Thou shalt knit kill

An attractive young woman is murdered: the investigation into her death exposes deep corruption among the local power elites, and pushes those tasked with finding her killer into emotional meltdown. I’m talking, of course, about Forbrydelsen, aka The Killing, the Danish TV noir that’s made Fair Isle jumpers almost cool.

But it’s also the basic plot of Twin Peaks: for Nanna Birk Larsen in the boot of a car, read Laura Palmer in a plastic sheet; for Sarah Lund’s obsession for justice, there’s Dale Cooper’s descent into doughnut-fuelled madness. The two shows also share a structure in which each episode represents one day in the investigation. And the inevitable US remake of The Killing transfers the action from Copenhagen to Washington state, the setting for Lynch’s deranged masterpiece.

Talking of remakes, remember State of Play? A journalist played by John Simm (or, if you prefer, Russell Crowe) finds his loyalties torn when Sonia, the researcher/lover of his politician friend David Morrissey (or Ben Affleck), dies in mysterious circumstances, with all fingers pointing to a ruthless conspiracy of government and business interests.

 
State of Play in turn was clearly influenced by the 80s drama Edge of Darkness, in which a policeman, Craven, played by Bob Peck (Mel Gibson in the unnecessary remake) seeks the killer of his activist daughter; the money/power nexus in this case having modish nuclear overtones, which combine with Craven’s own grief and obsession, and ultimately destroy him. The writer’s original intention, to have Craven demonstrate his eco-credentials by turning into a tree, was thwarted in the broadcast version, but is it too fanciful to see this as a precursor to Lynch’s Log Lady?

And, for the real geeks, how about the first season of Steven Bochco’s Murder One, in which the death of 15-year-old party girl Jessica Costello draws unwelcome attention to the activities of too-smooth plutocrat Richard Cross (Stanley Tucci) and ultimately wrecks the marriage of attorney Ted Hoffman (Daniel Benzali)? Like Twin Peaks, Murder One was ultimately stymied by the network’s convinction that viewers didn’t have the intelligence and/or attention span to follow such a complex plot; in common with The Killing, later episodes begin with a plot recap that actually confuses more than it explains.

Several other things unite the five shows. One is the definite sense of place in each one: the rainy, dark glumness of Copenhagen; the lonely claustrophobia of Twin Peaks; London’s grimy bustle; the Yorkshire Moors and their brutal beauty; the nasty gloss of Los Angeles. Partly because of this, the identity of the killer isn’t ultimately the most important thing in any of the stories. Like the inhabitants of David Simon’s Baltimore, or Thomas Hardy’s Wessex, the victims and killers and investigators and avengers are essentially the playthings of their environment.

And in each of the five narratives, the victim is barely a character in her own right: each woman exists simply to be killed, like a virgin bred for sacrifice. Only Emma Craven (Joanne Whalley), in Edge of Darkness, has a chance to register her own identity before she is gunned down. And yet each one reaches out beyond the grave: Nanna, Sonia and Jessica have each been captured on video, offering significant evidence to those seeking to solve their murders; Emma reappears in ghostly form, like an incestuous Cathy to her father’s brooding Heathcliff; and Laura Palmer reappears in the guise of her doppelganger cousin, Maddy Ferguson. (Apparently, Lynch cast Sheryl Lee as Laura simply because she made a good-looking corpse, but then created the character of Maddy when it turned out she could act as well.)

So, if it’s all been done before, what’s so groundbreaking about The Killing? Must be that jumper after all.

Come On, First Rate Nutbar, Give Up Already, Some Of Us Are Running A Betting Pool On You

While the world continues to wait on Colonel Gadhaffi to finally throw in the towel (and impatiently look at their watches, wondering what's taking him so long), the Colonel is spending his time working on contingency plans. One plan is to have himself cloned so that he can continue to rule Libya even if he dies. Rumor has it that another plan will see him mummified, with a curse placed upon him, so that he can rule again with supernatural powers when Rachel Weisz inadvertantly raises him from the dead.

I'm looking for a dare-to-be-great situation.

1,000th post and still drinking wine from mugs!

(To be fair, I am currently drinking it from a glass. What a poser.)

I'll post pics of this place soon. I love my little attic, though I am positive I will totally kill myself on the ladder-like stairs one of these days. I am living in Archipelbuurt, the "fancy" neighborhood, according to my supervisor. (I said, "aren't all the Hague neighborhoods 'fancy'?" To which he replied, "Well, that's the FANCY fancy one.")

I really like my supervisor. He reminds me a little bit of Wil Wheaton for some reason, I think it's the mouth. (Commenting on someone's mouth will never not be a weird comment to make, I've obviously kept that one to myself.) But as I mentioned, I was having a really shit time with my Amex cheques. I asked if I could skip out early last week to deal with it (banks do not take them and I had to track down an exchange shop near the more remote Holland Spoor station). He said that was not a problem at all.

