In which I want to cause bodily harm to many people

I should perhaps learn to be less stressed, more chilled out and easy-going, and less homicidal. But let's face it: it's most likely not going to happen. Though I am trying to increase the amount of yoga (both time and number of times a day) that I do.

Oh, so many things. Still no word back from UKBA, so Adam's and my passports are still being held hostage. I'll be writing a letter to them shortly, even though they've requested that people not contact them--this is why I'm writing, not calling. I have plane tickets in September, so if I have to do a stupid biometrics thing (again) for the stupid biometrics card that I'm required to travel with (as well as my passport) I need that taken care of sooner rather than later. And we both have travel plans in November.

I'm seriously ready to murder the physio people upstairs. Now they also seem to run a babysitting service, which seems to include yelling and stomping, and last night, kicking rocks into our bedroom/bathroom windows (we live in an underdwelling, so our back rooms are half underground). Last night I heard a shout of "mommy!" when the little brats arrived, so "Mommy" needs to explain the notion of courtesy to others. Of course Mommy doesn't seem to have learned that lesson herself, so I don't know why I would expect her to pass that on. And they've started coming in on Saturdays now as well.

A job I applied for a few weeks back contacted me about a week after the deadline, not to invite me for an interview or tell me I was unsuccessful, but to tell me that they decided not to hire someone after all. I understand that sometimes things happen, but it really sucks that my time--and that of all the other applicants--was wasted.

I was slightly peeved at my in-laws for wasting blueberry coffee cake,* albeit unintentionally. It wasn't their fault, but I gave them half of a crack cocaine delicious blueberry coffee cake, and I even made it properly and separated the eggs to fold the beaten egg whites in.** They were going to have it for breakfast the following day whilst on holiday, but turns out the cottage they were at had ants, and they infested the cake. Completely not their fault, but Adam and I happily would have eaten their share of the coffee cake (without ants, of course).

I'm also irked at Morrisons' loo roll. We haven't been out to Makro in ages (which is like Costco, but crappier and with more labels in Polish) so we ran out of decent loo roll, and--out of a desire to be able to wipe my butt in a sanitaryish manner--I bought some from Morrisons. Admittedly it was the cheapest I could find, but the only positive thing to say about this loo roll is that they last a while. And technically speaking, it's two-ply. But only technically speaking.

In terms of good news, I have an interview--on Adam's birthday, no less--for a job that I desperately want, think I would be good at, and would love. I'm going to Makro tomorrow for loo roll and other necessities and also going out to the homebrew supply place so we can make three more batches of beer (pale ale, a strong dark one, and a vanilla porter which is my recipe). Our neighbors asked us to plant sit for them for a couple of weeks and in return, they gave us a bar of Swiss milk chocolate; completely unnecessary but holy crap delicious. I've made two more batches of blueberry coffee cake: one for Adam and I (mostly gone) and the second just finished one for Pam and Tony (there will be death if this one molds or gets attacked by bugs since it's freezable). I've also got a pretty good coleslaw dressing that I've created. Donut peaches are in at the green grocer's, so I think it'll soon be time for peach and ____ cobblers. Nom nom nom.

*As an FYI for non-American readers, in the US, coffee cake doesn't have to include coffee as an ingredient. Instead it's called coffee cake because it's served with coffee (or tea). Think Hyacinth Bucket offering biscuits to her neighbor Elizabeth and you've got the idea.

**I won't be doing that again. It's not hard by any stretch, but instead of being a one bowl cake, it becomes a two bowl cake and takes twice as long to make. There is a minimal taste/texture difference.

Because it is Thursday

Because it is Thursday, and Mom and Barbara go out on Thursdays (and apparently talk about my blog from time to time, which makes me think that hobbies need to be found--not that I don't appreciate the readership, because I do), I need to post something.  I have a whole bunch of posts stored in my head for the food blog--though I'm forgetting how to make the curried carrot soup, so perhaps that's one post less--but I'm rather lacking in worthwhile content here on this lil ol' blog.

