10 posts tagged “favorite things”
Yesterday, two friends and I took the long, long trip up to Tioga to eat barbecue at Clark's Outpost. It had been a few year since I was at Clark's, and my friends had never even heard of it, although they've lived here longer than I have.
The drive was, well, an adventure. For part of the trip we drove a county road that was graveled but unpaved (Rte 121 west): do not choose this route. Scenic, but a little unnerving. Instead, use Rte. 380 to 377, then go north.
My friends, after about 90 minutes of driving, including over 10 miles of unpaved road, were understandably hungry and crabby. Clark's storefront looks unimpressive, and pulling into the unpaved gravel parking lot, with all windows closed so the a.c. can blast against the orange pollution ozone alert and 102 degree heat, does not impress.
And then one opens the car door, steps out... and smells the barbecue cookin'.
Ahhhhhhh!
From there we floated to the front door.
I had carefully made reservations--since it was a Friday evening--but most tables were empty. A surprise to me. I recommend ALWAYS making reservations.
The three of us sat, ate, and--damn!--enjoyed.
We ordered appetizers: onion rings and fully loaded potato skins. Both were delicious, but I especially love the rings. The coating is thick, crunchy, chewy and the rings are substantial.
To order alcohol, one must join the club, a Texas tradition of dry towns, where only members can drink legally. We ordered Shiners, naturally, and one Negro Modelo.
One friend ordered the brisket beef/smoked turkey combination plate, including the collard greens and jalapeno black-eyed peas. The other ordered the brisket/sausage combo, with potato salad and fried zucchini. I ordered the beef/pork ribs combo, with red beans and cole slaw. The plates arrive fast--always--and at first glance, it doesn't look like much food. And in fact for a regular barbecue joint, it is a smaller serving... but then one starts to eat.
The beef is so tender, beautifully smoked on-site over three days, one doesn't even need a knife to cut it. It is so delicious, so tender, that it is a work of art. The ribs--ditto. Smallish, but tasty, succulent, plump. Bones do not dominate. Eaten with the dark sauce that comes bottled in old Grolsch beer bottles: be still my heart! The sausage, from a Dallas maker, are spicy, while the turkey breast--also smoked at Clark's--is mellow and, again, so tender it can be nudged into pieces with a fork.
Usually, I ignore the sides in favor of the main course, so as not to waste time or space. In this case that would be a mistake. All of our sides were superb seconds: my red beans and cole slaw were so good, I actually ate most of them.
Each plate comes with two slices of Texas toast, an onion slab (not slice), and half of a canned cling peach.
For dessert, one friend ordered the Dutch apple pie with vanilla ice cream, while I had the bread pudding with hard sauce. I recommend the pie--crunchy, complex, and overall delicious--and not the bread pudding. I am a huge fan of b.p., but this one was soaked in brandy and nutmeg. It was absolutely tasty, but so rich and overwhelmingly alcoholic, I wa afraid to be near the open candle on our tabletop. Wow! I ate about 1/3 of the total slab, which again was not over-sized or grotesque, but too much for me.
My friends, fans of Southern cooking, Tex-Mex cooking, and Texas food, were impressed. Me, too, but I was not surprised. What I love most about Clark's is that it is not out to impress: neither the decor, the wait staff (who are friendly and efficient, but not hanging over the table, thank God!), or the prices are out to stun you. It is, simply, good food that doesn't want to be the favorite baby of foodies and wanna-be gourmands. What for?
If you love it, you can order off their website, which also shows their menu and hours.
Take my advice: if you're in the area, visit. If you aren't, order something by mail. You'll be very happy.
Pearl
Now that I am a proud bike owner-rider, I have been scouting bike-friendly information.
A CUP OF JO: NYCity Bike Types
GWADZILLA: D.C. guy who rides bikes and writes philosophy about riding bikes....
ECOVELO: I love this blog for its style as well as its commitment to green living.
VELIBE: Paris's system of rent your own bikes, available all over town for short term rentals.
FAT CYCLIST: Funny guy, interesting blog.
COPENHAGEN CYCLE CHIC: Wonderful pictures, and not all "spandex" stuff, for riders lite like me.
NEW YORK TIMES: Urban cycling and the gender gap.
CHANGE YOUR LIFE. RIDE A BIKE: A great blog about people across the country riding bikes for lots of reasons.
