“I said, can you please get those orders out for me??”

“Ah, yes, I’m sorry,” she answered. “I’ll get them right now!”

Tricia mentally smacked herself for daydreaming yet again—and on the job, of all places. Yet, she especially couldn’t stop her mind from going there today—the day when she was that much closer to finally be able to afford a dream for which she had been saving up for years.

After she brought the dishes out to the customers, her mind briefly returned to that rainy day all those years ago. She couldn’t believe it had been 57 years since that six-year-old girl had pranced around on that lawn, enjoying the shower from above without a care in the world.

If only she’d known.

On the other hand, even if I had, she pondered, would it have made any difference? Clearly, I was already really enjoying myself then, so nope, probably not. And I definitely wouldn’t have been able to change anything…

“Here you go,” said her last customer as he unknowingly interrupted her thoughts and handed her seven dollars.

Tricia’s eyes widened, her face overcome with joy. The man was taken aback, considering the tip he’d given her, but he also was appreciative that she seemed so appreciative. And she was.

“So, did you crack the big threshold tonight?” Jessica asked Tricia as she was closing out the register later that night.

“Yes! I did!! Thanks to the cheap older gentleman towards the end of my shift. He gave a $7 tip on a $125 total, but I don’t even care. I could’ve kissed him!! I was so psyched.”

Jessica laughed. “Wow, $7? ‘Cheap’ is right. He knows he was wrong for that!”

“Hey, it might as well have been $7,000. It puts me right where I need to be.”

Jessica smiled. “Well, that’s good. I’m really happy for you, Trish. You deserve it.”

Tricia returned the smile. “Thank you, Jess. I’m so excited.”

“So! When are you going?!? I’m surprised you haven’t already left!”

“Ha ha, I wish. I have to close out tonight, and remember, I’ll still need this job when I get back. But you better believe, I’m packing my bags as soon as I get home and hitting the road first thing in the morning!!”

Jessica chuckled. “That’s wonderful. You’ll have to tell me all about it. I’ve heard really great things but have yet to be able to afford it, myself.” She paused for a moment as she tilted her head in thought. “I actually think you might be the first person I know who has done it, so be sure to take lots of pictures, and don’t leave out any of the details when you get back!!”

The dry heat smacked Tricia in the face so hard as she left the building, it felt like an assault. Having been so excited to end her shift and get home, she suddenly realized she’d forgotten to take off her clothes before coming outside.

She looked around, placed her tote bag on the nearby curb, pulled off her shirt, and stepped out of her pants, making her shoulders, chest, stomach, back, and legs the next wretched victims of the heat’s violence.

Still. Better, she thought.

Barely better, but better.

She surveyed her surroundings again before picking up her bag. She wasn’t worried about anyone harassing her as she walked as an older woman at 2 in the morning in just her bra and panties—it was a scene much more common than seeing someone more traditionally clothed—she just didn’t want to risk anyone swiping her bag with her precious accumulated prized earnings of the night. Her tips, including those precious final seven singles.

She needed those seven singles.

After making it to her car safely, she read the temperature on the dashboard: 108°F. Tricia exhaled in exasperation and then turned on her headlights to illuminate the road ahead.

That next morning, she almost tripped darting out of bed. After a quick shower, she put on her comfy bra, underwear, flip-flops, and black shades, and slathered on her 50 SPF sunscreen lotion. With her packed suitcase and big thermos full of ice cubes, she raced out the front door.

As she sat the suitcase alongside the several cases of water—mostly her monthly allotment from the government—in her trunk, she thought again about how much she wished she could afford tint on her windows. It was a luxury only the wealthy could afford. She would have to save up many more years, sacrificing other luxuries such as this trip, to even come close.

She grabbed one of the water bottles, and then set out on the 15-hour-long drive, figuring she would split it up over two days. Soaking her handkerchief with the dew quickly accumulating on her forehead, Tricia took a sip of water and read the dashboard temperature: 112° F.