Depending on your perspective, there's either nothing to report or lots to report.  Three weeks from tomorrow we'll be in Nottingham for the weekend, at what might possibly be the coolest beer festival ever. We went last year for the first time, and it was awesome to max, and we're meeting up with friends from Leicester again this year (same friends, even.  Perhaps our only friends.).  This year, however, we're more prepared.  Not only are we going for two nights--because you can't sample 900+ ales and ciders in only one night--but this time we're going prepared.  Camping chairs for the festival, since seats and tables are not provided, Tylenol/paracetamol for the head, multi-vitamins to prevent the crushing weakness brought on by alcohol purging all vitamins and minerals from the body, and "magic juice" which apparently prevents vomiting.  Water nearly made The Boy hork--in Sainsbury's, no less, while I was trying to find a sandwich--but Copella Apple Juice made him semi-human again.  I'm also insisting upon some V-8, which has a different set of nutrients in it.  We'll even bring some food to supplement the pork pies and other food at the festival, though we're planning on eating at Olde Trip (under the Castle, where the festival is) and I'd like to try the pub that's across from the entrance to the Castle grounds, which I believe is a Castle Rock Brewery pub.

Eight weeks from Sunday we'll be on a plane to the states.  Eight weeks from Saturday we'll be on a train to the super-posh Radisson-Blu hotel in Manchester airport, because I didn't think about trains when I booked our flights.  My logic was "hey, it's the same price to fly Sunday as it is to fly Monday, so we get an extra day for free!"  Except trains don't start running on Sundays much before 9am, and our flight leaves Manchester at 9am, so that doesn't really work.  Oops.  But still, a nice way to ease us into our holiday.  And no faffing about with cabs or hotel shuttles, because there's literally an entrance to the hotel *in* the airport.  Badass, that is.  Also, we've stayed their before, and the fear of bedbugs or getting raped/robbed is minimal.  In our advancing years, The Boy and I seem to be afraid of new hotels, especially if they're cheap.

Beyond our future travels, I've applied for a few jobs, made about 2 gallons of soup in varying flavors (broccoli cheddar, curried carrot, parsnip Parmesan, and chicken and dumplings), randomly made a half-batch of chocolate chip cookies last night (note: a half batch makes way faster than a full batch, but far fewer than half the amount of cookies.  I did eat a bunch of dough, and saved some for The Boy, so that may account for part of the problem).  I have a weird variant of writer's block, in that I know where and what and how, but I need the words to get them there (trans: I hate and suck at writing prophecy.  I also hate the notion of prophecy, which is not lessening my problems.).

I also bought this:

I named it Roger.

For reference purposes, the white bit is nearly as long as my arm, and I can't actually wrap my hand around it and have my fingers touch.

Pie!

So I know it's been a bit since I've posted (excepting the reading list--Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, by the way, is a great read, and makes good ol' Jane Austen much more interesting--sorry Levi, I know that's blasphemy, but . . . ), and I wasn't sure if I was going to post about my recent triumph in the workplace--no, it's not a job yet--which I should probably not blog about (even though I was and am totally in the right).

Wow.  That's a terrible sentence.

So instead I decided to blog about pie.  Not the infamous Stevie/Natalie incident (which actually isn't that interesting, other than it more or less confirmed what I've always thought about Natalie), and not the number pi (which also isn't that interesting if you're not into math and stuff, but I know it starts 3.14159) but the actual, edible pie.  Savoury or sweet, that's what I'm talking about.

Most of you know that I love food and like to cook.  Some of you may even know that my maternal grandmother used to make the best pie crust in the land.  Adam argues that his mother does, but he's never had Grandma Mary's, who has sadly retired from cooking.  Pam's pie crust is also good.  Mom makes pretty good pie crust.  But I make angry.  Or it makes me angry, rather.  Only once have I been able to get a pie crust to hold together, and it was so tough that it wasn't really worth the effort.  Pie crust also nearly ended my marriage in divorce about 3.5 months after we got married.  Adam got angry at the pie crust he was making, I made suggestions, and it went downhill from there.

So about 14 months on from the near divorce, we were jonesing so bad for a pie that we could no longer ignore the urges.  We split the duties up, since Adam wanted corned beef pie, and well, I'm American and can't bring myself to boil meat.  Ever.  I don't care what the final result tastes like.  So Adam made the filling, and I nutted up and attempted a pie crust.

Mom swears by her food processor.  She knows it makes the crust a little tougher, but it also means that she no longer swears for 3 straight hours the day before Thanksgiving (3-4 pies: apple, berry, pumpkin, and sometimes pecan).  The crust is only minimally tougher, so the trade-off is well worth it.

