WELCOME TO DENMARK: WE HAVE AN EEL OF A MEAL FOR YOU!

Thursday, April 9, 2009 at 4:21pm

As many of you are unfortunately aware, I am fascinated by the toilets of the world. Unlike the geniuses of the Blue Collar Comedy tour (yes, I WOULD have Jeff Foxworthy's baby--if I actually had an ovary), I don't have any real interest in what goes on in there. I'm a sucker for the HGTV version--What's it really like inside "the space." A intergalactic potty propensity. And in Copenhagen, the toilet is a nice gig--if you can get it. It's clean. The door goes all the way to the floor--something I can tell you on excellent authority makes Jerry Seinfield a very happy crappy kind-a-guy. And it makes teenagers and young children more creative, because that prank is totally gone. Except for Norway, the Danes seem to know how to go better than anyone on this planet. And I can state accurately, that this toilet stands alone as a nicer place than many of my past (and possibly current) domiciles. Okay, admittedly, a collapsing outhouse outside a rundown duct-taped trailerin the worst foothill of Appalachia is nicer than many places I have lived. But overall, I give these bathrooms four big shiny stars.
This airport also ranks highly for providing beer--the good Danish kind and the questionable quality Budweiser-- readily available at the 7/11 (yeah, that's really the name, too) in the airport reception area at 6:30AM. And I really wanted one, too. Not only is it five o'clock somewhere, but it is midnight where I live. Close enough to last call for me to here the call of the wild. But the peer pressure is too great. Lotsa beautiful towheaded children scurrying about behind tall, fair-haired parents. Who amazingly, despite generations of Scandanavian heritage, do NOT appear to be drunk at 6:30 in the morning. What is this country coming to? No drinking? Responsible parenting behaviors? Obviously, I could be at home in Knoxville right now and something is rotten in Denmark.
So I will take a look around for that all important "first meal of the day." There seems to be a surplus of candy. Wine gummies? Hmmm. That's actually a nice toought. Kids acting crazy? Ply them with alcohol laden images of their favorite animal or cartoon. (Maybe things haven't changed all that much after all?) And my favorite- A candy named FIRKLOVER. I don't know what it means, but frankly, don't we all prefer to just make that up? And there is so much licorice in the airport in such a variety of sizes and shapes that it surprises me anyone has white teeth. This stuff looks like an industrial strength petroleum byproduct. Yummy. Folks from Louisiana should feel right at home eating that.
But what about the more substantial offerings in the protein group? A bowl full of something grey and squashy. Or perhaps the buffet of various oceanic flesh of unidentifiable origin topped in cream and some kind of green plant salvaged from a weedeater? No wonder the Vikings conquered Northern Europe. They hadn't actually deviated from eating primordial ooze. Call me unadventurous, but preferably, call me after breakfast is over. I don't mean to be so ethnocentric really. Why shouldn't I want a yard long freshly smoked eel that resembles donkey anatomy within thirty minutes of rising from bed in the morning. And yes, thank you, I will also take that piece of chocolate the size of my head.
Perusing the offering here in Copenhagen in the early dawn, I realize the only thing I DO actually want to eat is glaringly absent:
A Danish.