Getting to Scotland

I  must start this posting with a profuse apology for leaving you all hanging for SO LONG!  In my defense, sh*t happened.  You see, the last day of our illustrious European adventure, I started feeling…odd.  And as many of you may remember from earlier thrilling blogs, I have been the frequent victim of some terrible practical jokes paid me by my common bile duct.  And, even from the onset of the wonky symptoms, I knew exactly what was coming and I knew it would involve a lot of pain before it was over with.

My common bile duct had once again seized closed.  I underwent another ERCP with sphincterotomy and my GI doctor was waiting by my bed when the anesthesia wore off.  He informed me that it might be time to consider something drastic.  He told me that each time he went in to re-cut the stupid spasmy muscle that the fibrosis was so bad that it was getting harder and harder to dilate the duct.  But, I thought that I had at least 6 more months or so before it shut down again.  Only, I was wrong, I had only a few weeks.  In a fit of desperation, I called the doctor that had removed half my liver about 8 years ago and he fit me in for an emergency consultation.  As soon as he had all my labs, ERCP reports and imaging studies, he scheduled me for surgery.  On October 10, I had a transduodenal sphincteroplasty.  It sounds terrible.  It was.  They cut open my abdomen (14 inch incision), cut into the duodenum (the thingie that connects the stomach to the small intestine) pulled the common bile duct into the duodenum and sliced it open and sewed it into place so it CANNOT scar closed again…at least not easily.  Knowing my body, this probably just sounds like a challenge.  But, there was an added benefit of the surgery.  The doctor spotted a secondary pancreatic duct…a secondary duct that was massively undersized and appeared blocked.  He went ahead and did that one too and was able to get bile flowing through it.  It is now presumed that I had a permanent state of chronic pancreatitis for years because part of my pancreas was depending on this teeny tiny blocked duct that didn’t show up on the imaging studies.  It’s probably why my pancreatic enzymes were always slightly elevated but not high enough to meet the clinical criteria for pancreatitis.

Any surgery that involves an incision that large also involves a lot of time laying around staring at the ceiling wondering how many days you can go without washing your hair.  Nine.  Nine is the answer.  But people stop coming within 3 feet of you at about day five.  I would have washed it but I wasn’t allowed to get my incision wet yet and bending over a sink was OUT of the question.  Plus, I had a central line in my neck which is also not permitted to get wet because of the risk of infection.  So, I guess when you consider the giant IV in my jugular, the massive quantities of dilauded I was on, and the 14 inch abdominal incision, truth is that dirty hair wasn’t my biggest worry.  After a full 7 days as an inpatient where I instilled the fear of God in the nursing staff so quickly that only charge nurses were allowed to care for me after day 1 (I’m not proud…but I am very loud), the entire transplant unit breathed a sigh of relief as my wheelchair rolled toward the exit door to send me home.

And, I’d be lying if I said I just bounced back all perfect.  I did not.  I don’t think you can.  I feel better from a digestive point of view.  I can eat again without becoming ill.  All my IBS and pancreatitis symptoms have resolved.  But after weeks of recovery at home and still not being up to an energy level that would allow me to win a race against a moderately sedated slug, I had a hard time getting my head back in the game.  I returned to work and came home to fall straight into bed at 7pm.  I spent my weekends horizontal on the couch watching my DVR.  I declined most social engagements.  And because anyone that knows what it’s like to have an autoimmune disorder can probably predict, my body went into full-on revolt mode as a result of the trauma it had been enduring as I healed from surgery.  Between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I wasn’t sure I was going to survive the fibromyalgia flare up I was experiencing.  It was like having burning needles sticking into every muscle in my body 24 hours a day. I did what I was supposed to.  I started the necessary medications to interrupt the flare up.  I gritted my teeth.  I tried to lay low as much as possible and after weeks of agony, my body started regaining its footing.  Not to say I’m perfect.  The frequent weather changes have me in a migraine cycle that has been brutal, the muscle pain from my fibromyalgia is still there, but it is significantly better.  And the sleep disturbances are subsiding now that I’ve found a medication that does an okay job of helping me sleep without turning me into a zombie for days on end.  So, I’m on the upswing and I will be fine.

My point in telling you all this is so you know that I wasn’t being lazy.  I was just trying to survive the next 5 minutes for a while there.  And when I mastered the 5 minute time increment, I moved on to surviving the day.  And so on.  And so this past weekend, I finally returned to my kitchen in earnest.  I hadn’t had the energy or stamina to spend time cooking so I didn’t have any culinary fun to share.  I had this blog half-written for months, but I had to find the desire to finish it.  So, my scar is just starting to fade.  My body is getting better at handling the fibromyalgia.  And I want to cook again and share with you my triumphs and disasters.  But first I have to finish this Scotland blog.

So, return with me to August…we last left off with our heroine enjoying the beauty of Ireland….

In hindsight, we should have flown from Dublin to Edinburgh – as EVERY person we asked for help in getting there informed us.  Our couchsurfing host Francis:  “Why aren’t you flying, it would be faster.”  The bartender the night before we left:  “You should fly, it’s faster.”  The desk clerk at the hostel we stayed in our last night in Dublin: “Why aren’t you flying?”  The information desk attendant at the train station: “You’re not just flying?”  OKAY, WE GET IT, WE SHOULD HAVE FLOWN!  We did quickly check airfare and realized that a last minute ticket would not be a financially viable option.  We were going to do this the hard way.

So, with a bottle of Jameson in tow, we got up at the crack of dawn, caught a train from Dublin to Belfast.  In Belfast we took a taxi to the port where we caught a HUGE ferry to Cairnryan.  In Cairnryan, we caught a bus to Ayr where we caught a train to Glasgow.  Once we arrived, we walked from one train station to another to catch our train to Edinburgh.  It was NOT a relaxing day.

Hello, Scotland!

Once we arrived in Cairnryan, we tried to board the bus to Ayr.  Only, the bus driver informs us that he doesn’t have enough seats for everyone that wants to get on the bus.  He tells us that some of us will have to take a taxi to Ayr.  Keep in mind that the trip to Ayr is about an hour so that would have been one ridiculously expensive taxi.  Michael and I stood among the last people waiting for the bus trying not to panic.  When the bus driver said he could fit 2 more people on the bus, we enthusiastically volunteered.  Really enthusiastically.  He directed Michael to the back of the bus and he pointed me to the “staff only” seat adjacent to the front door of the bus.  I wasn’t about to complain.  In fact, this view gave me great opportunities to take pictures along the route to Ayr.  You’ll have to excuse the smushed windshield-bugs that are featured in some of the photographs.  But the countryside was too beautiful not to document it since I had such an awesome view.  Some of these pictures make up for the trouble we spent by trying to get to Edinburgh without wings.  I’d have been sad to miss out on this drive from my bus seat.  I was spellbound the entire trip.

