Rose's Cantina

The Swedes. I don't know how they do it. I woke up this morning with an aching gut from all the butter and cream I consumed last night at our Nordic feast. It was fantastic; don't get me wrong. Swedish meat-a-balls, potatoes laced with butter, cream and anchovies, red cabbage laced with apples and vinegar. My own lemon cake as the finale. But woof. I woke up in the middle of the night, in such gut agony, I couldn't decide which end needed the attention of the porcelain bowl more. In the end, I managed to quell my turbulent, acidic waters with a glass of gingerale. But then the dreams started. First, I was back at the Laundromat being held captive by the Guyanese owner who was nattering on about a customer who didn't pick up her drying cleaning. Then I was at the house of a former friend who was kvetching about the sources of our discord. Finally, I was at somebody's house, sitting there, unable to move, knowing I had to pick Scott up at the car dealers...

What a hectic Christmas Eve. It started early at the Laundromat, then segued into the grocery store for some last minute items: sour cream for the lemon cake; spices for the red cabbage; and cream for the Swedish meatballs. In honor of Steig Larsson, we are having a Nordic family Christmas Eve. We got inspired watching the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo last night and downloaded recipes from Canadian Living . It's going to be awesome! Today, we'll watch the rest of the series, both Fire and Hornet's Nest , and try to think of ourselves as Svedish and don comfy sweaters. Herna herna herna. Maybe we'll end the day with Abba. It's a great way to clear a room. Toute la gang will be showing up in the late afternoon. Shyla, the teletubby will be here in all her pregnant glory. Nick will wake up around 9 p.m. shaking the sleep off from his overnight shift at the Big Box store. Stef will probably appear a couple hours after his wait shift pretty well lit, ...