A tribute to The New Orleans Underground Gourmet. Richard Collin, a history professor at Louisiana State University at New Orleans (now the University of New Orleans) was the first real restaurant critic in the Crescent City, writing the column "The New Orleans Underground Gourmet." When I was growing up, his word was almost gospel around our house, and my dad was particularly fond of his columns and his book that came out in 1973. He was erudite, witty and had the proper amount of pomp and condescension for a food critic, but generally only applied where it was deserved. I remember poring over the book when I was a kid. I was always reading well above my grade level as a kid, and Collin's reviews were challenging yet entertaining, my first glimpse of what it was like to truly appreciate fine food in New Orleans. Unfortunately I never got to try many of the great restaurants of the past -- my palate was rather unrefined and uneducated back then, and for the longest time I wouldn't even eat seafood (which appalls me today). My folks would come home talking about the restaurants they loved when they went out (the late, lamented LeRuth's for one, which was their favorite), but sadly, those places would have been wasted on me when I was young. What I can do is read Collin's old book, which is a fascinating look at the New Orleans restaurant scene of 30 years ago. Some of those places are still around, of course, but many have been lost to history, bad times, changing tastes and the wrecking ball. I wasn't able to find our old copy of The New Orleans Underground Gourmet at my folks' house, but copies in good condition are usually available via ABEbooks.com, which is where I got mine. One other thing I can do is to use one of Collin's terms for describing a truly great dish, a term I remember my dad using a lot as well. Collin explains it thusly in his book:
PLATONIC DISH - This is my own personal accolade. The term is derived from Plato's Republic. It simply means the best imaginable realization of a particular dish. 'Perfect' would be a good translation.For old times' sake, and as a tribute to Prof. Collin, I'm going to start using that old term again. I hope he doesn't mind.
Mmm, cabbage rolls and coffee ... can't be beat! Well, actually, I'm not talking Leutonian cuisine today, I'm talking Polish cuisine (although undoubtedly the homeland of Mrs. Vilviacki and the Shmenge brothers isn't far from Poland). Polish cuisine is hearty, simple, tasty and filling fare, and although it can be nicely fancied up (such as at the fabulous Warszawa Restaurant in Santa Monica), our favorite is the inexpensive Polish restaurant Polka, right in the neighborhood, "where Eagle Rock fades into Glendale." Family-owned and -run, it's a tiny place and you'll often wait for a table (even if you get there at 5:30, like we did). Service is friendly if a bit leisurely at times (it's a two- or three-person operation at most at any one time, and they're usually busy), but always with a smile and proper Polish accents. If you pronounce one of the names of the dishes properly, count on lavish compliments on your linguistic talents as well. The dish I'm finishing off as leftovers as I write always makes me think of Mrs. Vilviacki, Leutonian though she may be. I love good stuffed cabbage (we do it in New Orleans too), and the Polish version may well be the best. There it's called gołąbki (or golabki if your browser can't interpret the Polish characters), pronounced something like "go-WUMP-kee" and thoroughly delicious.
 Everything we've ever had at Polka has been terrific, and we couldn't recommend them more highly. They're closed on Monday and Tuesday, but any other night (or lunchtime) you're in for tons of great Polish food for a low price. That's my favorite price, next to free.
Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it. Via Kos, "in case you haven't been keeping up with developments in Vietnam" 38 years ago...
U.S. Encouraged by Vietnam Vote:We all remember how that one turned out. Those in the press, administration and "wingnut blogosphere", as Kos put it, would be advised to think and to truly assess the realities of the situation in Iraq before dancing any victory jigs.
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Butter-poached lobster. My eyeballs roll up in my head in ecstasy at the very idea, the mere mention of such a thing. Chef Thomas Keller, whose Napa Valley restaurant The French Laundry is probably the best in the country, cooks lobster this way, and it's perhaps the most perfect method ever devised. I love the sweet flavor of lobster, but it's really hard to cook well. Even in nice restaurants, I've ended up with lobster that's the consistency of chewing gum. Keller's signature technique of slowly, gently poaching lobster in butter is decadent genius and lets both the flavor and texture of the lobster shine.
The technique is included in Keller's gorgeous coffee-table volume
Sad news has come to town. As an Irish traditional flute player (of extremely minimal ability), I note with sadness the passing of one of the greats, which I read about in today's edition of Ireland's Hot Press magazine, in Sarah McQuaid's "Folk Centre" column:
Sad news has come in that the great Clare flute player PJ Crotty passed away at Ennis Hospital on January 7. PJ was diagnosed with cancer of the blood platelets about six years ago, but it was during this time that he recorded his wonderful Happy To Meet. Following his removal the following day in Lahinch, all in attendance went back to The Atlantic House Hotel and a session started that lasted all night. At the funeral mass on the Sunday, the church was filled with musicians. The Cor Cúil Aodha sang the mass in Irish under the direction of Peadar Ó Ríada, and solos were played during the service by Liam O'Flynn, Seán Keane, Matt Molloy and Kevin Crawford. Before the casket left the church, PJ's wife Angela played a tune on the whistle, and when she finished all the flute players present came forward and played sets of tunes in unison. I'm told it was a beautiful sight and sound. You can hear a lovely tribute to PJ on www.rte.ie/radio1/ceilihouse. Also featured is piper Joe Shannon, who passed away on St. Stephen's Day.Jaysis, they sure know how to send off their musicians on that tiny, wonderful island, don't they? If my own musical skills were in the tiniest way noteworthy, I'd love to go out like that (followed by a jazz funeral, of course). Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam.
Editorial cartoon of the day. by Nick Anderson.
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Photo of the day. This sign was outside Johnson's Grocery in Eunice, Louisiana ... one of my very favorite places to get boudin.
Speaking of boudin ... I should perhaps explain what boudin is. It's both a delicacy, and the fast food of Cajun and Creole country. It's a product born of poverty, in which rice was added to the sausage to stretch it out (which we now realize, of course, is an integral part of its innate fabulosity). Or, as they say on The Boudin Link, "As everyone in South Louisiana knows, boudin is a delicious blend of rice, pork, and spices injected into a natural casing and served everywhere from the fanciest restaurants to gas stations. While most locals feel that they know where the 'best' boudin is made, no one has yet attempted a comprehensive taste guide to all the boudin in South Louisiana. The Boudin Link is THE GUIDE to boudin." Some of the Fat Pack and I have been wanting to do something like this for a while, but Coach "T" and Dr. C, Lafayette residents both, beat us to it. Makes sense, really -- they're there year-round, and we just visit a few times a year. They've got plenty of places listed with more being added all the time -- I'll consult the boudin connoisseurs in the Pack to see what their favorite places are, and I'll annotate here. (Thanks for the link, Brian!) They give a "B" to Sunset Specialty Meats in Sunset, Louisiana, where I sampled a link of boudin just over a week ago. It was quite good, although I agree about the rubberiness of the casing (which I rarely eat anyway). It seems that I missed my real opportunity when I was there, though; they noted that Sunset Specialty Meats "had THE BEST CRACKLINS we've ever tasted. They were meaty (more meat than fat/skin), perfectly seasoned, and warm." Oh my. Next time. Ehh, it's not too far from my sister's house ... Coach and Doctor, y'all gotta make it up to Eunice!
