Tag IKEA

As Long As They Keep The Meatballs Coming, I’m Good

Last weekend we made one of our occasional trips to the Boston area IKEA store, mostly because we couldn’t come up with anything better to do. We don’t ever really need anything at IKEA; we long ago outgrew the assemble-it-yourself apartment furniture (although how we would have loved IKEA twenty-five years ago!), but we always somehow seem to find a cart full of little things to buy. On this trip we ended up with a new shower caddy, two packages of paper napkins, some TV trays (you know, trays for eating dinner in front of the TV), a lampshade, a bag of frozen meatballs, three milk chocolate bars, and a jar of lingonberry preserves. My own personal favorite part of every trip is eating lunch in the cafeteria, where I always enjoy the Swedish meatballs.

Now, the IKEA store in Sydney, Australia, wants to ruin everything by creating a special zone where wives can drop off their husbands while they shop, in the same vein as their “Småland” play area for little kids. They’re calling it “Mänland”, and it’s furnished with sofas, Xbox consoles, and free hot dogs. If this catches on, will I be shunted into this manchild zone, deprived of my meatballs and lingonberries? I actually like wandering around looking at all the furniture with the silly names like “Fäarttunder” and “Tittslåpper”, and I especially love my lunch of meatballs.

The women who author the sociology blog “The Society Pages” have also caught wind of this sexual discrimination, and they are not the least bit impressed, let me tell you. In their view, by treating the men like children, the retailer is also undermining women by reinforcing the message that the men would rather be left behind than spend time with them. So it’s patronizing AND patriarchal at the same time. Plus, hot dogs?

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IKEA Cuisine

Last weekend we took a ride down to the monstrously huge IKEA store in Stoughton, which is just a bit south of Boston. We live north-west of the city, just far enough away from IKEA that it has to be a small adventure to go, but the reward for our intrepidness (intrepidity?) is usually working our way through the cafeteria line to sit down at a tastefully modern table to eat a big ol’ plate of Swedish Meatballs with mashed potatoes and a little dollop of lingonberry jam, have a slice of the apple cake, and wash it all down with as much lingonberry juice drink as our stomachs can hold. Thus fortified with what is undoubtedly the exact same menu that fueled the savage Viking raids that terrorized Northern Europe for centuries, we can return to ogling inexpensive DIY plywood furniture with hysterically funny Swedish names. This time through, however, we’d actually started the morning with a substantial brunch and were still digesting our omelets and pancakes when we reached the aircraft-carrier-sized building, so we skipped our usual repast and instead bought the frozen meatballs, packets of sauce mix, and jars of lingonberry jam that they so cleverly place right on your way out the door, and had it all for Sunday night dinner instead (except for the lingonberry juice beverage, which they don’t seem to sell, more’s the pity).

Reheating meaty treats has never been what I consider “cooking”, but last week there was this post at Serious Eats, where the author, site contributor Michele Humes, brought home not just the meatballs and sauce packet, but several of the other food items that you can buy in the “Bistro” section of the store, and then used them to make dishes other than Swedish Meatballs. Now, spaghetti and meatballs is a little obvious, I think, but she also came up with cocktail sausages glazed with lingonberry jam, some pinwheel hors d’oeuvres made with crab pate and lumpfish caviar on flatbread, and some unfortunate looking herring in dill mayonnaise on burnt rye bread. She even made some mashed potato puffs and floated them on a bed of Swedish Meatball gravy.

Look, there’s a reason the Vikings raped and pillaged every coastal town from Ireland to Spain and back again, and it wasn’t because they couldn’t wait to get home for the food. But this shows that a little ingenuity can go a long way, even when all you have are Kötbullar and Gräddsås.

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What Piece Of IKEA Furniture Are You?

Who doesn’t love all the goofy Swedish (and Danish) names for all the products at IKEA?

Now, thanks to the magic of the Internet, you, too, can have a piece of stylish, inexpensive, and ready-to-assemble Scandinavian furniture named after you! And we promise, you won’t get stuck with having your name used for doormats or toilet seats like those pathetic Danes.

