The Great British Cheese Festival

Despite the grim forecast, we stuck to our plan of yet another day out in Cardiff; this time, for the Great British Cheese Festival, held on the castle grounds. We met Button at the train station, backpacks stuffed for all occasions with both a blanket and rain gear. We hadn't bought tickets in advance, and were brought up short by the massive line that stretched on in front of the castle. Luckily, however, it moved quickly, and we soon found ourselves on the grounds with an hour 'til our guided tour.

While Tea and Button made their way to the star of the show, I peeled off for the beer tent. Folks were seven and eight deep in front of the bar at that point, so it took me right up 'til tour time to get the two half pints I'd settled on: Sambrook's Wandle Ale -- I'd be wanting to try Sambrook's for a while now -- and Thornbridge's Sequoia. Well worth it, let me say; particularly the latter. (And I'd just brought a mini cask of their Jaipur to a leaving do the night before; you can't have too much Thornbridge in your life, I've decided.) The ladies helped me polish those off sharpish, and we made it to the start of the tour with a minute or two to spare.

After a fantastic guided tour, we met up with more friends, in Cardiff for the start of their holiday in Wales. Tea bought more cheese and breads, I bought a few remaining bottles of the popular Untapped Brewery's stock, and we filled up on Pieminister goodness. Unfortunately, as we ate and drank, watching the surprisingly competitive cheese tossing, they closed the keep. Button was undaunted, however, and amiable to our second choice for exercise: walking to Cardiff Bay; something Tea and I had talked about for as long as we'd been visiting Cardiff, but never done.

The Roald Dahl Plass (or plaza) was really something to see, but it was the smell of the sea -- and the freshwater lake before it, created by the barrage -- that hit us first. The Wales Millennium Centre, the Water Tower, and the Senedd -- home of the Welsh Government -- were all a feast for the eyes, particularly in the light of the setting sun. While we didn't make it all the way to the barrage, we made a good effort, treating ourselves to a taxi back to the castle afterwards. From there, we had time for a quick stop at Zero Degrees to buy a mini cask of the Oktoberfestbier I missed last weekend before catching the train home.

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the day.

Cardiff: day out

It's been another great weekend so far. Mom's last one of this trip. We took Friday off, and with poor weather predicted for the weekend, decided to make the most of the sun with a day out in Cardiff. It's become a ritual to stop at Coffee #1 near the train station: they're really friendly, and always have a tempting selection of treats on display. After I'd ordered Triple Belgian Chocolate Brownies and tea for my ladies, the woman behind the counter said, "I have to ask. Where are you from?" My response brought gushes, not only from her, but also from the woman behind Mom in the queue: family, friends who'd been, loved it, wanted to go back, saving to go. The consistent enthusiasm for Canada that I've encountered in the UK and abroad over these past two years fills me with such pride. I really do count myself lucky -- the accident of my birth, as they say -- more fundamentally than I did back home, even as a proud Canadian and a proud Newfoundlander.

The Cardiff Market was our next stop: for welsh cakes and a browse of secondhand books; another ritual. Tea had a bit of shopping to do as well, so we agreed to meet at the castle later on. A new favourite of mine is the microbrewery Zero Degrees, and while I was a day too early for their Oktoberfestbier, I enjoyed a pint of their seasonal amber ale before meeting Tea and Mom at the gates of Cardiff Castle.

They'd added a new World War II shelter exhibit since our last visit. The kitchen display caught Mom's eye: she pointed out the old oil heater, imposing at three feet or so, and cast-iron with a large handle: they had one when she was growing up, to heat the front room or parlour when guests were over; the only source of heat outside the kitchen stove.

Mom w. Brains Dark at the Goat Major

We toured the walls, grounds and keep 'til closing, and then popped across the street for a pint at the Goat Major. A Brains pub with an impressive history of guest ales (if the pump clips behind the bar are any indication), we enjoyed pints of Brains' Legends, Dark and gravity-dispensed SA in its warm atmosphere. It was only as we made our way to Zero Degrees for supper that we realized we'd missed a heavy rain shower.

Once there, we had a great meal on an interior balcony that overlooked the kitchen. Tea and Mom were mesmerized by the delicate dance around the wood oven -- their menu focusses on pizza, which Tea again raved about. Plus, Mom really enjoyed their Mango Ale. I can't say enough about their Pale Ale -- a really nice hoppy character I keep going to back to -- and I finished with a half pint of their Black Lager: nice body with heavy coffee notes.

Supper at Zero Degrees

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the day.

* * *

Yesterday, we were invited to a big barbecue the Americans had organized at Witcombe Cricket Club. We even got to be guest judges at their chili competition, a highly-anticipated annual event. (I had a tough time, going back for seconds to break ties, but persevered -- yes, the consummate professional, folks.) It was a fantastic atmosphere: great spread, games for the kids, and nice location and weather (early on, anyway) -- they even had an ice cream truck show up!

