Alice's Restaurant

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays - and this love stems directly from the food involved. And I was not going to miss out on all the good food just because I was studying abroad in Northern Ireland. I also thought that by putting  on my own Thanksgiving feast I would forget that I was miles away from those that I love. So, bright and early on Thursday morning, the cooking began. Well, if I was perfectly honest, the cooking began Wednesday night. 

I prepared for Thanksgiving by making the pies the night before. Which was an adventure in itself. You see, many of the ingredients needed for a pumpkin pie are called by a different name in Belfast, or they simply do not exist. For instance, you won't find pumpkin puree in any local Irish grocer. This is because, for obvious reasons, people who reside in Belfast do not celebrate thanksgiving. Go figure. I searched high and low for the pumpkin and was just about to give up the search when I found a jar of some in a small health food store. I was the most enthusiastic customer in the store. Once I finally found all the ingredients I began to bake. And then found myself in another predicament. My directions included oven temperatures in Fahrenheit. But everything over here is in Celsius. Now, usually I would just pull out a computer and look up some conversions. But due to the lack of internet at my house, I did what any person would do. I did the conversions myself. With the help of some of my housemates. I paused at one moment and looked around, realizing the depth of our nerdiness, and felt that my mother would be very proud. I can recall many a baking adventure with my mother where she made me do all of the conversions myself, assuring me that I would thanks her one day, and now I can finally say what she has been knowing would come one day. 

Mom, you were right. It was very helpful. 

So, one hour later, I put my pies in the oven. I personally think it is a miracle that the pies turned out so well because I am almost positive that (despite having two math majors assist) our math was terribly wrong. 

Thursday arrived much to soon for me. I had to wake up before the sun to go get the turkey. I had planned to get to the butcher's when they opened to get my fresh turkey in enough time to brine it and cook it. (See previous blog for more Butcher Shop hilarity) I also employed the help of Simon, a housemate, to help me carry the turkey back to the house because I had been informed that it would be quite heavy. And it is a good thing I did. The turkey was massive. I mean, HUGE. The butcher was nice enough to give me a little meat thermometer as well because I had been commenting on how I was worried because I did not have one. At this point Simon is staring at the bird with complete awe. Then Declan, the butcher, and I chatted a little about Thanksgiving traditions while Simon proceeded to make wild gestures of unbelief at the turkey in the background. I have never seen a person so excited about a turkey. I mean, I was very excited as well, but I managed to keep it all contained. 

I brought the turkey home and unwrapped it. It was truly a massive bird. As I began preparing it and reading the directions I had a realization. It had not occurred to me that, when the directions said rub with salt, inside and out, it meant that I would have to put my hand inside the turkey. I do not think of myself as a squemish person, but this grossed me out just a bit. Oh, but there was more to come. I noticed a small bag next to the turkey, a mysterious red bag. As I was wondering what it might be, Karin came in to the kitchen to view the turkey. Together we cautiously open the bag. It was the heart and some other mysterious bird organs! Karin and I flew backwards in shock and disgust, both cringing. It was so nasty - they were bloody and everything. I am sure Declan thought he was being a nice guy - giving me some bird parts as an extra bonus - but I could have done without. They went into the trash. 

The rest of the day is filled with flashes of memory: peeling potatoes, chopping madly, mixing, melting, baking, cooking, taking occasional swigs from the cooking wine, basting, more temperature conversions, moments of panic, washing dishes, it all continues until a few minutes before people began arriving. Until that moment, I don't think I had actually stopped for air. But then everything came together. People came in, hugs and kisses were exchanged, and the feast began. Everything was wonderful. Among the champion dishes were, the green bean casserole, the turkey (I took their word for it), and the pecan pie. I was better than I had imagined. But I was tired. Exhausted is a better word. I kept thinking - How do people do this EVERY year and make it look so easy? It was all worth the effort though. For a little bit, I forgot that I was not home for my favorite holiday. 

So, I am thankful for this experince (how else would I learn how to make a turkey), thankful for all the news freinds who helped celebrate Thanksgiving, for being able to study abroad, for all of my family and those that I hold dear, and also for the people who make me feel important by actually reading this blog (Where is the motivation? I mean come on- the writing sucks!). 

Happy Thanksgiving.

Kelsey

Little Birdie

Today I ordered an honest to god, formerly clucking, turkey. And I feel very accomplished. Not exactly the emotion I imagined feeling after buying a turkey, especially being a vegetarian. But nonetheless, I am filled with triumphant joy. I feel as though I have just run across the finish line of an important race. My own personal Boston Marathon. 

