That was the sound my bicycle made yesterday afternoon after I picked it up from the bike shop. The tyres were very flat, and I'm so smart that I don't even know how to operate the air pump on my bike. So I took the bike down to the shop in Durban and the kid with a fauxhawk showed me how to use the air pump, and then he used the shop's pump to inflate the tyres. I guess he put a wee bit too much air in the front tyre because I got halfway home, to the casino in fact, and as I circled back around for Ali, the tyre punctured. To be precise, the inner tube punctured, but I might have to buy a new tread as well.
The weather is turning out nicely these days, and I've noticed that Bertram is a little confused. I saw him circling the other day, being harried by seagulls but no doubt he was looking for his roost, or the mast on the yacht. Bert is a bald eagle who perches on the high mast of the yacht (when its here), but Bobby is still somewhere down the coast. It serves a dual purpose I guess, Bert gets a place to sit and lord over the entire inlet, and I (we) get a built in security system. It could be unrelated, but I like to think that the presence of a great big eagle keeps the squatters from making themselves at home on the boat. As a way to encourage this, I have been rowing out and throwing the occasional dead rat over the topside. And I guess Bert has been at the Fraternal Order of Eagles, Aerie No. 47 where I sometimes vote, telling his friends because there's more of them:
In the voice of my new professor, a Cambridge man
Bert: You know, its the most extraordinary thing, Edward! I don't know how it happened, but I was soaring in the harbour the other day and there were dead rats all over the place!
Edward (another eagle): Really? You don't say, Bertie! Have you had more than your usual double gin martini?
B: Absolutely, old chap. I can show you if you like. You know? The rat population is exploding in this city. Isn't that why you brought your family here?
E: Yes, yes. I know about the exploding rat population and all that business, but what were they doing in the harbour?
B: Oh, excuse me. Waiter! Another dry gin martini. Another whiskey, Eddie?
E: Actually, if you don't mind I'll take a Copenhagen. A double.
B: Anyway, I have the most fantastic arrangement. I like to take a run down to the harbour now and then when the weather is fine and look for anything to eat. Those damn seagulls just don't understand. I'm not interested in eating their babies.
E: Oh, yes. Those damn seagulls.
B: Anyway, there's a boat that I use to survey the harbour, and the human that owns the boat throws me rats once or twice a month. Can you believe that?
E: I say, Bertie. You do have it well. They don't usually behave that way.
B: I know, I know. Usually, they just stop and stare. I do a few loops, an occasional dive and then I'm off. But this one feeds me nice fat, juicy rats. They're dead though.
E: Oh, that's a shame. Nothing like live prey squirming in your talons. The harbour you say......?
End scene
And that's how I imagine it happened. From one eagle to another at the club. The club where I sometimes vote. The last time I voted there, I believe I voted in a Federal election for something called the Naked Garden Party. They sounded like a fun bunch. Shame they weren't elected to Parliament. The way I figure, all political parties are going to Roger me, so I vote for the one most likely to cuddle afterward.
A few days later, after I saw Bertie circling, there was a news story about the growing eagle population in the city, not the area, the city. We've already got coyotes in city parks, and now we have an estimated 300 eagles nesting in the city. I'd like to see the sample data on that one, I think the sample was skewed a bit because the number can't be more than 60, not that I'm a member of the Audubon Society or anything. I've got more important things to do than count birds. But seriously, what a way to spin a story about the unprecedented rodent population here. 'Hey Mr. Reporter, why don't you do a story about all them there rats?'(kid points to rats skulking near a popular fast food restaurant) - Media Disconnect - 'Great idea! You've got rats, but look at all those EEEEEEEAGLES! I can lead with this, thanks kid! I owe you.' Reporter scurries off, not unlike a rat.
All this nice weather is really making it difficult for me to do my school work, and its not conducive to watching films. What with Ali wanting to go to the nude beach and check out all the junk. I don't think she realizes that photos are not welcome at the beach. We rented another Juzo Itami film last week. Ososhiki or The Funeral stars the two main characters from Tampopo, but that's pretty much where the similarities end. This was actually the second time I'd seen this film, and apparently totally forgot almost everything about it including the fact that I totally hated it. According to things I've read about this film, the nuances are very, very subtle in this film but its allegedly a comedy. I didn't laugh and neither did Ali. I nodded off, but she said she liked it, and understood it but couldn't really explain the meaning.
I can't recommend this film, unless you want to see funeral sex. Not the kind of funeral sex that played at the Sick and Twisted film festival (Good times, good times *wipes tear from eye*), but sex between two living people at a funeral. Apart from that, and the country house (Eeeee!), this film can stay on the shelf, especially if you hate reading subtitles. A little harsh? Maybe I'm just pissed that I can't get back those two hours and use them to catch up on my readings.
I got a post card from Orange Peel, who by now is on a plane somewhere coming home, but at the time was in Australia. The post card, of course was tasteless, but worthy of a good laugh, and I'd expect nothing else from OP. As May creeps up, I'm trying to get back into shape, which was the whole point of the bicycle thing I mentioned at the top. Ali knows this and wants to help because, like I said, she wants to check out the nude beach. This is her idea of help, or more accurately encouragement. I woke up one morning and found a note that Ali had left the night before: 'Moja Moja Dax, Go to Trey. kthxbai' My limited knowledge of Japanese actually helped me out here but what she meant to say is 'Dax, You are hairy. Please go see Trey (and get a wax). Okay, thanks. Bye.' I guess its about time.
