. My confidence did not rise when I discovered that it would not start. I walked back to find the agent again, who seemed slightly exasperated with me by this point, and he decided to try starting the car himself. When he had proven that perhaps I wasn't lying/incompetant, he told me to "just take the PT Cruiser".
A lot of reaers by this point are thinking that perhaps my luck is finally kicking in. That's probalby because you haven't driven a PT Cruiser before. Not only is it a horribly ugly attempt at making a modern-day car look like a cool gangster car from the roaring 20's, it is also the second most uncomfortable car I have ever rented (or been in, for that matter), and it has the worst configuration that I've ever seen. When I return it on Friday, I will not miss it.
My next surprise was to discover that my GPS was having difficulty finding a satellite. Fortunately it kicked in before I got too far from the airport, and I discovered that I was already going in the right direction. Unfortunately, it did not warn me that my route involved two toll boths, both of which were $1.50. Thankfully, I still had a roll of quarters from my recent trip to Boston (where the most expensive toll I saw was ony $0.75), and I was able to get by with no real difficulty. But there were still problems to come.
As it turns out, the roads in downtown Houston are currently under very heavy construction (I-10 in particular), and many of the exits had changed or disappeared entirely. As I got closer to my hotel, my GPS seemed to be more and more useless. I had already driven half an hour from the airport to the general area where I needed to be, andI spent another half hour trying to reach my hotel, which sat on a one-way frontage road next to an especially large interchange. When I finally checked it, it was after 12:30 and I was too tired to bother with anything but popping more Advil and sliding into bed. I had not been able to sleep at the airport or on the plane, and I was exhasted.
Monday morning started too early. When my alarm went off at 6:30, I was in for a brand new round of discoveries, starting with a broken shower. I bathed myself as best I could with the slow trickle of water (and what appeared to be a fully-functioning, but inordinately slow-to-fill jacuzzi), and then called down to the front desk to complain. They promised to fix it during the day. I prepared my belongings and headed downstairs, hoping that the drive to the training center would not be bad. By the time I reached the lobby, I had discovered that the road that the training center was on was not in my GPS. I asked the front desk if they had any maps, and they did not. I tried checking Google Maps on my phone, and it just sat there and said, "Looking...."
Knowing that the training center was close, I asked the man at the desk if he knew where Woodway Drive was. It ended up being a major enough road (with its own freeway exit) that not having it in my GPS (which was loaded with 2007 maps) was a pretty major oversight on Garmin's part. The directions were simple, and the training center was extremely easy to find. When I walked in at 7:30, they had already been open for half an hour. Since the client had sent me the wrong roster last week (I guess this week's problems started well before Saturday night), I was relieved to find that the training center already had a correct roster printed out for me, waiting in the classroom.
The training center was on the ball. There were free drinks in the fridge (which thankfully included my beloved Dr Pepper), and unguarded donuts in the break area. I had no hardware problems, making it the easiest classroom setup that I had ever had. It seemed that my bad luck had finally ran out. As it turns out, it was just lulling me into a false sense of security.
During my second lecture, I switched over to text mode (CTRL-ALT-F1, also known as the first virtual terminal in Linux) to demonstrate to my students. When I switched back to my graphical environment, my monitor suddenly decided that it couldn't handle the resolution. Fortunately, the projector still worked, and I spent the rest of that lecture, and the one after it, getting a crick in my neck from having to look at the screen in front of the class instead of my own monitor, until I finally beat the configuration into submission during lab time.
Because the Ramada is on a one-way road, my students showed me the correct backroads to use to get back to it, easily avoiding the freeway altogether. When I got to my room, my first item of business (before even taking off my backpack) was to check the shower. Still broken. I called down to the front desk to get an estimate as to when it would be fixed, and less than five minutes later I found two repairmen knocking at my door. While they were checking out the shower, a hotel manager came knocking to let me know that I should be expecting to see the repair staff soon. In mid-sentence he saw them already at work, and he conversed with them shortly. He apologized for the inconvenience and then excused himself. Two minutes later he was back to check on things. I was informed that there was a problem with the pipes inside the wall, and asked if I would mind moving to a room with a working shower. I graciously agreed, and the three of them left, the manager promising to return shortly with a new key.
