DC Editors in Cambridge

4 years, 2 months, 4 days

noreply@blogger.com (KT&JT) — Sat, 16 Apr 2011 10:40:00 +0000

… and it feels like 5 minutes. Didn’t we just get here?

No, it turns out. Four years of adventures. Four years of living. Four years of working. Four years of playing.

We get complimented a lot on making the most of our time in England. This was a conscious decision. Before February 2007, we had two TVs and two TiVOs in our one-bedroom apartment. Our YMCA memberships rarely got used. Moving to England was going to mean leaving that behind. Getting off the couch. Experiencing life in another country.

A few months ago, we started to panic about all the stuff we hadn’t done, all the places we hadn’t seen. Should we try to fit them in?

In the end, we settled for one last trip – a week in Ireland. Europe will still be here no matter when we come back. And rest assured, we will be back.

A colleague at work asked if we were leaving home or going home. After careful consideration, I’ve decided that the answer is yes. We are leaving home, and going home.
After all, home is where your bunnies are.

Cheers, England. It’s been, in a word, incredible.

One last ...

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Tue, 12 Apr 2011 21:27:00 +0000

We're down to the last week. We've had gorgeous weather lately, so this weekend we took a break from packing and rode our bikes up the river to Fen Ditton for one last Sunday roast. Absolutely lovely.

Are You Ready for the Royal Wedding?

noreply@blogger.com (jt) — Tue, 12 Apr 2011 21:13:00 +0000

I was biking through the small village of Fen Ditton when I came across these signs. Many villages and city blocks throughout England will be hosting wedding parties when Willie and Kate get married later this month. I think KT and I have mixed feelings about being gone for it. It would be amusing to see how the nation goes crazy that week--but it's probably better to leave while we still love it here. Still, we will have one momento of the occasion. My office gave us a great parting gift: a royal wedding beer mug! -JT

The Red Notebook.

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Sun, 13 Mar 2011 22:05:00 +0000

I got the red notebook out yesterday.

It's not a particularly special notebook, really -- just a CVS notebook of a nice size with perforated pages and a pocket. Probably only my mother and I care about these features, but they are features that make it a good workhorse notebook.

It has been about 4 years since I used it -- to organize our move to England. We filled it with to-do lists and questions and information. We jotted down notes from conversations with people who had lived in England or others who had advice for us. It was full of phone numbers and names. By the end, there were binder clips on the three non-spiral sides holding in scraps of paper, business cards, reminders. When we arrived in Cambridge, we used it to take notes during our flat hunting expeditions.

I cleaned out sometime after that, and haven't used it since.

We have settled on a move date. A date that once seemed far away. Now it's soon. Very very soon. Long past beyond time to start making lists. The lists have been in my head for weeks; it's time to commit them to paper.

So, I got out the red notebook and made a good first-pass list. Buy tape. Assess box needs. Cancel phones. Make lists of other things to cancel. Sell car. Make lists of other things to sell.

But that top item was one we need to do. Buy plane tickets.

We did some price comparisons: One-way vs. Round-trip. (Round trip is cheaper.) BA vs. Virgin Atlantic. (exactly the same.) Economy and one suitcase or economy plus with two suitcases? (The latter seems worth the extra cost, methinks.)

We were almost there -- almost ready to cross the first thing off our Move To America to-do list. But then, with little dithering or deliberation, we both closed our laptops, put on our coats, and went for a bike ride.

And lo, it was good.

***

JT bought the tickets today.

We will be celebrating our 7th wedding anniversary in Washington, D.C.

In 5 weeks.

Still Feeling Peakish

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Sun, 13 Feb 2011 21:37:00 +0000

As the last weekend in January approached, work seemed overwhelming and the weather was dreary and cold (32 F is cold here), so the idea of a road trip wasn’t as appealing as it had been earlier in the week. But we woke up Saturday morning and decided that we don’t have enough time left here to waste any opportunities. The road trip was back on.

The plan was to head to Castleton, because 1) it was just a 3-hour drive away, 2) it must have nice pubs and walks as the local Cambridge walking group planned to go (on a weekend we couldn’t), and 3) we had greatly enjoyed our first trip to the Peak District. Deciding to go at the last minute did offer an unexpected challenge as I quickly found almost all of the small villages hotels and B&Bs booked up—amazing for a winter weekend. I finally booked a Saturday night stay at a modest B&B and we started packing the car—only to see one tire (or tyre, if you prefer) was almost flat. Still determined to go, we inched over to the gas station, topped up the tires, and set off.

Monsal Head

As we approached the Peak District, hunger set in and KT had the inspiration of stopping in for lunch at Monsal Head Hotel, where we had enjoyed a great dinner on our last trip. The hotel, restaurant and great bar overlook a well known river valley, the Monsal Dale, which we had not been able to see the first time we visited (after dark). But this time, as the sun fought to part the clouds, we could see the beautiful scenery. We had planned a long hike Sunday, but as we ate, we thought, why not sneak in a walk now? The staff kindly found a local trail map that had a nice route that would take us across a viaduct, around one of the ridges, then down and through the river valley before climbing back to the hotel. (This walk and this walk are similar to what we did but a bit longer). It was chilly but far from too cold to ramble and we had no regrets on the spontaneous decision—we had some gorgeous views.

From Monsal Dale, it was just about a 20 minute drive to Castleton. Our B&B was in the center of town and more importantly, across from a nice inn with a roaring fire and good beer in its pub. In fact, roaring fires and good beers must be a requirement for Peak District pubs or inns. We soon moved onto a second, the Bulls Head Inn, where the dining area was a bit fancier--so we simply grabbed a couch in a lounge area that had an even bigger fire and shared an excellent halibut and curry dish.


Castleton

Sunday morning brought the typical English breakfast at the B&B. We packed up and moved our car over to the Castleton visitor center, the starting point of our (somewhat) big hike. The goal was the summit of Mam Tor, a 1,696 ft hill just outside Castleton that was once home to an iron age fort and was inhabited long before that. During the summer, tons of people make the climb to Mam Tor, walk along the ridge to several other summits and circle back to Castleton (or do the circle the other way). We headed up using the road to get the ascent out of the way early in the walk. We were surprised to see many mountain bikers whizzing down the road and huffing and puffing up it. Some were just out for a vigorous winter ride (there’s actually a trail along the ridge) but others were part of a orienteering competition, following maps to specific places on their mountain bikes (here’s one of the riders describing the event).

About halfway on the ascent, we came across the famously torn apart road—a result of massive landslides that occasionally afflict the so-called Shivering Mountain. Hopeful one wouldn’t happen today, we proceeded on the easy path to the summit, following flagstones laid by the National Trust. Almost at the top, we paused to watch the crazy paragliders who had carried parachutes up the slopes and taken off in the cold air—apparently during the summer, when the warm air provides more life, dozens at a time take flight from the area.

Finally at the summit, we paused to enjoy some tea and gaze over the valleys, including down to Castleton far below. A stroll along the ridge path brought more majestic views.

We then descended down a badly-kept, incredibly muddy trail—I lost my sense of humor for a bit when my feet slid out from below me and I landed with “plop”on my butt in the mud. I had largely regained my good mood by the time we made it back to the car park, where I quickly changed out of my muddy clothes. The mood then brightened even more when we landed a table at the George Hotel and gorged ourselves on a huge ham hock (KT) and lamb shank (me) before sharing an amazing hot fudge chocolate cake. Then we were off in the car and back home, less than 36 hours after we had left.

The glorious day had some unfortunate sadness accompanying it as we learned the tragic news that one of our neighbors, the wife in the couple next door to us, had finally succumbed to cancer. They’re about our age and we’ve regretted not getting to know them better. But it did serve as a reminder to me to not pass up adventures with your loved ones. I’m glad we didn’t that weekend and hope we won’t in the future.--JT

New Year's Rambles

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Sat, 15 Jan 2011 22:43:00 +0000

We hadn't really done much walking -- in the English way that walking is a sport/serious hobby -- since the walking weekend we went on last February. In fact, we just talked about whether that group thinks we were scared away. Not at all; we just got busy with lots of houseguests and lots of travel, and then it was time to get on our bikes, which we rode at every opportunity. Travel, houseguests, and cold surfaced again in November and December, and when we tried to eek out one last ride in early December, some black ice took JT out, leaving him intact but with a very sore shoulder for weeks. And leaving us more inclined to go back to two feet instead of two wheels until any trace of ice is well gone.

So, the day after New Year's Day, we dusted off the walking boots, picked up friends A&E, and headed south for some walking in Essex. We started in a village called Rickling Green, and headed for the village of Rickling. Which was pretty much a church, a few houses, and a farm.

Public right of way means farmers have to provide a path for people. Note path.

We encountered rather a lot of mud along the way.

Rickling's church.

A church service was letting out as we walked up. We got to chatting with some of the folks, who asked where we were heading. "Wicken Bonhunt," we said. "Oh, that's a lovely village. Shame that the pub is closed." Oh. So much for our destination. But, we carried on. Across the street from the allegedly closed pub, we met Pat the cat. Pat would have followed us back to Cambridge if he could have.

Instead, he just followed us into the pub, the Coach and Horses (not to be confused with the Coach and Horses in Newport), which was most definitely open. There we met Michael, who had just taken over the pub and reopened it a couple of weeks earlier. He had a roaring fire in the fireplace and didn't mind our muddy boots, so we were quite happy. After a little while, two regulars came in and we got filled in on the village gossip. Michael was hoping to start up serving food sometime this month; we wish him the best of luck because we sure did enjoy our visit there.