I, on the other hand, do not own a food processor.  Or a blender.  Or a stand mixer (I have a fake one, but it's mostly a really awesome hand mixer--thanks Pam and Tony!).  Or a stick blender.*  Basically, I own most of these things in the states (scratch that, I own all of them), and we're not planning on staying here in England for too much longer, so it's hard to justify the cost of these things when they're just going to go to friends or a charity shop.  That means I had to make pie crust the Grandma Mary way: by hand.

So I pulled my recipe out (that's not the Grandma Mary way, but I've only made pie crust about half a dozen times, so I couldn't remember proportions), and very carefully ignored the wholemeal flour when I went to get my ingredients.  I was not about to push my luck.  So two cups of white flour, 152 grams of margarine and butter (2/3 cup), and about 5 tablespoons of cold water later, I had a ball of dough.  The butter/marg mix was because I didn't have nearly enough marg in the house, and I don't even know if you can get Crisco or the equivalent here.  I cut the ball in half, weighed the halves, and then actually made them equal (I was only off by about 50 grams . . . sheesh).  I stuck them in bags, then shoved them in the fridge.  And prayed.

But low and behold, when the time came to roll them out, it was lovely and beautiful and easy.  Both crusts held together perfectly, and they were fairly thin.  Remembering something Kristan said she does (but she makes oil crusts, so I'm not sure she can be trusted!), I greased my pie pan lightly with some vegetable oil.  Probably unnecessary, but since the crusts worked so well, I didn't want to ruin it by them not coming out for some reason.  I even had excess crust, which I rolled back into a ball and put in the fridge, and made cheese tartlets the next day (enh.  Don't use mild cheddar, use sharp.  Sadly, we didn't have any.).

In short, the pie was tasty and delicious, even if Adam forgot to season the filling (the gravy made up for it though, because I loves me the Worcestershire sauce).  The pie crust was fairly tender, and very buttery tasting, which was nice.  It went well enough that I'm willing to nut up again, this time for a hamburger pie.  Mmm . . . white-trash food.

It's sad that I'm nearly 31 years old, and am still unsure of having mastered the pie crust.  At least I've mastered pizza dough!

*I made soup the other day that looked like sick after a night at the pub and a post-drinking curry, but it tasted fine--a stick blender would have solved the visual, however.

Iceland Part II

So last we left off, Adam and I were being screamed at to not use camera flashes.  We got back to the hotel about 12:30, and after a leisurely lie-in, we went back out and explored Reykjavik some more.  This was actually a repeat of Tuesday, and we repeated it again on Friday.  The highlight of the exploring at this point (though it was a web exploration before we left) was supper that night.  We planned on one really nice meal for the trip (we actually ended up with two, which was my fault), and Wednesday's meal was scheduled for Lækjarbrekka--pronunciation is on you to figure out.  The website is here, and we decided to go with the prix fixé menu.  These were three course feasts, and while expensive, a good deal, although wine was not included.  Which, by the way, the house red is quite nice--this was good, because none of the wine was cheap (including the house red), and the price made us both cringe.

I had the Icelandic Langustine Feast which was slightly different than the website's menu.  The first course was creamy langustine soup with a taste of cognac and whipping cream, and it was absolutely divine.  Perfectly smooth, with the lovely sweetness of langustines, the warmth from the cognac, and the coolness from the cream.  Think of the best lobster bisque you've ever had, and this was probably better. My second course was langustine three ways: grilled in garlic butter (4 tails), which were beautifully flavoured, slightly crispy where they were grilled, and smooth and sweet and moist on the inside; tempura fried langustine chucks, which were delicious, but probably the weakest part of the meal; and chunks of langustine in saffron sauce.  I'm not a big fan of saffron usually; I don't know why, but I don't like the flavour.  This sauce, however, could make me change my mind.  And there was a load of it, so I was able to dunk my tempura langustine in it as well.  Third course was dessert, and that was an interesting concoction.  I adored the creativity, if I wasn't a big fan of the flavours.  Essentially, it was an ice cream torte: the bottom layer was solid dark chocolate, the middle layer was a blueberry sorbet (I don't really like blueberries), and the top layer was an anise ice cream (also don't really like anise).  The flavours all combined beautifully, however, and went very well with the strawberry coulis that was on the plate.  All in all, totally delish.