BIKE SKIRT: Girls and bikes.
SHE RIDES A BIKE: Flagstaff, Arizona woman writes about biking and style. My kind of blog.
Pearl
One of my favorite girly things is the mani-pedi.
Or for those not into salon-slang, the combination manicure and pedicure, delivered more or less simultaneously. I never knew these existed prior to living in Big D--just as I has never had a facial, a manicure, or various other body services. Big D is the place to come--maybe just after L.A.--to get these kind of services and, in fact, is a culture focused on body services. "Services" might include such things as dermabrasion, teeth whitening and bonding, liposuctIon, and plastic surgery at the extreme end of the spectrum.
At the near end--the shallow end of the pool where I dabble--that means gyms, massage, facials and body wraps, and the omnipresent mani-pedi.
On any Saturday morning, in most salons one finds pedicure chairs full of women and men getting the mani-pedi. I haven't done it recently (since well before I went on sabbatical), but I am thinking about getting me one this weekend. It is an indulgence, especially in these times of financial belt-tightening, but the 90 minutes spent (mostly) with one's feet first in a warm whirlpool bath, then being scrubbed and exfoliated, with nails being trimmed, neatened, and painted, is soothing and delightful. The follow-up with a manicure, which includes a warm lotion/warm mitt period at my particular salon (where the manicurist applies lotion to one's hands and forearms, then covers them with warm gloves which lets the lotion soak in to the skin--ahhhhhhh!--is again soothing and delightful.
I can do this at home, and have most recently (which is all its own pleasure, frankly), but a morning in the salon is good for more than one's hands and feet.
It is great for people watching, too. I enjoy the characters of the salon (managers, manicurists, and the women who offer the other services, like waxing), as well as the customers. The salon I like employs Vietnamese men and women as technicians; they form a tight-knit group, and the group dynamics are kind of fascinating. There are definitely status levels within the technicians, from the newer hires to the most-requested artists. When I went more frequently, two or three years ago, I always called ahead for reservations with Isabel; she left to work at a salon closer to her home and children, and I still miss her. Her hands were magic! Now I mostly walk in, and on a Saturday about noon that means simply the luck of the draw. Sometimes good, sometimes a little painful.
The customers, too, are fascinating. The salon caters to both men and women, and there are some interesting characters who come in. The salon itself provides TVs everywhere, all on different stations, and offers drinks (water, coffee, tea, soda, and wine... a little much for me at 10 am, but...). Many customers bring phones and talk throughout their appointments, doing business and making personal calls. Men in a salon were new to me upon moving to DFW, especially for services like the mani-pedi, and just like the women customers some are comfortable and some are a little not-so-much.
How does one make serious business calls while getting a manicure? A mystery to me.
Pearl
One of my favorite movies is Gilda, the 1946 film noir directed by King Vidor and starring Rita Hayworth and Glenn Ford. It is a torrid melodrama with not-very-subtle sexuality, a triangle of male-male-female attraction, gambling, Argentine gangsters, suicide, and violence, with two of the best film songs ever found in a non-musical film -- "Put the Blame on Mame" and "Amado Mio" -- both sung by Hayworth at the top of her game.
The relationships between Glenn Ford's Johnny Farrell and George Macready's Ballin Mundson, and then between Hayworth's Gilda and Farrell, are murky and suggestive. We discover that Macready has rescued Farrell from the streets, while Gilda and Johnny have a lovers' past that is, to be succinct, troubled. Add Ballin's marriage to the much younger Gilda... tension everywhere.
And then... Ballin turns out to be connected to Nazis. (In Argentina? Post-war? NO!) He's been the banker/safekeeper of Nazi funds, and decides to keep the cash. That ends in him having to kill one of the Nazis, then skip town by plane... which blows up. Gilda inherits everything, but Johnny takes his ex-boss's directive to keep her chaste to heart: even if Ballin is dead, Johnny determines to keep Gilda in a, uh, gilded cage. Meanwhile treating her like trash. He marries her (she gets married, by the way, in a black suit and veil... fresh from the funeral?) and puts a bodyguard on her, to keep anyone from talking to, touching, or stealing her.
The dialogue loaded with innuendo and insinuation. Beautifully crafted into film noir style.
