sweden

Snowfall here on the East Rock

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The view just outside of my door:

And no, certain Northern European wise asses, the picture is not the result of me not cleaning off my lens. It is from clicking the flash and stopping the action of the snow falling. So don’t be leaving comments about that on this humble blog.

I love the way the snow looks under the light and I might be on my way towards capturing what it looks like in real life:

And, this was a good chance to photograph this neighborhood landmark:

Valhalla. Woop-de-do. But here’s another:

And, another because I couldn’t choose which one I liked the best. Here I edited the photo because I wanted to expose the trees a little bit more:

I wanted the Valhallagrillen seem like it was emerging from the darkness and the fog. Now I think it looks like a sausage selling spaceship. I do love the alliteration, don’t I?

Glorious Gastronomical Gluttony

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The all-Sweden addition.

After poking around a little, I discovered this place in the ‘hood, over here in Ostermalm:

Lindquists. Does it get any more Swedish? And, the interior features a painting of my favorite person, the king of Sweden:

For the photo nerds out there, I contemplated cropping this thing, but I ultimately decided against it. We got a lot of wall showing in there, I know, but cropped, I just didn’t like the way it looked.

And, people watching at the place, you could enjoy some of Ostermalm’s quirky local color:

Yes, that is an old lady walking her cat. She was walking by pretty fast, so I didn’t have time to set my camera. She went a-walking by and I had the camera up, set to tungsten, hence the blue color. I use the tungsten setting because I hate flash for shots under tungsten light, AKA our regular light.

I edited her too a little bit, for those of you who don’t like blue:

We’re all the way down here and we haven’t even gotten to the food yet:

Now I know that a lot of people out there are looking at this thinking “hard boiled egg, shrimp type thing, mayonnaise” and want to run for the hills. Me, I like that combination, but its just a matter of taste, as my hero Tim Gunn says. I gotta say though, the sandwich was mighty good, an 8 at least in my estimation. It was very fresh, I could tell and the bread was quite good and soft and everything worked together harmoniously. Jeez, I sound like Tom Colicchio. That’s what I get for spending the weekend watching Top Chef. Anyway, the lovely open faced sandwich was quite good.

But I was also slightly disappointed:

I don’t know how to grade this pastry. Don’t get me wrong. As a pastry, it was quite good, but for Glorious Gastronomical Gluttony purposes, I’d have to compare it to the pastries of other countries and unfortunately, the Danes come out ahead in that contest. The baked goods here are fine, but not as good as they are in Denmark.

Score for overall quality: 7.5
Comparison to its Danish made equivalent: 5.5

Go Denmark! Stay tuned for my next inconsistently scored review for which I invent a rating system on the spot. I am nothing if not inconsistent.

Good that this was behind glass

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Because otherwise I would have found a way to put it in my purse and head for the exits:

To me, this dress is stunning. I love the cut and the pattern. It was apparently worn by the woman with the frame around her face. In case you miss it, there are some kind of royal people behind her.

So, once one of my fantasy husbands materializes and we run off into the sunset to get married (Julian Sands, I’m looking at you), I’ll have to go back there and steal the dress. Well, maybe it would be easier just to make a copy? So much planning involved in a wedding. Even a fake one, in your mind.

Very big, very American

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So said a local to me when offering to borrow me a mattress. Very big, very American. Love how America is referred to around here when referencing something large. Or derisively.

Case in point:

The Big One. Nice… God, that makes me want a hamburger. Hello Five Guys, when will you start with the world domination? The Swedes will understand your hunger for empire.

Well, actually, to be precise about it, we are in Norway, and they know all about being conquered, so we better just leave them alone. To eat this:

I’ve said it once, I’ll say it a thousand times. Ham does not belong on pizza. Ever. Anywhere. Also, if you look up close, you’ll see these yellow things. I assumed it was pineapple, which also somehow lands on pizza around here, but it was just peppers. Missed opportunity to make fun of the pineapple pizza thing. Next time I guess.

And I also throw in here this curious grammatical construction:

When I first saw this, I thought “prior egg? Prior egg, like the egg I had the last time I ate an egg?” Then, reason stepped in and I thought “oh, probably from somewhere called Prior.”