Later, I was in his office and I casually mentioned something about walking because I had no idea how the trams work. He was appalled. He brought up the shop on a map online and then physically walked me downstairs and out of the building (when you work at the UN, this takes a certain amount of effort--lots of badge scanning that was fun for about the first day) and showed me which tram and which direction. Confidence ensued. Later that day, I used the tram all by myself and was terribly proud. (Actually, I was pretty embarrassed how easy it turned out to be. The whole thing took about 8 minutes and after the money exchange, I had been gone for maybe 30 minutes. Good thing I left 2.5 hours early!)

The money exchange went well (aside from the ass-raping commission of 65EU) and as I mentioned I now have a cell and tram card. The former is mostly for emergencies or texting. It has seen no action so far, which is good since it's pay-as-you-go.

Otherwise work is going well. I do not have a verdict on the Dutch people. My landlady is French and she is very hard to read. I have been warned by all my flatmates not to get on her bad side. Apparently she has her moments. The general consensus seems to be "don't take it personally."

Random Dutch people, on the whole, have struck me as fairly rude. In fairness, I do not think this is the case so much as just my particular perception. They are a very direct people and it's not surprising someone like me would take it for rudeness. It's just something to be aware of. And I have had run-ins with the occasional random Dutch person that turned out to be very good experiences and they were exceedingly friendly and helpful. (But yeah, for the most part, they seem to be a fairly abrupt people. Not the biggest fan so far.)

And before you stop and give me shit that my supervisor turned out to be very helpful and friendly, I would tell you that he is actually not Dutch. As it turns out, he's from--drumroll, wait for it--yup, he's from Texas. Natch. (Ok, Houston, but I'll take it.)

If they used any of the footage from my shoplifting arrest, that would be great because my arms looked fantastic.

Ok, so Dill Restaurant!



I had a seven course dinner with wine pairings for each course. It was the most expensive meal I have ever had, no doubt. It was located in the Nordic House in Reykjavik, a cute little historic house situated...well, not really close to anything, actually. Which wouldn't matter unless you showed up at 5:30 despite having a 7:00 reservation because you wanted to get the show on the road since you have to get the hell up at 3:30am...and whoops, you just found out they don't even open til 7:00.

(So the oh-so-helpful waiter told me the closest bar was probably "up there" pointing vaguely to the city center where I had just come from. "Helpful" and "friendly" are not words that leap to mind when I think of my waiter.)

I saw a Radisson somewhat nearby and went for a glass of wine. I got to chatting with the Turkish bartender, whose name escapes me, but was very awesome with an actual personality and entertaining stories. I thought of the drunk Irish man from my previous evening and wanted so badly to show him what interesting people are like.



These also kept me company, they were quite nummy, whatever the hell they were.

So closer to 7:30 I went back to Dill. The restaurant itself is a tiny room within the Nordic House that seats 30; because the courses are so specialized and the place is so tiny, they basically have to make the diners keeps pace. So I was by myself but forced to spend from 7:30 until 11:30 eating. That part was actually pretty goddamn annoying. I love to eat leisurely and relish every part, I do, but this was ridiculous. It did end up working out in my favor, however.

I finished at the same time as the group of Icelandic businessmen to my left, who had only had the 5 course dinner (but who got there before I did). As I may have mentioned, Iceland had been much colder than usual, and the wind made it especially brutal. I had a jacket, but it was hardly a match for the wind that night. I started to leave, cracked the door open...and yeah, I said no. I came back inside the main room (mostly a gallery for the House, the restaurant was its own little room) and the businessmen were all in a group and leaving. I fully admit it, I walked right up and said, "This might be inappropriate, but by any chance are you going to be driving by the city center?" IT WAS REALLY COLD, GODDAMMIT.

I'm sorry, I had just spent the better part of four hours next to these people at dinner and based on their conversations, I guess I just wasn't worried. And sure enough, they turned out to be a bunch of IT geeks celebrating something with their boss that I cannot remember. So I picked a very safe group of guys. I left with three of them and they coincidentally chose a bar for drinks that was literally one block from where I was staying. I stayed for one drink but didn't want to crash the party--and goddamn it was bedtime--so I thanked them politely and left.

So even though I had to spend 4 hours eating dinner, I didn't have to walk home in the bitter-ass wind.

Anyway, the FOOD was actually quite good. I loved one of the chefs, who would occasionally bring out my dishes. He was much nicer and had an actual personality, unlike my waiter. Ironically, later I discovered that both myself and the table of businessmen thought the waiter was giving the other far more attention and felt we were getting slighted. (But really, I think they WERE getting better service.)



