In which we mingle with Albania's influencer set...

I am, it's fair to say, not the sort of person who photographs their meals, poses in front of hot venues or influences very much, if anything. I understand that there are (mostly) young people who do these things, and I wouldn't stand in their way for one moment, but such behaviour mostly engenders a wry smile and attempts to make sure that I'm out of shot. I hadn't expected to encounter such a phenomenon in Tirana though.

Perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised - Albania has a relatively youthful population, despite significant levels of outward migration. And, in truth given that I don't meet many young people even in the workplace, my grasp on youth culture is tenuous at lbest.

Having found another highly-regarded restaurant, we walked across town and found ourselves in a somewhat dimly-lit street. At least, it was dimly-lit in the context of my gradually deteriorating eyesight but I spotted our destination and walked through the rather stylish entrance to be met by two stick-thin young woman, dressed wholly in black, who were tasked with greeting guests, taking their coats and suchlike.

It was at this point that I began to sense that their idea of "smart casual" and mine were slightly at odds. But the restaurant was still quiet - yes, we were early again - and whilst we had clearly chosen one of the hottest restaurants in town, I take the viewpoint that, if I'm the one paying, then I have the right to be treated properly. Our waiter was charm itself though, and we settled down to peruse the menu.

SALT is one of a pair of restaurants - the other is in Pristina, Kosovo's capital - and the goal is evidently to serve high quality food in an elegant setting. Clearly, they've convinced so far, as we were increasingly surrounded by young people taking photographs of each other and the food, posing in front of the decorations and the like. We focused on the food, pretending that we weren't raising the average age of the customers by a decade or two.

One thing that surprised me was that not only was virtually everyone around us young, but female, which strikes me as not being that common. I suspect that they don't eat much though, and the kitchen were probably grateful for customers who actually eat more than a light salad.

And, it has to be said that the food was very good indeed. I would even go as far to suggest that, if you're in Tirana by any chance, it is well worth a detour. Do book in advance, just in case, but their website is easy to use.

As meals out go, it was a nice way to finish our trip. And we did rather have to be back home...

So, about this hip and trendy Albania I was told about...

Normally, when we go places, I take special care to organise dinner on Friday and Saturday nights because, you know how it is, places are busiest and you really don't want to be in a strange city, walking from restaurant to restaurant in the hope that they'll have a table free. I might have been happy enough to wing it in my twenties and thirties but not now.

And, in most places, you can make reservations online and relax in the confidence that regardless of what else happens, you've got a decent meal to look forward to. Guidebooks will suggest the sort of places you might choose. This is not really true in Tirana - there is only one useful guidebook, the Bradt guide - and online booking is still in its infancy.

However, the advantage of staying in a really good hotel is that the concierge will help you with the language barrier and know whether or not a restaurant (a) still exists and (b) is any good. I'd found a fish restaurant relatively nearby which came recommended and so I asked the concierge to make a booking for me, which she kindly did.

The sun sets in Tirana at pretty much the same time as it does in London at this time of year, so it was dark by the time we set off for our gentle stroll to Galeone, some twelve minutes from our sanctuary. And, as we discovered, it's in an area of the city which is rather livelier than the city centre proper, full of cafes, restaurants and young people out enjoying themselves.

The restaurant, however, was seemingly deserted. And that's because Tirana is like so many Southern European cities, a place where people eat late. The service was friendly though, and our total lack of Albanian proved to be no obstacle. As for the seafood, my octopus carpaccio and sea bream were excellent, and the Albanian white wine - yes, Albania is a wine producing country - perfectly drinkable.

One of the things about Albania is that, if you like Italian food, you'll do rather well, as seafood is readily available and the strong historic and cultural links between Italy and Albania - not always voluntary - mean that there is a tradition of awareness of how Italian food should be prepared.

It's clear that, as part of Albania's emergence onto the European stage, that the culinary scene is developing fast. There is plenty of good food to be had, it's relatively cheap by our standards, and there's a strong service culture, with pride taken in presentation and delivery. It reminds me of cities like Sofia and Tallinn where, after the end of Communism, the freedom to do things differently led to a spurt of great restaurants and interesting meals inspired by the available local ingredients.

We weren't going to eat out the next day though...

Sunday means roast meat and all the trimmings...

