Maps crated by reddit user generalscruff.
Click for giant size!
The 12 maps above are a tongue-in-cheek look at the various ways the UK is divided besides Brexit or how to pronounce scone.
And before anyone complains, they are meant to be humorous and should not be taken too seriously.
You can see each map in more detail below: click over for this!
Map created by reddit user generalscruff.
Click for giant size. You can see more of this here.
Ice cream parlor of L. C. Fish, Merced, Calif. Source.
…Throughout the 19th century, restaurants catered to a predominately male clientele. Much like taverns and gentlemen’s clubs, they were places where men went to socialize, discuss business, and otherwise escape the responsibilities of work and home. It was considered inappropriate for women to dine alone, and those who did were assumed to be prostitutes. Given this association, unescorted women were banned from most high-end restaurants and generally did not patronize taverns, chophouses, and other masculine haunts.
As American cities continued to expand, it became increasingly inconvenient for women to return home for midday meals. The growing demand for ladies’ lunch spots inspired the creation of an entirely new restaurant: the ice-cream saloon. At a time when respectable women were excluded from much of public life, these decadent eateries allowed women to dine alone without putting their bodies or reputations at risk.
[…]
The first ice cream saloons were humble cafes that served little more than ice cream, pastries, and oysters. As women became more comfortable eating out, they expanded into opulent, full-service restaurants with sophisticated menus that rivaled those at most other elite establishments. In 1850, a journalist described one ice cream saloon as offering “an extensive bill of fare … ice cream — oysters, stewed, fried and broiled; —broiled chickens, omelettes, sandwiches; boiled and poached eggs; broiled ham; beef-steak, coffee, chocolate, toast and butter.” According to the historian Paul Freeman, the 1862 menu of an ice cream saloon in New York ran a whopping 57 pages and featured mother of pearl detailing.
[…]
Although ice cream parlors had an air of dainty domesticity, they also developed more sultry reputations. At the time, they were one of the few places where both men and women could go unchaperoned. As a result, they became popular destinations for dates and other illicit rendezvous. “Did a young lady wish to enjoy the society of the lover whom ‘Papa’ had forbidden the house?” the New York Times wrote in 1866. “A meeting at Taylor’s was arranged, where soft words and loving looks served to atone for parental harshness, and aided the digestion of pickled oysters.”
Innocent young couples weren’t the only pairs tucked together in the velvet booths. During a trip to Taylor’s, one writer observed “a middle-aged man and woman in deep and earnest conversation. They are evidently man and wife—though not each others!” Moralists were also outraged by the presence of pimps, prostitutes, and women “who were not over particular with the company they kept.” These scandalous scenes prompted rumors of ice cream “drugged with passion-exciting Vanilla” that seduced virtuous women into taking “the first step…which leads to infamy.”
These charges did little to dissuade respectable women from patronizing ice cream saloons. In fact, their reputation as “a trysting ground for all sorts of lovers” may have made the saloons all the more enticing. According to the Times, Taylor’s “always maintained its popularity, in spite of (or perhaps because of) rumors that it afforded most elegant opportunities for meetings not entirely correct.”
Oh my, passion-exciting Vanilla! I have vanilla ice cream in my freezer, and I had no idea of the evil I was hosting. I’ll enjoy it all the more for that. You can read much more about the history of Ice Cream Saloons at Atlas Obscura.
My strawberry patch looks awful. What little I planted this year has mostly dried due to way too warm and dry May. However I still have enough big strawberries – those damn plants infested the side of the vegetable patch and grow among grass and potatoes like mad. Annoying, truly, on oh so many levels.
©Charly, all rights reserved. Click for full size.
From Voyager & Jack, so very sweet of you! I was momentarily afraid Rick was going to just drink the maple syrup, then I tasted it…ohhhh. I’m gonna be wanting pancakes. And I just ran out of Burt’s Bees! I could never go wrong with Wonder Woman at my side, and my thanks for the tea! And all the rest – Rick gave me the raspberry & orange chocolates, and oh, I don’t even have words for how utterly om nom nom it is. Thank you so very much.
Sorry for the rather poor picture quality, this was before I had money to spare for semi-decent equipment. One of my creations from a few years ago, I think 2011. I cannot say exactly, because in my old camera I had to set up date after every change of battery, so I ended up not setting up the date at all, because it was difficult and annoying.
©Charly, all rights reserved. Click for full size.
© C. Ford, all rights reserved.
I am in full chemo brain space cadet mode, so this post will most likely be on the disjointed side. As of my last chronicle, I have been struggling with the cumulative effects of chemo. My 6th cycle was pushed back by a week, and I went in for IV fluids four times before that cycle. I cannot even begin to say just how much that helped. It upped my energy and my appetite, and I need all the help I can get with the latter. On Saturday (the 5th this month), I went for a very short walk. As short as it was, I could feel that I was pushing things too much. I ended up going into full collapse all of Sunday.
