Mr. Waffle

Culinary Adventures

19 November, 2022
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Michael, Mr. Waffle

A quiet day here at the ranch. I am crippled from my wretched knee which is sore standing up and sore sitting down.

The boys went to a college open day under their own steam which they pronounced as fine but a bit dull. They are open day veterans now.

Poor Mr. Waffle has the last two days of this wretched course he’s doing this weekend so he was out at that all day today and will be at it all day tomorrow as well. And he has to turn something around for work on Monday. Grim.

Meanwhile your domestic goddess made a curry recipe from today’s Irish Times for dinner. It was easy and pretty tasty. Score. The accompanying flat bread recipe led to a result for me that was…well not flat anyway.

On the One Hand, On the Other Hand

17 November, 2022
Posted in: Family, Mr. Waffle

My Covid wheeze has finally gone (you will recall that I had Covid in June so it’s definitely taken a while). The pretty much constant cold I had for October has cleared up. I can travel outside without a packet of tissues for what feels like the first time in months. I rejoice in my lung and general otorhinolaryngological* health.

However, last week, I hurt my knee. It felt a bit like I’d pulled something. I have no recollection of anything in particular happening and I have been just waiting for it to get better. I thought about getting my skiing knee brace out of the shed but that just seemed defeatist. It hasn’t been improving but until the last couple of days, it hasn’t been getting worse either. However, this morning, I was pushing my bike across the road and had to scurry to get out of the way of an oncoming vehicle. Did my knee like the scurry? It did not. Cycling and walking are both a little bit sore. I was with Mr. Waffle when crossing the road. He has an appointment with the physio for next Tuesday to look at his sore back. It took so long to get the appointment that it is no longer sore, so he offered me the appointment instead. I think I will give it a go. Sigh.

*Many years ago, my father was offered a post working in otorhinolaryngology. He decided not to take it up and sent a telegram, “Regret cannot accept post otorhinolaryngology”. The woman in the post office refused to believe it was a real word and accused him of trying to dodge paying the proper per word fee. And my father’s story is the only reason I know the word but, you must concede, it’s a good word that deserves more publicity.

Potato Content

11 November, 2022
Posted in: Family, Ireland, Mr. Waffle

As you will be aware, Irish people have a special relationship with the potato. Many years ago we were at a wedding where an English man was marrying a Cork woman. He went around the reception telling people in tones of awe, that there were going to be three different types of potato for dinner. How could he not have known that at least two is standard for any kind of fancy dinner.

There are a number of potato related ditties I learnt when I was growing up.

This one about the importance of ensuring your stock of potatoes:

Be ateing two/be peeling two/have two in the heel of your fist/and have your eye on two more.

Sound advice. Also this one which is a Cork special:

Are oo from Cork?/ I am are oo?/How are yer potatoes?/Big and small/How do ya ate ’em?/Skins and all/Don’t they hurt ya?/Not at all.

When I was little and we were ill, mashed potato with a little butter was often offered to the sufferer once he or she had graduated from dry toast.

My mother used to call mashed potato pandy, which I always assumed was a made up childish name never to be uttered outside the family home. Imagine my astonishment when I saw this letter in the paper (part of a long series of letters over several days on the potato).

Here’s another long letter on potatoes. In case you’re interested. And who wouldn’t be?

More of it:

I regret to say that Mr. Waffle being the child of 60s hippies prefers rice to potatoes and insofar as he likes potatoes prefers a waxy potato to a floury one. It says much for his other virtues that our relationship continues to thrive notwithstanding his poor carbohydrate choices.

Please let me have your own potato related memories.

Mid-Term Round Up

9 November, 2022
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Dublin, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Reading etc.

The boys were off school last week. I’m not sure they were totally delighted to have their mother around the house arranging activities but they bore up.

Some friends of ours from Brussels, now also resident in Dublin, had an enormous wedding anniversary party – caterers, entertainment, marquee in the garden, the works. “Bring your teenagers,” they said, “there will be lots of young people.” I was a bit dubious but we brought the boys. They had the time of their lives. I was amazed to see them out on the dance floor dancing with enthusiasm. There was a big gang of teenagers, chatting and bonding away. It was brilliant.