A final note for anyone who cares: Regarding the contest for a trip for two to France, the draw was on April 20, and not a peep from the contest organizers. I figured the results would be published since the contest rules made it quite clear that the organizers would be able to use our names and phone numbers. I couldn't find the results anywhere, and the organizers' website was suspiciously inoperative. A phone number was posted on the page so I called it. Turns out, I won - second prize or so the so, so nice lady on the other end of the line said. She told me to wait for the waiver to come in the post next week, but if you ask me it was all a little too easy. Maybe I was the second caller. Perhaps if I had called earlier, I'd have won and I'd be on a plane to France right now. But I'm not, and that's okay because summer is here. And if that means that I have to drive around with all the windows down because my Jeep smells of KFC, then it will be done.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Nausicaa of the Valley of the Winds
I know, I know. I keep saying I don't get anime movies, but I keep watching them. Perhaps I'm looking for a reason to be wrong. I mentioned earlier that Ali recommended Neko ongaeshi, but I was wrong. She actually recommended Kaze no tani no Nausicaa or Nausicaa of the Valley of the Winds by Hayao Miyazaki. Ali pronounced it completely different so when she spelled it for me as I searched through the shop database, I realized that I had heard of this character. I knew I was on to something when the store clerk said she had seen it, but couldn't remember if it was in. I'll say it right now - don't bother with the deluxe set. Again, its just storyboarding which is kinda cool but its not worth the extra dosh.
So this is another movie that allegedly makes Ali cry. She said that she had seen it as an in-flight movie once and she and her friend ended up sobbing through the rest of the flight. I waited and waited, but she never cried when we watched it together. This movie was really good. No stupid dragonball "plot" to follow, a real sci-fi plot about kingdom vs. kingdom and their fight for survival against creeping desert tides. This movie is different from Totoro in that it doesn't happen in more or less current times. It kinda reminded me of Star Wars and the Sand People and Tatouine and all that George Lucas material. So who copied whom? Well, maybe no one. The plot has concerns similar to what some tribes in Africa are facing but I think the social message stops there. Allegedly, this film was initially banned in parts of Europe because environmental groups felt the film portrayed environmental damage a little too realistically. WTF??
It's been a while since I actually saw the film so I might not remember the whole thing, but its about a princess, Nausicaa, who is determined to lead her people out of occupation by another kingdom. The second kingdom is occupying Nausicaa's territory because they have a long vendetta against a third kingdom and Nausicaa's kingom is simply in the way. The kingdom is being slowly enveloped by a forest of decay, inhabited by various fauna. One, an easily-enraged hermit crab/tank animal called an ohmu is the prey of choice. Nausicaa's people depend on this animal for weapons and other material, but the second kingdom knows that it can decimate adversaries by directing the ohmu's rage toward other regions. It turns out Nausicaa had a tiny ohmu as a pet when she was a kid and that one remembers her and doesn't betray her. In the end, Nausicaa and her people are freed from the clutches of the second kingsom and the ohmu live happily in the Forest of Decay.
So maybe you've noticed that my movie description was a wee bit short. That's because I really want to talk about something else. It looks like the plan to summer in London has gone to shit. Anatole, the guy who set the whole thing up for us has disappeared off the map as he sometimes does, but he'll be back up soon. He always finds a way. In view of this development, Ali and I (mostly me) have been trying to eat our way to Paris. There was a contest going whereby contestants were invited to dine at any four of a series of restaurants (we did five), and enter for a chance to win a trip for 2 to France. I've already told you about the first restaurant here but the other four follow. To protect innocent restaurant staff who may have been having a slightly off night from a critic who is constantly reminded that he is hard to please, I will refrain from naming the restaurants:
Restaurant #2: Seafood cuisine, contemporary decor, always smells nice when you walk by during Sunday brunch. It turns out that this restaurant is right around the corner from Ali's workplace. I wanted to make a reservation for two, but Ali was working late and I was hungry. She told me to go and eat, so I did. I walked in and was quickly relieved to learn that reservations were not necessary. Score. I did have to sit at the bar for what turned out to be five minutes, but that's cool. I ordered a Campari soda. Before I could take a sip, the hostess sat me at my table and brought my drinky-poo. The bread came shortly and warm. I seem to remember that it was served with a choice of butter or tapenade. I cannot let this pass without saying that my tapenade is much better than what this joint was serving. Unfazed, I glanced at the menu. A choice of any one of a list of tapas for $4.00. I was intrigued by the pissaladière. I guess if I had thought about it for half a sec, I could have derived the etymology of this word to be rooted in the Italian word pizza - cuz that's what it was - three sad, soggy, thin crust mini slices of pizza. I know this can be done better, which is the only reason why I point it out. The dish was actually pretty tasty, but it didn't look so hot. Second course - kaki. Ali's got me on this oyster kick, and since I've never had pan-seared oysters, I thought I'd have them now. Hands down, the second best cooked oyster dish I've ever had - Oysters Rockefeller on Anna's birthday, 1997 take the blue ribbon. Third course, allegedly the chef's trademark dish - bouillabaisse. Well, it was unremarkable. Scallops, clams, mussels, whitefish, but there was nothing special about this dish. I drank water like there was no tomorrow, but for some reason I left the restaurant with cottonmouth. I guess I was on the verge of dehydration because I was really feeling that apératif. I skipped dessert because this whole experiment was an exercise in timing - a failed exercise but an exercise nonetheless. I rushed outside and guess who was waiting with Baby? Alison. In the freezing fucking cold. She had been waiting for about five minutes because she noticed my Jeep parked outside and decided not to go home. Two stamps.
Restaurant #3: Regional French cuisine, slightly gaudy, period decor meant to resemble Paris, ALWAYS packed after a certain hour. The contest deadline was bearing down on us, and the sun was setting later now so I decided to take Ali to a nice French place downtown. First I had to guarantee that I could get a proper parking space. No problem there. We started with the obligatory Kirs. I had a Kir maison. Of course, Ali had a Kir Royale. After explaining what the difference is between the two selections, Ali cut the waiter off and insisted, "I want champagne!"