We carried on to an old chapel, St. Helen's Chapel, which, it says here, is first mentioned in a record from 1340. I (stupidly) didn't take a picture of the outside, but you can see from the inside that it's held up well for being 700 years old.

We carried on back to Rickling Green for a late Sunday lunch/early dinner at the Cricketers Arms (not to be confused with the Cricketers in Clavering, which is, incidentally, owned and operated by Jamie Oliver's parents). Some seriously terrible service and obviously rewarmed food meant we were quite happy to leave that pub, but it was still a fun day out.

***

Last weekend we headed west to Oxford and stayed 10 miles north in Woodstock. That meant we woke up Sunday practically at the doorstep of Blenheim Palace, which Queen Anne gave to the 1st Duke of Marlborough in 1704, and which was the birthplace of Winston Churchill.

The palace itself was closed but there are 2,000 acres of beautifully landscaped grounds to wander. We spent about two hours doing just that, through paved paths, farmland, woods, and finally back to the beautiful palace.

***

This weekend, we're having unseasonably warm weather -- about 45-50 degrees F. We decided to head out with one of the Cambridge Ramblers groups to the Gog Magog hills, just 20 minutes from our house by car. Whereas our usual group stops at pubs, this group stops for tea. And that is perfectly fine. We think we went about 7 or 8 miles, and we met some very nice people.

We didn't have a rambling resolution or anything, but three walks in the first three weeks of the year does feel good. (Though don't tell that to my feet.)

Oh Chateau! A cycling adventure in the Loire Valley

noreply@blogger.com (KT&JT) — Fri, 31 Dec 2010 10:28:00 +0000

"Oh, chateau."

I'm not sure when my wife started saying that, perhaps after we visited the Versailles palace one trip to Paris, but she usually uttered it in a wistful way that implied she immediately wanted me to transport her to France so she could enjoy great wine and cheese on the lawn of one of these grand residences that used to belong to French nobility and upper-class.

So, when it came time to consider a second multi-day European biking adventure, our first one to Belgium being such a delight, I immediately began planning a trip to the Loire Valley, home to vineyards and hundreds of chateaux, including some of the most famous ones. Fortunately, the region is also blessed with many flat, well-signed biking paths, including a major one that runs along the Loire river. Thanks to a lot of web surfing and a few travel guides, including the Lonely Planet Cycling France book, I soon had what seemed like a nice 4-5 day itinerary.

Day One - A Royal Porcupine? (handful of miles pedaled)

And so, very early on a dreary Wednesday morning late in September, we walked out the door of our Cambridge house, hopped onto our loaded bikes, and began pedalling our way to France. Of course, that starts with a 10-minute ride to the Cambridge train station, a train ride to London's Kings Cross station, a short walk across the street, and a two-hour Eurostar ride to Paris Gare du Nord. Our train to the Loire valley was far across town at Gare d'Austerlitz and wasn't for several hours, so why not lunch in Paris? We headed for West Country Girl, a creperie we had wanted to try on our last visit to Paris but was closed. Two savoury crepes and two salted butter caramel crepes later, we knew we had made the right choice.

When we got to Gare d'Austerlitz, I wondered if our trip would be halted. France's regional train system has several types of trains, each with its own bike regulations that are hard to nail down on the Internet, and I was worried that our train needed a reservation or, worse, wouldn't take a bike at all. We spotted a student on a bike in the station whose English was better than my French, and a quick conversation with him eased my mind that we would be OK. Sure enough, not much later our bikes were hanging from special hooks on the cycle car and we were off on the 2 hour trip south.

Our destination was Blois (say Blwah), a good starting point for those cycling the Loire from east to west. The city sits on the northern bank of the Loire and comes with its own chateau, which we quickly spotted as we cycled down the hill from the train station ("Oh, Chateau!" KT exclaimed with a big smile on her face as we sped past it). We settled in at our hotel (Cote Loire--Auberge Ligerienne, one of many Loire hotels that promise to accept cyclists and offer them bike storage and other amenities), enjoyed a look out the room window at the Loire, sampled some gorgeous macaroons from a nearby patisserie, and then strolled the town a bit.

The chateau and most sites were closed but we peeked in gates and appreciated the nice sunset. We also came across the first of many "royal porcupines" (The crowned animal was the emblem of Louis the XII who lived in Blois, among other places in the Loire) on the chateau. (While some chateaux were no more than big country houses for rich folks, Blois' was a true royal residence). Our first evening came to a delicious conclusion in the hotel's cozy restaurant, which oddly had paintings of chickens decorating it.

Day Two (25ish miles biked)

I had an ambitious agenda planned of biking to two chateaux and back to Blois on our second day but KT was still battling through a bad head cold, so we didn't rush to get pedalling. Unsure of the paths, signage, and the weather, we decided to just shoot for Chambord, which was originally a hunting lodge for Francois I. The nearly 2-hour ride to Chambord was pleasantly easy although a wrong turn did accidentally send us on the longer of the two paths to the chateau. It was grape harvest season and at one point we followed behind a truck loaded down with the ripe fruit.

We soon saw Chambord's majestic outline--it's the largest chateau in the Loire--and not much later were locking up our bikes in the rack next to its slimy moat. It took us several hours to explore the huge building, which counts among its highlights an impressive double helix staircase rumoured to have been designed by Leonardo da Vinci. The place was used to safely store art from around France during WWII; the Mona Lisa and Venus de Milo were there at one point. After riding home to Blois, we cleaned up, walked around town some more and bypassing the Michelin-starred restaurants in town, ended up at the much modest but nonetheless tasty (and packed) Le Castelet, which was well reviewed in Lonely Planet and elsewhere.

Day Three (20+ miles biked)

Chateau de Beauregard

Today was, as hoped, a two chateaux day-it just wasn't the two I planned. We packed up our panniers and headed across the Loire again, riding through a pretty forest path that started our way to Cheverny, a chateau known for its well-preserved interior and for being home to a pack of French hunting hounds. The day started out sunny and we soon detoured to a random mansion I spotted in the distance, Chateau de Beauregard. We kept our helmets on while parking our bikes as acorns rained down on us from the trees. An older couple chuckled with us as we dodged them. The couple turned out to be from St Ives, a town just 15 miles from Cambridge!

Beauregard turned out to be closed so we took a quick walk around and headed off to Cheverny, where we saw the same English couple! Chevenry's interior is indeed spectacularly well-kept, and a nice contrast from the largely barren rooms of Chambord. The chateau is famous for its 100 French hunting dogs, but KT wasn't a fan of the baying hounds as they seemed forlorn in their fenced, concrete-floored enclosure.

As we left Cheverny, I still had hopes of making it back to the banks of the Loire to the village of Chaumont, site of another major chateau. But we were initially distracted by stopping in for a delightful tasting at Domaine de Montcy, a small vineyard that like many in the region was in the middle of its harvest. Once back on the bike, rain and wind began to slow us down and the sun began to set. Add to this that we had no hotel reservation in Chaumont -- I wanted to stay flexible after Blois -- and I started to wonder if KT might divorce me by the end of the trip. We passed a few hotels and gites (French B&Bs) as we thought Chaumont was still possible, but as the rain intensified, we finally decided enough was enough and pulled into a small village to find its tourist office.

The tourist info/children's railroad station

bar/diner/tobacco shop/savior: our B&B for the night.

To our amusement, the tourist office was in a small "train station" for a children's railroad. The kind man in the office spoke almost no English unfortunately. But with the help of a woman who stopped by I conveyed our need for a place to stay that night and he started making phone calls. Once he found a place, we then had to understand his directions there! In the end, it all worked out. We biked another 10 minutes to a roadside restaurant/bar that had a few sparsely furnished rooms above it, but it was ridiculously cheap and also had very welcoming hosts. The bar had about 8 men in for a post-work day drink, but we think the hotel and restaurant part was actually closed as the couple was leaving the next day for a funeral. They must have taken pity on us when the tourist office called. Even better, they offered us an inexpensive dinner, which turned out to be what they were cooking for themselves: tasty potato and leek soup, out-of-this world meat-stuffed tomatoes, a cheese course (and an offer for dessert). While no gourmet feast, it may have been one of our most satisfying meals in France.

Day Four (20+ miles biked)

Dry and refreshed, we set off in the morning for the short ride to Chateau Chaumont, which is grandly perched on a hill overlooking the Loire, a very strategic military spot. The chateau itself is perfectly nice, and its location offers spectacular views, but the overall estate is best known as home to art installations, both within the building and in its large gardens. The gardens are truly the big draw as 30+ artists get spots to put their visions on display; many of them hard to describe. One turned a plot of garden into a jazz lounge with a piano set amongst the plants and Billie Holiday records playing in the background. Another had a wall of teacups.

A leisurely lunch and a tour of the grounds occupied most of our afternoon, so we then had to make haste to Amboise, for the first time following the bike path that goes directly alongside the Loire. Yet the path soon moved away from the river and up a large (for us) hill that made us sweat for the first time. We paralleled the Loire from up high all the way to the outskirts of Amboise, where we quickly descended into the heart of the city, which like Blois, has a major chateaux at its center. Again, I had made no reservations so I quickly began calling a list of cycle-friendly places. All were full or too far away. As the sun began to set, we dashed to the bank of the Loire and began checking the cheap hotels there. I finally found one with an open room and a willingness to store our bikes for a few euros, and we collapsed, exhausted.