It would seem that while regular maintenance is not their strong suit, their response time is outstanding. Not five minutes later, I received a call from the front desk asking for confirmation to move me to a new room. I took the opportunity to note that the description in Expedia said that there would be a kitchenette as well. There was a nervous pause before the woman informed me that they had no rooms with both a jacuzzi (which was also in the description) and a kitchenette. It would seem that somebody had misrepresented their rooms to Expedia, which does not surprise me in the least. She sounded relieved when I told her that I didn't care about the jacuzzi, and that all I was interested in was a mini-fridge and a microwave. She let me know that they would be right up with a new room key.
The manager returned to my room 10 minutes later with a new key, for a room just down the hall. He needed to take a moment to check on other rooms, and told me that he would be there shortly. Imagine my surprise when I opened the door and found a full kitchenette, complete with two counter-top burners, a full-size fridge, a mini-bar fridge (which was empty), a microwave, a full-size kitchen sink, a bar-style counter and two barstools. There were even dishes, cookware and utensils in the cupboards. The kitchenette shared a room with the living room, complete with a desk, couch, TV and double-doors opening into the bedroom, which had its own TV. Each room even had its own heating/cooling unit.
The first item of business was to check the shower. Nothing else mattered if I ended up smelling bad in class. I noted immediately that the bathroom light was already on, and that there was already water on the walls of the shower. It would seem that the manager tested it before coming to give me my key. I tested it again myself, and it did seem to work. I thanked the manager for his help as he scrambled around the room to replace a couple of burned out bulbs that I never would have noticed myself. I would later discover that the couch had no springs left in it, but I was already in a much better position than before anyway.
So it would seem that my bad luck might actually be slowing, and my first trip to Houston is starting to become enjoyable. I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous about the trip back home, but it no longer seems as bad as it once did. Despite what was turning out to be the worst travel week ever has turned into something quite liveable indeed.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Bay Leaves
I thought I'd take a moment to talk about one of a chef's best friends: bay leaves. When speaking in culinary terms, bay most often refers to a certain member of the laurel family (you know, the crowns of laurels that the ancient Romans would often wear on their heads). This Mediterranean bay leaf is an excellent addition to a variety of dishes, from soups to rice. One must be careful however to remove the bay leaves before serving the dish. Count 'em going in, and count 'em coming out. This is because the bay leaf tends to stay stiff, even after several hours of cooking, and is in fact (so I've heard) the number one cause of choking in restaurants.
There is another type of bay leaf, the Californian bay. This is not really even a bay leaf, but in fact a member of the eucalyptis family. Those of you familiar with this family won't be surprised to learn that Californian bay tastes a lot of like menthol. For this very reason, you should be careful when a recipe calls for bay leaves, to add Mediterranean bay, and not Californian bay. This is very likely also the reason why the beans and saffronned rice in today's catered lunch tasted like a Mexican cough drop.
I don't suppose it would surprise you to learn that said catering company also forgot to bring serving utensils in which to transport any of the food from the chafing dishes to our plates. Then again, perhaps the beans and rice dish was just for presentation. It certainly wasn't suitable for eating.
There is another type of bay leaf, the Californian bay. This is not really even a bay leaf, but in fact a member of the eucalyptis family. Those of you familiar with this family won't be surprised to learn that Californian bay tastes a lot of like menthol. For this very reason, you should be careful when a recipe calls for bay leaves, to add Mediterranean bay, and not Californian bay. This is very likely also the reason why the beans and saffronned rice in today's catered lunch tasted like a Mexican cough drop.
I don't suppose it would surprise you to learn that said catering company also forgot to bring serving utensils in which to transport any of the food from the chafing dishes to our plates. Then again, perhaps the beans and rice dish was just for presentation. It certainly wasn't suitable for eating.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
America's Stonehenge
Recently my wife and I spent a weekend in New England. There were a lot of places that I wanted to visit, but time was limited. I decided to take Nat to see one of my favorite places, America's Stonehenge, in Salem, NH.
No, this is not the one built out of cars. This is a real henge, made out of stones, presumably by ancient space astronauts (my personal theory). While the stones are probably not nearly as large as its more famous brother (sister?) in England, I would say this site is probably far more interesting. Not only was part of it used for calendaring, there are various walls, man-made caves, and even a sacrificial table.
