Recipe: Corsair Sweet Pepper Smoke

Be warned in advance: this is not a traditional hot sauce, and it does not smell very nice. However, if you want to add an intensely smoky flavour to a dish, with strong undertones of garlic and some sweet spiciness, this will do the trick. I like the taste, but it’s definitely not for everyone.

The Virtues and Dangers of Dining Alone

So, anyone who has met me will notice that I have a bit of a strange habit. I almost never invite people out to do stuff. The closest I come to it is letting people know I am doing something, and then saying they are welcome to participate. Hell, on the odd occasions that I am in a relationship, I basically do the same thing with the lady.

It’s because I’m horrible (hat tip to my brother for this endlessly useful phrase).

I kid. It isn’t because I am horrible. I am horrible, but that’s not the root cause of this behaviour. It’s because I like going out. I discovered fairly early in my independent life that  I really like going out. Coffee, shisha, bars, restaurants. Whatever. I like the stimulation of being out in public. I get to see and hear and smell and taste stuff. Endless variation and novelty. But you know what kills that joy? Compromise. Some day I will write a post about how I am basically an anti-compromise extremist (this administration will not negotiate with terrorists!), but my point is that I want to go out. What I do not want is to spool up a NATO Joint Operational Planning Group to develop 28-member state consensus to determine when and where I will get to enjoy human civilization and under what circumstances I must tolerate people I don’t like.

So I go out. The plan is mine. The destination is mine. The timing, the location, the goals. All mine. I want sushi? Sushi. Don’t care that the California maki contains dolphins. Those rapey bastards are probably delicious anyway. I don’t have to sit at a table for six and apologize for the third time to the waiter trying to keep the manager happy, because someone’s significant other is a Pashtun Tribal, and really only sees time as a measure of daylight. And because I am Canadian, I have to live with the cultural norm that I cannot (or at the very least should not) notify someone that doing their makeup cannot possibly justify being 3 hours late to a picnic in the park, unless that park is the Rose Garden at the White House, in which case their basic ass would embarrass me with their silly stick on nails in any case.

Regardless, I go out alone a lot. Which gets me stared at a fair bit, yes. It also means that my “day game”, as the wags put it, is non-existent. Seriously, nothing comes off as more desperate than being alone on a Friday afternoon and trying to charm a group of ladies. So I get to read a lot. I watch people. I get to practice silence. It’s pretty nice sometimes, too. Serving staff tend to be attentive. Once I get over the irritation of the skeptical toned questions, I also make new friends.

But there are downsides too. For example, I frequently forget how to behave in a group. People join me, and I sort of blank on how to keep the conversation going. Or I forget that it is a bit rude to abruptly pay your bill and wander away. Solitude can be habit-forming, and those habits tend to reinforce solitude. I have to exert conscious effort to make sure that I am wearing reasonably presentable clothes. Aside, I have apparently been failing at that lately. A friend told me I have two outfits- jeans and a specific blue hoodie, or khakis and a checked shirt. I forget for months at a time to get haircuts. I don’t notice that a cut from my evening shave is bleeding and I now look like an extra from the dance fight in West Side Story. Or I don’t shave at all, and people try to give me money for bus fare.

In the end, I am not suddenly going to become a man fixated on social circle. My job gives me an odd schedule, and my personality makes me abrasive. I suspect healthy balance is something to be aspired to, but I don’t do healthy or balanced.

Table for one, please.

Eastern Empire, Part 1

For those of you who may be wondering where I have bee, wonder no more! For the last week, I have been in Austria-AKA Österreich, AKA Eastern Empire. Naturally, I had to be a very busy little bee at work to ensure my affairs were in order prior to departure.

To begin, I planned somewhat poorly. I need to get over my North American fascination with the availability of trains. A 14-hour train ride is bad. A 14-hour train ride interrupted every 3 hours by connections is worse. A 14-hour train ride interrupted every 3 hours by connections with a layover in Salzburg from 2 to 5 AM on a Friday morning is, as I am fond of saying, the German sausage (think about it).