After a quick shower, we rallied to walk down to the base of the chateau where we dined outside in the cool breeze.

Day Five (20+ miles)

While our hotel room was small, and its bathroom microscopic, it was nicely situated across the street from the Amboise market this morning. We like nothing better than a French market so we soon loaded up on bread, cheese, sausages-and a roast chicken, of course. Suitably loaded with food, it was time to head for our last major chateau: Chenonceau.

Chateau du Pintray, our accommodation for the night.

But we would go there after first stopping at our final destination of the day, the wine estate and B&;B Chateau de Pintray. When we rolled into this beautiful mansion several miles outside Amboise and KT got a look at the magnificent setting and gorgeous room, I knew I had made up for the rainy rides without hotel reservations. Our host apologized for greeting us in dirty work clothes but she and their friends and neighbors were harvesting grapes that day! Given the mansion wasn't near any restaurants, we decided to leave our market provisions there for dinner that night and headed off on our bikes to Chenonceau.

To my taste, Chenonceau offered the most beautiful pictures of the chateaux we had visited--It's literally built over the river Cher. The day was capped off back at Chateau de Pintray where we met the winemaker--who discussed whether France would ever accept genetically modified grapes--and later sampled the vineyard's wines and dined on the market food in the dark at a candle-lit picnic table. Ah, the good life.

Day Six Amboise (and Seven) (handful of miles biked)

One of daVinci's inventions

A relaxed final day in the Loire. We biked back into Amboise and roamed around the city a bit before visiting Leonardo da Vinci's home, Clos Luce. Able to visit the royal chateau by an underground passage, da Vinci spent his final days here. Given that I was fielding calls that morning about one of the Nobel prizes, it was fitting to be at the home of this unparalleled genius. The mansion offered models of his many inventions and the grounds also offered full-sized versions of some of the machines. Then it was a quick stop at the community wine cooperative tasting center before we jumped on the train back to Paris where we spent the night at a friend's house before catching a Eurostar train back to London, and then a final train back to Cambridge. Can we sneak in one last European biking adventure before we return to the States? We'll see.

Click here for extended photo album.

Merry Christmas from Cambridge!

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Sat, 25 Dec 2010 23:16:00 +0000

Merry Christmas on a picture-perfect day in Cambridge! This is snow left over from last weekend (and perhaps a fresh 1/4 inch from Tuesday) -- the snow that shut Heathrow airport for days. We were actually in the US last week, scheduled to fly out on Monday, a day when most flights to London were cancelled. We took our flight from Detroit to Washington DC, fully prepared to spend up to a week waiting out the chaos. However, when we arrived at Dulles airport, we were whisked onto an open flight to London on another airline. We think it was originally a cancelled flight that was at the last minute granted one of the precious few slots to land at Heathrow. It was all a bit odd and the plane was only about two-thirds full, but we made it home and from all the crazy stories we've heard, it's a good thing we jumped on that plane.

So, we're in Cambridge and looking forward to a quiet week of reading, movie-watching, and exercising off our Christmas feast.

Merry Christmas, y'all!

When in Rome ...

noreply@blogger.com (KT&JT) — Sat, 27 Nov 2010 23:23:00 +0000

We're just back from Rome and Sorrento, and earlier this month I was in the US. Now I'm enjoying one of my 10 days at home (by which I mean Cambridge) this month. After a lull in traveling, it seems like the suitcase is always out. This last trip was good fun, and included two friends from Washington DC. For the fans of our self-portraits, I thought you might enjoy one that includes all four of us.

Oh my fjord.

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Tue, 28 Sep 2010 07:52:00 +0000

I have a loooooong post on our 3-day trip to Norway that I still haven't managed to finish. While you wait, I thought I'd provide a lovely video of a Norwegian Fjord to entertain you.

Fjord Tour from dceditors on Vimeo.

This is in Sognefjord, "Norway's longest and deepest fjord," says the Web site.

The cruise was between Gudvagen and Flam, as illustrated here:

View Fjord cruise in a larger map

More to come!

Into the (London) Woods and to the Queen's Castle We Go

noreply@blogger.com (KT&JT) — Fri, 24 Sep 2010 11:00:00 +0000

When I told a colleague about some vacation plans in a few weeks, she emailed back "Another vacation?" I was initially a bit annoyed because we actually haven't taken a real (week or more) vacation all year, and I have more than half my vacation days left. But I understood why she made the comment. KT and I have become good at exploiting work trips to visit new places, even if we just have a day or two free, and we've regularly taken long weekend vacations. A few weeks ago offers a good example of how much fun that can be. KT had a work conference in London on Friday and Saturday, so we decided to make a London weekend of it. And since we didn't want to spend a lot to do it, we tried something different for housing--we booked a room at one of Imperial College's new dormitories. Many English universities rent out summer room whiles students are away and Imperial's dorms are located in one of our favorite spots, South Kensington, right next to the V&A, Science and Natural History museums and Hyde park.

We also made this London visit a bit different by bringing our bikes. We initially planned to take part in London's Skyride--a day when the city closes some main roads and thousands pedal through the auto-free streets. But we then noticed that that there was charity London to Windsor bike ride the same day--and we had not yet seen Windsor castle. That's why on friday night after work I was on the train to London with my bike. KT had come down in the morning, with her bike, for her conference and we met outside the British Library. We then summoned up our courage and began our first bike ride in London. It was much easier than we expected--the city has carved out a good number of bike lanes and put up good routing signs. We pedaled west in more or less a straight line for about 15 minutes, before diving down south into Hyde park and looping around it to reach South Kensington. Seeing the dorm room was a relief--it was a nice, if not better, than some London/European hotel rooms, particularly its bathroom. And amusingly, there was a university bar at the bottom of the neighboring dorm wing--it felt like we were back in college! That evening we strolled the area and found a rare Portuguese restaurant that offered some tasty food and wines.

The start line of the Richmond to Windsor bike ride

Chorizo pizza!

The next morning, after marching over to the university's cafeteria to get a Full English breakfast (The room was a B&B!), KT went off to the last day of her conference and I went off to explore. It didn't take long to find a farmer's market and a cupcake store, where I had an Elvis--a banana cupcake with peanut butter frosting, and saved a chocolate one for later. That's because I had more food to find.

I crossed town on a bus to brixton market for the much-celebrated Franco Manca sourdough pizza, sold in a chaotic little stall/restaurant in the middle of the market. Completely stuffed at this point I...went to another food market. It wasn't planned, honestly. I hopped on the subway and realized I would soon reach one of our favorite London spots, Borough Market. I must admit to sampling a few things but I mainly picked up provisions for planned picnic that evening. I also stumbled upon a colorful wedding party--the bride was African and her side of the family were decked our in traditional attire (picture). By that point, it was time to rush off to the British Library, where I was able to speed through its impressive Maps exhibit before KT was done with her meeting.

We encountered Hampton Court Palace along the Thames path

The evening's plan emerged when we realized the weekend weather looked promising and I noticed that Regent Park was hosting an open-air production of Into the Woods. I knew nothing about the musical, which marries a bunch of classic fairy tales (Rapunzel, Little Red Riding Hood, Jack and the Beanstalk, Cinderella) into a single narrative about a baker and wife trying to remove a witch's curse so they can have a baby. KT, however, had seen it decades ago and loved it. So I snapped up tickets. It was magical, one of the best performances I've seen. (check out a video montage here). It's hard to imagine a better location for the show as the backdrop was tall trees swaying in the night wind.

I like to be visible from outer space.

We went to bed so late Saturday that we weren't sure we would actually do the Sunday ride to Windsor. But we got ourselves moving and after an adventuresome hour ride along the Thames, we found our way to the starting line in Richmond and signed up just before registration ended. We were soon off with the crowd, mostly following the Thames along a delightful path. It was great to see how populated the path and the river were--everyone was enjoying themselves. At one point, we suddenly came across a palatial looking mansion--indeed, it was the Hampton court palace. About halfway on the 28 mile ride, we stopped for a delicious hog roast at a village pub, the delightful Royal Marine; everyone was abuzz because the pub had 4 pairs of baby twins in it. The parents had all met at the hospital while giving birth and decided to make getting together a regular occurrence. KT thought they really wouldn't miss one baby, so I got us out of there quickly. After slogging up a few tough hills, we finally made it into Windsor, speeding past the Queen's castle (she was apparently in residence as the Union Jack flag was flying) to the finish line in a nearby park. After celebrating our accomplishment for a while, we pedaled a bit around Windsor and crossed the Thames to visit the famous boy's school Eton. A train fortunately sped us back to London and we wearily cycled home the short distance to our room.

An amusing sign along the ride - "Stop feeding the horse - to[o] fat"

Monday morning saw us over at the Natural History Museum for a few hours before we packed up our bikes and sped back across town to catch an afternoon train back to Cambridge. A busy, fun-filled London weekend--and it only cost me one vacation day.

Shouldn't we have a punting license, or insurance?

noreply@blogger.com (KT&JT) — Sun, 19 Sep 2010 15:28:00 +0000

Dan was the first brave one

One of the regular things we do with guests is take a punt tour of the colleges along the river Cam. A punt is a flat-bottomed boat pushed with a long pole, much like the gondolas in Venice. On a beautiful Cambridge day, a guided punt tour is a relaxing way to learn some history and see the beautiful "Backs" of the colleges, the buildings and gardens off-limits to non-students unless you pay a fee. It can also be like watching a demolition derby.