Hanging out up front with the driver.

Ailsa Craig off in the distance

If you’re a fan of curling, you may have heard of Ailsa Craig – it’s the island where they get the “micro-granite” for curling stones.

I couldn’t believe how beautiful Scotland is.

Like Ireland, there are flowers everywhere.

The bus driver told me to get my camera ready and made sure to point out this building. It was the birthplace of the poet Robert Burns. It still has a thatched roof.

The train station in Glasgow.

Glasgow gets a thumbs up for their firefighter statue adjacent to the train station.

By the time we made it to Edinburgh, I was exhausted.  Luckily, the walk from the train station to the bus stop was all uphill and we had all our luggage to drag along.  Then once we caught the correct bus and made it to the flat of Michael’s friends Agata and Giedrius, we had to lug our bags up 4 flights of stairs.  And a quick freshen up and some food and we were off again…UNTIL DAWN.  At this point, I had incubated my Blarney Castle cold fully and was snarfly and wheezy and Michael was so excited to hang out with G that his energy and excitement was never-ending.  It was at that point in our trip that I may have considered injuring him in his sleep to slow him down a little.  But I refrained and every moment in Edinburgh was fun.  I LOVED Agata and G and I even fell in love with their “old fashioned” apartment (as described by Agata) and I will never ever forget them.  I only wish I had some of Michael’s energy and less of my arthritic hip and wheezy chest cold.   I can tell you that the sunrise over Edinburgh is beautiful…since I saw it…a lot.  I can also tell you that G introduced me to my new favorite drink:  whiskey with apple juice.

Our first night in Edinburgh, I finally crawled into bed about 5:30 am but Michael and G stayed up another 3 or 4 hours.  I was starting to wonder if they were on a suicide mission.  But despite the overall lack of sleep, G was a great tour guide and he took us to Prince’s Garden and to Edinburgh Castle.  Since it was Fringe Festival, the Royal Mile was shocking.  We saw a phone booth full of drag queens…like a lot of drag queens considering the size of the phone booth.  We saw performers with no pants on passing out fliers.  We heard people singing, watched people juggling, and of course, there were bagpipes.  It was the most interesting mix of people I’ve ever seen.  I only wish my camera hadn’t died before we got to the Royal Mile.  Michael said he’d send me a CD of his photos from that afternoon but he’s pretty busy with graduate school right now so you’ll just have to use your imagination to picture the performers without pants and the phone booth full of drag queens.

Swans in the channel in Edinburgh! This channel was really close to the flat where we were staying.

The Opera House in Edinburgh

St. Cuthbert’s Church in Edinburgh

Edinburgh Castle.

Looking up at Edinburgh Castle from Princes Gardens

This adorbs little cottage is called “The Gingerbread House” and is located in Princes Gardens.

Edinburgh Castle is actually not a single building but several buildings. This one houses the crown jewels. Unfortunately, photography is prohibited inside but they were obviously ah-mah-zing!

This is actually a pet cemetery at Edinburgh Castle.

Meanwhile, in Edinburgh….

So, as a sort of wanna-be foodie, it was just a matter of time before the subject of haggis came up while we were in Scotland.  And my first surprise was Agata explaining how it is one of her favorite foods.  So, when G steered us to a restaurant to try the infamous dish, I only put up a weak protest.  You see, haggis isn’t viewed by most Americans as desirable cuisine.  First of all, if you look up haggis, you find it’s described as a “pudding” which immediately turns off most Americans.  To Americans, “pudding” is a sweet and creamy dessert and is free from animal organs.  The idea of a “pudding” of meat conjures up culinary conflicts in our heads as we try to conceive of a sweet dairy dessert made with savory meats (bleh).  It’s like a culinary oxymoron.  Haggis is a “pudding” of the organ meat of a sheep that has been ground up and mixed with onions and spices and then it’s put into a sheep stomach and simmered for hours.  So, I’m not going to lie, I was skeptical.  Really skeptical.  And when G ordered plates of haggis for everyone at the table, I protested that we should just get one plate for everyone to taste.  But G insisted that we’d want our own plates.  Michael and I exchanged dubious glances and placed orders at the bar before we were finally persuaded by G to commit to a haggis lunch instead of just a haggis taste.  And the haggis came to the table and honestly shocked me.  There was no stomach. There was nothing that looked like a “pudding.”  Instead, what showed up on the plates looked like ground beef that had been browned with some vegetables served atop a bed of mashed potatoes and turnips with a boat of gravy on the side.  The gravy was actually a really delicious whiskey cream sauce.  And so with slightly less skepticism, I sat back and watched Michael take his first bite.  He nodded at me to try mine as he chewed and seeing that he wasn’t horrified, I brought my fork to my mouth and tried to keep an open mind as I took my first bite.  I have to say, it was delicious.  Not just okay or edible but really and truly delicious.  Both Michael and I cleaned our plates (and those boats of whiskey cream sauce).  Now, I will freely admit, had the haggis arrived at our table still inside a sheep’s stomach (note: most commercially prepared haggis is now made inside a sausage casing in lieu of a sheep stomach), it might have dampened my excitement…a lot.  Let’s face it, there’s not a lot of good ways to present an animal organ stuffed with food on a plate.  Even a birthday cake would look somewhat unappetizing if you had to dissect a sheep’s stomach to get to it.  So, I applaud the modern restaurants that serve their haggis sans casing.  And, now that you know that you won’t have to relive your dissection days in biology to try it, I hope you try haggis if you’re ever in Scotland.  I assure you that you don’t even realize it’s organ meat and it really is flavorful and delicious.  I even googled recipes when I got home.  Surely I can recreate that taste without a sheep stomach…where does one even buy a sheep stomach?

I haven’t made any efforts beyond looking for a recipe but it’s not off the table.  If I ever do attempt it, I promise to blog my results.

When we left Scotland and said goodbye to Agata and G, we headed to England to finish up our trip.  We spent a couple of days in Bath and then went on to London.  We didn’t do much sight seeing in London because we were there for the same reason hundreds of thousands of other people were there:  to witness the Summer Olympics.  We did manage to get tickets to several events and were able to spend a good amount of time inside Olympic Park.  I would love to share England with you but let’s face it, it took me almost 6 months to get this blog completed so maybe I just need to concentrate on some culinary adventures and work on sharing photos and experiences with you from Bath and London later on.

The important thing is that I am finally getting back to “normal” after my surgery.  Sure I physically  healed a while back, but I just didn’t have any desire to get back into blogging or cooking or much of anything really.  I’m finally starting to enjoy my kitchen again and so I do hope to have some new adventures to share soon.  Who knows, maybe one day in a fit of nostalgia for beautiful Scotland, I’ll be inspired to try my hand at haggis.  Crazier things have happened.

