Summer may have come somewhat late to southern Sweden, but once it got here, it really meant business. We've had lots of sunshine and daily high temperatures approaching the mid-80's for the better part of the last week. That's about 30 degees Celsius, a unit of measurement that I still don't have a very good feel for despite living in metric-ville for the last eight years.
Now to my friends currently sweltering in the American Heartland, I know that the mid-80's sounds quite pleasant. But air-conditioning is not as common here, and even in buildings where it exists, the thermostat is generally not set as low as it is in the mid-western US. Even more relevant, The Penthouse Nordic, which is situated directly under the roof of our six-story building, has no AC at all.
So it will probably come as no surprise that we aren't terribly inspired to cook in that environment. The ideal of hot food has very little appeal to begin with, and the thought of turning on the stove or oven to prepare it is almost impossible to contemplate. Which is why, when one of my favorite colleagues offered me a ride to Malmö yesterday afternoon on the condition that I was willing to be dropped off at the city's newest downtown shopping mall (Entré), my mind immediately went to Redfella's Juicebar and the salads my friend Miss Zilch has been raving about for the past few months.
Four of these juicebar franchises have popped up in Malmö in the last year or so and all three of the other locations are actually closer to The Penthouse Nordic than the one at Entré. But inexplicably-limited-Swedish-business-opening-hours have conspired to keep the Swede and I from ever patronizing them, despite trying at least a half-dozen times. Seriously, given how frequently they are closed, I don't know how one store manages to stay in business, let alone four.
Realizing that I was going to be at Entré when their Redfella's was actually going to be open, I sent Dr. Darling a quick text message suggesting that I bring home a couple of the elusive salads for dinner. When I hadn't heard anything back by the time we got into the city, I called home. No answer. So I wandered around in the air-conditioned mall for a few minutes before making one more attempt to reach the Swede. Again no luck.
So I did a quick inventory: The apartment was surely an oven, I was tired, the Swede would be hungry…I ordered the salads. About 10 minutes later, the following text exchange ensued:
Shazz: I made an executive decision and got two salads.
Dr. D: Good! I've been in the shower.
Shazz: I got one chicken and one beef. How hot is the apt.?
Dr. D: 26 C
Shazz: That means nothing to me. ;^P
Dr. D: 299 kelvin
Shazz: Cheeky Science Monkey!
(And Miss Zilch was right, the salads were really good.)