The day was hot and sticky, and I wished several times that I had opted for a t-shirt, rather than my favorite bowling shirt. Fortunately the rest of my clothes were up to the task, and we enjoyed the short hike to the site. I had been there once before, and knew what to expect (other than the heat). We both had copies of the self-guided tour paper with us, and my wife made sure to read each descriptor, while I largely ignored it.
There are two parts of the site that are truly interesting to me. Yes, the calendar aspect is kind of cool. But I really find the Oracle Chamber and the Sacrificial Table fascinating. It would seem that the site was designed for the masses to be kept at a safe distance while religious leaders had closer access to work their wonders. There are large stones that seem strategically-placed with this in mind.
The Sacrificial Table is easily visible from above. There are grooves cut into the stone, which are stained with blood. Whether this blood is human or animal, I don't know. Perhaps the ancient space astronauts were sacrificing one of their own.
Before you get to the table however, you get to walk through the Oracle Chamber. My wife, not knowing yet what this room was, did not want to go inside. She got all sorts of freaky-weird feelings when she got near it. I explained to her what it was, and her fears seemed to dissapate. There was a space inside where a person could hide, and a "speaking tube" that led from the Oracle Chamber to underneath the sacrificial table. It is thought that a priest would hide in the chamber and speak, as if a metaphysical being, through the tube to the masses gathered outside.
As we left the site, we walked by the alpacas who live onsite. My wife made sure to mention several times that llamas spit, and that we should keep our distance. I think it was a reference to something.
If you ever find yourself near Salem, NH, you should take a couple of hours and head on down to the henge. The people there are nice, they sell cold bottled water (recommended) and the site itself is fun to walk through and theorize about its origins. You might even want to pay attention to the guided tour. You might learn something.
No, this is not the one built out of cars. This is a real henge, made out of stones, presumably by ancient space astronauts (my personal theory). While the stones are probably not nearly as large as its more famous brother (sister?) in England, I would say this site is probably far more interesting. Not only was part of it used for calendaring, there are various walls, man-made caves, and even a sacrificial table.
The day was hot and sticky, and I wished several times that I had opted for a t-shirt, rather than my favorite bowling shirt. Fortunately the rest of my clothes were up to the task, and we enjoyed the short hike to the site. I had been there once before, and knew what to expect (other than the heat). We both had copies of the self-guided tour paper with us, and my wife made sure to read each descriptor, while I largely ignored it.
There are two parts of the site that are truly interesting to me. Yes, the calendar aspect is kind of cool. But I really find the Oracle Chamber and the Sacrificial Table fascinating. It would seem that the site was designed for the masses to be kept at a safe distance while religious leaders had closer access to work their wonders. There are large stones that seem strategically-placed with this in mind.
The Sacrificial Table is easily visible from above. There are grooves cut into the stone, which are stained with blood. Whether this blood is human or animal, I don't know. Perhaps the ancient space astronauts were sacrificing one of their own.
Before you get to the table however, you get to walk through the Oracle Chamber. My wife, not knowing yet what this room was, did not want to go inside. She got all sorts of freaky-weird feelings when she got near it. I explained to her what it was, and her fears seemed to dissapate. There was a space inside where a person could hide, and a "speaking tube" that led from the Oracle Chamber to underneath the sacrificial table. It is thought that a priest would hide in the chamber and speak, as if a metaphysical being, through the tube to the masses gathered outside.
As we left the site, we walked by the alpacas who live onsite. My wife made sure to mention several times that llamas spit, and that we should keep our distance. I think it was a reference to something.
If you ever find yourself near Salem, NH, you should take a couple of hours and head on down to the henge. The people there are nice, they sell cold bottled water (recommended) and the site itself is fun to walk through and theorize about its origins. You might even want to pay attention to the guided tour. You might learn something.
Cake Mecca
This week's trip to Tyson's Corner, VA was already ramping up to be a series of disappointments. I had hoped to be able to hang out with a friend from cooking school that I hadn't seen for about four years, but their plans fell through a few days ago. I had also hoped to hang out with a friend that had been in my last class in Baltimore, but he ended up being in London this week instead. Two of my fellow instructors were scheduled to teach in Baltimore this week, and I had hoped to meet with them a couple of times. They found out at just about the last minute that their classes were not to be.
