But it was great nonetheless. [...]]]> Last night I went to a West End play – my first in London – watching the uber-famous Waiting for Godot. I really have no idea why in the world it was so famous and well respected – as an English major who supposedly grasps literature, I just didn’t get it.

But it was great nonetheless. I was sitting in the front row, close enough to be almost spat on by the actors. And they did a lot of spitting. The light really caught it all.

Best, we had famous actors! It would have been a Trekkies dream – getting spat on by Patrick Stewart (who played John-Luc Picard, commander of the USS Enterprise, on Star Trek). The whole play I kept expecting him to say something to Lt. Crusher, or fight Klingons. Sadly not. Waiting for the Wrath of Kahn would have been soooo much more captivating.

Patrick Stewart as Vladamir, and as Picard

After the play finished, they left the boots, a prop central to the play, on the front of the stage. Perhaps I’m too goody-two-shoes nowadays, but I resisted the urge to just take them. What a tourist souvenir! The authentic shoes from a famous production! I settled for taking a picture on the sly instead, (both photography and shoe-theft were forbidden). One shoe, one hat, and the stage are in the background.

Update, June 10, 2009: According to my learned friend Diana Pittet, this play about essentially nothing could be seen as an influence on shows like Seinfeld or even the opening scene of Pulp Fiction, in which the two characters discuss apparently trivial matters like french friend, Royal with Cheeses, and taking a proper glass, not-no-dixie-cup, of beer into the movie theatre.

I was surprised and joyously amused to learn this, as I had discussed this very scene to my fellow theatre-goer when trying to re-enter the theatre after intermission with a glass of wine. While Quentin Tarantino might have been influence by Waiting for Godot, the staff at the theatre were clearly not influenced by Quentin Tarantino. I and my wine could enter, but only in a dixie cup.

Somehow, hearing the play explained through pop culture and container restrictions, it all began to make sense. Kindof.

It was pretty good. And, being Germany, [...]]]> Tonight, in the Göttingen, Germany, I went to the local community theatre’s all-German-cast English speaking production of Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew, set in 1950′s Rock & Roll, USA. And to top it off, the lead female looked like a JAP. What a strange, strange world we live in.

It was pretty good. And, being Germany, they sold beer to drink during the performance. I had a Pils.

Hanging out with Diana normally just involves a passing mention of cheese, or even her pulling out a couple parchment-paper wrapped treasures that [...]]]> Cheddar cheese apparently comes from Cheddar, England, or something like that. I’m not too sure, but my turophile friend Diana Pittet has a thing for Cheddar that exceeds socially-acceptable bounds for woman-cheese love.

Hanging out with Diana normally just involves a passing mention of cheese, or even her pulling out a couple parchment-paper wrapped treasures that I’m always happy to eat. But lately she’s gone further, and has been working in various parts of England making cheddar cheese. We met up for a 4 day vacation in the heart of Cheddar-country.

We stayed in Wells, the smallest city (meaning it has to have a Cathedral) in England, drove around the amazing countryside, and even hiked the rim of Cheddar Gorge. The gorge, just above the town of Cheddar, is so steep you forget you’re in England. You only get an idea of the vertical drop when you see the car in this picture, just visible by Diana’s knee.

After hiking Cheddar Gorge, and avoiding the painfully touristy caves and cheese shop (no real Cheddar available) we hit the other attraction Somerset is famous for – the cider.

American readers will be thinking of cloudy apple juice, but in England cider means the alcoholic fermented pressing of cider apples. And it’s often really, really good. I confess, English beer doesn’t do it for me. You drink enough Deschutes Brewery (Oregon) or Dog Fish Head (Maryland) and you don’t want any more bland, tacky English pints. But the cider in the UK blows away most of what we have in the states, and I should know, as a good friend is involved with a traditional cider maker in Oregon, Wandering Aengus Ciderworks.

So we hunted down what turned out to be an amazing, local cider maker. And I do mean local. His guests included some die-hard cider drinkers. Patrons simply show up, takes a glass, fill it up from one of two barrels (dry or sweet) and proceed to get drunk. Payment is at your discretion, and left with farmer Wilkins or somewhere on the table. It doesn’t get better than this.

Here’s farmer Wilkins filling up a barrel of cider. And yes, that’s a giant hose pumping cider.

And what do you do when you pump it? This is a man who, by his own reckoning, used to drink 20 pints a day of his own cider in his younger years, and is proud he ‘never got the shakes in the morning’. Well, you test it. Test it again, even if you just tested it. And then drink the rest.

An impressive man. And while I’m not sure he’s into facebook, it’s certainly into him. His Facebook fan club has over a thousand followers!