After the disappointment of yesterday’s election results, today was a rather more uplifting sort of day, as Ros had planned a lunch date to celebrate my birthday (not today, but close), and had promised a proper Sunday roast in Long Melford, about forty minutes away across the heart of Suffolk.

There are many places that boast about the quality of their Sunday lunches, and they don’t always live up to the hype, but the Black Lion delivers. This delicious looking pile of roast vegetables, served with two generous slices of roast topside of beef and a perfect Yorkshire pudding, served with cauliflower cheese and lashings of gravy, plus some perfect roast potatoes, was the perfect pick-me-up, made even better by the company of Ros.

We’d started the day with a gentle stroll up and down Hall Street and Little St Mary’s, before retracing our steps and passing the entrance to Melford Hall. Long Melford is a pretty enough little place, with enough in the way of facilities to enable you to meet most of your urgent needs, whilst Sudbury is close enough for supermarkets etc.

On the way back, we stopped briefly in Lavenham, mostly to pick up some Christmas and birthday cards from the Guildhall, a National Trust property. It’s a lovely little town, with so much gorgeous architecture, and ironically this was only preserved because it had fallen on such hard times.

So, all in all, a lovely day, and a short break from the election campaign. And now, back to work...

Broadening our horizons just a little bit in San Giljan...

Day 2, and a pleasant breakfast awaited. I enjoy breakfast, especially if it involves pork, and our hotel does this to a sufficiently high standard, with proper bacon and rather decent sausages. The service here is thorough, and friendly, which helps.

We weren’t in any hurry, as the morning was set aside for proper relaxation - I was booked in for a sea salt exfoliation and foam massage in the hammam. And yes, it is a proper hammam, with marble, and sinks with buckets, something I’m quite intrigued by, despite having never spent any serious time in Turkey.

It was, in truth, not entirely like a Turkish hammam - for one thing, my masseur was female, not male, as would be traditional - but the experience of having my skin salted and scrubbed was very satisfying, and little beats being pampered, as I’ve noted here in the past.

But it was time to get out of the hotel, so we found the bus terminus not far from the hotel and caught a bus to Sliema, following the shoreline for the most part, before finding a restaurant for lunch. I had a very nice risotto with prawns, whilst Ros had the octopus, this time in a tomato-based sauce. Maltese cuisine, as you might expect, does heavily feature fish and seafood, although there is more to it than that, and there’s also quite a strong Sicilian influence, it seems.

We walked back to the hotel, taking the less obviously scenic route, but one which allowed us to take in some of the traditional architecture, rather than the seafront property, much of which is fairly recent and not as interesting.

There was more afternoon tea to be had, before a dinner in a local grill just down the street. Some excellent steak was had by me, as well as a local handmade sausage which was very good too.

I have a nasty feeling that, if this keeps up, I’m going to need to go on a serious diet when we get home...

Vegetarians might wish to look away...

I'm rather fond of meat, and not terribly fussy about how it's cooked. And like my caveman ancestors, roast lumps of meat are perfectly acceptable. If you're like me in that respect, Latin America is quite a good place to go, as the parrilla is a serious meat-eater paradise.

In Punta Arenas, the nearest hotel to our hotel was Parrilla Los Ganaderos, and a brief walk past was sufficient to persuade Ros that this might be a good place to eat, especially as there was Patagonian lamb on the menu.

There is none of this haute cuisine stuff here. A lamb is boned (mostly) and fixed to a frame, from which it is roasted by proximity to hot coals. The succulent lamb is thus cooked and ready to serve.

We'd ordered the trio of lamb, which opened with some lamb ribs, and most delicious they were too. There was quite a lot of food though, compounded by the second element, a large hunk off of the shoulder. And that was where the problems started...

You see, whilst the lamb was truly delicious, the effects of my year-long diet were beginning to come into play. I simply can't eat the large meals that I used to be able to. And the prospect of a third lamb course was more than my digestive system could countenance. So, rather than waste good lamb, I called our waiter over, and explained that, whilst I had really enjoyed my meal, there was no need to serve the third element. Our waiter seemed surprised, but took our rejection with equanimity.

Next time, I'm bringing reinforcements...

[insert title here] - 22 October

Dear Wokingham, do give this Tory a warm welcome...

I see that the former Campaigns Officer for Suffolk Coastal Conservatives has migrated to Wokingham in search of a challenge, one presumes. I have to admit that swapping one of the most conservative constituencies for another is hardly stretching, but as I have friends in Wokingham (who aren't Tories, I should note), I do feel that I should flag up his arrival, especially as he has already announced that he has a Liberal Democrat councillor 'in his sights'.

