Tea, a drink with jam and bread

Despite not getting onto the next instalment in my epic saga of North Island love (I know, feeding stingrays, surfing, skydiving, there's so much to come! So much!), I am going to fly ahead in time and write a post on what I have just done this weekend. Why? Why not. Damn right.

This weekend, Tim and I met up with some friends in Auckland, Sarah and Matthew, for some delicious food and wining in Hawkes bay.

How many food festivals is too many food festivals?

We don't know, we haven't found out yet.

The first event we went to was called Tea, a drink with jam and bread. It was a pastry and jam and tea tasting session, which Tim and I arrived ravenous at, having not had any breakfast beforehand. We imagined a sort of jolly, wonderful, tea jam pastry cake bread free-for-all where we would casually eat as many pastries as humanly possible within 5 seconds while mumbling through a mouthful of crumbs "mmmverynicemmmyes" in a semblance of dignified tasting.

In fact, it was quite a formal lecture type setting where two women slowly made jam in front of us while withholding pastries. Have you ever watched jam being made? While being ravenously hungry and desperate for pastries? While the hob on which the jam was being made was malfunctioning and therefore the jam was not boiling? While being desperate for pastries? While sitting in a pavilion, looking at pastries, which were  being withheld from you, while jam was refusing to boil?

It was, in its own way, a first-world form of torture.

Anyway, we did end up tasting the pastries.

We tasted them and tasted them and tasted them.

I must have drunk about 6 cups of tea in that pavilion. I tried green earl grey, and french earl grey, and rooibos with vanilla and creme caramel, and a blend of green, red and black tea, and green chai, and all sorts. And then I went back for seconds. 

And then I was desperate for the loo for the rest of the day. 

Not helpful, since we were going on a cycling wine tour.

My stamina clearly has decreased since Uni, since that day we cycled only 36km and we did stop for wine at two places on the way. But whether it was the wine that made me slow and tired or the head wind or the fact that no matter how tasty pastries are, damn it, they cannot sustain one for 36km, or the fact that I really, really needed to pee, that 36km really did feel like a hell of a long way. 

Still, the wine made up for it. 

We went with two doctors from the UK, Sarah and Matthew, who I worked with in Newcastle. Sarah's a med reg and Matt is a GP trainee, and they were very, very delighted with how their day was going (see above picture.)

It was so nice to meet up with some old friends in the new world. And fairly surreal too. So far away....and yet here we are. Scoffing wine. As usual.

I tried a lot of delicious wines and tried to expand my personal favourites, though I'm afraid I'm still stuck in the aromatics and the Marlborough sauvignon blancs. Any good riesling or semillon or pinot gris gets a big thumbs up. But I did try a good red - a cabernet franc, which I had not heard of before. I recommend it. It is a luscious grape. And also a red dessert wine, which was very special. 

We bought several bottles.

Tasting is $5 per person, and you taste as many wines as you like, which is a very good deal. And also now look! I sound as if I know a tiny bit about wines, which is not true, as the only thing I know about wines is how tasty they are and the names associated with the tastiness. Which I suspect is all anyone actually ever truly knows about wines. There you go. Tastiness and culture, all in one big bottle. How good is that? 

We also took the time, as we were by now both famished and extremely tipsy, to have a picnic in the vineyard, where they gave us a platter of food and a bottle of their Malbec, and we had a generally lovely time. Tim and Matt and Sarah all had to put their napkins on their heads because the sun was so hot. It's NOVEMBER! My body is so so confused.

Inside is nice, but outside is nicer. 

The nice lady helps us get as much wine as we need for a good day out.

It was really a long, long road back, and I was tired as, man. We had to face down some cows as well on the way. It was frankly terrifying, but I stepped up to the challenge. I was brave as, despite having a full bladder and a very sore bottom. 

Well done me. 

In the evening, we had a date at the oyster saloon. Sarah and Matthew had only just started eating oysters (beer battered ones, naturally), and were excited, yet apprehensive, to try the raw wriggly ones. 

Side note: when you think about it, so many of our acquired tastes really are just disgusting, aren't they? Oysters. Black pudding. Rare steak. Runny egg. Cheese. What is wrong with us as a species?

I don't know. But I love it. 