Suffice to say, the journey was unpleasant. Salzburg’s HbF is designed to be as unpleasant to loiter in as possible, presumably to deter loitering. My buddy and I dragged our gear around a bit in search of something –anything- to alleviate the boredom. And we found it.

Fun fact: in French, “anything” translates to “n’importe quoi”. Literally, “it doesn’t matter what”. However, in bon Québécois, “n’importe quoi” is also an expression that translates to the white girl slang “I can’t even” (though obviously without the white girl connotations).

I never got the name of the bar we found. I will call it henceforth N’Importe Quoi. It was dingy. It was dark. The décor was almost archaeological in nature: the top layer was cheap plastic and LED lighting, that had been slapped over 1970s Hugh Hefner style velvet and hardwood. Which was, like a Russian Doll, stacked overtop of traditional Austrian alpine softwood carving. The effect was interesting, to say the least. N’Importe Quoi is clearly a bar for clientèle of a certain age. As my friend and I walked in, I could imagine the record scratch as the locals turned to look. A few collections of middle-aged men, dressed as though they were 20 years younger, smoked and joked boisterously. A couple of destitutes, or habitual drunks at least, nursed beer blearily in a corner. Wandering from group to group were four or five hard-bitten women who frankly scared the crap out of me. Oddly, two younger women were part of this group, and the younger of the two was quite striking. I was considering chatting her up, until…

My friend has functional German, so he went to the bar to get a drink. The young beauty sidled up to him, chatted to the bartender, and then wandered off. My friend returns to the table, looking thoughtful. Something is wrong. His pants don’t feel as heavy as they should. His phone! His phone is missing. 30 seconds of confirmation reveals that he didn’t leave it at the table, and so he wanders off to confront the young lass. She demurs, her boyfriend arrives. My friend gives a bit of a stare, and miracle of miracles his phone magically reappears.

We are bemused. It is late, or early, and we are drinking surprisingly good beer (Stiegl). The music is bizarre, discordant, and unpleasant. We think it is German covers of obscure 80s music. The DJ plays the same awful song twice in 15 minutes. Our conversation drifts, and the DJ puts on Hotel California. It is, as a German lady of my acquaintance says, apposite. Too much so. We flee back to the HbF, and laugh at our narrow escape. Austria is asleep, and we are barely functional. We debark at Saalfelden, and find a taxi. Strangely, the hotel has a room ready for us at 7 AM. We crash.

More to follow. Stay frosty.

Apologies, and a Travel Report

It has been a long while, and for that I apologize. My family came to Germany for the holidays, and that was excellent. And then I met friends in Berlin, and that was even better. So! What happened?

Firstly, my sister in law has declared me the winner in the previously unrecognized competition for Best Brother in Law. I won by virtue of turning her loose on the rural denizens of my neighbourhood, astride my scooter. Scooter riding has become a verb- “to scoot”. Her scooting was actually very impressive, considering that I gave her no guidance and I apparently don’t maintain my machine as I should. The tire was pretty flat, apparently. My parents got to enjoy some pretty serious nostalgia, and the visit was for the most part flawless. I had a minor stress incident in a German restaurant (found myself irrationally unable and unwilling to deal with foreign languages and the people who speak them), but my mother caught on fairly quickly and the rest of the dinner went smoothly.

Now, Berlin! Berlin was a load of fun. I met up with the Krakow Legendary Gentlemen of Leisure, and the Montreal Wrecking Crew made an appearance as well. Firstly, carpet-bombing did wonders for urban planning. Seriously! The city is very easy to navigate, and “airy” is the adjective I would use to describe it. The area around the Brandenburg Gate is particularly nice. A very walkable city, is Berlin. Some Highlights:

MONUMENTS

The Brandenburg Gate. Duh. It’s nice. Very Artistic, and for once the American Embassy isn’t some kind of hideous Castle Grayskull.

The Big Park Through the Gate. It has a name, but I forget what it is. It has some really neat statuary, and a huge victory pillar from the establishment of the Reich (the late 1800s one, not the one with pseudo-Roman pretensions).