The ice cube she pulled from her thermos practically disappeared as soon as it hit her skin. Its remnants drizzled down her brow, barely grazing her nose before it plopped onto her bra. That drop was joined by what little was left of the cube, as she slowly rubbed it on her neck and chest, letting the rest melt entirely.

“I know we’ve been suffering a bit out here, folks,” said the radio meteorologist. “…With the highs in the 130s the last few weeks, but fret not, reprieve is coming! You might be able to cover up a bit more than usual, as we can soon expect single digits! And maybe even as low as 98!! Starting just next week.”

“Ah, thank God,” Trish exhaled and dapped her forehead again.

Trying to keep her eye on the road as much as possible, her mind couldn’t help but drift off to where it had been tens of thousands of times before—imagining what it will be like, for the first time in all those years. She could see it, feel it, smell it, even taste it.

It was a few hours before she took another sip of water, always trying to ration what she had, not knowing when she’d get more. She eyed the dashboard which now read123°F. What little breeze had helped her save gas for the first part of the trip had gone completely. She finally rolled up the windows and turned on the air conditioner.

Two days later, Tricia car pulled into the parking lot of the building which displayed giant blue letters:

The Oasis: An Interactive Experience Museum.

She couldn’t believe it. After so many years and so many sacrifices—financial and otherwise—she was finally here.

After dragging her suitcase out of the trunk and towards the building, she soon encountered a smaller sign, in black letters, which read: Please do not bring any bags or luggage inside. Dress as needed before you enter.

Before you enter?!? she thought. That can’t be right. What are they trying to do, roast us?! That should be illegal.

Still, she hurried back to her car, pulled from her suitcase the single shirt and pair of pants she’d brought, and put them on. Then she began excitedly sifting through to find the most important items—those which she’d ordered months ago and had been resting comfortably in her suitcase mostly since.

And there it was. The pretty, pink raincoat with white and yellow polkadots throughout that she had tried on and paraded in front of her bathroom mirror like a little girl in her mommy’s dress clothes nearly every day since it arrived.

Nestled under it were her also-“new” matching rain boots—additionally gently broken-in, thanks to her personal at-home fashion shows.

She stepped in them after kicking off her flip flops but waited to get inside before she put on the coat. She reasoned, no need to die of heat exhaustion just a few feet and minutes away from fulfilling one of her dreams!

Last to grab was her adorable new umbrella. She already had a black one but thought she would treat herself for the occasion. Although she’d seen an umbrella that matched her coat and boots, she’d decided to go a little different for it and instead ordered one that was light-blue and featured “raining” cats and dogs. She’d thought that was so cute.

And now, she was ready. She left the luggage in her car and headed back to the building.

After she was checked in at the front desk, signs led her to the exhibit she had come and paid all of her savings for. On her way, she couldn’t help but notice another standout exhibit that had an incredibly long line of people waiting to get in—even longer than the one she was headed towards. The door that led into it featured a big picture with countless little white balls. She felt a mixture of excitement and sadness as she thought to herself, I’ll have to save up another five years, maybe more, for that one.

Finally, she arrived to her long-awaited exhibit. It didn’t take long for her long line to be ushered by their tour guide into the door with the picture of countless diagonal blue slits.

As they entered, the guide gave Tricia and the other visitors a pair of special glasses. “Put these on,” he said, “And I’ll give you further direction once we get inside. Remember to keep them on to remain in The Experience.”

Tricia put her glasses on and walked through the door, and suddenly, it suddenly was as if she was in the living room of someone’s nicely decorated home. The fireplace roared on one wall. She could almost feel the heat.

And then she turned to her right. And there it was.

She slowly walked towards the open window, taking in the scene as she stepped. Slits of water shot down in a slightly diagonal direction and soaked everything it touched: the concrete and grass below, the trunks and leaves of the trees, the flowers, the bench on the left side, and some colorful playground equipment in the distant right. A jogger running by, seemingly unfazed by the onslaught, while a group of kids jumped around in a big puddle, the mud splashing on their clothes and laughter echoing from them. The occasional car drove by on the road nearby—the water falling and sliding down on each side. Two black, plastic bars swung back and forth on the front window, furiously pushing the water to each side and clearing the driver’s view.