That's because while people can pay for a guided punt, as we usually do, one can also just rent the boat and try to direct it yourself. It's harder than it looks, especially to keep going straight--and even experienced chauffeurs will occasionally lose their pole as it can get stuck in the mud. On a busy weekend, the narrow river is clogged with boats crashing into each, bridges and the shore. It's fun to take pictures and KT likes to quip that she's seen marriages end on the river as spouses fight over inadequate punting skill.

On a nice day, the river can get quite crowded with punters who may or may not be able to drive their boat in a straight line.

Of course, we've never ourselves dared to take up the long pole--until a few weeks ago, when our DC friends Dan, Lisa and their daughter Anya visited. We started on a punt tour with a few other people but they hopped off half-way through the round-trip tour--they didn't want to walk back to the turning point apparently. So we and the rather laidback guide had the punt to ourselves and he soon asked if Dan wanted to try chauffeuring it. He was game and did a fine job for about 5-10 minutes, before asking if I wanted to try. No, I was desperately thinking, but I squeaked out a "sure"--I couldn't wimp out in front of the ladies. It was a great fun, and I kept the punt moving relatively straight, albeit slowly. KT then took her turn, which was short as we were coming up on a congested part of the river. I'm not sure we'll chauffeur our next punting tour but at least we can say we finally punted ourselves. --JT

KT navigating the Cam.

DC Editors Take Edinburgh, 2010 Edition

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Sat, 21 Aug 2010 22:05:00 +0000

I know, I know. We’ve been to Edinburgh before. One year ago, in fact. But nothing says summer vacation like a trip north to Scotland. It may be the opposite of going to the beach, but it’s crazy fun.

To refresh your memory, Edinburgh hosts something like 11 festivals in August – arts, books, jazz, dance, you name it. The big draw for us is the Fringe – more than 2000 performances ranging from comedy to drama to music to juggling to improv to … well, just about anything. As an example, one performer is climbing to space (because, he decided, the moon is too far) by going up and down a 10-foot ladder until he’s climbed the equivalent of 50 miles. That’s it, that’s his performance. People drop by periodically to check on his progress.

Last year we saw 34 performances in a week. This year we were there for just 4 days but still managed a respectable 19 shows between us. Two of the shows I (KT) saw were particularly lovely because they reminded me how much I love words. Poet Kate Fox lovingly turns her life experiences into verse that flows effortlessly and with a lovely cadence. A particularly amusing snippet:

As Leonard Cohen nearly said,

stop mithering,

I was born like this,

I had no choice,

I was born with the gift of a Northern voice.

I know hearing it makes some people groan

and develop Irritable Vowel Syndrome. …

Molly Naylor’s one woman show about her life and experiences surrounding the 7/7 bombings was poignant and insightful. She writes of her generation:

Somebody once said we were something, and we haven’t forgotten yet. // Nobody here will become a teacher and teach others how to teach. For us, there is everything wrong with a lack of glamour and we’re finding out how far we can reach // how many pints // how many overdrafts // telling stories about our experiments// the subtext that life will save us. // It won’t // but we don’t know this yet. … // Somebody once said we were something and we haven’t learned anything yet.

I spent some time at the book festival, too, even though I didn’t actually go to an event. Still, the book shop there is full of books by writers I know of but far more I don’t. I thought I exhibited remarkable restraint by buying just one book by Hanif Kureishi, who is a new-to-me author.

[UPDATE: I got an e-mail late last night from friend Em, subject line: Smile, You're on the Review Show! While I was at the book festival, there was a camera there shooting B roll. It was, rather often, pointed right at me. So, I dutifully read the stack of stuff I picked up on the way in -- the London Review of Books, the Book Festival program, etc. Turns out the cameras were shooting for a BBC book show, which Em spotted me on and I watched this morning on iPlayer. I am not, however, reading the London Review of Books.

Photo of Em's telly, with me on it. Not reading the London Review of Books.

Me playing on my phone made a great intro for a story on David Shields' claim that the the 21st century has ushered in a digital age, complete with mobile phones, twitter, and so on that render the novel obsolete. [You can read about this in his BOOK (though not a novel), Reality Hunger.]

I turn up again later on in the program - for somewhat of an opposite reason: a piece on e-books and e-book readers.

There we go. NOW I'm reading the London Review of Books.

There you have it: My 2 nanoseconds of fame.]

Of course, there’s nothing like some good music, and the Orkestra del Sol had the audience jumping around for a good 90 minutes with their Balkan Gypsy beats. Out of the Blue, an Oxford acapella group, always impresses. And Storm Large: Wow. Totally filthy and raunchy, but holy smokes, can she perform. I cringed on behalf of the middle-aged woman in front of me with the Princess Diana hair, but she was singing right along to Storm’s big finale, the chorus of which starts “my vagina is 8 miles wide.” A real toe-tapper, that one. (Here’s the video for that song; the video itself is mostly parody but don’t say I didn’t warn you about the lyrics.)

And we went to the circus. Not one with clowns, balloon animals, elephant rides, and sword swallowing. (Actually, there might have been sword swallowing.) Tabu was closer to Cirque du Soleil, but not quite. The audience stood throughout the performance while acrobatics, trapeze artistry, Chinese pole climbing, hula hooping, and so on went on over and around us, all to music of a live band. It was positively incredible – a circus for grown-ups, complete with a bar.

One of this year's features - Festival in the Sky. Have lunch, tea, or dinner suspended 100 feet above the ground while taking in the view! (We did not do this.)

A typical scene in Edinburgh during the Fringe.

Here’s what we saw, and in keeping with the standard 5-star rating system used for Fringe events, we’ve thrown in our own ratings:

Both:

Orkestra del Sol – 5 stars! Good fun – Balkan Gypsy band that had everyone jumping.

Kate Fox News – 4 stars. Kate Fox is a journalist, writer, and poet. This autobiographical show takes us through her challenging childhood, the search for her real father, her career as a journalist, and her journey to poetry and to finding her true love. She was funny, moving, and sweet. I want to have her over for a cuppa.

The Vanishing Horizon – 4 stars. A lovely physical theatre piece weaving together a woman’s personal journey with her husband’s project on the history of aviation. By the same company that did a show we really liked last year (Borges and I).

Storm Large – 5 stars. Whoa. She’s amazing. Raunchy and filthy and a sad, hard life – that she has made the most of through her abilities as a performer.

Out of the Blue – 4 stars. All male acapella group can rock Lady Gaga and Billy Joel with skill.

Memoirs of a Biscuit Tin – 3 stars. Such a sweet premise – a house has lost its owner, so the chimney, wall, and floor set out on a journey to find her. The acting was lovely and innovative, but the script needs much work.

Tabu – 5 stars. Amazing circus. See above.

KT:

Midsummer’s Night Madness – 5 stars. A futuristic hip-hop adaptation of Midsummer Night’s Dream, complete with soliloquies performed as R&B songs. Positively fantastic.

Others – 4 stars. A refreshing piece of theatre in which 3 women portray/recite/emote their exchanges of letters with a prisoner, Iranian woman, and a celebrity. That’s what most of the reviews call it, though that doesn’t really begin to describe it, and mostly it shines for being an innovative script with brilliant acting and staging.

Whenever I get Blown Up I Think of You – 4 stars. Molly Naylor’s recounting of her life and how it changed after surviving a 7/7 bomb attack on the London Tube.

Skeryvore –Free music from a modern/traditional Scottish rock band at the National Museum of Scotland. Beautiful venue, great music, bagpipes, men in kilts. A very valid way to spend an hour.

JT:

Rupert Pupkin Collective—3 stars. About 20 viewers in a hall seating maybe 300 isn’t a good start but this foursome of middle-aged guys persevered with a solid set of improv. They had fun and so did the audience. Some veteran British comics from the TV quiz shows.

Otherwise—4 stars. Stuffed into a moderately-sized conference room, with little more than a table and chairs as the set, this well-written drama kicks off when a young man wakes up in a police station interrogation room after a drunken night out. His girlfriend is murdered and he’s the prime suspect—to defend himself, he has his best mate and the girlfriend “appear” during the interrogation, but they don’t tell him what he wants to hear, and the girlfriend turns out to be something surprising (saying more would be a spoiler). Excellent.

Not What I Had In Mind-2 stars. A celebrated dancer interviewed a random selection of people and had them choreograph his movements to depict their emotions and dreams. Unfortunately, they’re not dancers so he does stuff like jump, flail arms, and scratch his head. Intriguing concept that fails.

120 Birds—4 stars. A much better dance show for my 5 pounds. Loosely inspired by the travels of a 1920’s dance troupe, 3 women and 1 male show off a myriad of dance styles, and costumes.

Closest to the Moon—5 stars. I kept trying to talk myself out of seeing this “musical in development” about a mountain-climbing but I’m so glad I didn’t. Minimal staging and acting for the 10-strong chorus and 2 leads—a mountain climber tackling Mt Everest and his wife who wonders why he risks it—but some brilliant singing, especially by the wife, make me wonder if this could be a musical that someday makes it to the West End. In any case, I predict some of the impressive cast will.

Invisible Atom—1 actor on a stage tells a compelling story of his gradual descent into suicidal depression after he survives a terrorist attack that kills many others—9/11?—and discovers that finding his biological father solves nothing in his life.

Wonderland—3 stars. A world premiere of a new musical about the eccentric Oxford professor who wrote Alice in Wonderland and his complicated interactions with the first actress to play the part. Strong cast do justice to the witty songs but the the dark side of “Lewis Carroll”—biographers differ over allegations that he had an unhealthy albeit non-sexual obsession with young girls—ultimately intrudes into the fairy-tale romp and the script isn’t strong enough to pull off the complex tale.