Eating oysters with dignity is a very tricky skill, and I...well, I'm going to share the pictures below as a cautionary tale of what happens if you let me photograph you doing anything and then don't censor where I can post the images afterwards. And also because they are brilliant.

I was looking at this series of pictures, and thinking, what does this remind me of, and then it came to me. This is even better than Kirsty eating ginger cake! (You need to scroll down slightly for the eating sequence. It is wonderful.) Also - clearly I have a history of doing this around eating people (why? eating is so funny!) 

I am going to start making a collection called When You Eat You Look Funny. 

Question: can anything (edible) battered and fried be not tasty?

Answers on a postcard please.

(The Scottish, btw, have clearly made their decision on this already. It's a good one, hard to argue with.)

So disgusting yet tasty!

I tried all of the oysters on the blackboard, and then I tried them naturel, and then I tried them beer battered, and then I tried them again.

To be honest, I couldn't tell the difference between them. 

Maybe it was the amount of wine I'd tasted that day. 

After tasting and tasting and tasting the oysters (and more wine), we went on a very drunken wine shopping session in the wine store where this was held, where a very nice lady came and helped us choose wines. (This is what it was like: me: "I LOVE MARLBOROUGH SAUVIGNON BLANC" her: "ME TOO! BUY THIS ONE!" Me: "YES! Also, I love The Doctors Riesling." Her: "LOOK! I have a bottle." Me: "I LOVE YOU." Her: "Have you considered buying more wine?" Me: "YES. But which ones?" Her: "let's run around the shop and I'll choose some for you! What is your price range?" Me: "I don't know, I'm too drunk to think of a price range." Her: "That's the best kind of price range.")

Anyway, so I bought some wine (and actually it was very reasonable, we bought 4 bottles for 30 quid, and they were all very good too. So clearly she must have inferred I had some kind of price range, even though by this point I was just running around the shop randomly pointing at things and trying to link arms with her while skipping) and we had a good chat about how much we all loved wine, and was 4 bottles too much for 7 people (answer: no) and then we had to ask her where we could buy a kebab, because after a full day of eating nothing but oysters and very cultured slices of salami and pate, and drinking like I've never drunk before, we were famished. Like, STARVING, MAN.

Doesn't she look nice? 

She gave us very good directions to a Turkish restaurant aka kebab shop.

And we bought a kebab and we ate it with our Marlborough sauvignon blanc and our Hawkes Bay Cabernet Franc and Pinot Noir and we had some Riesling to end off and also, chips with BBQ sauce.

It was divine.

The next day, I felt a bit rough. 

(This is starting to become a bit of a recurring theme in my NZ travels.)

Luckily, there was a farmers' market on where we could eat delicious things and feel better about ourselves.

There was more wine tasting at the market too, but I wasn't really up for it. I'm not sure why. 

And this is our haul from Hawkes bay: from the left: some good old Marlborough Sauvi, which the nice lady in the shop recommended: some Noble Sauvignon Blanc from the Beach House - an amazing little place which was a lot of fun to taste at, very unpretentious and run by the cheeriest man in the world, who had a glass to taste each time anyone had a glass to taste (no wonder he was cheery), and the Doctors' Riesling (some great, great Riesling there, my friends. Doctors know best), and more Beach House Riesling, and the red dessert wine (a strange beast), and two pots of damson jam from the jam tasting, and a bottle of damson vinaigrette which Tim bought at the jam tasting before I even had time to say, "gosh that's quite tasty". That Tim. And I'm really looking forward to the jam tomorrow on croissants, which I have also bought today. I have been busy. Busy stuffing my face (as usual.) I'm just so good at it, that's the problem.  

Also, guess what.

It's our anniversary!

5 years together!

Shameful to say, I kind of forgot about it. that is, I kept on remembering in the weeks coming up, and thinking, "oh, I mustn't forget it's our anniversary!" because man, it does not feel like November. It feels like July. And then naturally, I forgot about it. And so today while Tim went to work, I had to go and buy him a present.

I bought him an awesome present. 

The below is not it, but it is something else that I bought him. 

That's why they call it business socks. (2.33)

Business socks!!!

A flight of the conchords reference that I never knew I hadn't got. Turns out, business socks are a kind of sock everyone wears in New Zealand, for business! And I do not mean sexy business. I mean, just normal office business. Business that requires sock wearing.