Zydeco Breakfast at Café des Amis. Oh, speaking of boudin (what, again?) ... One thing my sister Melissa plopped onto the head of the agenda when I was visiting her and her hubby in Lafayette Parish last week was to have breakfast at one of our favorite Acadiana eateries, Café des Amis. They're back and going strong after a devastating fire closed them down for months, and given the look of the crowd early on a Saturday morning, they're more popular than ever. When we called the day before, they told us "Better get here early; it fills up fast. We start seating at 7:30, and the band goes on at 7:45." Seven-thirty? A.M.?! Surely one can't even digest food that early! We decided for a more civilized 9:45. When we got there the place was indeed jam-packed, and the first thing we saw was a line of older Creole men leaning on the bar, eyeing women while nursing rocks glasses full of whiskey on the rocks. For breakfast. "I love this place," I said. Folks were eating at their tables, drinking and/or resting by the bar, and dancing to the high-powered zydeco of Terry and the Zydeco Bad Boys, who had apparently been playing for two hours without a break, and would continue until 11 without a break (zydeco bands tend to be rather hard-working).
 One look at the breakfast menu made my eyes widen. They started off with some traditdional Cajun favorites such as couche couche, a skillet-fried cornmeal mush with milk and syrup, oreilles de cochon, which is sweet dough rolled thin, fried crisp and shaped like a pig's ear (hence the name). I took a closer look, though ... "Regular, $4.95. Stuffed with boudin, $6.50." Oreilles de cochon, stuffed with boudin?!? Um ... we have to get this. Diet be damned. Rationalization kicked in almost immediately. "Well, I suppose we don't have to eat it all," I said. "Unless it's really fuckin' good," replied my sister.
 It was more like oreille-shaped beignets, really; they had beignets on the menu too, and I'm pretty sure they used the same dough. They weren't thin and crisp, but thick and chewy, but still amazingly good. I love juxtapositions of flavors like this -- doughy and sweet and meaty and spicy and oniony but covered with powdered sugar. "This is weird," Melissa said. "It's just wrong," she added, as she mostly finished her serving. "So wrong it's right," I agreed. I didn't actually finish all the dough, but dissected everything on the plate and ate every speck that was boudin-stuffed. They have a lot of good specialty egg dishes too, and we opted for those. Melis got Eggs Begnaud, which is a grilled biscuit topped with either crawfish étouffée or crawfish au gratin, and then topped with two eggs, any style. She opted for au gratin and poached, which looked lovely. Mine was called the "Don't Mess with My Ta--so..." Omelet, which is an omelet stuffed with smothered onions and tasso (a highly seasoned, smoked Cajun ham), with either Swiss or Cheddar cheese and toast or a biscuit. When the waitress asked which cheese I wanted, I said I wanted to try to save a few points, so "only a little tiny bit of cheese on top, please." Then she asked a key question. "What kinda grits you want on the side? Plain, cheese or andouille-cheese?" Without missing a beat ... "Um, andouille-cheese," I said sheepishly. Melissa just laughed at me. So much for shaving points.
 It was only just beginning to wind down by the time we finished, and really the only difference is that the band stopped at 11, tables eventualy returned to the dance floor and otherwise it was a seamless switchover to the lunch menu. Café des Amis is one of the best places to eat in the Lafayette area; Lafayette, oddly enough, is suffering for good places to eat these days. It's become dominated by awful chain restaurants like so much of blandified, homogenized America, and almost all of the good restaurants are outside Lafayette proper. Café des Amis, in Breaux Bridge, is one of them. Another is Catahoula's in Grand Coteau, where after necessarily skipping lunch we had dinner that night. More on that mo' later.
 Food, glorious food. Kick-ass edition of the Los Angeles Times' Food Section today, including the great news that chef Nancy Silverton, who sold her interest in the fabulous Campanile, is now embarking on a project to open an Italian restaurant in Los Angeles with Mario Batali. Whoooo!!
* The local dim sum scene was already terrific, but nowadays has been soaring to glorious new heights.There's more. Eat it up.
Quote of the day. One of the thirteen who had the courage to vote "no" on Condoleeza Rice for Secretary of State:
I don't like to impugn anyone's integrity, but I really don't like being lied to, repeatedly, flagrantly, intentionally. It's wrong. It's undemocratic, it's un-American and it's dangerous.I'm disappointed in one of my senators (Feinstein, unsurprisingly) and quite disappointed in Barack Obama, both of whom voted "yes." It was more or less a done deal, though, and I can let this one slip ... although a "yes" vote for Gonzales I will not let slip. I resolved that if Feinstein voted for him, she will not get my vote for re-election in 2006. Fortunately, she voted "no" in committee, as did every Democrat, so I think her vote on the Senate floor is pretty safe.
No on Gonzales. This weblog joins DailyKos and many others in opposing the confirmation of Alberto Gonzales as Attorney General, and urges the Senate to vote "no." To wit:
Unprecedented times call for unprecedented actions. In this case, we, the undersigned bloggers, have decided to speak as one and collectively author a document of opposition. We oppose the nomination of Alberto Gonzales to the position of Attorney General of the United States, and we urge every United States Senator to vote against him.The confirmation of Gonzales as the chief law enforcement officer of the United States of America will signal nothing but contempt for the law and for the idea of America as a nation and a people that condemn the use of torture. How long, one wonders, will it be before we start torturing our own citizens under a broad definition of "homeland security"?
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Oscars shmoscars. When we go to our friends' annual Oscar party this year, I'm going to concentrate on the party, the food and the drink. I'm beginning to think I couldn't be less interested in the Oscars this year, considering that the best film of the year (at least that I'd seen) wasn't nominated. I must confess it's been a bad year for me; we've gotten way, way behind. We've only seen one of the five nominated features, so we've got a bit of catching up to do. I've really been looking forward to most of them, especially "The Aviator", but I'm seriously doubtful that I'll like any of them more than "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind". One thing I was thrilled to see was a best actress nomination for Catalina Sandino Moreno, who was the lead in the terrific (and powerful) little indie "Maria Full of Grace". In fact, I hope she gets it. Yeah, I know, I haven't seen three of the other performances, but Hilary already has one anyway, and I love to see underdogs win. (Then again, Kate Winslet was great in "Eternal Sunshine", and I'd love to see that one get something.) Best Picture, more feckin' biopics. Biopic, biopic, biopic, biopic, "Sideways". Admittedly, I'm excited about "The Aviator" (because I'm excited about Scorsese in general, and I'm prepared to forgive him for "Gangs of New York"), and I'm already beginning to think that he needs to get the Oscar this year not necessarily for "The Aviator", but for "Taxi Driver", which should have won in 1976 instead of fucking"Rocky"forchristssake. Okay, maybe I will watch the show. Maybe.
