The Elf King

Return to Mead

As we prepare for the second historic snowstorm of the week, it's time to remember what's really important in life: Mulled wine. Tomorrow, I intend to raid wine stores, again (insofar as they are still open) to find a red wine that is good warm; one jam-flavored wine from southern Austria worked well in the previous blizzard. One thing I cannot find: Cardamom pods. The Indian and Pakistani grocery stores near me are only accessible by driving, which is impossible. I will thus have to make do with honey, cinnamon and cloves. I do love my cloves. One recipe I found suggested poking cloves into orange slices and throwing them into the wine, which seems a bit much. (A bit much, that is, with respect to the citrus flavoring, not the cloves).

Now, the mulled wine article on Wikipedia is perhaps in need of elaboration. Yes, it dutifully catalogs the different names for mulled wine in European countries: in German, glühwein, which is famous in the Christmas markets in Munich and Vienna. In Romania they call it vin fiert, and it is made using "red or white wine, sometimes adding peppercorn." In Latvia, is karstvīns, and is combined with a vodka mixture called Riga Black Balsam. In Scandinavia, of course it is glögg (Danish gløgg, Estonian glögi), and I'll get to that in a moment. So far, so good: Wikipedia has taken me on a trip around the world, just as it has many another time. But what if I wanted to have a Northern European costume party and serve gløgg out of one cauldron and glühwein in another? From this article, I would not be able to do it. There are no recipes, and no clarification of the essential differences between one variation and another. Gløgg is described as wine with cinnamon, cardamom, ginger, citrus and cloves, with spirits optionally thrown in. Glühwein is much the same thing: wine, cinnamon, vanilla, citrus and sugar ... with optional liquor. In Chile it appears they have navegado (from navigar, to navigate, not from Navidad), and the recipe is almost identical. 

Now, there are many varieties of human experience in which I am still untried. One thing that I have done, and more than once, is sample the Christmas wines of Europe. And I recall that there is a very pronounced distinction between glühwein and gløgg. If I had to guess, the gløgg sold in the street markets has schnapps and cognac added; the glühwein does not. I don't know. I am only the consumer. The Danes also add nuts and raisins to the drink and give you a spoon, so that by the end you're finishing a snack instead of a libation. Wikipedia says the Swedes serve glögg with gingerbread. My ... that sounds very good. Also, the Germans sometimes give you a mug that you have to return to the booth or else lose your cash deposit -- a very German way of doing things. The Danes seem to give out paper cups, mostly, which is very American. There is no difference that I noticed between the glühwein in Germany and that of Austria; having never been to Sweden, I don't know how closely they follow Denmark's method for brewing gløgg or glögg. (After staying in Denmark for two weeks, I still do not understand the difference between Denmark and Sweden. This troubles me.)

A cursory search through the Internet does not turn up any reliable cultural fault lines or consistent recipes; I simply found many variations of red wine (cheap, they stress,without too much oak) with alcohol added if you want it, and mixed with spices, citrus fruit or rinds, honey or sugar, and maybe some nuts and raisins. They note that you should not let it boil, which is true. And that you should heat it slowly for an hour to let it all settle in.

Snow

Yes, we had snow.

    

Whiteout

 

I would like to say (but would need to think about it further) that Americans need little excuse to prepare for a disaster, natural or otherwise; that we are more comfortable in a state of emergency than in the doldrums of routine. So a few years ago, we were told to use duct tape and plastic sheeting to protect ourselves from terrorism, and today we get instructions to "shelter in place" because it's going to snow this weekend. I say this because these disasters, so-called, keep on happening; multiple once-in-a-lifetime storms are now routine each year, and each time, no one could have predicted that it would happen again. ("No one could have predicted," incidentally, was George W. Bush's favorite phrase and would be the proper title for his next biography.)

With snowstorms every other week, and surely another crisis to follow once it gets warmer, it might be that we're living in a state of permanent emergency. It might even be (though I hesitate to say it) that we enjoy this state. And at the same time that we worry so much about snow, hurricanes, and war, we won't even take minimal steps to fund long-term preparedness for emergencies. We won't spend money or intellectual energy on public health, meaningful security or adaptation to climate change. What I'm saying is that the D.C. government could stand to buy more snowplows. In the meantime, we'll wait in line at the grocery store to buy toilet paper, which everyone seems to need all of a sudden. The above photo is the pastry shelf at Whole Foods. 

Running Log

I'm running a marathon this year. I don't know where or when.

Distance: 6 miles

Weather: Sun reflecting on white lawns

People: Cars moving very, very slowly, so as not to anger the snow 

Creative Response Concepts

There's been way too much good news these days when it comes to American politics. That's why I thought it worth mentioning, via Kate Sheppard, that Creative Response Concepts, the PR firm behind Swift Boat Veterans for Truth, has started some kind of climate change campaign.