Tricia tried to remember what those things were called. ‘Scrapers,’ I think? ‘Scrapers’ or …’scrubbers’? ‘Rubbers’? ’Swipers’? Oh, wait! That was it. ‘Wipers.” They were called ‘wipers.’ Windshield wipers.

Tricia could hardly contain herself as she approached the home’s front door. She opened it and took in the outdoor scene once more, bracing herself for what she was about to feel. And then, she stepped forward.

Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter sounded off on her raincoat.

Splashes on her legs as she stepped with her boots, which suddenly felt slightly heavier than before to lift.

“Welcome to The Rain Experience,” said the guide. “Up until a little less than three-quarters of a century ago, this was what it felt like when enough precipitation would build up above. It would rain. We would go outside, and water would literally fall from the sky… Just as you’re seeing and feeling now.”

“You’re welcome to keep your raincoats on and use your umbrellas, or you can ditch them both for the full wet experience,” he grinned enthusiastically. “I’ll share some information and history about rain, and I’m happy to take pictures of you at key locations throughout the tour—walking down the sidewalk, sitting in the park, standing next to a building or statue or a car—whatever you want. There will be lots of opportunities!”

Tricia continued walking slowly, nearly pinching herself to confirm this was reality as she listened.

“You can continue to use your earphones to tune into my commentary or mute or remove them as you’d like to more fully immerse yourself into The Experience,” the guide went on. “It’s up to you. Some people come on separate days — once, to hear the full narration, and the other for the non-audio, immersion experience. Of course, an additional visit will require a separate ticket,” he chuckled briefly. “But if you’re able to swing that, it is highly recommended. Otherwise, you may want to split the time accordingly during your visit today. Make it count!”

Tricia kept her earphones in for the moment.

“Back in the days of rain, it sometimes would be on the lighter side, which is what you’re feeling now, to help you to get used to it. They would call it ‘drizzle’ or ‘light showers.’ Other times, it would be a lot more—something they would call a ‘downpour.’ Hang tight and have your umbrellas ready, as we’ll give you a sense of that shortly.”

The tour guide continued, “If it got cold enough in the sky, instead of rain, you’d get snow, which you probably saw the exhibit for on your way in. Cool stuff! You should check it out some time if you haven’t.”

“But back to rain… Back in those days, they sometimes would even have these things called thunderstorms and hurricanes, where certain conditions would make rain powerful and even deadly. You’d see electricity, called ‘lightning,’ in the sky, or the rain would team up with wind and knock down trees and power lines! Those were the hurricanes. Those would get so bad that they could, and would, take out whole towns!”

Tricia’s and the other visitors’ eyes and mouths widened.

“Yeah, I know, right?” the guide continued. “Those hurricanes actually were the last of what we experienced before…getting to where we are now. For centuries, they were pretty infrequent — less than 50 around the world per year. But in the decades leading up to the endless drought, that number had soared to an average of 250 a year! It got to be where there was a different hurricane somewhere around the world each week—some places, each couple of days! And each year, they became more intense than the last. At the same time, more water sources were drying up at rapid speeds. As quickly as the hurricanes were picking up, those sources drying happened even more quickly, which soon thankfully put an end to the hurricanes entirely. No more hurricanes! But not so thankfully, it also meant less and less rain, until it stopped raining completely. And, well, you know the rest. We now have very limited water sources around the world and have largely had to manufacture most of the water you drink, use for cooking, bathing, and so on. But! Unfortunately, one thing they have yet to figure out how to manufacture…is any water-related weather. And hence the founding of The Oasis and what we’ve brought to you here today and have amazed the world with the past 25 years!”

