Cupcakes

I unleashed my argument on why cupcakes are perhaps the best celebratory dessert this week in our neighborhood pub. This proved to be quite an inappropriate place to really prove my point as Rihanna’s Rude Boy blared and the collective conscious was set on finding the nearest fried chicken place. Still committed to preaching the benefits of the cupcake; I shall place my argument here, with delicious pictures.

FYI, I got on this topic after our friend Cat’s mother had a bakery in Leeds deliver her a dozen glittery and colorful cupcakes for her 21st “birtday”. The cupcake I chose (chocolate with chocolate frosting) really provided me a great deal of inspiration…and a sugar high.

1. Cupcakes are delicious and make you feel GREAT. This may seem obvious but you can’t exactly say the same for banana cream pie.

2. The ratio of cake to frosting is truly perfect. How many times do you get a slice of cake with the slightest slip of icing between layers and a thin amount on top (which all ends up sticking to the plate since the cake is laid sideways)? Cupcakes give you an almost equal proportion of cake to frosting, giving diversity to texture and flavor.

3. Cupcakes are the perfect portion of dessert. With cake you receive a slice and know there is more to be had. Cupcakes provide you with a sense of entirety and finality.

4. There is a greater flavor range in cupcakes because of their small size. Strawberry with lime frosting, Chai with cream cheese frosting, Pumpkin with almond frosting, Hazelnut coffee with a chocolate mousse frosting. Some bakers wouldn’t risk creating entire cakes out of these specific flavor combinations.

5. They are easy and fun to decorate. Really, a food for all ages.




6. They last longer than normal cake. So little of the cake is actually exposed to the drying elements of outside air so it can stay fresher for longer!

7. There are so many ways to eat them! Daintily with a fork? Frosting first? Cake first? Two bites? One humungous bite? The possibilities are endless!!

8. Cupcakes are mentioned in the Bible at least 15 times.*
*This is not true. Had Jesus known the divinity of cupcakes I’m sure he would have asked for it at his last dinner.

While my argument doesn’t exactly have the logical finesse of say Locke or Rousseau I think it pretty well sums up why cupcakes are ideal for celebratory occasions. To be fair cupcakes do have some downsides:

a. Cupcakes are not cheesecake. Cheesecake rocks.
b. Cupcakes are trendy and therefore expensive.

Now go eat a cupcake!




See down below for some amazing cupcake recipes from some chick named Ming!

Finals Frenzy?

I've never had so much time to study for finals in my life. I realize I probably shouldn't be complaining about this, but sometimes having an excess of free time leads to extreme abuses of time management. I've watched every single episode of Glee in one week. I've gone through 32 episodes of How I Met Your Mother in maybe 12 days? I've logged countless hours on StumbleUpon, seen every movie trailer released in the past two months, and could probably write an embarassing amount on the deeper psychological and political messages of Lady Gaga's Telephone music video. And I really have been studying everyday. I have three finals in the course of three weeks, plus a reading week (which I am in the middle of now). At Wisconsin and most public schools across the country, we have a reading day and one week to take at much as five finals. I'm used to tight study schedules where all you do is eat, breath, and think your study material. You cannot get into that groove for three weeks straight.

I'm flying home in exactly three weeks which I'm sure will fly by. Honestly, I'm pretty traveled out (and broke) so I doubt I'll be going on any great excursions again. I'm considering seeing the Lake District though...and I'd love to go back to Edinburgh. Never expected I'd connect with that city. I'm actually making it a goal of mine to never see London. The hussle and bussle doesn't interest me at all. And after seeing European cities like Rome, Florence, and Barcelona could it really even compare? Part of my avoidance is spite too. Everyone always asks me, "How's London?" so when I get back I'm sure it will be, "How was London?". I'd love to reply, "Actually I went to LEEDS and have never even been to London. There is a lot more to England than London". Anticipated response, "What's a Leeds?"

First meal wanted when I get back: cornbread drenched in maple syrup, brats grilled on the back deck, real non gag-inducing caesar salad and peach iced tea.

plague, pustules, pest-houses, popish plots....