The butcher shop where I placed an order for the blessed bird was exactly the sort of shop you imagine would be in a small town. The sigh outside assured you of the authenticity of the meat you were buying – “Real meat, Real Irish Farms, Real People” – and while I pondered why they would feel the need to be specific about the real meat (no fake stuff here!) I was more worried about the “real people” portion. Stepping into the shop, I could not help but admire the red and white striped awning that hung overhead, which perfectly matched the aprons of the store clerks (complete with matching hats). The store was littered with elderly women and a few, admittedly lost looking, husbands. I was the youngest person there by about fifty years. Even the clerk who took my order looked old enough to be my grandfather. He leaned over the counter and, after waving goodbye to some usuals, asked “What can I do for you love?”  I explained my turkey predicament; buying a frozen turkey and having to defrost it versus spending the extra pounds to buy a fresh turkey. He gave me a knowing look and said, “Thanksgiving?” And here I was, thinking I had concealed my Americanism so well. He chuckled and went about checking prices and turkey deliveries, while I chatted with a lovely woman (Susan) who was buying some lamb for this evening. Her grandson was coming into town for a visit – “He’s such a nice lad, it is a wonder her hasn’t found a girl yet, you should really meet him….” Lucky the butcher came back then or I fear I may have been going to dinner as her grandson’s welcome home surprise. 

In the end, I ordered my turkey and managed to leave knowing more about turkey than I had coming in. I almost didn’t make it out, a few old ladies tried to entice me with their own turkey recipes and discussions on proper brining (a word I learned today) and a debate over giblets (with or without?). By the time I left the store, with a wave from Declan the butcher, I felt like a usual myself. 

This really is a momentous occasion. My first thanksgiving turkey. I feel ever so important and grown up. This is the first thanksgiving I am not spending with family and, while I will miss Aunt Kathryn’s turkey and accoutrement, I feel that this is almost a rite of passage that I must complete. But I am also realizing the work that goes into Thanksgiving. There are so many things I must make – and all in one day?! How is it done? I am torn between buying some of the food pre-made and making it all for the sake of authenticity. I fear that I am too proud to buy pre-made food in this situation. Half of me is very rpoud of this – we will not yield to the pressures! – while the other half groans and thinks of all the work to be done. 

Now only one question remains in my mind: How am I going to fit a whole turkey into our tiny oven?

Wish me luck,

Kelsey

Tale as Old as Time

Yesterday was no ordinary day. Yesterday, I saw Beauty and the Beast. (The musical, I am not referring to a sighting of a ugly man with a beautiful woman. I mean, come on, that happens every day.)

Esther (a housemate) heard that the show was happening down at the Belfast Opera House and the tickets were cheap for students. At the time, a few of us made semi-excited, non-commital responses of joy at this announcement. But then the idea took root in our brains and it became so much more than a night at the Opera House. 

It started with a few inquiries about what we should wear to the event. Someone made the comment of dressing up and suddenly this "casual evening" was given the dress code of "cocktail". Of course, this provided the house with another dilemma because only a few of the girls possessed dresses appropriate to the dress code. Fortunately, I came to Belfast equipped with enough exciting performance outfits to last the year. This resulted in an hour long session of trying on dresses in my room. It was very girly and filled with all the cliches you look for in a girly clothing session. There was cheesy 80's music, boy talk, chocolate, trash talk, nail painting, the only thing missing was hair braiding. By the time we were out of chocolate, it was decided that we would get all dressed up in our high heels and some of my best dresses, complete with hair and make-up; all with the intent of taking the Opera House by storm. 

In the last few minutes before our taxi arrived, we strutted our stuff in the common room, much to the confusion of our male housemates. 

When we arrived, in style I might add, the Opera House was in full swing. People in fancy uniforms doing god knows what, classy music playing - the works. We were, however, clearly overdressed. But I think that added to the experience. We headed to the bar and ordered some pre-show drinks. I have to say, I felt quite impressive in my dress, make-up and hair done, sipping a glass of red wine before the opera (okay, it was a musical. But it was IN an Opera House...that definitely counts). Then, as we headed to our seats, a wonderful man told us that our seats had been upgraded and we were now sitting in the balcony. Dead center. Oh, yeah. Life is pretty great. 

It was an interesting show. The costumes were, well, mostly for the kids. The music was well done, I was pleasantly surprised. In truth, I enjoyed myself immensely. Beauty and the Beast is one of my favorite Disney films and seeing it onstage was just as much fun. And who doesn't love watching adults run around pretending to be flatware? The best was the wardrobe - I forgot that she was supposed to be an opera singer. 

Thanksgiving is next week and I am already starting to make preparations. It is going to be a wonderful dinner - so long as I don't screw it up!

Kelsey

This Land is Your Land

This weekend was the beginning of something great. It was the "Kelsey revitalizes her life" weekend.

I had been feeling rather boring and dull, constantly consumed with school work and the mundane activities of life (ie. Laundry, grocery shopping, ex.). While I was glad that my studies were not being neglected, I felt that I should be living life a little fuller. The weekend provided a wonderful solution to my predicament.

Step One: Friday Night

Oh what wonders will the night hold? A little bird told me that there was to be live music at Ye Old Egglantine Inn, a local pub not far from my lovely abode.So, with the company of Karin and Alex, off we went to expand our musical horizons. Unfortunately, the show did not start until 11:35 and by then we had had a few drinks. So we were very appreciative of the music. To say the least. In our waiting period we did have many philosophical discussions, perhaps made even more so by the fact that we were taking full advantage of the three for five student deal. But after the band's first set we decided that we were beat and headed home. A slow start for a supposed wild weekend. But Saturday held promise...

