After a long breakfast in the The Estherea we walked along the Keizersgracht to FOAM to walk round its Diane Arbus exhibition. On the way we passed a small shop on Oude Spiegel Straat selling large tin Dutch lanterns. Quite a lot of time was spent working out if they were not quite big enough to fit in my hand luggage. We came to the conclusion that I would not be allowed through but I know what I want for Christmas next year.

The Diane Arbus was the perfect way to help clear the head after the one too many Corsendonks in a bar I found called Cafe Gollem . Cafe Gollem was one of those perfect bars that you always wish existed round the corner. It was only two minutes from the hotel and I came across it late in the afternoon when I went out for a wander whilst the rest of the party was sleeping or getting ready for the evening.

The room was squashed in around a small bar, half a dozen stools, a shelf of sorts around the back wall and a tiny staircase leading to an upper floor with a few tables. It was dark and smelt of old wood and beer. There were four or five blackboards on the walls listing the 200 hundred or so beers there was available. There were about ten beers on tap and as Roger and Anne-Marie had just called from Antwerp I had a glass of De Koninck listening to Joy Division and then a glass of Gollem Blonde before joining the rest of the party back at the hotel for the evening out in Amsterdam.

The evening then finished at Cafe Gollem all sat upstairs squashed up to one of the tables of plain wood looking like drowned rats having walked through the thick sheets of rain that had settled over Holland that day. I will have to make an effort to go back there.

The black and white clarity of the Diane Arbus’ photographs and the clear eyed focus she brought to the lives of the misfits, freaks and nudists all helped to subdue the fug. I found myself taking my glasses off to peer up close to the pictures to try and see through the line that she had created between reality and the quicksilver of light she had caught.

Sadly the oven has been mended and no charcoal bought. So the the barbecue will have to continue sitting forlornly in the garden all the way through Christmas Day. By way of compensation grandpa has fallen asleep already and Titanic is on the telly.

This evening we ate chicken with noodles. The chicken was chicken breasts from The International Store and they were outsized. The kids got scared as they I fried them off in the pan and there was talk of emu’s and ostrich’s. I  have a sneaking admiration for the size of their chicken breasts  but if I worry, I worry for where they have come from.

With the broth we had black long beans steamed with pak choi.

As grandpa snores we are listening to Louis Armstrong & Ella Fitzgerald singing Cheek to cheek. Some of the best, and most sophisticated music you could hope for.

We have been ambling towards Christmas. This may have been helped by our planning on going away for the week-end before, helping to celebrate a friend’s birthday in Cafe t’Smalle in Amsterdam. So we have been getting ready early – cards sent, presents wrapped, bird ordered etc.

Last night some disorder was thrown into these preparations when I arrived home to be greeted with the good news that the large oven was broken. No lights coming on, no whirring from the fan and no amount of heat. So a call has been made to Grange Electrical and they are coming out to look at it and if it is an element there should be no problem. But anything more serious then we could be left with a challenge if we are to cook the bird on Christmas Day!

We would be left with a small oven which would do for cooking the Chesnut Loaf and roasting a few parsnips – but there is only going to be one of us who wants to nibble at a Chesnut loaf.

Then I looked out of the kitchen window and there sat in the garden, looking wet and forlorn, stood the Weber Barbercue. I had heard of men who cooked their turkey in a Weber and now here was my opportunity to join them. We won’t be having turkey, for the last few years, we have had a capon instead, but that doesn’t matter it is still a big bird, a castrated cockerel, and should be challenging enough. It will make a great photo on Christmas Day, especially if it snows.

I am now half hoping the man from Grange electrical won’t be able to fix it and then all I need do is try and find some charcoal to buy!

Colin Fr. for Hake when cooked; before being cooked its name is Merluche.

Crappie Lat. Pomoxis annularis. One of the fresh-water fishes of the Mississippi Valley, related to the Calico Bass.

Croaker The name given in the USA to various fishes supposed to produce grunting noises. Chief among them is the Micropogon undulatus, a small but gastronomically important fish of the Gulf coast and the North Atlantic, south of Cape Cod.

Crooner or Piper Lat. Trigla lyra. One of the Gunards.

Cunner In England, the name is given to the Crenilabrus melops, also known as the Corkwing Brasse, and in the USA to the Tautogolabrus adspersus, both small denizens of the Atlantic of no mean gastronomical merit and both being credited with unusual cunning in nibbling bait.

Cusk, Tusk or Torsk Lat. Brosme brosme. A large sea-fish closely allied to the Cod.  It frequents the northern coasts of Europe and America. It is fairly well known in England. in the USA boiled Cusk with cream sauce is deservedly popular.

Shopping almost done and no money left but looking forward to a weekend in Amsterdam and when I am back on Monday the trawl round my favourite shops on Christmas Eve.

Listening to Trilogy by Weekend – spaced out r’n’b. It is worrying that so much good music could get lost. I saw it somewhere and there was a half remembered review so I bought it. Thinking about cooking cusk with cream sauce.