Given the absolute clown show House Republicans have put on for the past three days, I think the only possible earworm for the second anniversary of the attempted coup has to be the Benny Hill Show theme song, “Yackety Sax”.
Pubs: enjoy; you earned this.
Welp, here we are in the first week of the new year and since everyone’s dealing with the pulled muscles of their cross-fit workout and drinking detoxifying juices, I’ll just share some meals from my trip to France last November.
‘Kay?
It’ll take me a few days, so I’ll just start with Lyon, which is
purportedly the gastronomic hub of France. I truly dunno about that, but I
liked it fine.
Before I embark on the roundup, let me just say that it’s
interesting to me how hospitality establishments treat me as a solo female
diner. It’s been my observation since my first trip to Ireland in the 90s that
it’s very rare that I’ll see another woman eating alone in upscale restaurants.
You’ll find men alone, and they don’t seem to get the crap tables or be ghosted
by the waitstaff like you’re somehow lowering their property values by walking
into the place. This is one of the reasons I prefer to let my hotel make my
dining reservations, because I sort of feel like a local joint is not going to
want someone coming back to the hotel and dissing them.
(As an aside, I learned a long, long time ago from my older
sister how to not feel uncomfortable at dinner by myself. She did it when she
and our mom went to Hawaii just before Mom died; Mom wasn’t up to meals, so
Penny went by herself, took a book and just enjoyed herself. She’s my role
model.)
Interestingly, to me, I found that the very few times I
encountered “Oh, une personne…?” were at your basic legend-in-their-own-mind
places, one in Lyon and two in Avignon. Mostly their food was fine, but as
someone who’s worked in Hollywood, I’ve already achieved my lifetime quota of
attitude and I do not find it charming.
I get it that a single diner does not spend as much as two—even though
I ordered what appealed to me and my meals averaged maybe $60-70 overall. So I
appreciated the places that gave me the attention they did to everyone. And I
tried to be on the early side so I didn’t take up a table that they could
monetize better. Although I think I also averaged at least 90 minutes per
dinner, because France and great food.
For the record, every meal was accompanied by appropriate wine,
and my first impression of actual côtes du Rhône in their natural habitat was
that I prefer Oregon Pinot Noir, although I did have better red wine as the
trip went on.
Also, every meal ended with a déca—decaf espresso.
Anyhow—Lyon:
I confess that my first night there, I just slunk over to the
pizza place next door to my hotel—by dinner time that day I’d been traveling
for about 20 hours, had had nothing to eat since my Air France breakfast and
just wanted to have a bite before I let my circadian rhythm catch a break. My
prosciutto pizza was serviceable:
But what I found fascinating was the at-table use of mobile
devices by pretty much everyone in the place, young and old. I mean—France,
what the hell? At dinner?
The next night, I went to le Layon, on Rue Mercier, which is the
epicenter of cuisine lyonnaise. Le Layon is a tiny place and it was pretty much
jammed to the gills. I sat between a family of four and two German women who
were establishing lebensraum by parking their handbags on the table-for-two
next to their own, thus distancing me somewhat.
Pro tip: if you chose a table on a restaurant’s terrasse, you’re
likely to be engulfed in smoke. But go inside and you’re okay, because the
EU, God bless ‘em, has banned smoking inside buildings.
After a Kir Royale, I started out with escargots, which were
fine, but not garlicky:
Then roasted pigeon:
And finished it off with baba au rhum:
My next night was at a brasserie called Bouillon Baratte, which
was cavernous in comparison with le Layon. I mean, look at the size of just part of their
bar (with hooks for handbags!):
Funny story: I actually walked into a different restaurant
thinking it was Bouillon Baratte, but they wouldn’t open for 10 minutes. Only
when I got back outside did I realize I’d gone to the wrong place. Believe me,
I was glad I got to the right one.
My Kir Royale was made with pêche, which was new to me, and I enjoyed it.
