In 1995 glass artist Dale Chihuly traveled to four countries known for their glassmaking traditions to prepare pieces for an installation in Venice, Italy. In Finland, he worked with a team from Iittala, Helsinki’s world-famous glass manufacturer, to produce his signature orbs and tentacles that glowed like organic chandeliers in the canals and streets of his 1996 show Chihuly Over Venice. And yesterday, I just happened to be in the neighborhood to see 13 members of his team back in action again.

Anyone can visit the Nuutajärvi Glass Village or Iittala’s larger Glass Centre and it’s definitely worth the trip outside Helsinki to watch the glassblowers pressing out Oiva Troikka’s adorable birds and iconic Alvar Aalto vases. But I can’t guarantee you’ll have as incredible a show as I did. When I arrived in the tiny town, I was just in time to see a team hoist a ball of molten glass on a lift. The guy on the top has a tube in his mouth that allows him to blow air into the glass. Gravity and some carefully-placed blowtorches take care of the rest:

For the rest of the afternoon I saw artists yanking at the glass strands as if they were gummy worms, puffing glass bubbles like chewing gum, and essentially turning glowing lava into these giant, lickable lollipops. Even the trash looked delicious. Later we stopped in at the Iittala Glass Centre to see the Aalto vases being made—which also require some serious blowing before they’re pressed into the molds—and the pieces made by machine, including these adorable little ice cream bowls which are a collaboration with Marimekko. I want one in every color.

Now with my newfound appreciation for glass I find myself carefully examining the vessels set before me at every bar and restaurant. And in Helsinki the odds are very good that your Sahti will be served in an Iittala piece, which of course makes it all the more appropriate to drink it quickly so you can check the bottom for the Iittala mark. That’s my excuse, anyway.

A zillion more Helsinki photos (and not all of glassmaking) can be found on Flickr.

In which I look back at the week and try to encapsulate its essence into one delicious flavor.

Love in the air: Marian Bantjes has posted her annual Valentine’s Day mailing, which this year consisted of spelling out 300 names in custom heart-shaped letters. Besides Marian’s sweet greetings, I also received some pretty cheesy love-lettering.

I said no, no…yes: Somehow I thought that Amy Winehouse singing “Rehab” on the Grammys would be too drenched with irony to be watchable, but in just a few soulful, shimmying minutes she reinvented the song as some kind of anthem for recovering addicts. Her emotionally overwhelmed, mum-clutching speech after accepting Record of the Year, however, was the performance of the evening.

After 100 days, there are no good writers’ strike puns left: A Daily Show gets its The back. Jerry O’Connell ends his Tom Cruise imitation. Writers who don’t create hopelessly contrived characters for bloated entertainment conglomerates still get paid miserably for online content. Thanks, WGA!

Mia Farrow always wins: Pressured by activists who oppose China’s relationship with Sudan, Steven Spielberg says no to his gig as artistic director of the Beijing Olympics. Unfortunately, he says yes to Munich II: The One That Got Away.

The kid is not my son: Thriller turns 25. I make decent money and live by myself in a nice apartment in Hollywood. Michael Jackson lives in a hotel in Vegas with his three kids while his house is in foreclosure. If I had only known while dancing to “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’” at age 5 that someday I would have a better life than Michael Jackson.

Thanks to NPR, Laura Kate Jones, Extended Play, Keith Scharwath and Marian Bantjes.