Ireland Part 4 – Castles, Abbeys and Cliffs, OH MY!

I apologize now for how long it will take for all the pictures in this post to show up.  You should go make a sandwich and when you come back maybe they’ll be finished.  If you happen to be one of those poor souls that still tries to use the interwebs via dial-up, just give up now.

On our last day in Ireland, we booked a bus tour to take us to the famous Cliffs of Moher.  The cliffs are one of the most popular tourist destinations in Ireland and have been featured in several films.  There’s not much I can say about the cliffs that can compare to the photographs I took so you’ll notice I didn’t provide as much commentary in this post.

Our first stop was Dunguaire Castle in County Galway.  Legend has it that if one walks counter-clockwise around the castle, you will become a virgin again (no report on what happens to you if you walk around the castle clockwise).   Another legend is that if you stand at the front gates and ask a question, it will be answered by the end of the day.  Michael reclaimed his virginity while I stood out front asking questions of a stone wall.  I’m not sure how well these legends work.  The wall did not give me the financial advice I was seeking as currently exhibited by my checking account balance and when I asked Michael if he felt virginal, he just shrugged.  Despite the possibility that the legends are not true, it does make a nice picture even if it was raining sideways.

Dunguaire Castle

Legend has it if you walk counter-clockwise around the castle, you will become a virgin again.

It was so windy that even Michael was having a rough hair day.

The view looking out from the front of the castle

After departing the castle with everyone’s new virginity in tact, we headed to the ruins of Corcomroe Abbey in County Clare.

Corcomroe Abbey – This picture was taken from the bus, hence the weird blue hue to the picture.

The Abbey without the bus window making everything blue

After leaving the Abbey, we headed to Poulnabrone Dolmen also know as the Portal Tomb.  A dolmen consists of 3 or more base stones supporting a large flat horizontal cap stone.  They are commonly all presumed to be tombs but this can’t be verified.  They date from the Neolithic Period.  In the 1980′s while repairing one of the support stones, archaeologists were able to verify that Poulnabrone is a tomb when they discovered the remains of more than 20 adults and children in the tomb.

The “burren” or countryside in this area is lined with these small stone walls.  The walls are built without mortar so that wind can blow through them without damaging them.  These walls were built during the famine and are called “penny walls” because the laborers were paid a penny a day to build them.  There are miles and miles and miles of them and they’re quite beautiful in my opinion.

Penny walls

I love the dark sky in this picture with the sun shining.

Poulnabrone Portal Tomb

We arrived at the Cliffs of Moher just in time for a break in the weather.  While the wind did not let up, we did manage to get a few sunny hours to enjoy the amazing views along the cliffs.  And trust me when I assure you that these pictures do not hold a candle to the sense of awe you have standing there on the edge of a 700 foot cliff.  They were spectacular and the highlight of our time in Ireland.

Our tour guide made sure to school us in the danger of the cliffs carefully before opening the doors to let us out.  He explained that every year people die at the cliffs and we should not under any circumstances climb over the wall.  Then, he told us exactly how to get around the wall in case we decided to ignore his initial advice.  Some of the deaths each year at the cliffs are suicides but some people are just blown right off the cliffs into the water below by the strong winds.  If you question how strong the wind is, just wait until you see my hair in the photos below.  And yes, we did climb over the end of the wall along with everyone else at the cliffs that day.

The sun came out for just a couple of hours.

Even though the sun came out, it was still windy….

Does anyone have a ponytail holder?

This picture cracks me up. I asked the lady to be sure to get the cliffs in the picture. The “don’t fall off the cliffs” warning sign is just a bonus.

The cows that are pastured at the top of the cliffs don’t seem as impressed by the view.

The tower sitting atop the cliffs is O’Brien’s Tower.  The tower was actually built as an observation tower to accommodate the Victorian tourists by Sir Cornelius O’Brien who is credited with being one of the first people to exploit tourism.  Others have reported that he actually built the tower to impress the ladies.  “Hey, wanna see what I erected?”  *snicker*

I’m trying to use Michael’s shoulder to keep my hair from blowing in my face.

It took a few tries to snap a picture in a moment when the wind calmed for a second.

And this is as close to the cliff edge as I’m willing to go.

And this is the sign we all ignored to climb over the wall and get right up to the cliff’s edge.  Notice the suicide help line sign next to it.

Being photobombed by my own hair…and a bird

I hope you’ve enjoyed this little tour of Ireland.  The next day we said goodbye to my newly beloved Ireland and headed to Scotland.  I will share our Scotland trip with you shortly.  Until then, what part of my Ireland trip was your favorite?

Ireland Part 2 – Blarney

As promised, here is Part 2 of my trip to Ireland.

I’d tell you how early we got up to catch the train but I don’t want my boss to know that I’m capable of arising that early because he might be tempted to start scheduling earlier meetings. But let me assure you that no one should ever be forced to wake up so early. It was painful. The only reason it was even possible is because I knew we could sleep on the 2 hour train ride to Cork.

Once we arrived in Cork we had to make our way from the train station to the bus station in the city center. We were having trouble figuring out which bus to take to get to city center so we asked a tour bus driver. Instead of explaining to us how to get there, he decided it was easier to just drop us off as he drove through the city on the tour he was hosting. Trust me when I assure you that southern hospitality has nothing on the hospitality of the Irish.

Once we arrived at the bus stop near the castle, we took a break for a lunch at a nearby pub where we both agreed that the hamburgers we ate ranked among the worst burgers we’d ever eaten. If you go to Blarney Castle, don’t order a burger. Trust me. It was dry, too oniony, and…just bad.

Then we proceeded to the castle. The photo below is the first views you catch of the castle as you walk through the grounds. And don’t be fooled ever into thinking you can cover all the castle grounds in an afternoon. The grounds of the castle are massive. We didn’t even cover half of them and we were exhausted. You’ll need all day and possibly some methamphetamines to keep your energy up (I kid! But Redbull might not be a terrible idea).

My first glimpse of Blarney Castle

The grounds are laid out so you approach the north wall of the castle first. this is the most imposing view of the castle. The bottom portion of the castle is below grade on the other sides so that makes this side look even taller. Plus, we were told that the castle walls actually slope inwards as the castle rises giving it the impression of it being even taller than it is. You can also see that the castle was built in two different sections. The division between the two sections is visible in the photograph below. This is actually the third building to be built at this location. The first structure was built around the 10th Century and was wood. Around 1210 AD the first stone structure was built on the site. That structure was demolished and the foundations used to construct the existing castle in 1446 by Dermot McCarthy, King of Munster.