(via)

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Miscellania

Random links too good to waste but not worthy of individual posts:

The big premiere of the Speed Racer movie is this Friday. Warner Bros. has very high hopes indeed for this film as the “tentpole” for all of their summer releases, and they’ve been hyping the living shit out of it for weeks and weeks. But this story in today’s Hollywood Reporter seems to be damning the film with pretty faint praise. Apparently the film isn’t testing too well in advance screenings, and the rhetoric of the studio flaks is already downplaying how much ticket revenue they expect. Meanwhile, Iron Man is exceeding expectations, did boffo at the box office on its opening weekend, and is lined up to win this coming weekend, too. The fact that both of these movies were released in early May shows that their studios did not have a lot of faith in them in the first place — it wouldn’t be the first time a hoped-for “franchise” film based on comic books or a TV show ended up way below expectations. With people being quoted in the industry press making equivocating statements, things do not bode well for this film.

Speaking of upcoming films, the Huffington Post has this brief interview with Star Trek director J.J. Abrams that has me feeling hopeful about his film. The movie was originally slated for this summer, but the writer’s strike slowed things to the point that the film has been pushed back all the way to NEXT May.

It’s always amusing to go to IKEA and laugh at all the silly Swedish names for their products. Not too long ago, it was revealed that the branding folks at IKEA deliberately give Danish-language names to their low-end products and keep the Swedish names for their top-of-the-line items as a sort of slap in the face to their Danish cousins. But Mental Floss tells us today that apparently “IKEA” is the Swedish word for “tax evasion”. Yumpin’ yimminy!

If you’re old enough to remember the 1980s, you might remember the PR disaster that occurred when it was revealed that the Reagan Administration had the U.S. Postal Service make sure that they would be able to maintain regular mail delivery in the event of a nuclear war (lots of scary links there, btw). Reagan’s Mussolini-like determination to keep things running smoothly seems downright heroic compared to this story from the BBC: recently-declassified documents from the British government during the 1950s show that the Ministry of Food was terribly worried, old chap, that there wouldn’t be enough tea to go ’round if London were blitzed with the H-bomb by those dreadful Russian fellows. I say! That would be a bit of a sticky wicket, eh wot?

If you’re a fan of “Deadliest Catch” like I am, I think you’ll probably appreciate this Alaska joke. Buuuuut, you probably don’t want to know that the fish you ate last night was full of worms.

Got a personal problem? Ask Genghis Khan! (Doesn’t look like too many people really want his advice, actually)

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In The Doghouse

Dog Butt Coat Hook

On a recent trip to IKEA, Bridget and Charlotte were overcome with the need to purchase half a dozen or more of these coat hooks that look like dog butts. It being IKEA, they had some hoopy Swedish name like pøøchenheinie, which only added to the MUST BUY MORE impulse. We were shopping for a couch for the playroom, but, hey, dog butts!

So I have no doubt that the next big household purchase is likely to be a selection of these towel holders:

Dog Butt Towel Holder

Unfortunately, I cannot look at this particular novelty item without recalling my parents’ dog, Max. He was a big, lumbering black Lab with a penchant for eating unusual items. Once he ate a pair of Bridget’s earrings. Another time he ate an entire package of Bic disposable razors. One memorable Christmas Eve, he ate the entire deli platter my mother had bought for our holiday buffet (well, all the meat, anyway, not the platter itself). But the reason this thing reminds me of Max is the time he ate a pair of pantyhose. My father was out walking him, when the dog began to squat to poop but was having difficulty passing something. As the dog became more distressed, my father tried to help the dog and discovered the undigested pantyhose emerging from the dog’s butthole. He began to tug to try to pull them out of the dog, who, still quite distressed, attempted to flee in the opposite direction. This had the intended effect of extracting the pantyhose, though apparently they stretched quite a lot as the dog tried to run away.

We never did get the earrings back.

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