Category: Ruminations

Sweet and wonderful Etsuko, owner of Soy, one of my favorite places to eat in NYC, mentioned me in her blog!  Because I mentioned her in my blog!  Let the mutual appreciation society meeting come to a close.  My polaroid is up on her wall -- that makes me feel like a local more than anything else.

A couple of weeks ago, my friend Donna read this French Women Don't Get Fat book and told me she really enjoyed it.

But I have to admit that I'm skeptical.  It's not that I don't trust Donna's opinion, or that I have something against the Frenchies.  It's just that it seems like an advice book, and I don't like taking advice.  From anyone. 

But I was curious about what the general population had to say about the book, especially given our current Freedom Fries political climate.  And what better place to find out what the people think than the Amazon.com user reviews:

From someone who lives in France..., February 8, 2005

Reviewer:

S. Lisa (France) - See all my reviews

Ironically, this book is not published in France (at least not yet), now I wonder why ? Talk about cliché, it sounds like this woman left France in the 1950's and never came back since. I can guarantee you that no more women in this country spend week ends eating leek soup than anywhere else in the world and there is plenty of fast food being consumed here. Though there are perhaps a few less overweight people here than in some other countries, there are still plenty of them and the number is steadily growing. And I certainly wouldn't describe french diet as an ideal to aim at.
One thing that IS UNMISTAKABLY french is the author's ARROGANCE about the superiority of everything french.

Dear S.Lisa,

1.  Obviously, French people don't need lessons on how to be French; so why would the book be published in France?

2..  If French people suck so much, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN FRANCE?

a tasty treat for the mind, January 25, 2005

There are indeed many things to be said vis a vis this book, which may indeed be effective at connoting the human condition. However, I must deduct one star for the offensive subtext, for such material is of, in fact, a prurient nature.

Dear Friendly Neighbor "Darryl",

Could you speak American?  And lay off the thesaurus, buddy.

Based on a misconception, January 21, 2005

I'm one of the many people who has wholeheatedly embraced the fashion for Frenchness. Any link to France, however indirect or vague, will always get me in. I love it when people use French words in conversation, or insist upon the inherent superiority of French cuisine. I'm fascinated by people's accounts of their travels in France and Paris (which, despite the ignorance of some, is actually IN France), and really appreciate the fact that people tend to like to recount them at great length. I treat books like "Almost French" almost as my guide to life, having burnt out on Tuscany a while ago, along with everyone else (that's in Italy). My wholehearted embrace of the idea of "France" as a fashion accessory serves me well in the social circles with which I'm acquainted (originally a French word).
This book does a good job of catering to my superficial fascination for all things "a la Francoise", but suffers from one fatal defect. Although I have never been to France or met any French people, I have seen plenty of photos, and from these it can easily be ascertained that, contrary to this book's most prominent claim, there are, in fact, quite a significant number of fat French women. Of course, "fat" itself is not such a vulgar concept in France, where, according to my Francophilic acquaintances, folk prefer to refer to the overweight as "fillesse des osseau grande". It has so much more style in French...
In summary, I give this book a gallic deux stelle.

Cladinoro mon coqueluche,

Doug doesn't think you're for real.  But I know c'est vrai.  Paris is DEFINITELY in France.

We've been had., February  6, 2005

Reviewer:

Evelyn Uyemura "explorer" (Torrance, CA USA)  - See all my reviews

Why is it that here in the USA, we call food that no Frenchwoman would eat "French" fries and "French" toast? I'm guessing they don't eat "French" onion soup with an inch of rubbery cheese either. And they probably don't eat green bean casserole with "French" fried onion ring thingies in and on it as a holiday treat.

Actually I haven't read this book, but I do notice that most people in most countries, except maybe Samoa, are in better shape than most of us. Perhaps we ought to finally figure out why.

Dear Evelyn "explorer",

First of all, frites, pain perdu, onion soup with gruyere -- hate to tell you, but plenty of French women eat those things. 

Secondly, I'd lay off the Samoans if I were you, girl.  You got a death wish or something?