The Wall. One of the few remaining segments of it abuts a park and gallery, which currently houses an exhibit on governmental Terror. It covers the Nazis, the Soviet Union, and others. It was closed, alas, but I’ve heard good things.

Checkpoint Charlie. Little remains other than the actual guard hut, which is unfortunately kitschy. There are young Germans who dress up in period uniforms, and you can pay to take a photo. The famous sign (You are now leaving the American Sector) remains. Fortunately, if you are a triumphant capitalist Pig-Dog such as myself, you can indulge in what I call the NATO Victory Lap with ease. There is a gargantuan (for Europe) McDonalds at the Checkpoint, and so my buddies and I bought Big Macs and chomped them at the Checkpoint. Suck it Commies, we won.

St-Nicholas Church. This is the heart of about a square block of preserved Old Berlin right against the Spree River. There are some nice restaurants where you can get real Berlin food and beer at reasonable rates. Highly recommended.

The Spy Museum. Cool, but a touch expensive. At about 20 Euro, you don’t quite get your money’s worth. The gadgetry is impressive though, as is the Bond Exhibit.

Potsdamer Platz. Kind of a German Times Square. Nice, mostly shops.

Alexanderplatz. Another plaza where locals like to shop and party. Pretty cool, honestly, with a big 60s era TV Tower/Space Needle. I had a pleasantly low key NYE at a club here. Well worth the price of admission, despite my many flameouts with the frauleine.

FOOD

Alles ist gut. Seriously, even the tourist spots had delicious food. We ate at a Bavarian Beer Hall (Hofbraü) that was truly amazing. Staggering amounts of food and beer at a low price! The restaurants around St Nicholas bear a second mention. Seriously good, but make reservations if you can.

 

That’s enough for now, stay frosty.

Future updates will cover London (for work), Budapest, and Maria Alm in Austria.

An Unsuccessful Batch of Chili, and Reflections

As some of you may already know, I entered my “Corsair Chili” into the unit chili contest. Due to procrastination and poor cooking habits, it did not turn out as well as it has in previous outings. Luckily, I actually gave a friend directions for how to make it over Facebook after a successful batch, so here it is:

Captain Morgan’s Corsair Chili

INGREDIENTS:
-1 kg ground beef. Lean if you want to, regular if you’re a man(#patriarchy).
-approx 500g of brown beans. Baked if you must, but preferably not. (1 big can, like a Habitant soup can)
-Approx 500g red kidney beans. (2 small cans, like campbell’s soup cans)
-Approx 500 ml of tomato sauce. Use whatever recipe you like, I will include mine below.
-4 tbsp smoked paprika
-1 tbsp ground cumin
-4 tbsp ground cinnamon(UPDATE: this may not be enough. Experiment!)
-hot sauce to taste

DIRECTIONS:
1. Place a dry dutch oven (enameled cast iron pot) onto high heat.
2. Using a little olive oil to determine temperature, add ground beef to pot once pot is hot.
3. Thoroughly brown the beef, stirring in spices and hot sauce. I recommend using tongs to do this.
4. Stir in beans and tomato sauce. Cover and reduce to low heat. Stir occasionally to avoid sticking.
5. Slow-cook for 2 hours, increasing heat and uncovering to reduce liquid to achieve desired thickness.

TOMATO SAUCE:

INGREDIENTS:
-1L tomatoes, either fresh or from a can
-1 large onion
-3 cloves garlic
-1 tbsp dried oregano or basil
-1 tbsp smoked paprika

DIRECTIONS:
-place dutch oven on medium heat
-put tomatoes in dutch oven.Cover and cook at medium heat.
-Dice onion. Crush and mince (or just use a press) garlic. Sautee onion and garlic in a cast iron frying pan, using butter or olive oil. Do so for approximately 10 minutes, or until soft and dark golden brown.
-add onion, garlic, and spices to tomatoes. Cover and cook on medium heat for up to 12 hours, or until sauce is a dark red, almost brown. If desired, dice a Turkish-style beef sausage into the sauce.