Mr. Waffle and I meanwhile struggled slightly. There weren’t many people there that we knew aside from the hosts who were obviously busy and a couple of people we knew a little. We spent some time speaking to a lovely man – a retired solicitor now a psychotherapist – who Mr. Waffle had known professionally. We were joined by a woman I knew thirty years ago when we were on the same course as trainee solicitors. I was able to recognise her as she has not changed at all. She was beautiful then and is beautiful now. She was always really pleasant and very, very clever. I felt that the gods smiled upon her and gave her all the gifts at birth. We talked a bit about our children and then turned to work and, to my surprise, I found that like me she was taking a year out from work. “How exciting,” I said with enthusiasm. She put her hand on my shoulder and said, very gently and pleasantly, “I don’t know if you’ve heard but my husband died last year.” I actually can’t believe that I hadn’t heard – Dublin is tiny – but it was such a shock. There’s definitely a lesson there somewhere.

We were taken to talk to our (French) hostess’s relatives who were over from France and didn’t speak a great deal of English. As French speakers we were offered up. They were very nice but I feel that I spent a lot of the evening speaking to older slightly deaf gentlemen. The culminating insult was when our hostess’s uncle said to myself and Mr. Waffle, “You are retired too, I think?” I think not.

All in all, by the end of the evening, I was a shadow of my former self. The boys had an amazing time though and we had to pry them away when we were going home. So there’s that.

The Dublin marathon was on the bank holiday weekend and I cycled all around the city with supporting banners trying to see the several people I knew who were running and failed to see any of them. I think that they’re all crazy anyhow.

We went out to Dun Laoghaire, had a walk on the pier and dinner out with the cousins which was lovely. It reminds me how one of the main reasons we wanted to come home from Belgium all those years ago was so that the children would know their relatives and I am pleased how well it has worked out.

Mr. Waffle moved office over the break and Michael and I helped unpack his boxes (Daniel was a bit sick). I will tell you this: there is a lot of stationery Mr. Waffle has acquired which he wishes his wife hadn’t been there to unpack (57 sets of file dividers anyone?). However, we finished quite speedily and Mr Waffle took us out for lunch so all’s well that ends well so long as he never brings his stationery stash home.

I took the boys to see an adaptation of an M.R. James short story in the Bewley’s Cafe theatre. I thought it would be suitably Halloweeny. “Who is this Mr. James anyway?” asked Dan. Things were a bit tense beforehand, a combination of lashing rain and a trip to the gallery failing to improve anyone’s mood. I pointed out to the boys a bunch of happy tourists enjoying the rain or at least not hating it as much as they were. Not a truly effective tactic. Mercifully, they quite enjoyed the play after so I’m going to call that a win.

For his birthday we got Michael Kilkenomics tickets. It’s a festival of comedy and economics in Kilkenny. He loves economics, I thought he’d like it. I was disabused of this idiotic notion the second he opened the envelope. We got him something else. And really, I should have found a friend to go with but I brought him anyway in the vain hope that when he got there it might be more fun than he feared.

My first mistake was bringing our bikes on the train. Kilkenny is small and everything was within five minutes of the station. There was no need for bikes and it is a pain bringing your bike on any train other than Cork-Dublin (where they are handily accommodated in the Guard’s van). You have to fit it on a rack designed for strong young men with light bikes.

My next mistake was booking three talks. What was I thinking? We were exhausted after two. The talks were ok and there were even some funny bits. The first one was the worst – it was hosted by Dylan Moran (comedian who knows a lot more about economics than you might expect) and at least one of the speakers was a bit dull. Michael commanded my admiration by asking a question at the end in a theatre filled with about 300 men in their 60s. Again, what was I thinking booking this? We had both read the book “Chums” by Simon Kuper which is an easy read – as Michael said, “gossipy” so we went to a talk by him. It was fine – and the comedian host, Rosie Holt, pretty good but almost everything he said was covered in the book so, not exactly new. He did have one funny story though. Apparently when Prince Edward was at Cambridge he was accompanied everywhere by two security officers. Edward did anthropology and was not very good and the despair of his tutors etc. but one of his security officers became fascinated and started doing the reading and hanging behind to chat to the tutors. Great story, if true, as they say.

