Leynos no Daibouken

And that, ladies and gentleman, is why I drink in the Blue Blazer. Any other pub, you'd be listlessly trying to apologise for not liking football to a heavyset man with no neck. Here, the heavy-set man with no neck gives you a concise and well-taught lesson on Chinese cookery that actually produces results (whilst you enjoy some splendid whiskies together, I might add).

It goes a little something like this:

• Peel and cut a two inch long piece of ginger into staves, and slice three spring onions
• Take one sea bass (well, he said sea bream, but I was limited by what Sainsbury's had), cut into the skin and rub with salt.
• Fry half the ginger in a little oil until it briefly, then fry the fish on both sides with the ginger until the skin begins to crispen and brown.
• Keep the fish warm and discard the burnt ginger
• Fry the rest of the ginger and spring onions until the spring onions begin to wilt
• Add a quarter pint of vegetable stock and a teaspoon of corn flour
• Let the sauce reduce and thicken
• serve with rice and green veg of your choice (and in my case, a pint of heffeweißen)

If I'd known it was that bloody easy, I'd have been doing this years ago.

Q: What's green and takes Leynos 3 years to finish?

A: A bottle of Marks and Sparks Islay Single Malt. I'm going to hazard a guess that it's Ardbeg. Or maybe Laphroaigg.

There is much in the way of dregs in the family drinks cabinet to be worked through.

--

On the subject of cheap laughs from Wikipedia vandalism, I highly recommend examining the diffs on the edits for the Buckfast entry.

My favourite: 'Also called "A bottle of What The F**k You Lookin' At?"(Leith Links, Edinburgh)'

Although the constant battle of substitutions between English and Scottish localities is rather amusing.

Volume 2 is now over. Good God, is this getting interesting. Revelations are coming thick and fast, having me on the edge of my seat, mouth agape. When that's not happening, I'm oohing over the pathos of unfulfilled romance, smiling and Kyo and Tohrus' faltering love, or just laughing out loud at ridiculous and in part self-imposed situations.

I can't believe I was close to giving up on this manga. I shall be straight into Waterstones tomorrow lunch time to nab volume 3.

~

Amicus Apple has become my new haunt. The combination of friendly staff, inventive cocktails and handy location are just right. Sitting on the steps outside on a warm summer eveing, enjoying a caiparina and some shojou manga can't be beaten. The menu still makes me giggle.

I can't remember exactly what the twenty year old Glenfarclas tasted like. I do remember that its soft caramelized fruitiness and slight notes of burnt straw went a treat with the pre-theatre dinner I tucked into at the Whisky Society after work. The vegetable tempura starter with home made sweet chili sauce and the chicken with roast shallots on a bed of parmesan mash had both been prepared to perfection. These dishes more than made up for the slightly disappointing meal I had been served last time I dined at the Society.

Amicus Apple is a newly opened cocktail bar on Frederick Street. I was told about it by the alleged owner, whom I met in the Blue Blazer about two weeks ago. Apart from the disturbingly large number of people drinking Tennant's, it seems like a rather convivial place. An impressive array of inventively designed cocktails greets upon opening the menu, whose witticisms and wise cracks speak to the clientele as much as the drinks do.

First up comes the Monk Martini, a sharp and dry summery creation involving Benedictine, Grand Marnier and lemon juice. Enjoyed in the sun, it piqued the mood of the moment to a tee. Amicus' bid to be different extends to their stemware, which is markedly distinct from the traditional martini glass. Sadly however, this bid doesn't extend to their spirit selection. A very stock range of whiskies is accompanies a selection of rum that extends as far as 1919, and a solid, but not exceptional run of bourbon.

Following this, I ordered a mint julep. What I got wasn't a mint julep, but instead a delicious concoction of bourbon (Basil Heyden's, as requested), mint, bitters, gome, ginger beer and lemonade. It was so good that I found myself quite grateful for the surprise outcome. A tempting promise of further delights to come is offered by the intriguing compliment of non-alcoholic ingredients at the bartenders' disposal, including heather honey and fresh strawberries. For me though, I had to leave it at that for the time being.