Who knew?

Love from Connie.

Our friends in the North

Dear buddies! I've missed you! Have you missed me?

There's no need to answer that.

Man, it's been a little while since I updated. I've been busy. Busy discovering things about New Zealand. And every time I put off updating a little while longer, MORE STUFF WOULD HAPPEN. And then I'd get overwhemed by it all and go to bed and read Hilary Mantel for days at a time and wonder if that would solve all my problems.

It probably would solve many problems. She is an excellent writer.

Anyhow, today is a character-building day. Tim is at work, having buffed the house to a degree of cleanliness which I have never yet encountered - he washed the sink and the bath and put Toilet Duck down the loo (for all those who don't yet know (read, all those whom I've not discussed this at great length with (read - very few of you))Tim is obsessed with Toilet Duck. Whenever we go shopping he stands in the cleaning aisle, looking wistfully up at it until I cave and let him buy it. Me: "It's just overpriced bleach, for pity's sake!" Tim (enraptured): "But it makes the toilet so fresh.") and he has shamed me into sorting out piles of my paperwork (including South Africa, the details of which I shall go into in the future, when I can bear it. Man oh man there is paperwork. I wonder if I'm not perversely excited by paperwork in some subconscious way because I certainly seem to seek out a lifestyle that involves a good deal of form filling. F1 has much to answer for) and, finally, into updating my blog.

That was a long sentence.

I would like to add a disclaimer here before this post: I realise I write a lot about exciting adventures etc etc etc yawn boredom, and I wonder if you find it all a bit dreary - one exciting thing after another. It's all a bit sensory overload, isn't it? I'm really not trying to boast or be unbearable, though I'm sure it seems like it - it's just this place is so unbelievably wonderful I want to do everything, and then I want to photograph it, and then I want to tell you all about it while showing you the photographs. Which is, in itself, unbearable. So I'm sorry. And to make up for it, I am going to start off by telling you some gentle, mundane things I have been discovering. Unlike sky-diving.

We'll get onto that in a moment.

I would like to add also that it's lovely when you write back to me and tell me how you are, and I love it. I love it! And I am in the process of composing replies as we speak. Faith, my friends. Faith.

Anyway, 3 gentle, non-sky-diving related things I have discovered about New Zealand:

1) I love vegemite. Dang! In fact, I prefer it to marmite. What does that make me? Correct. The answer is it makes me correct.

2) They don't call buffets buffets - they call them smorgasbords! That is perhaps the single most exciting thing that has ever happened to me. So much more exciting than a buffet! And inciting you to eat so much more, in a Scandinavian mead drinking, foe-slaying, flesh-chomping way. Delightful.

3) Nurses wear shorts here. I find it hard to take them seriously when they do, because they look like boy scouts. I'm sorry, but there it is.

So last week, I did this:

I find the line a bit disconcerting, as if perhaps we were attached to something up above. But we were not. And I've got the DVD to prove it. I've literally been there, done that, got the T-shirt, and a DVD. Some would see this as another example of the corrupting effects of capitalism. I see this merely as a great example of how funny a human face can look when falling towards earth at 200kmph.

But it's not time to talk about that yet.

Friends, I have discovered the only way I can approach updating my blog about the holiday is by doing one day at a time, or perhaps two at the very most. It upsets me, psychologically, otherwise. IT'S TOO BIG A PIECE OF WORK. So to wit, we are going to start at the very beginning. We are going to start in Napier.

Guided by our Lonely Planet, Napier is a little east coast town that was flattened by an earthquake in the 20s, and was rebuilt from scratch, making it the most art-deco town in NZ. We stayed in a very lovely hotel with only 3 guest rooms - one Turkish themed, one Chinese themed, and one Indian themed. The guesthouse owner, who was Turkish, was very friendly and enthusiastic and talked to us at great length over breakfast about his theories regarding gay men, speedos, and public nudity, to none of which we had anything intelligible to say at 8 in the morning. 

While we were there, the weather was unsettled. 

I tested out my new camera.

It's not bad, eh?

On another note, I realised that I'd posted the wrong link regarding the NZ accent earlier. So here I present it again, for your delectation. The only thing they fail to note is the constant use of 'eh' at the end of sentences. Otherwise, it's strangely and endearingly accurate. 