The north wall of Blarney Castle. This is the most imposing view of the Castle.

Perhaps one of the most interesting things about the castle is that NOTHING is off limits. The entrance in the photograph below is actually to what used to be a dog kennel according to the information placard. However, adjacent to it was another opening to the dungeons. The dungeons reportedly consists of a maze of tunnels and chambers underneath the castle and they are not off limits. If you are brave enough and can fit, you can go explore. We didn’t get very far into the tunnels before turning back. Exploring these tunnels would have involved a lot of time on your hands and knees on stone floors and since we picked the day of a monsoon and the stone allows the water to filter down through the entire castle, we would have also gotten extremely wet in the process. The adventurous side of me wanted to see how far we could get before we were forced to turn back. The girly side of was wary of getting my jeans all muddy crawling around on the ditry wet floors. And the part of me that has arthritis in her hip wouldn’t even entertain the idea of crawling on stone floors under a castle. And trust me, these tunnels are not just the kind of “bend over a little bit” tunnels. We turned around when we got to the first opening that would have required removing my back pack and getting on all fours to crawl through. If I was younger and had a flashlight….maybe.

This was actually the entrance to the dog kennel…but it looks way more impressive than that.

Raindrops keep falling on my camera lens….

Raindrops falling on my hair….  And I need to figure out which camera setting is giving me this moon-face look and turn it off immediately.

Even once inside the castle, you’d be shocked at the size (or lack thereof) of the “doorways” and passageways. To fit through some of the doorways, I had to turn sideways or squat down a little. Apparently, people were significantly smaller back in the days of dungeons and castles.

Before the wood floor rotted away, part of this area was the “Living Room.” Now it’s the “Allows rain inside” room.

The trip to the top of the castle was a workout. It’s supposed to be a climb up an old spiral stair. However, it’s slightly more akin to scaling a stone wall than climbing a stairway. These stairs are steep, narrow, and wound tighter than a corkscrew. Because they’re stone (and old), they’re uneven as well. And if you thought for a second that they couldn’t be that dangerous, just look at the “handrail” in the photo below. Yes, it’s vertical. I’m thankful I didn’t witness any tumbling tourists and doubly thankful that I made it to the top in tact…albeit a little sweaty and out of breath, but I did make it.

These stairs are not for the faint of heart…or the morbidly obese…or the clumsy.

View from the top of Blarney Castle of the castle owner’s current home.

Visiting the castle has been on my Bucket List for as long as I’ve had a Bucket List. Perhaps the most famous aspect of the castle is the fabled Blarney Stone. The stone is currently installed in the battlements at the top of the castle and legend has it that if one kisses the stone, he or she will be blessed with the gift of “eloquence.” If you’re not sure exactly what that means, you’re not alone. It’s the most common question I’ve received when recounting my experiences kissing the stone. Essentially, “eloquence” is the ability to win people over with your speech. Some have called it the gift of gab or flattery. I can assure you that despite kissing the stone, I have yet to talk anyone into making my mortgage payment for me so it can’t be that strong of a gift.

What did I get from kissing the stone? Well, I got the chance to scratch it off my bucket list. I also woke up 2 days later with a sore throat and headache that morphed into a full-blown head and chest cold within a few days. Whether or not I also achieved eloquence is still up for debate. (Leave a comment with your contact information if you require details on how to make a mortgage payment for me)

As you can see in the picture below, the stone is installed in a surprisingly difficult-to-reach location in the battlements at the top of the castle. If someone ever gives you a special kissy-stone, I recommend a location that doesn’t require one to be a gymnast to reach it. But, since I wasn’t available for consultation on the Stone’s location, the castle builders placed it so that pilgrims wishing to kiss the stone had to be suspended upside-down by the feet  and lowered into the gap. After losing a couple of pilgrims to gravity, the castle owners had the guards installed below the stone to prevent anyone else from falling through. And now, instead of being held upside down by your feet, you lay down and grab the handy railings to assist you in dislocating your spine as you contort your body into unnatural shapes all in a quest to kiss a rock that supposedly makes you talk pretty…but per my experience so far only imparts flu-like symptoms.  And did I mention it was raining?  But, despite the rain, I sat my tail right down on the wet surface and eagerly exposed my fat rolls (which I’ve cropped out of the photo for everyone’s benefit) as I arched over backwards and I kissed it.  I kissed it good.

So what makes this stone so special? The stone is a single block of bluestone which is the same kind of stone one would find in the monoliths at Stonehenge. There are as many stories surrounding the stone as there are mullets at a NASCAR race. One story is that the stone was Jacob’s pillow (think biblical) and was brought to Ireland by Jeremiah the prophet. Another is that it was the stone Moses struck with his staff to produce water for the Israelites in the desert. One of the more common stories (but still questionable) is that it was the stone the first King of the Scots sat upon for his coronation in 847.

Here I am kissing the famous Blarney Stone. Why they didn’t put it an a location that’s easier to reach is beyond me.

Standing on the top of the castle…soaking up the view….and the rain.

The residence of the family that owns the castle.

Once you’ve righted yourself and popped your dislocated joints back into place after kissing the stone and started incubating whatever plague might be the stone’s flavor of the day, you get to risk life and limb yet again by descending another narrow, steep, and spirally staircase.

Starting the descent through another ridiculously narrow spiral stair.

This is one of my favorite pictures from the trip – for no particular reason.

After narrowly escaping the castle death stairs, we proceeded into the infamous Poison Gardens adjacent to the castle to cheat death again. After reading about the Poison Garden, I was really excited to see it. As advertised, all the plants in the gardens are poisonous and could kill you. Unfortunately, most of the plants were no more dangerous than my own front yard. For example, there was a boxwood in the poison garden with a description that took roughly an encyclopedia’s worth of verbiage to explain that if you consume boxwood in large amounts, you might get nauseated. There were some cages to contain the presumably more dangerous plants and prevent them from leaping forth and murdering you but many of these “cages” were empty for whatever reason.

The Poison Gardens adjacent to the castle where all the plants are supposed to be poisonous. Honestly, they were a little anti-climactic.

The Poison Gardens. Beware the boxwood! (note sarcasm)

More impressive than the poison gardens were the trees. There are trees on the grounds that are more than 400 years old and they are massive and beautiful and exquisite.

The 400+ year old trees on the Castle grounds are far more impressive than the wimpy Poison Gardens.