Adam had the Lamb Feast, which was also totally fabulous.  His first course was lamb carpaccio and smoked lamb with a crisp salad.  Choosing the better of the two lambs (smoked or carpaccio) was not possible--they were both excellent in their own ways.  His second course was roasted lamb with crispy roasted potatoes and a thyme sauce; simple, traditional preparation, and oh so tasty.  It was probably the best of everything we ate, and that's really saying something.  But his dessert was also to die for.  He had the chocolate special of the house, and it was three small chocolate dishes.  The first was a small ball of chocolate sorbet.  Again, simple, but the sweet and the chocolate were perfectly balanced, making for a rich, flavourful, but not heavy sorbet.  The second one was a tiny chocolate soufflé.  Again, simple and traditional, but soufflés do require some mastery, and this one was light and airy and moist, and rich, but not overpoweringly sweet.  The last of the three was the true masterpiece, however.  It was a white chocolate mousse.  I'm not a mousse fan, really, nor do I particularly like white chocolate.  I would have cheerfully beaten Adam to death for it all, however.  Perfectly smooth, a bit thin (which is probably what I liked it, but it also worked well to put a bit on the soufflé), and all the nice flavours that exist in white chocolate without the flavours that I associate with cheap tasting chocolate (as white chocolate so often does to me, even not-cheap white chocolate).

It was a delicious evening, even if I almost died in the restaurant; we (well, I) were somewhat overdressed, as I was wearing my little black dress and strappy heels.  The problem was the the snow had frozen into ice soles on my shoes, so I had no traction on the highly polished wood floor (until it all melted, probably leaving a large couple of puddles).  And we had problems getting the check, but we seemed to run into that elsewhere--though others didn't--so I'm not sure what the deal on that was.

On Thursday, we went out to the Blue Lagoon for the day.  It's a tourist spa, but it's very pretty and well worth a visit (but only once, I think).  Unless it's jammed packed with people, then it probably blows.  But we were there with maybe 200 other guests total, and not all of them were in the water at any given time.  It's also--at least when it's not busy--a very romantic locale.  Everyone spread out in the water, and though we were all pretty much in site of each other, we were more or less private, so there was lots of carrying each other and kissing and the like.  And then playing with the mud.  Then the in-pool bar opened...and Adam and I decided to leave (this was like 3 hours after we climbed in the water, however).  You could only drink around the bar, supposedly, though I stepped on plastic cups more than once in other areas.  We both kinda wanted the luxury of having a drink in the water, but a large, very loud contingent of older, hairy men--I think they might have been Greek, but I don't know; they were mostly speaking accented English--was gathered around the bar, and I didn't feel like dealing with their drunken behaviour (don't think they were actually drunk, however).  Other than that though, we had a good time playing with the muck at the bottom of the pool (equal parts gross and fun), smearing mud all over our faces (not the stuff from the bottom of the pool, though the idiot drunk guys used it--gross!), standing under the waterfall (not as awesome as claimed), and hanging out in the grotto steam room (fun cave, until the lifeguard stuck his head in.  Thankfully, we were not doing anything).  The naked showers here were overrated, and yet people still freaked out.  As an FYI, all public bathing in Iceland must be preceded by a naked shower.  Why?  Because they don't put chemicals in their pools, so they want you clean.  Freshly clean.  The locals will get pissed off if you don't do this.  And though there are no locals at the Blue Lagoon, the policy holds.  But all the showers practically were private cubicles.  Both Adam and I had a hard time finding open showers, and even those were semi-private.  And yet I still heard one girl (American/Canadian) bitch "Why?  I just showered this morning!"  My reason for showering first?  Slather their conditioner all over your hair and leave it in (yes, this probably violates the "clean rule" but is suggested to do): the water is super salty and will fry your hair.  Every time we went in to wee, I hit the showers and threw more conditioner in.

Steamy.

Could it be any more picturesque?

The not open pool bar (it opened later).

More picturesqueness, this time with added bridge over the pools.

More of the pools.

Still more pools (and now I'm getting really flippin' cold out of the water, so Adam's taking pics).

Outside the actual spa area.

And again.