We were really drooping at this stage but, happily the final panel was the best. A former Argentinian finance minister was really interesting and all of those on stage (a manel, I fear – honestly, economics on the evidence of this day, is overwhelmingly male) were engaging. There were two things said about Brexit which I thought interesting. One was that this was the first time in a break up that Britain was involved in that it was the smaller, less important, less influential partner. Obviously, in the outgoing tide of colonialism, Britain has had a lot of break ups but it’s arguably always been in the more powerful position. The other was that Britain was a “new state” after Brexit. I knew what the host meant, a bit like French Republics – you know the way they’re on the fifth now – this is a change so fundamental in outlook as well as economics that it is something of a new country. I have to say that the only English person on the stage profoundly disagreed with that analysis but I think there’s something in it. The final question was what was the first thing you would you do if you were a finance minister in a new country. The English man said that he would make radical changes as the country would never be as united as now after an independence movement. Everyone else leapt in to say, “Absolutely not, a civil war is often item one on the agenda of newly independent countries”. But the English man stuck to his guns and it appeared to me stoutly maintained that this is generally not the case. I think he was wrong there but it’s been awhile since they’ve had an armed revolution in England.

Michael and I got back to Dublin exhausted. We were met by other exhausted people. Mr. Waffle had had his course all day and Daniel had gone to the Trinity open day, a reunion with the people from his summer course and a rugby match with his uncle where, I am pleased to report, Ireland won. It was a lot.

On the Sunday before return to school, there was a fair amount of hanging around the house recovering although Dan had a GAA match (of course). I had to go to a removal across town (elderly father of a friend) so I abandoned the men folk to their fate and that was that.

A little tiring overall though. How was your own mid-term?

Out and About

8 November, 2022
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Reading etc.

There’s a new Turner exhibition in the National Gallery which I went to see. Genius or no, I didn’t love it. I went to a talk after my tour of the exhibition which was pretty good actually. The audience, on a Wednesday lunch time was composed entirely of elderly women. For once, I felt positively youthful.

I went to the Hugh Lane gallery – always a delight though small, sometimes that can be part of the delightfulness. My visit coincided with that of the Portuguese President who was on a State visit and at the Garden of Remembrance across the road. The members of the army band took shelter in the gallery and I must say they have quite the uniform. A little cape and a kepi – who knew?

I went swimming again with my friend who is a daily swimmer. It was a beautiful day but a bit windy. We got in on the beach side of the swimming shelter and there was a very strong undertow. We were less than two metres from the rocks when my friend said, “Start swimming for the steps.” I did and I made very little progress but eventually got back to the steps and hauled myself out but not before being pushed over the metal banister by a powerful wave. It was really surprising and I thought I was pretty lucky to be with a friend who did so much winter swimming as otherwise, I don’t think I’d have noticed how quickly I was being pulled out to sea. Two older men got in after us and one of them got into trouble. A young couple grabbed the life belt and he went down to the edge of the water (getting his trousers wet) and tossed it into the sea. I could see that the swimmer (maybe in his early 60s) was torn between a macho desire to manage without the ring and self-preservation. Eventually he grabbed the ring. Exciting times, I can tell you.

Mr. Waffle and I went on a Dublin walking tour. I was a bit worried it would be basic and, at best, I expected to learn a couple of things I didn’t know already. I was quite wrong. It was definitely the honours course. The guide took a lot for granted. For example when talking about Dublin housing stock he said in passing, ” I presume you all know about the Church Street Disaster“. There was a general murmur of assent and, indeed, I am familiar with it but I wouldn’t call it mainstream knowledge in Dublin and what on earth the four American tourists on the tour could possibly have known about it, I don’t know. However, for Dublin residents, I thought it was fantastic and I am definitely going to go on another one of his tours.

