Ketchup, ketchup

We went to the Absolut Icebar, and we closed the place down.

But before that we enjoyed a day out and about in Copenhagen, a stereophonic disappointment, several flavors of ice cream, dinner with friends at Tivoli, a terrifying thrill ride, and more ice cream.

After checking in to our highly modern hotel and room and dozing briefly - I don't know why we were sleepy, but we were - we each set out to wander the city on foot. I headed, in a roundabout way, for the Bang & Olufsen flagship store just off Kongens Nytorv which is a combination of monument, public space, and traffic circle - somewhat like Place de la Concorde in Paris. Hence: a proud location for any store, especially a company flagship.

I have some old B&O equipment from, believe it or not, the '70's, and I thought the main store might be able to help me with some of its special cabling and with a new turntable cartridge.

I overestimated B&O badly. They had no idea what to do with their superb location except to stock it with some equipment samples, a few explanatory placards, and a couple bored men sitting behind desks (who were unable, or too bored, to help me with my parts needs other than to suggest I might have better luck in America). It was shameful to the point of being irritating: perhaps the oldest design/lifestyle consumer electronics brand in existence, and their merchandising efforts make them look like ignorant hicks, an emarrassment to anyone who owns their gear. If the newest, rawest group of Apple Store trainees marched in and booted them all out, the professionalism of B&O's flagship store would be upgraded a hundredfold in a day.

But I rant. The rest of the day was good. After an afternoon of changing money, buying ice cream (tiramisu on a cone turns out to be less good than it sounds, and strawberry all too detectable on the breath by suspicious wives) walking among pretty and historic sights I won't bore you by listing, it was time to get ready for dinner at Tivoli with Kristi, her husband Phil who'd flown into town, and Madelyn.

Tivoli houses any number of restaurants, but to any Prairie Home cruiser there was only one thematically appropriate choice, Cafe Ketchup. You'd never guess it from the name but it's a well-reviewed Danish version of a French bistro, with dishes like roast cockerel and braised veal shank. And pasta bolognese for Madelyn.

It was as great a pleasure to meet Phil and enjoy dinner and conversation with him as it had been for the past week with Kristi and Madelyn alone, so it was nearly 10:30 by the time we left our table. After our full and lengthy meal, Kristiana and Madelyn had one destination in mind, the terrifying Demon roller coaster whose screaming passengers could be heard for some distance through the park. Phil was game too, while Kristi and I volunteered to stay behind to hold the ground down, as Kristi put it: "we'll make sure it's still here when you get back."

There's a spot where you can not only track the progress of the line but where the coaster itself passes so close that you don't just feel the breeze but are nearly tossed about by it. Fortunately it's near the end of the ride when passengers are out of breath, so the screams aren't too bad. Nonetheless by the time a dozen or so coaster-loads had passed by, Kristi had experienced enough vicarious terror for one night, so we went to the ride's exit just in time to see our heroes emerging. And wanting to go again.

The line was much shorter the second time, so we only had a few minutes to explore - specifically to search for ice cream, since coaster-riding gives excitable 9-year-old girls an appetite (and thirtysomething girls and fortysomething dads, as it turns out). We found a combination ice-cream and candy booth whose signature product seemed to be popsicle-sized slabs of candy on a stick. It had a soft look, like taffy, and came in a remarkable array of fruit flavors, some of which seemed not likely to be big hits back home.

Our crew emerged from the ride once again, Madelyn at a run saying "I want ice cream!" Though I was fairly sure she spoke for Kristiana as well, it was incumbent upon me to check.

"Dear, you've been hurled through the air, spun upside down, and twisted sideways while traveling unprotected at unmentionable speeds."
"Mm-hmm."
"And as you hurled towards the ground, sure to be dashed to death, your screams unheard above the tumult, I'm sure you thought..."
"Wouldn't this be a nice time for a slice of rhubarb pie."
"...slab of rhubarb taffy on a stick, actually."
"Eww, grossness."

So they all had ice cream.

Somehow it was still only 11:30, meaning we still had time to get to the Icebar before closing if we didn't dawdle. It wasn't a long walk, and in a few minutes we were in the Icebar's lobby, snowsuiting up (your cover charge includes use of a comfy and not unfashionable insulated poncho, and this is a very good thing, at least for us wimpy Californians). Copenhagen being an enlightened sort of place, Madelyn was allowed to go in too, though she was served juice instead of vodka.

Icebar is everything it ought to be: slightly subterranean, dimly lit in gloomy blueish tones, and built out of eerily beautiful, bubble-free blocks of clear, glossy ice. What's more, to my astonishment, the drinks were *good*, something unexpected but wholly welcome in a novelty bar.

By the time we were ready to go - both because of the cold and because the sumo imitations of a trio of businessmen possibly not on their first round had become uncomfortably loud in the reverberant space - the bar was closing anyway. Madelyn brought her glass - made of ice, of course - out with her so she could watch it melt. We said and hugged our goodbyes as the Icebar locked its doors and the businessmen disappeared into the night.