Thursday night's supper was fish and chips.  Why?  Because while we may get fish and chips here in England, Iceland is well known for it's fish, and we wanted to try some there.  It was our weakest meal, probably, and was still tasty.  It was also super-organic.  We went to Icelandic Fish and Chips, where I had wolf fish (turns out it's on the edge of being endangered, so now I feel bad, but it was delicious--since it's eel, I'm not surprised I liked it--kinda like a combination of unagi and catfish.  Adam had cod, and garlic oven chips (they don't fry the potatoes there).  My chips were plain.  And actually, they were all more potato wedges, but it didn't really matter, because we got the skyronnaise sampler platter to dunk everything in.  Skyr is a traditional Icelandic cultured dairy product, similar to very thick yogurt.  They used skyr as the base to make a variety of sauces, including tartare, honey-mustard, mango, and five others.  Not all of the sauces were fabulous, but that was a taste preference thing, because Adam loved a couple I didn't, and vice versa.  But as good as everything was, it really was the weakest meal.  And it was tasty!

Afterwards, we stopped by the Ice Bar.  One of the other Girl Museum interns suggested it, and well, yeah.  It's a schtick.  But Adam and I spent some time chatting with a very nice bartender, and got these pictures.  Dad would be upset for the bottle of Jaeger.

At least it's cold enough.

The only photo of Adam and I.

Friday was, as I mentioned, another day of wandering around Reykjavik.  We hit another couple of museums--the first was the (free) photography museum on the top floor of the library.  Nothing exceptional, but great to kill some time.  Also, the exhibition on was of abandoned farmhouses and such, all taken fairly recently, which was a nice contrast to the turn-of-the-century farm photographs we saw at the National Museum of Iceland on Tuesday.  We also went to 871 +/- 2 Settlement Museum, which was really neat.  In the middle of Reykjavik a few years ago, construction began on a building and they found a Viking Longhouse, so they excavated it and turned it into a museum.  For something as small as it is (one room that surrounded the longhouse), we were there for nearly 2 hours.  It was really fascinating.  From there, we decided on an early meal, as we had to be up at the ass-crack of dawn (ok, about 5.5 hours before dawn) to catch our flight back home.  Sadly, our early meal plan didn't work out quite as planned, but we did eat at The Fish Company, which turned out to be even more money than Lækjarbrekka (which only cost us more because of the wine).  The Fish Company has received the "Best Restaurant in Reykjavik" award (or whatever), and the food was absolutely inspired.  A few reviews have claimed that it's too complicated or over the top, but I disagree.  It was complicated, but I thought it added layers and depth, as did Adam (and he's simple--take that how you will).  The premise is that each dish is inspired by a country and flavour from the region.  So for my starter I went to Norway and had (I've copy/pasted here) GREEN LIME rosmarin marinated BEEF & crispy GOAT ROLL with goat cheese snow, smoked tomato, raspberry jelly, cashew nut & mushroom foam.  Complicated sounding?  Absolutely, but the variety of flavours all worked wonderfully together, whichever mouthful you got.  It was amazing working my way through the dish.  Adam's wasn't quite as many flavours, but he went to Spain and had SERRANO mustard glazed PORK BELLY & GNOCCHIPASTA in creamy TIO PEPE sauce, black olive sand & rosemary marinated tomato.  Mostly he saw the words pork belly and spooged a little (Dad got him hooked on pork belly in Eugene).

For our mains Adam went to Madagascar for CACO BEAN fried MONKFISH & CHEEK with butterfried asparagus, smoked parsnip, parsnip milk, oregano polenta & chocolate cinnamon sauce.  I had the Iceland selection (aka fresh fish of the day) which included salmon and the same chocolate cinnamon sauce (reminiscent of a mole) that Adam had.  Amongst other flavours.  Mine also had langustine (I just realized that I think I'm using the Icelandic spelling).  It seemed to have elements from a variety of other plates, which suited me fine, because the flavours still all blended beautifully.

After having gorged ourselves on all that, we decided to split a dessert, and went to Italy for NUTELLA real TIRAMISU with nutella chocolate cream, coffee toffee sauce & STRACCIATELLA ice cream.  Which was super-rich, especially after all the rich food we'd already had.  It was tasty, but the weakest part of the meal.  It also went to prove that when presented with 500 different people, you'll be presented with 500 different, all authentic, tiramisu recipes.  For all the claims of nutella flavouring in the tiramisu, it was not overpowering, so I think Dad (who thinks tiramisu should be basic and not flavoured with orange or other crap, just coffee) might have even approved.