This entire week has been filled with reading, researching, outlining, and a desperate attempt at writing. I have 2-2,000 word essays due Monday so needless to say, I've been drinking a lot of coffee and spending way too much time with early modern Europe. Monday, Wednesday, Friday I've spent with the plague (pustules, pest-houses and more) while Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday were spent with anti-Catholic propaganda and Popish plots. plague, pustules, pest-houses, propaganda, popish plots, pringles...so many p's. The Starbucks here give free refills on filter coffee. I'm pretty certain I'm the only one in this city who actually orders filter coffee so really, they are just cutting back on waste. I know, I go to Europe and end up going to Starbucks. I spent my most formative years in a Starbucks. Shoot me. Okay - I think that is the anti-Papist paranoia talking. It is very infectious...kind of like the plague. God.

I spent last weekend in Edinburgh and it was a city I could really see myself living in. Little did I know the majority of UK-ers, when polled, think the same thing. I am 99% sure that I climbed the same volcano as Ewan McGregoer. I won a dance battle against this strange, strange man in a Hangover shirt. And I sat where J.K Rowling wrote most of Sorcorer's Stone. You think I'm lucky now...just you wait.

I'm leaving on Thursday for this little town called NAPLES. Our plans go a little something like this - Luxurious Italian villa on the coast of Sorrento for 7 days, travel up the coast to Rome, Florence (wineries!), and CInque Terre. Go into the south of France, stay in Nice, visit Monaco (my favorite place on earth), perhaps stop in Aix. Train into Barcelona. And then fly back to Leeds for 20 euros. I will be broke after this trip. Memories over money, am I right?



The view from our patio. It's only Mount Vesuvius. No big deal.

Fortified

Whenever I happen to be in Europe I make a fort. It is a weird little correlation. The last time I made a fort was 3 years ago in my Parisian hotel room. That didn't go over too well with the maids. Today, I decided I ought to lock myself away to begin my research and essay prep for these two beasts due on the 15th. My cave was metaphorical at first. Then I found a spare bed sheet and my 6-year-old self, Natawee. After reading about anti-Catholic propaganda and the Popish plot for hours, I carefully constructed my new little study area. I'm pretty sure I put more thought into this construction than at any point in AP Physics. And that is the absolute truth.

I have to say, I am really proud of my fort. It is equipped with my laptop, wifi, water, candles (warning: underneath a bed sheet is probably the dumbest place to ever put a candle. But thrilling.) nutella, pillow, and books. What more could one need?

When you make a fort during the day you have to sleep in it at night, right? So that is what I'm about to do. After I finish blogging by candlelight and listening to some Yellow and Wonderwall set on repeat. I hope I get enough sleep though - it is going to take a lot of mental clarity and strength to block out Monty Python and the Holy Grail while I research the plague's effects on early modern English society tomorrow.

Sipping Joe from Cafe Gratitude

I am in a weird sort of mood and I have no idea why. Well, that's a lie. I have some idea. I woke up this morning and headed into the city centre. It is fairly warm today, fair weather that makes you sure spring will arrive shortly. I watched It's Complicated last night and grew insanely jealous of Meryl's character with her beautiful Californian home and bakery. So to treat myself I went to Cafe Nero and enjoyed a delicious double espresso (with two sugars and dash of cream...I'm not that hardcore anymore) and pain au chocolat. They advertise that the dough is shipped from France, so I was sold. I worked on my essay, arguing how and why Cold Mountain is appropriate for a historical film class. I had a really lovely morning, all to myself, and get to spend the evening chatting with my parents over skype.

Maybe it was my indulgent morning filled with caffeine and chocolate, or perhaps my following the horrible news of the devastating earthquake in Chile but I just feel waves of gratitude coming on. Gratitude for my safety, for my prosperity, for my potential, and for my situation. Thanksgiving cannot be the only day you look back on your life and realize how fucking lucky you are to have all that you have (it also shouldn't be the only day you have a three hour meal with your family). As a white, American female, I already hold an extremely privileged spot in the world. Worry as I do about going broke here, I know that my parents are capable of supporting me, monetarily but most importantly, emotionally. I have the opportunity to see so many things here. Hell, I'm going to fucking Italy to stay in a villa in less than a month. Like, how does that happen? I have so much to come back to. My family, a job, my sister's wedding, a new home in Madison shared with three amazing ladies. Not to mention a fridge constantly filled with food and free laundry. I just hope that I can remember this. Take a deep breath and put whatever shit-storm I get myself into in perspective.

