ToDo: Invent Brilliant Title

I don’t really drink wine.  If it ends up in a glass in front of me, then I drink it and usually enjoy it, but like how music is just pretty sounds in my ears, I can’t really appreciate it.  Charles shared a bottle of ’89 Grange Hermitage with me last year and I enjoyed it immensely, but it was probably wasted on me.

 

I’m similarly ambivalent about food.  My blood-sugar roller-coaster means I have to think about it far more than I care to, which, really, is at all.  Bring on the food-cube.  I’d find it very convenient for Vegemite on toast to fill all my dietary requirements.  Vegemite is tasty.

 

I suppose this means that my recent birthday present to myself was a strange choice then.  Cin and Nick came to visit and we did all sorts of fun things on the big day.  Perhaps not enough to top Kb’s big weekend, but we had great coffee, great baked goods, great fun staring at the hippies, a great visit to the Museum of Erotica (which did, as expected, run the gamut from slightly seedy to incredibly gross.  Also, the Paris Hilton video?  Snore.), gigantic great glasses of beer in a sunny square watching a very pretty passing parade.  And then we went to dinner.

 

Copenhagen has a restaurant.  It’s called Noma.  It does ‘Nordic cuisine’.  It’s the only Danish restaurant with two Michelin stars.  It was recently named the 15th best restaurant in the world.  So that’s where we went.  After all, I only plan to turn 31 four or five more times in my life.

 

We had the seven course meal with accompanying wine, though it really ended up being about 8 or 9 of each.  And it was fucking incredible.

 

Weird ingredients, bizarre combinations of flavours, strange textures.  And it worked.  It’s like every other meal I’d eaten was a tiny static-y black and white TV and suddenly I was watching high-def plasma.  It was almost religious.

 

And the next day, I flew off to Venice.  So my birthday didn’t suck.