Several people I know have taken in Ukrainian refugees. I am so impressed by this but mostly they tend to, at least, mention it. I think it is stratospherically virtuous and you could at least get some well-deserved praise. I was amazed when one friend of mine sent out a message asking whether anyone wanted to come to her house for a wreath making workshop with a young designer from Odessa who is living with her. I had had no idea. On inquiry, I found that this young woman has been living with them for the past six months. In fairness, they do have a big house but they also have two primary school age children and it’s a big commitment to bring a stranger into your house with no fixed end date. I am really lost in admiration. Also my wreath? My wreath is amazing.

Paris

12 October, 2022
Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel

Friday, September 23, 2022

Mr. Waffle and I went off on our adventure to Paris to visit herself. V thrilling. The flight was uneventful although the journey to our airbnb from the airport felt good and long. The French metro tickets seemed so old fashioned compared to elsewhere. I was very impressed by London where I was just able to use my contactless bank card. The small rectangular Paris ticket seemed so strange. Apparently it is being phased out and I mildly regret not having kept a souvenir. I was charmed by this welcoming poster in the metro.

The airbnb was fine. The listing promised the best view in Paris and it was certainly a good view though the rest of the accommodation was a bit basique.

And frankly the sign in the lift indicating that the pest exterminators were coming on the following Tuesday to deal with the cockroaches was…unwelcome.

I think that the owner of the property may have been a Belgian as there were pictures of Baudouin and Fabiola in the bathroom. Others might have been baffled but my expertise in the field of Belgian royalty stood me in good stead. As my mother used to say, “knowledge is never wasted”.

Herself made her way around to us and we all went for dinner to a place on the quays in the centre of town. The food was fine but no more than it. The restaurant is related to the Tour d’Argent – the diffusion model, if you will – and I have to say that association is doing the Tour d’Argent no favours.

On our stroll around after dinner, we found ourselves passing the restaurant that saved our bacon when we were a hungry family of tourists looking for lunch in the centre of Paris many years ago. It was Asterix themed. We’re not proud. We took a photo to send to the boys but sadly they had forgotten this pivotal cultural moment.

After having put herself in a taxi, Mr. Waffle and I continued our 2022 tour of European city micro-mobility options by scooting back to the airbnb. Unlike in Berlin where you could basically drop your scooter anywhere, there are designated parking areas in Paris. A better solution, I think, although mildly less convenient for the user. Also cobblestones are a challenge.

Saturday, September 24, 2022

We went for breakfast in the Pain Quotidien (judge away) in Rue de Bretagne which was right beside us. Herself joined us and we went for a little flÃ¢ne around the quartier, stopping to look in the shops and market stalls and a really excellent book shop. My goodness, you forget how heart-stoppingly beautiful Paris is.

After lunch we went to visit friends for tea. The mother and I shared a flat together in Brussels nearly thirty years ago and we have stayed in touch ever since – exchanging Christmas cards and our children – a source of enormous satisfaction to both of us. Their eldest daughter is abroad for college as well and their boys are teenagers. Slightly to my horror they are talking about buying a house in the country and downsizing to a smaller flat in Paris once the youngest starts college. How did we get so old? Also, their truly beautiful flat in the 16th, how can they bear to leave it and where will they put all their books?

Afterwards we went to inspect the Princess’s accommodation. It was in a very chic neighbourhood in an old building. So far so good. We passed the beautiful main entrance and I was delighted. We went on to the grim servants’ entrance behind and I was distinctly less entranced. She was on the 6th floor no lift.

Her landing was terrifying.

Honestly, if you were a location scout, you would say, “This is it, I’ve found the perfect spot for the crime scene.”

However, the flat itself was pleasant enough though small and boasting some slightly exciting plumbing arrangements.

She took us out for dinner to a local Korean place which was, honestly, nicer than where we had eaten on Friday night and far, far cheaper. It also boasted more wipe clean surfaces though.

To celebrate the saving over dinner we went to a local bar for a drink. People, I paid â‚¬7.30 for a cup of tea, surely a record etc.

Sunday, September 25, 2022

We went to Mass in the Marais. At the end of the service, we sang Salve Regina and all turned towards the statue of the Virgin Mary in a side chapel. Bit odd, I thought. Catholics please advise.

