Stills from the weekend










Film stills from 'Suna no Onna (The Woman in the Sand) /  newly acquired record rack (made in Sweden!) / pie / Kiss Kiss by Roald Dahl
The weekends become increasingly more important as winter inches nearer, and the nights grow even longer, dusk now falling some time between 4 and 4:30 pm. By the time I leave work during the week, it has already been dark for about an hour, skewing one's perception of time. So I try to take advantage of my weekends, the only time I can go out and wander around Malmö without turning on my bike headlights. 
Saturdays are the best days for doing things. On Sundays nearly everything is closed, or at least feels that way. Sundays are good days for cycles to the beach, which is a rather soothing place when it is cold and grey. Last weekend when I saw an old man swimming - it was probably 6 degrees at best. I am sure he has been swimming in November for many years. Old people are very resilient, I find. 
Yesterday was a day of small achievements for me. I saw a fantastic film at Cinemateket, Suna no Onna  (The Woman in the Dunes) as part of the Japanese New Wave series they are showing this season. Though visually captivating, I was also able to actively engage myself in the narrative as my Swedish comprehension appears to have reached the level where I can easily follow Swedish subtitles. A small coup as I continue to attempt to carve out a life for myself here.
After the film I challenged myself to make a meat pie, including the short crust pastry shell. My culinary skills are pretty hit and miss (though somewhat improving) and I began to think I had bitten off more than I could chew. (this would literally, be the case when it came time to consume the pie.) I conveyed my fears to a pie maker of some repute, who told me it would be a success and that I was "excellent at making mince". The pie, I must admit, turned out better than expected. I even went back for seconds. 
Sunday I went to a second hand store, ostensibly hunting for a  gift for someone and naturally coming away with a few for myself instead, coming away with a near perfect condition record rack in handsome navy to house my slowly expanding collection of singles, and a lucky find of a collection of short stories by Roald Dahl, the blurb on the back cover proclaiming "If your taste is for the macabre, the sick, the outrageous, the unexpected, the horrifying - Roald Dahl will give you orgiastic delight. If not, you are going to miss one of the most sophisticated collections of short stories in print."
I look forward to some sophisticated orgiastic delights  from Roald Dahl, starting with my lunch break at work tomorrow.








Warm knits

One of perhaps three or four large knitted lampshades hanging over the bar at the Grill Room, Barcelona. Evocative of bait catchers and fishing nets, made with slightly fraying twine, it looked much more robust in real life. They immediately caught my eye due to the current knitting work I am making at the moment, one of those pleasing coincidences in life. The wooden frame and brown twine complement each other nicely with the natural colours and materials, I am thinking of marrying my fishing line knitted pieces with the shiny copper wire, for a more sparkly effect.
From the restaurant's menu I chose their 'Japanese burger' - a pattie marinated in soy sauce, accompanied with Japanese mayonnaise, and the usual salad-y suspects. There was meant to be tofu in it as well but I couldn't see any (the possibility I ate it without realising cannot be ruled out). It was pretty damn delectable, but anything with Japanese mayo in it generally is. 

Colour field



Multi-coloured: home-made chorizo pizza on handmade oven towels, and a wooden puzzle of the British Royal family - King George V and Queen Mary of Teck. The puzzle was deceptively hard, as none of the pieces were cut in the same manner - just a series of bizarre splotches of colour. Wonderfully, the maker had deemed it inappropriate that a member of the Royal Family should be subjected to half a face on a puzzle piece, therefore all heads are given their own complete piece, and the rest of the pieces sort of congregate around them. It makes one think that the design for these pieces was most likely done by hand.

Pizza devoured and puzzle completed while staying at my Granny's apartment (note the Focus de Luxe cutlery).
It feels as though my summer holiday pursuits nearly solely consisted of eating delicious food, drinking New Zealand beers, swimming, rowing, reading and puzzling.

A lighthouse on a grey day



It was the only day which was overcast that we cycled out to Fårö's lighthouse. The road winds through a rather dense forest of tall pines, creating a closeness with the tall trees and the low sky, I think I forgot at some points that I was on my way to see a building which beckons travellers from the vast expanses of the open sea.