Okay, so we were trying to do this on the cheap, because all we really wanted was the stamp for the contest. I ordered the table d'hôte only because I couldn't read the board properly and confused the ou with au. I thought I could have the entire table rather than 1 of each of 3 choices. On previous visits, I enjoyed the cassoulet. A nice little white bean stew with duck sausage and other yummy goodies. A little on the salty side, but such a fine example of how the French can make something as pedestrian as beans taste so good. This time round I had the palourdes or clams with bacon (ham) and maybe onion as a first course. So simple, and so good. For about a week after, Ali kept saying "I want bacon. Kari kari (crispy) bacon". I shared with Ali and for the main course I had the jarret d'agneau or lamb shank with a side of fries, foregoing the halibut because I had eaten it elsewhere the day before. The fries -- We're not talking Mickey D's here folks. They call them French fries for a reason. I normally take my lamb in the Greek style. Each time I have lamb, I think of my friend Leonidas (and his beautiful wife) and the way he used to prepare lamb in his restaurant. It is the archetype by which I judge all other lamb, somewhat unfairly, except my own. It was pretty damn close I tell you. Allowing for the fact that it was a shank instead of a rack, the dish was almost the same on points except for the sauce. The sauce was some kind of French we-can-make-a-sauce-out-of-anything type deal which may have included rutabaga purée. I can't be sure, but there was definitely some kind of root vegetable in the sauce. Ali, sadly, played it safe and ordered the thon cru façon japonaise. Essentially a deep fried maki roll with seared tuna on top, this dish was the cat's ass. I'm not sure I'm using that expression correctly, but I mean to say that it was guuuuuuuud. I was disappointed to see that Ali would not finish her plate, more concerned with her figure than her health, but she did alright. For dessert, I had pavé de chocolat. Okay, last time I was in Paris, pavé meant steak. Stupidly not knowing that the entire French language had changed over the past nine years, I asked the waiter what he was going to serve. "Oh, a pavé is halfway between a truffle and a mousse". Alrighty then. Make haste, man. We were treated to an architecture of chocolate pavé slices topped with raspberry gelato. Ali had no problem helping me on this one. We paid the bill, and left. Three stamps.
Restaurant #4: Contemporary west coast cuisine, whitewash walls hung with small mirrors with wood accent decor. Partly because the first choice was closed, partly due to panic, partly because I eschew reading now in favour of skimming, but we ended up going to a restaurant that wasn't part of the contest. It turned out to be the best of the five(!) and deserving of its reputation. This is a place that I have avoided for so many years because I hate going to the "in" spots. It's well on the pricey side, but believe me you feel good paying money in this place. Again, no problems getting a reservation and we managed to get a parking spot right in front of the building. By the time we got there, I knew we weren't going to get a stamp, but my strong sense of agency behoved me to keep the reservation. I started with a Campari soda - the best Campari soda I've ever paid for. I'm certain it was close to a double. In any event, they were cautious with the soda which I really appreciated. While we looked over the menu, the bread boy brought us two selections of bread - organic corn bread with sultana raisins and oatmeal bread, both with hand-churned (don't laugh) butter. The butter was rock solid, but the bread was so good. The corn bread almost rivaled mum's corn bread. I must have choked down the bread because the bread boy brought more, no chip. As we sat and looked over the menu, I could hear the owner/chef de cuisine talking to some customers. He has a very characteristic voice, like only a few others I've met. I told Ali who he was, and she couldn't believe that a restauranteur would speak to the clientèle. Ali and I both wanted to try the oysters as a first course, but we weren't sure about portions. Instead, I ordered them, and the oh-so-cool staff allowed us to share. We were served two of the largest oysters I've ever seen. About the same size as the ones Bobby used to eat when we were little and I thought he was weird. Back then, I only ate smoked oysters. In fact, I never ate any other type until I met Alphonse. The oysters came in a spinach sauce that was really yummy, like pesto but not pesto. For the main I had beef and mashed potatoes (I think) in a beautiful demi-glace, and Ali had the halibut. And even though I knew it would happen, I was weirded out when it actually did happen. I actually flinched and moved to avoid him, but as we were about to dig in, a quiet, bespectacled man with a heavy nasal voice leaned in and said softly (though from how he said it I think he wanted to say it louder), "Enjoy your dinner. Would you care for some pepper?" Befuddled, I just turned to Ali and asked her if she wanted pepper. She declined. He walked away. We laughed, but I was genuinely moved to see that this guy was still running his restaurant and not letting the hype get to him. Later, bread boy came back with a slab of corn bread wrapped in plastic. All ready to remind him that I had eaten sufficient quantities of bread and actually had a stomach ache, probably due to eating the keratin coating on shrimp in my paella earlier in the day, he quickly composed himself and offered the bread to us as a thank-you, which is totally different than a suck-up, okay? He explained that he would just end up taking it home with him and that he had more to give us if we wanted it. I didn't want to be a boor so I declined, but he insisted on the corn bread saying that it really was so good that they wanted to share it with their customers. Again, moved, I accepted and waited for the bill. And waited. And waited. We skipped dessert because it didn't appear that there was anything special and I had a sore stomach. The only let down of the night was that there was a bit of a situation with another customer's credit card which meant that we couldn't get our bill in a timely fashion. No stamps, but I am definitely coming back to this place and I'm bringing friends.
Restaurant #5: We were now in the home stretch of the competition and had spied the location of #5 while at #4. Determined, I went the day and got a similar parking space. I plugged the meter and sauntered into the joint, convinced that a party of one doesn't need a reservation. Besides, I was almost certain this particular place was all sizzle and no steak. I opened the door and saw four or five tables stacked with wine glasses. Fucking poncey wine tasters. The waiter greeted me at door. "Are you closed?" "Yes. Private party". Cocksuckers.