One of the more terrifying effects of chemo is getting hit with this overwhelming weakness. You find yourself unable to walk all the way across your dwelling without having to stop and rest. The idea of walking two blocks without resting several times is impossible. It’s difficult to describe just how bad it is. Normal movements are taxing to the point you can’t finish simple tasks like folding clothes or washing some dishes without taking breaks. The worst of that hit me back when I did the Neulasta, but its been lying in wait, and hit again after the short walk. All of which brings me back to hydration. After I had the four pushes of IV fluid, I felt close to normal. What used to be normal. Rick emails me every day while he’s off at work, to check in and see how I’m doing. One of his emails included this line: You seemed way more alive last night than you have in a long time! I sat for a long time, staring at that, overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. It drove home just how close to dead I’ve been, how…faded. It hurt like hell too, because it was a very sharp reminder of just how fucking rotten this has been for Rick, how difficult it is for him to see me mostly gone, and wondering if I’m still there, buried under all the side effects. You can’t help feeling like you’re letting everyone down, including yourself. It’s very difficult to engage mentally and emotionally when you can barely bring yourself to move physically.
I’ve been steadily downhill since the walk, so Rick called infusion yesterday to set up fluids for Wednesday, but they said they could fit me in that afternoon, so off we went on Monday for another IV push. I could easily tell I was once again very dehydrated, because I didn’t have to pee. If my fluids are good, I have to race to the nearest lav as soon as I’m unhooked, and there have been times I’m off with IV pole, couldn’t wait. After the fluids today, we ran a few errands, and Rick once again remarked that the difference after I get fluids is night to day. For the last two cycles, I’m going to set up appointments for fluids on the Monday and Wednesday after my pump comes off. If you find yourself dealing with the terrifying weakness, you might want to holler for getting a series of IV fluids after a cycle.
We were sitting in the car in the market parking lot, having a sticky chocolate break before doing the market stuff, and I was telling Rick about how I had been feeling, that it wasn’t just the physical shakiness, which is still with me, but this loud, internal shakiness, all fizzy and overwhelming. Right away, he nailed what it was like – a really bad hangover. I haven’t had a hangover of any kind for a very long time, but the recognition was instant, it is just like that, the same dehydration and imbalance you get from drinking too much, when all you’re really capable of is sleeping it off. Chemo is mostly all “trying to sleep it off”, but that doesn’t work for chemo like it does for a hangover. This is not a matter of not having enough fluid intake, either. The chemo and the side effects dehydrate you to a point you could not drink enough of anything to bring you to proper hydration. I’m drinking something or other pretty much all the time, and still ended up like a walking piece of brittle kindling. Being dehydrated can also make your blood pressure plummet, so if you are getting consistently low reading like I was, look to get yourself properly hydrated, and your blood pressure will normalize quickly.
Dehydration also makes some of the side effects worse, like the skin peeling. It’s bad enough when you’re plump with fluid, and a nightmare when you’re all dried out. Scratching an itch will end up with your skin splitting open. I think that’s about it for now, my brain is jumping ship, and I need sleep. As always, if I have more to add, I’ll edit sometime today.
On a food related note, if you work in a hospital cafeteria, making the food and all, for the love of humanity, do not put effing cardamom in pumpkin pie! Also, if you grind the seed pod along with the seed, don’t ever touch the spice again. This comes up because last cycle, I was hungry, and Rick wandered off to the cafeteria to find something for us to snack on. We ended up with pumpkin pie that tasted like Vicks. Cardamom is a lovely spice, but if you don’t know how to use it, it’s a disaster. Chemo messes with your taste enough, getting a slice of Vicks pie doesn’t help. :D Speaking of, check out this Vicks ad, my my. (I did make sure it was that pie, not me. Afterwards, at the market, we bought a pumpkin pie, and it was just fine. I brought home another one yesterday. Turns out that it’s an easy thing to eat during chemo, and it’s cooling without triggering the oxali cold sensitivity.)
Water is life, and if you’re undergoing chemo, it doesn’t do to overlook the importance of it.
ETA: I’m actually cleaning today! And doing some laundry! Never thought I’d be so effing happy about that. Another ETA: If you’re in treatment or a caregiver who makes appointments, you do not need to go through any hoops to get fluids – just call infusion directly, and your grand and wonderful nurses will set you all up.
Source: Atlas Obscura.
According to the story, not only did 15-year-old Saint Agatha of Sicily refuse to abandon her faith, she also rejected a Roman governor’s advances. As such, she was punished by having her breasts amputated, then died of her wounds in prison on February 5, 251 A.D. Frescoes of the mutilated martyr are easily recognizable. She’s often depicted holding her breasts on a platter.
Known as minne di Sant’ Agata in Italian, these sweet cheese and marzipan desserts are an edible reminder of Saint Agatha’s suffering. Bakers craft the perfectly round confections using a base of shortcrust pastry topped with ricotta. After adding in chocolate or a piece of boozy spongecake to accompany the filling, they blanket everything in pistachio marzipan and a thick, creamy glaze. A candied cherry on top completes the anatomically-correct aesthetic.