She removed the ear pieces and put them in her pocket. She wanted to enjoy some of the experience of it by itself. But still couldn’t get away from the interruptions entirely.

“Did you ever experience the real thing, Mr.?” a little girl visiting with her parents asked nearby.

The tour guide laughed. “No, I’m only 24. That was way before my time.”

“Oh,” she said.

“But my grandparents experienced it… when they were younger.”

“Yeah, my parents did, too,” the little girl’s mother said.

“Really?” beamed the young girl. “Pa and Nana were alive for real rain?”

Her mother nodded, smiling.

“What did they say it was like?”

“Well, probably just like this. We get to feel what they did back then.”

Tricia looked up towards the virtual rainy sun and tried to tune out the voices around her as the falling water soaked her. Even knowing it wasn’t real, she’d never seen a sun so beautiful. It looked different behind a watery haze. She closed her eyes and let her mind take her back to the lens of her 6-year-old self running and giggling around her family’s yard. Except, this time, instead of just seeing it in her mind, she was able to feel it. Her lips stretched further than they ever had.

Even though she was soaked, Tricia felt a sort of warmth. And not the kind of sweltering “warmth” she and the rest of the world had long been plagued with outside. It was a comforting warmth. A peace. And her heart decided this was the last thing she’d ever want to feel.

Tricia stood for there for a few more minutes, enjoying the downpour as it drenched her from hair to heel.

As the fall slowed, so did her body, until it became limp.

The tour guide and other visitors rushed to her. “Somebody call an ambulance!” were the last words her ears captured. Beyond them, just ahead, her narrowing eyes landed on the much-raved-about display set to conclude The Experience, an arc spectrum of all the colors.

I remember seeing some kind of darker shape far above the clouds. It was moving in some kind of way that by no means seemed natural. I saw a tremendous flash of light. I felt electrical pricking all over my body. I felt such a joy—it was finally all over!

Except it wasn’t.

I awoke in what must have been the strangest hospital room imaginable. I must have survived. There were no trace of electrical burns. Three strangely clad women visited me in succession. They spoke strangely. They told me nothing, other than that I was the first of many and that they had great need of me.

What they turned out to be had me fighting with all my strength to escape. The third of the women was alone with me. She started to come on to me, a thing you might imagine has never happened to me. She became more and more insistent. But there was just something that was wrong about it. I may have had fantasies of something like this coming true, but the reality was nightmarish. This was not what I wanted.

She was tearing at me and, in a panic I struck out, my left arm flailing. I do have a pretty good left hook.

She fell to the floor. Her face distorted from the blow, and half her face rolled to the side of her head.

It was no human being who had attacked me! I found my way out of the chamber and ran down deserted corridors. I located a door that let me out into a luxuriant green valley.

I ran. I had no idea where I was. At times a bolt of pure lightning would strike from the azure sky. Each time something would appear. I didn’t seem to be the target of these bolts.

The first time, a man appeared. He must have leapt an eighth of a mile.

The second time an incredible, bat-winged flying machine appeared in mid-air before crashing. It must have been a hundred feet in length. Men emerged from the craft, apparently not greatly injured.

If I’d thought the flying machine immense, it was as nothing compared to what the third bolt brought forth. The reptilian creature must have towered some five hundred feet in height. Its cry was deafening. Lightning lanced upon the bony plates lining its spine. Pure fire blasted the valley.

I had never run so fast and so far. At last I fell almost senseless by a great white rock. When I came to, I looked at the valley. It nestled between two ranges of mountains. Something did not look right here. It took a moment for it to click into place. The valley extended for what must have been at least fifty miles. But there was no horizon. It just went on an on in a straight line. I was in a gigantic corridor but it was artificial.

Before the lightning had struck me I had glimpsed that dark shape in the sky. Was I in some immense craft? The three women had said I was the first of many. Had I already seen three more? And that gigantic creature? It couldn’t be what I thought it was, even though it looked exactly like what I thought it was. And I…and these others? What kind of job would require something like this?