I don't know how effective Fraser McFarland is a campaign organiser, but you are warned that his manners are somewhat less than optimal...

Is Tim Farron up for this?

Canadian politicians. Dull, right? Apparently not, now that a man who, according to his Conservative opponents, brought nothing to the contest but nice hair, has become Prime Minister. Justin Trudeau, for it is he, is not your average politician...

And so, with Kav Kaushik particularly in mind, here he is, the guy in white. Check the moves... And yes, nice hair...

On this day... in 2006

I was inspired to cook. I watch relatively little television these days, but I was single then, and keen to do something 'improving'. It has to be said that I still cook meals for myself, especially given that Ros is in London for most weeknights. But I do still enjoy some time in the kitchen, even if it is to cook something basic or, when Ros is cooking, to lend a hand with some of the simpler stuff.

[Insert title here] - 18 October 2015

If only you knew, Will... 

Will Hutton writes in the Guardian about the crisis of morale in the public sector. Amusingly, if you're into black humour, he talks of a ten-year pay freeze in real terms. If only, as I won't have had a pay rise that wasn't a real terms cut unless CPI stays as low as it currently is. It won't though...

Wankhede Stadium, Mumbai

It doesn't matter how wide the margin is, as long as there is one...

A win for Mumbai in the Ranji Trophy over Tamil Nadu by one wicket, after a late collapse. We are top of the league, yes we are top of the league...

Talking about a liberal migration policy in Hungary...

ALDE has drawn up some proposals for a liberal migration policy for Europe, having held a workshop on the subject a week ago. I've contacted Liberal Democrats for Seekers of Sanctuary, but do you have any ideas? Get in touch, and I'll let you have a copy of the resolution. Deadline for amendments is Friday, so time is short...


Vegetarians, you might want to look away now...

One of the many joys of having Ros around the place more often is that she cooks. Don't get me wrong, I can (and often do) cook. It's just that Ros is better at it, and we have more time (yes, I do help...). Tonight, a rack of lamb has been consumed, courtesy of our local farm butcher. It was delicious...

And at the end of it all, I'll be at home...

So, I have made it to London City Airport after a day of taxis, trains, a tram and an Embraer 190SR. It has been fun, especially the train rides and, whilst the last leg of my trip involves Abellio Greater Anglia, it has been worth the effort.

The Eurostar Italia service from Rome to Milan was very efficient, even at 291km/h, with a welcome glass of prosecco, a small but perfect sweet treat and surprisingly good espresso, but the Swiss Railways EC316 was a step up in terms of sheer enjoyment.

The veal schnitzel Zürich style was served with spätzel and a rich cream sauce, and accompanied by a merlot from Ticino, we wound our way up through Chiasso, Lugano and Bellinzona before tunnelling through the Alps and gliding back down into German Switzerland. The train glides through the curves as lakes, mountains and waterfalls compete for your attention. There were even cows with bells at their necks - I find that strangely reassuring somehow.

We had made most of the journey thus far in sunshine, but it was decidedly gloomier north of the Alps. Despite that, there was still plenty to look at as we skirted lakes and weaved through towns. And, at precisely 16.28, as scheduled, we pulled into Zürich's Hauptbahnhof.

I had planned to take the S-Bahn to the airport but, as I reached the station building, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a tram with Zürich Flughafen on the destination board. Time to go, I thought, bought myself a ticket and settled down for a gentle forty-minute ride.

I'm still not a big fan of airports, but I will say this for Zürich, it is easy to get to, with intercity trains, S-Bahn, buses and trams all connected up - so very Swiss and thus so very efficient. Of course, I did a little shopping - that seems to be what airports are for these days - some chocolate for Ros and I, and a bottle of cherry eau de vie for those cold winter evenings.

And now, I guess, I ought to head for home. Lisbon (again) next, then Tallinn. Where next after that, I wonder...

A day out to the seaside

It's been a mite hectic over the past couple of days so, as the sun was shining, Ros suggested that we might go out, with Harwich being the destination of choice.