One of my roommates here is from Santiago, Chile. I haven't seen her come out of her room yet. I hope with all my heart her family is safe and not one of the 1.5 million displaced.

This photo doesn't really pertain to what I've written. I just really like it. Maren - credit due to you!

This weekend I was supremely spoiled. After flying to Copenhagen I was greeted by my sister and future brother-in-law, Bjarke. A native of Copenhagen suburbs, Bjarke gave us a marvelous tour of the city. We saw Nyhavn, the original harbor lined with colorful restaurants and a historical home of Hans Christian Andersen. We visited the Queen's palace, saw the changing of the guard, and even got a glimpse of the Little Mermaid.

After our insiders tour of the city we got Danish-style hotdogs from a street vendor (very Anthony Bourdain) and stopped in a bakery. I went a little camera happy, I think I took like 30 pictures of all the pastries. I was really surprised by the variety and craftsmanship of the sweets. I had expected Danishes and Flulabullah (very mercilessly spelled) and got the shock of entering what could have been a bakery in central Paris. After sampling one too many treats, we went back to his charming little Danish town, 30 minutes away by train.




Can I also mention that at one point this day I was in a Danish bank drinking a cranberry cider? Seriously. You can drink anywhere in this country. No questions asked.

The next day I was treated to an amazing smorgasbord of Danish open-faced sandwiches, herring, schnapps, and aged cheese. We were at the most authentic Danish restaurant you could imagine - if No Reservations made a stop in Copenhagen they would have filmed here. We ate for 4 hours and felt so content after we left.



The rest of the weekend held a Carlsberg brewery tour (with 2 free drinks included), a visit to the bar Emily and Bjarke first met, and seeing an Irish band perform Bruce Springsteen and Oasis at The Dubliner. Cheesecake was consumed, a homemade pasta dinner shared, and new family bonded with.

Bringing the Jersey Shore to Leeds

On Saturday we brought the Jersey Shore to Leeds. We brought the oompa-loompa orange tanner, the Snooki hair poof, and fist-pumping straight down Otley Road. The sad thing was, I ended up looking like a typical club-going British girl. And I was trying to make myself look bad...

Like Halloween or Mifflin in Madison, an Otley run is a hedonistic tradition full of costumes (known here as 'fancy dress') and binge drinking. However, people go on these runs every single day. The basic rules are that you grab a group of trustworthy friends, dress in some crazy group costume that will prompt stares and drunken socialization, and hit 18 pubs along Otley Road. You typically start around 2pm and have twenty minutes to finish your pint (girls only need drink half pints) before shipping it off to the next location. I honestly don't know how people survive it.

Our group (a ragtag bunch of Sconnies, Minnesotans, and North Carolinians) decided to go as the crew from Jersey Shore and guido it up. Of course, no one in Britain knows what this TV show is nor understands the concept of a guido. Some of us put on fake accents to go with our tanner (mine morphing into more of a Jimmy Fallon-inspired Bostonian by the end of the night) and fist pumped whenever time appropriate. I don't wish to go into the exact details of the night. I wouldn't be the most reliable source for an accurate account. Really - how do you get through that?

I do remember meeting one local drunkard. His name was Frank and we was probably nearing seventy. I asked it he voted for Margaret Thatcher and we immediately shuffled out. We met two bunnies who were very enticed by our Snooki impersonations and I'm pretty sure we were racing a group of pirates throughout the night.

My words of advice if you attempt an 18 pub bar crawl, in February, and in heels? Down a tablespoon of butter and GODSPEED.