"Hate can be a very exciting emotion, very exciting. Haven't you noticed that? ... Hate is the only thing that has ever warmed me..."
"You're a child, Gilda, a beautiful, greedy child, and it amuses me to fed you beautiful things because you eat with such a good appetite."
"If I'd been a ranch, they'd've named me the Bar Nothing."
"Statistics show there are more women in the world than anything else... except insects."
"You wouldn't think one woman could mary two insane men in one lifetime... would you?"
Hayworth's clothing is marvelous, too, gorgeous and the height of Hollywood glamour. As the wife of a casino owner, she dresses in upscale nighttime glam, while when she is on the run, working as a singer-dancer in South American nightclubs her costumes are just that, costumes. A little bit too glitzy, a little bit too naked...
It is filled with all the wrong messages about relationships: Johnny is definitely emotionally abusive, maybe physically abusive toward Gilda (he certainly slaps her at one point), no one seems to have a healthy relationship--let alone a healthy outlook on life, except Uncle Pio, the men's room attendant delightfully played by character actor Steven Geray--Johnny and Gilda get away with being so messed up simply because Ballin is even more nasty, a Nazi, and a Nazi-cheater with delusions of grandeur. We never see daylight--except as a red herring--and the shadows, nightttime activities, and cloying interiors add everything to the turgid twists and turns of the story.
This is a post-war film along the lines of The Third Man (1949), Notorious (made in the same year as Gilda by Hitchcock), where no one is quite what he or she seems, there are too many layers, twists, secrets, and betrayals, and the setting is definitely not the American home front.
"Mame" is the more famous song and moment from the film, but I love "Amado Mio," which afterward turns up in the soundtrack of many, many films. Hayworth shows us why she was originally a song-and-dance girl, which tends to be forgotten due to her extraordinary beauty.
And all while wearing those amazing platform sandals.
In the end, I find it hard to believe the resolution. The part of me that enjoys turgid and twisty melodrama really enjoys the no-holds-barred emotion of it, the delightful extroverted reveling in frustrated sexuality, nasty powerplays, and self-flagellating desire. Oy! The part of me that thinks critically is generally appalled by the messiness of it, the bad self-esteem and tormented romance, the domestic violence both Gilda and Johnny revel in as the only acceptable mask for love, the notion that this twisted love is excusable. Glenn Ford's character is so twisted that he cannot tell who is loyal and who is a liar. He'll conspire with Nazis and lock up Gilda to keep faith with his dead mentor, despite his inner promptings.
But that's the post-war world Vidor (and Hitchcock and Carol Reed--director of The Third Man--and, of course, Graham Greene) seemed to see. The big picture gets messed up by the little picture, and vice versa. Everything is personal, and everything is political. Nothing can be taken at face value, everything is corrupt--even just a little bit. Trust is broken, everything is bombed-out, and, for these artists, there is no "normal" any more. One must live in Buenos Aires, or Berlin, or Monte Carlo, or Saigon... from what other point can one see the world so clearly?
Pearl
Maybe I'm just in a good mood, but more Favorite Things. "Stardust" is one of my favorite songs, maybe my favorite. Written in 1927 by Hoagy Carmichael in Bloomington, Indiana, a little town where I earned one of my advanced degrees, it is simply stunning in its composition (lyrics written two years later by someone else). Having gone to school in B'ton, I am familiar with the historical marker and the site of composition.
Carmichael himself was a native Indiana son. As you can see from the marker he also wrote "Georgia on my Mind" and "Heart and Soul," that standard of one-finger pianists everywhere. Carmichael was an amazing composer and talented pianist; I also love that he turns up in some of my favorite films, like THE BEST YEARS OF OUR LIVES and TO HAVE AND HAVE NOT.
I am obsessed with "Star Dust." I first encountered it in a production of PICNIC by William Inge where I was the assistant director. The director chose to use Nat King Cole's version of "Star Dust" as a theme for the play, with its lyrics of haunting lost love. I have recordings by Cole, Ella Fitzgerald, Cab Calloway, Henry Mancini, The Mills Brothers, Carmichael himself, and (my personal favorite) Fats Waller. I sort of collect them.
It is one of the most recorded songs of the 20th century. It is a singable song, but with a sophistication in the threads of theme and counter-theme that make it unusual.
Here is Hoagy Carmichael himself playing it.