Half-Pleasures

Snow. We hate snow in Washington because nobody knows how to drive in it, nor do homeowners understand they are expected to shovel it. Snow buries us in a soft avalanche and we can't move, more or less. It is only good for making the windows of coffeeshops picturesque while people sip their hot chocolate (and in many establishments around here the hot chocolates are made very well, the milk well-heated and an integral bubbling part of the whole) and they play on their laptops, or read Murakami, or complain they will never be able to rent out their two-bedroom condos for a fee sufficient to cover the mortgage; therefore, they will only watch their properties decline in value, and they will never move, ever.

Stew. I made beef stew today (thanks again, Julia Child) to celebrate the winter. In the spirit of the winter, I didn't attempt to add any fresh herbs, just pepper and an oignon pique. Once reduced sufficiently, the sauce was poignant enough to make the potatoes and root vegetables intense and satisfying.  

Outside World

I had a little free time on my last day in Copenhagen and decided to ride the train north of the city. I wish I could say I had a destination in mind, but I just needed to rest and thought I would find a train more restful than a room. This is the castle from Hamlet in Helsingør (Elsinore), behind the construction. I didn't go in, but maybe you can see ghosts on the ramparts.

The layout of the town is not unlike a Mediterranean beach village where one can wander the cobblestone streets in search of a cappuccino and a trinket, except it was cold, and I wasn't in the mood for anything but a quick smørrebrød. Like in Copenhagen, they have a Ferris Wheel.

Snow-covered woods and fields, which I gather is not a regular sight in Denmark, on the train ride back.

From the tracks:

Back in the city, a wind farm in the Øresund.

      

Uncertainty, and Why It's Hard to Talk About

Turning again to Haiti, a place where I am sure they would love to have the luxury of a debate about how much health insurance should or should not be subsidized: It's admirable that the news outlets, TV included, have kept this at the top of the headlines for a week. But I have a thought experiment. What if someone had tried to report about Haiti before the earthquake happened? 

Imagine if there had been a report on CNN two years ago, for example, about daily life in Haiti. (I am confident that prior to the earthquake, there were approximately zero CNN reports on Haiti in the past few years.) Perhaps this imaginary report could have even included the latest scientific predictions that an earthquake in Haiti was possible. Why not? Americans wouldn't care? Predicting the future isn't what the news is all about? True, they would have needed a creative approach to what are dry topics on the face of it (sociology and seismology), but that's supposed to be part of the fun.

But projections, in general, are not something we're good at talking about through our usual methods of communication. We aren't good at it, even though so much depends on our ability to make educated guesses about what could happen a few years later. The likely pathways of an infectious disease, for example, and how to prevent it; or whether an economic bubble will or will not burst; or climate science, or the likelihood of natural disasters. A few things we do enjoy predicting, it seems; like whether or not this or that party will retake this or that branch of government next year. Likewise for stocks and sports. We seem to find these things endlessly fascinating.

"This is My Truck"

An actual line from a Scott Brown campaign ad, as quoted here, in what I can say, without exaggeration, is the most masterful Jon Stewart performance I have ever seen.

Places To Go

Once again, the people have spoken, and once again the people have said they would like to be governed by Republicans. That is nice, but it is increasingly clear that Republicanism (if that's a word) is the permanent de facto governing philosophy of the United States. For those of you who are Republicans, congratulations; I wish you many years of happiness living with the consequences of your ideas and actions. For those who are not Republicans, or even those who are thinking about trying something new, the real question is about where we are going to move. I don't think Canada will work. Outside of major cities they can be just as conservative (i.e., Republican) as we are, and the oil sands of Alberta mean their energy policies are worse than in the United States. Scandinavia seems pleasant, but somewhat insular (at least from my experience in Denmark) and not as multicultural as I would prefer, and in winter, except for the salmon and herring, the food is not fresh. It would be a worthy adventure to go to Argentina, El Salvador, Ethiopia, China, or any number of other developing economies, but the purpose of this exercise is to find a place where one's own beliefs are in accord with the governing philosophy of the majority. There is Germany, but I still have a grudge against the entire country because of the Frankfurt airport. And anyway, they don't have a beach. Eliminating all other countries that are either too conservative or too dysfunctional, I suppose that leaves Spain and France. Don't tell me to go to Japan. I couldn't handle it. I confess to not having a complete grasp of French politics and culture, and their lack of anything like a first amendment leaves me wary, but on the other hand, I just saw on the news that they are trying to institute a quota system to require that women constitute a certain percentage of the workplace. Or some particular workplace, or a government agency; I wasn't clear on the details. Anyhow, what an outlandish idea that is. If I lived in France, I would probably be a conservative Republican. In Spain, gay marriage is legal, but the economy is even worse than in other places (or so I hear) and jellyfish are overrunning the Mediterranean. But we can't have everything.