Yet Another Failure for the Behemoth, February 10, 2005

I spent quite a bit of time with some elegant (albeit hairy and smelly) French ladies during my floating phase back in the glorious '70s. The gals were slim and were rather fond of eating for pleasure. A steady diet of Young Hops kept those darling putains Scarlett O'hara thin. There is no mention of the Hopperoo diet in this book.

There is a lot of advice on enjoying what you eat (here! here!) and repetetive pourparlers about how the clever and capon Frenchies avoid obesity. I suspect some of this is all the running away that they do, but this is also neglected in Guiliano's otherwise wonderful book.

Nevertheless, I purchased this philisophical/diet book for my baboonish bride Bessie in a desperate attempt to help her lose some of her excess tonnage or at the very least, enjoy the eating while she's not losing it. Well, you guessed it: Failure number 371. She's bigger than ever and has stopped shaving her armpits. Another losing effort for your truly. But some pleasant memories of my French fugue. A worthy attempt, but unable to do the impossible.

Dear Hoppy,

Have you met our Friendly Neighbor "Darryl"?  I think you'd really get along.

Nothing New Here-but don't shot the messenger, February  9, 2005

Reviewer:

Karen A. Lake (Coldwater, MI United States)  - See all my reviews

There is nothing new in this book-the author cites the usual use of fruits, vegetables, taking your time eating, drinking water and exercising as ways that the French stay slim. She also annoying names all the exotic types of fruits and vegetables (including 4-5 types of plums) available fresh to her at the Paris outdoor market. Just try finding some of those things at your local supermarket! If I was the CEO of a champagne firm and lived in NYC and Paris, I could do my shopping at some of those markets, too. I did find her voice and accent very pleasant to listen to, but that was about it.

Dear Karen,

Um, I think that the CEO of Veuve Clicquot probably is as busy as you are, unless a CEO's job description has changed since last time I checked.  And actually, I did a little research and there are plenty of fruit orchards in Southwestern Michigan, near your little town of Coldwater.  I'll bet there are at least two or three different kinds of plums available during the height of the season.  So why don't you get off your fat ass and stop complaining?

So, having read those reviews, will I be reading the book?  Yes.  If Donna sends me her copy, I will read it.  Et pour quoi non?    It's much easier to talk schmack from the pedestal of experience.

The New York Times runs an article on a Maxim kind of dude who cooks three dinners for three different ladies.  Hmm....sound familiar?  What is this guy doing trying to make stuffed strawberries and lobster risotto?  Come on, consult me first, people.

Sun nien fai lok and Gung hay fat choy! It's the year of the cock. (Insert your own dirty joke here, ya perv.) My Chinese baker boyfriend's restaurant will not be open today in observance of Chinese New Year, so I'm gonna have to find something else to eat for breakfast. More power to him, the man works too hard.

Wishing you fortunes, love, good times, and excellent eats this Chinese Lunar New Year!

*UPDATED!  NEW BANDS ADDED!

Alright, this has nothing to do with food, but here's a chance for you to come on down to Tonic, contribute some money to a great cause, and give me a piece of your mind.

We haven't played out in over a year, and it may not ever happen again, so come down and see SMOKEY AND MIHO play a Very Special Benefit Concert for Tonic with an all star lineup that includes: the great Billy Martin of Medeski, Martin & Wood with percussionist wildman Cyro Baptista and Chocolate Genius with Marc Ribot!  Get the word out, bring your friends!  (I know, it's all very "Wait!  I've got an idea, guys!  Let's put on a show!")

With Smokey Hormel (Beck, Tom Waits), Miho Hatori (Cibo Matto, Gorillaz), yours truly on backing vox, Doug Wieselman and some other people (I'm not sure who yet.)  Note to the lovers: we make music to get lucky by.  We'll be playing all the super romantic Brazilian bossa nova hits so come get drunk and find yourself a Valentine if you don't already have one!

SMOKEY & MIHO

This Saturday only!

