Fresh herbs are not widely available in China. There is a very successful farm between Suzhou and Shanghai that produces some basil, thyme, and sage, but it's intermittently available at best and usually reserved for people like Sean Jorgensen and Jean-Georges Vongerichten. Buttheads.
So imagine my delight at finding the odd "egg and mint soup" on the menu at a kick-ass local bistro, Heavenly Manna. That's right: fresh, crisp mint leaves grow with such abundance here that they hardly know what to do with them. So they throw them in soup, on top of chicken and practically line thier birdcages with it.
The soup was terrible.
And yeah, pretty much all of my posts will have puns in them.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Head in the clouds
A casual observer of three culture fish might wonder at the many-monthed posting gap that lies between February and September. But the more discerning eye will notice that these months ocurred while I was living in Suzhou.
No offense to Suzhou. It's just not a city that generates many comments. The occasional monsoon downpour, perhaps, or another failed Western restaurant and what went wrong. But for a truly successful blogger to blog he needs material.
Enter the city of Kunming. Situated in the heart of Yunnan, the fabeld land of the southern clouds, Kunming represents one of the most diverse and unique places of interest China can muster. After only a few days of doing what a Kunminger would consider doing nothing, I have already been exposed to a cacophony of fascinations that may take years to record.
No offense to Suzhou. It's just not a city that generates many comments. The occasional monsoon downpour, perhaps, or another failed Western restaurant and what went wrong. But for a truly successful blogger to blog he needs material.
Enter the city of Kunming. Situated in the heart of Yunnan, the fabeld land of the southern clouds, Kunming represents one of the most diverse and unique places of interest China can muster. After only a few days of doing what a Kunminger would consider doing nothing, I have already been exposed to a cacophony of fascinations that may take years to record.
Emperor of the dinosaurs
Thanks BBC:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/8233797.stm
Chinese palentology is an exciting and burgeoning field. Many historic finds were made right here in old Yunnan. Although we may have coined such classics as ultrasaur and pteradon, it's pretty hard to top Qiaowanlong Kangxii. This new semi-brachiosaur is named after the first Emperor of the Qing Dynasty. Toy versions to follow. Cha-qing!
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/8233797.stm
Chinese palentology is an exciting and burgeoning field. Many historic finds were made right here in old Yunnan. Although we may have coined such classics as ultrasaur and pteradon, it's pretty hard to top Qiaowanlong Kangxii. This new semi-brachiosaur is named after the first Emperor of the Qing Dynasty. Toy versions to follow. Cha-qing!
Thursday, February 12, 2009
My favorite Spanish holiday
Spain and the Spanish-speaking world is famous for elaborate festivals, from Carnaval to Easter to the Running of the Bulls. But there is one holiday that lives in the sad shadow of these street-filling diversions, and that is Rebajas.
Yes, Rebajas, the end-of-season frenzy in which sale prices can reach 60, 70, 80 percent. It is a little known and little advertised holiday, marked noticeably but its lack of street dancing, flowery flotillas depicting the Ascention, or really fanfare of any kind. Don't let the reserved observation of the holiday fool you: you'll find yourself giddy as a conga line lead as soon as you set foot in one of Spain's awesome discount botiques, antique bookstores, or sauce and chocolate shops. Bright red and yellow signs invite the eye from every window. Numbers and prices are displayed like Nativities on Christmas at the entrances to even the most conservative facade. There you'll find all the exotic splendor we have come to expect from Southern Europe. And it's on sale... for you!
The timing of Rebajas was serendipitous for my personal Iberian escapade. This was truly a budget trip, a real test of how much time I can spend in a European day without spending any money. Had it been a festival of drinking, or worse, donating to the poor or church, I would have spent the last week in the hotel room crying over my last 50. But instead, I was able to fill the useless time between meals with endless poking, trying on and thumbing through, all with the real possibility that I might, in fact, buy something in Euros.
In the end, of course, I found myself watching the holiday more than observing it. I fenegled a few books, a souvenir or two, sure. But, just like we save the most dangerous booty shaking for the Brazilians who are more skilled at it, I chose to leave most of the purchasing to the Spanish who deserved these awesome bargains. It seemed my best hope was to return, replete with knowldge, to engage myself like a true Spaniard in the annual clearing out of old stocks and forgotten inventory.
Yes, Rebajas, the end-of-season frenzy in which sale prices can reach 60, 70, 80 percent. It is a little known and little advertised holiday, marked noticeably but its lack of street dancing, flowery flotillas depicting the Ascention, or really fanfare of any kind. Don't let the reserved observation of the holiday fool you: you'll find yourself giddy as a conga line lead as soon as you set foot in one of Spain's awesome discount botiques, antique bookstores, or sauce and chocolate shops. Bright red and yellow signs invite the eye from every window. Numbers and prices are displayed like Nativities on Christmas at the entrances to even the most conservative facade. There you'll find all the exotic splendor we have come to expect from Southern Europe. And it's on sale... for you!
The timing of Rebajas was serendipitous for my personal Iberian escapade. This was truly a budget trip, a real test of how much time I can spend in a European day without spending any money. Had it been a festival of drinking, or worse, donating to the poor or church, I would have spent the last week in the hotel room crying over my last 50. But instead, I was able to fill the useless time between meals with endless poking, trying on and thumbing through, all with the real possibility that I might, in fact, buy something in Euros.
In the end, of course, I found myself watching the holiday more than observing it. I fenegled a few books, a souvenir or two, sure. But, just like we save the most dangerous booty shaking for the Brazilians who are more skilled at it, I chose to leave most of the purchasing to the Spanish who deserved these awesome bargains. It seemed my best hope was to return, replete with knowldge, to engage myself like a true Spaniard in the annual clearing out of old stocks and forgotten inventory.
Ode to My Single Serving Friend
Thank you, single serving friend, for your polite and witty banter. Your comments were appropriate, your thoughts at times profound. How we shared the pain of sitting the exact furthest distance from the TV screen. Together we suffered through "Journey to the Center of the Earth," where I fell asleep and you caught me up on the end.
You were a good row 27 partner: when I asked about your accent, you explained as best you could. I pray you caught your flight to Paris: I wish you good luck there.
We shook hands at the terminal, then, 2 hours later I sat next to an old German lady who didn't say anything except "allo!" to wake me up for sandwich time.
You were a good row 27 partner: when I asked about your accent, you explained as best you could. I pray you caught your flight to Paris: I wish you good luck there.
We shook hands at the terminal, then, 2 hours later I sat next to an old German lady who didn't say anything except "allo!" to wake me up for sandwich time.
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