Jandals

If the Kiwi Flatmate comes downstairs, takes one look at you, and says, "Wooooaaah, nice jandals!" what does she mean?  


Don't Google it!  


Do you have a guess?  Don't think too hard.  Go with your first answer.


New Zealanders, feel free to respond too.  Today you're the teacher's pet!  


[Update:  When the Kiwi Flatmate read this post, she laughed and said, "You didn't feel the need to tell everybody how when you first heard the word you mistook it for genitals."  Ha ha, I had totally forgotten about that.  Selective memory.]

Recipe Smecipe

Today I made a Rustic Strawberry Tart.  As I prepared it, I thought about how there are two kinds of people in the world:  the kind who use recipes to bake and the kind who don't.


The Kiwi Flatmate is a member of the latter category.  When she bakes, she is particularly proud of the fact that she does not use a recipe.  She's much more daring than I am.  My strict adherence to recipes started several years ago after I tried to invent "Thanksgiving in a Skillet."  Ground turkey blended with potatoes, cranberry sauce, and green beans not only looks pink and gross, but doesn't taste good either.  Since that incident, going crazy in the kitchen for me means adding pecans when they aren't called for.  Wait.  Instead of going crazy, would that be going nuts?


The Jamerican shares my view.  "I don't think I've ever baked something without using a recipe," she said.  "I sometimes stray from the recipe, but I don't want to go in trying to make a cake and end up with a pie."


So is the Kiwi Flatmate any good at baking, you might wonder?  This is an official challenge to her.  One kiwi-lime pie please.  No recipes.  Just you, the ingredients, and the kitchen.  Go.

Itchin' to Scratch

Ever had an itch you just can't help scratching?  Earlier this evening, the Jamerican came home with ant bites on her ankle that would not stop itching.  I suggested taking an Advil pill and rubbing it on the bite to alleviate the itch.  The Jamerican was skeptical that this would work, and rightly so since that wouldn't have.  I was thinking of a home remedy I had read involving aspirin.  


Instead, the Jamerican turned to the Kiwi Flatmate for help since she studies public health.  The Kiwi Flatmate came to the rescue suggesting that the she tickle herself somewhere between the bite and her head.  The tickling, the Kiwi Flatmate explained, would confuse the nervous system by interrupting the signal of the itch being sent to the brain.  The Jamerican tickled the upper part of her leg.  It didn't work.  Then she tickled right above the ant bite.  It worked!  Not only did she no longer itch, but she was smiling from the tickling!  


I love this anti-itch, mood enhancing cure!  I almost can't wait to get a bite and try it myself.  Scratch that.  I can wait.  Wait!  Don't scratch that...Tickle it!

The Jamerican tickling her foot.

Buying Books: The Untold Story...Now told

Kiwifruit is green and so is the Kiwi Flatmate.

A couple of weeks ago, I told the Kiwi Flatmate and the Jamerican that I was going to purchase a book to read.  I was dying to get my hands on American Idol: The Untold Story.  Just as I was about to click "Place Your Order" on Amazon, they both went nuts!  "Why purchase the book?"  "Why not check it out from the library or get it in a book swap?"  "Think of what I was doing to the environment!"  "Killing extra trees for no reason!"  

Plus, I think they might have truly believed that because the book was about a reality television show it would actually do more harm to the environment.  "That's nothing but rubbish," the Kiwi Flatmate cried.  "Any book that has 'The Untold Story' as its subtitle has to be rubbish."  A quick Amazon search seemed to support her theory.  I won't be reading The Untold Story of Milk, Revised and Updated - The History, Politics and Science of Nature's Perfect Food:  Raw Milk from Pasture-Fed Cows anytime soon.  

Nevertheless, I'd had my eye on the American Idol book for a while and really wanted to read it.  I was skeptical that the university library, though extensive, would carry the book (it didn't), and I didn't think it was the kind of reading that is typical of book swap websites (it wasn't).  In the end, I settled for getting a used copy from Amazon.  

It arrived in great condition last Thursday.  This picture is slightly yellow, which is what you'd expect with the weird indoor lighting.  Still, I would have expected that used books would be green.

Signed,

American Roomie

"It's been such a pretty day."

I spent the weekend visiting my sister and BIL.  On Saturday we down to the coast and visited the Texas State Aquarium, which was surprisingly awesome.  We saw all sorts of crazy fish, petted sting rays, met a giant female turtle named Einstein, saw a dolphin show, and realized that the price of Dippin' Dots has only increased 50 cents in the last 7 years.


The aquarium was right on the coast, the sun was out, and it was neither too hot nor too cold.  I loved seeing the waves lap up on the shore and feeling the wind whip through my hair as we walked around outside.  In the evening, after we'd returned home and had dinner, we all stepped outside to enjoy the sunset.  That's when I thought, "It's been such a pretty day."

View of the sunset from my sister and brother-in-law's front porch.

One of the American phrases that the Kiwi Flatmate finds peculiar but charming is, "It's a pretty day."  To her a day is nice or beautiful, but never pretty.  That's pretty funny to me.  I too refer to days as nice or beautiful on occasion, but it depends on the level of prettiness.  The Kiwi Flatmate and I decided that:
1.  A day that is somewhat pretty is a nice day.
2.  A day that is pretty, but not extraordinary is a pretty day.
3.  A day has to be pretty pretty in order for it to be a beautiful day.


Signed,
American Roomie

New Zealand -> American Dictionary: to be puffed

My favorite New Zealand word so far is "puffed."

To be puffed = to be winded, out of breath

Puffed is just a fun word to say.  Puffed corn, puffed rice, puffed pastries.

Things that are puffed look funny.  Take the puffer fish for example.

Or my puffed cheeks.

Or Puff Daddy...

If you read this entire post without taking a breath, by the end, you will understand the New Zealand meaning of puffed.  

Signed,

American Roomie

Pimentos

I had a jar of green olives out yesterday when the Kiwi Flatmate came through the kitchen and gasped, "What's that?!"  I thought, no way she doesn't know what olives are.  She haaaaas to know what olives are.  Of course she knew what olives were, but she wanted to know what the red part was inside it.

"The pimento," I said.

"The what?"

"The pimento."

"What's that?"

She stumped me.  What is a pimento?  I'd never thought about it before.  I asked the Jamerican.

"It's the little red thing inside the olive," she said.  

"Yeah, but what is it?"

"I don't know?  Is it a pepper?  Pimento sounds like the Spanish word for pepper."

The Jamerican's boyfriend, the Long Island Guy, came into the room, and we asked him what a pimento was.

"It's cheese," he said.

"It's not cheese!"

"Yeah, it is.  It's cheese.  Pimento cheese."

"It doesn't even taste like cheese!"

I didn't know what exactly what a pimento was, but I was pretty sure that it wasn't cheese.  I know there's pimento cheese, but I think that's cheese with pimentos in it.  I got out my jar of green olives, so that the Long Island Guy could taste it and confirm he thought it tasted like cheese.

The Long Island Guy trying a green olive to see if the pimento tastes like cheese.

After he had finished chewing, I asked if he thought it tasted like cheese.  "I don't know," he said.  "It took so long for you to take the pictures that it disintegrated in my mouth."

A quick google search confirmed that pimentos are indeed peppers as the Jamerican guessed.  The Kiwi Flatmate didn't know if pimentos come in olives in New Zealand or not because she doesn't eat many olives.  Any New Zealanders out there know if there are pimentos in your green olives?

Signed,

American Roomie