Trade Offs

Maple Syrup and Nutella UK

I dreamt about maple syrup last night. I woke up and knew I had a problem. I should have already guessed after being told I came to the mind of someone who saw maple syrup in the grocery aisle. Apparenty, I've been more vocal than I thought (real surprise there). It cannot be a good thing when someone strolls down the grocery aisle, spots a random item, and thinks of you. Roses - normal, maple syrup - weird. However, in return I get the real treat of having Nutella UK. All nutella is not made equally.

Guacamole and Curry

So far there have been no dreams including guacamole...but they may not be far off. I already know what I'll be doing my first days back in June. These plans include Wayzata docks, Caribou, John Updike, cornbread, and creating a homemade guacamole recipe. It may take 5 batches to get it right...or 8...or 20. At least I am completely surrounded by amazing curries. No, they aren't exactly authentic but Anglicized tikka masala is still tasty as hell. I can definitely bring back my newfound love of curry to the states but I cannot exactly get it at my union, late-night pizza joints or Chinese take-out. Yes - English Chinese takeouts serve curry. Move here, now.

I Got Beef with You, Tea

There is an underground battle taking place in this country. A fight raging on every quaint, vine-tangled street. A struggle more epic than Cromwell's conquest and no more frivolous than Winston's handling of Gallipoli. I'm talking about the modern war between tea and coffee. 145 million cups of tea are consumed each day in Britain. I have no motivation to find coffee's accompanying statistic but I am motivated to guess that it is probably much less. Probably.

Tea, the traditional English beverage, is such a fundamental part of their culture that it would be silly to consider coffee as a true competitor. Fine, Brits, drink your stupid tea, with your stupid milk (which negates all health benefits, by the way) but at least give me quality coffee. The coffee trade seems to be sorely ignored. Half of the coffee aisle is filled with instant coffee. Instant. I'll pause to let you hold back your vomit. Coffee as Americans know it, the smooth drink made with ground beans and a filter, is rare. Espresso, americanos, and lattes are the usual alternative. Those are all great, in fact, Americanos are tastier and richer than filter coffee, in my opinion. However with the introduction of an espresso machine and milk steamer you can expect to pay a whole hell of a lot more.

Not only are my options limited here but so are my cafe hours. I've never been a library studier. I get distracted and lonely cooped up in my dorm room. I go to coffee shops to do homework. I appreciate the buzzing of caffeinated talk, the smell of freshly ground beans, the humming of steaming milk. I meet friends there and I read on their comfy couches. Most coffeehouses here close at 7pm on weekdays. Close at 7! It is unthinkable! I see how the British might have preferred hanging out spots late at night (pubs, bars and clubs) but come on! England was the birthplace of the modern coffeehouse. Give it some respect - and increased hours.

I want my coffee culture back.

Witches, Disease, and D.W Griffith

My sleeping schedule is so completely screwed up. I have only myself to blame for this. Well, myself, Lady Gaga, and black ciders.

Never before have I been more psyched for my classes. I give you...my course load:

Heretic, Witches, and Conspirators
A history course focusing on "the way religious and social minorities, particularly those regarded as heretical or socially malign, were perceived, written about and treated in the early modern period. Identities/Communities discussed will included witches, Jews, Catholic and Protestant sectarians and `vagabonds’".

Malleus Maleficarum is required reading. Bomb.

Body, Disease, and Society
Another 3-worder history course on how Europeans imagined the body and understood disease. What have I learned so far? Everything can be cured by a phlebotomy. Wait - maybe that isn't quite right...

Film and History
A cultural studies course on how history is displayed through film. We are focusing on American history and have started screening Birth of a Nation. Way to make an international student feel guilty about her home country.

I visited one of our two libraries today. As schools of comparable size, how does Leeds have 2 libraries and Wisconsin have 40?

From Leeds with Love

After being in this lovely country for only a week I've run into many strange things that cause George Orwell's 1984 and James Bond to come to mind. These are my favorite Bonds. You cannot have just one favorite - because it will automatically be Sean Connery. Although that does go against the definition of a favorite...