I turned and left, kicking myself for all the money I'd put in the meter. I quickly assessed the situation and decided that the next closest place was just down a piece, across the street from the place where the old lady had the fainting spell. I hunted for parking and finally was able to grab a spot in front of an upscale gym just down the block from the restaurant. Pasta and burgers place, modern pubby atmosphere, free jazz on Wednesdays. Again, no reservations. The hostess caught me off guard. I was trying to figure out if she was one of the women a farewell party I vaguely remembered from the previous Friday. She wasn't, but I faltered long enough for her to notice. I started with a very nice Manhattan on the rocks, and then ordered the spaghetti bolognese. Totally not impressed. I couldn't taste any onion or garlic and the meat was pretty fatty. And it wasn't spaghetti, it was spaghettini. I decided to give them another shot, so I ordered dessert. The hostess told me the tart of the day was strawberry. I'd never heard of a tart of the day, so I was already impressed. I said something about how I was maybe a little disappointed that the tart was not pear. She copped a classic face, tapped me on the arm and said, "Omigod! It WAS pear on Sunday". I saw on the dessert menu that they had profiteroles. After receiving assurances that these profiteroles were not simply éclairs by another name, I ordered that, or at least I thought I had, and a Harvey's. She poured me a double which impressed me, so much so that I promptly knocked it over before I could taste it. I ended up getting a couple sips of Harvey's in the end. Probably for the best. I noshed on my profiterole, remarking to myself that it definitely wasn't an éclair and that it was really good but it didn't have the cream she promised. Turns out that in our conversation about dessert, the hostess had convinced me to try the fondant instead of the profiterole. Oh well, I liked it anyway. I definitely noticed the music in this place. Sade every second song from Promise. I didn't mind, and actually told the hostess so. She gushed, admitting that Sade is totally the best. Maybe I was dehydrated that night too, but the Manhattan was hitting me hard. I paid the bill and left. I want to go back to that place for the jazz, sometime closer to summer. Four stamps.
I carefully made my way home and prepared to mail away my contest entry. On the phone I told Ali about my new discovery. Apparently everyone has heard of fondant except me. I feverishly made my way to the bank and took care of some business there and then ran across eight lanes to a post box to mail my entry. Done, done and done.
So lately, I've been playing catch up on a lot of things, and my homework is showing it. After a short trip to the hospital last week, I've decided to take it easy for the next little while. I received an e-mail alerting me of a film festival coming up, featuring an appearance by Reckless Eric this weekend. Now, I'd really like to hear what that guy has to say, but I've got to draw the line somewhere.
So this is another movie that allegedly makes Ali cry. She said that she had seen it as an in-flight movie once and she and her friend ended up sobbing through the rest of the flight. I waited and waited, but she never cried when we watched it together. This movie was really good. No stupid dragonball "plot" to follow, a real sci-fi plot about kingdom vs. kingdom and their fight for survival against creeping desert tides. This movie is different from Totoro in that it doesn't happen in more or less current times. It kinda reminded me of Star Wars and the Sand People and Tatouine and all that George Lucas material. So who copied whom? Well, maybe no one. The plot has concerns similar to what some tribes in Africa are facing but I think the social message stops there. Allegedly, this film was initially banned in parts of Europe because environmental groups felt the film portrayed environmental damage a little too realistically. WTF??
It's been a while since I actually saw the film so I might not remember the whole thing, but its about a princess, Nausicaa, who is determined to lead her people out of occupation by another kingdom. The second kingdom is occupying Nausicaa's territory because they have a long vendetta against a third kingdom and Nausicaa's kingom is simply in the way. The kingdom is being slowly enveloped by a forest of decay, inhabited by various fauna. One, an easily-enraged hermit crab/tank animal called an ohmu is the prey of choice. Nausicaa's people depend on this animal for weapons and other material, but the second kingdom knows that it can decimate adversaries by directing the ohmu's rage toward other regions. It turns out Nausicaa had a tiny ohmu as a pet when she was a kid and that one remembers her and doesn't betray her. In the end, Nausicaa and her people are freed from the clutches of the second kingsom and the ohmu live happily in the Forest of Decay.
So maybe you've noticed that my movie description was a wee bit short. That's because I really want to talk about something else. It looks like the plan to summer in London has gone to shit. Anatole, the guy who set the whole thing up for us has disappeared off the map as he sometimes does, but he'll be back up soon. He always finds a way. In view of this development, Ali and I (mostly me) have been trying to eat our way to Paris. There was a contest going whereby contestants were invited to dine at any four of a series of restaurants (we did five), and enter for a chance to win a trip for 2 to France. I've already told you about the first restaurant here but the other four follow. To protect innocent restaurant staff who may have been having a slightly off night from a critic who is constantly reminded that he is hard to please, I will refrain from naming the restaurants:
Restaurant #2: Seafood cuisine, contemporary decor, always smells nice when you walk by during Sunday brunch. It turns out that this restaurant is right around the corner from Ali's workplace. I wanted to make a reservation for two, but Ali was working late and I was hungry. She told me to go and eat, so I did. I walked in and was quickly relieved to learn that reservations were not necessary. Score. I did have to sit at the bar for what turned out to be five minutes, but that's cool. I ordered a Campari soda. Before I could take a sip, the hostess sat me at my table and brought my drinky-poo. The bread came shortly and warm. I seem to remember that it was served with a choice of butter or tapenade. I cannot let this pass without saying that my tapenade is much better than what this joint was serving. Unfazed, I glanced at the menu. A choice of any one of a list of tapas for $4.00. I was intrigued by the pissaladière. I guess if I had thought about it for half a sec, I could have derived the etymology of this word to be rooted in the Italian word pizza - cuz that's what it was - three sad, soggy, thin crust mini slices of pizza. I know this can be done better, which is the only reason why I point it out. The dish was actually pretty tasty, but it didn't look so hot. Second course - kaki. Ali's got me on this oyster kick, and since I've never had pan-seared oysters, I thought I'd have them now. Hands down, the second best cooked oyster dish I've ever had - Oysters Rockefeller on Anna's birthday, 1997 take the blue ribbon. Third course, allegedly the chef's trademark dish - bouillabaisse. Well, it was unremarkable. Scallops, clams, mussels, whitefish, but there was nothing special about this dish. I drank water like there was no tomorrow, but for some reason I left the restaurant with cottonmouth. I guess I was on the verge of dehydration because I was really feeling that apératif. I skipped dessert because this whole experiment was an exercise in timing - a failed exercise but an exercise nonetheless. I rushed outside and guess who was waiting with Baby? Alison. In the freezing fucking cold. She had been waiting for about five minutes because she noticed my Jeep parked outside and decided not to go home. Two stamps.