Later, we took Mom to see Jane Eyre, which we all really enjoyed; particularly the setting. And speaking of film, I should sign off and grab a shower; the main event (from my Mom's point of view) is on deck as a matinee: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. She's over the moon that it opened here ahead of the North American release.

Days out with the naked chef

For the second week of Kae's visit, we decided on a few day trips. First, we took the train to Cardiff for the day, planning to do some of the things we didn't get around to the first time. After browsing the arcades for a bit, we made our way to Cardiff Castle, signing up for the premium tour. I'd really recommend that tour to anyone that has a day over here: it's close, and the castle truly is regal in that storybook sense you don't often find. Plus, our guide was knowledgeable and colourful, and made many references to the beautifully carved Canadian pine throughout (before she saw my TUNS backpack!). The Bute family had a number of beavers represented in the roof garden in particular, in honour of Canada, actually. The best bit? The guide saying, "By the way, those aren't squirrels with machine guns near the top of the fountain." You may just be able to pick out what she was getting at in the picture to the right.

Then it was off to Jamie's Italian for some lunch. Well, from the moment you enter that restaurant, you know you're in for something different. And while most of you will know this about us, just to be clear, we eat out a lot; not so much here -- it isn't really part of the culture, frankly -- but we've certainly eaten in all sorts of restaurants.

Jamie's Italian is easily twice as good as any restaurant I've eaten in.

Ever.

Easily.

And I'm not some naked chef fan-boy. :-) I had absolutely no expectations going in.

I think Tea and Kae would agree with that assessment of the place; they certainly enjoyed themselves. The quality of the ingredients is amazing, and what really sets it apart -- I've never tasted olives, bread or Italian meats like those -- but it's the little things too: like offering the antipasti tray based on how many will be eating it, and offering half portions of everything -- 'cause, frankly, it turns into a six course meal despite your best efforts, so you need to pace yourself.

But it's more than that: the selections are simple, yet inspired. I had a 'winter salad' with my penne arrabiata, and I quickly ended up pushing it to the middle of the table with a "OMG, you have to try this!" Pumpkin, two types of onion, pine nuts, balsamic vinegar... It looked beautiful, and was like nothing I'd ever tasted before; yet, it was so simple, I think I could make it (assuming I could get the same quality ingredients, of course). And Kae's tiramisu was another example: as she put it, "The orange changes everything!"

And, finally, as if that wasn't enough, the atmosphere was relaxed in a way that isn't normally comfortable. If the waiter or owner has as much time to talk to you as these guys did, it normally means it's a slow night, and you feel the undercurrent of how difficult that business is. At Jamie's Italian, it seemed perfectly natural. We talked to one waiter about his many years working with Royal Caribbean, and another on how often they see Jamie, and his hopes of returning to Australia soon. Really great guys, but knowledgeable too: they knew where everything was made or came from... O.K., enough. I repeat, I'm not a fan-boy; it was just that good.

We finished up the day with the Cardiff Centenary Walk, and then caught the train home, planning our next day trip.

Bath

We decided that some time at the spa in Bath would do us good, followed by more good food at the Jamie's Italian in that town. :-) Yes, folks, we went to that restaurant on back-to-back evenings. And while the spa was a bit disappointing -- the view from the rooftop pool was lovely, but the saunas, steam rooms and hot tubs were not nearly hot enough -- the restaurant was just as good as the one in Cardiff, if not a smidge better (just 'cause, Will, our waiter that evening, was so much fun).

Stella at the Pig and Fiddle

Prior to the spa, however, we stopped in at the Pig and Fiddle for something to tide us over. The ale and cider was great, as was the food, but the star of the show, far and away, was Stella, the pub cat. She was hangin' out in her bed, havin' a grand ole time.

Finally, another highlight would have to be the book shops: Topping & Company Booksellers of Bath was fantastic, with all sorts of signed copies and upcoming readings. And Mr B's Emporium of Reading Delights was just like someone's home: such a great selection, with water in decanters on end tables encouraging long hours of reading and browsing. They even advertise reading spa holidays, which, while still a mystery to me, sound awesome!

Up next: a weekend in London.

Wales: "We're Motörhead! We play rock 'n' roll!"

In one of those coincidences that you just love to talk about we found ourselves with tickets to Ballet Ireland's rendition of Cinderella one night, and Motörhead the next. Beyond that, and maybe our sitting on something like the bleachers you remember from school, the two events shared little in common, I'm sure you're surprised to learn.

The ballet was great, making very entertaining use of artistic license: it opened with the clock striking midnight, and the ringing was still in the air as the prince displayed a side a far sight short of charming. Probably the most consistent entertainment (i.e., laughs, which is always important in any stage production) came from the two ballerinos -- yes, I had to look that up, and I'm trustin' Wikipedia on it -- who played Cinderella's step-sisters. As a guy who always thinks of Disney's interpretations of many of these tales, I was happy to see that Ballet Ireland took the ugly bit very seriously. ;-) But, in all honesty, they didn't just ham it up: these guys did an outstanding job, looking at every moment as if the prince's heart (or maybe the glass slippers) was all they wanted in the world.