It is strange how vocal security here is about spying on your neighbors and those around you. In the US (airports, especially) you are told to keep on eye out, look out for suspicious objects. However, the British really put it in your face that you should report any suspicious people, activity, etc. It isn't that wild of a claim, I suppose, just surprising at how upfront it is. There are cameras everywhere you turn on campus and near all the residences. I like cameras, I do...because I have nothing to hide and I appreciate the feeling of safety they give me. However, whenever my eyes discover one camera they dart around to find the next, and the next. I look like a paranoid criminal checking out exit routes and vulnerable reception cords.

We were told at orientation that to watch TV here you have to buy a pretty pricey license. Apparently, these trucks with hi-tech antennas drive around regularly and can sense when you are receiving illegal signal. That just sounds so...Orwellian. I'm just imagining a white van with "War is Peace, Freedom is Slavery, and Ignorance is Strength" painted on the side driving up to my flat and listening in. Is she committing thoughtcrime? Probably.

Motown, Madonna, and Celine.

Reasons I currently love England:

They play Madonna in their grocery stores. I'm not talking about Like a Prayer, 4 minutes, or even Holiday. I'm talking about those center-of-the-album tracks that don't hit American airwaves.

They have a Lebanese joint that plays the best of Celine Dion. So while eating delicious pita and hummus, My Heart Will Go On starts up. What the what? Where am I?

They appreciate Motown and know the words to Ain't No Mountain High Enough. But than again, who doesn't?

Their scary street hoodlums are actually just 14-year-old boys who play a form of "made you look". I tell you, there is nothing funnier than making someone look down at something that isn't even there. God, run an hour of that on NBC and BAM, you have a revitalized network.

Natalie in Leeds - for real this time

I'm sitting next to a barred window, near a plug-in that popped angrily at me earlier, with a fresh cup of tea (green with lemon, and not reheated). That's right - I'm officially in England. Before it's mainly been, "Natalie in Borders, worrying", "Natalie in Plymouth, panicking", and "Natalie in Manchester, freezing". I'm in Leeds now and all is well.

Ever seen the Nicole Kidman film, The Others? Well that is exactly what the British countryside reminded me of. As we trained to Leeds there was a thick fog set low in the valley and the country homes were consumed by it. It probably looked stately and beautiful to any other observer but with my great lack of sleep and foggy mind, I jumped to a Tom Cruise-produced movie.

The city center of Leeds is clean and lively yet it is juxtaposed with old, almost charred looking churches - making a very interesting city landscape. Students walking the streets here would fit nicely into Michelangelo's Cafe on State - well put together and very international. Everyone is very nice but I'm a bit worried about how my American accent sounds to their ears. After discussing this very topic with some locals I discovered that as long as you don't have valley girl accent, you are fine. In fact, many boys we met in this pizza shop around 2 am mentioned how much they loved American accents on girls. But this could have been because we were at a dive that sold 18'' pizzas for 2 pounds. And it was 2 am.

I've had this affinity for the English accent since I was 3 and danced around to Mary Poppins while eating chocolate teddy grahams. I like to think that I can do a convincing one. I think this so much that for April Fools Day last year I left voicemails for 4 people as Keira Knightley. Now, I didn't want to really go into the accent here but the potential for entertainment was so high and offense so low. Apparently my Keira Knightley is from the slums of London (maybe I'm just doing a pre-Pirates Keira?) and my normal English accent is actually tinged with Australian. I speak Spanish with a Japanese accent so I really shouldn't be surprised. But a quick tip to instantly sounds some form of foreign - just add a bit of r after an o. Such as "nor, I wouldn't fancy that". Or, "Sor, really I don't knowr wha' you are talkin' about".

I leave you with a beautiful picture of my fish and chips. Fish-n-chips? Fish an' chips?

Cheers Minnesota!

Just some photos of people I'll be missing. I'm used to being away from some of them for 3-4 month bouts, others I haven't been away from for more than 3 weeks. Strange how spread out around the world we will be. El in Peru, Amy in Spain, Char in Australia, Alisa in NYC, Emily in Denmark, and an awesome bunch in the midwest. It will go by so fast. Before I know it we will be lingering past midnight on the docks of Wayzata and dipping our feet into Lake Mendota.