Restaurant #3: Regional French cuisine, slightly gaudy, period decor meant to resemble Paris, ALWAYS packed after a certain hour. The contest deadline was bearing down on us, and the sun was setting later now so I decided to take Ali to a nice French place downtown. First I had to guarantee that I could get a proper parking space. No problem there. We started with the obligatory Kirs. I had a Kir maison. Of course, Ali had a Kir Royale. After explaining what the difference is between the two selections, Ali cut the waiter off and insisted, "I want champagne!"
Okay, so we were trying to do this on the cheap, because all we really wanted was the stamp for the contest. I ordered the table d'hôte only because I couldn't read the board properly and confused the ou with au. I thought I could have the entire table rather than 1 of each of 3 choices. On previous visits, I enjoyed the cassoulet. A nice little white bean stew with duck sausage and other yummy goodies. A little on the salty side, but such a fine example of how the French can make something as pedestrian as beans taste so good. This time round I had the palourdes or clams with bacon (ham) and maybe onion as a first course. So simple, and so good. For about a week after, Ali kept saying "I want bacon. Kari kari (crispy) bacon". I shared with Ali and for the main course I had the jarret d'agneau or lamb shank with a side of fries, foregoing the halibut because I had eaten it elsewhere the day before. The fries -- We're not talking Mickey D's here folks. They call them French fries for a reason. I normally take my lamb in the Greek style. Each time I have lamb, I think of my friend Leonidas (and his beautiful wife) and the way he used to prepare lamb in his restaurant. It is the archetype by which I judge all other lamb, somewhat unfairly, except my own. It was pretty damn close I tell you. Allowing for the fact that it was a shank instead of a rack, the dish was almost the same on points except for the sauce. The sauce was some kind of French we-can-make-a-sauce-out-of-anything type deal which may have included rutabaga purée. I can't be sure, but there was definitely some kind of root vegetable in the sauce. Ali, sadly, played it safe and ordered the thon cru façon japonaise. Essentially a deep fried maki roll with seared tuna on top, this dish was the cat's ass. I'm not sure I'm using that expression correctly, but I mean to say that it was guuuuuuuud. I was disappointed to see that Ali would not finish her plate, more concerned with her figure than her health, but she did alright. For dessert, I had pavé de chocolat. Okay, last time I was in Paris, pavé meant steak. Stupidly not knowing that the entire French language had changed over the past nine years, I asked the waiter what he was going to serve. "Oh, a pavé is halfway between a truffle and a mousse". Alrighty then. Make haste, man. We were treated to an architecture of chocolate pavé slices topped with raspberry gelato. Ali had no problem helping me on this one. We paid the bill, and left. Three stamps.
Restaurant #4: Contemporary west coast cuisine, whitewash walls hung with small mirrors with wood accent decor. Partly because the first choice was closed, partly due to panic, partly because I eschew reading now in favour of skimming, but we ended up going to a restaurant that wasn't part of the contest. It turned out to be the best of the five(!) and deserving of its reputation. This is a place that I have avoided for so many years because I hate going to the "in" spots. It's well on the pricey side, but believe me you feel good paying money in this place. Again, no problems getting a reservation and we managed to get a parking spot right in front of the building. By the time we got there, I knew we weren't going to get a stamp, but my strong sense of agency behoved me to keep the reservation. I started with a Campari soda - the best Campari soda I've ever paid for. I'm certain it was close to a double. In any event, they were cautious with the soda which I really appreciated. While we looked over the menu, the bread boy brought us two selections of bread - organic corn bread with sultana raisins and oatmeal bread, both with hand-churned (don't laugh) butter. The butter was rock solid, but the bread was so good. The corn bread almost rivaled mum's corn bread. I must have choked down the bread because the bread boy brought more, no chip. As we sat and looked over the menu, I could hear the owner/chef de cuisine talking to some customers. He has a very characteristic voice, like only a few others I've met. I told Ali who he was, and she couldn't believe that a restauranteur would speak to the clientèle. Ali and I both wanted to try the oysters as a first course, but we weren't sure about portions. Instead, I ordered them, and the oh-so-cool staff allowed us to share. We were served two of the largest oysters I've ever seen. About the same size as the ones Bobby used to eat when we were little and I thought he was weird. Back then, I only ate smoked oysters. In fact, I never ate any other type until I met Alphonse. The oysters came in a spinach sauce that was really yummy, like pesto but not pesto. For the main I had beef and mashed potatoes (I think) in a beautiful demi-glace, and Ali had the halibut. And even though I knew it would happen, I was weirded out when it actually did happen. I actually flinched and moved to avoid him, but as we were about to dig in, a quiet, bespectacled man with a heavy nasal voice leaned in and said softly (though from how he said it I think he wanted to say it louder), "Enjoy your dinner. Would you care for some pepper?" Befuddled, I just turned to Ali and asked her if she wanted pepper. She declined. He walked away. We laughed, but I was genuinely moved to see that this guy was still running his restaurant and not letting the hype get to him. Later, bread boy came back with a slab of corn bread wrapped in plastic. All ready to remind him that I had eaten sufficient quantities of bread and actually had a stomach ache, probably due to eating the keratin coating on shrimp in my paella earlier in the day, he quickly composed himself and offered the bread to us as a thank-you, which is totally different than a suck-up, okay? He explained that he would just end up taking it home with him and that he had more to give us if we wanted it. I didn't want to be a boor so I declined, but he insisted on the corn bread saying that it really was so good that they wanted to share it with their customers. Again, moved, I accepted and waited for the bill. And waited. And waited. We skipped dessert because it didn't appear that there was anything special and I had a sore stomach. The only let down of the night was that there was a bit of a situation with another customer's credit card which meant that we couldn't get our bill in a timely fashion. No stamps, but I am definitely coming back to this place and I'm bringing friends.
