Wilfrid

It was Finnish?

Two added to my list: El Conde, in which General Pinochet is an actual vampire and Zero Fucks Given, for the title and because Adele Exarchopoulos is rarely a waste of time (The Five Devils was great).

Well, certainly they're all funnier than Leningrad Cowboys.

For those with Mubi, I commend Fallen Leaves, as wonderful as all Aki Kaurismaki's movies (except that dreadful comedy). Slowish cinema.

I've added it to the mental list of places where there is no point looking for a table.

I stumbled over an outstanding (and heartbreaking) report on the Morscher's closing by Roger Clark on New York 1. Behind the scenes sausage making, interviews with long time (40 year) customers and quite a few tears shed. I am sure it will be shown repeatedly for the next couple of days, but who knows when?

I did get to Arthur Avenue before the holidays, but it's probably 20 years since I went to Roberto's.

So for breakfast I fried bacon to be piled into a (low carb) biscuit. Tonight I heated the bacon grease and fried slices of (low carb) bread to be topped with slices of delicious mild souse. There was some dabbing of wasabi on the souse because lunch was excellent scallop sashimi from HMart on Broadway near 79th. All carefully planned of course.

Also absolutely no Phil Collins. Ever.

Below Deck Med season 8 is done and we have to wait until Feb 5 for the first episode of the next season of Below Deck OG. Happy I have only this reality TV addiction.

Pre-dinner drinks at City Vineyard right on the river. It was almost empty but what a lovely space, although not remotely like a New York space. I would go again.

No, I didn’t expect this. I remember eating there almost 30 years ago when the surrounding streets were just empty. Okay, I’ve been back since, often to take visitors who want a New York experience with good food. Same tonight, I guess. Friends from the non-food part of my life, one from the UK. Neither knew the place or the De Niro connection. We needed, I was told, to eat in Tribeca. The room and the art, all still lovely. And, again something I haven’t done in years, we ate the Restaurant Week menu ($45). Beet salad, then short ribs where I was struck by the attention paid to every little vegetable; little onions sweetly caramelised, tiny carrots perfectly turned. I don’t eat dessert but I tried a spoonful of the cheesecake and it was the best I can imagine. The guys eating it were ecstatic. Okay, it was the RW menu, but cocktails, a bottle of red and three courses in that setting, $120 each including tax and tip, very cool. Okay, they still have a coat check so I stuffed some bills in a jar. Where did I last see a coat check?

I told my daughter when she was very young, I love you unconditionally but no Beatles records and no supporting the Red Sox. She has lived up to my hopes, obsessed with Elvis and Johnny Cash and at least respectful of the Yankees.

T.Rex, Electric Warrior.

I don’t usually buy smoked cheeses but they also work.

A proposition that would be interesting to test. I have a dollar says a lot of animals would eat her.

I could kick myself for forgetting about Ends Meats last time I went to Formaggio.

Sixteen hours later, the smell is getting annoying. Not a day for opening windows either.

But you're ignoring the context which is the reference to Carly Rae, a reference that can be challenged without straying outside the Anglo-American or indeed just American space. To put it another way, if you started to list American pop songs that would be generally accepted as superior to "Call Me Maybe," you'd die before you finished.

Yes, that's it. Good to know.

I think one only has to know a bit about Anglo-American pop since 1956 to be able to say that "Call Me Maybe," while appealing, is not "one of the greatest pop songs of all time."

My favorite version of Paolo Conte's best known song.

There used to be a shop on First Avenue, underneath that second floor Sri Lankan restaurant, that not only had beers from all over the world but was also like a mini Kalustyan's. Is it still open?

Nope, greatest pop songs of all time. Anglo-American was an oratorical afterthought.

If you’re out Bushwick way, Foster’s Sundry is a wild over-achiever. A real butcher shop in the back, breaking the critters down, often to rarely seen cuts, a very good cheese selection, cold meats, Rancho Gordo (whoever he is) products, fancy beers and always unexpected things like tubs of rillettes in the fridge. Can’t think of anywhere else that covers all those bases.