Both drinks came to a very reasonable six quid each.

For those drinking shorts, it maybe doesn't offer much beyond the usual, but a very individualistic and adventurous cocktail selection awaits those willing to experiment and splash out a little. I'll definitely be returning.

Today is payday, so I decided to treat myself. Rather than the usual trip to Sushiya followed by a whisky overdose in the 'Blazer, I thought I might try something different.

I can't cook, but I like to pretend that I can.

( Cut for gratuitous food pictures... )

I spent yesterday evening in town, doing my best to chill out. A curry was enjoyed at the mosque, a pint of Coors downed at Centraal, and a pot of ginger and lemongrass tea savoured in the Forest. I also managed to purchase a ticket for Ballboy's concert tomorrow night at the Liquid Room. I should add that Coors is rather delicious, very clean tasting and refreshing, with a subtle maltiness to it.

All of this was in aid of a planned meeting with Scottie later in the evening. A restauranteur acquaintance of his had tasked him with delivering a bespoke point of sale solution, and I had been offered the opportunity to assist. So we talked about possible means and software designs, and examined available hardware and ready-built solutions. We envisaged waiters taking orders on tablet computers and database driven backends doing crazy wacked things with statistics.

I'd like to help out if I can, because it is some time since I've had any opportunity to do any real programming.

Speaking of opportunity, I have a job interview on Monday. The first in a while, since I postponed my job hunt on account of the therapy I'm undergoing. This is for a helpdesk operator / registration administrator for the e-commerce web site at the bank I work for. It should be interesting, but I don't have a lot of confidence right now. I know where I'm going wrong, but I just don't feel I have it in me to fix the problems. Still, I think I have better stories to tell the interviewer than I did a few months ago. The last month at work has been surprisingly eventful.

I do like the prospect of working closer to the town centre. Well, to be precise, I like the prospect of working across the road from the Blue Blazer.

I have some film reviews to post, but I'm too drunk to finish them right now. The great thing about alcohol is that it erases everything that happens before. It's like you get two days for the price of one.

Ho-Il is visiting tomorrow. I will try and cook chicken gaeng phed for him, since I owe him a nice meal. I was a little surprised to learn that he'd purchased Kill Zone for the PS2, until I remembered that the bad guys in it bear a striking resemblance to the Wolf Brigade troops in Jin Roh, which he has a major obsession with.

Anyway, I found a recipe for Thai Red Curry on E2 (where else), so I'll give it a go.

I was also surprised, and a little happy to find that cigar smoke doesn't set off the fire alarms in my flat. I think I may have to visit the Cigar Box and pick up a Monte Cristo No. 2 to celebrate. Although I'm a little worried that I may have become addicted to nicotine now.

Fun goings on at the 'Blazer:



All pints £2.20

Tasting notes

Cacique 500 (Venezuelan Rum) - Very spirity nose. Cadbury's chocolate buttons with a hint of cinnamon on the palate. A little dull in flavour, but very warm. No smokiness. By the time I finished the glass I was hooked.

Saturday

The day started at two pm. Well, kind of earlier, since I needed to get dressed, have a shower, etc. But at two, more or less, I showed up at the PSC stall on Princes Street and offered to help. Leafletting turned out to be surprisingly easy. I had expected plenty of heckling and cold shoulders. In fact, most people are quite happy to accept the material when offered.

As before, the friendliness of the other PSC members I worked beside impressed me. As did their technique with passers by. They excelled at identifying interested passers by and building rapport with them. One guy in particular seemed to have a good way with multiculturalism, greeting people in Arabic and Polish, among other languages and presenting the leaflets to them with a flourish. Personally, I found that a friendly smile worked best, but I'm sure I'll have plenty of time to work on technique. As it stands, I learned how to say "welcome" in Arabic.

On Monday at 7:30, there is a screening of Arna's Children, a film about refugees in Jenin, at the CWU, 15 Brunswick Street (off London Road).