And I knew who they all were. The man whose father had injected his pregnant wife with a serum of alkaline radicals—made him a super human. He had challenged God on a mountain top and been struck by lightning.

An engineer who had created a steampunk flying machine in the Nineteenth Century. He too had challenged God by flying into the heart of the grandfather of all thunderstorms.

The lizard, it seems, had brought his own lightning to the buffet.

Not a hundred feet from me another bolt of lightning exploded. I was thrown against the white rock. My head cleared and I saw a man appear. He was dressed in rags and tatters. He saw me and swiftly approached.

When he drew near, I was shocked at his appearance. His hair was black and matted. His eyes were yellow and watery. His skin yellow, like parchment. I had no strength left. If he meant me harm I could not fight him. He was as tall as the white rock I’d rested against—a giant of eight feet.

“Do you understand the English tongue?”

I nodded.

“I do not know where I am. I thought I was dead. I should be dead. I went out to die. I know the thunders of heaven struck me. I am a blasted tree. The bolt has entered my soul.”

The creature looked into my eyes. Up this close the full impact of who, and what, I was seeing took my breath away. I could well understand how his creator had recoiled from his creation in horror, calling what he saw hideous. The man was indeed hideous. Yet, I could see there that he had chosen the features for their beauty. But that this thing lived had turned its beauty into ashes.

I tried to cam myself. I had no doubt this being could tear me limb from limb if he wished.

“Were you struck by lightning,” I asked. “Your clothes. There are burnt patches.”

“I have wanted to die. For all I have done I deserve to die. I gathered the wood for my pyre. Fire came from above. I felt its agonies. Wilt Thou burn out all the evil I have done? Let its pain grant me redemption and forgiveness. Let me scream in its agonies as that my suffering may surpass that which I inflicted.”

Lost in his soliloquy, the creature looked at me, seemingly for the first time. His hand stroked my face.

“You, too, are scarred. You are like me.” He leaned in close.

“Are you like me in other ways? Did he make you too?” I could not read the creature’s thoughts, nor gain insight as to his intentions. Did he think I was a second of his creator’s efforts?

The creature shook his head. “No. You have been scarred and flawed, but the hand of God has made you. You need not fear me. Vengeance’ has gained me nothing. I took the life of those who had never wronged me. I have suffered and suffered for the evil I did the innocent, who never did me wrong. You have done me no evil.”

He set his hand on my shoulder and it seemed those eyes looked deep into my soul.

“Will you be my friend?”

I admit I was taken back by this request. I knew exactly who, and what I was dealing with here, though it was impossible for me to understand how these things could be. Certainly, to refuse this request would be perilous. But to accept it without being truly sincere, and acquiescing only out of fear would not do. If I said yes, it must be out of a sincere heart, and not just an attempt to escape death. I had already endeavored to kill myself on Mount Washington—if I die now, I would only be gaining my wish, however belatedly.

The fact is, if the story was true, this man might never had had a friend in his entire life. How like him I felt. There was no need to search my soul. Could I deny to another sufferer that which I had so longed for in my life, and never really had?

I raised my hand to his shoulder. “Of course I will.” And I saw how well his creator had made him, for those tear ducts were now flooded.

We talked for long after that. I had often thought of the story. The monster had often been characterized as evil—yet, was it not his creator’s rejection of, what was without a doubt his own child, that had resulted in those acts he did? Certainly they were wrong. But the creature had long put such intentions far from himself. Indeed, his resolve to destroy his very own self witnessed to the desire to atone.

“What is your name?’

“Jhäeggr. And you?”

“He never even gave me a name. I was so hideous in his eyes that he could not regard me as a child of his labors, but a deserving inhabitant of the dunghill. Though I am unlike all men, and have none of the rights they may call their own—may a man not strive after such wishes? May a man not try to attain what others have by right? May he not be willing to pay a great price for his freedom, though others are freeborn?