And for those who want the lyrics, Nat King Cole.
Pearl
Last spring I bought a set of Envirosax polyester reusable sacks to replace the stained, dirty, crumpled assortment of free sacks I had gotten from various vendors and sources. In part, I was irritated and embarrassed by how messy my old bags were, and in part I was motivated to find sacks that carried enough groceries--to service a REAL grocery Sunday, in other words. I also wanted something I could take on my trip to Oxford and Paris that would work as extra bags for shopping, groceries, and whatever I needed on the trip.
I bought this set of five bags:
It has been a godsend. First, all five bags come rolled and snapped together in a carrier pouch which will fit in any purse... and I can still re-roll them and fit them in that pouch (not always what happens, let's be honest!). Each of these lightweight bags carries the equivalent of two plastic shopping bags (and three if the bags are only semi-full). They do not tear under lots of weight, the openings are big enough for odd-shaped and awkward items to fit inside, and the armholes are big enough to rest them on your shoulder. What more can I say?
They have not faded or stained, and the patterns are graphically gorgeous. They look great (ok, I'm vain) and remain looking great. I am not so crazy about the wavy line one (in part because looking at it too long makes me feel dizzy) but all four of the others are striking.
They come in other colors and styles, from subdued to brights, and are available on several places on the 'net. The price is a little crazy, especially when there are so many free bags (like the collection I amassed), at $30-some. But they look to last forever and I have yet to wash them. Rain doesn't soak them (like canvas) and they do not shred.
I know I sound like one of those TV scream-and-shout salespeople but honestly, there are so many things about these bags that fit my ideal of what reusable shopping bags should be--except free, but hey!--tha's why they are among my favorite things.
Pearl
I am in love with Charlie Crews.
While I was on sabbatical, I started watching LIFE, a TV show that began in 2007. At home, I had never seen it because I do not get cable. I cut the cable (so to speak) because I was spending way too much time on bad stuff (how many times can one watch THE REPLACEMENTS, even with the great Gene Hackman and a jones for Keanu Reeves?). There must come a time... or an intervention.
But.
LIFE is a really, really good show. Well-written, well-acted, and engaging. No, really. Watch it yourself.
The premise is simple: a cop was wrongly convicted of murdering his best friend and family spent 12 years in federal prison, but was finally released with a full pardon, a settlement for $50mill, and a detective's badge. Charlie Crews survived in prison through a combination of innate toughness and Zen Buddhism. After his release, he works in L.A. homicide and, on his own time, tries to figure out who set him up and why. Damian Lewis plays Crews, Sarah Shahi plays his partner, Donal Logue plays his captain, and Adam Arkin plays his money manager, a former white-collar criminal Crews met in prison. In the first season, Robin Weigert was the captain, but--just like on DEADWOOD--the writers and producer had no idea what to do with such a talented actress, and so she's gone now.
The first season is available on DVD and recent episodes of season two are online at NBC-TV. Lewis is really good as Crews (funny and smart and vulnerable), and Shahi is excellent as his cynical partner. They are a great match, although Shahi has gotten rather nasty reviews in some places.
Can't figure out why. Episodes like "Powerless" in the first season clearly demonstrated why Shahi got the network nod.
This week, after a break of over a month, the show was back with new episodes--which was good, because at the end of the last one I saw, Charlie got shot, and his small but fervent (feverish?) crowd of fans was waiting to find out what the heck happened...
I am barely hanging on to weekly TV in any sense. LIFE and THE CLOSER seem to be it, mainly because the quality of the writing is so limited. None of the half-hour comedies interest me whatsoever. But such is the world. TV has always (it seems to me) been on the verge of crashing due to flimsy writing, bad concepts, and execs who pander to the lowest common denominator in their audience. Whatever.
But watch this show, and enjoy. Seriously: because if I like it, LIFE will be cancelled soon.
And then I'll never find out who sent Charlie to prison.
Pearl
Surprisingly this winter I have not had the dry skin blues. I attribute this to Body Butter by the Body Shop, which I started using in Paris.
My favorite is Papaya.
And not only does it have a great, fresh scent but it feels great on the skin. The effect actually lasts for hours: when I change clothes after a day of work at My U, my skin still feels moist. I also have no itching and scaly skin. Ugh.
