30th of May: in which we venture to the Trout, to see what we may find

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Hint: Cameo appearance of a peacocktail.

Dear Volcano: Let me out of here.

Alternatively, we could just load these suckers onto ships and build a glorious, heaving wall of biscuits and sausage gravy- it could loam over the mouth of the volcano, and cause even the magma to subside in shame!

Or, you know. Damn the biscuits and full speed ahead.

Baa humbug

Reports of the sheep death by the snow seem to have been exaggerated. As has the threat of winter, as Oxford is now back to an appropriate state of damp, and mittens are not warranted even for longer excursions.

However! There is still, say, a fiftieth of the milk there should be. Mainly it is large, bulky containers, each of which is about the size of half a cow, i.e. monstrously impractical. WHAT WILL THE TEA BE WITHOUT MILK? Also, why, in an island the size of a sneeze, is this so difficult? There are actual dairymen here, and I am not making this up, with glass bottles and morning delivery. Yet none of them are marketed to college accomodations, where one might assume the price willing americans would shell out for a) quaint, b) environmentally friendly and c) dear lord skim milk, would be high.

Options: getting the Brasenose unicorn to shepherd in some cows; stealing the Christ Church Meadows ruminant herd. It’s about priorities, people.

Bad advice

Amusingly, this is an article about how to concoct a bowl of perfect porridge, an issue that may involve organic oats, two days and “Speyside Glenlivet”, which is apparently a particular sort of mineral water, and not The Glenlivet, which would make small children a particularly interesting breakfast.

Right, obsession with oatmeal, star chef comments, great!

And then.

Serve with organic cream, light muscovado sugar and, if you are feeling decadent, accompany with a glass of Islay whisky, preferably a 16-year-old single malt Lagavulin. Heaven.

If you do this, I will never speak to you again. Your name will be defamed, scorned, and worth less to me than wintery slush stuck in the sole of a welly. You are warned.

Colosseum: amphitheatre? Or gravy boat?

It all makes sense, now.

Peter Serafinowicz Show: Gravies of the Ancients.

Wait, wait, nalgenes aren’t classy?

Box wine, guys. Box wine. Alternatively: water? Is this somehow passe? Besides, if you’re traipsing down that path, the woods require real spirits. Real, 276 proof, the kind of booze that nullifies livers, that melts mere glass, that gets you arrested in five countries and fifteen counties….you clearly need the real deal.

Aww, yeah. Oh, wait…

Oh, baby. That’s right: namby-pamby wine flasks can in no way compete with German hunting lodge regalia. Besides, if you wake up next to the chewing, gnashing version of this:

(Via Boingboing)

…you have something to actually throw. Or at least toast Thanatos.

You can’t drink it black.

In fact Turkey may be the only country that believes more fervently in the power of tea than Bryn Mawr. Forget tea parties. You drink tea in the morning, there’s tea at shops; dudes with peculiar platters on strings ensure tea delivery throughout the city and if all else fails, there’s coffee. Why people in Turkey bother sleeping is really beyond me. To make tea involves not quite a ritual but a lot of faith. First, dump tea into a small pot. And by dump tea I don’t mean “a teaspoon” or “for every four ounces of water, add…” This kind of tea has its own laundry-sized scoop and lives in a container without a lid. Sploosh some water inside. Not a lot. This is the espresso of the tea world, concentrated and black like coffee. The aforementioned pot lives on top of a another kettle, filled with a more substantial amount of water; the whole thing is set to boil while you prepare the saucers and strangely sinuous wee tea cups, made all of glass. Also a sugar pot. There is always a sugar pot. In fact I was not entirely sure the “sugar free” concept existed in Turkey until I saw a pack of Trident. Let’s just say Splenda is not likely to reach any export agreements any time soon….

At any rate now everything is set: the only decision is now how much you wish to dilute your caffeine overdose of the hour. First add the raw tea, then water to the desire of goodness required. Add sugar. Do it or suffer social ostracism. Sip. Ahhh.

But there’s really no escape. It’s either that or Nescafe, and yes, drink up. They’ll be sad and you’ll be all mopey and tired and stuff.

…unless you decide to drink Turk kahve instead, in which case you may well wake up in a tent on the far side of the Taurus mountains with some nomadic herdsmen because honestly, kapow. Forget tea leaves, those in the know should head straight for this stuff. To order it mention a little bit of sugar, a medium scoop, or a lot- having it plain is just so gauche. Also, vile. Turkish coffee comes in lesser doses than espresso and is so rich, so dark, so black; the grounds are silt against your tongue and by the end you’re mired in murk and bitter grounds.

There is a Starbucks in the airport. Lattes are around eight bucks, depending on the exchange rate. But really?