My plane leaves tomorrow and I have all things squared away: travel docs, train tickets, appropriate weight baggage. Nonetheless, I don't plan on sleeping much. There is too much to plan. I'm already readying a trip to Copenhagen in mid-February to visit my sister and my future hermano. I'd love to make it over to Ireland for St. Patrick's Day...even if all those Catholics are shut away in church all day (so I hear). I'm also planning on training down to Southampton on April 14 to visit the docks and graveyard. I cannot imagine a better way to spend the date.

I'm thinking of writing a novel on the flights there. I'll let you know how that goes :)

Need Sleep. Resist Coffee.

I am officially limiting my caffeine intake for the first time since I went cold turkey in my last year of high school. From this experience, I learned that it only takes one week to get over the headaches and involuntary midmorning naps. However, it is more fun to have people think you are clean when, in fact, you really are just gulping down a thermos before entering school and throwing back con pannas between weekend gatherings. Oh the thrill of it! Coffee-laced adrenaline mixed with the paranoid anxiety of being discovered.

This instance is more for my sanity than wish to convince friends that I'm not an addict. My departure date is looming and every night I lay awake thinking of all the terrible things that could go wrong (all of which, in the broader picture, aren't all that terrible - but I cannot come to that rationalization at 2am). I won't make friends. My nights and weekends will consist of me sitting alone in my room. The details of traveling will be too much for me to handle. I won't be able to travel anywhere outside of England and this whole trip will be a waste. I won't be able to see it all. I will run out of money and food. I will be attacked by a Manchester United fan and DIE.

Therefore: No more coffee past noon. I need to sleep.

I'm really quite fine during the day.

Pre-Departure Planning

I leave in exactly one week. Seven days from now I'll be sitting in the Chicago airport, waiting to catch a flight to Manchester and wondering how I will then get to Leeds. Train? Coach? Taxi? I'm sure I'll get there somehow - I'm in England after all, not Mongolia. I think that line will probably be running through my head as I run into the blunders and annoyances of traveling. England, not Mongolia. England, not Mongolia.

Yet instead of packing, instead of actually figuring out the logistics of how I'm going to get to Leeds from an airport in a whole other city, I've dedicated my time to deciding which books to bring with me for the plane and my 6 hour layover. They need to be light (preferably paperback), have appropriate covers (as haughty jet-setters may cast a judgmental glance in my direction from time to time), take up time, and have appropriate meaning.

The Children of Henry VIII by Alison Weir
Seemingly perfect for a flight to Britain: portraits of Lady Mary, Lady Elizabeth, Prince Edward, and Lady Jane Grey by a prolific British biographer.

Vanity Fair by William Thackeray
A 650 page piece of classic English literature. I hate to admit it but the only reason I haven't begun this book yet is because of how incredibly unsuccessful the Reese Witherspoon film version was. That sounds horrible. But if a major studio adaptation starring an Oscar-winner and American sweetheart cannot garner viewers than is the book going to really keep my attention? Doubtfully.

Delizia by John Dickie
A hardcover historical exploration of Italian gastronomy. Literally the perfect book for me - the history of Italy, through its food. However, I'm not going to Italy...on this flight. I'm going to a land known for puddings and tasteless sauces. And potpie. I hate potpie. I love pesto genovese. This will only torture me.

Throwing these titles aside, I decided to reread Elizabeth Gilbert's monster success Eat, Pray Love and take another stab at Nabokov's most famous work, Lolita. I have a friend who read Eat, Pray, Love in Thailand and found it cringeworthy; Gilbert's self-indulgent 3 month vacation really upset her. However it is all about personal journeys, growth, learning - all that good stuff that I'm hoping comes from my trip abroad. Plus it is light and fluffy - a good balance to Lolita. It seems as though I only read Lolita when I'm in Europe. I began it 3 years ago while abroad in France for the summer. Can't say why I let it go, but I'm excited for the chance to actually savor it this time.

I've also considered bringing crossword puzzles. But who am I kidding? The only times I can do those are Mondays (easiest puzzles of the week) and during Physics class.

I have a slight suspicion that I will get on the plane, see a James Macavoy film available, and again not pass page 100 of Lolita.