When the stall wound up, I headed to Nicholson Square for tea. For a change, I decided to give Kebab Mahal a go, where I was treated to a pleasingly delicate lamb and fenugreek curry followed by gulab jamin.

Remaining plans for the evening consisted of Junebug at Cineworld and Pierrepoint at the Filmhouse.

Er... Speaking of Junebug, I'm really angry that I can't watch a film about romance or listen to music about people fucking without getting upset. I really like Arab Strap too, and it annoys me that it now hurts to listen to their songs.

~

There are two Bluetooth devices in range of my PC that aren't mine. My flatemates? The downstairs neighbours? Who knows?

Kendo class on Friday went well. Unlike last week, I didn't miss the bus, but instead got there in plenty of time. Before class, a nice chap in the changing room explained how to put on my newly acquired hakama and keikogi. The trousers had shrunk nicely, but the jacket, which I hadn't washed yet, was still a little on the large side.

The lesson took more or less the same format as the previous week, I'm guessing because that this was done on account of the sensei's absence. Once again, we worked our way through the nine kihon-waza drills with bokuto, and again with shinai. I'm not complaining though, as this was a welcome opportunity to better get to grips with the techniques there-in.

Afterwards, I walked with some other students to Gorgie, and we talked about life etc. One of them told me about the farmer's market on Castle Terrace on Saturdays. This is something I will have to check out. Maybe next weekend. The prospect of ostrich burgers sounds very enticing.

Snider

I spent the rest of the evening at the flat of a friend from work, where we drank whisky and played PSP games. As expected, I got well hammered at Street Fighter Alpha 3. We also watched Assault on Precinct 13, though I wasn't really paying attention to the film for the most part. Between us, we polished off a bottle of Grouse (hey, it's cheap), washed down with a tin of snider (as Chris termed it) each.

Since it was cold and wet outside I slept on the sofa and went home the following morning. I believe I must have drunk a little too much, as I was left with a more-than-slightly upset stomach that persisted through the day.

brucec and I had planned to go snowboarding today on the artificial slope at Hillend. Unfortunately, they wouldn't let us on without lessons, and the lessons were fully booked. Drat. So on a whim, I decided to visit the National Gallery instead.

It turns out that it hasn't changed much since I last visited with my Mum, ten-plus years ago. Still, my memory is far from perfect, and there was a lot for me to take in. Walking through the renaissance hall, I felt a deep appreciation for the level of detail evident in these paintings. It's humbling to think of the years the painters must have spent studying reflections and perspective in order to produce imagery like that. There was one pianting featuring an intricately detailed suit of armour glinting in the sun in photographic detail. What it must have taken to be the first person to realize the techniques needed to accurately reproduce that.

I'd always been one more for landscapes and still-lifes rather than portraits, but even watching the painters come to grips with recording the human form and then applying that experience to telling stories and conveying emotion or even humour filled me with awe.

In the impressionist hall, I was struck by the way so many of those paintings drew me in, and made me feel a part of the environment being captured. I know it's old news to anyone who has ever studied art, but seeing the evolution of the style and getting a chance to fully take in the magic of these works is something that filled me with joy in a way it didn't a decade ago. The paintings haven't changed, but I have. I still love the mathematically precise virtuoso perspective works, but I now understand the appeal of those vividly flowing silk robes and captivating sunlit glades. I spent a full five minutes entranced by Monet's Shipping at Midnight, taken away to those rough seas I'd envisaged listening to Radio 4, the beam of the lighthouse sweeping through the driving rain and masts straining audibly against the gale.

After that excitement, the Scottish hall in the basement seemed almost sedate, but I was none the less pleased to see how how well the work of my countrymen stood up against the best from Italy, Spain and Holland. Emotive, almost defiant portraits and still lives pulsing with meaning gave me much to think about. There were times when the artists borrowed from painters abroad and made the style their own, such as a portrayal of triumphantly returning trawlers in oil displaying shades of Japanese woodprints, and others where the work was undeniably and irrepressibly local.