You may not have realized (I didn’t) that Blarney Castle is privately owned.  And the current owners live on the grounds in the pretty awesome house you see in the photo below.  And, like much of the castle, very little is off limits.  You can walk right up to their front door or peer into their windows if you’re so inclined.  On certain days, you can even pay for a tour of their residence!  To get the close-up photo below with no other tourists in it, we had to sit and wait for quite some time in the rain because everyone decided to congregate on the front porch and wait out a rain squall under the small porch roof.  It was very frustrating for me (DON’T YOU PEOPLE REALIZE THAT I DON’T WANT YOU IN MY PHOTOGRAPHS?!).  But, I finally got the photo and moved on without being a Peeping Tom…which is more than I can say about some of the other tourists that camped out on the front porch.

Everywhere you look there are flowers. This garden is adjacent to the private residence of the owners. I find it fascinating that they let the tourists just walk right up to their house.

Thought about ringing the bell and asking if I could use their bathroom.

Exploring the gardens around the Castle.

I thought this tree was fascinating.

In the photo below you can see me (I’m the dark blob at the top of the stairs) walking backwards down the “Wishing Steps.” The legend says that if you walk backwards down the steps and think of nothing except your wish then it shall be granted within the year. I will tell you that these steps may be slightly less treacherous than the castle steps but when you throw in torrential rain and having to descend them backwards, I presume several people spend the entire trip wishing that the seemingly inevitable fall doesn’t leave them paralyzed. What did I wish for? Well, I can’t tell you but should it come true in the next year, I will be sure to let you know.

The Wishing Steps. If you walk down them backwards thinking of only your wish, it is supposed to come true within the year. I suspect most people wish not to break their necks in the process.

The grounds around the castle are so vast that we easily could have spent several days exploring them. And the pictures I’ve included in this post are just a few of the pictures I took. The Castle and grounds are so impressive and beautiful, it’s practically impossible to take a bad picture. And even though I did contract a cold within days of kissing the stone, there’s no definitive proof that the stone was the culprit. So before I tell you not to kiss it in the event that you make your way to Ireland, I’ll give my gift of eloquence adequate time to convince you (my lovely, intelligent, and kind readers) that one of you should pay my mortgage. But whether you kiss the stone or not, the trip to Cork to see the castle is well worth it even if just for the beautiful views. Just bring your climbing shoes for those stairs.  And a rain coat.

Ireland – Part 3

Yes, that’s right, this is part 3 and not part 2.

If we go in chronological order, my second post about vacation should be about our trip to Cork to go to Blarney Castle.  But I decided to go ahead and cover the rest of our time in Dublin with the Guinness Brewery and the Old Jameson Distillery first.

The Guinness Storehouse is one of the most popular tourist attractions in Dublin…and probably partly because it comes with a free pint of Guinness.  I’m not a huge fan of beer but I can appreciate the novelty of touring the brewery and I can certainly appreciate the allure of free beer.  Plus, in May of 2011, Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Phillip visited the Storehouse as part of a state visit to Ireland.  So, if it’s good enough for the Queen, I suppose it’s good enough for me.

I was just hoping everyone sampled enough Guinness that they didn’t notice what a bad hair day this was turning into.

In 1759, Arthur Guinness was 34 years old when he signed the lease on a brewery at St. James Gate, Dublin for an annual rent of 45 pounds.  Arthur was apparently an eternal optimist because the term of the lease he signed was 9,000 years.  You have to really believe in your product to sign a lease that long.  In 1833, with plenty of years left on the lease he signed, Arthur’s beloved Guinness brewery officially became the largest brewery in Ireland.

Another interesting fact about the brewery is that before 1939, if a Guinness brewer wished to marry a Catholic, his resignation was requested.  If you read my first Ireland post, you know that Trinity College required attendees to accept the Protestant faith.  I think these two examples illustrate the tension historically present between Protestants and Catholics in Ireland.

The Guinness Storehouse is an impressive seven story building and it surrounds a glass atrium that is supposed to resemble a gigantic Guinness pint glass.  Michael and I both thought the resemblance was rough at best.  The tour is self-guided after an introduction by an employee on the ground floor.  We had time stamped tickets to the Old Jameson Distillery after the Storehouse so we kind of rushed through the tour part.

The entire point of including this water fall inside the Guinness Storehouse was to illustrate one of main ingredients in Guinness: Water. While that doesn’t seem that important, I liked this picture.

Looking up through the center of the glass atrium that is supposed to be modeled after a Guinness pint glass.

Michael in the Storehouse atrium

At the end of the self-guided tour, you have two options.  The first option is to ascend to the top floor which is Guinness’ famous Gravity Bar.  The Gravity Bar is a round room with windows that provide a 360 degree view of Dublin.  It is here that you can enjoy your free pint of Guinness.  On this particular day, the Gravity Bar was mobbed.  So, we decided to obtain our free pint by attending the Guinness Academy instead.

Guinness Academy – Where they teach you how complicated pouring a Guinness really is!

The Guinness Academy is where you are schooled in the art of pouring the perfect pint of Guinness.  I had no idea that there was a specific procedure to follow but Killian (yes, that was his name) taught us the proper way to pour a pint of Guinness… and now I know.  I won’t bore you with all the details but the procedure is very specific.  From using the correct glass, to holding it at the perfect 45 degree angle, to tilting the glass at the right moment, to patiently waiting through the full two-minute “surge,” to topping it off so that you get a perfect dome of foam, the procedure is explained in detail in the Guinness Academy.  And while I mastered the art, I can assure you that if you order a Guinness in a bar, there is little chance that they’re following the proper pint pouring procedure.  Does it impact the flavor?  I honestly couldn’t tell you.  I’m not a fan of beer and certainly not a big fan of stout.  I was only able to drink about half of my pint before I got that uncomfortable “too full” feeling beer always gives me.  Michael heroically stepped in and finished my pint for me.

I look very serious….

After Killian approved our Guinness-pouring abilities and awarded us our diplomas (not kidding, we really did get official certificates) certifying us as excellent Guinness Pint Pourers, we did head up to the Gravity Bar to rub shoulders (literally) with the bajillion people trying to take in the views of Dublin and take shelter from the pouring rain outside.  We declined to have another pint and once we snapped a few pictures, we headed to the Old Jameson Distillery to partake in the REAL magic of Ireland:  Whiskey.

Enjoying my hard work – well, as much as a girl who hates beer can enjoy a stout.

A sample of the views of Dublin from the Gravity Bar.

More views from the Gravity Bar

This is the old distillery. Now the distillery is located in Cork.

Despite the fact that Jameson is no longer made in Dublin and the current distillery is located in Cork, I enjoyed the tour of the old distillery more than the self-guided Guinness tour and not just because I like whiskey more than stout.  I thought the tour was informative and interesting and I actually learned a lot about whiskey.  I understand what makes Jameson different from American Whiskey or Scotch or even other Irish Whiskeys.  I’d explain it to you, but if you’re really interested, you can Google it.

I heart this light fixture!