Snow

In the last days of the talks, there was snow in Copenhagen.

If you needed a holiday, the travel agencies were eager to get you someplace warm.

 
 

No? Then how about this:

Big parks were spread over the central city, mostly inaccessible this time of year; here is one with a windmill.

 

Palaces, Bridges

Copenhagen is colorful in one direction and monochrome in the other.

Bridge over a docked Greenpeace ship; the sign reads "Politicians Talk, Leaders Act."

Opposite view, with power plant on horizon.

An old library: this is on the island where Copenhagen was founded.

This street view is not very crowded with bikes; at capacity they are another lane of traffic.

A department store escalator.

A church by the University of Copenhagen. 

    

Haiti Blogs

Repeating Islands (love the name), linked to from an article on Edwidge Danticat. Second, an account from an American couple living there.

Tivoli

Visit Copenhagen in December and you will be mostly in the dark. To keep everyone warm, candles are arranged in all public spaces, and to keep you awake there are Christmas lights strung out all over the city. You can ride the Ferris Wheel.

Tivoli, the permanent carnival downtown, is a bit like the Mall of America would be if it were outdoors, and if during the holidays it were devoted entirely to the celebration of Christmas. Walk in, and if it's too cold you can buy gløgg, mulled red wine with cognac, nuts and raisins. Tivoli's half-formed conceptual arrangement seems to be derived from Epcot, with each loosely-demarcated "land" built according to a different part of the world; in any event, there is a Buddhist-themed pavilion and then there is this palace in the key of Islam. 

 

Below is the grand entrance. It was here that I had my one truly exceptional meal. Upon entering the restaurant, called Grøften, I was seated and attended to immediately (most establishments give you a European level of service, not at all rude but less attentive than is standard at home); keeping with the amusement park standards of the premises, they seem intent on making sure you have a good time. The building was wide, with checkered tablecloths and the acoustics of a Munich beer hall, and the patrons acted like they were on holiday. Danes tend to sing very loudly when they drink, as do Germans, and the party just across from me was singing at a hysterical volume in Danish (or perhaps Swedish) before switching over to what sounded like German. I was served a cold platter with small slices of a rich dark bread, the staple used for their smørrebrød sandwiches, and was given four sauces, some of them bitter and some with lemon, and four meats: herring, smoked salmon, some kind of whitefish that was cooked, and then I think ham. (At the same table a woman was describing a party she had attended;  "I held up a sausage in front of me like I was peeing. I can't believe my father grounded me on my nineteenth birthday" -- and then she switched back to Danish.) Each of the meats was placed on the bread with its own sauce and supplemented with northern cheese. I could have been at a picnic, and I did not miss sushi. 

In Copenhagen, there are unique Nordic elves that you see performing Chaplinesque antics at shopping malls; on the other hand, there is the regular Santa.  

 Naturally, you can go to Canada.

 

Can you go on the rides? Yes, you can! Hop aboard the Christmas train (the cheapest attraction I could find) and tunnel into the land of coastal arctic fair folk.

The sleigh is just for pictures. It doesn't go anywhere.

Some Copenhagen Photos

Copenhagen is a peaceful city, but we livened it up for a couple weeks.

Art installations appeared everywhere, usually with an earth science theme.

Many of these globes.

      

I don't have any photos of the Bella Center, where the meeting took place; it's not much to look at. (But there is a solitary wind turbine out the window, and what looks like a much larger coal-fired power plant is not far away.) Access to the building was an issue in the second week, as the number of registrations was three times the capacity. It became difficult, and then almost impossible for NGOs to enter in the last few days; we retreated to satellite buildings like this one.

The city's official name for the event was "Hopenhagen." This may have been ill-advised. Concert space and green-living exhibits in the main square.

 

 

Skiing in Iowa

Sometimes you can ski in Iowa.

 

Lots of hickory leaves.

 

    

Iowa Holidays

Returned from Iowa, where I did not play Pirate Chess.

Plenty of snow.

Siberian mantelpieces.

   

My Less-Than-Amazing Race

I've arrived back from the Copenhagen talks, about which more anon, but I'm compelled to give an account of my journey home. This required me to travel through snowstorms in both Europe and America, and while it could have been worse -- I could have, for example, been among those who were stuck for some 11 hours on a Eurostar train under the English Channel -- it was enough of an ordeal to make an okay story. 

