Lost in Translation

Items found on Finnish menu's.

Shrimp and crap salad for two.

Grilled pork shop.

You can have crap on your pizza.

We give you water only when you ask.

Dead snails from Åland in garlic and butter sauce.

The cock is recommending today's beef.

We can serve your steak with much blood, some blood, or well-done.

Ice cream with warm bear halves and toffee sauce.

Finnish mushroom salad - wild, salty and sticky mushrooms with cream sauce and pickles.

Mexican burrito with mutilated chicken meat and salsa.

Try traditional Finnish pee soup.

We can bring the nuts and drinks to your room (room service card). Drink something if you want (room service card). On our breakfast table you will find the cheese, the meat and some others.

Omelet is made with recent eggs from a local farm where the chickens are alive.

This week is "bird meat week" but we also have a good selection of mammal meat.

Japanese guests can have traditional breakfast with stinky rice and fishes.

Tar ice cream - Finnish special. Good for people who eat tar and lingon berries.

Children's hamburger is served with the French Pizzas. After clock 21 are not. Sorry.

Meat with sweat and sour sauce.

If I were to come across any of these dishes on a menu, I would demand to see the cock immediately.

Couldn't See The Rose For The Thorns

He looked at me and said, "I wish I could find a girl just like you", in a voice full of longing.
"Why not me, I'm right here", I thought with exasperation.
"I'm going out to finish the yard before I go", I replied.

Friends of the Earth

My friend Laney and I were out in my back yard the other night enjoying the fine spring weather by the light of fire cast off by burning my pile of old tires.

"Jeese", Laney said, "This is the life."

"Ain't it tho?" I answered. "Slosh some more of that there diesel on the fire now."

"You got it Munkay. While I'm at it I'll get a start on this pile of insulation. This pink stuff makes such pretty rainbow flames."

"Ok, kick some more of those tar shingles off our old shed to turn it up a notch"

"I love the outdoors", Laney proclaimed.

We sat back once again to relax and enjoy the black angle wing plumes billowing out high above our heads reaching it's strangle hold towards the stars.

"Yeah man. I'm all about this county living", I replied, stuck by the sheer wonder of nature as soon as the oily smoke wafted away from my face.

"Too bad we always have to wait till dark to do this. Everyone should be able to enjoy our beautiful black mushroom cloud", Laney admonished tossing her empty beer can into the flames.

"Oh no, my friend. The old ways are gone. All that is left is that we remember the rituals of the past. The traditions of our fathers, and our fathers father, and our fathers fathers fathers
be fore.."

"Alright Already!", Laney shrieked wistfully at me.

"Those were the good times," I continued for the benefit of my kids who had pulled up the car seat next to me and handed us fresh beer.
"Piles of garbage in your yard ment you were affluent, and could afford to buy new stuff see. The bigger your dump, the more you had. Family would get together with their hauling crap. Trucks by the numbers carrying all sorts of junk. You never heard of some kid getting locked in a freezer hell no. We'd burn the shit out of them, or toss them in the lake."

"My dad", Laney's eyes grew bright at the mention of water, leaned forward staring hard at the smoldering goo, "Hell he'd have us kids fill up the back of his old Ford, and then we'd watch him load it on his fishing boat..."

"Laney's dad, fished for a living. Buzzy was one of the last commercial fishermen on Lake of the Woods", I told the boys.

"You remember my dad?", Laney asked me, her eyes glistening from the memories or the gas.

"Course I remember old Buzzy. How did he ever get that name?"

"He used to drive his fishing boat full throttle drunk as a skunk . But we never called him that. He was always just dad. But that is a different story."

"Go on", the boys chorused, eager to hear more.

"Anyway dad would load up everything he couldn't burn on the back of his truck as all us kids watched.."

"How many were in your family Laney?"

"There were thirty-seven of us kids, being Catholic and all. And then my gramma who had the fishing resort always had lots of junk."

"Laney you had a big family", I reminisced. Laney's face had brighten and appeared young again before our very eyes as she continued with her story.

"Us kids would watch my old man, drunk as he could be, toss shit off the side of his boat for hours. Never let us help a once, would he. He was scared one of us would fall in and drown. We all would crowd around him as he talked.."

"He could talk and toss?"

"Talk and toss. "You kids stand back your getting to close to the edge now, eh." And we would answer him, "Close eh?" So he'd know we were all safe."Fish, drink and toss shit, Buzzy could. But he just couldn't swim."

"He was a craftsman, you dad."

"An artisan."

"Eh."

"Eh."

"They state banned commercial fishing to boost the tourism up north."

