Canoodling

Canoodling may be just another word, but it ranks alongside even shenanigans for sheer trip-off-your-tongue pleasure. Unlike syzygy or tmesis, which merely make one look pretentious, canoodling is a word for everyone, however common. Even René Artois took the time to muse on why his best waitress would spend such an amount of time canning noodles in the cellar of his café, which goes to show two things: firstly the word canoodling is perfect for inclusion in British sit-coms, and secondly that its meaning occasionally needs to be explained. Even to those who indulge in a lot of it.

For who amongst us has not canoodled, at one point or another? That moment of frisky pleasure, that late-night tryst in the corner of the pub, sliding your hand slowly up someone-else's body, whispering utter nonsense into their ear in the hope that the fasteners on their clothing are somehow linked to their belief that you fancy them.

Canoodling is making out. It's approaching heavy petting. It's anything above first base. Hell, it might as well even be first base - it's just getting it on with someone. But it's not serious, not right at the moment you begin to canoodle. It may become serious later on - you may consider a proper relationship, involving sex, arguments and buying soft furnishings together. But canoodling's a bit of fun to begin with - a bit of slap and tickle.

And so I ask again... who amongst us can honestly say that at one point or another they're never, ever canoodled? Say it with me - let it roll off your tongue. Canoodle, ladies and gentlemen; one of our language's finest words, not to mention a great way to spend a Friday night.

1000 Airplanes On The Roof / Philip Glass

1000 Airplanes On The Roof is best described as a science fiction opera, with elements of drama but mostly music. Lots and lots of music, composed by Philip Glass. It's written for a chamber ensemble, rather than full orchestra, and features heavy use of synthesizer. The libretto is by David Henry Hwang.

As you might expect from Philip Glass, the music features repetition. I hesitate to write that the music is repetitive, however, as discernible patterns of difference are audible within what may have initially seemed to be a simple repetition, and the recurring themes are often altered and changed - perhaps mutated would be a better choice of word considering the theme. If you're a fan of Philip Glass, you know what to expect, and if you're not a fan then you've probably come across the old Philip Glass knock knock jokes, and must at least have some idea of what you might expect. (Expect. Of what you might expect. Expect. Expect of what you might of expect. Of what you might expect. Oh, okay - I'll behave.)

1000 Airplanes On The Roof concerns an encounter with extraterrestrials, recalled at length by the central character: 'M'. Through the narrative, we are exposed to the broken recollections of M, and are left to decide if this is an accurate depiction of actual events, a voyage through space, part of M's nightmares, perhaps drug-induced, or merely the beginning of a mental breakdown. Consulting the doctor (Track 12: 'Where Have You Been Asked The Doctor'), we end the opera with the final song, titled 'A Normal Man Running'. Whatever M's experience, he is normal... and running. The opera takes place on a three-dimensional, holographic set, images of which can be seen in the accompanying book, credited to Philip Glass, David Henry Hwang and Jerome Sirlin.

The piece premiered on the 5th of July, 1988 at the Vienna International Airport, in Hanger number 3. The soundtrack is available on CD, and if you've got five friends, two synths and at least six hands you can get the score from Chester Novello. Sadly, the CD is missing the voice-over, which makes the story more of an afterthought than an integral part of the opera. I'm afraid even a google image search doesn't come up with any pictures of the 'holographic' stage.

CD Tracklist

01 1000 Airplanes On The Roof
02 City Walk
03 Girlfriend
04 My Building Disappeared
04 Screens Of Memory
06 What Time Is Grey
07 Labyrinth
08 Return To The Hive
09 Three Truths
10 The Encounter
11 Grey Cloud Over New York
12 Where Have You Been Asked The Doctor
13 A Normal Man Running

Birch Syrup

Similar to maple syrup in many ways, but with a subtly different flavour and an entirely different chemical structure, birch syrup is nevertheless obtained in a very similar way. The predominant, natural sugar in birch syrup is fructose; maple consists primarily of sucrose. Fructose is believed to be more digestible, and birch syrup itself is high in vitamins and minerals, including vitamin C, potassium, manganese, thiamin and calcium. Birch syrup lends itself to marinades, barbecue sauces, coffee, baked squash, breads, shakes and, of course, ice-cream.

Originally, collecting birch syrup was a work-intensive and time-consuming procedure. When the spring came and the sap began to rise in the trees, a camp would be set up, home to the collectors for a week or more. Medium-sized trees seemed to produce the best sap, and each tree would only be tapped once every two years - essentially being given a year off to recover. An upwards, slanting cut with a hatchet would produce a curl of bark on the selected trees. When propped open with a small twig, the sap would drip from this jutting curl into tin pails, propped against or tied to the tree. Collecting the pails was usually the responsibility of the children; some trees gave several gallons of sap, some only produced a cup or so. However much was produced, it was brought back to the camp where it boiled in a large kettle over an open fire.

Boiling the sap was a delicate process: it had to be kept boiling; there's an awful lot of extra liquid to evaporate before you end up with sweet birch syrup. Too little cooking, and the syrup would be watery and might even ferment later. Too much, on the other hand, and it would crystallise. Eventually, however, the syrup was ready to pour off and cool, maybe producing three or four gallons of precious syrup.

Nowadays, in early April the sap of the Alaska paper birch begins to rise. Ten to fifteen percent of each tree's sap is removed through a tapped, 7/16" hole which is plugged at the end of the season to preserve the tree. Time is saved by running the sap through a reverse osmosis machine which quickly removes seventy percent of the water, concentrating the sugar to approximately five percent. Concentration to sixty-seven percent is completed in a wood-fired evaporator. At present there is little or no commercial production of birch syrup anywhere else in the world, although one would imagine that as birch syrup becomes increasingly popular amongst gourmet chefs, production is likely to rise to meet demand.

Sadly, I have never tasted birch syrup, nor even seen it in the shops. Maybe one day...