The other thing about Napier is that it's surrounded by vineyards.

And that's where we had lunch. 

We had some pretty tasty lunch at The Mission winery.

Note that neither Tim nor I had showered that morning, because we were too sleepy. I don't know why I'm sharing this with you, perhaps because I was so entertained by how decrepit we looked and how generally unimpressive we were in this very nice environment. 

Tim had asparagus and poached eggs and new potatoes with hollandaise sauce - a very spring meal!

It was tasty as.

Fig. 1: Unwashed!Tim contemplates his lunch.

I had the pappardelle with wild mushrooms and rabbit, innit.

I was just as unwashed as Tim.

Look at us! Look how disreputable we look. Would you let that pair into your vineyard to drink your wine and eat your tasty food? We look as if we might have made a dash for it without paying. But maybe they knew that anyone who'd eaten that much pasta wasn't going to be dashing anywhere soon. Wise, wise Mission Estate.

I had a glass of merlot, I think. It was quite nice. Do you know what's really nice? Framingham Riesling. Framingham Riesling is the most delicious Riesling I have ever tasted in my entire life. It is sunshine and happiness in your mouth. It tastes of joy and rainbows. And New Zealand. This is because Riesling has terroir, the Guardian informs me (I love you Guardian), which means it heavily reflects the soil and region in which its grown. Which explains why it tastes so much of happiness. Because it's grown in New Zealand! 

I'm not sure how I got from merlot to riesling and wandered so far off the topic, but there it is. A piece of information to guide your way in this rocky winey world. Don't ignore it. Trust. Best Riesling you've ever tasted. Fact.

Anyway. That day, we drove to Gisborne. We were staying at a very swanky hotel which was at a very reasonable price, and it was really the largest hotel we'd ever been in. Our room had 2 double beds in it! And the biggest shower in the world - easily fittable for 4 people. 

No, we did not invite another couple back to the room for shower fun times. 

I just wanted to make that clear.

Tim has another habit, which I'd somehow never discovered before, perhaps because our hotel rooms had always been too small: but here it is - he likes to go around the room when we first get there, opening all of the drawers and wardrobes and looking inside. And then finding things and being ecstatic with joy. Like a penny. Or a dressing gown. Or some Toilet Duck.

I'm joking, of course. If Tim had found some Toilet Duck in one of those wardrobes I'd never have heard the end of it. You'd probably never hear the end of it - he'd probably call you all up individually and tell you about it. It would probably be one of the most exciting moments of his life - not because his life lacks for exciting moments, but because, as I say, Tim is obsessed with this particular form of toilet related hygiene product. True story.   

We had naturally neglected to buy any breakfast or indeed scope out any breakfast places and so our breakfast the next day could only be described as haphazard. You may be able to see a blueberry pie skulking in the corner. 

And some rich tea biscuits behind the central mug.

It was sunny as (note: not sunny as anything, just sunny as - as I heard one annoyed Aussie remonstrating with a Kiwi in Ruapehu - "But what is it as sweet as?" - "Nothing, it's just sweet as, bro!") in Gisborne, which is another 3 hours or so up the east coast. Lonely Planet describes it as 'Lively Gisborne, surrounded by miles of Chardonnay on the one side and miles of surf beaches on the other, boasts it's the first city on Earth to see the sun, and when it sees it, it hogs it and takes it to the beach. Gisborners describe life here as "not bad", which in New Zealand speak means, "unbelievably good.""

That's more or less it.

Lonely Planet also told us that one of the Things To Do in Gisborne is the Rere Rockslide - a 60m natural rockslide formed by cascading water. People go down it on mattresses, sacks, boogie boards....

But first, we went to the Arboretum for some inner peace.

The Arboretum is the biggest collection of imported Northern Hemisphere trees in the Southern Hemisphere. When we told the German dude who hired us the boogie boards (more on the later) where we were going first, he looked bemused. And it's pretty fair. Why would you go all the way to the Southern Hemisphere to look at Northern Hemisphere Trees?

But man, it was unbelievably beautiful. 

If you sat in any place in the park, all you could hear was birdsong - exuberant birdsong - and see trees. And the occasional sheep.

It was splendid. 

We sat, and contemplated.

And after we finished contemplating, we hurled ourselves off a waterfall. 

We hired some boogie boards and wet suits from a suitably laconic German dude, whose only comment was, "wear some knee protection, guys" and, "some say it's pretty cold out there right now."

Tim's wet suit was backwards zipping - a mysterious and very difficult suit to put on. 

Observe the knee protection. 

Don't worry, I had some too. I was just posing without them so you can catch a glimpse of my knees as they used to be. Whole. Healthy. Fresh. 

Sigh.

The Rere Rockslide. Facedown, headfirst, boogietube down it is. 

We were watched by a large Kiwi family who shadowed us all the way to the top and couldn't stop laughing and saying, "you're crazy!" They videoed both me and Tim going down. I like to think we provided a little entertainment in their lives. 

If you would care to view the video, it is on facebook. Naturally.

And the view from the bottom. 

And after the Rere rockslide, we dried off and we went to the beach and we fed stingrays.

But that's a story for next time.

To be continued...................................

All by myself,

because Tim's on nights again. Naturally, I spent the time reading Stephen King and then couldn't get to sleep. Classic. Though hands up who knew Stephen King is such a good writer? I'd sort of trashed him into a Genre I would Never Read into my head but he is a brilliant plot worker, and uncannily astute, putting his finger on the pulse of what makes your flesh creep. So perfect to read by yourself at midnight after a long shift at work in an empty house. Good one, Han. Clever Connie.

***

Last weekend, gentle readers, it rained and rained and rained. Rain in New Zealand! I know you British readers are secretly rejoicing at the idea of this. We sat and moped because we couldn't think of anything you'd do in NZ when it rained. Quad biking? Surfing? Skiing? Kayaking? Everything fun seemed kind of damp and sad in the rain. Until we remembered caving.

Caving!

Nothing can go wrong in caving when it's torrential rain outside, right? You're already inside. And, flash floods, well, we'll probably just float to the top.

So we went caving.

In a boat!

Lies, that was just the motel we stayed in. A ship motel!
You may have noticed it is spectacularly sunny in that picture. Don't worry. Let me show you another one.

This is the day before, when it rained.

Those are hobbit holes.

The Shire was filmed round these parts. Though those aren't the actual hobbit holes. Those are just some spin off hobbit holes designed to trap unwary tourists with more cash than sense, and boy, did we want to be trapped. But it turned out other tourists with more cash than sense had got there before us and they were all booked out. So we had to go to the ship.

Wait a sec, is that a plane?? A plane motel?? We could stay in a plane motel??????

I'm just messing with you. I mean yes, it is a plane motel. But clearly we were too grown up for such fripperies. We were going on a boat (a m**********ing boat.)

The inside of the boat was mysteriously all in sepia, giving it an oldey look very appropriate to the situation. Well done, boat. Well done.

These photos are on my new point and shoot, btw. They're not as good. But they'll do, pig. They'll do.

Speaking of a pig.

There was a house pig on the boat. 

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This was pretty much the best weekend of my life.

And we haven't even got to the caving yet.

****

An even better upside to not being able to go skiing or surfing was that I got a lie in on Saturday morning, a Much Needed Lie In. I've been working and playing flat out and not daring to miss a thing in this speedily, too speedily passing year, and I was EXHAUSTED, man. I just wanted to lie in with Tim and get up and have breakfast at noon. And that is exactly what we did. And it was amazing.

We had eggs benedict with asparagus and also a fruit bowl and also yoghurt and also vietnamese coffee and also porridge. 

And also cough syrup, conveniently placed to my left. 

And then I had to go on a 4 hour car journey through windy windy NZ roads (state highway 4, the 4th biggest highway in NZ, is basically a single track road that is more windy than a droopy noodle that got caught up inside a tumbledrier) and I was more carsick than you could possibly imagine. Luckily I was accompanied by another equally suffering passenger, which made it slightly better - there's nothing quite as bad as feeling nauseous all by your lonesome. We just lolled around in the back, whimpering pathetically for four hours, me with my eyes tightly shut, Cat staring at the road for all she was worth. 

And then we got to the caves.

Holy shit!

