Spamalot, the musical "lovingly ripped off" of the movie Monty Python and the Holy Grail, is in town, and as this is one of my favorite movies from childhood, I determined that we weren't going to miss it. The musical follows the basic premise of the movie, with King Arthur gathering his Knights of the Round Table in a quest to find the Holy Grail. Much of the dialogue is ripped verbatim from the film, though the songs are obviously new material. The music serves to push the musical in a few new directions, namely the requisite jokes about gays, Jews and meta gags about Broadway itself.
Live theater will always edge out film in my mind for its ability to innovate and adapt to changing times and surroundings. Much to my amusement, this performance included a number of somewhat topical additions, as the Lady of the Lake broke into bits of "Put a Ring On It" and "Umbrella" in the midst of various songs, and mockery of Blagojevich's fresh impeachment was in full force. The French taunting scene, for instance, went something like this: "I fart in your general direction. I impeach your corrupt governors. Your mother is a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!"
Going into the show, my biggest concern was whether Spamalot would still feel fresh and funny, or whether it would merely be a shadow of a bygone era. And for those who had not seen the movie, would they get the humour as well? All in all, I thought the musical was pretty well-done, with enough of the original movie thrown in to keep the purists happy, but sufficient amounts of new material to make it interesting. Highlights included "The Song That Goes Like This," a passionate ballad that well, goes like this, and "You Won't Succeed on Broadway (If You Don't Have Any Jews)."
If ever there were a musical written for times of recessionary malaise and social insecurity, Spamalot would be it. It's fun and silly, filled with shiny objects and pithy aphorisms. Do not go in expecting a grand, life-changing drama on the order of Les Miserables, and you will come out happy and whistling "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life." And what more could you ask for?
Friday, January 30, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Tristan und Isolde
The Lyric Opera opened a run of Tristan und Isolde tonight, and armed with a student id card, I scored some terrific main floor seats for a measly Jackson. This was my first Lyric production and my first Wagner opera, so it didn't quite dawn on me until I noticed the early 6 pm curtain time that this might be a very long night. Indeed, upon receiving a program, I was informed that the expected running time for this show would be 4 hours and 45 minutes. Let me reiterate, if you have ADD, this is not the show for you.
The Civic Opera House is located a couple blocks west of the Loop, and the story is that the architect designed the building such that the audience would sit facing west, with their backs to New York City, because the architect's daughter was rejected by the Metropolitan Opera. Intercity rivalries aside, the building is quite grand, with the appropriate gilded flourishes that befit an opera house, however I prefer the Met's back-of-the-chair subtitle system to the Lyric Opera's over-the-stage subtitles.
Some research prior to the show revealed that staging and performing Tristan und Isolde is no small feat. As with any Wagner production, a certain amount of stamina is required from the performers (and the audience). Not one, but two conductors have died while conducting this show, collapsing in the middle of the second act. As for the singers, Wagner originally wanted the tenor Alois Ander for the role of Tristan, but eventually he proved incapable of learning the part. The premiere in 1865 had to be delayed because Isolde had gone hoarse. And five weeks after the production finally opened, Ludwig Schnorr, who was playing Tristan, suddenly died at the age of 29, after catching a chill, then contracting excruciating rheumatism and apoplexy. On his deathbed, he deliriously burst into song, with his final words being, "Farewell, Siegfried! Console my Richard!" His friends firmly believed that the stress of performing Wagner's music led to this tragedy.
On with the show. Punctually at 6 pm, the curtain parted and the orchestra began playing the prelude, led by the infamous Tristan chord. (I was quite tickled to learn that Debussy's Golliwog's Cakewalk parodies the Tristan chord, who knew?) As it turns out, this chord spurred a great deal of harmonic development in classical music, since it contains not one but two dissonances. Wagner also made innovative use of harmonic suspension, chromaticism and orchestral colour, bridging the moment towards atonalism.
The opera follows the tale of Isolde, an Irish princess, who is being taken by Tristan to Cornwall, where she will be wed to his uncle, King Marke. As you can imagine, Isolde is rather unhappy about this, and tries to kill Tristan and herself by drinking a deadly potion. Alas, at the last minute, her maid switches out the death potion for a love potion instead. This makes things rather awkward when they land in Cornwall, where King Marke expectantly awaits his bride. Passionate arias ensue, fights break out, and finally, we have several drawn-out, dramatic death scenes. In essence, the stuff of any proper opera.
Much to my chagrin however, I found that I didn't have the patience to be completely engaged by this show. In the back of my mind, I couldn't get over the fact that Tristan and Isolde's love was corrupted from the beginning by the potion, and there was no real basis for the passionate duets they were performing. Furthermore (and this may be a sign of how much stimulation we require in modern times), I couldn't help thinking the plot was far too static, with nothing happening for much of the show. Compared to say, The Marriage of Figaro, the amount of action in this opera would have fit into a thimble.
All right then, what about the music? Yes, the orchestration is lush and soprano Deborah Voigt did a phenomenal job of tackling the part of Isolde. The audience is wrapped by a glorious, never-ending wall of music...so continuous that it is difficult to tell where pieces end and begin; even ordinary dialogue is accompanied by the orchestra. Or maybe Wagner intended it to be that way, with his insistence on gesamtkunstwerk, or total artwork. Walking out of the performance, if you were to ask me what the highlights or "greatest hits" of the opera were, I wouldn't know what to say. Well, there was that really great duet in the second act...but that was about 40 minutes long...maybe we can do a radio edit. I fully understand why two people have keeled over and died during this show.