“I thought I should call myself Adam, since I, like that first Adam, was created by the hand of his Father. But I was certainly not made in my father’s image, as he was in His. I am truly a monstrous thing. And I should not have been. But was my father not monstrous, who turned away from me in disgust? I was indeed the thing you see, while he was fair, comely and straight. But as I was in visage, he was in heart. So I do my father proud. He has paid for his crimes. I will honor my father, who am so monstrous as was he. I am Victor.”

“That is another way we are alike, Victor. I, too, picked a name for myself.”

“There are many ways we are alike. Our names, which we have chosen. That we have endured terrible scarring. That we both seek a mate and have always been denied. And…you too went out into the frozen wilderness, as did I, to put an end to your life. Why did you seek to do this?”

“I was tired of being alone as I was. Like you, I had no companion—not even friend to lighten my load. You were denied that—but did he not start to build you…?”

“It was all I asked of him. He reneged on our contract. So close it came. Do you understand my rage? Bad enough he brought me into existence and did not take responsibility for me. But to create another, to so lift up my hopes—and then take an ax to her before she had even tasted of life? Hard enough to lose what you did not even know you had—but to see the fruit near ready for the plucking, snatched from your grasp, thrown down and ground down by hateful tread. He declared it was to protect man, he feared what the two of us would do—but what I did far outshone the mightiest of his fears. If anything had ever made me an enemy of the human race, it was that solitary act of murder—torn from my grasp, murdered before she even drew her first breath!”

I had never imagined such depths of feeling. Rage enfolded him like the lightning storm that had embraced me. But in a moment it was gone. And great, wracking sobs overcame him. Though deep down I feared this being and knew not what would follow, I could not deny the fellow feeling. I set my hands on his shoulders. Not even looking at me I knew that never had he had another to suffer with him and be to him a sympathetic ear.

The face that looked up to me was that of a different man. With that deluge of sorrow, and with another to share his grief it was as if he had truly become human. I was not fooled. He had always been human, but enduring unconscionable suffering had driven him near to madness.

He had recovered himself. There was a curious expression on his face. “You, too sought to destroy yourself. But why?”

“I told you. I couldn’t endure the suffering any longer. I had no more purpose to live. It was better I was gone. I would inconvenience no one any longer”

Victor looked at me strangely.

“I should never have been given life. By destroying myself I might atone for what I had done. My ashes might then be of some use to at least fertilize the earth. But what would your death prove? You were no blasphemy to life like I was. God had made you. You are lawful life—yet you wanted to destroy yourself. Help me comprehend this.”

“Victor—my own mother did not want me to be. Months before I should have been born, I was torn out of her womb. This I learned long after. If my own mother didn’t want me…”

“Why then are you still living if they meant to take your life?”

“A nurse found me. I was on the steel table, gasping out my life. She endangered her own job. She snuck me out of there. She gave me a chance.” I did not like the look on Victor’s face.

“And this is how you reward this woman’s sacrifice? You were scheduled to die. Your life was spared.”

“Look at me—look at my face! Who will love me as I am? I haven’t a single hope in hell of that! Do you think I want to keep on living like this?”

I couldn’t conceive how someone that big could move so fast. I didn’t see his arm moving. I felt the blow as he back handed me. I must have flown fifteen feet. The astonishment hurt worse than getting struck.

“Your self-pity disgusts me. You think you’re so hideous? Look up at the face that a creator couldn’t even bear to set his eyes on. Then tell me if you think you’re hideous. I am a blasphemy—but you, you’re life is lawful. You have not the right to take what God’s given you. You would have died had He not put that nurse there. You would have died had not that thing found you in the forest. You would have died had not the lightning taken you to this place like it took me. It took me! It found a use for me! No reason for you to live? You’ve been given a reason! You’re needed for something more important than your own little life. If it wants me, as lawless as I am—how much more you?” Victor’s eyes softened.