Seriously, the more I drank and the longer I had to wait to get food, the more I wanted to steal this guy. I would have, but only two tables had him. There was one at the entry podium as well, and I thought about swapping so I could nick mine, but that was too much effort for a memento taken in pettiness. Mostly meaning I thought someone would see.


Anyhoo.



My view while I ate--this is around 7:30, btw. And if you look at the right-hand view, you can see the church from a previous post--gives an idea how big it really is.



This was a tasting (below) that came out first. Oh, and we got a glass of champagne prior to dinner. I was asked if I wanted it before I saw the menu. That goddamn flute of bubbles was more expensive than the bottles I usually buy!



I know this looks like a pile of hay and you know, it very well may be. But that little guy in the middle is bread with smoked mayonnaise. It's very complicated to smoke because they do not have an oven. So they are little labors of love but very, very tasty.



The second tasting (yes, second tasting!) was Jerusalem artichoke with Icelandic mustard and chives. Very light, crisp and delicious. I could have eaten a little more...I was also quite taken with the bowl (kind of an earthenware pot) and the sexy little spoon. Small pleasures.



Bread! Also known as the prelude to the actual dinner segment beginning. Each had its respective butter but I wouldn't have known had I not asked the waiter. He reminded me of my old Commodore 64 mystery games--you just had to ask the right questions if you wanted to get anywhere. So the white (spelt?) bread got the herb butter and the maple bread (NOM) got the pine butter (the one in the back).



This is celeriac and herb cream with löjrom, cress, goat cheese and "earthy" rye bread. This was the first time one of the chefs brought the dish to me, and he explained that they go out into the forest and pick the herbs themselves. This is awesome and vaguely alarming, but all that matters is how nice it tasted. The thing on top is foamy, if you can't tell.



Here we have marinated shrimps, buttermilk and whey.



An even better view. The crunchy bits (the whey) were quite lovely.



This is the view of the kitchen, to my right. As you can see, not the biggest restaurant.



Next up! Scallops, carrots, sea buckthorn and pine, almonds and chevril. This was great, and the chef came and poured the sauce as part of the presentation. This was also about the time the waiter brought the 3rd wine over, a Chardonnay from France that was lovely, but I was too shocked to say anything when he brought the glass over with some already in it?! It was bizarre. So much for presentation on that count...



This one was one of the stars of the evening...potatoes and mussel salad with sour pearl onions, fried onions and "all kinds of DILL!" (Get it?)



But just a very sexy-looking dish, to start out with.



And quite nummy. I had to fight off the waiter from taking it before I was done, and then he stayed away for about fifteen minutes. *facepalm*



That was when I got bored and took more pictures of the scenery. As you can see, it is getting dark. Even in Iceland.



Veal, cheese and ramsons. Confit onion and fried vegetables. I really enjoyed him, but I also wish the dishes had been coming a little more rapidly. I was getting tired/bored, however good the dishes were. When *I* think the waiter is dragging his ass, you can only imagine just how impressive the down time was.



Yup, taking pictures of the glasses. That bored.



Darkness continues to fall in Reykjavik. I get older. The Earth rotates.



Another dish! YAY! This is "Skyr, fennel and Melissa." Your guess is as good as mine. It was cold and refreshing, very delicious, however cryptic.



God this was probably really good but I decided once and for all that I am NOT a beet person. I could barely get half of this down. It had great texture, color and presumably it tasted great to those who love beets. I was not enchanted. But for the record, this is red beets, honey and rosemary with sugar-fried hazelnuts and cake made with burned butter.

So that was dinner. I'm really glad I did it, even though I think that will have to be my birthday present to myself! (I wasn't counting on the wine pairings being a separate beast, but you can't NOT do them. I also felt self-conscious about being on my own, so got the 7-course instead of the 5.) Again, fuck it. If you're going to do it, do it right. (I will repeat this mantra while living in my cardboard box.)

You can probably perhaps start to appreciate how thin my patience had worn by the end of the night, so somehow walking 20 minutes home in a bitter wind was just too much to ask, hence the brazen request for a ride to the city center. Something I would never do back home in a million years, but somehow there it didn't seem out of line. (Particularly with wine-infused judgment, no doubt.)

I only got 2.5 hours of sleep, so though I felt fine in the morning (3.30am, thank you), I was soooooooooo tired I wanted to vomit. So I curled up at the gate.



And took a picture of the board. I mean, I had 2 hours to kill, didn't feel like eating, and Keflavik Airport is not friendly enough to provide wifi.



So I took one of these to Amsterdam and have been in Holland ever since. Pics of my new home to follow!