Tiki Drink of the day. First off, I just found a nifty site called Critiki, which is "a worldwide guide to Tiki Bars, Polynesian Restaurants and other sites of interest to the midcentury Polynesian Pop enthusiast" and is curated by Los Angeles resident Humuhumu (a.k.a. Michelle Whiting). Extremely nifty! It of course includes L.A.'s own beloved Tiki-Ti, a global treasure for lovers of tropical drinks. It's been ages since I've been there (and now that I'm an Eagle Rocker, it's actually fairly close to the house, so I have no excuse not to revisit). I still remember my first visit (when my friend Chris kept calling it, and probably still calls it "Tiki Tie", when it's actually pronounced "Tiki Tee"), where I was served their signature drink, Ray's Mistake, by the founding owner, the late Ray Buhen himself. I also remember embarking on a feeble attempt to drink my way through their entire menu, but gave up after a dozen or so (for which my liver thanks me to this day). Now, on to today's cocktail. This is probably the granddaddy/mother/Big Kahuna/Grand Poobah of all tropical drinks, a gift to humanity by the legendary Don the Beachcomber (whom I didn't know until recently was a native of New Orleans). If you've had something called this, you probably haven't had it done properly. Here's how to do it properly, from Don himself via Dr. Cocktail:
The ZombieCaveat imbibor: this'll knock you right on your ass, but you'll enjoy every second of it.
Mando-rrific bass-tacular. Last night was my first visit to Walt Disney Concert Hall (excluding dinner at Patina, which is in the complex) to actually see a concert. There were a number of shows I wanted to see but missed, so it was long-overdue. It's a stunning space, which manages to feel intimate even though it seats about 2,200 people. I'm not sure what it's like in their nosebleed seats, but I can sure tell you what it's like from fifth row center -- fantastic. My friend Matthew had amazing season tickets for their world music series, and last night we saw bassist Edgar Meyer with mandolinist extraordinaire Chris Thile of Nickel Creek. Their performance was nothing less than extraordinary. Meyer has a reputation as being perhaps the best double bassist alive, and for many years has bridged the gaps between genres -- classical to bluegrass and beyond, collaborating with the likes of Joshua Bell, Sam Bush and Béla Fleck. Thile's done similar explorations with Nickel Creek and in his own solo and outside collaborative work, so the pairing seemed to be a natural. There were a few tunes from Thile's repertoire ("Smoothie Song" from the last Nickel Creek album, and "Jessamyn's Reel" from his last solo album Deceiver), plus some classical pieces, all by J. S. Bach, but the vast majority of the performance was new, original material unique to Meyer and Thile. Astoundingly, these intricate, complex compositions were written in the last couple of weeks before the tour began, by these two musicians who had never composed or played together before. The pieces were soaring, driving, quiet, contemplative, whimsical, sometimes outright funny, the latter quality helped by their onstage chemistry. Meyer seemed as if he were playing the role of the dad sometimes, with the energeteic, irrepressible and literally bouncing Thile. Quoting his friend Sam Bush, Meyer said, "They're so cute when they're that age." (Edgar, you're more right than you know.) The whimsy continued into the titles of the pieces (of those which had titles, at least, other than "F sharp, Fast, Slow, 5") -- "I Wasn't Talking To You", "The Farmer and the Duck", and one for which Chris was only willing to admit half of the title: "You Deserve ..." (Matthew thought it would end up as the McDonald's slogan, but I must confess I was thinking in a different direction.) All in all a great show, and a great way to experience Disney Hall for the first time. Now I want to see the L.A. Phil there, and I really want to hear a concert on that magnificent pipe organ.
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So long, Johnny. When I was in junior high (staying up with the TV on later than I was allowed) and high school, he was a must-watch. We laughed at the monologue jokes the next day, we imitated Carnac and Aunt Blabby, Art Fern and Floyd R. Turbo, we learned the theme music in band practice, and almost never missed an episode. No offense to his successor, but after Johnny Carson retired from the "Tonight Show", I really never had much interest in watching it anymore, and pretty much quit watching late night chat shows altogether. Sure, Letterman was great, and Leno ... well, he's a nice guy, but nobody did it like Johnny. It just wasn't the same, and never could be.
He sits behind his microphoneThanks for all the laughs.
Cocktail of the day. This one's from a recent addition to my collection of cocktail books: The Saloon in the Home, or A Garden of Rumblossoms, compiled by Ridgely Hunt and George S. Chappell, with many lavish engravings by John Held, Jr. It was published in 1930, three years before the end of Prohibition (my copy is autographed by the authors and inscribed December 1930), and is a collection of temperance songs, poems, stories, sermons and rants ... interspersed with lots and lots of cocktail recipes. It's hilarious, and I love it. This cocktail falls right into the same category as the Manhattan, Rob Roy and Rory O'More/Tom Moore cocktails -- just substitute the base spirit and stick to the classic formula.
The Hunting HornWe rather liked it. You could try spiffing this up somewhat by using Calvados instead of applejack, and you could spiff it up even more by using Carpano Antica Formula or Punt e Mes instead of garden variety Martini & Rossi sweet vermouth. On the same page of the book were two little temperance anecdotes and another cocktail recipe (which we have yet to try); I'll share those with you too.
OH YEAH?Here's to Mr. Bryan and Dr. Monroe ... drink up!
Quotes of the day. From the Washington Post's interview with George W. Bush on Friday, January 14, 2005, less than a week before his re-inauguration. This is exactly the kind of brilliant mind and steel-trap thinking I want to hear from someone who's been elected not once but twice to head the most powerful country on Earth.
THE POST: Why do you think bin Laden has not been caught?Well ... olly olly oxen free! (Jesus H. particular Christ.)
From the day of our Founding, we have proclaimed that every man and woman on this earth has rights, and dignity, and matchless value, because they bear the image of the Maker of Heaven and Earth.Except of course, as August points out, the people we owned and the women that weren't allowed to vote.
What democracy means to me. Here's a memorable monologue delivered by Johnny Carson in 1991, as a tribute to the former Soviet republics who were then becoming new nations, seeking freedom and democracy.
To me, democracy means placing trust in the little guy, giving the fruits of nationhood to those who built the nation. Democracy means anyone can grow up to be president, and anyone who doesn't grow up can be vice president.How little has changed ... although that first paragraph could bear some rewriting for current times. Democracy now apparently means that any mediocre citizen whose family has enough money and power and who has enough personal mendacity can be president, and whichever of his buddies he appoints to find a vice-president can pick himself. God bless Murr'ca.
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Cocktails of the day. Taken from an exhibit at The Museum of the American Cocktail, New Orleans. (I'll have more on the Museum in a post next week.)