A random aside: I was particularly amused to see that the Lyric Opera's Board of Directors includes none other than the "Honorable Rod Blagojevich."
In conclusion, I will have to echo Mark Twain's opinion of what is widely considered Wagner's greatest single opera. On a visit to Bayreuth, Twain heard Tristan and remarked, "I know of some, and have heard of many, who could not sleep after it, but cried the night away. I feel strongly out of place here. Sometimes I feel like the one sane person in the community of the mad."
I hereby renounce my spot on the 8-year wait list for Bayreuth.
The Civic Opera House is located a couple blocks west of the Loop, and the story is that the architect designed the building such that the audience would sit facing west, with their backs to New York City, because the architect's daughter was rejected by the Metropolitan Opera. Intercity rivalries aside, the building is quite grand, with the appropriate gilded flourishes that befit an opera house, however I prefer the Met's back-of-the-chair subtitle system to the Lyric Opera's over-the-stage subtitles.
Some research prior to the show revealed that staging and performing Tristan und Isolde is no small feat. As with any Wagner production, a certain amount of stamina is required from the performers (and the audience). Not one, but two conductors have died while conducting this show, collapsing in the middle of the second act. As for the singers, Wagner originally wanted the tenor Alois Ander for the role of Tristan, but eventually he proved incapable of learning the part. The premiere in 1865 had to be delayed because Isolde had gone hoarse. And five weeks after the production finally opened, Ludwig Schnorr, who was playing Tristan, suddenly died at the age of 29, after catching a chill, then contracting excruciating rheumatism and apoplexy. On his deathbed, he deliriously burst into song, with his final words being, "Farewell, Siegfried! Console my Richard!" His friends firmly believed that the stress of performing Wagner's music led to this tragedy.
On with the show. Punctually at 6 pm, the curtain parted and the orchestra began playing the prelude, led by the infamous Tristan chord. (I was quite tickled to learn that Debussy's Golliwog's Cakewalk parodies the Tristan chord, who knew?) As it turns out, this chord spurred a great deal of harmonic development in classical music, since it contains not one but two dissonances. Wagner also made innovative use of harmonic suspension, chromaticism and orchestral colour, bridging the moment towards atonalism.
The opera follows the tale of Isolde, an Irish princess, who is being taken by Tristan to Cornwall, where she will be wed to his uncle, King Marke. As you can imagine, Isolde is rather unhappy about this, and tries to kill Tristan and herself by drinking a deadly potion. Alas, at the last minute, her maid switches out the death potion for a love potion instead. This makes things rather awkward when they land in Cornwall, where King Marke expectantly awaits his bride. Passionate arias ensue, fights break out, and finally, we have several drawn-out, dramatic death scenes. In essence, the stuff of any proper opera.
Much to my chagrin however, I found that I didn't have the patience to be completely engaged by this show. In the back of my mind, I couldn't get over the fact that Tristan and Isolde's love was corrupted from the beginning by the potion, and there was no real basis for the passionate duets they were performing. Furthermore (and this may be a sign of how much stimulation we require in modern times), I couldn't help thinking the plot was far too static, with nothing happening for much of the show. Compared to say, The Marriage of Figaro, the amount of action in this opera would have fit into a thimble.
All right then, what about the music? Yes, the orchestration is lush and soprano Deborah Voigt did a phenomenal job of tackling the part of Isolde. The audience is wrapped by a glorious, never-ending wall of music...so continuous that it is difficult to tell where pieces end and begin; even ordinary dialogue is accompanied by the orchestra. Or maybe Wagner intended it to be that way, with his insistence on gesamtkunstwerk, or total artwork. Walking out of the performance, if you were to ask me what the highlights or "greatest hits" of the opera were, I wouldn't know what to say. Well, there was that really great duet in the second act...but that was about 40 minutes long...maybe we can do a radio edit. I fully understand why two people have keeled over and died during this show.
A random aside: I was particularly amused to see that the Lyric Opera's Board of Directors includes none other than the "Honorable Rod Blagojevich."
In conclusion, I will have to echo Mark Twain's opinion of what is widely considered Wagner's greatest single opera. On a visit to Bayreuth, Twain heard Tristan and remarked, "I know of some, and have heard of many, who could not sleep after it, but cried the night away. I feel strongly out of place here. Sometimes I feel like the one sane person in the community of the mad."
I hereby renounce my spot on the 8-year wait list for Bayreuth.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Slumdog Millionaire
Indie film Slumdog Millionaire is now on track complete the fairy tale by capturing an Academy Award for Best Picture. The rags-to-riches tale of an Indian orphan who competes on Who Wants to be a Millionaire has already won a number of Golden Globes, so I was inspired to fork over some money and see it last night.
About 30% of the film was in Hindi, which left me feeling a bit lost. (Knowing Chinese only comes in handy for watching Jackie Chan flicks and understanding the gangsters in Tropic Thunder.) I was also struck by how unfamiliar I am with Indian culture. What on earth just happened to that child? I didn't realize that hot oil was commonly used to blind children, so that they would receive more money while begging. Thus, you should never give money to beggars in India because it may support begging racketeers.
