In Copenhagen there's a fucking 7-11 on every fucking corner, all selling the Danish version of hot dogs. There are some places you can find three of four corners all populated by the same Southland store.

Here in sunny Sweden there are so many fucking McDonald's that there are McDonald's neighbouring other McDonald's.

We found only two smørrebrod places in Copenhagen, both closed for the holidays. We did walk down Nørrebro and see five fucking schwarma/döner shops next to each other. Earlier today we found a "traditional" Swedish restaurant in downtown Göteborg; the menu includes such traditional Swedish fare as "schnitzel" and "hamburgers".

Food recommendation for Göteborg: Jameson's Pub. Brit name and style, excellent food and decent prices.

ATTENTION SWEDISH BLACKJACK INFIDELS:
When our cards have the same total, it's a push and I get to keep my money. Not just when the total is 20 or 21 but always. The odds are good enough and the players bad enough that you're already raking in the cash; you don't need to up the fucking percentage more than double with this bullshit.

Many bars have a blackjack table, run by some poor but pretty girl working for Göteborgs Casino who gets no breaks and deals the entire night. Six decks, single multi-pile shuffle, 20kr minimum and 60kr maximum betting which can be doubled down. Split aces only get a single card and can't be hit (although they can be re-split). Ten and ace is also a blackjack which can be nullified by a dealer's blackjack if the first dealer card is an ace.

The dealer was nice and we talked a bit. BG discovered the game and now must be kept away from it since her beginner's luck can only hold out for so long. She's completely addicted to the game but doesn't want to understand the statistics behind it. A few guys who fancied themselves card sharks (quoth one, "I lived in Las Vegas, you know") lost a lot of chips and blamed me. In the smoking room I showed up the "leader" and explained his flawed reasoning, and back at the table I played three hands alone with the dealer and turned 200kr into 620kr inside two minutes.

I'd blown mediocre rounds just to make sure the entire table cashed in unlike he and his fuckwit companions, one of whom kept hitting on 19 and 20 when the deck was full of fucking 10s to put the dealer over.

Ah, fuck it. For me it's only petty cash anyway. I'm on vacation. With betting a minimum of €2.11 and a max of only three times that, the minimal loss through attrition is small enough for the hours of entertainment provided -- we met and talked to quite a few people as a result.

I can understand written Swedish and a little spoken, but I can't speak it. Most of the younger people speak English (but, once again, not the taxi driver). The cool barkeeper last night speaks Icelandic and German and was thrilled to be able to speak either one of them which resulted in my receiving much additional Absolut. This turned out not to be the godsend it seemed at the time.