This shows how the Jameson changes at it ages. Notice how much of the Jameson is lost to evaporation during the aging process.

I was also selected to participate in the taste test at the end of the tour.  And even though the goal of the test isn’t to identify which whiskey is which, I was able to identify all three by smell alone before even tasting.  I received an official certificate identifying me as a whiskey taster but my boss still hasn’t agreed to let me add that title to my business card.  Not sure why he’s resisting.  I have this official whiskey taster certificate that I could frame and hang alongside my diploma and my engineering license.

The bar inside the Old Jameson Distillery

The wind and rain are much easier to handle after a few sips of Jameson.

So, even though I blogged out of order, I hope you enjoyed this post.  I assure you that the best is yet to come.  My next post will be about our trip to Blarney Castle outside of Cork.  We actually did this the day before visiting the Guinness Storehouse and Old Jameson Distillery and it was amazing.  There are so many pictures to go with that post that I’m not sure I can fit them all into one post but I’ll try my best to be selective and only show you the best ones.  It was just such an amazing place that it was virtually impossible to take a bad picture.

Until then, I leave you with this picture of “mini Guinness shots” prepared for us by the bartender at the Bloody Scream our first night in Ireland.  You may remember this as the bar where the bar fight broke from my first Ireland blog.  These are actually shots of Kahlua topped with Irish Cream.  They look like tiny little pints of Guinness but they taste like chocolate milk – and I definitely prefer them to Guinness.

Mini Guinness Shot – tastes like chocolate milk

Ireland – Part 1

I know my food blog is turning into an anything-but-food blog but I have to tell you about my summer vacation.  I just returned from a whirlwind two weeks in Europe.  I can’t fit everything into one blog post so I’ll break it up into smaller posts.  I’m not sure how long it will take me to get all the posts put together, but I’ll try to be timely about it.  But I must share with you my journey even if it isn’t food-centric because it moved me, inspired me, and made me fall in love with the parts of Europe we visited.

I joined my friend, Michael on his travels through Europe in Dublin, Ireland.  From there we proceeded to Edinburgh, Scotland and then to Bath in England and finally we finished our trip at the 2012 Summer Olympic Games in London.  We covered a lot of ground in two weeks.  In some ways the trip seemed like it was longer than two weeks and in other ways, it felt like it flashed by in just a heartbeat.

Let’s start in Ireland, shall we?

The allure of the Emerald Island has beckoned me for as long as I can remember.  I’m not sure exactly what initially ignited my desire to visit Ireland (besides my love of whiskey) but I sure am glad I acted on it.  Ireland is breathtaking.  From the cozy pubs in Dublin to the awe-inspiring views over the Cliffs of Moher, I loved every single soaking wet second in Ireland.  It rained pretty much every day we were there.  The sun came out for minutes or on the good days, hours at a time, but blocks of sun were always bookended by torrential downpours.  I spent most of my time resembling a drowned rat and praying that my socks would dry before I got gangrene.  But even soaking wet, I was moved by the beauty I saw everywhere I looked (with the possible exception of the mirror).  And even when it wasn’t raining, it was windy.  I’ll have to ask you to excuse my hair in most of my pictures.  I found I either resembled a drowned rat or a tornado survivor in most pictures.  Let’s just say that if you visit Ireland, remember to pack as many waterproof items of clothing as possible and ponytail holders.

The Custom House in Dublin

But, it’s easy to overlook the fact that you’re wet and windblown when you’re a little buzzed and as a whiskey girl, I was very appreciative of the Irish whiskey.  I was even more appreciative of the fact that whiskey is less expensive than beer in pretty much any pub you walk into.  And a little nip of whiskey is nice and warm when you’re drenched by the rain and blown around by the wind.  Although, I do have to admit, needing a coat in the middle of summer was not a completely unwelcome change after the record-breaking heat we’ve been experiencing in Atlanta this summer.

The River Liffey runs through Dublin

We stayed outside of the center of Dublin in an area called Sutton.  The very first thing I did upon arriving was walk with our host along the Baldoyle Estuary.  The photograph below is of an island called “Ireland’s Eye” and I took it from the walkway along the Estuary.  The island is currently uninhabited but I hear you can visit it via boat tour if you wish.  The building you see on the left side is a Martello Tower which is a defensive fort built during the Napoleonic Wars.  The other ruins of a building you see in the photograph are all that’s left of an 8^th Century church.  Apparently commuting to church via boat eventually took its toll on the Sunday morning attendance and the island church was abandoned in favor of an easier-access location in a nearby town.

Ireland’s Eye

Walking along Baldoyle Estuary

Our first night in Dublin we went to Howth which is near Sutton to partake in some local flavor.  And believe me when I say we got more than we bargained for.  We were sitting at a bar called The Bloody Scream minding our own business when a huge bar fight broke out behind us.  The men were throwing punches.  The women were pulling hair.  Drinks were tossed in faces.  It was fascinating.  The bartenders cleared the bar of the troublemakers quickly.  They also assured us that this wasn’t normal behavior but as tourists, we had a certain pre-conceived notion of the Irish as being quick-tempered and a bit rowdy.  So witnessing a bar fight on our first night was exciting.  And in fairness, I have to trust that the bartenders were speaking the truth about the bar fight being rare as I didn’t witness any other examples of the fabled “Irish temper” or excessive rowdy behavior for the rest of our stay in Ireland.  But thanks to those people at the Bloody Scream that night for living up to our pre-conceived notions and stereotypes of the Irish on our first night.  It was highly entertaining.  And we learned how to say “Prostitute” and a few other choice words with a proper Irish accent.

Our first full day in Ireland we explored Dublin’s city center.  Dublin is an interesting mix of old world charm and modern marvels.  We capped off our day by participating in a literary pub crawl.  If we’re going to do a pub crawl, may as well learn something while we do it.  It was an entertaining and fun evening and even our host Francis joined us.

The Duke – the pub that started our Literary Pub Crawl adventure.

This bridge (in the picture below) is the Samuel Beckett Bridge which was designed by Santiago Calatrava.  The shape of the bridge is supposed to evoke the image of a harp lying on its side.  The harp is a symbol of Ireland.  The bridge spans the River Liffey.  Adjacent to the bridge is the Convention Centre Dublin.  This building was designed by the American-Irish architect Kevin Roche.  The building is definitely eye-catching with that glass atrium.  In addition, per the interwebs, the building was the first carbon-neutral convention center in the world.  I just though it made an interesting picture.

Samuel Beckett Bridge in Dublin

Convention Centre Dublin

I took a lot of pictures of the bridge and the building with the crooked atrium, partly because it was sunny for more than 30 seconds I won’t make you look at all of them, but I kind of like this one.

