Friends, I conclude my travels in Europe with a series of experiences that have left me speechless and satiated. All that remains are the vestiges of past days–the battlefields of former respites–the empty plates of delicious conquests. A greek philosopher once said–if you immediately know the candlelight is fire, then the meal was cooked a long time ago. Such is the way of food. Such is the way of life.

Home-made pasta in a light cream sauce


Fresh mozarella over tomatoes topped with specially-made olive oil


Fresh forest berries over home-made vanilla gelato


Cremeschnitte

Friends, rather than bore you with futher tales of harrowing exploits and delicious conquests, I feel that I should change up a bit to answer a question: what sound does a rooster make?

Many would say that the answer is simple. However, in delving deeper, I discovered hidden complexities which challenged my previous conceptions of evolution, the meaning of life, and what sound a rooster makes, and proved to me, once again, that the world is a soccer ball.

In the U.S., the rooster says cockadoodle-doo. In Spain, the rooster says kikiri-kee. In Croatia, the rooster says cucuroo-coo. Thus brings up the obvious question–why the difference? Are there different variety of rooster? Do they speak different languages? Scientific evidence suggests that neither is the case, so what could possibly justify such discrepancies? Is it possible that society is itself imposing what it wants to hear on these delicious animals?

Let us first look at the U.S annunciation. It begins with cock, i.e. to be cocky, continues with doodle, as in yankee doodle, and ends with doo, or perhaps just do. Thus, cockadoodle-doo roughly translates to “cocky yank, just do it”, which itself is similar to “git ‘er done”, a standard rallying cry for much of this great nation. The fact that the rooster signals the coming of the dawn is of no surprise. It is a signal, reflected in its call, of the American drive to get it done, and early.

For the sake of brevity, I will not delve into the etymolgies of the Spanish and Croatian versions, but suffice it to say that they involve siestas and cabbage, respectively.

In other news, the facial hair has evolved past scruffy and can now safely be called a partial beard. I’d say it still gives me scruffyness +2, age +3, and stealth -1. Stay tuned!

Enter Croatia, so rightfully named because its populate has the highest percentage of cromagnate dna in the world, and appears to be reverting rather than evolving up the evolutionary chain. Tis a sad day for Darwinists, but a good day for a gluten-free grain.

After a harrowing plane flight, winding roads, and more than a few close encounters with wandering farm animals, we made it to our destination. The rumors were true. The roads were lined with beautifully decorated stucco houses, all with clear views of the Mediterranean sea encompassing the skyline. All one could hear was the occassion
car engine above the chirping of birds. It was truly paradise. How backwards.

Dinner confirmed my suspicions. We ordered from a selection of freshly-caught fish which was brought directly to our table on a large cart before being delicately grilled. The waiters were witty and brought us course after course of food on the house, just because they liked us. The truffle pasta and risotto, both delicacies of the region, merely whet my appetite for the main course. The seafood paired well with the local white wine, and the sea bass was cooked perfectly, leaving the fish juicy and flavorful. We finished the meal with sorbet and brandy, both on the house. The final bill–a mere $30 per person. Oh quaint populace of Croatia, how we would have paid twice as much for such a fine meal. You truly have much to learn.

In other news, the beard is coming in well. It appears to be full in nature, not yet gray, improves my scruffyness stat +3. So far, a tremendous success.