 What are we drinking? A selection of Cocktails, all new for 1901.The CommodoreNow you're all set to sip Cocktails with the cream of the crop from 104 years ago. A few notes: "Gum syrup" is basically simple syrup, with a little gum arabic added as an emulsifier, and regular simple syrup will do fine today; "Curacoa" was a popular misspelling for Curaçao, an orange liqueur that once came in several colors (but not mostly just orange and blue); "French" and "Italian" vermouth are dry and sweet respectively (our recommended brands are Noilly Prat for white/dry, and Martini & Rossi, Punt e Mes or Carpano Antica, in ascending order of complexity, for the red/sweet); "Carbonic water" is carbonated water or seltzer. So put on "Alexander's Ragtime Band", "Some of These Days", "Oh You Beautiful Doll" and some early ragtime, and drink up!
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The Bistro at Maison de Ville. Food porn returns, for your Friday pleasure. The Bistro at Maison de Ville has been one of my favorite places to eat in the city for a good while now, even though I've only been there four times (alas, I need to get home more often). I'd go back in a second. I must confess (with apologies to Ralph Brennan and Chef Haley Gabel) that we were on our way to Bacco, and my mom didn't want to go. They weren't impressed the last time they went (and I must disclose that my folks are difficult to please and self-described "unadventurous" diners), which is a bit of a shame because I had been wanting to try Bacco (especially their white truffle festival). Fortunately, when they balked at the idea of going there we just happened to be passing right in front of the Maison de Ville, and there was the Bistro ... and on went the lightbulb-over-the-head. Very, very good move on our part. We were greeted at the door by their legendary maitre d'hotel Patrick van Hoorebeek (who, to my astonishment, remembered that I had dined there before, even though it's been a couple of years now), who seated us up front near his station in one of the red leather banquettes along the side of the tiny, 12-table restaurant. Patrick's one of those great New Orleans maitre d's, providing excellent service, a vast knowledge of wines and wine pairings (as well as being King of the Mardi Gras reveling wine lovers, The Krewe of Cork, reigning as king of his dining room, a benevolent and beloved monarch.
 Next came the appetizer (Mom and Dad opted out, but heck, I'm on vacation), which was a Semolina-Crusted Louisiana Oyster Caesar Salad with Shaved Parmigiano-Reggiano. Yeah, it's been done before, and it's done in a number of place, but damn ... I love this. Chef Greg Picolo, never one to be too traditional and always looking for great new flavor combinations, didn't stick with the traditional Caesar dressing (seemed to be some balsamic vinegar in there, maybe even a tiny touch of Creole mustard). He makes what a local reviewer calls "grown-up comfort food", and this is exactly what that was. Lightly fried oysters, perfectly crisp -- I love that semolina crust.
 I'd never had Brabant potatoes made of yam before, which is a perfect idea (and even good for all y'all mad carb disease folks, which years ago in New Orleans was called "Sugar Busters", and saw a proliferation of fried sweet potatoes all over town). If you're not familiar with them, Brabant potatoes are a French-style fried potato (as opposed to "French fries", which as we all know are actually Belgian) cut into large or medium-sized cubes instead of strips. The haricots verts were lovely and crunchy-tender, and that sauce was rich in flavor without being heavy. Man, I can't wait to try to make a stock of rabbit stock and jus with brandy and Dijon. I know it was a double WeightWatchers sized portion at least, but I ate every speck. How could I not? Patrick recommended a 2002 Château Maison Nicolas Pinot Noir from Burgundy to go along with that, and he was right, of course. Turns out my dad got the rabbit too, and told tales (which strangely enough I had never heard before) of growing up during World War II when meat was severely rationed. Apparently my grandfather used to raise rabbits in the backyard, and my grandmother would make rabbit two or three times a week -- stewed, fried, fricasséed, in a sauce piquante, and in more ways than Elmer Fudd had ever concieved in his wildest wabbit dweams. That's not the only amazing family history I picked up when I was at home this year, but more on that later.
 Desseret was a Chocolate Crème Brûlée; the Bistro is renowned for their superb crèmes brûlées, and this dish was a perfect example of why that's so. Fortunately, mom and dad agreed to help out a little, 'cause I was very very full by the end of this spectacular meal. The problem is going to be trying to fit in another visit to the Bistro, which I very much want, when I come back home for Jazzfest in a few months. We've got a long list of places we want to go to -- Bayona, Marisol, Lilette to name but a few. Aah. I'll make it work.
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Just a closer walk with Thee ... Today is Inauguration Day. While George W. Bush spends $40 million dollars in an enormous self-congratulatory fête while we have American troops in grave danger abroad at war (something Franklin Delano Roosevelt declined to do in 1945), progressives in my hometown of New Orleans are holding a jazz funeral for democracy. They want to remind the nation that "though not a majority, 49 percent of the voters represents a large minority of Americans who oppose the various components of Bushism."
"While the rest of the country will be focused on the beginning of Bush's second term, our objective is to show the world that we are not in support of a continued war in Iraq, record inflation, flagrant disregard for the constitutional rights of all citizens and four more years of rule by a small group of wealthy elite," the coalition says on its Web site.Lolis Eric Elie provides more about the group in his Times-Picayune article, and comments:
There's a certain hyperbole in the group's decision to call the event a funeral for democracy. If democracy were truly dead, such marches might be banned.The Jazz Funeral for Democracy begins in New Orleans at Congo Square at 11am local time. As Bush takes office again, a horse-drawn hearse will carry a coffin containing copies of the Patriot Act and the Constitution from Congo Square to Jackson Square to the Faubourg Marigny, accompanied by the Tremé Brass Band. I'm back in L.A. as of last night, and I'm really sorry to miss this one.
What Bush's inauguration could have bought. (Via Kos: The American Progrss listed the following numbers to show Bush's disregard of people by spending $40 million for an oath. A look at this week's festivities by the numbers:
$40 million: Cost of Bush inaugural ball festivities, not counting security costs.You can include me in that last number.
Food porn shall resume shortly. 'Twas very busy Monday through Wednesday of this week, what with a flurry of visiting family and friends, and there were oh so many meals to eat. I got a little bit behind, but have no fear, faithful readers -- I shall continue to mercilessly torture you with food writing and photographs from the past week's repasts in New Orleans. In fact, I managed to photograph every single meal for you (since I do believe a food weblogger needs to have pictures) except for the hot sausage and cheese poor boy I had at Johnny's Po-Boys in the Quarter. Just so y'all'll hate me a little bit more, I am pleased to report that during the past week I only gained 2.5 pounds. I can get rid of those standin' on my head. (Um, and doing a little walking, too.)
