Honeymoons and homecomings

So, the evening of our wedding was spent on this beautiful catamaran.
The sunset was beautiful, as was the dinner we ate and the turtles we swam with.
We were of course already in Barbados, a dream honeymoon destination, but we decided to take one night away from our families, and stayed at the Savannah Hotel.
Here it is from the outside.
This is the downstairs balcony and (dare I say it?) tired new husband(!)
and this is our view.

A few days later, we went from this...

....to this.

Just to be clear: from this...

...to this.

That's right, we went to Montreal, to see some of my husband's (can't get used to that yet!) friends and family.
First visit as always, was to the West Island, and his grandparents.
Second, also customary, was to a poutine shack.
I've explained before about this dish, but this particular diner had been voted by the people of Montreal to be the best poutine in town.
I have not sampled them all, but I like the best.

I cannot stress, reader, how cold Montreal is at that time of year.

Oh, here's an example: Think you'll leave that bottle of water in the car, do you?

And there's so much snow.
We shovelled twice a day sometimes. I confess, if I were a resident I'm pretty sure I'd pay one of the hundred companies that offer to shovel your drive for you, at a price.
They also have massive ploughs and snow-throwers, and huge lorries that take snow to landfill sites because there just isn't enough room for the stuff, but I couldn't get a good picture.

There were two big things I tried this time in Canada. One was cross-country skiing, which is most-definitely a breach of my performance contract but hey, I'm a devil-may-care kinda gal!
Eric's a fan.
Me? Not much. Instead of just your feet to take care of, there's 6 foot of slippery metal to contend with as well, only half-attached to your foot. Weird what some people enjoy...

The second thing was much more to my liking, the Ofuro Spa in the north of Montreal, a version of what's commonly called a Polar Bear Club. Allow me to explain.
As this leaflet sorta shows, everything is done in rotation. You steam or sauna, you go in a really cold plunge pool outside (minus 27, remember) for 3-5 seconds, you heat up again in the steam room, you go to the hot-tub, you chill in the relaxation area etc.
No cameras inside, but it was awesome. My whole body stung when I came out of the frozen river and into the heat, but I was extremely proud I did it.

We saw some friends also, showing them our wedding pictures and enjoying Marc's new place, complete with bamboo bar in the basement.
All it needs is a Guinness mat...

Simon and Nell boiled cake?

OK, so I'd like to talk Simnel Cake. Here we are, enjoying one, but I'll be the first to say that I knew nothing of this particular Easter cake before. According to foodie Dudley at www.s4c.co.uk/dudley

The name simnel is derived from the old French word simenel via the Latin term used to describe the finest flour for baking cakes, simila.

There is a suggestion, however, that simnel comes from a legend when a man named Simon and his wife, Nell, were debating whether to bake or boil the cake for Mothering Sunday. In the end, they did both and modestly named the cake after them ­ Sim-Nell!

OK class, so which theory do you prefer? I'm no Delia Smith when we come to the subject of cake-making, but boiling? Baking AND boiling?

Check out the recipe I found, by Mary Berry. I don't see where it says 'now boil your cake', do you?
It's interesting how Mary Berry used 11, not 12 marzipan balls atop her cake. The balls symbolise Christ's Apostles, and people use 11 or 12 depending on whether they think Judas should be counted or not.

Our one (pictured) had 12 balls. I guess Supermarket chains don't like to leave anyone out.

Now, chocolate eggs!
Yes, my one is huge, and white, the best chocolate made by my favourite English chocolatier, Thorntons. They ice any name on your egg for free. These are our Hawaiian names (if all that chocolate wasn't sickly enough to make you nauseous) iced on my egg, and Eric's brown bear. It's a Canadian thing.

I got to see my cat, Sam, on Easter Sunday.
He resides at my folks house (he's set in his ways, plus another hungry mouth to feed right now etc. etc) and is neither a chocolate nor a simnel cake fan, so was pretty moody. He likes to bite my huge beady necklaces like teething rings lately.

On Monday, I got up early and, deciding against going to an audition which would mean relocating to Tokyo, hauled my behind to the gym to work off some of that white chocolate. My gym is on the top floor of the Bentall's Centre, known to all Saaf Laandiners with no elocution lessons like myself and Amy Winehouse as the 'Benoo Cenaah'.
There's something really foreboding about a mall with nobody in it.

In other news, sometimes it snows in London. This is Wimbledon station,
and this is snow.
Yes, I know many Canadians/Norwegians etc. will scoff at my statement, but these kind of swirly snowy situations are rare for March in London.