Richibi’s Weblog

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Category: dining out

cuisine, modern art

still-life-food-glasses-and-a-jug-on-a-table-1640.jpg!Large

    “Still Life. Food, Glasses and a Jug on a Table (1640) 

           Pieter Claesz

               _______

if I’ve been trying to show off Beethoven,
and other Romantic artists, painters, 
poets, composers, as prophets in a
post-Christian, secular environment, 
their modern equivalents show up in,
of all places, cuisine in the 21st Century,
where chefs have become the new, and
dominant, expression of art, if you can 
believe it, but trust me 

I can’t but urgently enough recommend,   
should you be at all interested in the  
evolution of creative genius, 
Chef’s Table“, an already 5-year-old 
series on Netflix, $9.99 a month, with 
a first month free trial, a show that 
gives you, to my mind, front row 
seat for the manner in which an artist
becomes an expression of, a lighting 
rod for, social change, a picture of 
the juice it takes to produce such a 
person

who could be any one of us, all that’s
needed is a conscience

and maybe, admittedly, a muse


R ! chard 

psst: a few of their restaurants I’ve 
          virtually visited 

          Osteria Francescane – with a friend, 
          we decided we’d have the foie gras
          as a starter, snails and hare with 
          “aromatic herbs” for our primi, but
          she’d have the beef, I’d have the 
          suckling pig as secondi

           Attica’s set menu doesn’t give you
           much of a choice, though it promises
           utter, and I believe them, excellence

           Alinea, where eating is more than 
           even just a designer meal, but a
           very transcendental experience 

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the “wall”

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    “A Sunday on La Grande Jatte (1884)

           Georges Seurat

                 ________

should you know Vancouver, you’ll
recognize, nearly immediately, the 
Seawall on this video, before even 
a minute has elapsed you spot the 
Westin Bayshore coming at you, 
nearly perilously, before the speeding 
bullet that takes you on the journey 
turns the crucial corner on the paved 
path that wends its way afterwards
around the peninsula

on foot, this takes about three hours,
but here, inspired by the music of Pink 
Floyd, on a deft reinterpretation of the 
title and music from The Wall“, their 
oracular masterpiece, an inspired 
cyclist brings this local trajectory to 
psychedelic life, if you can stand the 
unsettling disjunction between his 
dizzying speed and the grandeur 
of the transcendent, immutable,  
coastlines

you’ll need, I suggest, seatbelt,
but the ride is wild

the journey ends abruptly, both 
geographically and musically, 
just down the street from my place, 
across the road from recently 
favourite restaurant, with a view, 
just as transcendent, however not
at all disappointingly mutable, of 
the Pacific sunset, whenever we, 
family and friends, eat there

R ! chard

dinner out – Francesco’s Ristorante

self-portrait-with-wine-glass-gluttony-2000

 
                              Kent Bellows
 
                                  _______
 
 
my mom and I discovered a new 
restaurant, an old institution, in fact,
Francesco’s, opened in 1975
 
it was superb 
 
after our having been seated 
perfectly in an airy room, with 
windows all around looking onto 
an adjacent courtyard and the 
street, Grant introduced himself 
as our waiter, we tendered our 
names back, he was about 50, 
just my type
 
he was jaunty, full of good cheer, 
and was, despite a rapid fire 
delivery, utterly helpful
 
the bread came, hot, with a saucer
of butter in oil
 
I’d come back here just for the bread,
my mom said, I never have bread, but 
the prognostications were good 
 
my beef carpaccio, clung to my fork
like love, the thinnest slices dipped
in a caper and truffle oil vinaigrette,
with shaved Parmesan and an 
asparagus spear proud as a ***mas
nutcracker, and a mustard coulis
like hieroglyphs illuminating the 
artful concoction, went down like 
honey
 
I’m going to have dessert, I said, on 
the strength of just that appetizer,
she would too, she countered
 
my mom had the lobster bisque,
which despite her enjoying it she 
put aside to make room for her 
pesto pasta, she said, and which I 
refrained from finishing for her to 
leave room for my own main plate
 
rather than my usual pasta, I went 
for the veal piccata, this time, meat 
that brings back Vienna and Austrian 
fine dining, that’s what I’m having next 
time, my mom said, maybe I will again 
too, I thought, though her pasta looked 
delicious, the rest of which she took 
home in a designer doggie bag they 
send you home with, another touch 
of class, so she could enjoy it later 
 
for dessert I had crème brûlée, she 
had cheesecake, I also had three
limoncellos
 
by that time I can’t remember if she 
had coffee or not, I paid, I however
remember, it was Mother’s Day, and
every penny was entirely worth it
 
to excess, I toasted, and mothers
 
 
Richard