Luckily, Ankita was around to explain some of the lingering questions I had after the movie. One scene involved religious rioting and the massacre of Muslims by Hindus. I didn't understand how you could tell the two groups apart, and moreover, why Muslim-Hindu tension existed in the first place. Ankita gave a brief overview of the history of religious tensions in India, noting that Muslims are a minority group, which means they receive institutionalized preferential treatment, akin to affirmative action policies in the US. Coupled with their lower socioeconomic status, higher birth rates, and chafing from Muslim rule in the 11th to 17th centuries, there is a lot of resentment towards Muslims from Hindus. As for separating Muslims apart from the crowd, generally it is not blatantly apparent that someone is Muslim, but certain neighborhoods are predominantly Muslim and subject to attack. In addition, men are sometimes forced to take down their pants (Muslims are traditionally circumcised while Hindus are not).
I was also wondering why there was a question for 10 million rupees on the game show, as opposed to a "round" number like 1 million. As it turns out, the Indian numbering system is based on two-digit groupings (not three), which means 10 million (1,00,00,000) is a crore.
The highlight of the movie was unquestionably the footage of life in the slums. Far from being a depressing indictment of our failure to rectify world poverty, the movie illustrates the joie de vivre of slumdogs and their tenacity for survival. Even amongst the trash heaps and rubble, there is life and beauty. And of course, the children playing slum dwellers were adorable. But isn't this simply an idealized perspective of the slums, sanitized for Western eyes? According to Ankita at least, the slums are "not a bad place to live," and are much preferred to public housing. In fact, almost every home in the slums has a TV. There has been political pressure to move slum denizens to housing projects, but this has been met with much protest, so the slums will stay put for the time being.
Katherine: How do you dance like an Indian? You screw in the light bulb while patting the dog.
Harkening back to its Bollywood roots, the movie ends with a theatrical dance sequence, with hundreds of choreographed dancers performing on a train platform. It's an exuberant flourish for a conclusion, a feel-good ending that appeals to Western sensibilities. The extreme poverty and political woes depicted in the film will not be resolved any time soon, as evidenced by the recent terrorist attacks in Mumbai, but ultimately, we can go home at peace, knowing that the American dream is alive and well in India.
About 30% of the film was in Hindi, which left me feeling a bit lost. (Knowing Chinese only comes in handy for watching Jackie Chan flicks and understanding the gangsters in Tropic Thunder.) I was also struck by how unfamiliar I am with Indian culture. What on earth just happened to that child? I didn't realize that hot oil was commonly used to blind children, so that they would receive more money while begging. Thus, you should never give money to beggars in India because it may support begging racketeers.
Luckily, Ankita was around to explain some of the lingering questions I had after the movie. One scene involved religious rioting and the massacre of Muslims by Hindus. I didn't understand how you could tell the two groups apart, and moreover, why Muslim-Hindu tension existed in the first place. Ankita gave a brief overview of the history of religious tensions in India, noting that Muslims are a minority group, which means they receive institutionalized preferential treatment, akin to affirmative action policies in the US. Coupled with their lower socioeconomic status, higher birth rates, and chafing from Muslim rule in the 11th to 17th centuries, there is a lot of resentment towards Muslims from Hindus. As for separating Muslims apart from the crowd, generally it is not blatantly apparent that someone is Muslim, but certain neighborhoods are predominantly Muslim and subject to attack. In addition, men are sometimes forced to take down their pants (Muslims are traditionally circumcised while Hindus are not).
I was also wondering why there was a question for 10 million rupees on the game show, as opposed to a "round" number like 1 million. As it turns out, the Indian numbering system is based on two-digit groupings (not three), which means 10 million (1,00,00,000) is a crore.
The highlight of the movie was unquestionably the footage of life in the slums. Far from being a depressing indictment of our failure to rectify world poverty, the movie illustrates the joie de vivre of slumdogs and their tenacity for survival. Even amongst the trash heaps and rubble, there is life and beauty. And of course, the children playing slum dwellers were adorable. But isn't this simply an idealized perspective of the slums, sanitized for Western eyes? According to Ankita at least, the slums are "not a bad place to live," and are much preferred to public housing. In fact, almost every home in the slums has a TV. There has been political pressure to move slum denizens to housing projects, but this has been met with much protest, so the slums will stay put for the time being.
Katherine: How do you dance like an Indian? You screw in the light bulb while patting the dog.
Harkening back to its Bollywood roots, the movie ends with a theatrical dance sequence, with hundreds of choreographed dancers performing on a train platform. It's an exuberant flourish for a conclusion, a feel-good ending that appeals to Western sensibilities. The extreme poverty and political woes depicted in the film will not be resolved any time soon, as evidenced by the recent terrorist attacks in Mumbai, but ultimately, we can go home at peace, knowing that the American dream is alive and well in India.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
What I've Been Reading
I've been on a book binge lately, trying to shorten my gargantuan list of books to read. Here are the other books I've checked out over the last couple weeks:
- My Brain is Open: The Mathematical Journeys of Paul Erdös, by Bruce Schecter: This biography of Paul Erdös paints a vivid picture of modern mathematics' most eccentric personality, a fascinating depiction even for those who are not mathematically inclined. Erdös famously had many oddball quirks, from his peripatetic living habits (he did not have a formal address, but constantly moved from one co-author's couch to the next), to his invented vocabulary (children were called "episilons," women were "bosses," and people who had stopped doing math had "died"). With over 450 co-authors and 1,500 papers to his credit, it is a popular game amongst mathematicians to trace yourself back to Erdös via degrees of collaboration (akin to the Kevin Bacon game). Though much of his work is beyond the comprehension of general readers, this book provides an accessible introduction to one of the 20th century's greatest thinkers.