After that incredibly tasty, expensive meal, Adam and I decided to stagger back to the hotel, so we could pack our crap up, shower, and go to bed early (hahaha) so we could catch our early flight back to reality.  Given that reality was cold, windy, and rainy, we would have preferred to stay in Iceland, where it may have been cold and windy, but it was snowing and pretty, so that was ok.

In all seriousness though, you should go to Iceland.  I know Katie and Doug are going over spring break, but you should go too.  It was beautiful, tasty, filled with fabulous people, and quite possibly is the ideal place to live, provided you can handle very very short days contrasted with 24 hours of sun.

Iceland

We've been back for a week now, and so some of the magic has worn off, as is the case when reality and jobs so rudely intrude.  Still--and perhaps especially because of the weather--we keep thinking longingly of that lovely little island.

The sun had not yet risen over Reykjavik.  It was about 10am.

Our flight left Manchester a little after 11:30am on Monday, with a stop in Glasgow before continuing on to Keflavik, where the international airport is (about 50km/31mi from Reykjavik.  Despite some people's complaints, this is not that far.  Heathrow is an hour by tube from central London, SeaTac is in Burien, which is still a good 15-20 minutes south of Seattle, and so forth).  We hit our first snag before we even got to Glasgow; Adam had the window seat--he whines less that way--and so he saw why we suddenly slammed on the brakes in mid-air.  Apparently there was another plane there.  I have no notion if our pilot, their pilot, or ground control screwed up, but yeah, slamming on the breaks in mid-air does not make a happy Katie.  The cockpit (probably wisely) never said anything.  I rather doubt most people saw the other plane--I didn't.  Other than that, the flight was uneventful, and that plane had seatback entertainment systems.  Not bad for a flight that took about 4 hours, including stops.

Kevlavik airport is very Scandinavian; clean, nice, pretty.  It is, however, an airport, so we got out of there as fast as we could, and hopped on the FlyBus (an expensive, but useful service that also runs in Dublin and other various airports; buy round-trip tickets in advance) into Reykjavik, where we got dropped off at our hotel.  Our hotel, by the way, was the old international terminal when the international airport was in Reykjavik.  IcelandAir still owns it (they've got the tourist industry by the balls in Iceland, with some help from Reykjavik Excursions).  It wasn't as bad as it sounds, but if you know that, you can see that it used to be something else--something crappy.  Also: the star definitions for hotels in Iceland are not perhaps what you're used to in the States.  The IcelandAir Hotel Loftleidir is considered 4 stars, but, well...regardless, it was clean and nice.  It was also backed onto the runway for the domestic airport (not a problem, never heard a plane inside), and about a 20 minute walk from the centre of Reykjavik, but they run shuttles throughout the day (to and from, though the ones back to the hotel were never at a convenient time for us), and walking is healthy, provided you can find a way across the busy roads (pedestrian bridges).  Or, as was the case on our last night, find the path at all (lots of snow).

IcelandAir Offices, as viewed from our hotel room.

So our first night we got to the room, dropped our stuff, and decided we were hungry.  Adam went through our hand LonelyPlanet Iceland, and decided he wanted to eat at Santa Maria.  Yes, that's right.  We flew to Iceland to have Mexican food.  And by God, it was good!  Adam is addicted to burritos, and though I don't generally like mole, I had the enchiladas mole, and it was fabulous.  The nachos were suitably American and tasty, and the chocolate cake we split for dessert was to die for.  We were soaked on the walk back, but we did meander a bit through the area around the church, and it was lovely (minus the rain).  Then we slogged back to the hotel, and to bed.

Yes, those are two separate beds, with two separate duvets, and a weird thingy over the foot.

This seems to be the norm for hotels, from what I can tell.

Clearly, they do not wish to encourage intimacy.