The downside was that I was going to have to entertain myself this week. Not a big deal, really. I've only been to one other training location before where I already knew locals, and that was just outside of Boston. The upside was that I had nothing to distract me from my most important mission this week: I had a bakery to stalk.
Despite the fact that there are two airports within minutes of my hotel in Tysons Corner, I was flown into BWI airport, maybe 45 minutes away on a good day. I did not go directly to Virginia. I headed towards downtown Baltimore. It would seem there was an Orioles game today, just another obstacle on to the way to my destination. I was not to be deterred. I found my way to Remington Ave, to the location of what is currently my favorite TV show.
The voice inside my head (really the voice of my GPS unit) told me that my destation was just ahead, on my left. At first, I didn't believe her. And suddenly, without warning, I saw it. A building that, despite looking vaguely like a castle, seemed to almost blend in with its surroundings. I parked across the street and pulled out my camera. I was at Charm City Cakes.
I only stuck around for a few minutes, enough to take a few photos and wish that Duff Goldman was about to choose that moment to head over Dizzy Issie's for a drink. It was not to be. I suspect he was either sleeping in, or gallavanting around the contry at some cake competition. I suppose it's possible that he was downstairs working on a cake, but the characteristic black plastic on all of the windows kept me from seeing inside. I get the feeling from the show, Ace of Cakes, that Monday is the day that everyone meets on Monday to discuss the week's cakes, and then they typically have them all finished and delivered by Saturday night. Sunday is probably Duff's only day off, and I wasn't about to disturb his well-deserved rest.
As I made my way back to the freeway, the game traffic threatened to keep me from leaving the city at all. Eventually, I found my way to I-95 and headed down to Virginia. Downtown Baltimore traffic was scaring me, and I was glad that I had chosen Sunday to make my journey. Perhaps on my next journey to the area, I can make my pilgrimage with a local behind the wheel instead of myself. Maybe I'll even be able to come down during the evening, and see Geoff or Mary Alice headed out on their way home. And with luck, I can convince them to sign something instead of calling the cops on me.
The downside was that I was going to have to entertain myself this week. Not a big deal, really. I've only been to one other training location before where I already knew locals, and that was just outside of Boston. The upside was that I had nothing to distract me from my most important mission this week: I had a bakery to stalk.
Despite the fact that there are two airports within minutes of my hotel in Tysons Corner, I was flown into BWI airport, maybe 45 minutes away on a good day. I did not go directly to Virginia. I headed towards downtown Baltimore. It would seem there was an Orioles game today, just another obstacle on to the way to my destination. I was not to be deterred. I found my way to Remington Ave, to the location of what is currently my favorite TV show.
The voice inside my head (really the voice of my GPS unit) told me that my destation was just ahead, on my left. At first, I didn't believe her. And suddenly, without warning, I saw it. A building that, despite looking vaguely like a castle, seemed to almost blend in with its surroundings. I parked across the street and pulled out my camera. I was at Charm City Cakes.
I only stuck around for a few minutes, enough to take a few photos and wish that Duff Goldman was about to choose that moment to head over Dizzy Issie's for a drink. It was not to be. I suspect he was either sleeping in, or gallavanting around the contry at some cake competition. I suppose it's possible that he was downstairs working on a cake, but the characteristic black plastic on all of the windows kept me from seeing inside. I get the feeling from the show, Ace of Cakes, that Monday is the day that everyone meets on Monday to discuss the week's cakes, and then they typically have them all finished and delivered by Saturday night. Sunday is probably Duff's only day off, and I wasn't about to disturb his well-deserved rest.
As I made my way back to the freeway, the game traffic threatened to keep me from leaving the city at all. Eventually, I found my way to I-95 and headed down to Virginia. Downtown Baltimore traffic was scaring me, and I was glad that I had chosen Sunday to make my journey. Perhaps on my next journey to the area, I can make my pilgrimage with a local behind the wheel instead of myself. Maybe I'll even be able to come down during the evening, and see Geoff or Mary Alice headed out on their way home. And with luck, I can convince them to sign something instead of calling the cops on me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)