We stopped off en route by Fårö's only supermarket, purchasing a carton of milk from Gotland,  a couple of smoked flounder from the smokehouse nextdoor and a selection of freshly baked rolls from the nearby bakery for a small picnic on the beach.

Next to the smokehouse was a small flea market and book stall, in a rundown wooden shed with a dirt floor - piles of unsorted books piled on trestle tables, listing bookshelves and mildew afflicted cardboard banana boxes. I surprisingly found an english copy of Goldfinger amongst the mess, for 5kr.

The lighthouse was surrounded by a low wall and a small outcrop of buildings. One can't go up to the light house as the area inside the wall is private property. The greyness of the sky and sea was reflected in the lighthouse structure itself, as well as the grey rocks below it, but it wasn't that gloomy, depressive grey that low clouds usually bring. The entire scene and atmosphere suited the weather much more so, than the swimming pool blue coloured skies of the days prior.

After lunching we lay in the sand dunes, using our jerseys and cardigans as makeshift pillows, as adventurers are wont to do (or so I like to think), and dozed lightly. After a while I wandered down to the shoreline, and discovered a dead seal. Some sea creature had eaten it's eyes. I didn't take a photo of it.




  

At Kutens Bensin






































At Kutens Bensin, Fårö. Or as it's also known 'Creperi Tati'. It lay on the other side of what was possibly the largest sloping road on Fårö, and I inwardly cursed it's location as I peddled furiously up what became known as my nemesis hill; I filled with dread and defiance every time it loomed ahead of me, but the promise of relaxation, crepes, and a jukebox asking to be played was enough incentive. (let it be known I conquered this hill every time.)

We went there twice, first for dessert, and the next day for dinner.
The exterior is all overgrown weeds, rusted cars (one was meant to be the car Bonnie and Clyde were shot to death in, I never found it), and miscellaneous signs, watched over by an american flag atop an impossibly tall flag pole. The interior was a hodge-podge of Americana and Swedish nostalgia, wooden beams, formica tables, mismatched chairs; the kind of place where every inch of wall space seems to be covered by a photo, catchy slogan or retro knick-knack, and everything felt worn and lived in, in that comfortable, nostalgic way.

Sitting inside on the first evening, I had a classic chocolate crepe, while Kris ordered a 'Summer evening smile', I believe it was called, with saffron ice cream and dewberry jam. We drank cold Coke out of glass bottles (coke does taste better in glass bottles, you know), read old Swedish magazines and spent two hours taking turns playing the jukebox.


On our return trip with had dinner outside amongst the blue painted garden furniture and rusted refrigerators. The dinner galettes were all named after actors and musicians of the 50's and 60's - the Marilyn's, the Jimmy Deans, the Presleys and so forth. My Galette was called the 'Hopper', after Denis, naturally, and was brimming with chorizo, parma ham, potato, cherry tomatoes and cheese, and accompanied by a crisp, dry apple cider. I read a Goldfinger paperback I discovered earlier in the day at a small book stall set up in a shed next door to the supermarket and the fish smokery.

Jordärtskocka


The mysterious vegetable root/tuber Jerusalem Artichoke. Roasted with rosemary and thyme and served with Thai green chicken curry. I had never heard of it before Kris made the wild claim it was his favourite vegetable and that cook it we must. I was initially averse to trying them, due to a longstanding distrust of yams and an indifferent attitude towards kumara, but perhaps my palette has matured and deliciousness ensued. Jerusalem artichokes have that ugly on the outside, sweet on the inside appearance and would probably do well at internet dating but not so well on the speed dating circuit.

"which way soever they be dressed and eaten, they stir and cause a filthy loathsome stinking wind within the body, thereby causing the belly to be pained and tormented, and are a meat more fit for swine than men."
Food critic John Goodyer of Gerard's Herbal, on the Jerusalem Artichoke, 1621.

Burger Joint



Pre-packaged Cheeseburgers as found at the supermarket. Taste: unknown.
Yes, I have just traveled to the other side of the world and this is all I care to blog about.