And, like all Body Shop products, Body Butter is made with natural products and Community Trade ingredients. It comes in a mini size (1 oz.) in some scents/flavors, as well as regular size (6 oz.).
Right now I am trying out the Olive, which is almost scentless, the better to work with my favorite perfumes. Same great shea butter included, which means healthy skin and good conscience buying.
Good stuff!
Pearl
OK, don't go nuts on me, I know Bruce is a person, not a thing.
And don't get pissy with me, because I've been a fan since the 70s when I was just a smidgen of a girl. If you grew up next door to Bruce or you bought the first copy of his first album, you can get pissy with me.
None of this should be a surprise to you. I have already referenced Springsteen's status in my opinion a few times here. But maybe you weren't paying attention. That can happen. And there are a surprising number of people who don't ascribe to my point-of-view about the man. I don't know why, but there you are. It takes all types.
So I'll start with a list of the things that I admire about The Boss, that keep me buying his music and attending his concerts and forcing people into these kind of discussions.
First, as I grew from being a wee smidgen of a girl in the 70s to a fascinating and brilliant woman in the 21st century, Bruce and his music have grown, simultaneously. There are too many rockers who are exactly the same lunkheads they were when they started making music 30- or 40-some years ago. And they demonstrate it by playing the same teen anthems they played back then. Neither they nor their music have grown, embracing new and complex styles or content. Their music still sounds as if it is made by 20-year-olds. Not so, The Boss, whose songs continue to explore recognizable themes but have opened out to a more mature vision throughout his 30s, 40s, 50s, and--now that he's poised in the edge of 60--senior citizenhood. He's an adult and his music is adult. And that's great.
Songs like "I'll Work for Your Love" on the MAGIC album echo earlier compositions like "For You," "Prove it All Night," "Tougher than the Rest," and "Leap of Faith" from earlier albums: a theme about true love being both risky and a lot of work, but also something mystical. They also ably demonstrate his skill as a lyricist and composer.
This leads to my second point, that Bruce writes some amazing and passionate love songs, most of which get overlooked in the face of the big rock anthems we know by heart. Go back and listen to "Soul Driver" "Drive All Night" "I'm on Fire" and "Two Faces." And of course, "Rosalita" and "Thunder Road." In Bruce's songs, the combination of love and sex (always intertwined) is a complex, human event. Elemental. Supernatural. Fearless, painful, and sensual.
Third... the E Street Band. Not on every album, not at every concert or tour, but yeah, they are the planets to Bruce's sun. And individually they are damn good musicians. Together, singing the music they've made together for nearly 4 decades... magical. Kick-ass. Over the years I've seen them in person twice in the Meadowlands, twice in Giants Stadium, once in Indiana, and twice in Texas: a small number of concerts for a true fan, I know, but they were all fantastic.
This year, the group lost their first member to death, Danny Federici who played organ and keyboard. I will miss his magic in "Rosalita," among other songs I've listened most of my life. (Side note: amazing! a rock band that hasn't lost people to booze or drug addiction, suicide, or other rock-specific untimely deaths.)
Fourth. Bruce's commitment to bigger things than his rock career. His concerts always raise money to fight hunger, specifically for food banks in the venues where he performs, and he's written songs about AIDs, 9/11, the homeless, unemployment and the disappearing jobs of America's industrial cities, and the last crushing eight years of elected government. He isn't afraid to be political, even thought he's "just" a songwriter and rock star. In every interview, it becomes clear--quickly--that he is committed, political, and concerned about his country and the world in general. At the same time, he isn't forcing his point of view down anyone else's throat. We're all responsible for our own contribution, however large or small it may be, and he understands he has a bigger forum because of his fame, but that that fame also demands more responsibility--not less. .
Fifth... okay, Bruce is sexy. In the 70s he was skinny and hairy, a loose collection of bones and skin with a fiery kind of blue-collar, beatnik-hippy, jazz thing going. In the 80s and 90s, he grew up and filled out: his backside was the recognizable image for BORN IN THE U.S.A., he cut the hair, he's experimented with facial hair and what I refer to as tribal jewelry, he go married and divorced and married again and became a dad, and he continued to wear his jeans and motorcycle boots... At 59, he is still damn hot.