I started out with the salade lyonnaise which features egg and bacon:
And then moved on to andouillete beaujolaise, which was just
delish:
Dessert was vacherin fruits rouges et praline rose, which was a
form of Pavlova:
My last dinner in Lyon was at Brasserie le Nord, part of the gastronomic
empire of Paul Bocuse. First white-linen experience; most places seem to have
moved on to no tablecloths and napkins that are some form of puffy one-use
material.
While the operation was well-oiled, my particular server was
decidedly disinterested in me—first time I encountered it on this trip. She
seemed surprised that I wanted an apéritif (their house version, which was
nice) and I had to flag other servers down throughout my meal to get things
taken care of. She just couldn’t seem to be arsed.
Apéritif maison:
My starter was terrine:
The entrée was merlu (hake); the fish was lovely, the rice was a little strange, but I think it's because I almost always have basmati rice at home:
And dessert three citrus sorbets:
Enjoy your steamed veggie plate and water with a squeeze of lemon.
Oh, my, my, my—Kevin McCarthy’s apotheosis of ambition (the entire reason for his pathetic political career) in being nominated as Speaker of the House of Representatives finally came yesterday. And he’s gone down in history as the first wannabe speaker in a century to fail to be elected on the first ballot.
And the second.
And the third.
He evidently moved into the speaker’s office over the weekend in
anticipation of his achievement, but all the groveling he did to the RWNJs of
the party did not work. I expect he spent the night trying to find Republican
asses to kiss to turn his humiliation around—although a humiliation like this
just doesn’t go away. It’s in the history books.
Imagine having to suck up to Paul Gosar and Matt Gaetz just so
you don’t have to move your crap out of Pelosi’s office.
Nancy, BTW, probably had a nice glass of red and settled in to
watch the spit turn.
I mean—look at this face:
As one Twitterite said, yesterday was the worst day McCarthy ever had
at the Capitol and two years ago he was almost murdered there.
Know what we haven’t had for a long time? A flash
mob.
I guess that’s because of going-on three years of global
pandemic, duh, but it seems time to see what we got.
After spending whole minutes on YouTube, I have to say that the
2022 crop of flash mobs (at least the first five pages or so) is on the dire
side. Too many are just clearly stage performances in what happens to be a public area or
are, uh, somewhat substandard in dancing ability.
But this one, on the boardwalk at Santa Cruz, Calif., has both the verisimilitude of spontaneity and serious dance chops. The song is "Freedom", by New Orleans artist Jon Batiste, who recently entertained those lucky dogs at Joe Biden's first State Dinner, for Emmanuel Macron.
Crank up the volume and feel free to bust a move or two.
I’m going to start out 2023 by being grateful for the good
things of the past year.
Like the drubbing Ukrainians have given the Russian invaders and
the international sanctions that are having a real effect on Putin’s ability to
continue to wage war. They're definitely in the find-out stage of operations.
Or the way people around the world have rallied to support
Ukraine in ways large and small, crowdsourcing everything from meals to
missiles. We are living in weird times.
I’m grateful that the expected Red Wave turned out to be more
like light spotting, and that Republicans—who can still use their majority in
the House for willie waving and assholery—may start out the year by being
unable to elect a Speaker without leaving a lot of blood on the floor.
Speaking of elections, though, it seems wrong to have to express
thanks that they went off like they’re supposed to in every state, without armed
RWNJs storming polling places…but here we are. There was some nonsense in
Phoenix with sore losers marching around the Maricopa County elections office
and blowing trumpets in the expectation that Jehovah would cause the walls to
come tumbling down, but surprisingly that did not occur.
I’m grateful that global inflation is beginning to taper off, at
least in the US. Gas prices under $3 is a huge relief to everyone.
I give thanks that I appear to have onboarded to the Megalithic
Software Company without resorting to violence on anyone involved, although
there’s still one open matter, so I’m putting a “so far” caveat on this.
I’m grateful that I was able to take two wonderful trips, to
Singapore and to France. I saw otters on the hoof and lots of Roman ruins. Life
really can be wonderful.
And I'm thankful that I made it through the year with most days
unremarkable. This is a good thing, given the world as a whole.
So—a good year.
And here's New Year's morning in the People's Republic:
