2011 07 08
Meredith: 39 40 N, 37 xx W
Flores: 39 30 N, 31 xx W
We have had four days of the most unbeliev able sailing you can imagine. Cruising chute up 95% of the time. We douse it only for aberrant cloud formations, always to our advantage.
This is fantastic.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Underway Still
20117 07
39 59N
040 53W
Less than ten degrees of longitude separate us from our destination. At this latitude a degree of longitude only measures 46 nm in length so we are inside 500 nm away.
All on board are pleased with our progress the more so since the loveliest breeze has blown up. For two days now Meredith has been bathed in the gentle clockwise flow of air around the core of our old nemesis, the Moriary of sailors hereabouts - the mid Atlantic High. Although we are just one isobar removed from the centre, and from the charts I see less than that actually , it is enough distance to grace our deck with the merest caress of air.
It may be only 7 knots but it was welcome for all that. We make 5.5 knots with the cruising chute bent on and light seas surrounding us.
The sailing for 48 hours has been delightful.
Yesterday we came upon a Spanish fishing vessel. Under EU rules such vessels need not carry AIS transponders until January and the skipper of this largish fisher preferred to keep his money in his pocket, perhaps certain that the price of the electronics would continue the downward trend it had carved for itself over the past two years.
As a result the fisher was heard not detected. It can be disconcerting to hear the unmistakable sound of machinery operating when you are gently moving along the middle of an ocean. Sound is not easily followed to its origins out here and it was several long minutes before either the Budget Committee or I could find its source.
As it crossed our bow and we moved to avoid what seemed obviously to be the line it was busily letting out behind itself its captain called on VHF 16.
A pleasanter call could not have been shared between two strangers. The skipper thanked us for avoiding his line. He was fishing for shark and had not seen us until he was upon us. We demurred and assured him his conduct was neither aggressive nor offensive and that more than adequate room had been available to all vessels. He inquired into our destination and left the air for a few minutes. Returning after a short delay he gave us the latest weather from his professional weather routing service.
In all it was a pleasant interruption to the mundane sameness in which we had found ourselves immersed.
Now we wonder how the Spanish prepare their shark.
Length of Longitude
It is a fact of maps that a minute of latitude is always and forever a length of 60.1 nautical miles. This is one of those delightful physical quantities known as a "constant".
Although also measured in degrees broken down into minutes and further subdivided into seconds longitude is not constant. Only at the equator is a minute of lontitude equal to 60 nm more or less.
As you move North or South on the globe from the equator the length of a degree, hence also a minutea and second, of longitude shortens until, at the polish extremities it shrinks to a mere point - having no dimensions whatsoever.
Here is a chart I made up and keep in my ready reckoner for quick reference. It is good enough for on the fly calculations:
Latitude Length of One Degree
(in nautical miles)
0 60.01
10 59 nm
15 58 nm
20 57 nm
25 54.5 nm
30 52 nm
35 49 nm
40 46 nm
45 42.5 nm
50 39 nm
55 35 nm
60 30 nm
65
70
39 59N
040 53W
Less than ten degrees of longitude separate us from our destination. At this latitude a degree of longitude only measures 46 nm in length so we are inside 500 nm away.
All on board are pleased with our progress the more so since the loveliest breeze has blown up. For two days now Meredith has been bathed in the gentle clockwise flow of air around the core of our old nemesis, the Moriary of sailors hereabouts - the mid Atlantic High. Although we are just one isobar removed from the centre, and from the charts I see less than that actually , it is enough distance to grace our deck with the merest caress of air.
It may be only 7 knots but it was welcome for all that. We make 5.5 knots with the cruising chute bent on and light seas surrounding us.
The sailing for 48 hours has been delightful.
Yesterday we came upon a Spanish fishing vessel. Under EU rules such vessels need not carry AIS transponders until January and the skipper of this largish fisher preferred to keep his money in his pocket, perhaps certain that the price of the electronics would continue the downward trend it had carved for itself over the past two years.
As a result the fisher was heard not detected. It can be disconcerting to hear the unmistakable sound of machinery operating when you are gently moving along the middle of an ocean. Sound is not easily followed to its origins out here and it was several long minutes before either the Budget Committee or I could find its source.
As it crossed our bow and we moved to avoid what seemed obviously to be the line it was busily letting out behind itself its captain called on VHF 16.
A pleasanter call could not have been shared between two strangers. The skipper thanked us for avoiding his line. He was fishing for shark and had not seen us until he was upon us. We demurred and assured him his conduct was neither aggressive nor offensive and that more than adequate room had been available to all vessels. He inquired into our destination and left the air for a few minutes. Returning after a short delay he gave us the latest weather from his professional weather routing service.
In all it was a pleasant interruption to the mundane sameness in which we had found ourselves immersed.
Now we wonder how the Spanish prepare their shark.
Length of Longitude
It is a fact of maps that a minute of latitude is always and forever a length of 60.1 nautical miles. This is one of those delightful physical quantities known as a "constant".
Although also measured in degrees broken down into minutes and further subdivided into seconds longitude is not constant. Only at the equator is a minute of lontitude equal to 60 nm more or less.
As you move North or South on the globe from the equator the length of a degree, hence also a minutea and second, of longitude shortens until, at the polish extremities it shrinks to a mere point - having no dimensions whatsoever.
Here is a chart I made up and keep in my ready reckoner for quick reference. It is good enough for on the fly calculations:
Latitude Length of One Degree
(in nautical miles)
0 60.01
10 59 nm
15 58 nm
20 57 nm
25 54.5 nm
30 52 nm
35 49 nm
40 46 nm
45 42.5 nm
50 39 nm
55 35 nm
60 30 nm
65
70
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Icarus to Ground Control: Father Why
2011 07 05
39 20 N
046 02 W
0400z
An annoying brrrrp, brrrrp, brrrrp draws me from daydream, if that is what you call the state of half sleep that hoods the inactive mind sitting alone in the dark on the devil's watch. The AIS has detected a freighter, it tells me, of the name Alem Kaleem.
In the confusion of sudden wakefulness my eyes tell me the vessel name is "Alarm Kaleem". Adrenalin flows: "Alarm" rings clear enough in my mind triggering the proper autonomous response. Milliseconds later the fastest drug manufactury on the planet has formulated, fabricated and injected me with a full dose of stimulant leaving me full awake and realizing my error.
It takes the Alem Kaleem twenty five minutes to pass us harmlessly about three miles off. It is visible only for the final four miles of its approach. The AIS is a dream system.
During the passing of our two ships I attempt communication with the vessel. Its pilot is asian and apologetically inept at English. Why I wonder to myself as I cannot even place which language is native to my anonymous friend. Be it Malay, or Korean or whatever they speak in Philippines my lack is far the greater.
Sitting alone at the conn, pitch black surrounds me, no wind blows. Poor Meredith, our trusty steed, drifts, confused by the signals she receives from the ceaseless switching to and fro of wind so light as to be invisible to all but massive sheets of finest silk. Wind so light even the bits of yarn tied to our shrouds will not twitch an indication of its direction or strength. It has none.
A quick navigation fix confirms that we are drifting backwards to our intended course. We are powerless to avert our course, to improve our lot, to go where we bloody well choose on this vast unoccupied salt water prison to which we have consigned ourselves.
Our motion retrograde is consequence of our having been absorbed by the amoeba like blob of high pressure which grows every second enlarging its already excessive bulk consuming degree after degree of longitude. On the last wefax the centre of this low extends from 15 degrees West longitude to 60 degrees West longitude and has obliterated everything from 30 degrees North to 42 degrees North.
We find ourselves powerless to intervene.
Initially we fled from the battlefield at full speed refugees from an atmospheric battle in which we have no interest. We are but collateral damage in the games of the Gods.
Due North we ran, using precious diesel to do it. Our grail the blessed Forty Degrees Latitude. There we would find safety, there our sails could breath, there, we were assured we would find freedom.
Log entries tell the story: at three hour intervals over the past twelve hours: 1027, 1028, 1029, 1030, each entry a click as the blade of the guillotine is ratcheted ever upwards over our heads.
39 20 N
046 02 W
0400z
An annoying brrrrp, brrrrp, brrrrp draws me from daydream, if that is what you call the state of half sleep that hoods the inactive mind sitting alone in the dark on the devil's watch. The AIS has detected a freighter, it tells me, of the name Alem Kaleem.
In the confusion of sudden wakefulness my eyes tell me the vessel name is "Alarm Kaleem". Adrenalin flows: "Alarm" rings clear enough in my mind triggering the proper autonomous response. Milliseconds later the fastest drug manufactury on the planet has formulated, fabricated and injected me with a full dose of stimulant leaving me full awake and realizing my error.
It takes the Alem Kaleem twenty five minutes to pass us harmlessly about three miles off. It is visible only for the final four miles of its approach. The AIS is a dream system.
During the passing of our two ships I attempt communication with the vessel. Its pilot is asian and apologetically inept at English. Why I wonder to myself as I cannot even place which language is native to my anonymous friend. Be it Malay, or Korean or whatever they speak in Philippines my lack is far the greater.
Sitting alone at the conn, pitch black surrounds me, no wind blows. Poor Meredith, our trusty steed, drifts, confused by the signals she receives from the ceaseless switching to and fro of wind so light as to be invisible to all but massive sheets of finest silk. Wind so light even the bits of yarn tied to our shrouds will not twitch an indication of its direction or strength. It has none.
A quick navigation fix confirms that we are drifting backwards to our intended course. We are powerless to avert our course, to improve our lot, to go where we bloody well choose on this vast unoccupied salt water prison to which we have consigned ourselves.
Our motion retrograde is consequence of our having been absorbed by the amoeba like blob of high pressure which grows every second enlarging its already excessive bulk consuming degree after degree of longitude. On the last wefax the centre of this low extends from 15 degrees West longitude to 60 degrees West longitude and has obliterated everything from 30 degrees North to 42 degrees North.
We find ourselves powerless to intervene.
Initially we fled from the battlefield at full speed refugees from an atmospheric battle in which we have no interest. We are but collateral damage in the games of the Gods.
Due North we ran, using precious diesel to do it. Our grail the blessed Forty Degrees Latitude. There we would find safety, there our sails could breath, there, we were assured we would find freedom.
Log entries tell the story: at three hour intervals over the past twelve hours: 1027, 1028, 1029, 1030, each entry a click as the blade of the guillotine is ratcheted ever upwards over our heads.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Fallen Angels
2011 07 03
37 55N
047 20W
For days now we have been trapped in a labyrinth of breathless anticipation. Sadly no breath comes.
Ours it is, we discover, to navigate a maze of low wind tunnels seeking passage to the east. Unlike those neat little pencil mazes printed with the colour comics each morning our little wind tunnels are endlessly opening and closing at the whim of spontaneously generating and collapsing high pressure areas. Science perceives the cause and development of the low pressure area and has been able to confine such meteorologic events to a set of rules. Having observed cause and effect scientists now control the event.
Not so with high pressure.
To a sailor there is little worse than a huge slow moving high pressure area. Clear skies and bright sun certainly accompany such atmospheric events but so too do low or non existent winds. Conventional wisdom is that one must keep two isobars away from the centre of a high pressure cell to have even a hope of winds sufficient to power one's sailboat.
The area of ocean which we currently inhabit and have inhabited for over a week is an area of constant high pressure cells, leaping into existence in a matter of hours and soon thereafter dissolving as a new unanticipated pressure ridge appears only itself to dissolve in a few hours.
The nonexistent winds accompany each high pressure cell however.
36 hours ago the wind blew up and we found ourselves delightfully sailing in 8 knot breezes. Quite a change from the 5 to 7 knot still born breath we normally find at our masthead. And if the wind is 5 at the masthead it is 2 or 3 on the surface. All one night we powered along on God's exhalation making steady velocities of the 5 knot sort.
Come morning and we found ourselves abandoned, standing alone in the rising sun, another fallen angel of the morning. It was a wonderful night but not what we were looking for. We wanted something more...lasting.
Over the past 36 hours the forecast data have firmed up. No more indecisive accounts showing adjacent wind barbs only one degree in separation, pointing in opposite direction. The pressure forecast and wind forecast begin to look like normal circular meteo.
It is enough for us to throw the dice. We motor today and tonight, burning precious fuel each minute, seeking promised higher wind speeds at 40 degrees north latitude, or maybe 42 degrees. Wind could be as high they say as ten knots as if such a thing were even possible.
Our venture will take us well out of our intended path but we have visited the horse latitudes and have seen all there is to see. And then some.
If we fail to find the wind we have spent most of our expendable fuel and will be left with but 20 gallons discretionary fuel in the tank. Our last attempt to motor overnight into the waiting arms of ten knots of wind proved to be the usual purchase of a lottery ticket.
If we fail today we will be at least seven more days with no wind. Seven days is as long as the forecast goes.
37 55N
047 20W
For days now we have been trapped in a labyrinth of breathless anticipation. Sadly no breath comes.
Ours it is, we discover, to navigate a maze of low wind tunnels seeking passage to the east. Unlike those neat little pencil mazes printed with the colour comics each morning our little wind tunnels are endlessly opening and closing at the whim of spontaneously generating and collapsing high pressure areas. Science perceives the cause and development of the low pressure area and has been able to confine such meteorologic events to a set of rules. Having observed cause and effect scientists now control the event.
Not so with high pressure.
To a sailor there is little worse than a huge slow moving high pressure area. Clear skies and bright sun certainly accompany such atmospheric events but so too do low or non existent winds. Conventional wisdom is that one must keep two isobars away from the centre of a high pressure cell to have even a hope of winds sufficient to power one's sailboat.
The area of ocean which we currently inhabit and have inhabited for over a week is an area of constant high pressure cells, leaping into existence in a matter of hours and soon thereafter dissolving as a new unanticipated pressure ridge appears only itself to dissolve in a few hours.
The nonexistent winds accompany each high pressure cell however.
36 hours ago the wind blew up and we found ourselves delightfully sailing in 8 knot breezes. Quite a change from the 5 to 7 knot still born breath we normally find at our masthead. And if the wind is 5 at the masthead it is 2 or 3 on the surface. All one night we powered along on God's exhalation making steady velocities of the 5 knot sort.
Come morning and we found ourselves abandoned, standing alone in the rising sun, another fallen angel of the morning. It was a wonderful night but not what we were looking for. We wanted something more...lasting.
Over the past 36 hours the forecast data have firmed up. No more indecisive accounts showing adjacent wind barbs only one degree in separation, pointing in opposite direction. The pressure forecast and wind forecast begin to look like normal circular meteo.
It is enough for us to throw the dice. We motor today and tonight, burning precious fuel each minute, seeking promised higher wind speeds at 40 degrees north latitude, or maybe 42 degrees. Wind could be as high they say as ten knots as if such a thing were even possible.
Our venture will take us well out of our intended path but we have visited the horse latitudes and have seen all there is to see. And then some.
If we fail to find the wind we have spent most of our expendable fuel and will be left with but 20 gallons discretionary fuel in the tank. Our last attempt to motor overnight into the waiting arms of ten knots of wind proved to be the usual purchase of a lottery ticket.
If we fail today we will be at least seven more days with no wind. Seven days is as long as the forecast goes.
Playing Solitaire till Dawn
2011 07 03
38 00 N
047 16 W
When we are not fixing rotted out exhaust hose or sewing the dodger again or baking bread or trying to set the windvane we amuse ourselves in various ways.
Oh, we engage in the usual activities of course but there are only so many books you can read or sudokus you do before craving a change. The jury is still out on whether you can have too much sex. Actually court is still in session. (Final arguments are due tomorrow)
So what does one do during the other rest of the time?
Right now for example I have just finished watching the 1500z wefax broadcast out of Boston (NMF). If I time it right I can fill an entire hour, line by line, watching first the satellite photo (oh, look. angry cloud over London. Wonder what is going on there?) then the Mid North Atlantic wefax Eastern longitudes and then western longitudes and finally the 500 mb North Atlantic wefax.
While I do this the Budget Committee is scanning the sea endlessly for treasure. Real treasure. Today we bagged a $450 fender and matching swivel from the fishing vessel Spit and Sputter. Obviously this valuable object has come loose from its net or the trap it marked and was found by us floating in the atlantic. We know the vessel name because the owner marked the fender/buoy with vessel name and two phone numbers. We would call one of the numbers but the guys did not put their area code on the buoy.
If anyone out there does a google search for the vessel name please email us and we will call and advise. Probably too late but we hate to enrich ourselves at the expense of a fisherman.
When these activities no longer satisfy we look for fish.
The BC spied a great huge leatherback turtle today and I saw one this morning but thought it a buoy. Who knew these things were big and round and orange? Yesterday of course the BC saw, or rather heard, a small pod of whales. After being startled out of her reverie by the powerful exhalationm of these enormous aquatic mammals she was able to call me in time to whale watch with her for a while.
It is really hot out here and the sun shines with the intensity of a third degree in a cheap spy film. Unrelenting is often used to describe the effect and perfectly appropriate that. Our vessel has a shadow. To a fish our shadow is shade.
Each day we find anywhere from ten to one hundred big black fish swimming under our keel seeking respite from the elements.
It is kind of nice being a rest and relaxation centre.
38 00 N
047 16 W
When we are not fixing rotted out exhaust hose or sewing the dodger again or baking bread or trying to set the windvane we amuse ourselves in various ways.
Oh, we engage in the usual activities of course but there are only so many books you can read or sudokus you do before craving a change. The jury is still out on whether you can have too much sex. Actually court is still in session. (Final arguments are due tomorrow)
So what does one do during the other rest of the time?
Right now for example I have just finished watching the 1500z wefax broadcast out of Boston (NMF). If I time it right I can fill an entire hour, line by line, watching first the satellite photo (oh, look. angry cloud over London. Wonder what is going on there?) then the Mid North Atlantic wefax Eastern longitudes and then western longitudes and finally the 500 mb North Atlantic wefax.
While I do this the Budget Committee is scanning the sea endlessly for treasure. Real treasure. Today we bagged a $450 fender and matching swivel from the fishing vessel Spit and Sputter. Obviously this valuable object has come loose from its net or the trap it marked and was found by us floating in the atlantic. We know the vessel name because the owner marked the fender/buoy with vessel name and two phone numbers. We would call one of the numbers but the guys did not put their area code on the buoy.
If anyone out there does a google search for the vessel name please email us and we will call and advise. Probably too late but we hate to enrich ourselves at the expense of a fisherman.
When these activities no longer satisfy we look for fish.
The BC spied a great huge leatherback turtle today and I saw one this morning but thought it a buoy. Who knew these things were big and round and orange? Yesterday of course the BC saw, or rather heard, a small pod of whales. After being startled out of her reverie by the powerful exhalationm of these enormous aquatic mammals she was able to call me in time to whale watch with her for a while.
It is really hot out here and the sun shines with the intensity of a third degree in a cheap spy film. Unrelenting is often used to describe the effect and perfectly appropriate that. Our vessel has a shadow. To a fish our shadow is shade.
Each day we find anywhere from ten to one hundred big black fish swimming under our keel seeking respite from the elements.
It is kind of nice being a rest and relaxation centre.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Atmo Atmo Everywhere But Ne'er a Puff to Sail
2011 07 01
36 07N
048 07W
"Good. Now Ease the Sheet. That's right. Perfect."
With no fanfare but a rustle of fabric we have just snuffed our gennaker for the third time in 24 hours. Stuck in light air for days now sail changes, frequent varied desperately anxious sail changes are the new norm.
Without doubt light air is the best sailing instructor in the world. We have been forced to share its company now for seven days and we have just about had our fill. Not that the forecast agrees. Nothing but light south westerlies, westerlies and northerlies for the next five to seven days.
That Coleridge fellow had it right. Out here there the universe consists of two things: water and air. You can't drink the water and you can't sail the air. Our air, at least, does not move.
Today we saw another sailboat. It refused our hail and sped eastbound out of sight as we laboured northward seeking more favourable isobars. If we are correct the silent runners will run out of air pretty soon. While a nice Rhum Line is really cool to sail this one takes them right into the maw of a cancerous little high pressure cell with no wind and no prospect of wind. We try to sail up and around it.
In all the universe we are alone. No ship nor contrail or evidence of human life has intruded on our existence for eight days now. Our friend Gerry, a retired Air Canada pilot, told us before we left that every night there are forty thousand (40,000) people in the air over the North Atlantic.
They are awfully well hidden.
So far that has been kind of cool.
36 07N
048 07W
"Good. Now Ease the Sheet. That's right. Perfect."
With no fanfare but a rustle of fabric we have just snuffed our gennaker for the third time in 24 hours. Stuck in light air for days now sail changes, frequent varied desperately anxious sail changes are the new norm.
Without doubt light air is the best sailing instructor in the world. We have been forced to share its company now for seven days and we have just about had our fill. Not that the forecast agrees. Nothing but light south westerlies, westerlies and northerlies for the next five to seven days.
That Coleridge fellow had it right. Out here there the universe consists of two things: water and air. You can't drink the water and you can't sail the air. Our air, at least, does not move.
Today we saw another sailboat. It refused our hail and sped eastbound out of sight as we laboured northward seeking more favourable isobars. If we are correct the silent runners will run out of air pretty soon. While a nice Rhum Line is really cool to sail this one takes them right into the maw of a cancerous little high pressure cell with no wind and no prospect of wind. We try to sail up and around it.
In all the universe we are alone. No ship nor contrail or evidence of human life has intruded on our existence for eight days now. Our friend Gerry, a retired Air Canada pilot, told us before we left that every night there are forty thousand (40,000) people in the air over the North Atlantic.
They are awfully well hidden.
So far that has been kind of cool.
Farewell to the Wonderful Week of Brisket
2011 07 01
35 00N
048 05W
Ladies and Gentlemen, passengers and crew of the majestic ocean going pleasure ship, Meredith: I know you will all join me in a sad farewell to end our latest culinary hit aboard Meredith: The Wonderful World of Brisket!
Sorry to say folks but Cook has informed me that the entire seven pound brisket has been devoured. No more brisket sandwiches, brisket with cheese sandwiches, brisket with mustard sandwiches or brisket with horseradish sandwiches.
Stricken from the menu are brisket omelettes, potato soup with brisket bits, potato salad with brisket crisps and good old brisket and potatoes.
Alas you will no longer be privy to what has been a house hit salad de maison avec julienne of brisket.
However do not be glum. In keeping with our tradition to offer passengers and crew only the best in ocean going culinary experiences Cook informs me she has opened a new ten pound wheel of cheddar! Cook also tells me she has been able to get most of the green off the sides of the cheddar this time so let's hear no more of that negativism.
Welcome to the Wonderful Week of Cheddar! To kick off our new series of taste experiences Cook tells me she has prepared a feast for all:
Appetizer: cheese and crackers. Except of course as you all know only the first six lucky diners will actually receive crackers as they were all eaten last week, everyone else will be served elegant cheese cubes. Our supply of tooth picks remains high so no one will have to share germs.
side dish: potatoes au gratin. Except of course this mornings potatoe skin stir fry scramble saw the last of anything on this boat even related to a potatoe so you will receive a ladle of smooth creamy cheese sauce.
main course: cheese omelette. Except of course we have only one egg remaining in stores so it will be just some onions and some cheese sort of mixed together and fried.
You know what would go really nice with that omelette scramble: some brisket!
What? Oh. Right. Never mind.
Cook says if you don't eat the cheese this week will be renamed the Fabulous Fortnight of Cheese. So Bon Appetit!
35 00N
048 05W
Ladies and Gentlemen, passengers and crew of the majestic ocean going pleasure ship, Meredith: I know you will all join me in a sad farewell to end our latest culinary hit aboard Meredith: The Wonderful World of Brisket!
Sorry to say folks but Cook has informed me that the entire seven pound brisket has been devoured. No more brisket sandwiches, brisket with cheese sandwiches, brisket with mustard sandwiches or brisket with horseradish sandwiches.
Stricken from the menu are brisket omelettes, potato soup with brisket bits, potato salad with brisket crisps and good old brisket and potatoes.
Alas you will no longer be privy to what has been a house hit salad de maison avec julienne of brisket.
However do not be glum. In keeping with our tradition to offer passengers and crew only the best in ocean going culinary experiences Cook informs me she has opened a new ten pound wheel of cheddar! Cook also tells me she has been able to get most of the green off the sides of the cheddar this time so let's hear no more of that negativism.
Welcome to the Wonderful Week of Cheddar! To kick off our new series of taste experiences Cook tells me she has prepared a feast for all:
Appetizer: cheese and crackers. Except of course as you all know only the first six lucky diners will actually receive crackers as they were all eaten last week, everyone else will be served elegant cheese cubes. Our supply of tooth picks remains high so no one will have to share germs.
side dish: potatoes au gratin. Except of course this mornings potatoe skin stir fry scramble saw the last of anything on this boat even related to a potatoe so you will receive a ladle of smooth creamy cheese sauce.
main course: cheese omelette. Except of course we have only one egg remaining in stores so it will be just some onions and some cheese sort of mixed together and fried.
You know what would go really nice with that omelette scramble: some brisket!
What? Oh. Right. Never mind.
Cook says if you don't eat the cheese this week will be renamed the Fabulous Fortnight of Cheese. So Bon Appetit!
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