Each February, hundreds of thousands of people flock to Catania to honor Saint Agatha in a three-day celebration. The centuries-old festival features an all-night procession and delicious replicas of saintly, amputated breasts at every pastry shop.
You can read more at Atlas Obscura. A bit grisly, but I’ll admit they do look on the delicious side. Religions certainly do come with a side order of weird. There are many depictions of Agatha of Sicily, including ones of her holding her breasts on a platter, her breasts alone are carved in stone, and much more.
Forced rhubarb, which is made to mature in near total darkness, grows at such an alarming rate—as much as an inch a day—that it actually makes squeaks, creaks, and pops as it gets bigger. It makes for sweeter rhubarb, growers say, and sick beats.
I had no idea. I don’t care for rhubarb much, but this is fascinating, and you can read all about it at Atlas Obscura.
Just a selection of this year’s creations. The last two pictures are the same eggs from front and from back.
©Charly, all rights reserved, click for full size.
©Charly, all rights reserved, click for full size.
©Charly, all rights reserved, click for full size.
©Charly, all rights reserved, click for full size.
We do not celebrate any religious holiday, but they are a good excuse for my mom to go on a gingerbread-baking spree. They are beautiful and delicious, and each year she comes up with new designs and styles. I do not know how she does it.
©Charly, all rights reserved. Click for full size.
©Charly, all rights reserved. Click for full size.
©Charly, all rights reserved. Click for full size.
Grilled octopus – photo by Alpha / Flickr.
“This is a vile fish of no value; therefore cook it the way you want.” ~ Liber de Coquina, a 14th century cookbook.
I’ll admit upfront that I’m a fan of octopuses, when they are alive. I don’t care for them in the least when dead, regardless of the cooking method.
Platina’s Right Pleasure and Good Health, a 15th-century work from Italy, offers these thoughts:
On octopus – The polypus has been named because it has many feet. It uses its gills as feet and hands, and its tail, which is two-pronged and is pointed, while mating. They are very pleased with smell, and they eat the flesh of shellfish. They carry everything into their house and then separate the shells from the red meat. It hunts the small fish which are swimming near the shells. You season a cooked octopus with pepper and asafetida.
Platina also has this to add: Whatever way you cook it, you will say it is bad. Doesn’t seem to much point with such a conclusion.
Meanwhile, The Book of Sent Sovi, a 14th-century Catalan text, gives this recipe:
To Stuff Octopus – If you want to stuff octopus or squid, take the octopus and wash it well, boil it, cut off the arms, and take out what is inside. Chop the arms all together with parsley, mint, marjoram and other good herbs. You can chop another kind of fish if the tentacles are not enough. Put in the best spices that you can find. Make sure that the octopus is cleaned well. Put in the stuffing, and put in raisins and scalded garlic and fried onion. Then make almond milk with the broth that has boiled the fish, and put it in a bowl or a casserole together with the octopus; in the milk you can put a little verjuice and good spices, the best you might have, and oil. You can cook it in the oven or on iron trivet with live coals beneath.
If you’re just dying for medieval cooked octopus, that sounds like an interesting recipe to work out.
Via Medievalists.
In exciting news, the Newberry has opened up access to 1.7 million historical images!
The Newberry has announced a major revision to its policy regarding the re-use of collection images: images derived from collection items are now available to anyone for any lawful purpose, whether commercial or non-commercial, without licensing or permission fees to the library.
You can read much more here.
Medieval Courses Online.
There is now a unique range of medieval and Tudor courses which can be downloaded or followed online, complete with the full text from www.medievalcourses.com – once registered students have unlimited access to study at their own pace, and can complete online quizzes at the end of each module. The courses are professionally produced in thirty minute lessons and include up to 11 hours of teaching, plus bonus materials, reading lists and links to other resources. The tutors are all established experts in their field.
The courses are all very reasonably priced. You can read much more, including a summary of the offered courses here.
Map created by Yanko Tsvetkov from Atlas of Prejudice 2: Chasing Horizons.
I have to say, this made me laugh. One of my great grandmothers had a great love of blood based dishes, but I never did develop a taste for them. Out of all these, I don’t think Kyselo sounds bad at all, and that’s coming from someone who is not a fan of cooked mushrooms.
While European food has a very positive international reputation, it’s not all steak frites and pasta. As the map above shows, the continent also has its fair share of disgusting dishes and culinary horrors.
The map is the work of Yanko Tsvetkov and appears in Atlas of Prejudice 2: Chasing Horizons (also be sure to check out his first book Atlas of Prejudice: Mapping Stereotypes, Vol. 1)
You can see a linked list of all the foods in the map here, if you’re looking for more culinary info. Interesting reading all the way around! One thing is absolutely certain – there is absolutely nothing which would induce me to try maggot cheese. There are just some lines not to be crossed. :D
Toni Patanen – Darude Sandstorm (cover).
Toni Patanen aka Pupsi, also makes ocarinas, which you can see and buy at Sauna Ocarina, handmade in Helsinki.