“I am sorry I was so hard on you. Give me your hand. I’ll help you up. Do not despair. Someday someone may find you. I found someone a long time ago. It was her I told my story to. No one before her had ever failed to recoil from me in disgust. She could not be the mate I sought—and yet, what she became—that was so much more. If I inspired her—she in turn inspired me. Each, the other’s muse. I will never forget her.

“So if I, who am a monster, was that one time, able to find such a one, dare you think to have less chance than I? Do you think yourself more monstrous?

“Something has brought us both to this place. Chanced us new possibilities. I see it. Can you not see it as well, my friend? Come—let us see what fortune has set our steps upon. There is life in both of us. Let us see what we can make of it. Will you come with me?”

I nodded. Victor was right. Self pity. There was no room for it, not when this great new adventure had opened up the doors. Several miles away I saw another flash of lightning light up the azure sky.

If you could choose one car each from German, United States, United Kingdom, Italy, and Japan, what would you pick?

I’ll kick off this window shopping spree with a cruiser.

But not just any cruiser. No.

It has to be the cruiser, Germany’s over-engineered VW Phaeton:

The Phaeton was conceived at the turn of the millennium, back when fancy gadgetry still seemed futuristic and oooh-worthy.

The company chairman dreamed up this motor as revenge against BMW and Mercedes for entering VW’s market with their own small family hatchbacks. Here’s the rub though — it’s much easier to punch down than up.

Hence, developing the Phaeton led to over 100 new patents being filed. The chairman set the bar extremely high, for example, stipulating the car must be able to cruise at 186mph all day in 50c heat, whilst maintaining an interior temperature of 22c.

And are you, like, even a person if your car isn’t a mobile concert hall?

For the USA, how about a Tesla Model S?

My all American choice would be an honest Mustang. I can get behind the idea of a straightforward sports car. No frills, no fuss.

A good counterpoint to the Phaeton.

For a homegrown British car, I’ll go with the Jensen FF. As a Grand Tourer, it fills a nice niche between my first two choices.

Despite being a 60s baby, it’s still available with modern conveniences like power steering and air conditioning. It was also the first production car to feature 4WD and a (mechanical) ABS system, the latter courtesy of Dunlop.

From Italy, I’ll take something bigger. Something practical than can lug big items and traverse moderately rough ground. An Alfa Romeo Stelvio:

Finally, turning to Japan, my final choice will be a great feat of engineering. A car that goes like stink for less than a £100k, can be appreciated even without F1 driving skills and can do more than go quickly in a straight line — the Nissan GT-R.

Texas Shrimp Gumbo

Texas Shrimp Gumbo is a Texan classic.

Yield: 8 servings

Ingredients

• 4 quarts water
• 1/4 cup shrimp or crab boil
• 2 1/2 pounds shrimp, peeled and deveined
• 3 tablespoons butter
• 3 tablespoons bacon drippings
• 1 cup diced celery
• 1 cup diced onion
• 1 cup diced green bell pepper
• 1 (28 ounce) can tomatoes
• 1 teaspoon dried leaf thyme
• 1 garlic clove, minced
• 1 bay leaf
• 1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
• 1 tablespoon file powder
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
• 1 (10 ounce) package thawed, frozen, cut okra
• 1/4 cup uncooked long-grain rice

Instructions

1. In large pot, bring water to a boil.
2. Tie shrimp or crab boil in a cheesecloth bag.
3. Add to water with shrimp. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for 10 minutes. Turn off heat; let stand for 10 minutes.
4. Drain shrimp, reserving 2 cups broth.
5. In a heavy Dutch oven, heat butter and bacon drippings.
6. Add celery, onion and green bell pepper. Cook until tender.
7. Add shrimp broth, tomatoes with juice, thyme, garlic, bay leaf, Worcestershire sauce, file powder, salt and pepper to vegetable mixture. Simmer, covered, for 45 minutes.
8. Add okra and rice. Simmer, covered, for 30 minutes or until rice is tender.
9. Add shrimp and heat through.