In a straight line, it isn't that far, but because of the estuaries of the Orwell (I still think of it as the Lower Gipping) and the Stour, you have to go as far south and west as Manningtree before you can final turn east. And, as it was such a nice day, instead of taking the fast road, we meandered down the A137, through Brantham, before heading out of Manningtree on the B road that meanders on, or near, the shoreline.

The Pier at Harwich, a really rather nice hotel

All was well until we got to Bradfield, where we were flagged down to be told that there had been an accident ahead, and that it might be better to take the alternative route through Wix and the A120. It wasn't much of a hassle, and we were in Harwich soon enough. It was agreed that we would have lunch at the pier, which I misunderstood to mean at The Pier, the rather nice hotel on the waterfront there.

Luckily, they had a table free, and the specials were tempting. Ros had the crab, whilst I plumped for the pork Holstein, before Ros had some rather good walnut ice cream and I went for the cheeseboard. I rather like that sort of misunderstanding...

After lunch, we went for a walk along the seafront, past the radar tower and round towards Dovercourt. Despite the persistent breeze off of the North Sea, it was all very nice.

Harwich is an interesting place, with the feeling of a town that has been set in aspic. There are very few shops to serve the community, the port is actually more than two miles away, and on a winter's day, it can be a bit bleak, especially given that it is surrounded on three sides by water. But, on a sunny day, it makes for a very pleasant day out.

Sadly, there were still things undone at home, and we had to be off. Doubtless we'll be back soon though...

Moravian food for the soul

And so, as noted on Liberal Democrat Voice, Ros and I had gone to Vienna to attend a slightly odd meeting of the ALDE Party Council. Odd, because it felt a bit like a contractual obligation which it is kind of is. But that's a story for another post.

Having arrived in Vienna after a fairly uneventful flight, we had arranged to have dinner with the ever enchanting Jonathan Fryer, and Iain Smith, who I first met as a Young Liberal Democrat in, of all places, Aarhus, in 1989. He went on to rather better things, as an MSP and, to be honest, he's aged rather better than I have. The only catch was that we hadn't really given much thought other than where to gather, the courtyard of our hotel.

After a small libation, we headed out, only to be confronted, across the street, with a Moravian beisl, a quintessentially Austrian concept, a bit like a neighbourhood kitchen - cosy, informal, but with authentic, could have been cooked by someone at home, sort of food. And so, we decided to give it a try.

There were, as one might guess, bread dumplings involved - I love bread dumplings - meat and decent Czech beer, all combined with easy conversation and stories of politics and travel.

All in all, a very gentle introduction to Vienna. However, there was work to be done...

In search of something so very German

Ah Germany, the home of beer and wurst and people in leather shorts with braces. And so, naturlich, I am in a bar. With beer. And weisswurst mit sweet mustard. Fortunately, there appears to be nobody in leather shorts, although an accordion player would be tolerable. Nobody has smuggled in a flugelhorn, nor are beer drinking songs being sung... yet (the night is still young though).

I freely admit that it didn't take very much to tempt be from my hotel, very nice though it is. When you have an entirely new city to explore, U-bahn to ride and things to see - the Rathaus looks as though it might repay a visit in daylight - it seems like a terrible pity to stay in a sanitised, could be anywhere really, chain hotel and eat in an 'international' restaurant devoid of atmosphere.

Here at the Brauhaus Joh. Albrecht, there are four regular beers on tap plus a seasonal special. I am fortunate enough to have caught the Winterbier, dark and cloudy, and really rather good. I've even got a nice table for people watching, which is good, although the wooden bar stools are a mite uncomfortable (some upholstery and a little cushioning would be nice, guys!).

Hamburg appears to have a lot of water if the number of bridges is anything to go by, and I'm looking forward to having a wander around tomorrow - there may be more beer involved - before I catch an afternoon train tomorrow.

But first, pork. I've ordered my schnitzel, a second beer is due any moment, and it's looking like a very nice evening...

A village gathers in anticipation of pie

Last year, our Parochial Church Council varied their usual village pub night, introducing homemade pie. Real ale, rabbit and pigeon pie, what could be better?

And so it was with some pleasure that I spotted, on the carpet at the bottom of the stairs a few weeks ago, a slip of paper announcing that there would be another one. I admit to having anticipated the event for some time and, this time, Ros would be able to attend too.

We were so enthusiastic indeed that we invited Ros's sister to join us, and at 7.30 p.m. sharp last night, we set off down The Lane, with plates and cutlery (as requested) in expectation of some very fine homemade pie indeed.