February 12

8 pm

107 Norfolk between Rivington and Delancey

F Train to Delancey St., walk one block east to Norfolk and turn left

with Billy Martin

A testimonial from Tonic's website:

Proof positive!  Rice to Riches, the completely improbable rice pudding shop in Soho, turned out to be a front for the owner's $21 million gambling ring!  I never liked that place.  Believe me, I love a good rice pudding as much as the next guy.  And I gave Rice to Riches a chance.  But the rice pudding was abysmal -- they served it ice cold, giving it a congealed quality with too firm rice grains.  And it comes in horrifying flavors like mango, orange, and yellow lemon.  Who wants to eat some artificially flavored rice pudding that looks and tastes like a neon slurpee?  Rice pudding should be simple, creamy and comforting, maybe with a little cinnamon, maybe a couple of raisin studs.  It doesn't need to be tarted up in orange and green with crushed cookies and gummy bears.

One of the best rice puddings I've ever had was in the form of an Atkins-antagonistic rice pudding empanada at Uncle Moe's on 7th Ave. in Brooklyn.  The empanada dough was folded over a creamy measure of rice pudding, then deep fried and dusted with cinnamon sugar.  Go check it out, Park Slopers.

*Via Gothamist

Okay, this is not exactly food related, but it's important news in my world. Tonic's in trouble!  For those of you not in the know, Tonic is a club on the Lower East Side that's hosted hundreds of nights of music -- pop, rock, avant-garde, amazing music.  The proprietors, Melissa and John, are some of the kindest, most generous people in the business.  They need our help.

In a lot of ways, I feel like I grew up at Tonic.  When I first moved to New York, I remember seeing a show there for the first time -- might have been a Thurston Moore solo show or something.  My friend commented that the place was like a scene from a Wim Wenders movie.  I didn't even know who Wim Wenders was, but I liked the sound of it.

And what strange and wonderful music it was.  I felt a little like Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face -- you know, that scene when she goes down to the bohemian cafe in her black ballet flats and beret, and there are all these weird "artist" types making strange noises and doing interpretive dances. 

But after letting the music wash over me for a few months, it really started to get under my skin.  I began to listen to avant-garde music not as an exercise in understanding, but as an experience of feeling.  And it felt exciting, because anything could happen.

Which is not to say that Tonic was only ever home to dissonant improvisation.  Tonic also provided a home for the first Smokey and Miho shows -- a strange idea, to be doing Brazilian music from the '60s.   Or Jewlia Eisenberg and Charming Hostess -- 3-5 part a cappella vocals in German and English, in doo wop and Bulgarian close harmonies.  What other venue would take a chance on those vastly different bands? 

I've had the privilege of sharing the stage with everyone from the Masada String Trio, John Zorn, Marc Ribot, Jewlia Eisenberg's Charming Hostess, Miho Hatori and Yuka Honda in their solo projects and with Cibo Matto, Petra Haden, Sean Lennon, Duduca, Smokey Hormel and lots of other cool cats.  It's a really special place, near and dear to many NYC hearts. If you still haven't been there, please visit sometime this month with a couple of friends, buy lots of drinks, and enjoy the music.

Check out the website for info on benefit concert dates.  Here are my quick picks for pre- and post-show eats around Tonic.

I didn't wake til almost noon
I sleep so late these days
But smells were wafting in my room--
Cinnamon butter glaze!

Doug's mom was making Swedish buns,
It was my lucky day!
I sat down with my cup of tea
Gobbling one right away.

That tender crumb, so golden brown,
With hints of cardamom,
And opaque sugar crystals
Sprinkled, like diamonds.

I curled back up in bed to read,
I watched some bad TV
I played computer Scrabble too
Until I got hungry.

I heated up some leftovers--
Dinner, Fairway Cafe
Some flank steak, mashed potatoes
And a green spinach saute.

Computer Scrabble kicked my ass
And sixty minutes in,
I smelled my lunch complaining,
"Been too long in the oven!"

I grabbed it with the oven mitt,
Peeled back the foil top:
My steak had shrunk to beef jerky,
In greased potato slop.

Then Doug returned, with mom in tow
They broke the Swedish bread
"I guess one more slice couldn't hurt,
Thank you so much!" I said.

I left the house for Parlay Lounge
And quickly had to flee
Twas bridge-and-tunnel hell on earth
and frat purgatory.