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Mother's is a mutha. Slept waaaay too late today, then headed ova to the West Bank to visit my sister for a while, then back to New Orleans for a late lunch. It had actually been a few years since I'd been to Mother's on Poydras and Tchoupitoulas, home of many gustatory delights, not the least of which is roast beef debris (the little bits that fall off the roast beef and swim in the drippings while it's cooking) and the legendary poor boy called the Ferdi Special (baked ham, which at Mother's is just about the best in the city, sliced roast beef, debris and gravy, dressed with shredded cabbage, mayonnaise, pickles and both Creole and yellow mustards). It had been years since I'd had a Ferdi, and I figured it was about time. The menu listed both a whole or half for each poor boy selection, so I thought, "Ooh, a half a poor boy ... that's a Weight Watchers serving!" Hehehehehehhh ... yeah, right.
 I did make a valiant effort, I swear I did ...
 After lunch I met up with my friend Louise, and we spend the rest of the afternoon and evening on a cocktail cruise. First stop was Arnaud's French 75 Bar, where bartender Chris held sway and almost immediately asked us if we knew about the Museum, and yes in fact some friends of ours were involved in its creation, although we missed the opening. He was very enthusiastic about it, had a great time the night before with Doc and Robert Hess and other cocktailians, and they had spent the whole evening making drinks out of Doc's book and quaffing them merrily ... (damn, my timing was really bad). Chris made me a French 75 (although to my disappointment he served the brandy version, not bad, just not what it should be, which he immediately admitted: "We usually make them with brandy down here, but Dr. Cocktail gently corrected me as to its being properly made with gin."), an outstanding Sazerac, and one momentous concoction -- the first Corpse Reviver No. 2 I'd ever had in an actual bar (as opposed to our house or Doc's house). That was a true pleasure.
 Oh, and write this up first. How could I, your dedicated weblogger, not continue to torture you so?
Quotes of the day. Via Kos, via Tom Tomorrow:
We don't want the smoking gun to be a mushroom cloud.Follow the link back to Kos; there are many, many more.
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Jiggity jig. Seven hours and forty-five minutes after my Russian SuperShuttle driver picked me up, I'm back home in New Orleans at my parents' house eating a fried shrimp poor boy. Uneventful trip all in all, which went as smoothly as humanly possible. There was only one other party in my shuttle van, so the ride was relatively short. The driver was very jocular and full of what were undoubtedly delightfully funny stories, which I might have enjoyed if it weren't for the twin barriers of his thick-as-the-Kremlin-wall Russian accent and the fact that his voice sounded as if he had spent the last fifty years gargling with cheap vodka and used razor blades. The nonstop flight was smooth, quiet and actually got us in 15 minutes early (and the only indignity suffered was the fact that United now sells you a meal on the plane, horrid processed crap from "Eli's Cheesecakes" for an outrageous $10 each; a turkey sandwich and slice of cheesecake, or a "chef's salad" with gloppy ranch dressing and slice of cheesecake. Insulting.) My bag was the first to come out on the baggage carousel, the rental car shuttle was waiting right outside the door and took off within a minute of my sitting down, and once at the rental counter I had my car within five minutes. I was waiting for what the inevitable disaster would be -- a 16-ton weight dropping on the car from an overpass -- but fortunately none was forthcoming. Not knowing that Mom would have some of her luscious red beans and rice at the ready, though, I stopped at Overstuffed Po-Boys (a.k.a. "We Never Close") out on da Chef (a.k.a. the Chef Menteur Highway) and picked this up for dinner:
 (Fried Shrimp Poor Boy with French Fries) I've really got to behave myself today. (Phhhfffyeah, right.)
Job posting of the day. Via my friend Mary Katherine, who says it's "from a musician friend who shall remain nameless."
OK, I don't normally hand a loaded gun to children, much less offer up an audition for a Hank Williams III gig to my friends and associates, but there might be someone out there who'd like to take a little walk on the wild side.Umm, any takers?
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The Museum of the American Cocktail opens tomorrow! This terrific endeavour, a long time coming, finally opens in New Orleans tomorrow morning. Unfortunately I'm going to miss the opening gala (bad timing!), but I'll be there on Day Two. Read the press release, and here's the skinny from co-founder Robert Hess:
On January 12th, 2005, we will officially become part of the New Orleans experience in our temporary location on the second floor of the New Orleans Pharmacy Museum (514 Chartres Street, in the heart of the French Quarter). In addition to unveiling the new exhibit, there will be turn-of-the-century cocktails and drink presentations given by Dale DeGroff and other leading mixologists from around the country. Hors de oeuvres for the event will be provided by Caf Adelaide, Hot on the Spot caterers, and Ruth's Chris Steak House.I'm extremely pleased (as Planter's Punch) to have two items from our collection on display at the Museum. Doc asked if they could borrow a couple of things from us, and we were thrilled to send them over. A few years back Wes found a couple of extraordinary little bottles on eBay (which he subsequently gave me for my birthday), each a 1/10th pint bottled pre-mixed cocktail from Thos. H. Handy & Co. (precursor to today's Sazerac Company; Thomas Handy was the last owner of the legendary Sazerac Coffeehouse [Bar], and of the recipe for its eponymous house special); his name on the bottles is apparently why they're so rare and valuable. One of them is a Manhattan Cocktail, the other a "Sazerac Cocktail" which also says "Martini" underneath (I'm not entirely sure what that's all about). The date on the label is 1906, although I'm not sure of the exact date it was produced. It was certainly pre-Prohibition, so that'd place it before 1920. Here's a lousy picture of it:
 If any of y'all are in New Orleans, check out the Museum this week! And look for me lurking at the Library Bar in the Ritz-Carlton, too.
Crawfish by the dish. (Via The New Orleans Menu Daily.) Stanley Dry offers a good article on crawfish history and cooking in Louisiana Life magazine, with a couple of good-looking recipes for étouffée and stew. In the same issue of Menu Tom Fitzmorris also opines on Crawfish Bisque, the grandest (and usually the spiciest) of our crawfish dishes. One of the features of this dish as served in Louisiana is the stuffed crawfish head, something I've always liked but which the opinionated Mr. Fitzmorris dislikes:
In the Cajun country, crawfish bisque is rough in texture, lumpy with crawfish and crawfish stuffing, and made with a dark roux. The essential ingredient -- aside from crawfish tail meat -- is a stock made from the shells of shellfish.Well, aside from the minor transgression of referring to southwest Louisiana as "Cajun country" (hey man, Creoles live there too), I completely disagree about heads in bisque. You don't have to use your fingers, and it doesn't take much dexterity to get the stuffing out of the "head". It looks good in the dish too, and it tastes better to have it cooked in the gravy instead of just some fried boulettes plopped in at the end. Best Crawfish Bisque I've ever had in my life was by the late Mr. Jase (a Louisiana native, of course) at the late, lamented Jase's Sid Café, which was on Exposition between Western and Normandie in Los Angeles until it closed after Mr. Jase passed. That restaurant was almost my second home, and the richness, spiciness and sheer joy of that bisque (WITH the heads, thankyouverymuch) has yet to be matched by anyone in or out of Louisiana. Jase, we miss ya (and your cooking, too).