They were amazing. They were just amazing. We abseiled down (it was pretty scary) and did a zip wire into a completely dark cave full of glow worms, and we paddled down a FREEZING underwater river with a pretty damn strong current, and we floated along in tubes, and we ate chocolate (and also got hot orange squash poured down the backs of our wetsuits in an attempt to keep us warm. A FUTILE attempt I might add), and we climbed out - no ropes, no safety harness, nothing - over 2 waterfalls, straddling the waterfall like one of those action movies where people climb up a chimney by putting hands and feet on either side. And all the while I kept thinking, I'm so grateful this is New Zealand and there is no health and safety here. Can you imagine this taking place in any other country? We are underground, climbing over waterfalls, in darkness. I am SO HAPPY!!!!

And afterwards we went home, and I ate dinosaur pasta.

It was tasty.

Oh man, I wish you guys were all here with me! You would LOVE it! Not just the dinosaur pasta. All of it. Maybe not the cough syrup. Though it is surprisingly effective. But otherwise, pretty much all of it. 

The end :-)

Optics has broken my mind

Also, I have just spent the last hour reading whitnall's tubercle and the lamina papyracea and the roof of the orbit.

Here is a passage from the book I am reading.

The orbit
a. is separated from the ethmoidal air cells by the lamina papyrecia
b. is connected to the pterygopalatine fossa by the inferior orbital foramen
c. is in communication with the middle cranial fossa via the superior orbital fissure
d. lies superior to the maxillary sinus
e. is connected to the middle meatus via the nasolacrimal duct

I couldn't stop my eyes from glazing over as I got to c, every time I read it. It reminded me so strongly of this scene in Godard's Le Weekend I insist you watch it now. Pray start from 4.08 for the relevant part. Does anyone know the answers?? Oh, Emily. People who ask these things come to a bad end. :-(

How can I only be on page 3????

Fun fun fun in the sun sun sun

On the weekend, we had a BBQ.

Tim was away skiing his heart out, but I had for once allowed common sense to sway me. And common sense told me that if I was taking codeine so I could breathe without pain, then going snowboarding might be slightly rash.

I hate common sense.

But I love codeine! This is the first time I've ever taken codeine, and, oh my frick. It is magic. It is magic in a tiny capsule. I went to a pharmacy and purchased some codeine and the pharmacist was doing her job properly and advising me very seriously that codeine is not to be taken lightly and did I know that it wouldn't cure the cause of my cough and it was just a pain killer and did I know about the side effects, and for the first and I hope last time I used my status and squealed, "I'M A DOCTOR!" in probably the least convincing way ever (Tim, standing next to me, added not entirely necessarily, "I'm a doctor too", which I'm not sure actually helped my cause.) And then I added, "Please just give me the codeine" and she said "ok." And then we had a nice chat about how healthcare was different in the UK and NZ and she said, "ah, good on ya" and "sweet as" and other NZisms which I have grown to treasure.

***

I want you all to watch this video, and imagine what it's like to live in New Zealand. It's surprisingly accurate.


***

I also enjoyed this video, even though it tells you it's funny (an accurate estimate). I feel New Zealand comes off better than Australia does.

When we first met everyone here, the first thing everyone asks is, "why New Zealand?" which is another way of asking, "why not Australia?" Luke had the best answer I guess, which is, "Well, Australia is full of Aussies". Not to portray him as a rank xenophobe, he went on to clarify, "they're just all so competitive! You're in a pub, having a drink, and some Aussie bloke'll come up to you. "Hey mate, I bet I could drink my pint faster than you." And I'm like, "Yes. You probably could. Please leave me alone so I can enjoy my drink in peace." And then he'd call you a pom and punch you in the face.

And that just wouldn't happen in New Zealand."

Let's all raise a (non competitive) glass to the Kiwis and their gentle natures. Sweet as.

***

Another blogpost with no structure! You must be used to these by now. I may as well just carry on. Don't think of this as lack of effort. Think of it as postmodern, or something.

***

Anyway, to the BBQ. We assembled and BBQd and it was gloriously glorious. More and more people came but I forgot to take pictures, because I was too busy shoving food into my face. But here is a photo of me, looking proudly at the flames of my creation. Because I lit it like the competent woman I am.  And Tim wasn't even within 100km of me. SUCK ON THAT, ROBERT!