I met back up with Doug and friend
Went to Siberia
Two vodkas plus empty stomach?
Late night delirium.

I walked to Port Authority
To take the subway back
Of course, just as I got there
The train pulled out of the track.

I sat down on a wooden bench
And pulled out my train read
When this old guy with a hand truck
Makes kissy-face at me.

It's three a.m., and I can't deal
I open up my book.
I notice movement to my left
And I can't help but look.

The old guy's jerking himself off!
He looks me in the eye.
I quickly move to the next bench
With more people nearby.

But still the old guy follows me.
When he's four feet away,
He starts to rub his crotch again!
I think, what should I say?

Does he think I will think it's cute,
Or want a reaction?
I know he's a sick fuck. What if
He's got a knife or gun?

Another man comes down the stairs,
The masturbator flees.
I guess he only likes to do
His show for us ladies.

Eight million stories, Naked City,
Your nights are never drab
But that was too unsavory --
Next time, I'll take a cab.

Here's a cute article from the Times from a former Times City Hall bureau chief. It's pretty straightforward, and it's got suggestions for City Hall area eateries I've never heard of. But one of the things she says is, "Chinatown has its charms, but to me, it is best enjoyed like Lindsay Lohan updates: weekly and no more."

I totally disagree. Not about Lindsay Lohan, but about Chinese food. Last Friday, I ate Chinese food for lunch. In the evening, I met some friends for family style dinner at Grand Sichuan where we ate, you guessed it, Chinese food. The next day, I went to dim sum at Ocean Port, a decidedly Chinese restaurant. That's three Chinese meals in a row. I'm always baffled when, if I suggest Chinese food, a dining companion says, "Oh, I just had Chinese last night." What does that matter? Chinese people eat Chinese food every day.

Besides, each of my meals was completely different. Chinese lunch on Friday was at the local Sunset Park lunch joint. We had various hacked animal parts over rice (barbecued pork spare ribs, soy sauce chicken) with limp, sauteed iceberg lettuce, rice, and and a half-hearted shrimp chow mein. Not the best Chinese food I've ever had, but a serviceable stomach filler. Dinner at Grand Sichuan meant verdant boiled spinach with a tart ginger vinegar and chili oil; red hot bamboo and chicken with plenty of tongue numbing szechuan spices; steamed silken bean curd with a very light brown sauce and shrimp. The next day's dim sum consisted of tasty dumplings galore, suckling pig, steamed noodles, and not a single grain of rice. They were three distinctly different meals. They all happened to be Chinese, but one meal had about as much to do with the next meal as a South Carolina vinegar barbecue has to do with a New England clambake.

There's so much variety within Chinese food, even in Chinatown, that I don't think I'd mind eating it for lunch five days a week. It's gotta be better than slurping down Pax's heavily salted chicken noodle every day. Sometimes I think that if I ate rice twice a day like I did when I was a kid, I could regain my svelte pre-college figure. I discovered pasta and bread in the dorm Dining Commons and I don't think my body ever recovered from the shock of immediate carb absorption. That's right, that's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it.

Remember that incredibly inane song by LFO (Lyte Funkie Ones -- you can't make that shit up!): "I like girls who wear Abercrombie & Fitch/Chinese food makes me sick"? I remember in the video the wifebeater-wearing Jersey dumbass (the stringy haired girlyman on the far left) even made a vomit face when he sang about the Chinese food. I'm sure that talentless hack has long burnt away his piddling record company advance on Marithe+Francois Girbaud gear, Accutane, a year of eyebrow waxings, and a Bowflex. I hope, as punishment for making money by irrationally denouncing an entire nation's cuisine, he's been doomed to a purgatory of collecting coins from under the cushions of his poor mama's couch to pay for fried chicken wings and duck sauce at his local greasy Chinese joint. Keep an eye out for the "Where Are They Now?" episode. Closed-minded eaters are the WORST.

The oh-so-cute Chez Pim discusses how to make flageolet beans here. Is it a coincidence that flageolet is just a few consonants different from flatulent? Couldn't the Bean Board have come up with a more marketable name? Broccoli rape didn't fly.