- Adverbs, by David Handler: From the book jacket, "Adverbs is a novel about love--a bunch of different people, in and out of different kinds of love...This novel is about people trying to find love in the ways it is done before the volcano erupts and the miracle ends. Yes, there's a volcano in this novel. In my opinion a volcano automatically makes a story more interesting." With a different adverb to title each chapter and an endorsement from Dave Eggers on the back, Adverbs is a quirky, SWPL read from the same author of the Lemony Snicket series.
- Fruitless Fall: The Collapse of the Honey Bee and the Coming Agricultural Crisis, by Rowan Jacobsen: Over the last couple years, the North American honey bee population has been decimated by unknown causes. Billed as this generation's Silent Spring, Fruitless Fall discusses the importance of bees to agricultural production, and how their disappearance forebodes an agricultural crisis that will necessitate a revolution in the way we produce our food. Jacobsen illustrates the lifestyle of the bee and the intelligence of the hive, and how that way of life is under unprecedented strain. Suffice it to say that the next time I need to buy honey, I will be running to my local organic farmer.
- Self-Made Man: One Woman's Year Disguised as a Man, by Norah Vincent: After taking Desire, I am pretty much a sucker for anything involving gender identity, so the appeal of this book is self-explanatory. The author goes to great lengths to explore the male lens, changing her attitude and appearance to infiltrate a men's bowling league, strip clubs, and a monastery. She even attends a Robert Bly-style men's retreat. If you've ever rued your own gender, this book provides some thought-provoking insight on what it's like to play another sex role.
- Insatiable: Tales from a Life of Delicious Excess, by Gael Greene: From the pulpit of New York magazine food critic, Greene unabashedly brings us a steamy blend of power, sex and food as she details her travels and dalliances with everyone from Julia Child to Elvis.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Glasses
The last time I had my eyes checked was sophomore year...of high school. So, now that I have vision insurance, I figured it was time to replace my old glasses. Over the years, these babies have been scratched, dropped, sat on, and thrown off bikes. If I tilt my head down, they tend to fall off. When I handed them to the optometrist, he set them down and summarily said, "Yeah, these have had it." I promised him I would come back more often than every 9 years.
In the last 9 years, they have also improved eye examination technology quite a bit. Rather than dilating my eyes (which is always a huge annoyance and painful), they used an Optos retinal scan to photograph and image the back of my eyeball. Apparently, I have "gorgeous" retinas and optic nerves. They also had a video-game-like exercise to document your blind spots, where fuzzy blocks would flash in various parts of your field of vision, and you had to push the button if you could see it. I missed a few patches at the beginning, but once I figured out what was going on, I caught every block thereafter.
I didn't spend that much time choosing new frames, but when I happened upon these, the receptionist called them "funky." I decided that this was a positive thing. Also, I have a slight nickel allergy, which means I was limited to the few pairs of titanium or stainless steel frames available. Anyway, here's the "funkier," edgier new me:
In the last 9 years, they have also improved eye examination technology quite a bit. Rather than dilating my eyes (which is always a huge annoyance and painful), they used an Optos retinal scan to photograph and image the back of my eyeball. Apparently, I have "gorgeous" retinas and optic nerves. They also had a video-game-like exercise to document your blind spots, where fuzzy blocks would flash in various parts of your field of vision, and you had to push the button if you could see it. I missed a few patches at the beginning, but once I figured out what was going on, I caught every block thereafter.
I didn't spend that much time choosing new frames, but when I happened upon these, the receptionist called them "funky." I decided that this was a positive thing. Also, I have a slight nickel allergy, which means I was limited to the few pairs of titanium or stainless steel frames available. Anyway, here's the "funkier," edgier new me:
Friday, January 16, 2009
EconomyCat is Sad
The next FOMC meeting is on the 27th, which means that here at the Chicago Fed we are busy as beavers, preparing our forecasts for the new year. At a department meeting this afternoon, there was abysmal news from nearly every sector and the mood was downright depressing. Financial markets? A few spreads are down from historic highs, which means credit conditions have gone from "outrageously bad" to "really bad." Labor? Last month's unemployment figures were uglier than Anna Nicole Smith. Manufacturing? Like Steve Jobs' weight, steel production is 41% of what it was a year ago. On the bright side, at least we don't have the inflationary pressures that we had a year ago, but this will change quite soon when the printing presses are running full-speed.
Toward the end of the meeting, we began brainstorming ideas for what to do when the economy is going to hell in a hand basket. As you might expect, there are no easy policy prescriptions, particularly when the federal funds target rate is already at/near zero. Should we continue introducing programs to buy troubled assets? This will at least keep the Acronym-Generating sector fully productive. What if we move into the business of buying longer-term debt? How can we justify buying some assets and not others, implicitly making value judgments on certain goods? Will the Fed be able to eventually disentangle itself when it needs to exit these markets?