To begin:

-- Direct flight to Washington canceled on Sunday morning. Waited 7 hours at the Copenhagen airport.

-- Rude ticket agent gets me on a plane to Frankfurt, instructs me not to ask questions "or you'll miss your flight."

-- Plane to Frankfurt delayed several hours.

-- Arrive in Frankfurt, wait an hour to get luggage.

-- The Frankfurt airport has no visible signs, arrows or even information desks. Finally run into someone who can give me a hotel voucher.

-- Discover the hotel shuttle vans hold about 7 people, but at least 50 people are waiting for the shuttles, which arrive every 15 minutes. Look for a cab.

-- Find out the hotel, which is called "Airport West," is nowhere near the airport. Cab drivers do not know where it is.

-- Locate the hotel's address, spend 40 Euros on a cab. Soothing Turkish pop music on the ride over. Fresh snow on the freeway and little plowing done. 

-- Wait in line to get a room.

-- Watch German TV program about one woman's quest to cook the biggest schnitzel in the world (a riesenschnitzel). 

-- To prepare the schnitzel, the chef requires a special factory-made oven.

-- The pig weighs 160 kilos.

-- After rolling out the raw meat into a circle, they use a tape measurer to get the radius.

-- But there is an obstacle: The chef's pet ferret has escaped from its cage and is lost. During preparation, it might try to eat the schnitzel.

-- The chef recaptures the ferret.

-- Once they are done cooking, it is not enough just to bring the schnitzel out of the oven; it also needs to taste good. ("Der Schnitzel muss am Ende auch schmecken.")

-- The schnitzel is maneuvered onto the table, accompanied by the opening bars from Richard Strauss's "Also Sprach Zarathusthra."

-- There is a pineapple in the middle of the schnitzel.

-- The next TV program is about racing on the autobahn from Munich to Dusseldorf. That sounds dangerous.

-- Return to the Frankfurt airport.

-- The Air India employee tells me I have a paper ticket for a flight to Newark., but it was not actually booked. She informs me this is true for everyone from Copenhagen who was rerouted onto this flight. In German, I believe she tells her colleague to book me on the plane but turn away everyone else who arrives later.

-- Flight to Newark is three hours late. On the ride over, watch a Bollywood movie and eat a good lunch.

-- Arrive in Newark. Wait two hours for luggage and customs.

-- Train to D.C. is an hour and a half late, with no time estimates on the board.

-- Train takes an hour longer than usual due to weather.

-- Arrive in D.C. but some of the train's doors do not open. Bottleneck of people and their suitcases.

-- Arrive at home, immediately get sick.

This is Not Fiction, it is Science

I'm here at the UN Copenhagen conference, and it's quite literally the first time in two weeks that I've had five minutes to post anything. So on to the weather: For most of the time we've had chilly but almost pleasant continental European winter temperatures, until snow moved in to make the ubiquitous secular Christmas decorations look suitably enchanting. Yet it's cold. The hotel has a problem with the hot water, the train tracks are obstructed, and it's generally difficult to move around the city with all the dignitaries here. To this relative southerner it still feels unnaturally dark.

We've been watching the proceedings for hours and our computers are showing a big empty room. Obama has been here all day and personally negotiating with other leaders to try to salvage some kind of deal. At this precise moment, the outlook is grim. The president's speech (which I quoted in the post's title) was delivered before most Americans were awake, and I don't know how much today's events have even registered in the U.S. The story is at the top of the New York Times, which is nice to see; it is also buried on CNN, where the top headline (ahem) is "Winter Storm Heads Toward Northeast." CNN might be advised to take the long view. Take a look, for example, at a Guardian article on possible scenarios in the event of long-term temperature rise. I would not say this is predictable with any certainty; the point is the opposite, that if we don't do anything we move into uncertain territory and risk very dangerous consequences. It's not just that I am trying to say that the Copenhagen conference matters. For the purposes of today, it is the only thing that matters. 

In December

I'll soon be leaving to work at the UN climate change conference in Copenhagen, which lasts until Dec. 20. I'm hoping at least to post brief updates on this page and links to the web pages we'll be producing, but it's hard to know how frequently this will be possible. And maybe I'll update on twitter.

The Guardian has a great news page on the summit for those who want to follow it. For the activists, check out the U.S. Climate Action Network, with whom I'll be working.  In Danish, the word "hej" is pronounced "hi," and that's what it means, which, of course, is hilarious. In fact, "Hi, welcome to Denmark" sounds almost exactly the same in both languages. For matters unrelated to the Danes, newcomers to this site should check out the archives. They are fun.