Sadly, I did not follow my own recipe on this for competition day, and it turned out a bit dry, and definitely too mild in terms of flavour. It really should evoke images of the ship’s galley on a north African corsair, looking for plump French ships out of Marseille to plunder. Ah well. On the interesting side, for the many disappointments of my current workplace, these people know chili. There were some classics (which won, sadly), some oddballs, and my personal favourite: Crazy Cocoa. It was chili, and spicy, but it had about a cup of cocoa powder in it-making it look almost like melted chocolate with beans and beef. It was good! The cook and I agreed that perhaps toning down the full cup to about half would probably improve it, but I still really liked it. I will be attempting it at home. Maybe a Cocoa Corsair. We will see. The great irony is that in terms of “voted best chili”, I came in second last, with Crazy Cocoa being last. A shame- it was a bold outing and I really enjoyed it. Of course, there was no preferential voting system, so it’s hard to tell how we did in terms of being second or third choice. Still, I will be working on my chili (in my new Crock Pot) so that next year I can take home the big prize of shameless bragging rights.

Some reflections: I am getting why a lot of single guys who get posted here would hate it. We are not in the Europe that everyone thinks about when people talk about moving to Europe. We are in the Europe people talk about on the news when Paris is burning, Brussels is locked down, and German police nervously watch nationalist parades in Saxony. Allow me to explain: we are in the Europe that has a firm identity, and frankly has no problem with hypocrisy. You see, the Europeans are happy to decry the racism of Americans, but don’t really notice it at home. Sure, Berlin and Amsterdam and Paris are all cosmopolitan, and very nice, but that isn’t all of Europe. You see, once you move out to the “hinterlands” of rolling hills and small towns separated by sprinklings of villages, the story changes. Take the Netherlands- as I sit here on the markt having lunch, various restaurants are putting up Christmas decorations. There is no “Happy Holidays”. It is all “Merry Christmas”- which is fine! I frankly find the religion-neutral “holiday season” to be crap. We have time off because the majority of the population has been and continues to be Christian. But here in the Netherlands, it isn’t really a quiet maintenance of the holiday, nor a sort of peaceful refusal of political correctness. It’s more aggressive, as indicated by the tradition of Zwarte Piet.

You see, Dutch tradition split from Germanic tradition in a strange way. St Nicholas, according to tradition, roams about giving good children gifts. Drawing on their pagan past, though, the Germans and Austrians (and Swiss, I think) incorporated a flip side: St Nick doesn’t deal with the bad kids. He has a demon that he has chained, and bad children can be warned (coal or birch sticks implying burning or beating), actually beaten, or carried off to Hell. German Catholicism is pretty fire and brimstone. This particular Demon, herr Krampus (the herr is my addition, the Germans just call him Krampus) is a lot of fun. There are parades and revels with booze and bonfires to pacify Krampus. Fun! Back to the Dutch, though. Sometime in the late Dark Ages, the Dutch humanized St Nicholas’ companion. Instead of a chained demon, he had a “blackamoor”- North African Muslim- slave. I suspect this has to do with the fact that the Dutch and Spanish had a lot of maritime trade, and so Spanish reconquista preoccupations bled over into the Dutch. Regardless, the Dutch have downplayed the slavery part over the years, until now he’s just St Nick’s friendly servant- who also rewards good children. Zwarte Piet, or Black Peter, is a figure of fun who wears a clownish costume. They make dolls of him, and people dress up as him. So here’s the problem. Zwarte Piet translates directly as Black Peter, but it misses the nuance. It’s a sort of soft pejorative, in the way that “Jim” in Mark Twain’s writing is “Nigger Jim”. It’s not actively hostile, but there is an assumption of inferiority that goes with it. A sort of unnecessary adjective to remind people that Piet is not a Dutch Piet- no, he must be differentiated. And the Dutch get pretty upset if you tell them it’s racist- which is plainly is. Zwarte Piet is the worst kind of Northwestern European caricature of Africans- think the same kind of portrayal you see in Tintin or Astérix comics. And people literally put on blackface and paint big red lips on to dress as him! It’s bizarre. It really is like a minstrel show.