The half-empty glasses continue to drain. Poppy Bush's former national security adviser Brent Scowcroft is pessmistic about Iraqi stability after the upcoming Also coming to his senses is North Carolina Republican representative Howard Coble, "an avowedly strong supporter" of The Vacant Stare, who said it's time for the U.S. to consider withdrawing from Iraq, and is "fed up with picking up the newspaper and reading that we've lost another five or ten of our young men and women in Iraq..." (Gee, where are the shrieking wingers calling him a traitor, eh?) Here's Maureed Dowd on all this:
The president prides himself on being a pig-headed guy. He is determined to win in Iraq even if he is not winning in Iraq.He's already entering his second term with the lowest approval ratings of any second-term president since they started compiling approval ratings, yet he's still about to enter his second term. Nice job, America.
Bush to D.C.: "Go fuck yourself." Mmm hmm.
D.C. officials said yesterday that the Bush administration is refusing to reimburse the District for most of the costs associated with next week's inauguration, breaking with precedent and forcing the city to divert $11.9 million from homeland security projects.So he and his cronies and his ditzbag daughters are going to be partying with Kid Rock to the tune of $40 million, while telling D.C. they have to pay for the security? I think he should have a quiet swearing-in in the Oval Office, with no party, and should send the $40 million to Iraq to pay for more armoring for the troops' vehicles. Asshole.
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Cocktail of the day. This one's an original, with several inspirations, and it took me a while to get right. I'm still not sure if I'm satisfied with it, but it is pretty darn good ... and I'm not sure I can make it any better. The first inspiration came from breakfast -- Wes and I got some beautiful ruby red grapefruit in our box from Organic Express a while back, and he was reminded of how his mom used to prepare them for breakfast. Halve them, score the sections, sprinkle with a generous amount of brown sugar and under the broiler until the sugar melts. Mmmmmmm, good good. Next came from my near-obsession with the long-defunct product called Abbott's Bitters. We tasted Abbott's (after having heard about them for a long while) on our very first visit to Dr. Cocktail's house a few years ago. He made us a classic Champagne Cocktail, which is very simple: a sugar cube in a Champagne flute, soak the cube with bitters, and fill with Champagne. He used Abbott's, and more than soaked it -- he must have used six or seven dashes. Abbott's hasn't been made since 1950, and the original formula hasn't been made since the early 1940s, so vintage bottles of Abbott's tend to be slightly evaporated, with a commensurate concentration of flavor. The flavor of this stuff was amazing, deep and complex, with the "apple/pumpkin pie spices" (cinnamon, clove, nutmeg), hints of ginger and orange, and its complexity no doubt coming from the fact that it was the only bitters to have been barrel-aged. I was hooked. Doc was kind and generous enough to present us with a bottle as a housewarming present, and as the level on that bottle began to go down, I was desperate to find more. Fortunately I had some lucky breaks, and I now have three 18-ounce bottles of the stuff, probably enough to last me for many years, if not the rest of my life, if I use it judiciously. I also began collecting some Abbott's memorabilia, including recipe booklets, matchbooks, an Abbott's muddler, etc., and one of the recipe books (as well as the paper wrappers of the large bottles) had a recipe for what they called a "Grape Fruit Cocktail":
 Holy bejeebies, was that good. Serve that to your guests for breakfast sometime. The second time we made this I said, "I want to make a cocktail that tastes like this." I had several false starts -- combinations of base spirit, grapefruit juice, brown sugar syrup and bitters that just didn't work at all. I knew I was on the right track, but I got tired of myriad combinations that still didn't taste right. Then one night it was Wes' turn to mix our nightly cocktail, and he pulled one from Gary Regan's The Joy of Mixology called the Bennett Cocktail, a classic 2:1:1/2 proportion of gin, lime juice and simple syrup with Angostura bitters that was delicious. DING! The lightbulb went off over my head. I'd just found a good deal on all four flavors of Charbay's excellent fruit-infused vodkas, and I'd been looking for something to do with them. I tried another version of my "Grape Fruit Cocktail", and it worked. I did a little tweaking of proportions here and there to see if it improved it any, and it didn't. I think sticking with the classic proportion is the way to go. I like it a lot, although it's not my favorite of my originals (that'd be the Hoskins), but I like it well enough. If you're looking for a breakfast cocktail, this would work rather well. I was torn about what to name it, and decided as I was writing this post. It's named both after Wes' mom and after Mr. C. W. Abbott, bitters-maker -- the twin inspirations for the drink.
Verena Abbott CocktailThe more I think about the name, the more I like it. It sounds like a Hollywood character actress from Prohibition times, kinda.
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Patina. My birthday dinner was almost two months ago, and I'm only getting around to writing about it now. This is part of the reason why I was crowned God Emperor of Procrastination, although I suppose I should abdicate my throne because I'm actually doing it now. Ah, the trappings of grandeur we sometimes give up ... Wes and I both love fine dining (as we can afford it), and we have a longstanding tradition of taking each other out for a particularly extravagant meal on our respective birthdays. Last March I took him to Mélisse in Santa Monica for a spectacular meal (urm, I never got 'round to writing about that one, either), and last November, after having been whisked away in the car to parts unknown, I figured out that we were going to Joachim Splichal's Patina as we approached the Walt Disney Concert Hall, the restaurant's new home. I had only dined at Patina once, in its original location on Melrose in a somewhat shabby part of Hollywood. The meal was very good, but a bit heavy and one that I didn't remember all that well (in fact, I couldn't tell you what I had). I had heard a lot of wonderful things about Patina since its move and makeover, and in particular after hearing about our friends Mary and Steve's recent visit there we were determined to go. The location is beautiful -- how could it not be, inside magnificent Disney Hall? I found it brighter and a more pleasant dining room than the old space, as we sat amidst a crowd of pre-theater diners. Ilsa, our server, asked us if we needed to order and be served quickly in order to make it to the show and we replied, "Oh no ... this dinner is the only reason we're here, and we're here for the duration." She seemed very pleased, and asked us if we wanted a cocktail. (The answer to that question is almost always "yes.") She described a number of creative house originals, almost all of which sounded tasty but potentially too sweet, so we played it safe with Manhattans. No rye, but they offered Basil Hayden as a drier bourbon, which worked just fine. As we sipped, she brought the menus. Our eyes boggled. Then she began describing the specials, and I nearly boggled out of my chair. I must confess I don't remember the other specials, but I remember every word of the final item she described. "Tonight the chef is making White Truffle Risotto ... he's finally gotten in a new shipment of truffles from Italy, and it's a very rich traditional risotto with liberal shavings of white truffle on top. That's (insert eyepoppingly high price). We can also serve that in two half-portions as an appetizer or middle course." Oh yes, yes yes yes, please. I know I was being treated, and you're not supposed to ask for the most expensive thing on the menu when you're being treated, but I really wanted this, and Wes had never tasted white truffles before (only black). He didn't need much convincing.