Step Two: Saturday

Bright and early Saturday morning, five intrepid trekkers from 76 Malone headed out on a FREE international student hiking trip. As we walked to the bus in two degree weather, we worried that Saturday was going to resemble Friday night. As the bus dropped us off outisde Newcastle, a few of us realized that the sceneery looked fairly familiar. that is because we had all visited this lovely National Park on a previous adventure. You may recall the lovely pictures. Yes, it was the same place, but with one change. We were on the opposite that we started on in the previous hike. Feeling foolish we headed out. But what a day it turned into! The weather cleared and the forest was filled with sunshine (a novelty for Northern Ireland). Accompianing our usual group was Lionel and Lenin - to musician friends of mine. So, naturally, the hike was filled with lovely harmony and song. Which added to the enjoyment. I was filled with energy. I went for a short run through the forest, played with some particularly happy puppies, and even payed homage to The Sound of Music by frolicking across a hill.

Sunday: Don't worry - nothing happened.

Monday: And the excitement continues!!! We went out to see lionel and Lenin perform of the John Hewitt Pub. It was open mike night and I am happy to say that they brought the house down. Now, that may be because the pub was filled by, mostly, their friends. Regardless, they were amazing.

A fabulous weekend. 

Kelsey

Stairway to the Stars

Of all the cultural differences I have noticed here, only one springs to mind that causes a physical outburst. It begins with KFC. Now, correct me if I am wrong, but I recall the traditional sides of KFC being mashed potatoes, mac 'n' cheese, and biscuits (with or without gravy). However, here in Belfast, there is an absence of those beautiful, heart killing, sides. I could honestly get over the lack of potatoes (as if you need MORE of those in Ireland, with the exception of the famine) and mac 'n' cheese. It is the biscuits that gets to me. Here is the basic problem. In Northern Ireland - and what I have concluded to be the greater UK area- a biscuit is not the fluffy, buttery concoction that springs to mind for the average US citizen. A biscuit here is something close to, what I imagine, the love child of a graham cracker and a butter cookie would look like. I have tried multiple times, unsuccessfully, to describe the idea of a good southern biscuit and every time I find myself confronted with a thoroughly confused person. They just don't get the concept. I find myself wanting to angrily confront the managers of KFC, as if by demanding biscuits they would admit that it is a cruel joke and they only pretend not to serve biscuits. Alas, I am doomed to long for an American biscuit.

But onto other, even more minute topics.

I have a personal belief that stairs, particularly those spirally kind, were invented as a cruel joke. I bring this up because I, personally,have a large difficulty with stairs. I fall up stairs with a skill like never seen before. I flounder, I trip, I mysteriously lose balance, I am visually tricked - all ends in pain. This "condition" has become even more clear to me since I have moved to Northern Ireland. Specifically, since I have moved to the third floor of 76 Malone, Belfast*. 

You see, as my room is located on the top floor, I walk up a lot of stairs. But not just any stairs. The twisty spiral kind. The kind that makes you stare at your feet with a concentration unlike ever you have known. This is because architects thought it would be funny to make a stair with two different widths, making it increasingly difficult to walk up. One mistake and BAM! Down you go. I might add that falling on spiral stairs is much worse than the regular stair. On a nice, homely stair, you fall forward and run the risk of getting a sightly bruise on your chin and some lovely accessories on your knees. But, fall on a spiral stair and disaster strikes. First of all, you are more likely to hit the wall when you fall on these twisty traps because, well, the wall follows the movement of the stairs and creates a much shorter face/body to wall distance. Secondly, it is much easier to tumble backwards on these types of stairs because other parts of the stair - primarily the railing - are much closer. I should say that all of this data comes from a series of , ever increasing, tests done by yours truly. Also, I have conducted quite a few experiments that include the consequences of falling up twisty stairs while holding things; ex. Books, toiletries, and laundry. (While the addition of textbook will cause the most physical pain, nothing quite replaces the shame of having to retrieve you under-garments from the stairs. On the other hand, the "omph" noises that go hand in hand with stair catastrophes are nicely muffled by the laundry; I suggest towels for the best result as, again, lacy things only result in more embarrassment.)

This would be the point, if we were in a movie, where a lovely montage of myself tumbling down stairs, up stairs, and other such accidents, would be included. Take a minute to fulling appreciate this virtual insertion. Add some nice background music for the full effect - I suggest "I Get Knocked Down (But I Get Up Again)". And that, my friends, is why the title of this blog is particularly well chosen. For, every time I use the stairs, I end up seeing stars.

Kelsey

*On a side note: Something I have discovered here is how important the definition of "first floor" is. If you, like myself, would define the first floor as the one you walk on when you enter a building you might find yourself confused in the average Northern Ireland department store. Here the first floor is the floor you reach when you go one story above the entry level area - or the "ground level". You may be thinking to yourself, "Silly Kelsey, how could you define floors in any other way?" But let me tell you - it gets confusing.