At least the current situation makes for plenty of dark humor, as evidenced by the following comments:
"The unemployment numbers are in...the good news is, everyone in this room is still employed!"
(Looking at the S&P 500) "This is where I'd retire at 60, this is where I'd retire at 70, and this is where I'm never retiring."
Me: "Oh yeah? Well, this is where I pay for your social security."
"All the business guys want to know which sector is going to grow this year."
"Don't worry, academic publishing will save us all."
Let us all cross our fingers that Obama (and his $825B stimulus package) will prevent a crippling depression.
Finally, I particularly enjoyed these captions (courtesy of Dealbreaker) from yesterday's US Air plane crash in the Hudson. (Too soon? I've decided that since no one died, the answer is no.)
Toward the end of the meeting, we began brainstorming ideas for what to do when the economy is going to hell in a hand basket. As you might expect, there are no easy policy prescriptions, particularly when the federal funds target rate is already at/near zero. Should we continue introducing programs to buy troubled assets? This will at least keep the Acronym-Generating sector fully productive. What if we move into the business of buying longer-term debt? How can we justify buying some assets and not others, implicitly making value judgments on certain goods? Will the Fed be able to eventually disentangle itself when it needs to exit these markets?
At least the current situation makes for plenty of dark humor, as evidenced by the following comments:
"The unemployment numbers are in...the good news is, everyone in this room is still employed!"
(Looking at the S&P 500) "This is where I'd retire at 60, this is where I'd retire at 70, and this is where I'm never retiring."
Me: "Oh yeah? Well, this is where I pay for your social security."
"All the business guys want to know which sector is going to grow this year."
"Don't worry, academic publishing will save us all."
Let us all cross our fingers that Obama (and his $825B stimulus package) will prevent a crippling depression.
Finally, I particularly enjoyed these captions (courtesy of Dealbreaker) from yesterday's US Air plane crash in the Hudson. (Too soon? I've decided that since no one died, the answer is no.)
Monday, January 12, 2009
Letters to a Young Chef
Eminent chef and restauranteur Daniel Boulud's Letters to a Young Chef became an instant classic upon publication in 2003, a compilation of letters dedicated to one of his many protegés. Chief among the most popular anecdotes is a discussion of how he judges a cook's talent by analyzing how he makes an omelet. Does he beat the eggs with a fork so that the eggs are aerated but not foamy? Does he add diced butter to the egg mixture which will melt when it hits the pan? Does he use a black steel pan and not wash it, but scour it with a handful of salt? And we haven't even gotten to the actual cooking yet. No wonder my omelets never turn out perfect!
The book goes on to discuss various facets of being a professional chef, from befriending your suppliers to traveling (or moving to a large city) to learn cuisines around the world. He confirms that the profit margin on food at high-end restaurants is minimal, however wine and dessert sales make up for those loss leaders. Smart investments in the wine cellar will appreciate over the years, and the margins on those bottles will allow you to offer cheaper wine as well. If you are at all interested in cooking, this is a fun and lightweight read (150 pages).
This isn't directly related to running restaurants, but I was struck by the following tangent on the influence of cultural standards on resource allocation:
The book goes on to discuss various facets of being a professional chef, from befriending your suppliers to traveling (or moving to a large city) to learn cuisines around the world. He confirms that the profit margin on food at high-end restaurants is minimal, however wine and dessert sales make up for those loss leaders. Smart investments in the wine cellar will appreciate over the years, and the margins on those bottles will allow you to offer cheaper wine as well. If you are at all interested in cooking, this is a fun and lightweight read (150 pages).
This isn't directly related to running restaurants, but I was struck by the following tangent on the influence of cultural standards on resource allocation:
The French took dining, a part of daily life, raised it to an art, embedded it in high culture and thereby attracted the economic resources to develop a more refined and expert interpretation of food than anywhere else in the world. In much the same way, French haute couture took another part of daily life and similarly developed it. A dress embroidered with pearls and trimmed with fur is, in some sense, not unlike a saddle of veal studded with truffles, stuffed with chestnuts and glazed with port. It is expensive. It is refined. But it would never happen were it not for a public that appreciated and would pay for it. Cultures make choices for their definitive statements. The Italians lavished everything on developing their opera and the Russians their ballet. The French chose haute cuisine and haute couture. Today these two hautes have globalized, yet kept their French sensibility.An interesting question: what definitive statements has American culture made? Where have we focused our energy and funding? It's too easy to simply lambast American culture as being gross and unrefined, to lament our national exports as fast food and Walmart. Is it our film industry? Football? Programming languages (almost all have originated in the US)?
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Sixteen at Trump Tower
I was lucky enough to score an evaluation of Sixteen, the new restaurant at Chicago's Trump International Hotel & Tower. This officially marks the most expensive meal of my life, though ultimately I wasn't paying for it (phew). Sixteen opened fairly recently last spring, to much hoopla and fanfare as is appropriate for a Trump property. Now, does it live up to the hype? Some thoughts on the experience:
The service is phenomenal
As soon as I stepped foot on the sidewalk outside Trump Tower, it was as though I'd entered the Pampered Princess Zone. Doors were opened for me. Revolving doors were revolved for me. I didn't have to lift a finger to push the elevator button. Heck, they even wiped my ass for me. Okay, they didn't, but they did pretty much put on my coat for me. Service flow during dinner was extraordinarily smooth, probably better than any other restaurant I've ever seen before. Plates were silently whisked away as soon as I set down my fork, and my glass was never more than halfway empty. Plus, our server was super cute and knew the menu inside and out. I peppered her with questions about the barramundi (a type of fish), while Jen asked her to describe a couple wines from the hefty list, and she handily provided detailed descriptions.