Laney when all quiet for a while. Then she stood up and grabbed the computer monitor next to her and hoisted it up high above her head before throwing it into the fire where it crashed sending an impressive amount of yellow sparks into the night air.

"That was the shame of losing our God giving right to get rid of our junk. We picked up after our selves didn't we?"

"That we did, Laney, that we did."

"Now there is trash everywhere. Broken glass, don't get me started on graffiti."

"Eeh."

"Eh."

No Comment

I cannot leave comments on all my beloved blogs. At first it didn't bug me, but now it is driving me nuts. I feel so left out. Maybe it is a conspiracy, a conspiracy set up by the man, the government to keep me down. I will not be represst no. Just you wait till on of my kids get home.

Faster Than Dropping An Anvil On My Noggin

Twelve things that have a calming effect on me.

12-Walking wolf like in circles around my bed after a warm beer bong of Jack.
11-A properly fitted straight jacket.
10-Binge eating.
9-Crafting voodoo dolls from my bosses hair.
8-Spooning the UPS man. "ssh, promise to bring me my package from Amazon tomorrow and I'll let you up."
7-Doing the kunilini with my cat.
6- This video,http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WrXhLGLO0RA
5-Huffing a Pam/powered sugar cocktail.
4 -The memory of dancing naked in the fountains at St. Petersburg. Not my memory, but a good one none the less.
3-Visualizing the graduation of my youngest offspring. Or him at least sleeping by himself.
2-Immobilizing the behemoth wind chimes hubby crafted and hung under my bedroom window.
1-Having the Rock light that last cigarette.

A Page From Her Biography

"The girl, looking at the components before her, tied back her long blond hair with a ribbon and set her mind to the task before her. The boy standing beside the apron clad girl watched her movements with a hopeful look on his young face. He knew she was about to cook up a storm when he saw her secure her wayward locks tightly into place with the familiar black string."
"Mom. You are not Violet Baudelaire. And stop narrating what you are doing. I'm right here."

Talking out loud helped me to focus on what I was trying to accomplish. I could so easily been distracted by people watching and had too much fun. It was after all, a cooking competition, serious important business in those parts. I had thought I was a shoe in for the little gala, after all I am a professional.

"Baby, when I win the trophy, I'll let you polish it."
"How do you pronounce this dish again Mom?"
"Shut up K2. Go hang out in the bar."

The contest was up in dense Scandinavian country on "the range" in an old bar/hotel. The dish was a Finnish American one I had never tasted and didn't know how to pronounce. Mojakka. But I had read some recipes and came up with my own version. Everyone who I had made taste it had told me I was a sure thing.

"That lady stole my spot. I've gotten that table every year. I'm not sure she is even Finnish, she has red in her hair."

The local cooks pretty much ignored any social niceties with my son and I, intruders that we were. Except to elbow us out of the prime tables, and sneak curious glances at us out of the corners of their eyes. Last years winner did come over to stand back from our Marimecco decorated area and stare disapproving with a disgusted sneer on her face.

"What are you doing?"
"My dish is named, "Finnish Woman Seldom Stew."
"Yeah, I meant what's in it?"
"Crab claws, mussels, shrimp, steamer clams, Finnish fingerling potatoes, leeks, sausage, wine..."
"Oh seafood?"
"Yes.'
"You know I won last year."

We were the only ones to cook our entry right there. The other contestants lugged in their crock pots of pre made mojokka . The judges seriously asked if they were to eat the shells in my dish. The emcee invited all contestants and their family's up on the stage for the award ceremony. I stayed behind and continued to pass out samples of my stew until right before the grand announcement. From the back of the room, I could see my son had positioned himself directly in front of the emcee, looking up at him with a confident expecting look on his grinning mug. Our names were not called. My son's crest fallen face was that of incredulous disbelief. Seeing the look on my son mirrored how I hurt I was feeling, worse than losing the competition. I hope I just hid it better.

"Mom, Did that mean we did not win? How can that be? Are they just saving the grand prise for us?"
"No baby. We just didn't win this one."
"We were pearls before swine!"
"K2- that was not a nice thing to say. Where did you come up with that one?"
"In the bar."

The judges and sponsors send me a nice condolence letter thanking me in participating in the competition and explaining that although my mojakka was good, the judges found it too busy.

I had thought I had really lost when I had seen the disappointed look on my son's face. I never wanted him to think of me in a loser way and hope I never cause that look in any ones eyes. He was not disapointed in me just the judges. But I won in his reaction after our losing.

K2 tied the condolence letter around a handful of fire crackers and set them off in an empty Dinty Moore can with glee.