Unfortunately, there was no rabbit and pigeon this time, but the substitute venison pie, with a rich gravy, lived up to my fondest hopes, and the shepherd's pie was almost as excellent. Beer, supplied by Bartrams Brewery in Rougham, accompanied the pies well, and a good evening was had by all.

I'm not a baker of pies, more a consumer of them, but it was an excellent evening, with five pies to choose from - fish, chicken and vegetable, vegetable, shepherd's and venison - and if you ever happen to be in the neighbourhood for a future event, I highly recommend it.

Cincinnati, the gift that keeps on giving...

As a memorial to my beloved red and white cat, Cincinnati, I planted my only contribution to our garden, a redcurrant bush, two years ago. Last year, it did bear fruit, although not very much, and the birds loved them. As a result, I wasn't expecting very much this year.

Cincinnati just after planting

However, it appears to have been a pretty good year for redcurrants, and despite the predations of caterpillars, we've had a good harvest this year, predominantly down to the efforts of Ros, whose patience in picking the caterpillars off with a pair of tweezers, and timely harvesting, has meant that I've eaten a surprising number this year. Indeed, there are some in the fridge as I write this.

Redcurrants aren't particularly sweet, and as Ros doesn't care for them much, I get to eat all of them, which is good for me (five a day and all), and is a useful and interesting addition to my diet.

I did offer some to our plumber, who is working on our kitchen this week. He did seem to like them, and suggested that his wife might have him plant a bush or two.

Think of it as my wildlife project for the week...

Merry Christmas, Mr Scrooge

"Twas the week before Christmas, and all through the train, not a restaurant car was stirring, not even near Diss..."

I have written in the past of the joy of breakfast on the train from Stowmarket to London Liverpool Street, a joy which makes bearable having to catch a train at the uncivilised time of 8.10 in the morning to get to work, especially on a Monday. And now, just when I have settled upon a routine, National Express East Anglia have announced that their award-winning restaurant car service will be withdrawn in the week before Christmas, with the loss of more than fifty jobs.

Isn't it lovely?

I am sure that they will have some perfectly plausible reason for their decision, and for many people, there will be no noticeable change, but a little piece of the joy of rail travel will be lost, probably forever.

National Express East Anglia's breakfast service, especially their 'Great British Breakfast' is a thing of beauty. Bacon, sausages and black pudding, nearly all locally sourced, with a fried egg complete with a slice of fried bread, beans, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms plus a hash brown, plus citrus fruit, tea or coffee, and all the toast a hungry bureaucrat can eat does not come cheap, but it is one of the glories of the British railway network, and should be preserved. They even serve proper kippers, good porridge, eggs Benedict and provide a decent vegetarian alternative. All of this to be lost in just a fortnight (sigh).

Frankly, when the franchise comes up for renewal, I will happily support anyone who promises to resume a proper restaurant car service between London and Norwich. Richard Bowker, the head honcho at National Express, should hang his head in shame. For however good he might be at running a railway (and in Jonathan Wallace's eyes, he can't be trusted to run a bath), he clearly has no soul.

Suffolk reviews: Kasztelan Cafe, Ipswich

Welcome to part one of a series which, I hope, will give you some ideas for things to do, places to go and things to see in my newly adopted county of Suffolk. I am a newcomer to the county, in every sense of the word, and everything is new and strange. If you're in the area, you might find this useful. If you aren't, why not?...

Breaking off from a busy day of wedding preparations, Ros and I were in search of lunch, and we headed down to the waterfront in Ipswich. Unfortunately, building works made our journey somewhat more complicated than strictly necessary, so we fell back to Old Cattle Market in search of sustenance, to find something new(ish), Kasztelan Cafe, a Polish cafe in the true sense of the word, serving hearty food in an atmosphere which, whilst lacking in obvious ambience, reminded me very much of similar places encountered on my trips to Eastern Europe in recent years. Pictures of food in the window, Polish television playing in the corner, this is clearly meant to serve primarily as a meeting point for the growing Polish community in the town, and we were soon joined by a group of young Poles in search of home cooking.

