Wilfrid

I wish. That was a harrowing experience.

@small h Not as bad as that, but you jogged the memory that the one time in my life I went to Vatican City, the Sistine Chapel was closed.

Good to have those reviews confirmed.

I sneezed my way through McCarren Park today and emerged needing a light lunch. I pretty much gave up on NYC tapas a long time ago but finding myself outside El Born on Manhattan Avenue, I thought why not? The first thing that startled me is that the menu is in Catalan/English rather than Spanish/English. Fair enough, El Born is in Barcelona. When I commented on this, the server told me the owner (herself very busy serving) is from Barcelona. So I entertained myself by saying "embotits iberics." And then pointing to it on the menu to help my anglophone server. It was really, really good. Wherever they're sourcing this is the right stuff. Here's the puzzle. Server says it's been open 12 years. Why didn't I know? But I have a very distant memory of eating tapas on that strip a long time ago. Who knows? I want to go back for dinner.

I absolutely did. Guess what? No jam. The blackberries were the only contender.

Wild improv. Sudden craving for a Cosmopolitan. No vodka or cranberry juice on hand. Okay, meet the NoCosmo: gin, Cointreau, lime juice and squeezed blackberries. The latter a messy business, but gave me the pinkness.

Cheerful but also startling to have a memory from more than forty years ago suddenly sparked. There's a show of music scene photographs by Alan Tannenbaum at the Morrison Hotel Gallery, mostly taken in the 70s and early 80s for SoHo Weekly News. There's a photo of Debbie Harry from 1979 which got me thinking about when I first met her. I concluded it was probably the year before that. A little further on in the exhibit, not only is there a photo of her from 1978, but she is wearing the exact same bright red boots she wore when I met her. (Okay, she may have had a second identical pair, but to me, those are the boots.) https://morrisonhotelgallery.com/collections/from-soho-with-love-opening-allan-tannenbaum/products/debbie-harry-new-york-city-1978-ppvocw

I can see where that review comes from; but the book is highly readable. This, for example, may or may not be true, but it's funny: Gwyneth Paltrow is an “icy little troll.”

Fun with crispy morcilla on carrot pedestals. Reminder of many years ago, Richard Neat at Pied a Terre in London presenting a huge plate of tiny bits of pig head and feet, each balanced on a different vegetable pedestal with a different touch of sauce. Like a museum. This was less ambitious. 🤣

There the same time as Cory, so I don't know.

The Momofuku chapter is vivid to anyone who more or less knew the people around the place. I have to note the sentence on page 190 about one S. Plotnicki, which is inaccurate in terms of how an online forum might be funded, but nevertheless, tee hee ha ha nyah nyah.

2025, by Hannah Selinger. I am halfway through and surprised I haven't seen much discussion on line. It's a long, detailed memoir by a server-turned-sommelier that consistutes an even deeper dive than usual into the abusive and damaging life of restaurant workers. She doesn't spare herself; plenty of drinking, drugs and inappropriate behavior. Having said that, Johnny Iuzzini is not going to like chapter five. And I am about to start the chapter on her time at Momofuku.

Happy 40th birthday. I just got an email from them asking me to share a favorite memory and win a glass of "bubbly" on the house. My favorite memory has to be the August 4, 2009 review by Frank Bruni where he took a star away, simply because it followed my July 20 piece in the Pink Pig that shared many of Bruni's complaints -- not least the appalling duck confit. Cheers!

Oh dear.

A bunch of Rivette on Criterion right now, and he does like to make long films (he has a 13 hour one under his belt, but that's not on the Criterion list). Now watching the wonderful Pont Du Nord, another one of his glorious tours around Paris with a mystery subtext. Two women, complete strangers, hang out together. The touching thing is that the women are played by mother and daughter, Bulle and Pascale Ogier. Pascale died tragically young. It's convincing that they're strangers because Pascale looked like her father and nothing like her mother. (I first saw her in Ghost Dance and was astounded to discover she was Bulle's daughter.)

IMG_1392.mov

Hinds took off their sweaters* at the outdoor Austin gig after the first three numbers. Brrrr. *Sorry, Ana took off her fitted white jacket with the white fur collar. Cisi and Paola took off their sweaters.

Personally I prefer shorter sets. I assume Beyonce is playing seated venues and who wants to sit down for a band like Hinds? (Or stand up for a 36 song set?)

I have more Paul Bowles than I remembered, including the bio. The Sheltering Sky is very good, but of course it's not Cervantes.

An early beer and "Hi, How Are You?" just came on. That's the first time I've heard them in a New York bar. Automated playlist I am told.

I read a short study of WH, and the plot(s) are unbelievably complex when looked at closely. I just finished squeezing the good bits out of Don Quixote. That took a couple of weeks because there are a lot. Just opened The Sheltering Sky. I recall the arc of the plot well enough, but don't remember it page by page.

Breaking news. Free Giant Goldfish Crackers and More Big Menu Changes

Ouch!

She was still...?

No, no, you're supposed to break it down.