And we saw this ship docked in the River Liffey.  This view of Michael’s posterior as he snapped pictures is pretty much the view I had of him throughout 90% of our trip.

A ship docked on the River Liffey

This sculpture is called “Famine” and commemorates the Irish forced to emigrate during the 19^th century famine.

This sculpture is called Famine

We visited Trinity College during our pub crawl (see, it was educational, they even took us to college).  Trinity College was founded after the Reformation in 1592.  It was owned by the Protestant Church and Catholics could attend provided that they accepted the Protestant faith.  As a result, up until 1966, any Catholics that wanted to attend Trinity had to either obtain permission from their bishop or face excommunication.  We wanted to go back to Trinity to tour some of the buildings but we just ran out of time.

The bell tower at Trinity College

My architecture and engineering friends will find this picture of the Bank of Ireland interesting.  It was explained to us that the government assessed a “window tax” based on the number of windows in a building.  So, to avoid paying the tax, many people and businesses just decided to brick over the windows.  The window tax (also referred to as a daylight tax) was later repealed.  The fact that anyone ever taxed daylight was shocking considering today’s environmentally friendly building requirements that give you points for using daylight.  I guess this was definitely not a LEED building.

To avoid paying “daylight taxes” the Bank of Ireland bricked over their windows.

So, I will follow up with posts about our trips to Blarney Castle as well as to the Cliffs of Moher before we leave Ireland to discuss Scotland.  But first, a few more random photographs of Dublin.

One thing I loved about Ireland (besides the cheap whiskey) is that there are flowers EVERYWHERE!

The aforementioned ship with Custom House in the background

I have no idea what is going on with my hair in this picture but I assure you, it’s not the worst you’ll see of my hair by the time we’re done with all the vacation photos.

Happy Birthday America, I Ruined Tomato Sauce.

On the Fourth of July, we celebrate America’s birthday.  It’s the day we celebrate our independence.  It’s the day I choose to avoid large crowds and forego the organized fireworks displays in lieu of watching my drunk neighbors blow stuff up in their driveway.  And, if you live in one of those states that has outlawed everything except sparklers and those fountain-y  things that ejaculate sparks all over your driveway for 15 seconds, then you can only hope that one of your neighbors has made a fun-run to a neighboring, less-regulate-y state for stuff with a better “wow factor.”  You know, the explosives that “take off” and explode far above the ground raining ashes on all of you that should NOT be standing so close to the action.  Because what would your July Fourth celebration be if you weren’t half terrified of an explosive misfire removing fingers?  You’d be far too relaxed if you didn’t have your fingers poised to dial 911 on your cell phone the second one of them lands on your roof.  You’d be far less patriotic if you didn’t constantly ask your neighbor “Shouldn’t you be letting the person with health insurance light that one?”  Yay America!

However, before it gets dark enough to fully appreciate the blowy-upy things, you have to fill your day (and your belly) with something.  Maybe you made patriotic cupcakes?  Maybe you made an all-American meal of barbecue and potato salad?  Maybe you slaved over a grill making burgers for the family?  Maybe you drank copious amounts of beer and bitched about how hot it is?  I hope you filled your belly with something delicious because I certainly did not.

I decided to celebrate America by ruining some Italian food.  I didn’t set out to ruin it.  I set out to make a beautiful and delicious tomato sauce for pasta.  I was going to point out how patriotic I was by making red food on the day when everything is red, white, and blue.  But once I realized it was ruined and not salvage-able, I decided to turn it into a patriotic sacrifice.  How better to honor America than by ruining a dish that is closely identified with another country?  Essentially, I turned the tables by trying to make a flaming failure into a patriotic endeavour.   Happy birthday America.  You’re welcome.

You see, I found a recipe for a tomato sauce that intrigued me.  There are no canned tomatoes in the recipe which appealed to me.  I like cooking with whole foods.  I like cutting back on food that’s processed.  And to further intrigue me, the recipe called for all the tomatoes to be roasted.  Now, if you read my pizza blog, you know that I’m not a huge fan of tomatoes.  You’ll never catch me eating a raw tomato.  However, I do love tomato-based pasta sauces.  My only requirement is that I don’t like it chunky.  Tomatoes are only acceptable to me once they’re pulverized into submission.  I won’t even eat salsa that has big chunks of tomato in it.  Tomatoes pieces can never be too small.  And I know that roasting brings out the natural sweetness in vegetables.  It’s probably my favorite way to prepare most veggies.  So, starting a sauce with roasted tomatoes sounded like a winner to me!  And making it myself means that I can turn those babies into as fine of a mush as I like.

Like most projects I’ve undertaken lately, I ran into problems early in the process.  I went to the grocery store to buy the prescribed 20 Roma tomatoes and my store did not have any Roma tomatoes.  They had heirlooms and beefsteak and cherry but  no romas.  So, I settled for these tomatoes marketed as “tomato on the vine.”  I have no idea what variety of tomatoes these are and a Google search was unhelpful.  Since I’m not a tomato fan, I’m not really sure how these compare to Roma tomatoes.  I know romas are more oblong than these are.  However, when I read the recipe reviews, several people had substituted different types of tomatoes and still enjoyed the results so I crossed my fingers and settled for these mystery tomatoes.  If you know what variety of tomatoes these are, please leave a comment.

Mystery variety of “tomatoes on the vine”

The recipe calls for cutting to tomatoes in half and removing the seeds.  Then you drizzle them with olive oil, salt, pepper, minced garlic, diced onions, and chopped thyme and oregano (fresh) and bake them in the oven for 2.5 hours.  I read the reviews and several people noted that the garlic or onions or even the herbs burned during the roasting process.  I considered covering the dish but I finally decided that I would roast the tomatoes with just oil and salt on them.  Then I’d caramelize an onion in a saute pan to bring out the same sweetness you’d get roasting it and add it when I pureed the tomatoes.  I also cut the top off a head of garlic, covered it in olive oil, wrapped it in foil and threw it in the oven for the last 40 minutes of roasting time to roast it on its own.  I planned to add a few of the roasted cloves to the puree.  This way, all the flavors would be there and I wouldn’t have to babysit the oven to watch for burning.

Oiled and salted tomatoes ready for the oven – Note: if you try this, DEFINITELY line the pan with foil. I’d have NEVER gotten that pan clean again if I hadn’t.