Two—3 stars. Two actors play bickering married pub-owners and 12 other characters in a night at the pub. Fitfully amusing for first half but then ends powerfully as couple finally deal with the emotions of an old tragedy. One for acting schools.

Scotland, as seen from a moving train.

Better Late than Never, or Wet and Wild in Scotland

noreply@blogger.com (KT&JT) — Mon, 09 Aug 2010 07:55:00 +0000

KT and I are returning to Edinburgh in August for more of the Fringe (Remember the 30+ shows we saw last year?). And that made me all the more embarrassed we never blogged about the post-Edinburgh part of our Scotland vacation. So...let's get it done.

First up, here's an Edinburgh recap in a photo-album. It includes some of the Military Tatoo where the famous Swiss Top Secret Drum Corps showed off their flaming drumsticks!

But enough about Edinburgh, We spent about another week up in the Highlands visiting castles (the one at the top is Castle Stalker, otherwise known as Castle Argh for its role in a Monty Python movie) and more.

After renting a car, we drove up to the highlands to the little cabin in Glencoe we had rented from the folks running the neighboring Clachaig Inn. We knew we had rented the right place when we saw the Inn had 8 beers on draft, none of which we knew, and boasted haggis on the menu (KT got her first taste there and loved it--I only had a nibble). The days that followed were marked by a lot more rain than in Edinburgh but we tried not to let that stop us. One day we went for a lovely walk to Steall Falls, hopping over rocks as water spilled down the slope. The trail ultimately led us into valley with the beautiful Steall falls at the end and a rope bridge over a stream; KT and I both crossed it very carefully.

This trek was very close to Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in the British isles at 2300 feet and the location for an annual race to the summit and back. While it's not a major mountain, it's big enough (the picture at right only shows the base, not the full thing). I and a friend had a decade ago taken about two hours to walk about two-thirds of the way to the summit (before snow stopped us). Amazingly, the fastest Ben Nevis racers go all the way and back in around 90 minutes! It turned out we would be there for the race and even though it was pouring rain, we couldn't pass up seeing this crazy event.

500 runners on the way UP in the rain.

Heading DOWN now--that's the first woman, leading 7 men

One really needs to see the race live to appreciate it but here's a video showing an overhead view of the Ben Nevis route--many of the runner ignore the path as it's the not the straightest way up or down. Coming down they often slide down much of the mountain. I've included a video of some runners coming down in the 2008 race, and then one we took of the rainy 2009 race.

2008 race

And here's our video of 2009 race:

Ben Nevis race 2009 from dceditors on Vimeo.

When the rain let us, we did some more walks, and also drove around the some of the gorgeous lochs in the area, crossing one on a car ferry to see another castle. A few more pictoral highlights here.

Highland cattle

Jimmie Gillies and his Moidart Smokehouse--delicious salmon

One of the many dramatic loch pictures

Made it to Steall Falls!

Cambridge Folk Festival 2010

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Tue, 03 Aug 2010 19:35:00 +0000

Four years later, I'm not sure I have an answer to what folk music looks like in England. But I do know that this year's lineup at the Cambridge Folk Festival was an eclectic mix of acts from all over the world. I also know that it was darn good fun.

Summer music festivals are The Thing in Britain (perhaps Europe?). The most popular are Glastonbury and the BBC Proms, but there are hundreds. I do love music, but I'm not sure I would have ever gone to one if it hadn't been for Ruthie Foster's appearance at Cambridge in 2007. I've been every day, every year since.

Thursday evening, highlights for me were Port Isaac's Fisherman's Friends, a 10-man acapella group (note: all videos are shaky, owing to my complete inability to stand still when there's music around):

Port Isaac's Fishermen's Friends from dceditors on Vimeo.

And Lissie, an American whose first album is only out in Europe:

Lissie from dceditors on Vimeo.

Friday at the Folk Festival is always a delightful day for me, because it's technically a work day that I take off, and it feels deliciously evil to be sitting in a field listening to fabulous music while everyone else is slaving away at their computers.

Highlights of the day included my boyfriend Seth Lakeman (in case you wonder why my bike rides have gotten faster, it's in part because this song is on my cycling mix):

Seth Lakeman - Race to be King from dceditors on Vimeo.

And the Boban and Marko Markovic Orchestra, a Serbian Gypsy band:

Boban i Marko Markovic Orkestar from dceditors on Vimeo.

Another favorite was Imelda May, who performed with Irish folk legend Sharon Shannon. And when I saw Breabach in 2007, they were here playing their first gig outside of Scotland. This year, they opened Friday's main stage program.

Saturday was JT's one day at the festival. He always has a great time, but isn't so interested in 4 days of Fest. But Saturday's lineup delivered. The runaway hit was Pink Martini, a classy orchestra from Portland, Oregon that delivered a big-band sound:

Pink Martini from dceditors on Vimeo.

We also really enjoyed the Carolina Chocolate Drops, who I got to see again on Sunday:

Carolina Chocolate Drops from dceditors on Vimeo.

The big headliners of the day were Americans -- Natalie Merchant and Kathy Mattea. Both were phenomenal.

Kathy Mattea

Natalie Merchant

It was great to see Dervish live; I've owned some of their CDs for ages. New to us was the Burns Unit and Joe Pug, both of whom we enjoyed quite a lot. The Quebe Sisters were a total throwback to 1) Texas, and 2) the 1920s. Have a listen.

By Sunday, I was really exhausted, but nevertheless got myself to Cherry Hinton Hall. I skipped the headliners -- Kris Kristofferson and the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain. Instead, I hung out at the smaller tent listening to the haunting harmonies of the Unthanks and the footstomping, dancy Dervish.

A little bit of rain throughout the festival made for great wellie watching. Here are some wellie pictures:

This was probably my last Cambridge Folk Festival, but I sincerely doubt it will be my last music festival. I'm hooked.

Sunday roast and a ramble

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Sun, 25 Jul 2010 23:20:00 +0000

It feels silly to even write about Sunday roast as an event anymore, but today we headed out withour friends A&E to the village of Hemingford Grey for Sunday lunch at a charming pub/restaurant called The Cock. Chuckle if you must, but this is a serious place. Such pleasant experiences are almost enough to make us forget the UK's lack of Sunday brunch foods made with copious amounts of butter, sugar, and eggs. Instead, the main Sunday meal is usually some form of delicious roast meat, generally consumed in some ridiculously charming pub that's a minimum of 300 years old.

After lunch, we headed out for a ramble around the village of Hemingford Grey and up to St. Ives. We had beautiful weather -- about 70 degrees and partly sunny. The 4-mile walk was hardly enough to put a dent in what we'd eaten for lunch, but we were all OK with that. The food, the company, the scenery -- all superb!

Photo album below.

Hole in the Wall, Little Wilbraham

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Sun, 25 Jul 2010 20:08:00 +0000

The nice weather is infectious. I had been awake for 5 minutes when JT suggested a bike ride to a village pub for lunch. Since I had slept the entire morning away, this meant leaving fairly quickly. Knowing where we were heading, I was happy to oblige. The Hole in the Wall in Little Wilbraham may well be our new favorite place. Lovely ride, delicious food.

See and download the full gallery on posterous

The World Cup Runneth Over

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Thu, 15 Jul 2010 09:31:00 +0000

JT is a huge sports fan, so it’s no surprise that he’s taken to football/soccer, keeping tabs on our own Cambridge United, following the premiership league in England, and, of course, watching the World Cup. I’m less of a sports fan, but I certainly appreciate that in Europe, football is a universal language – far more so than in the US.

This year, the World Cup has provided the opportunity for us to get together with friends old and new, experience the national pride that the tournament brings out, and talk to others, even when we don’t have a common language. The first big match in our house was England vs. USA. We had an evenly matched audience – three Brits and three Americans. It was a great crowd, and the 1-1 result meant the Americans were hugely happy at the comeback draw, and the Brits were already lamenting their failure!

The next game we hosted was England’s next game, England vs. Algeria. We used it as an excuse to invite our neighbors over, whom we’ve been meaning to have over for far too long, and who are, it turns out, huge football fans. Emily and I used the game as an excuse to plan a Mediterranean/Middle Eastern dinner feast.

We were in London when the U.S. played Algeria. The only problem was that England played Slovenia at the exact same time – we knew we’d be hard pressed to find a pub showing the U.S. game. Long ago I joined the London Meetup group, and it turned out they had found a pub to show the US game on the big screen, the England game on a small screen to the side. About 150 Americans – and 6 Algerians – crammed into the pub at 3 p.m. on a weekday to watch 89 minutes of tense football – and then completely let loose when the US scored the game-winning – and team-advancing – goal.

US vs Algeria from dceditors on Vimeo.

Over the following weeks, we’d hear cheers from local houses and pubs from the various groups watching the games. You’d see people walking around town wearing their team/country’s colors or jersey.

We headed to Turin, Italy, last week for a work conference and while strolling in town the first day we found a piazza where they were showing the Brazil/Holland game on a big screen in the town square. The Dutch won, which meant the Netherlands won would be playing three days later in the semifinal. One of our work colleagues is Dutch and was keen to watch the game, so of course we were happy to oblige—accompanied by a 5-course outdoor dinner in the same piazza as we watched the big screen.