***

So sunny and glorious!
It was quite a delicious BBQ, with pork and mango skewers, balsamic and mint marinaded lamb, crispy squid, honey and soy chicken, a pumpkin and ricotta pie (not BBQable, sadly), an apple, walnut and lettuce salad, and of course more beer than you could shake a stick at.




***

Speaking of food, the day before Tim and I went shopping and we bought not only the BBQ above, but also matching pink dressing gowns which are now embroidered with our rap names (long story), and also (to get to the food), lemon fish, which is very tasty, and tastes nothing like lemon sole. I think I bought it because it sounded like it might be like lemon sole. The sole point of similarity (I'm so witty) is the lemon in its name. It's not like lemon sole. No.

We cooked it in a parsley, caper, lemon and butter sauce, and ate a million asparaguses (asparagi?) with it. I enclose this picture for your delectation.



It was just as tasty as it looks there, or perhaps even better.

Just ask Tim. He was there.

***

This post is full of videos! Today during lunchtime teaching the consultant played this video, apropos of nothing. Much like this blog post. Apropos of nothing. I recommend it. I'm not sure what his point was, apart from Mitchell and Webb are funny, sometimes? A good point, well made, one I can get behind.

***

Today Helen and I had a spare half hour. I got a message from her saying, "up for some slit lamp action?" and I messaged back, "dilate yourself and I'll be up there in 5" (what thrilling lives we lead.) She had just finished putting tropicamide in her eyes when I got there, so I dilated myself too. Tropicamide takes about 10-15 minutes to work so we both just left, agreeing to meet back in 10 minutes in the little dark slit lamp room, feeling all the world like some bizarre secret cult initiation ceremony had just taken place.

Word of advice: if you do dilate your eyes for some slit lamp practice I recommend only doing one as otherwise everything gets very bright and blurry for a long time afterwards. Helen did both and that was a mistake. Mark my words.

I on the other hand had a great time looking through my non dilated eye and my dilated eye. It's like putting the camera down another f-stop! is what I thought. Left eye: over-exposed! Narrow depth of field. Right eye: correct exposure. Broad depth of field. It was also fun opening and closing each eye separately as my poor lenses kept adjusting between them and I could almost hear the auto-focus going in my head. And then I realised I've spent too much time with my camera.

***

I can't help it really anyway because I've just bought a new camera! It's UNBELIEVABLY exciting because it's smash proof and freeze proof and dust proof and waterproof (down to 5 metres) and EVERYTHING. And you can set the white balance and ISO. And it has a panorama setting. And it's so, so, dinky and beautiful.

I'm sorry, Canon. But I love my Panasonic too.

Not as much as you!

Never as much as you!

But. Quite a lot.

***

What else happened today that was exciting? I got home and there was a SACK of books in the living room. My books from America had got here! OPTICS. The Eye and Basic Sciences. MCQs for FRCOphth part I. There's about a million pages of identical appearing ray diagrams. And I'm going to memorise them all!

I know you wish you had my life. 

***

Tim is working late again today so I am all on my ownsome, drinking soup in front of the TV and listening to euronews in French, understanding approximately 40% of it. It's a bit hard to make the effort to pay attention, as Europe just seems so far away. The Spanish version is better (thank frick for that, all those weeks in Cuba) but I'm at 70% here. Language skills fading. And my Mandarin is really tragic. And I've got to learn those ray diagrams. And I'm not doing anything useful apart from typing in my blog. Sigh sigh sigh.

The only news that's on Kiwi TV is the imminent premier of The Hobbit, which has got everyone going. Quote: "I think New Zealand does premiers better than anywhere, even LA." Oh, bless you.

***

One last video, I promise. This is one of the most beautiful documentaries ever. Tim and I have been watching it and practising our Mandarin together. And it even comes with English subtitles if you don't feel like learning Chinese. What more could you want?

Asparagus season!

Oh, asparagus season! Tasty tasty asparagus season! How I love you! I love you!

I am in asparagus raptures. 

On Wednesday I was dying of jealousy because Tom Robson had posted a picture of some delicious asparagus he was eating in England.

I thought about winter in New Zealand.

Cabbage.

Pumpkin.

I like them both, but it was getting wearing.