Tuesday we decided to explore Reykjavik.  So we went to the church (Lutheran), went to the top of its tower (freaky with all the wind), visted an art museum (skip that one), and generally just wandered around and shopped--I got a hat, and Mom did not get a lovely cloak for her birthday, because it was approximately eleventy million dollars (or 30,000 ISK).  We also ate Big Boats, which I think is the slightly bizarre translation for subs.  Or maybe it was just that sandwich bar.  Regardless, they weren't quite a foot long, but they were certainly delicous, and everyone in the itty-bitty stand thing seemed to be local laborers.  The bread was soft on the outside, lightly toasted on the inside, and mine was filled with beef and grilled onions and sauce and general goodness. Adam's was the same, but with lamb and cooked red cabbage.  Definitely worth a visit for lunch, and a good bargain (comparitively) for 1100ISK each (including a drink).  The museum was the low point; Reykjavik has an art museum divided over three sites, and this one was pants.  It featured Erro, whose work it turns out I don't really like, and some travel art, installations, and a weird travel video thing that was just kinda creepy.  That was at the Hafnarhús, and I would totally give it a miss.  Maybe with different exhibitions it would be better, but I think Erro is a permanent exhibition, and the building was awkward for an art museum.

I did not take this picture.

http://www.sacred-destinations.com/iceland/reykjavik-hallgrimskirkja

Or this one.

http://www.sacred-destinations.com/iceland/reykjavik-hallgrimskirkja

This one either.

http://www.sacred-destinations.com/iceland/reykjavik-hallgrimskirkja

Or this one.

http://www.sacred-destinations.com/iceland/reykjavik-hallgrimskirkja

I did take this one, which is why it's blurry.

And why this one is dark.

Tuesday night was the Northern Lights tour.  Absolutely worth doing, but I would suggest trying to schedule that with a smaller tour (SuperJeep maybe?) if possible.  The good thing about Reykjavik Excursions is that they seem to have a bunch of different options of places to go, and people who call in and tell them if the skies are clear and such.  We did actually see the Northern Lights, and despite what Adam claims, it was not some dude in a helicopter shining a green light on some clouds.  We even got some pictures of the Northern Lights.

Point-and-shoot digital cameras don't have long exposures.

Aren't they pretty?

This is not what we saw.

The funniest--and most obnoxious bit--about the tour was the crew of people screaming "no flash" every time someone used a flash (accidentally at first).  They kept doing it, so I think people started intentionally using their flashes.  Adam and I would have, except my camera died out there.  We don't know if they were part of our tour or part of the caravan of cars that were following our tour to the viewing areas.  Either way, I'm not sure what they expected.  Idiots.

I have a feeling this post is plenty long enough for the moment, and I have to get ready to go look at a house shortly, so I will post more about our trip later.

Iceland, or Why the hell haven't you gone there yet?

Adam and I both absolutely loved Iceland.  Reykjavik was clean, beautiful, and friendly, and within 24 hours Adam--without me saying a word, though I was already thinking it too--said "we could live here."  I repeat, he said that without prompting, and I completely agreed with him.  I'll write more about our trip in a day or two (and post our few meager pictures--the camera died, so most of them are on our phones), as it's already well past my bedtime, but first, a brief bit of info on Iceland.

The population is slightly under 350,000, and just over 60% of people live in Reykjavik.  A quick bit of comparison thinking will tell you that rush hour in Reykjavik isn't exactly like rush hour in New York, or even Seattle.  It's not cheap, but it's not as expensive as it's been made out to be, although food isn't cheap.  The food is, however, stunningly delicious (unless you don't like fish or lamb), whether it's simple (fish and chips or sandwiches) or high-fare (lamb carpaccio or langoustine in saffron sauce).  There is also a wide range of international cuisine.  The Mexican restaurant we ate at the first night (one of two we found), for example, was as authentic as you can expect when you're about 6000 miles away (the mother of the owner was flown in from Mexico City to teach the kitchen how make the food properly, which sure beats the "Mexican" I've had in London).  From what I can tell, salaries seem to be comparable to the US, and prices slightly higher (no idea on housing; the only place I found was listed in US dollars, and was 500 acres with a river and it's own geothermal power plant--$10,500,000).  The country is almost completely powered by geothermal energy, which makes sense, as it's on the mid-Atlantic rift, and so is slowly growing due to being pulled apart by two tectonic plates.  It can get 24 hours of daylight for a few months in the summer, and while we were there (aka the beginning of February), sunrise was around 10:15am, and sunset around 5:15pm.  It snowed nearly the whole time, but people drove fine in the snow (except for what I believe were a few tourists).  It was cold, but not unbearable.

Yes, we were on holiday, which can gloss over the negatives.  But comparatively, there are very few negatives to Iceland.  We WILL be going back.  We've even got plans for a pub/brewery that we could open there.