The next day was the Germany-Spain semifinal. We were traveling from Turin to Nice, France, and made it to our apartment there just as the game was about to start but decided to dash out to grab a few groceries first. While JT picked out cereal and beer, I gathered my items at the checkout, looked at my watch, and made a face. The man behind the counter looked at me quizzically and I tapped my watch and said, “futbol.” “Ah, football,” he says, and proudly reaches over to a tiny iPhone sized screen and clicks it on. There on a three-inch screen was the football game: No way he was going to let work cause him to miss a game.

We arrived back in England just before the World Cup final started, and it was a given that the taxi driver would turn the game on the radio – he did. When we got to our house, we raced in and popped on the DVR on so we could unpack and take care of a few chores before sitting down to watch the rest of the game. That meant we were watching it on a delay. So, when we heard loud cheers from throughout the neighborhood, we knew a goal had been scored, but we didn’t know which team.

We tried not to listen too closely, or think too hard about whether our neighborhood is more Spanish or Dutch. Since we had been gone for about 10 days, we had missed the summer transition from the Cambridge University students to the summer foreign-language students; the college closest to us hosts hundreds of students from Spain who come to Cambridge each summer to learn/practice English. As I wandered around town the next day, I encountered several clumps of the students, wearing Spain’s red and gold and even carrying their national flag. They may be in town to learn English, but for that day, they spoke the international language of football.

Wimbledon!

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Sun, 27 Jun 2010 00:38:00 +0000

We collapsed into our seats on the District line train Tuesday night, excited and exhausted from our afternoon/evening at Wimbledon. On the ride home, JT says, "That was awesome. I wish we had seen someone famous, though." I stayed quiet, because I really only know the super rock stars of tennis and wouldn't have known someone famous if they came up and shook my hand. As it turns out, we had spent more than an hour watching a certain match on Court 18 between two players who, if they weren't famous before, certainly are now: We watched John Isner and Nicolas Mahut play the fourth set of what would become the longest professional tennis match in history.

That's all 6'9" of John Isner in the back unleashing one of his unstoppable serves on Nicolas Mahut. He didn't know at the time that he'd be playing this same match for two more days.

***

When we were trying to decide where to go for a long weekend, the realization that Wimbledon started this week sealed the deal: We would go to London. Don't tickets sell out months in advance, you ask? Nope. You either apply months in advance to get tickets by lottery, or you show up the same day and stand in a loooong queue (American: line). Or, you're a member of the club, or you're royalty or famous etc. etc. But for the rest of us punters, we queue.

There are a couple of choices for queuing: You can camp out or show up reaaaally early to get one of the 6,000 grounds passes that get you access to 14 courts and, if you're really early, tickets that get you into the show courts. the other option is to turn up in the afternoon. They let more people into the grounds as other people leave, and if those people who leave had show court access, they resell these tickets to anyone willing to buy them.

We set aside Tuesday, Day 2 of Wimbledon, to try the afternoon queue. After a leisurely and incredible lunch at the Harwood Arms (post to come on that), we went a few more stops on the District line to Southfields station, followed by a quick bus ride to the All England Lawn Tenns & Croquet Club that everyone knows as "Wimbledon." The Queue at Wimbledon is as much a part of the experience as the tennis itself. The queue is across the street from the tennis at the Wimbledon Park Golf Club, up against a treeline and therefore in the shade. People in the queue have access to proper toilets and refreshment stands. There's even a booklet to read on queuing at Wimbledon.

We joined the queue at about 4 p.m. and were into Wimbledon at 6:30. This may sound dreadful, but there are far worse ways to spend 2 1/2 hours than outside in the shade with a book on a beautiful 75-degree day. Regardless, once we made it in, we were quite happy to be there. We immediately checked the board to discover that there was a minimum of one match left to play on every court -- some courts had two matches left. They play until 9 p.m. or so, so we would see plenty of tennis.

And indeed we did. The first actual tennis court we saw was Court 7, and the players are Right. There. Wow. This is awesome, we thought. No massive security (though our corkscrew was confiscated on the way in), no restrictions on photographs (though surprisingly few people actually are taking pictures during matches), just honest tennis with a very respectful crowd. We saw a queue had formed at Court 12 for the Williams sisters' doubles match later on in the evening, but the men's match before it had just started. No thanks -- we had done enough queuing for one day. We carried on, watching 5 minutes here, 10 minutes there, then enjoyed a Pimms and some strawberries and cream that Wimbledon is famous for.

We wandered to the other side of the club to get a glimpse of Henman Hill, where you see spectators gathered watching the top matches on a big screen. Nearby, we noticed a decent-sized crowd gathered around Court 18, so we easily slipped in between the third and fourth sets, grabbing two seats right in front at one end of the court. We were treated to more than an hour of excellent tennis between Isner and Mahut before officials suspended play as twilight descended on south London. We remarked at the time that it was a fairly long set and the players were really well matched. It was so exciting, then, to see the rest of the game unfold over the following two days knowing that we had seen one piece of this epic match.

For two people who are, at best, casual tennis fans, it's hard to imagine a more perfect Wimbledon experience.

London Poses

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Sun, 20 Jun 2010 21:52:00 +0000

I got told twice today that I couldn't take pictures of something. The first was trying to capture a 'GUESTLIST ONLY' sign + the 4 security guards + the inside of a wannabe-posh club. The security guards were having none of that. The second time was trying to take a picture of a handsome dog. His owner says, "no photos, please." Whaaa ...? Rather annoying, that.

But fortunately, some others were less camera shy.

This is the resident dog at MacBlack & Vine, a retro furniture and fine wine shop in Broadway Market, London. (Some furniture maintenance occurring in the background; this didn't bother the dog in the least.)

The Sunday UpMarket in Brick Lane is hipsters' paradise, and this lovely little girl proves that you're never too young to be hip. She flashed me a smile right after this shot, but I think this one is her runway pose, don't you?

But this is by far the best, I think. These are the charismatic ladies of the Monkeypoodle Cake Company, which specializes in wheat- and gluten-free goodies.

The World Cup of Crisps

noreply@blogger.com (KT&JT) — Wed, 19 May 2010 19:24:00 +0000

The British are quite fond of their crisps..what we Americans call potato chips. And they’re not shy about being creative with flavours. For example, we’ve seen Ham and Mustard, as well as Steak and Ale crisps. But now things are getting out of hand. In honor of this year’s football/soccer World Cup, of which it is a sponsor, snack food producer Walkers has launched the FlavourCup , essentially a World Cup of Crisps with new flavours representing 15 different countries. I recently picked up 4 at the grocery story: German Bratwurst, Japanese Teriyaki Chicken, French Garlic Baguette, and English Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding.

In a tasting of Group A (the World Cup divides its teams initially into groups with 4 countries so why not do the same), neither KT or I found a clear winner. In fact, we were pretty disappointed with all of them. Each did provide a quick taste and smell of the alleged flavour, but the taste didn’t last, or impress. German Bratwurst may have narrowly won among the four, but we are already biased that way.

We've collected more flavors (see below). Anyone know what Kangaroo tastes like--the Australian entry just seemed like normal BBQ. We are hopeful that American Cheeseburger and Brazilian Salsa will do better. I’m a bit scared, however, of the Scottish Haggis entry….J.T.

Trip Report: Cycling Belgium

noreply@blogger.com (KT&JT) — Sat, 08 May 2010 19:39:00 +0000

“Let’s ride our bikes to Belgium and sample some beers and chocolates!”

Like many brilliant/insane ideas, this one began in a pub. About a year ago, we were enjoying a beer festival at the Cambridge Blue when we got to chatting with another couple who were up from London. After we had established that we were all fans of both beer and cycling in flat places, they told us about one of their favorite itineraries that combines both: They go to Dover with their bikes, take the ferry to France, then ride into Belgium for a few days of touring – and, of course, beer drinking. They were even kind enough to follow up by e-mail with a couple of suggested destinations.

It took a year for that seed of an idea to germinate, but two weeks ago we finally made the trip ourselves: We left our house on our bikes Thursday morning and returned the same way the following Tuesday night. In between were ferry and train rides, an angry French man and a crazy Belgian bicycle collector/bartender, somber reminders of World Wars, delicious chocolates, more than 40 of Belgium’s impressive beers, a pepper-favored gin hot enough to make JT cry -- and 120+ miles of beautiful cycling.

Now that the sore legs have recovered, it seems all so easy. But in the weeks before the trip, we were in a bit of a panic. For starters, the maps of Belgian cycling routes that we ordered didn’t show up before we left: Landing in a foreign (language) country without a map is one big panic attack waiting to happen for KT. And while we have caught the cycling bug, the longest we’ve ridden in one go is 60 miles, and we’d never done an overnight cycling trip where we carried everything we need on our bikes. We didn’t even own panniers, those cycle bags that latch onto your back rack. We finally bought panniers in time to load them up and do a 15ish-mile test ride the weekend before our trip.

With that practice run out of the way, the big thing we had to worry about was the volcano. The week leading up to our trip, airspace over much of Europe closed because of the ash cloud from Iceland’s volcano, and chaos ensued as people stranded throughout Europe and the U.K. frantically tried to get home or get to open airports. But for us, the volcano was a break. Eurostar had added additional trains between London and Belgium and at good prices, so at the last minute, we were able to close the loop on the biggest variable of our trip – how and when we would get home.

So, we had ferry and train tickets, all the kit we’d need, and a gorgeous weather forecast ahead of us. There were no more excuses.

Note: This is going to be really, really long. You might want to get a beverage, perhaps a snack or a sandwich. You may need a bathroom break. We get so much of our travel advice from the Internet and fellow travelers that we thought it high time we give back a little. You can skip stuff if you want, it’s okay. Or if you just want to go look at some pictures, that’s fine too. Otherwise, get comfy, because here we go …

“Belgium?”

Day 1, Thursday: Cambridge-London-Dover-Dunkirk-Veurne (~35 miles cycling)

The first day would be our longest and most challenging – and we knew that going in. We left our house early Thursday morning for the Cambridge rail station where we caught the 7:15am train to London. Once there, we walked our bikes across the street to St. Pancras International and hopped a high-speed train to Dover. Once in Dover, it was quick, 3-mile bike ride through the city, and past the hilltop castle, to the docks. Trucks and cars are the ferries’ main customers; we cyclists pedaled alongside them following a red line on the pavement to the check-in point and the queue to get on the ferry. After a 30 or so minute wait, we sped up the ramp onto the ferry and locked our bikes to racks next to the trucks (British: lorries). As the ferry chugged out of port, we had beautiful views of the famous white cliffs of Dover.

The 2-hour ferry ride gave us time to relax for the 30-mile bike ride ahead of us. We had a couple of different routes from the internet to guide us, but these would be on-road – not on bike paths. It meant navigating through the industrial heart of Dunkirk and out into the countryside, along roads that were alternately empty and well- traveled. Little did we know that our biggest problem would be a steady headwind for most of the day!

Still, KT’s Google map printout served us well. Once the ferry landed, we and one other cyclist were the first to speed down the ramp. We were soon in the French countryside and not much later in a cute village where we quickly braked to a stop at the sight of a roadside market that included a local butcher and a truck selling myriad local cheeses. With ham, two cheeses, a baguette, and an éclair in hand, we were already enjoying the vacation. But the wind did make it tough going—as did some of the traffic on the roads (A Frenchman yelled at JT at one point when he rode on the sidewalk).

After what seemed like forever, we neared the French border and stopped at a fork in the road to consult maps. A man came out of his nearby house and questioned us in French. “Belgium?” KT asked, and the man pointed us down a small road -- “Houtem [the name of the next town over] - une petit route,” he said. Within minutes were in Belgium (as evidenced by better signage on the roads), with its brilliant cycle paths, many of them traffic-free and along canals. Minutes after that, the petit route brought us to the charming village of Houtem, which provided an excellent reminder of why we were doing this crazy trip on bicycles.

Hungry and tired, we finally rolled into our destination, Veurne, and to our hotel around 7:30pm—or so we thought. Somehow in the craziness of the day, we had both forgotten to move our watched an hour ahead. We were nearly finished with dinner before we realized that it wasn’t 10:30 p.m. – it was 11:30. No wonder the town was empty! Nevermind: our dinner destination, the stylish bistro Onder den Toren, which as the name suggests, is under a huge church tower, stays open late every night. There, we finally got to sample our first Belgian beer, as well as a traditional aperitif called Pineau. It was also JT’s first taste of ice cream made with speculoos, the addictively delicious spice cookies that are common to the region (a recipe). We would seek out speculoos ice cream several more times on the trip.

To say we collapsed at the end of this 18-hour day is a bit of an understatement. But we did high-five each other when we got to Veurne – this journey, even the first day, was a true accomplishment.

Day 2, Friday: Veurne-Poperinge (~20 miles cycling)

Knowing the first leg would be tough, we planned a leisurely second day. We roamed Veurne’s city centre, stopping in the tourist center to finally get copies of the useful Belgium bike maps (see also an online route planner), and stopped in at Flandria, a highly recommend beer café, for two very delicious beers. We didn’t roll out of town until almost 1 p.m. but most of the ride was easy sailing down canal paths, and the wind was far less an enemy. We tried to stop in at the De Snoek beer museum/brewery in Alveringem, but it was closed (for good?), so we detoured into the nearby village of Lo and had a pit stop where we gobbled up traditional Belgian frites and enjoyed the town’s beautiful (and spotless) square.

While going through another village, I called for KT stop because I had spotted a bakery with an odd feature: an outside bread vending machine! The owner explained that when the shop closes for the day, they place any leftover bread in the “broodautomat” so customers can get bread after-hours. Brilliant!

Our final goal for Friday was Poperinge, a place celebrated for producing the hops that goes into the nation’s beer. Indeed, nor far outside the city, we spotted farmers working on running wires down 20 ft poles—we later discovered they were for hop vines (The hops wiki describes the process).

When we reached Poperinge, we easily found the Palace hotel—a former theatre and now moderately-priced hotel that came highly recommended by cyclists and beer fans, the latter for its bar that serves more than 100 kinds of Belgian beers. Much less tired than on our first day, we took ourselves on a walking tour of the small city and headed to another bistro, Passage. We were yet again impressed with the modern, stylish design of the place and the excellent food; KT had scallops that came close to matching those from Rays in DC, which says a lot. It was here that we also met a potent cocktail called Picon, for which KT would develop a fancy.

Day 2 was a nice follow-on to our intense first day. The cycling took us along canal routes, which are lovely to cycle along, and took us through small villages, our favorite destinations wherever we are. And we were able to begin in earnest the beer tourism aspect of our trip.

Day 3, Saturday: Poperinge-Ieper- Kortrijk (42 miles cycling)

But of course, no beer tour through Flanders would be complete without a trip to the Trappist Abbey of Saint Sixtus of Westvleteren, home to a brewery that makes some of the most difficult-to-get beer in the world. The brewery is only open certain days and will only sell a single case to people who must call in to make reservations. It’s about 3 miles outside of Poperinge, so, though we had a big day of riding ahead of us, we felt it our duty to start it off with a few beers at the abbey’s cafe, Vrede.

You might think that we’d be the only people there at 10:30 a.m. on a Saturday, but when we rolled in, the bike racks were nearly full. An entire cycling club, clad in matching lycra uniforms, had the same idea and were already enjoying their beers. We quickly caught up, sampling the breweries 3 beers, including the famous “12”, which has a 10.6% alcohol content. They were indeed delicious, and well worth the short detour.

We (slowly) biked away from the abbey and down more canals on our way to Ieper, which is better known to Americans by its French name Ypres. A major site of WWI battles between German and Allied forces, the area around Ieper is full of military cemeteries. This area of Flanders is the inspiration of the famous poem about WWI war deaths called In Flanders Fields. We soon came across our first WWI cemetery, which was the final resting place of more than 1500 British soldiers. In Ieper itself, we visited the massive Menin Gate that honors more than 50,000 soldiers who died without known graves. I was particularly struck by the thousands of Australians who had traveled so far to defend the British Empire. When we got back, KT was amazed to look at pictures of the destruction in Ieper after WWI and compare it to the magnificent city centre we saw.

After a quick walk around and lunch, KT and I faced a decision. Should we bike all the way to our final destination, which we estimated would mean a total for 40+ miles for the day (remember, we started with 3 beers!), or do we hop a train? It was the third straight sunny, gorgeous day, so we concluded we should try to work off the beer and chocolate calories—and there were other train stations we could catch if we got to tired. It was the right decision—we soon hit the superhighway of canal paths, a wide paved route that we could speed along. As in the previous two days, we found Belgium beautiful—the farms were remarkably clean and well-organized, and the farm animals even seemed better behaved than many children. We never got tired of the Belgian Blue cattle, whose odd “double-muscled” appearance stems from a genetic mutation.

After an ice cream break energized us for the final push, we finished our 42-mile trek of the day in the town of Kortrijk. As neared our hotel, a man taking out trash greeted KT by name; he was the manager at the Hotel Focus and knew we’d be arriving on bicycles, so it was a pretty safe bet we were the guests he was waiting for. Each of the rooms at the hotel was designed by a different artist; the manager let KT check out the three rooms available -- designed by a musician, choreographer, and a cartoonist – and she settled on the cartoonist’s room, stark white except for the artist’s black sketches.

Despite our tired legs, we headed into town for a quick walk around and a visit to the Begijnhof, a small convent founded in 1238 –very charming a beautiful in the evening light. Dinner was at Mouterijtje, an old grain store turned restaurant with lovely modern touches. We feasted on meat and fish; one guess what we drank.

Day 4, Sunday: Kortrijk–Ghent-Huise-Ghent (20 miles cycled)

Kortrijk was hosting a music festival while we were there so when we came down for breakfast we found a duo—spanish guitar and cello—serenading us. They were practicing for an event at the hotel later that morning. We took one more stroll through Kortrijk that morning; the highlight was definitely the Baggaertshof, 13 small houses around a garden set up in the 1600s for poor women. The current installation of sculptures are from Laurent Geers – life-size nudes. The proprietor asked what we thought of the sculptures; KT replied that they were beautiful. “Not too shocking?” he asked. I’m guessing not all guests shared our opinion.

We assumed we would face a train-bike decision Sunday morning, but the long ride the day before and our rather sore legs made the decision for us: We hopped a train to take us the 30+ miles to Ghent. Getting our bikes on the train here was a bit confusing, but another cyclist (who thankfully spoke English) helped us locate the right door and lift our weighed-down bikes up 4 feet and onto the train.

But this wouldn’t be the end of the journey that day. Once in Ghent, we headed straight for our hotel to drop off our bags, and headed back out on our bikes south of the city. More easy canal paths and more ridiculously pretty scenery. KT spotted an egret poised in the marshland at one point, and a bit further along, a horse jumping competition was going on next to the canal path. We were beginning to think Belgium might be even more idyllic than Cambridge.

