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.