I’m going outside to feed the Swains

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Yes, I know I spelled swan wrong, but as usually with me, there is a story. See, look at the animals:

When I see these animals, I always say “hello swains.” Why is that? Well, during one of my many many many college residential life situations I lived in a place located next to what my friend and I called “the mud hole.” It was a murky body of man made water and in it floated these swans. One of the young men who lived on our side of the mud hole, used to go scuba diving in there.

And, he’d sit out there feeding the “swains.” I’m going to feed the “swains” in the mud hole.

So, hence forth “hello swains.”

In the grand, continuing Swedish tradition…..

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Of the mysterious pairing of a random American state and a product that has nothing at all to do with it, I give you Virginia peanuts:

Now I’ve either been here too long, or there is some kind of weird, skewed logic to this, but I saw this and thought to myself “I’ve eaten peanuts in Virginia.” Possibly this makes sense, but then peanuts come from Georgia. Senators who refer to Indian campaign workers as “Makaka” come from Virginia.

Oh and I also love the American Graffiti kind of imagery on the front of the bag. Look at us, we just got back from the drive in movie! Love it!

Here, I have a couple of questions

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I am always amazed in this country about how signs in English can be so weird, though most people here know English pretty well. Case in point:

Are they actually making a man over there? I hope they don’t forget to include the inability to return a phone call and the ability to pop up in your life at exactly the wrong time.

And then we got “logical skincare:”

Is there such a thing as illogical skincare? What would illogical skincare? I guess we aren’t meant to know.

Thanks, King

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And thus Jim Thorpe greeted King Gustav V, after the king had called him “the greatest athlete ever.”

Seeing this stadium had to be one of the highlights of all the travel I’ve ever done. Usually, when you see places that you’ve seen in pictures, they disappoint. Only three places I’ve been in my life made me feel that seeing them live way surpassed the photos. Those are Red Square, the Mona Lisa and this stadium.

It was raining the first time I went to see this thing. I assumed it was a tourist attraction that they had guides to and maybe charged admission. Instead, it is an actual, functioning stadium. This made it all the more weird when someone, in the pouring rain speaking in a New York accent flagged down some boys in a golf cart who worked there. No doubt they were perplexed about my wanting to see the thing. Did they not know of my long standing obsession with the Olympics?

Anyway, here are some NON ARTISTIC photos of the stadium taking in the pouring rain:

That person down there actually had the forethought to wear some kind of clothes that protected them from the rain. I wasn’t that smart.

This is going to sound like the cheesiest of cheese-ball statements, but I walked into this thing and could almost hear the cheering and the crowds from the Olympics that was held the year my grandfather was born.

Some more rain soaked photos:

Rib vaults? Rib vaults on a stadium? The thought that went into building this place really amazed me. Its a stadium, but it seems to be influenced by gothic architecture. Sublime.

Here are some from a day where the weather wasn’t totally suck ass:

And, an “artistic one” for the haters out there who think I am not longer artistic. Again, I had between 5 and 20 minutes to photograph this thing, so just kinda capturing it took center stage:

To close, a picture of the street where the stadium was located. Finally, something will replace a place in my in my past that my animosity towards is too large to explain here. That Valhalla is exorcised from brain, to be replaced by the street on which this lovely stadium is located:

Take that Mrs. Cialfi, whereever it is you are.

A Danish flag?

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As some of you know, the Danes and Swedes dislike eachother. Perhaps this has something to do with the Stockholm Bloodbath, which the internets tell me happened a long long long freakin’ time ago.

Imagine my surprise when I saw this:

And it was attached to this thing:

Is that some kind of center for the understanding of country whose language Swedish is very similar to, and which is closer to Sweden than New Jersey is to New York? I want a center for the understanding of New Jersey, because those people are a bigger mystery to me than the Swedes.

The thing about the rivalry between the Danes and Swedes is that it is carried out in the most hilarious way possible. The Danes and Swedes were to be playing one another in soccer the last time I visited Denmark’s great neighbor the North. Running on Swedish television at the time was an ad for the game. I did not have the presence of mind to photograph it, so the ones of people who visit this site are going to have to just read my description.

We come upon the Danish national soccer team at their “practice.” I use practice in the loosest way possible because there was a cloud of smoke over the field. One of the players looked like he was more cut out for sumo wrestling than being a soccer player. Suddenly, half the players are gone, because they are relieving themselves against some hedge of some kind. Then, one of the guys kicks the ball into the goal, but the goalie is gone. Why? Of course, he is off drinking a beer. And scene.

Go Denmark!