Restaurant #5: We were now in the home stretch of the competition and had spied the location of #5 while at #4. Determined, I went the day and got a similar parking space. I plugged the meter and sauntered into the joint, convinced that a party of one doesn't need a reservation. Besides, I was almost certain this particular place was all sizzle and no steak. I opened the door and saw four or five tables stacked with wine glasses. Fucking poncey wine tasters. The waiter greeted me at door. "Are you closed?" "Yes. Private party". Cocksuckers.
I turned and left, kicking myself for all the money I'd put in the meter. I quickly assessed the situation and decided that the next closest place was just down a piece, across the street from the place where the old lady had the fainting spell. I hunted for parking and finally was able to grab a spot in front of an upscale gym just down the block from the restaurant. Pasta and burgers place, modern pubby atmosphere, free jazz on Wednesdays. Again, no reservations. The hostess caught me off guard. I was trying to figure out if she was one of the women a farewell party I vaguely remembered from the previous Friday. She wasn't, but I faltered long enough for her to notice. I started with a very nice Manhattan on the rocks, and then ordered the spaghetti bolognese. Totally not impressed. I couldn't taste any onion or garlic and the meat was pretty fatty. And it wasn't spaghetti, it was spaghettini. I decided to give them another shot, so I ordered dessert. The hostess told me the tart of the day was strawberry. I'd never heard of a tart of the day, so I was already impressed. I said something about how I was maybe a little disappointed that the tart was not pear. She copped a classic face, tapped me on the arm and said, "Omigod! It WAS pear on Sunday". I saw on the dessert menu that they had profiteroles. After receiving assurances that these profiteroles were not simply éclairs by another name, I ordered that, or at least I thought I had, and a Harvey's. She poured me a double which impressed me, so much so that I promptly knocked it over before I could taste it. I ended up getting a couple sips of Harvey's in the end. Probably for the best. I noshed on my profiterole, remarking to myself that it definitely wasn't an éclair and that it was really good but it didn't have the cream she promised. Turns out that in our conversation about dessert, the hostess had convinced me to try the fondant instead of the profiterole. Oh well, I liked it anyway. I definitely noticed the music in this place. Sade every second song from Promise. I didn't mind, and actually told the hostess so. She gushed, admitting that Sade is totally the best. Maybe I was dehydrated that night too, but the Manhattan was hitting me hard. I paid the bill and left. I want to go back to that place for the jazz, sometime closer to summer. Four stamps.
I carefully made my way home and prepared to mail away my contest entry. On the phone I told Ali about my new discovery. Apparently everyone has heard of fondant except me. I feverishly made my way to the bank and took care of some business there and then ran across eight lanes to a post box to mail my entry. Done, done and done.
So lately, I've been playing catch up on a lot of things, and my homework is showing it. After a short trip to the hospital last week, I've decided to take it easy for the next little while. I received an e-mail alerting me of a film festival coming up, featuring an appearance by Reckless Eric this weekend. Now, I'd really like to hear what that guy has to say, but I've got to draw the line somewhere.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Meet the Parent
Last weekend I decided that maybe it was time for Ali to meet my dad. We went over to my dad's girlfriend's place and were promptly met by the dog. Stupid dog. Obviously when a dog barks for no apparent reason, a responsible owner will open the window upstairs and shout at the dog to shut up. We were standing under the eaves so there was no way for Dad to see us, but I could see his arm flailing out the window at the dog that doesn't know better.
"Bob?"
"Who's there?"
Normally, most dads would know their kids if their kids actually called them Dad. Bart Simpson calls his dad Homer voluntarily, but my dad has a rule. I have to call him Bob. I forget the reason why, that's just the way it is.
"Hi Bob! It's Dax."
"You drove? It's Shabat."
At this point I realized it probably wasn't the best day to wear my "I [magen David] Shiksas" t-shirt, but it matched so well with my 2nd-year-med-school-dropout scrubs.
"I brought someone to meet you."
[to the kid brother]"Go open the door, your brother's here to visit you", which is so totally not what I said but that's what Bob heard. The kid didn't answer the door, so Bob came down. He's looking more and more like Tevi every day.
"You should call before you come", yeah like he'd answer the phone on Shabat.
"We stopped by the store to see your girlfriend. She said it would be okay if we came over to take photos of the tree house. Oh, this is Ali."
"Hello."
"Humpf!" (or something similar) as he turned and walked away. Maybe it was the t-shirt, maybe we interrupted a really good session of Age of Empires, maybe Bob's just sore these days, or maybe its the whole med school thing but that was pretty much all he said to Ali and that's pretty much all he ever will say.
Surprise! Grandma came from China, and now she's here to look after Bob looking after the kid and make sure there are no more woodcutting incidents. And there we were, three people standing in the kitchen - one who can't speak English and doesn't really have anything good to say about Japanese people, one who doesn't speak Mandarin and is super nervous anyway, and me. My Mandarin's not so hot these days, and I had to fumble through anything past accepting a cup of tea, but we managed. We waited for the pause to get just long enough to signal an end to the conversation and we snuck out the back door into the garden.