And then, the next night, it was off to Newport by train; this was complicated a bit by the landslip -- no, I didn't look that one up; they're common over here, in fact -- that took out the direct line through Gloucester, but we made it to the Kings Hotel with plenty of time to spare. With three opening acts, the Newport Centre was hoppin' by 7 p.m. (That, and they just start these things earlier over here: I think everything was all said 'n' done not much after midnight.) In line in front of us was a guy with a mohawk, a leather jacket under a denim vest, all marked-up and torn to c**p, and... a boy of ten, maybe, in identical attire (right down to the mohawk!). As they got up to the ticket-taker, we learned it was his first gig. :-) Hope Dad brought earplugs!

As we walked in the door, I could've sworn I was in the Walter Baker Centre or the Nepean Sportsplex: people could've been walkin' by in trunks on their way to the pool. (All the better, 'cause it never quieted down in the lobby, I'm sure, with the bar in the opposite direction to the show and up a floor.) And the show was in what looked like a big high-school gymnasium, right down to the multi-coloured lines they use for the basketball court. (Can't imagine how many marks everyone left on that surface, though. :-) )

We wandered over to the many levels of bleachers that lined the walls, and hadn't been sat for more than a minute or two before a guy directed an obviously-drunk companion to a seat in front of us. Before I continue, a word on my attire: I chose to wear a tie to the show; just to be a bit cheeky, and since I figured my black Mullet Rock shirts wouldn't stand out in that sea of black, white and denim. (Incidentally, I've never seen so many of the main act's shirts at a show in my life; one more of the many ways Motörhead just chews up the rules 'n' spits 'em out.) So the guy sits heavily in front of us, and his brother (as it turns out) turns to me and says, "Bit formal, innit?" He returns my grin, and, my tie in his hand, quickly follows that up with, "That's quality, that."

I wish I could've understand their accents a bit better, 'cause what we did catch of Rob and Steve's (I hope those were their names, although they don't sound very Welsh to me) stream of consciousness was fantastic. They were from a little village to the north (of Newport) called 'Glencairn', although I can't find it on a map for the life of me. (Rob did say that I pronounced it better than people who lived 10 miles down the road from him, though, so it may be my inability to spell Welsh names that's the problem.) But from Rob's talkin' about how his wee... u'm, wee wee that can only make girls, to his askin' our advice on men-less places in Canada he could move to with said girls, to the much shaking of hands and kissing of heads, these brothers were a show in their own right. Steve was even back out on the floor, half-naked, swingin' his shirt over his head -- and there's no band up yet, mind -- before we made our goodbyes and went for a drink.

And this 'bar' was somethin' else too; more of a place for a wedding reception you'd figure, were it not for incredible amount of leather and facial hair on display. The best part, though, was that they were all just gentle giants, from what I could tell: it's so hard to keep from laughing when a crowd clears from around the bar to make room for a tattooed, ZZ Top beard-sporting Goliath carrying this little dainty tray full of glasses of beer, like he was off to some totally freaky tea party.

After we finished our drinks -- I had a Guinness and Tea, seeing the lady in front of her order it, had some blackcurrant cordial in a cider, which I've now learned is a popular drink called Cider & Black -- we headed back to the packed gymnasium, now well into The Damned's set. (Incidentally -- yes, I know I say that a lot, :-) it really seemed like lead singer, Dave Vanian, was going for a Bono thing, and it wasn't just his shades: he had a monologue in the middle of a song that you could've played right along side Silver and Gold off Rattle and Hum.)

And then it was time for the main act. Five years ago, my friend, W., saw Motörhead (in the exact same spot, I believe), and I always remembered how he said Lemmy came out and, really quickly, said, "Y'o'right? We'll soon fix that," and just started givin' 'er. Well, no word of a lie, he said those very words this time too, followed by the title of this post. It was a fantastic moment.

For me, they played a perfect set: a mix of the oldies like Bomber, Ace of Spades, and Overkill, along with stuff for the new album -- can't believe they're still making albums! -- with just enough chatting in between. I particularly liked the opening to Just Cos You Got The Power: "This one's about politicians..." [much booing] "Wha? You don't like politicians?" [much yelling] "Me either, thievin' bastards!" :-) Oh, and the acoustic Whorehouse Blues in the encore was great. They ended the show sayin' we were the best crowd they'd had in Wales in ten years! (Sorry, W. ;-) )


On the train to CardiffThe next day we puttered around Newport for a bit, and then decided, spur of the moment, to take the train to Cardiff. Little did we know that it was the day of an International Friendly football match between Wales and Scotland in that city's very stadium! The dozens of lads in kilts at the Gatekeeper pub just down the road from the Millennium Stadium sort of gave it away, though. :-)

It was a bit of a rainy day, but we made the most of it, takin' in the Christmas market, which included plenty of mulled wine and bratwurst, of course.