We met herself for a very expensive breakfast in Place des Vosges. When I was booking our airbnb, I saw one on Place des Vosges and when I went back to book, it was gone. Alas. Anyway, it was delightful. We re-created some pictures from when we were last in Paris together and what I find astounding is how much the iphone camera has improved since 2017.

We wandered past the MusÃ©e Carnavalet. It is free, so I was keen to go in. Mr. Waffle was dubious. It’s a museum of the city of Paris and weirdly like all of the other local city museums you have been to, although somewhat larger.

Undoubted highlight was reading some of the v angry comments on the experience. I particularly enjoyed the one that took the opportunity to have a dig at Paris mayor, Anne Hidalgo (patron saint of cyclists).

We had lunch in the courtyard outside which I thought was lovely and atmospheric and herself and Mr. Waffle thought was a public health hazard. As a pigeon flew up on the table beside us herself commented tartly, “Its first time performing this manoeuvre no doubt”.

After lunch, we tackled the Louvre. Free for the under 25s but â‚¬17 for each adult. Still worth it, people.

Mr. Waffle and herself tired and went for a cup of tea in Starbucks (in the Louvre, sacred blue etc) but I persevered.

They have such a good collection of French painters as well as everything else and I love a bit of Watteau, Fragonard, Boucher frills and froth as well as the quieter charms of Chardin.

I am not a massive Claude Lorrain fan which is a pity because the Louvre has quite the collection. I had a quick walk down the long gallery stopping at some of the particularly famous paintings (although the Mona Lisa had a queue with a line other very famous and beautiful pictures did not).

I went to an online talk about the Louvre before going and I offer you the information that Diane de Poitiers put her initials and Henri II’s all over the Louvre to the intense chagrin of his wife, Catherine de Medici. I am sure you are delighted to note that your correspondent is as didactic as ever.

We had dinner in a local restaurant. Fine and a moment of triumph when we addressed the waiter and he said, in French, “Oh sorry, I thought you were English.” We did ok actually in the speaking French to French people stakes (something which was not very difficult in the past). They seemed willing which was all I wanted really.

Monday, September 26, 2022

After breakfast out, we packed up, put our suitcases in left luggage and went for a walk in Montmartre. Mr. Waffle was reluctant as it so touristy but it was handy. It wasn’t bad, I thought. I mean, there’s no two ways about it, it is tourist central – we kept getting caught up with a large Spanish walking tour – but it’s not exactly like the rest of Paris is tourist free. And it is rather charming with good views. It is possible that the on/off rain showers may have scared off some of the tourists.

Observe the site where Saint Denis stopped to wash his severed head in a fountain. Not a great picture but, if you look closely, you will see the statue is carrying the head. This is a source of a great line from a French aristo who having been told the story by some cardinal said, “Il n’y a que le premier pas qui coÃ»te”. It’s only the first step that counts. In other words, once he picks up his head and starts walking, well, the fact that it’s 6 kms is neither here nor there. A perennial favourite phrase with my mother.

By lunch time, the rain was torrential. We were to meet herself in a trendy place for lunch. Many of her friends had recommended it. We queued outside for a good half hour in the lashing rain before getting in. There were two queues: the queue for those with reservations and the one for those without. We were in the latter group, sadly.

When we got in, lunch was nice and it was all very happening. I can recommend Pink Mamma but I would also recommend that you book.

Then we said goodbye to herself and began our epic trek to airport. Nothing went wrong but it was just long. I felt bad leaving her sitting dripping on her own on the other side of the metro tracks but she made it home safely and I felt very proud of my small girl making her way in the big city. Also, I was quite pleased that she was coming home shortly.

We had such a good time. I was delighted. Mr. Waffle was reminded of when he lived in Paris in the early 90s and his parents came to visit him. Overall it went well but his father’s credit card had expired and getting cash abroad was not as easy then as it is now. The upshot of this was that he ended up subsidising them in their high rolling cafe adventures from his slender student savings and he still remembers the pain (fear not, they were good for the money but cash flow can be a problem, if you’re a student). No such difficulties occurred during our visit which was just as well as I think our daughter is more like her profligate mama than her prudent papa.

All in all, a triumph.