The kid was already up the tree opening the shutters on his tree house. Fucking tree mansion, more like. This made the tree house Bob built when I was a kid look like a shack. For starters, the new tree house had a roof. Mine didn't, and without a roof there was no need for windows. The new tree house has a second floor, and a wrap around balcony. And the whole thing was made with solid materials (except for the ladder, which isn't really part of the tree house, kinda like tyres aren't really part of a car), and fully wired. The kid has his own entertainment centre up there. He's like 9, so its nothing fancy but I was impressed. We asked whether the floors were heated or if Bob had installed central heating. As usual, the kid didn't appreciate our sense of humour. Six or seven photos later and it was a wrap.
We thanked Grandma for the tea, took care not to run over the stupid dog and drove as fast as we could away from there. I felt bad for Grandma, she had never seen Baby before and at first insisted that I had simply stolen Sissy's Jeep - but when we were leaving she came out and waved us off. She's only been back for a few weeks, and already she's looking for excuses to get out of the house away from Bob.
And so it happens every spring - birthdays galore. Next week is the birthday party for my aunt. We're gonna go, and maybe Ali will have a better experience meeting the rest of that side of the family. Maybe.
"Bob?"
"Who's there?"
Normally, most dads would know their kids if their kids actually called them Dad. Bart Simpson calls his dad Homer voluntarily, but my dad has a rule. I have to call him Bob. I forget the reason why, that's just the way it is.
"Hi Bob! It's Dax."
"You drove? It's Shabat."
At this point I realized it probably wasn't the best day to wear my "I [magen David] Shiksas" t-shirt, but it matched so well with my 2nd-year-med-school-dropout scrubs.
"I brought someone to meet you."
[to the kid brother]"Go open the door, your brother's here to visit you", which is so totally not what I said but that's what Bob heard. The kid didn't answer the door, so Bob came down. He's looking more and more like Tevi every day.
"You should call before you come", yeah like he'd answer the phone on Shabat.
"We stopped by the store to see your girlfriend. She said it would be okay if we came over to take photos of the tree house. Oh, this is Ali."
"Hello."
"Humpf!" (or something similar) as he turned and walked away. Maybe it was the t-shirt, maybe we interrupted a really good session of Age of Empires, maybe Bob's just sore these days, or maybe its the whole med school thing but that was pretty much all he said to Ali and that's pretty much all he ever will say.
Surprise! Grandma came from China, and now she's here to look after Bob looking after the kid and make sure there are no more woodcutting incidents. And there we were, three people standing in the kitchen - one who can't speak English and doesn't really have anything good to say about Japanese people, one who doesn't speak Mandarin and is super nervous anyway, and me. My Mandarin's not so hot these days, and I had to fumble through anything past accepting a cup of tea, but we managed. We waited for the pause to get just long enough to signal an end to the conversation and we snuck out the back door into the garden.
The kid was already up the tree opening the shutters on his tree house. Fucking tree mansion, more like. This made the tree house Bob built when I was a kid look like a shack. For starters, the new tree house had a roof. Mine didn't, and without a roof there was no need for windows. The new tree house has a second floor, and a wrap around balcony. And the whole thing was made with solid materials (except for the ladder, which isn't really part of the tree house, kinda like tyres aren't really part of a car), and fully wired. The kid has his own entertainment centre up there. He's like 9, so its nothing fancy but I was impressed. We asked whether the floors were heated or if Bob had installed central heating. As usual, the kid didn't appreciate our sense of humour. Six or seven photos later and it was a wrap.
We thanked Grandma for the tea, took care not to run over the stupid dog and drove as fast as we could away from there. I felt bad for Grandma, she had never seen Baby before and at first insisted that I had simply stolen Sissy's Jeep - but when we were leaving she came out and waved us off. She's only been back for a few weeks, and already she's looking for excuses to get out of the house away from Bob.
And so it happens every spring - birthdays galore. Next week is the birthday party for my aunt. We're gonna go, and maybe Ali will have a better experience meeting the rest of that side of the family. Maybe.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Anime, You Say?
There's so much I want to put on this thing, but so little time and each bit is unrelated to the other, and none of it is really related to movies. So I'll write a straight up, no nonsense entry about movies, or at least I'll try. Last week, Sunday night to be exact I watched Tonari no Totoro by Hayao Miyazaki. As I've explained before, I don't understand the genre of anime, but I watched this for a few reasons. The first being that the video shop is running out of Japanese movies for Ali and me to watch unless she wants to watch samurai films. The second reason is that Ali said I had to watch it, and the third reason being that the guy who wrote Totoro also wrote the 2003 Best Animated Feature with Spirited Away. I haven't seen that one, and I may not see it on account of I've seen enough Japanimation thanks to Bobby and his Saturday morning cartoons back in the... way back when. These films aren't technically what I consider Japanimation, but they're close enough. After some assurance from Ali that there was no cartoonudity in Totoro, we rented the new deluxe DVD version. Don't bother. The second DVD is just storyboards for the film with dialogue laid over top. Save the money and get the single DVD. If you're interested, Ali also recommends Neko no ongaeshi, or in English The Cat Returns. Hmmmm, Dr. Seuss? Mebbe, dunno.
Any skepticism of Totoro was quickly erased by the opening landscape. It was so realistic. Imagine if I had an HDTV... The movie is pretty short, about an hour. Ali thought that it was part of a series, and after watching this one I wanted to see the others. Well, there is no series, or there was no series. The film came out in 1988 and might possibly have been ahead of its time or on the vanguard for all that Pokemon/Sailor Moon tripe that soon followed.