The gay bartender is adorable
I arranged to come before Jen, so that I would have an excuse to scope out the bar before dinner. The bar was fairly quiet, with only 3 other guests around, but no matter, the bartender was there to keep up the patter of conversation and provide festive beverages. Like everyone else I encountered, he was all smiles. He also asked me for an id, which is unusual at high-end places in my experience, so good for him! Also, the bar snacks provided included mixed nuts, olives, and cured garlic. That's right, I was noshing on whole cloves of garlic, and it was delicious. (Much more pleasant than the time Scott dared me to eat whole cloves of raw garlic) With that precursor, I had great expectations for dinner, but...
The food is meh
After our meal, I felt incredibly full even though I hadn't actually eaten that much because everything was so rich, and not necessarily in a good way. Chef Brunacci's menu features contemporary American takes on standard dishes (duck, rack of lamb, scallop, steak), and certainly focused on meat as the center of the plate. There were no vegetarian-friendly options for entrees, not even a pasta dish, and I don't think any of the appetizers were vegetarian either. I ended up trying the foie gras (parsley sauce, crab salad and puff pastry) for an appetizer, the duck (polenta cake, date & orange chutney, and black cardamom) for my entree, and the Nougat Deconstructed (honey ice cream, pistachio crisp, sheet wafer) for dessert. Each item was good, but not outstanding, and I found myself hankering for other flavors besides decadent meaty & creamy goodness. For instance, I would have rather had less duck in exchange for additional polenta and chutney. We were also given an oxtail-mushroom soup amuse-bouche, a caramel creme tart for a pre-dessert course, and a tray of caramels, macaroons and petit fours for a post-dessert course. This results in an awful lot of dessert, and by the end, I was too full to appreciate any of it. I would have much preferred a lighter intermezzo course; even the typical tart sorbet would have provided some much-needed contrast.
Don't get me wrong, the food is very good, it simply didn't wow me. I would venture to say the duck I had at Taughannock Farms Inn was better. And I say all this knowing that many people have worked very hard at putting together this restaurant, and think it's the bestest restaurant in the city, and here I go lambasting the food in one swoop as just being "okay." Considering my most recent restaurant excursions (Ethiopian, fish tacos, pork & beer hall), perhaps this simply isn't diverse enough to be my style of restaurant. Or, perhaps I'm becoming jaded.
Trump is in da hizzouse
Hot damn, is that a 19,000-crystal Swarovski chandelier hanging from the 30' ceiling? Can we say this place packs some bling? Much like its namesake, Trump Tower has a flair for the dramatic, though it is always with understated elegance. From the chocolate bark embossed with the Trump logo in our dessert, to the jaw-dropping view of the Chicago skyline, the atmosphere was designed to be bold and ostentatious, though never tacky. The foyer features an impressive look at the wine cellar, with hundreds of bottles neatly stacked behind the glass. I might also add that the chairs come with armrests and are incredibly comfortable. And, in case you are interested in living so luxuriously on a permanent basis, business cards and pamphlets to buy a condominium in Trump Tower are tucked into the credit card folios.
Conclusion: Sixteen is overpriced like an airplane seat-pocket catalogue
I wanted to love this restaurant, I really did. But I hear there's a recession in town, and that does not bode well for Sixteen in its current form. Chicago is a big town with lots of upscale restaurants, and with $14 cocktails, $25 appetizers, $45 entrees and $15 desserts, I can easily think of other places where I can get better food for that money. Does the view and the service compensate for the just-good food? I'm thinking no. Moreover, hotel restaurants always fight an uphill battle to attract non-hotel guests. Does Sixteen have enough to differentiate itself from the city's coterie of independent restaurants? I'm not sure that it does. At any rate, fear not, Sixteen will be around for at least as long as Trump Tower is operating...
The service is phenomenal
As soon as I stepped foot on the sidewalk outside Trump Tower, it was as though I'd entered the Pampered Princess Zone. Doors were opened for me. Revolving doors were revolved for me. I didn't have to lift a finger to push the elevator button. Heck, they even wiped my ass for me. Okay, they didn't, but they did pretty much put on my coat for me. Service flow during dinner was extraordinarily smooth, probably better than any other restaurant I've ever seen before. Plates were silently whisked away as soon as I set down my fork, and my glass was never more than halfway empty. Plus, our server was super cute and knew the menu inside and out. I peppered her with questions about the barramundi (a type of fish), while Jen asked her to describe a couple wines from the hefty list, and she handily provided detailed descriptions.
The gay bartender is adorable
I arranged to come before Jen, so that I would have an excuse to scope out the bar before dinner. The bar was fairly quiet, with only 3 other guests around, but no matter, the bartender was there to keep up the patter of conversation and provide festive beverages. Like everyone else I encountered, he was all smiles. He also asked me for an id, which is unusual at high-end places in my experience, so good for him! Also, the bar snacks provided included mixed nuts, olives, and cured garlic. That's right, I was noshing on whole cloves of garlic, and it was delicious. (Much more pleasant than the time Scott dared me to eat whole cloves of raw garlic) With that precursor, I had great expectations for dinner, but...