Evening

Back home for dinner, and I headed out again to the Blazer for the Listening Room. Here Jason put on an amusing set of fresh compositions; Nobody Jones, whose voice is the stuff of heaven, teamed up with his mate to form the Jones Brothers; and Lisa Paton did a competent impersonation of Norah Jones with a guitar instead of a piano. I'm not entirely convinced of Ms Paton yet, but she is performing again at Out of the Bedroom on the 28th, so I will give her a second hearing then. Because I do like Norah Jones.

I also like alcoholic women. They're the only type I seem to be able to really identify with, or hold something resembling a real conversation with. Even if the conversation did involve a large onion and the difficulties of cooking for one. Unfortunately, the lady in question got turned away from the bar and asked to leave. I'd have offered to buy her a drink, but I already had half a Basil Heyden and a pint of Harvestoun Engine Oil to finish.

More tasting notes

W.L. Weller (bourbon) - Nose: Physilis, Cadbury's chocolate, and butter toffee. Pallete: Orange peel, blackcurrent, licorice, slight edge of Irn-Bru. Medium dry mouthfeel. Fades to strawberries and black pepper on the finish.

Missing the bus to my kendo class was a rather stupid thing to do. Getting so drunk that they wouldn't let me into the Cabaret Voltaire was also a rather stupid thing to do. And almost getting into a fight with a ned on the way home was a positively idiotic thing to do.

So all in all, not a very sensible evening.

Not all was lost though. I had a good time in the Borough Hotel bar getting more than a little intoxicated. I now know, first hand, why the Montecristo Number 4 is such a big seller (starts out tasting like sultana sponge, and ultimately metamorphoses into spiced fruitcake). I also tried for the first time aged tequila (Don Augustin, which is also the first tequila I can say I've really enjoyed straight) and I was introduced to Brazil's national drink (Cachaça, a sugar cane spirit that tastes kind of like white rum infused with bamboo shoots) by a well travelled German sitting at the bar.

Borough has pretty much the most impressive selection of single malts I've seen in a cocktail bar. It's all mostly supermarket ages, but in terms of breadth, it's a range that will be rather difficult for me to exhaust any time soon. Unfortunately, the same can't be said for their stock of rum or bourbon, but there is still enough variety to keep most people happy. Borough's real strength is in their supply of esoteric spirits and liqueurs, although getting the most of this requires a bit of research beforehand. The knowledgeable bartenders are of course a great help however. Borough's other surprise is the solid range of bottled beer, also uncharacteristic of a cocktail bar. Rounded off by a relaxed clientele and plenty of room to move even on a Friday or Saturday, I've found in Borough a place where I can enjoy quality alcohol with a minimum of hassle.

Ah yes, the alcohol. I can rationalize and say that the Cab is too small and is usually too packed, especially on a free night, but I am a little sad that I missed a rare chance to hear the Dogma and Access DJs together again. On a whim, I headed to the Studios, whose bouncers let in even those unable to string two coherent syllables together, where indie and "alternative" night, Fuzz, was in residence.

It's nice to know that there is a club night that caters for people still living in 1998. The music was all the stuff I used to listen to in my first year of University, and still composes a large percentage of my MP3 collection. Pulp, Terrorvision, Garbage, Republica, Kula Shaker, and the like. Along side this, they played the obligatory Smiths and New Order songs. I thought it a bit amusing that at school, I'd always considered myself to be one of the badguys in Different Class (one of my favourite albums none the less), and here I was dancing to Common People. Hypocrite.

As much as I had been trying to avoid St Patrick's Day, I did manage to find myself, briefly, wearing a green furry top hat at one point. ^^;

Sadly, the place was rather empty, but I was in uber-anti-social mood anyway. I don't think I said much more than 10 words to anyone after I arrived, except to repeatedly order glasses of Sailor Jerry from the bar. I'm not convinced that this club night will last much longer, but it was a decent enough filler. Just for a nice bit of irony, on the way out I met two other people who had also been turned away from the Cab. They happened to be the other two permanent fixtures on the dance floor. We lamented the lack of a good techno club at the Studios, and went our separate ways.

I think that this is what is meant by "avoidant behaviour."