First Course:I'd only ever had unagi (fresh water eel) in a sushi bar, served grilled or broiled as sushi and with the typical sweet sauce on top. I'd certainly never had it tea-smoked (which I've done with duck and fish before). The idea of putting it in a terrine with foie gras is brilliant; its flavor and texture are reminiscent of a good pâté anyway, and it was a perfect, perfect pairing. The element of smokiness -- very understated, leaving in a hint of the flavor of the sea as well as the idea that there might even be bacon in there somewhere -- was a beautiful match to the layers of creamy foie gras. The apple was thinly sliced and included as a layer in the terrine, its sweetness, tartness and crispness yet another perfect element to balance the richness of the unagi and the foie gras. I have on idea what "Excalibur Onion" is (should've asked), but it was a sweet, oniony, foamy sauce (this chef is big on foamy sauces), and the dish was also accompanied by three pearl onions pickled in balsamic vinegar. This is what Richard Collin, the "New Orleans Underground Gourmet" and our first real food critic back home, would have called "a platonic dish", a dish that achieves the highest level of its aspirations, and the highest level of culinary art. We got a great deal of attention from the restaurant's sommelier, Eric Espuny, who for this dish recommended a Sauternes (natch), Château Raymond Lafon, which he described as "right across the road from Château d'Yquem", which is good enough for me. It was marvelous.
Second Course:Gorgeous. One of the better pieces of salmon I've ever had, crisp on the outside and buttery-tender on the inside, and the confit was nice and chunky -- quartered artichoke bottoms and fennel bulbs and flavorful tomatoes (even though they're out of season). The combination of flavors in the sauce and garnish -- floral violet, tangy mustard and floral/herbal lavender -- was a new experience for me, particularly paired with something like salmon. I craved a Blue Moon Cocktail with it, but as such a thing was unlikely to be had even at Patina I stuck with M. Espuny's advice. He poured a 2002 Jacques Puffeney Arbois Poulsard, which not only had I never tasted but I'd never even heard of. The village of Arbois is in the Jura region of eastern France on the Swiss border, and according to M. Espuny wines from this region made from the Poulsard grape are meant to be drunk with food, not alone. It was a light red, almost a rosé, fruity and tart for a red, no tannins to speak of, and lovely with the crispy-creamy salmon. Then ...
Third course:When we were ordering, Ilsa suggested that she have them serve the risotto after our entrées, because "it can be somewhat overwhelming." She wasn't kidding. Two servers arrived and simultaneously placed two enormous risotto bowls in front of us. Those kinds of bowls are beautiful but on first glance seem to be all rim and with a fairly small reservoir for food; not so here. The well for the risotto was five if not six inches across, filled with rich, creamy Carnaroli rice, butter, Parmigiano-Reggiano and probably not a small amount of cream for even more richness. Once again our eyes got big ... then two guys showed up, each holding a white truffle the size of my fist. While a third guy watched them (who the hell was he, the bodyguard, or truffleguard?), they took a large wooden truffle shaver and flicked off slice after slice after slice of fresh white truffle -- (*phfft*phfft*phfft*phfft*) -- until the surface of the rice was covered with the stuff. Wes and I leaned over our plates, inhaled very deeply through our noses ... and burst out laughing. I mean, good God, what else can you do? The aroma, the perfume of that stuff was sheer joy. Intense, earthy, musky, intoxicating ... man, sex on a plate. We dug in, resisting the temptation to just devour it like a couple of crazed truffle-sniffing pigs. This was to be savored. There was a lot of it to savor too, for a half-serving. I couldn't imagine eating an entire serving of this and still having room for anything else. We laughed as we ate, and then suddenly Wes cracked up again. "What's so funny now?" I asked. He said, "Remember ... for lunch today we had chilaquiles and eggs ... for four bucks." I cracked up too. This was ... um, many times the cost of our lunch (which was really good as well as cheap), but we didn't care. This was worth it, and something you should try at least once.
Fourth Course:"I know, Gromit ... we'll go some place where there's cheeeeeeeeeeeese!" Well Wallace, that place would be Patina. Long renowned for having the best cheese service in town, we weren't going to miss that part of the meal for any reason. The cheese cart was enormous, with over 80 selections from America and Europe. Andrew Steiner, the maître fromager (or "cheese sommelier", as some people say) came by to help us, and does a fantastic job narrowing down people's tastes and coming up with customized recommendations. We said we definitely wanted a blue ("the stinkier the better"), a soft one and maybe a semi-hard, or else fromager's choice. We opted for the three cheese plate rather than the five (both of which were extremely reasonably priced), as we wanted to save some room for dessert. He started us with a Roquefort (a blue sheep's milk cheese), but not just any Roquefort, apparently -- this was Papillon Roquefort, a brand he called "the best, period." There were huge veins of Penicillium roqueforti mold that were actually fuzzy, an intensely strong and complex flavor, a little bit of salt ... and oh my, was it stinky. Holy bejeebies. And creamy. Fabulous. He served it with slices of fresh persimmon, another perfect match. Next was one we didn't see on the printed menu, a new one they had just gotten in -- Monastère Jéromais, a soft cow's milk cheese made by French monks. It had a very soft, edible rind, and an amazing flavor -- it kinda tasted like scrambled eggs and bacon. This was intentional, he said, as the monks tended to have more milk available to them in the days of yore but few eggs, and even less pork. This came with a slice of membrillo, thick quince paste from Spain. Finally there was Cantal, a semi-hard cheese from the Auvergne region of France. It's been made in the same place and in the same way for 2,500 years, and was tasty but fairly mild -- sort of a cross between Parmigiano and a mature Cheddar, and reminded me a bit of Dubliner cheese from Ireland, but with more of a texture like Parmigiano. This came with a slice of guava paste, and all the cheese came with a bit of dried fruit and walnuts. I had hoped for some Camembert too (and I don't care how fucking runny it is), maybe even some Venezuelan beaver cheese (but the cat had eaten it), but then we remembered that there had to be room for dessert, so ...