The food is meh
After our meal, I felt incredibly full even though I hadn't actually eaten that much because everything was so rich, and not necessarily in a good way. Chef Brunacci's menu features contemporary American takes on standard dishes (duck, rack of lamb, scallop, steak), and certainly focused on meat as the center of the plate. There were no vegetarian-friendly options for entrees, not even a pasta dish, and I don't think any of the appetizers were vegetarian either. I ended up trying the foie gras (parsley sauce, crab salad and puff pastry) for an appetizer, the duck (polenta cake, date & orange chutney, and black cardamom) for my entree, and the Nougat Deconstructed (honey ice cream, pistachio crisp, sheet wafer) for dessert. Each item was good, but not outstanding, and I found myself hankering for other flavors besides decadent meaty & creamy goodness. For instance, I would have rather had less duck in exchange for additional polenta and chutney. We were also given an oxtail-mushroom soup amuse-bouche, a caramel creme tart for a pre-dessert course, and a tray of caramels, macaroons and petit fours for a post-dessert course. This results in an awful lot of dessert, and by the end, I was too full to appreciate any of it. I would have much preferred a lighter intermezzo course; even the typical tart sorbet would have provided some much-needed contrast.
Don't get me wrong, the food is very good, it simply didn't wow me. I would venture to say the duck I had at Taughannock Farms Inn was better. And I say all this knowing that many people have worked very hard at putting together this restaurant, and think it's the bestest restaurant in the city, and here I go lambasting the food in one swoop as just being "okay." Considering my most recent restaurant excursions (Ethiopian, fish tacos, pork & beer hall), perhaps this simply isn't diverse enough to be my style of restaurant. Or, perhaps I'm becoming jaded.
Trump is in da hizzouse
Hot damn, is that a 19,000-crystal Swarovski chandelier hanging from the 30' ceiling? Can we say this place packs some bling? Much like its namesake, Trump Tower has a flair for the dramatic, though it is always with understated elegance. From the chocolate bark embossed with the Trump logo in our dessert, to the jaw-dropping view of the Chicago skyline, the atmosphere was designed to be bold and ostentatious, though never tacky. The foyer features an impressive look at the wine cellar, with hundreds of bottles neatly stacked behind the glass. I might also add that the chairs come with armrests and are incredibly comfortable. And, in case you are interested in living so luxuriously on a permanent basis, business cards and pamphlets to buy a condominium in Trump Tower are tucked into the credit card folios.
Conclusion: Sixteen is overpriced like an airplane seat-pocket catalogue
I wanted to love this restaurant, I really did. But I hear there's a recession in town, and that does not bode well for Sixteen in its current form. Chicago is a big town with lots of upscale restaurants, and with $14 cocktails, $25 appetizers, $45 entrees and $15 desserts, I can easily think of other places where I can get better food for that money. Does the view and the service compensate for the just-good food? I'm thinking no. Moreover, hotel restaurants always fight an uphill battle to attract non-hotel guests. Does Sixteen have enough to differentiate itself from the city's coterie of independent restaurants? I'm not sure that it does. At any rate, fear not, Sixteen will be around for at least as long as Trump Tower is operating...
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Something Borrowed, Something Red
Well, I can now officially cross off "bridesmaid" on my list of things to do. Emily asked me to be part of her bridal party, and according to Matt's mom, short of pregancy, I can't say no, so...
To be honest, I haven't seen Emily in years. She doesn't even go by the same name any more! (That's right, not one, but two of my friends independently changed their names to "Mia" after high school graduation.) However, we were very good friends in middle school. And um, I love doing things for the Story, and this will certainly be an interesting one. Besides, I can visit my grandmother and cousins while I'm in Louisville.
By the way, she's chosen a bright red strapless number for the bridesmaids dresses. Apparently, I have to pick up the dress in Chicago and get it tailored to fit me. Then, I need to buy matching shoes. There's something about a hair appointment as well. And since the wedding is mid-August, I will probably need to do something about tan lines. This is so not my usual style. Omghelp.
To be honest, I haven't seen Emily in years. She doesn't even go by the same name any more! (That's right, not one, but two of my friends independently changed their names to "Mia" after high school graduation.) However, we were very good friends in middle school. And um, I love doing things for the Story, and this will certainly be an interesting one. Besides, I can visit my grandmother and cousins while I'm in Louisville.
By the way, she's chosen a bright red strapless number for the bridesmaids dresses. Apparently, I have to pick up the dress in Chicago and get it tailored to fit me. Then, I need to buy matching shoes. There's something about a hair appointment as well. And since the wedding is mid-August, I will probably need to do something about tan lines. This is so not my usual style. Omghelp.
Something Old, Something New
It's 2009 and I don't know where I'm going or who I am. Funny how an arbitrary social construction has such power to trigger quarter-life crises. And for a number of reasons, coming back to Chicago was kind of a letdown. I realize that vacations are obviously more fun than normality, but being at home and hanging out with old friends really brought out thoughts and emotions that had gone latent in the last year. This is probably a little true for everyone, but I feel like a chameleon, as though the people I am surrounded by bring out different things in me, for better or worse.