Totoro is about a family that moves to an old house in the country. I like to think its Tohoku, but it could be anywhere. In any event, its close enough by bus to an urban area with a college/university. The father is a lecturer and the mother is in hospital. Allegedly, this is partly after Miyazaki's childhood. The two daughters, Mei and Satsuki have fun exploring their new home and getting over the rumours that the place is haunted. Mei copies everything that big sister Satsuki does, and while Satsuki is off at school, Mei finds a tunnel in a hedge. She follows it and discovers Totoro. Totoro is a big friendly troll who travels around Japan on a big cosmic ten-legged cat bus. Mei tries to explain to her sister and father about Totoro, but they don't believe her. She eventually convinces Satsuki, and the two dance around the magic camphor tree.
The mother is scheduled to come home from the hospital, but complications cause her to stay longer. Mei decides that she is going to go to the hospital and give her mum some of the food they had planned to eat at her welcome home dinner. Mei goes missing, and the town frantically searches for her. I started to wonder what kind of cartoon shows kids going missing, and at this point I can't remember how they find her (it was last week afterall), but she comes home safe and sound. We never see the mother come home from the hospital, but it is implied in the closing credits where they show stills of the family together in the new house.
For some reason, Ali cried over this movie and that's what makes it the best anime movie I've ever seen. At first I thought she was crying because we watched a woman collapse earlier in the day. Neither of us did anything, but Orange Peel saved the day. J called an ambulance, but OP was there for the very important social work needed to deal with a shock. Like a pro, or like someone whose talked quite a few friends down from a bad trip, OP calmly told the daughter to relax and wait for the ambulance. A third guy who didn't stick around long actually caught the woman from falling on the floor. At first I thought she was having a seizure, which is why I didn't approach. Apart from cramming a wallet in the mouth and turning the head to the side, I was always told to let seizures happen when and where they must - not that I'm a first aid guru. Well, it wasn't a seizure and OP sure let me and J know how she felt about our hesitation. The ambulance came and the crew checked out the woman who was fine now. They knew her, and apparently the same thing had happened to her a few days before. I saw where this was going, but I guess I was more upset by the daughter's reaction. None of us had any appetite now, so we left the restaurant, and I'll probably never go there again. I went there in search of a dairyless carbonara I heard tell of at Blue Lotus, but I passed on it. J had it instead, and said it was pretty good with his warm(!) beer. I did a bit of research on this place before going. My old boss told me that she knew it and that I would like it. "Very European", she said. Yeah, if European means loud and crammed in somebody's basement. It shows how much she knows - I didn't like it, and the service was pretty disorganized.
But that wasn't what made Ali cry. It turns out she had a touch of home sickness accompanied by a bit of a realization that she could never be a kid again, but she didn't know how to explain it and she would never admit that she missed her kid sister.
Any skepticism of Totoro was quickly erased by the opening landscape. It was so realistic. Imagine if I had an HDTV... The movie is pretty short, about an hour. Ali thought that it was part of a series, and after watching this one I wanted to see the others. Well, there is no series, or there was no series. The film came out in 1988 and might possibly have been ahead of its time or on the vanguard for all that Pokemon/Sailor Moon tripe that soon followed.
Totoro is about a family that moves to an old house in the country. I like to think its Tohoku, but it could be anywhere. In any event, its close enough by bus to an urban area with a college/university. The father is a lecturer and the mother is in hospital. Allegedly, this is partly after Miyazaki's childhood. The two daughters, Mei and Satsuki have fun exploring their new home and getting over the rumours that the place is haunted. Mei copies everything that big sister Satsuki does, and while Satsuki is off at school, Mei finds a tunnel in a hedge. She follows it and discovers Totoro. Totoro is a big friendly troll who travels around Japan on a big cosmic ten-legged cat bus. Mei tries to explain to her sister and father about Totoro, but they don't believe her. She eventually convinces Satsuki, and the two dance around the magic camphor tree.
The mother is scheduled to come home from the hospital, but complications cause her to stay longer. Mei decides that she is going to go to the hospital and give her mum some of the food they had planned to eat at her welcome home dinner. Mei goes missing, and the town frantically searches for her. I started to wonder what kind of cartoon shows kids going missing, and at this point I can't remember how they find her (it was last week afterall), but she comes home safe and sound. We never see the mother come home from the hospital, but it is implied in the closing credits where they show stills of the family together in the new house.
For some reason, Ali cried over this movie and that's what makes it the best anime movie I've ever seen. At first I thought she was crying because we watched a woman collapse earlier in the day. Neither of us did anything, but Orange Peel saved the day. J called an ambulance, but OP was there for the very important social work needed to deal with a shock. Like a pro, or like someone whose talked quite a few friends down from a bad trip, OP calmly told the daughter to relax and wait for the ambulance. A third guy who didn't stick around long actually caught the woman from falling on the floor. At first I thought she was having a seizure, which is why I didn't approach. Apart from cramming a wallet in the mouth and turning the head to the side, I was always told to let seizures happen when and where they must - not that I'm a first aid guru. Well, it wasn't a seizure and OP sure let me and J know how she felt about our hesitation. The ambulance came and the crew checked out the woman who was fine now. They knew her, and apparently the same thing had happened to her a few days before. I saw where this was going, but I guess I was more upset by the daughter's reaction. None of us had any appetite now, so we left the restaurant, and I'll probably never go there again. I went there in search of a dairyless carbonara I heard tell of at Blue Lotus, but I passed on it. J had it instead, and said it was pretty good with his warm(!) beer. I did a bit of research on this place before going. My old boss told me that she knew it and that I would like it. "Very European", she said. Yeah, if European means loud and crammed in somebody's basement. It shows how much she knows - I didn't like it, and the service was pretty disorganized.
But that wasn't what made Ali cry. It turns out she had a touch of home sickness accompanied by a bit of a realization that she could never be a kid again, but she didn't know how to explain it and she would never admit that she missed her kid sister.
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