In his media interviews, like his videos, it is clear that Bruce is at ease with the camera. Watch the video for "Brilliant Disguise." It's a one-shot, where nothing happens except that Bruce plays guitar and sings directly to the camera, while the camera tracks in and in and in and in... to a tight close-up, over the 4+ minutes of the video. Amazing.
Is it because he is passionate and fulfilled by what he does? Because he focuses his energies outside himself for causes and issues he believes in? Because he continues to take big risks in his career? Because he is an intelligent and happy man? I don't know--but I suspect it is a combination of the intellectual, artistic, and physical package that makes me wish he'd park his pink Cadillac in my front yard. (That didn't sound so dirty in my head.)
Finally, no one gives concert like Bruce. (Yeah, I made that phrase up, "gives concert," and I'm sticking with it, despite its turrible grammaticking.) His mid-80s concerts for BORN IN THE U.S.A. were four hours long. Yes. Without any freaking opening act. You paid for $30 dollars and you got four hours of Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. In a stadium with 65,000 screaming New Jersey, New York, and Pennsylvania crazies. Now, two decades later, concerts are $100 and last only 2.5 hours ("only": he's 59!), but you still get The Boss and The Band. Whaddya want? Jeez Louise! (Sorry: I am reverting to my northeastern roots here.) In either case, there is no filler, no junk, no wasted space, no b.s. for your buck or your hero worship. They sing, they sweat, they run, they jump, they use the entire stage space--including the back and the wings--they bring people up on stage to dance with them, they give concert.
And here's my only criticism: with the fans who come to the concerts and just sit there. Uh-uh. Bruce's concerts were made for standing up (or on the seats), dancing, and singing along at the top of your voice. I realize this is extroverted behavior for most people (read people in Indiana and Texas, apparently), but IT IS NECESSARY. And those of us who need to do it are hard-pressed by the fact that those behind us can't see. Well, if you stood up... I'm just saying.
Personally, all those people who are just going to sit and watch should ahve their own section... so the crazies like me who want to sing and dance and hoot and hollar can do so without getting tapped on the shoulder by you. Because I am Having An Experience.
At a concert, I find myself with my hands palm-up in the air, singing at the top of my lungs, and somehow looking like those people in the TV commercials for gospel music, testifying to the power. Well, okay. In a sense, I will say that at a concert or listening to an album, I feel the power of the music and the man. I am moved by the beauty of the energy in the space. A sports arena can become a cathedral, of sorts, the stage for a magical, traveling, healing show.
Pearl
Back to my favorite things, especially those to be found in Paris.
Despite my coffee addiction, I do drink tea. Here in Paris, I love to go to Mariage Frères, usually the shop-salon at 30, rue du Bourg-Tibourg, to buy loose tea. And sometimes celebrate high tea. One reason is that the shops, which are also tea salons, smell delicious. Another is that they offer such a wide variety of teas I can try something new every time.
Black teas, green teas, red teas, white teas. Mixes and mélanges. Tisanes of herbs and flowers.
My rules for tea are simple: it has to smell great, both before brewing and in the cup, and it ought not to taste like a mouthful of cut grass. In black teas, I am really fond of the smell of Earl Gray tea, although not so much of the taste (I am not a huge black tea fan). Mariage Frères has a great Earl Gray with blue flowers that is extra-fragrant and also delicious. Their array of green teas is excellent.
They sell tea in shiny black tins (another weakness of mine, since they are a form of boxes, after all) or you can but it loose, in these black bags. You can only buy the teas in the shops or in other retail outlets: Mariage Frères doesn't sell online. Although they have a beautiful website (see Links below).
These are the teas I bought last week. Two previously untried flavors: Casablanca, a green tea with Moroccan mint and bergamot, and Nil Rouge, an African red tea with lemon and spices. For packing ease later, I bought the bags, rather than the less squishable tins. I love their red teas: this was where I first had red tea. It was Marco Polo red.
The shops and salons here in Paris are worth visiting for a treat. The tea itself makes for a delightful gift, and if you're the kind of person who only drinks iced tea... they have that, too. And tea cups and glasses, tea pots, tea balls and spoons, among other tea stuff. Having high tea there is a ceremony: one chooses a flavour out of the available catalogue of teas and can choose treats to go with, either treats flavored with tea or not. High tea is pricey, but a delightful way to spend an afternoon hour with friends or your visiting mother.
Pearl