Everything was going just fine.  I caramelized my onion in a pan.  My tomatoes were roasted.  My garlic was roasted.  I threw everything into the food processor and blitzed it up and put it into a sauce pan.  And this is where I made a fatal mistake.  The next step called for the addition of white wine.  Now I usually use red wine in my tomato sauces.  I’d never used white wine in a tomato sauce but based on the positive recipe reviews I had faith that it would be delicious.  I had bought a new bottle of Pinot Grigio that wasn’t a kind I’d bought (or even tasted) before.  And I added it to the pureed tomato/onion/garlic mixture without tasting it first.  WHAT WAS I THINKING?  Had I tasted it, I’d have realized 2 things.  1.  It’s drier than the pinot grigio I typically buy.  and 2.  That I hated it.  The first rule of cooking with wine is that you should only cook with wine you’d actually drink.  When you cook with wine, it reduces and intensifies the flavor so if you don’t like the wine, you’re certainly not going to like the concentrated taste of it in whatever food you’re making.  After I added it, I pulled out a spoon and tasted the sauce and my heart sank.  It was terrible.  It was a shocking revelation.  Wine apparently doesn’t make *everything* better.  Shocking.  It was like realizing you’ve been singing the wrong words to your favorite song the entire time.

Roasted tomatoes on a bed of crap burned onto the bottom of the pan. Thank you aluminum foil for making my clean-up easier.

Since the consistency of the sauce was still more “paste” than “sauce” I hoped that I could use some stock to thin it out and dull the bitter flavor the wine had imparted.  No luck.  Since many tomato sauce recipes call for the addition of sugar, I pulled out the sugar dish hopeful I could counter the bitterness enough to at least make it edible.  The problem was that even though I was able to get a sweet initial taste in the sauce, I wasn’t able to undo that bitter undertone and it still left a terrible aftertaste.

I was afraid to add more sugar so I poured the sauce into a bowl and covered it and put it in the refrigerator hoping that if it sat the flavors would mingle and maybe the sugar would win over the wine and the aftertaste would be dulled.  But when I went back later that night and tasted, it had actually had the opposite effect and it was even worse.  I was very disappointed.

I like this kind of consistency. Unfortunately, this sauce is more bitter than your ex-wife.

So, while I’ve discovered how NOT to make tomato sauce, I think this recipe actually is salvageable (even if my first attempt at it isn’t).

First of all, next time I will roast the tomatoes with only oil and salt again to prevent the herbs and pepper from burning during the roasting process.  Burned garlic is not delicious.

I will also roast garlic by itself and add the cloves to the puree to taste.

I will not caramelize the onions next time.  While caramelized onions are sweet, I was really looking for that little bit of an onion-y flavor in the sauce.  I think with the roasted tomatoes and the roasted garlic, caramelizing the onion was too much sweetness.  Next time I will just saute an onion and add it when I puree the tomatoes.  Plus this will be faster.  It takes upwards of 30 minutes to fully caramelize an onion.  No need to spend that kind of time babysitting a pan on the stove.

I’m not going to add white wine next time.  While I do have another pinot grigio that I really do like, I think that I have a better option for thinning out the sauce.  You see, when I seeded the tomatoes, I ended up with a giant bowl of tomato pulp and tomato juice.  I offered it to the neighbors for bloody marys but they prefer to use the thicker commercially prepared vegetable juices and I can’t blame them.  Real fresh tomato juice is pretty watery.  But it is packed full of fresh tomato flavor and brightness.  So, next time, I will take this pulp and strain it to remove the seeds squeezing out all the juice and use that to thin the sauce.  I think it’ll add a note of brightness to the kind of heavy roasted tomato flavor.  Plus, tossing all that tomato juice and pulp made me feel very wasteful so this will be a good way to use it so that it doesn’t go to waste.

Next time I’ll strain the juice from the removed pulp to use to thin out the sauce.

In addition, one of my FAVORITE tomato sauces is a vodka cream sauce.  So, I MIGHT consider turning this into a vodka and cream tomato sauce.  Vodkas and cream go surprisingly well with tomatoes.

I still think that adding the herbs to the sauce towards the end of cooking was wise.  I could taste the freshness of the herbs and I really liked that so I will add oregano and thyme to the sauce towards the end of cooking.

While I do plan to make this again and let you know how it goes, we may have to wait for fall.  I realized that having my oven going for nearly 3 hours on a 100 degree day in Georgia is kind of sadistic.  I sweated as much as I do during a hard-core workout.  And since the thermostat is relatively close to the kitchen, the AC was going full blast so you could hang meat up in the bedroom where the oven wasn’t warming up the room.  In the mean time we may need to find some recipes for some cold and room temperature pasta sauces more appropriate for a Georgia summer.  Pesto anyone?

Finally, before I sign off, I am happy to report that my neighbors and I are all in possession of all our digits and everyone’s house is still standing despite our “wow factor” (illegal) fireworks display.

Lego Conclusion

I promised Dann that my next blog would be foody again.  But, I owe you (and Lego) the conclusion to my previous two blog posts.

For those of you that posted on my last blog, thank you.  Since my stats showed that about 100 of you viewed it in the first week and only 5 of you commented I have concluded that either (1) a majority of my readers are lurkers or (2) the 5 of you are reading each post approximately 20 times each and may need some suggestions for other reading material since I let so much time elapse between subsequent blog postings.  Either way, thanks for being loyal stalkers an attentive audience.

So, Lego responded to my very annoyed follow-up email in which I demanded an explanation for the removal of my review from their website.  In addition, I did a lot of bitching about my replacement parts order being incomplete.

Lego has apologized for their lack of quality control.  And instead of just apologizing, they did some investigating and confirmed that my initial shipment was missing an ENTIRE BAG of Lego pieces.  They recognized that this is the kind of quality control error that really is unacceptable.  They also profusely apologized for the replacement parts missing pieces and explained that they couldn’t ship them any faster since they come from their factory in Denmark.  In an effort to shut me up make me happy again they mailed me a $20 gift card to use towards my next purchase.  Since I am an engineer and therefore biologically programmed to love Legos, I do appreciate the gesture.  I haven’t received it yet but in the mean time I’m waffling between buying the Pet Shop or the Grand Emporium when it does arrive.  Don’t judge me.   I keep telling myself that I will wait and make my purchase after I return from Europe since I should be saving cash but I have a feeling that $20 gift card will burn a hole in my pocket immediately.  We’ll see how my will power holds up.

They also investigated why my review was removed from their website.  They emailed me to tell me that it was removed because I included a link to my blog post.  Since they can’t control the content contained on websites other than their own, they don’t allow links to outside websites.  While I understand this policy, they could have simply removed the link and left the posting.  However, they did invite me to rewrite my review (without the link) and repost.  They also assured me that their policy does not include removing negative product reviews.  They welcome both positive and negative reviews.

So, am I still frustrated about the entire experience?  Yes.  Am I satisfied with Lego’s apology? Yes.  Will I buy more products from Lego?  Yes.

Per my promise to Dann, my next blog will be food-related.  I just have to figure out what to write about.  Anyone craving anything in particular?