The food itself is not fancy, just filling, and I ordered the turkey cutlet with potatoes, a sauerkraut salad and some sparkling mineral water. My expectations weren't high, but the turkey was tasty, the potatoes were especially good, mashed with dill and some fried onion, and came in a vast portion that could have fed two (but not in this case). Ros had the goulash with dumplings. The goulash had flavour without being overpowering, the dumplings were beautifully light and fluffy and we were both happy with the sauerkraut salad. Service was quick enough, no more than that, although this is not somewhere for fast food, and the cost of lunch, just £9.50, was extremely reasonable for real food.

I wish the proprietor(s) good fortune with their enterprise, and not just because they had a video from HM Revenue & Customs on display, indicating perhaps that they intend to comply with their tax commtments. It is perhaps inevitable that we'll see more such eating places as the Polish and other Eastern European communities become more established, and if this is an indication of how things will be, I look forward to eating some very good dumplings, pierogi and bigos in the years to come.

Waitress, get me the alligator, and make it...

... on second thoughts, I'll take it with the creole aioli.

I saw the fried alligator on the menu as an appetiser and thought, "Hmmm... an opportunity to eat something which, given half a chance, would be thinking the same thing about me.". And I have to admit that it was pretty good. A bit rubbery in texture, but very tasty.

In narrative terms, this introduction is flawed, as the chronology is shot to pieces, but who could resist opening a blog entry with such an old joke? So, let's go back to the beginning... One of the advantages of jet lag is that you find it easier to get up early, at least in this direction. Thus enabled, I was out of my quite lovely hotel in good time to catch an early morning train to Fort Worth, with the zoo in mind. Despite a long-running bus strike, normal services have been resumed and, in a gesture to maintain customer loyalty, fares have been withdrawn temporarily, making the Fort Worth transportation system a real bargain.

The zoo is a pretty good one, with an excellent collection of elephants, a meerkat mound, some very contented looking rhinos and two very active hippos. The sun shone, as it has done throughout this trip thus far, and it was nice to be wandering around.

The afternoon was spent wandering around downtown Fort Worth, stopping for some excellent beer and finally retiring to a restaurant called Reata for dinner, which is where we came in. The alligator was followed by a really good steak, encrusted with peppercorns and served with a port reduction. I've had some pretty good steaks, particularly in Buenos Aires, but this was the equal of any.

Alas, all good things come to an end, and I was obliged to head back to Dallas on a late evening train, allowing me to write this blog entry before retiring to bed for the night...

Welcome to WMJV in Cincinnati!

Noting my apologies to that comparatively little-known American sitcom (WKRP in Cincinnati for those of you unfamiliar with this minor classic), it's actually great to be here in the 'Queen City of the West', or less familiarly, 'Porkopolis'.

Yesterday saw an arduous journey between New York and here. I turned up at La Guardia, checked in at the self check-in desk to be informed that I couldn't get to Cincinnati at all. A very kind agent put me on standby on the flight before mine (which still hadn't left due to weather problems in Chicago) and I was fortunate enough to get a seat, allowing me to get to O'Hare just in time for the 15:40 connection to Cincinnati. Great!... until I got to O'Hare and found that my connecting flight had been cancelled. "You aren't going to make it to Cincinnati tonight, we've booked you onto the 06:25 tomorrow morning.", was the response. "Can I be put on the standby list for the 18:30 tonight?" "Yes, but we can't be certain you'll get on". I took my chance, went to the gate and, lo and behold, got a guaranteed seat.

So I went to grab some dinner and, now slightly less irritable, went to my new gate to find that, joy unbounded, the 18:30 was now cancelled. Back to customer services... "We've transferred you onto the 10:45 tomorrow morning." "Is there another flight this evening?" "One more, at 20:50, but it's completely full." "Put me on standby anyway".

More delays later, and at 21:15, I get lucky again, a seat has come up because half of the passengers due to connect onto it haven't made it into Chicago. The bad news is that the plane is delayed, and delayed, and delayed until 22:25. At least this one actually takes off and I make it into Cincinnati at 00:45, nearly seven hours later than planned...

But at least I'm here, and got to spend the day at the world-famous Cincinnati Zoo, America's second oldest. It was a bit cold, but they have some great exhibits, including their manatees, who are rather special.

Back into town for some of the local delicacy, chili. Cincinnati is famous for this, with at least two major chains of chili parlours, whose penetration of the market beyond the surrounding counties is virtually non-existent. I haven't worked out why this should be, but their chili, served over linguine, is very good. If you're ever in the neighbourhood, Skyline is apparently better than Gold Star...