Back to what this says about Europe. The part of Europe where I live is benefitting from the hard work of enlightenment that the big cities have done. But they aren’t enlightened, not by a long shot. The impression I get is that the people in the more “rural” areas (it’s not rural in the sense that North Americans think rural. It’s hard to describe…) are much more likely to embody their national stereotypes. The Germans tend to be more obsessive (don’t you dare mow your lawn on a Sunday!But your lawn must be exactly 5 cm long!), the Dutch more mercenary, and the Belgians…well, Belgians can simultaneously embody the worst stereotypes of Dutch, Germans, and French. So it’s already a bit of a shock to come into the “old World” and instead of charming history, you’re confronted with sclerosis and bureaucracy. Worse still, the “Benelux” (Belgium, Netherlands, Luxembourg) corridor is the heart of NATO- which means lots of foreigners living large on government salaries. And sadly, NATO is predominantly a blend of officers from countries that use NATO for training, and a dumping ground for inconvenient types from the bigger players (I don’t mind. Germany is far better than Shilo as far as career penalty boxes go). It really is the minority of NATO types who are quiet professionals getting the job done- which is why no one really notices them. This results in customer service for English-speakers not really being a thing. It isn’t that merchants go out of the way to be rude, it’s more that they are small town people who have had a lifetime of the merry-go-round of new foreigners coming in and expecting to be able to survive without learning the language. Unfortunately, Canada and the US do not consider non-diplomatic postings to be “language essential”. NATO’s working language is English, so nobody gets any language training before being sent. The Americans at least provide free Rosetta Stone licences, but Canada’s approach is hilariously odd. The Family Resource Centre will provide licences to dependants- so that the wife isn’t effectively socially imprisoned. But as a single man, I am not entitled to it. And Family Resources are not allowed to be spent on the serving member himself.

So here I am, not speaking the language and not supported in terms of being allowed to learn. I am surrounded by a population who are sick of outraged North American types, and I look arab so I have to deal with that too. Anti-arab sentiment is very real, and it has created an unfortunate cycle where some arabs become extra-hardworking to try to earn some level of acceptance (with an offensive lack of success. Seriously, these people are the salt of the earth, and the locals still treat them as second class) while others simply give up and turn to crime or radicalism. Practically every arab I have met here has a friend or relative who has become a drug dealer because they are tired of working hard for peanuts. And who buys the drugs? Why the same people who have kept them down, and then claim it is because arabs are “inherently criminal”.

Sociologically, Europe is a mess. They have next to no children, so they need immigration to keep the social safety net going. But they dislike the immigrants because they aren’t European. They brag about their welfare states and castigate the heartlessness of the Americans, all the while refusing to spend a paltry 2% of their GDP on defence because NATO (which really means the Americans) will save them. My father likes to say “You don’t understand depression until you have spent time in Russia”. I would add to that “you don’t understand hypocrisy until you’ve spent time in western Europe”.

I want to conclude on a positive note. Oddly, my natural cynicism has inoculated me somewhat against what causes other single Canadians to beg to come home. I knew what Europe was before I came- I’m just having my impressions reinforced. I also know that after Christmas I will have more time off (first six months of a new job is the wrong time to go on adventures). I have had my first performance evaluation and my bosses are happy with the work I am doing, which is a huge relief. There’s an elegant woman in Dusseldorf who will have more time to see me when winter comes, and I am starting to be more comfortable with my broken German (which I plan to start improving in a more formal manner). Also, my family is coming for Christmas, which should be fun. So yeah, things aren’t wonderful. But they are good. And I refuse to indulge in any kind of magical thinking (if X occurs, all my problems will go away). Instead, I have more rational expectations. When I can get a week away, I will go somewhere nice and see cool things. New Year’s Eve in Berlin is already organized, so there’s that to look forward to as well.

That’s enough for now. Stay frosty.