Identity crisis aside, Dan was in town to visit, so I was able to continue wading in nostalgia for a few days. Who else is going to discuss the Sokal affair and empirical moral psychology with me? Just like old times, he arrived with at least half a dozen books, khakis, and a Windows-free computer. Plus, he was game for doing some biking around town, the first of my out-of-town visitors to take the challenge, and in winter no less.
Among other places, we ended up at San Soo Gap San (a kick-ass Korean restaurant, albeit with charmingly terrible service), Ethiopian Diamond (silverware is for wimps), and Meigs Field. The latter is not generally high on the list of Chicago sights to see, but if you are familiar with the game Microsoft Flight Simulator, Meigs Field is the default take-off location. Unfortunately, the airport is no longer in existence because in 2003, under the cover of darkness, Mayor Daley illegally ordered construction crews to gouge gashes in the runway to forcibly close the airport. Ostensibly, "homeland security" was the reason given for its closure. As a result, 16 planes were left stranded without a runway, and one flight had to be diverted. Ah, Chicago politics... Today, there is one control tower left, but the rest of the island is desolate parkland. One building remains as a "Visitor's Center," which was closed even though we arrived during the posted opening hours.
Saturday night, we made a quick stop at the Publican for drinks and fries before a show at Second City. After hearing lots of buzz for the last couple months, I was curious to check out this much-heralded restaurant and its pork & beer-heavy menu. This is definitely not a place to bring your vegetarian friends. We couldn't get a reservation for a table, but there are a few circular cocktail tables that you can comfortably huddle around. The beer list is extensive, almost to the point of being overwhelming, however our server gave several recommendations, and most of us opted to take one of her suggestions. And oh, the fries! Piping hot, crisp frites in a paper cone, served with an aioli on the side. I also tried the pork rinds, which came perfectly puffed and salted, with a slight tartness. This is "bar food" at its best.
Excellent food aside, I do have mixed feelings about the restaurant's decor, which is evocative of a beer hall. Dan and Nate took offense when I described the atmosphere as "masculine," but seriously, there are lots of heavy lines and hard angles, loud music, and a whole lot of wood. Seating options consist of enclosed booths with doors (these reminded me of 19th century church pews), or there is a long table for communal dining, with bulky, square chairs. This would be the perfect place to hold a beefsteak. Having painted a testoterone-laden picture though, I will say that I never felt uncomfortable or uneasy. I'm not enough of a meat aficianado to come here on my own (I can't remember the last time I was at a steakhouse), but it was a fun place to hang out for drinks, and was certainly a step up from say, drinking at Funk.
Identity crisis aside, Dan was in town to visit, so I was able to continue wading in nostalgia for a few days. Who else is going to discuss the Sokal affair and empirical moral psychology with me? Just like old times, he arrived with at least half a dozen books, khakis, and a Windows-free computer. Plus, he was game for doing some biking around town, the first of my out-of-town visitors to take the challenge, and in winter no less.
Among other places, we ended up at San Soo Gap San (a kick-ass Korean restaurant, albeit with charmingly terrible service), Ethiopian Diamond (silverware is for wimps), and Meigs Field. The latter is not generally high on the list of Chicago sights to see, but if you are familiar with the game Microsoft Flight Simulator, Meigs Field is the default take-off location. Unfortunately, the airport is no longer in existence because in 2003, under the cover of darkness, Mayor Daley illegally ordered construction crews to gouge gashes in the runway to forcibly close the airport. Ostensibly, "homeland security" was the reason given for its closure. As a result, 16 planes were left stranded without a runway, and one flight had to be diverted. Ah, Chicago politics... Today, there is one control tower left, but the rest of the island is desolate parkland. One building remains as a "Visitor's Center," which was closed even though we arrived during the posted opening hours.
Saturday night, we made a quick stop at the Publican for drinks and fries before a show at Second City. After hearing lots of buzz for the last couple months, I was curious to check out this much-heralded restaurant and its pork & beer-heavy menu. This is definitely not a place to bring your vegetarian friends. We couldn't get a reservation for a table, but there are a few circular cocktail tables that you can comfortably huddle around. The beer list is extensive, almost to the point of being overwhelming, however our server gave several recommendations, and most of us opted to take one of her suggestions. And oh, the fries! Piping hot, crisp frites in a paper cone, served with an aioli on the side. I also tried the pork rinds, which came perfectly puffed and salted, with a slight tartness. This is "bar food" at its best.
Excellent food aside, I do have mixed feelings about the restaurant's decor, which is evocative of a beer hall. Dan and Nate took offense when I described the atmosphere as "masculine," but seriously, there are lots of heavy lines and hard angles, loud music, and a whole lot of wood. Seating options consist of enclosed booths with doors (these reminded me of 19th century church pews), or there is a long table for communal dining, with bulky, square chairs. This would be the perfect place to hold a beefsteak. Having painted a testoterone-laden picture though, I will say that I never felt uncomfortable or uneasy. I'm not enough of a meat aficianado to come here on my own (I can't remember the last time I was at a steakhouse), but it was a fun place to hang out for drinks, and was certainly a step up from say, drinking at Funk.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
[untitled]
I am eternally grateful for the Random Guy on the Red Line, who offered me advice and solace when I did not even know I needed it. Thanks.
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