More pumpkin.

Not very tasty squash (perhaps it was ornamental, Pooley.)

Leeks.

Winter winter winter vegetables. I was sick of winter vegetables. 

And after I gazed in dark and glowering envy at Tom's delicious asparagus (is it asparagus or asparaguses? Also, and perhaps more importantly, is there innuendo in the previous sentence?) I went to New World to do my sad winter vegetable shop.

And THERE THEY WERE.

So beautiful!

Imagine that, but a MILLION of them. All green and delicious and asparagusy.

And very reasonably priced too.

And as well as asparagus, there were green beans, and all sorts of mushrooms. And, strangely, pineapples. 

Spring! Springen is icumen in!

Naturally I bought everything.

And then after that I went to my nearest fishmonger, which is called Deli-ca-Sea. I know, gentle readers, you will all find this as hilarious as I did. Which is to say, not that hilarious, but it grows on you. By degrees, over weeks, you grow accustomed to the idea: it no longer vexes you: you are no longer distressed by the concept. One day you find yourself telling someone the name and expecting some kind of acknowledging smile in return. Socially speaking, it's like a fishy version of dinosaur comics.

Only Kirsty will know what this means. But she knows.

Moving on swiftly, Delica-Sea is the most upper middle shop I have ever come across with its fresh scallops and its parmesan and rosemary breadcrumbs and pink sea salt (is it like pink lemonade and pink champagne?) and other items of which I had heard but rumours of. I wandered around the shop with my mouth open like this :-O and was accosted by a friendly man who wanted to know if I was having a nice day and if I needed help choosing a tasty fish to eat.

It turned out I did. 

New Zealand fish are different from our fish!

The main difference is that they are all locally sourced and therefore I hadn't a fricking clue what the hell any of them were. Next, they arestrange colours, like green, because they all eat kelp or somesuch. And are called things like butterfish. And other names that are more difficult to spell or pronounce. Like tarkeierekreninincekininininin. Or something. 

I did not recognise the majority of the fish I saw in the fishmonger's, and there were only 6 types. Argh! Of the two I recognised, one was monkfish, and the other was a John Dory, which might be the silliest looking fish ever, the kind of fish you draw when you're 5. I had no idea how to cook John Dory. Nevertheless, I seriously contemplated buying it and then leaving forever and never, ever returning because I was so embarrassed at my fishy ineptitude.

Me: "HELP ME. Which one is tasty?"

Fish guy: "Well, they're all tasty.:

Me: "I KNEW YOU WOULD SAY THAT. THAT HASN'T HELPED ME AT ALL."

Fish guy: "Why don't you buy the monkfish?"

Me: "OK!"

I buy the monkfish and leave the store in a panic and then realise I have no idea how to cook monkfish and seem to remember someone telling me once that monkfish was really hard to cook and tasted like poo. It's too late now though obviously because I pretended to the man in the shop that I knew all about monkfish and now I can't possibly go back and ask him what to do.

All I can think is: Jamie Oliver will help me. 

***

Jamie Oliver is truly the saint of all inept British people who don't know what to do with fish as his channel 4 programme was quite brilliant and wonderful and made me love him even more. Yes, I love Jamie Oliver. He is so earnest and dad-like and loveable. I love him. That's an end to the matter.

Anyhow, Jamie taught me how to cook monkfish and that was all good and proper. And as I sat there eating my monkfish and choi sum and other asian vegetables, I thought

I love New Zealand.

Say it loud and say it proud! 

It's a flipping awesome country.

Just on the subject of food, I love how seasonal food is. I love how exciting it is when asparagus comes into season. I love that you have to wait for it and it's something special. I love that everything is locally sourced.

I love that every animal is grass pastured and free range (more or less.)

I love that the fish comes from the New Zealand coast and not trawled in the Atlantic. 

I love that restaurants have strict seasonal menus.

And I love asparagus.

I love it so much that I cooked it and I boiled an egg and I put lemon juice and olive oil and salt and pepper over it. 

And also some cheese. 

You can never have too much cheese.

Look at that cheese!

I love it so much that I took 4 photos of it. 4. 

What kind of saddo does that make me?

Answer: a very happy one.

This is literally the best thing ever.

Apart from, generally, New Zealand.