Why immediately leave Ghent for a 17-mile ride? We were on a mission to de Gans (the Goose), a country pub highly recommended in Tim Webb’s Good Beer Guide to Belgium and other places. While the ride might have been a breeze on fresh legs, it was a bit challenging. Then we briefly got lost and it threatened to rain, but we found our way back to the route and after a final uphill climb we made it to the pub tired, hungry, and thirsty. That was all soon forgotten as the owner gave KT a hearty welcome and made her join the regulars in the main bar area.

We quickly ordered two beers and a cheese/sausage plate, which was then followed by two more beers and apple tart and pancake with chocolate syrup (with a goose shape on top crafted from powdered sugar). My only disappointment was there was no fire going so the owner couldn’t do his trick of sticking a hot poker in a Chimay beer to carmelize its sugars—it’s supposed to be tasty. The owner did show us an original Good Beer Guide signed by Tim Webb each time he returned and another gentleman at the bar revealed he was the son of the brewer at de Ranke brewery that Webb liked a lot—which persuaded us to try two of his beers.

We could have stayed at de Gans the rest of the day, but we had people to meet. Our friends M&S were arriving in Ghent that evening. They had spent the previous days in southern Belgium, and we had arranged it so we would meet up in Ghent. We found them at a great canal-side café called the Waterhuis--besides a huge list of beers from around Belgium, it had special house beers specially brewed for it, including one that was a potent 11%. After a quick dinner with M&S, we decided we’d meet again the next day for lunch and a serious stroll around Ghent. KT then guided us back to our hotel, which was a few miles from the city centre, via moonlit canal cycle paths.

Day 5, Monday: Ghent (a handful of miles cycled)

As if we weren’t relaxed on this trip, Monday brought a new level of relaxation: We wouldn’t have to pack up and move that night. We were free to do as much or as little as we wanted. So we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast in our hotel’s gorgeous sunroom and spent some time reading. We then made the couple-mile journey into the city where we used our guidebook to give ourselves a little walking tour, taking in Gravensteen Castle, the waterside, and Patershol, a lovely little brick-lined neighborhood.

We met up with M&S for lunch for our one “foodie” adventure lunching at the Belga Queen, a trendy canal-side restaurant. We had nice, though not spectacular, meals and even experienced the infamous toilets. The stalls have clear glass doors that go opaque when one locks the door—or they are supposed to!

After we and M&S separated, we visited St. Baaf’s Cathedral, church built in the 14th century. And then we visited one of Ghent’s newcomers, a 1-year-old brewery called Gruut that makes its beers using herbs rather than hops. The café in the brewery was beautiful and the beers remarkably delicious and “clean”—very distinctive among Belgium beers.

More walking around the city burned off some calories before we rejoined M&S at the Troll’s Cellar, yet another Beer Guide recommendation – and a very enjoyable place. We were nearly the only ones there, and the knowledgeable bartender was happy to help us navigate the bar’s huge beer list.

After grabbing pizza for dinner, the four of us continued our tour of Ghent’s unusual but delightful drinking establishments. KT had been reading about the local jenever, a primitive form of gin, and Ghent had a well-know placed next to the Waterhuis that served more than 100 varieties, many hand-made by the Santa-like owner named Pol.

We were not disappointed! KT first tried a tasty citron-flavored shot, while I enjoyed a smooth vanillajenever. KT next went for almond jenever, while I made the mistake of being macho and asking for the pepperjenver. I got some of the last liquid in a bottle full of peppers. My mouth started burning on the first sip—and hiccups came next as I tried to recover. I eventually gave up with half a shot left, earning Pol’s amused disdain.

Thinking that little could top our visit with Pol, we ambled along to our next destination that had come highly recommended, t Velootje (“little bike”, I’m told). The owner at de Gans had told us it was “a bicycle museum with beer.” We turned down an alley to see a cluttered doorway marked by a bicycle sign, looked at each other nervously, and walked in. Bizarre doesn’t start to describe t Velootje! The darkened interior was like the worst cluttered garage you’ve ever seen, with complete and partial cycles everywhere, including covering much of the ceiling (here’s a well-lit picture).

The bar only had a few places to sit and we sat across from each other on a long table piled with junk, including an old corking machine and a can of cat food. When we asked for a beer menu, the bearded owner, who may have been dressed in pajamas, snorted and said “It was a busy weekend, I sell a lot of beer. You want beer, I bring you beer.” Luckily, he brought us 4 Pater Lieven beers, which turned out to be excellent ones from the local Van den Bossche brewery just outside Ghent. They were pricey at 4 euros but we agreed they were worth the price of admission to this strange place. Although at one point we weren’t sure we would survive our visit when a raging fire briefly flared in the nearby fireplace!

We decided this was plenty of excitement for one day, and there was no way we were going to top t’Velootje. So, we called it a night.

Day 6, Tuesday: Ghent-Brussels-London-Cambridge

The last day of our trip saw us biking back into Ghent’s city centre for some final touristy items, including amazing chocolates from Cedric Van Hoorebeke, a tour of the impressive Design Museum, a stroll through the Meat Hall (a former meat market turned into a café selling local delicacies), and a canal boat tour that included a waterside look at Castle Gravensteen. The day got off to an amusing start as we watched a police scuba team dredging the canal for some of the many bicycles that had gone to watery graves.

And after one final visit to the Waterhuis, and a pub stop on the bike ride to the hotel (where we bumped into M&S!), we started out voyage home, catching a Ghent to Brussels train. Once at Brussels Midi station, we checked in our bikes with Eurostar and dashed out to sample a pizzeria KT had read about.

The two hour Eurostar train ride was relaxing, although the ending was a bit hectic as we learned that the last several trains from London to Cambridge had been cancelled and we would have to rush to catch the 10:15pm train. Of course, no one could tell us where in St. Pancras our bikes would be—should you ever need to know, it’s at the far north end—and when we got to the counter, no one was around. Finally, a lone man wheeled out our bikes and we quickly crossed the street to catch the train at Kings Cross. An hour later, we rolled out of the train station in Cambridge and biked the last mile to our home—a satisfying conclusion to our once-in-a-lifetime experience. And we can’t wait for the next one.

Aaah, spring

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Wed, 21 Apr 2010 20:35:00 +0000

When our chilly winter finally broke, we were ever so grateful to say hello to spring. And even though the days may not always be quite as warm as we'd like, we're happy to see spring. It means we're out on our bikes,

and the flowers are blooming (photo at Regents Park, London),

and it means pitchers of Pimms have appeared in the pubs.

Since 1993, spring has meant Texas Aggie Muster for me, and I attended the London A&M Muster this year to honor my dear grad school classmate, who died in September of breast cancer.

We'll remember this spring as the Other Time the skies were silent, this time due to a volcano.

I always love spring. The colors, the crisp air, the ... I don't know, newness of it all. Our original 3-year work permits expired in February. You know what? We got new ones. Because for all its history, England is still all new to us.

You Know You're British If...

noreply@blogger.com (KT&JT) — Mon, 12 Apr 2010 16:53:00 +0000

The Association of British Science Writers recently announced new journalism awards, which sounded like good news until I saw I wasn’t eligible according to the initial guidelines—only British and Irish writers need apply. I protested a bit and ABSW has apparently made me eligible with the clarification that “British and Irish journalists may be either nationals, permanent residents or with the right to live and work here, but must have been working here for at least six months at the time of making their entry to the awards.”

More amusing, my whinge (British for “whine”) prompted a discussion among U.K. science writers of how to test for British-ness. A few samples:

--do you put a “Z” in realise? (Brits do)

-- Brits should also be able to remain in an orderly queue, hold a conversation about the weather, and act surprised when it snows as if it never happens…

-- ...before drinking a gallon of alcopops and laying waste to Ibiza (Translation: Alcopops are fruity/soda-like alcoholic drinks and Ibiza is a Spanish island in the Med known for its clubs and parties attended by non-natives)

--do you swear in English at the cashier in a foreign supermarket about the fact that they won’t give you plastic bags (like the French, and for environmental reasons).

And my favourite (notice my spell-check approved this British spelling!) answer:

All nationally ambiguous entrants will be presented with a social situation of unfeasible awkwardness. If they stare at their feet, shuffle uncomfortably, clear their throats and generally make every possible effort to ignore what's going on like a true British citizen, they can enter [the award competition]. If they comment on what's going on in any way, they're excluded.

--J.T.

5 Things I Almost Forgot About Edinburgh

noreply@blogger.com (KT&JT) — Sun, 07 Mar 2010 21:15:00 +0000

Yes, another belated 2009 post--deal with it. It took us this long to recover from seeing a ridiculous number of shows in Edinburgh during the Fringe Festival. But we did do a few other things there.

5) The chocolate ice cream in the farmer's market in the shadow of Edinburgh castle. Most amazing EVER.

4) Vittoria's--an amazing Italian restaurant near our rented flat. I think we ate there 5 times in a week, and rushed to eat there one last time when we returned the rental car.

3) Valvona and Crolla--a great Italian deli. (Notice a theme? Apparently the thriving Italian community in Edinburgh largely started with folks from one village in Italy nearly a century ago.)

2) Snip & Sip--the Hair and Vodka Salon, professional cuts with a shot of vodka.

1) A Pub's "Mantle Meat Feast Mega Burger"--buffalo burger, with bacon, cheese and HAGGIS!