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pretty cans make graves

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Aug. 23rd, 2009 | 06:46 pm

I am in the unusual situation of having too much beer in my fridge. It is taking up space that I want to use for vegetables. This is a situation that I am attempting to remedy, both by fridge-re-packing and the obvious "drinking them" mechanism. (I have to say that some of the cans responsible contain cider.)

The good thing about the world is that one can always be reassured that one is not the biggest alcoholic in the area though - this will not be true for one person in the area, but that person is almost certainly unable to appreciate it anyway. For instance I went out yesterday morning, down to Pacific Coffee on the corner of the Green, to have some breakfast sitting outside next to the roadworks. I was sitting near a group of three young ladies, one of whom had managed to tip her breakfast on the pavement just before I arrived, which makes a bit of a mess when it involves beans.

Anyway, after that had been cleaned up, two young gentlemen of the Australian persuasion came along who seemed to know them, and the five had a conversation, which was cut short by one of the gentlemen saying "I'm dying for a beer". (It was about 10.15am.) The two then went off to the east. They returned a bit later with crestfallen expressions, and told the ladies that apparently the place that they had visited would not serve them because it was too early. I would have thought that a working knowledge of the licencing laws would have been pretty common amongst young Australian alcoholics in this area but apparently not. They then left again, perhaps to go to the Walkabout by the Empire, which I'm fairly sure would have served them beer at that time. The Walkabout already had a bouncer on the door when I went by slightly later, though he wasn't the stereotypical chunky balding white guy, instead being tall but not an obvious steroid case, good-looking and with a quality haircut and stylish suit. No wonder he was on the outside of the Walkabout.

On my way back home I bought some garden eggs in a grocer's in the market, because they looked interesting. The garden egg is an African vegetable and I have no idea what to do with it, though, you know, it's just a vegetable and I can always fry it or put it in a casserole or something.

Today I have achieved some considerable programming tasks but now I am not doing so. I bought an expensive bottle of bourbon on a whim, which tastes like every other damn bottle of bourbon that I have ever bought. How is it that I can easily tell the difference between different qualities of vodka but not with bourbon or other whisky? Is there a placebo effect that I'm missing out on?

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Comments {6}

(no subject)

from: anonymous
date: Aug. 24th, 2009 04:36 pm (UTC)
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Garden eggs are called aubergines in this country.
Damned foreigners, taking our jobs, mis-naming our vegetables . . .

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fridgemagnet

(no subject)

from: fridgemagnet
date: Aug. 25th, 2009 08:02 pm (UTC)
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These are not aubergines - they're whitish and about the size of large eggs. Hence the name I imagine. All similar sorts of fruit though one supposes.

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Garden eggs

from: anonymous
date: Aug. 25th, 2009 03:50 pm (UTC)
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have a look at: africanfoodsDOTcoDOTuk for recipes - here they are called mock tomatoes and can be sweet or bitter - which ones have you got?

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fridgemagnet

Re: Garden eggs

from: fridgemagnet
date: Aug. 25th, 2009 08:04 pm (UTC)
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I'm not really sure - is there a way to tell the difference apart from by eating them?

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fridgemagnet

Re: Garden eggs

from: fridgemagnet
date: Aug. 25th, 2009 08:09 pm (UTC)
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From the taste, bitter, I think, though they're not _very_ bitter. Quite a firm texture.

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(no subject)

from: anonymous
date: Aug. 26th, 2009 08:09 am (UTC)
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Put recipes with garden eggs in the G search engine and you get a w i k i page with lots of recipes.

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