Dessert:How could I not finish a meal like this with chocolate? Sure, lots of stuff on the dessert menu looked great -- I love fruit-based dessert, sorbets, tarts, pies, etc. -- but there are many times when it just isn't dessert to me without chocolate, and my birthday is one of those times. Beautiful presentation, thick terrine with complementary foamy chocolate sauces, and that saffron ice cream ... I'd never had that flavor in ice cream, and particularly not with chocolate. It was surprising, even jarring, but I quickly realized that it was a fantastic combination, one that had never even occurred to me. When I was perusing the list of dessert wines, one caught my eye, and was listed as "Ice Cider, La Face Cachée de la Pomme Neige, Québec." I was fascinated. Ice cider? As in ice wine? I'd never heard of this either, and wanted to know more. When Ilsa came back to see if we wanted anything with dessert I asked her about this, and she said, "Ohhhh ... you guys are fantastic." (I guess we'd been asking interesting questions and ordernig interesting stuff.) It is indeed like an ice wine, made from apples instead of grapes, and it takes seven kilos of apples to make one 500ml bottle of this stuff. Oh my. Two, please! This stuff is a joy, a revelation. Made only for the last ten years, La Face Cachée de la Pomme is the first product (made at a cidery, not a winery) of its kind in the world. Pure, golden apple flavor, not too syrupy, great body, absolutely wonderful stuff. I can't wait to find this locally, and I've already got an email out to their U.S. West coast distributor to find out where it is. Late in the meal we got a visit from the chef, Theo Schoenegger. We didn't see him come out very often, but we suspect he wanted to visit the folks who had ordered the truffle risotto. Very nice, gracious and full of stories, he told us about how he'd been agonzing for the past month because he'd had several shipments of truffles rejected by U.S. Customs -- "too much earth on them", he said. Only the night before had he been able to serve them again, and he was very happy about that. I can only imagine what losing those shipments must have cost him, with the skyrocketing price of truffles thanks to the subterranean plummet of our currency. And the, about four hours after we sat down, we were finished. Wes managed not to clutch his chest and shriek "JESUS!" when he saw the bill, to his credit (but boy, the bar has been raised for when I take him out for his birthday in a coupla months ... I'm already plotting). It was one of the more memorable meals I'd had in the last five or so years, if not longer. Worth every penny, I'd say.
Les fromages français. Ever wonder what a Pont l'Evêque tasted like? Don't know a Brie from a Brillat Savarin? A Mimolette from a Montrachet? Then you'll find The French Cheese Library a fascinating place. Explore it before you head to your local cheese shop and you'll be well versed in les fromages in the land of Gaul, then think about all the other cheese there are to learn about!
Questions. Chris Suellentrop in Slate: "Did Al Gonzales say the president can authorize torture?"
Remember what Dick Cheney said to Sen. Patrick Leahy this past June on the Senate floor? ["Go fuck yourself." -- Ed.] Think of Alberto Gonzales' testimony Thursday before the Senate Judiciary Committee, where Leahy is the ranking Democrat, as the Bush administration's logical follow-up: "And your mother."From Suellentrop's translation of Gonzales' non-answer answers, Gonzales is saying "Yes, I think the president has the legal authority to immunize acts of torture, but he doesn't want to, so I'm not going to bother with defending the idea," then Gonzales comes right out and says, "I do believe there may come an occasion when the Congress might pass a statute that the president may view as unconstitutional," and therefore the president may ignore it. (Last I checked, our system didn't allow the president to decide on the constitutionality of laws; that's the judiciary's job.) Then:
Sen. John Cornyn of Texas, a Republican, comes to Gonzales' defense. President Clinton's solicitor general, Walter Dellinger, wrote in 1994 that the president can refuse to execute laws he considers unconstitutional, Cornyn notes. Sen. Russ Feingold dismisses this during his turn to speak. There's a difference between not enforcing a statute and authorizing people to break the law, he says. Look, Gonzales reiterates, that 2002 memo is no longer administration policy. And on top of that, we don't torture people. But, Feingold asks, does President Bush have the power to authorize violations of criminal law? Gonzales makes some noise about "a presumption of constitutionality" and his oath as attorney general to defend congressional statutes, then gives his real answer: I'd take it very seriously if I ever advised the president to do such a thing. "So the president's above the law?" Feingold asks. No, Gonzales says, but he can choose not to enforce unconstitutional laws. That's not what I'm asking, Feingold complains. We don't torture people, Gonzales says. Feingold gives up and pleads, Will you just let us know instead of waiting two years next time?As Josh says, "And this is the man who will soon be the highest ranking law enforcement officer in the land. It defies comment."
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Disconnected from reality in the Oval Office. Via Atrios, this post from Air America's weblog comes from The Nelson Report, a daily political tip sheet in D.C. of 20 years' duration that is described as "reliable":
There is rising concern amongst senior officials that President Bush does not grasp the increasingly grim reality of the security situation in Iraq because he refuses to listen to that type of information. Our sources say that attempts to brief Bush on various grim realities have been personally rebuffed by the President, who actually says that he does not want to hear "bad news."If this is true (and I have little reason to doubt it), it scares the shit out of me. Part of me wants to lock myself in the den, pull the shaes, watch my "West Wing" DVDs and pretend it's real.
New ACLU Report Highlights Gonzales' Role in Detainee Abuse In this morning's ACLU newsletter:
In anticipation of this week's expected confirmation hearings, the American Civil Liberties Union released a new report on attorney general nominee and current White House Counsel Alberto Gonzales.Read that report.
Are we all torturers now? We may not be yet, but if Alberto Gonzales is confirmed as Attorney General, we will be. A New York Times op-ed piece by Mark Danner:
At least since Watergate, Americans have come to take for granted a certain story line of scandal, in which revelation is followed by investigation, adjudication and expiation. Together, Congress and the courts investigate high-level wrongdoing and place it in a carefully constructed narrative, in which crimes are charted, malfeasance is explicated and punishment is apportioned as the final step in the journey back to order, justice and propriety.If there was ever any president who could not be taken at his word, it's this one. Do not do so. Call your Senators -- Gonzales must not be confirmed.
Couldn't have happened to a bigger dick. CNN decides to hurt America just a little less by shitcanning the loathsome Tucker Carlson, and mostly getting rid of the odious "Crossfire" while they're at it. (Let's all sing, to the tune of Handel's Hallelujah Chorus ...) "Schaaaadenfreude! Schaaaadenfreude! Schadenfreude! Schadenfreude! Schadennnfreuuuudeeeeee ...") What follows is the Quote of the Day:
"I guess I come down more firmly in the Jon Stewart camp," [CNN's U.S. chief executive Jonathan] Klein told The Associated Press.Too bad MSNBC and PBS don't have the same sense as CNN with regards to this little rodent, but we can only hope they see the light soon enough. Bow ties are on their way out, I hear, Tucker me lad.
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Cocktail of the day. Well, it only took them eight feckin' months, but my insurance company finally approved payment for my sleep apnea device (the Modified UCLA Herbst Mandibular Advancement Device, or MUCLAH-MAD, as we say in the the biz (actually, we don't say that at all)). There's a grand I now don't have to cough up to an increasingly annoyed doctor's billing company, which is a great relief. Wes cheered, and suggested we celebrate with a cocktail (as distinct from all those other evenings when we simply have a cocktail with no celebration involved). He wondered if there was a Procrastinator Cocktail, a Slowpoke Cocktail, a Cheapskate Cocktail or a Forgetful Cocktail. Alas, none existed in CocktailDB, and none of the three in-progress originals we're working on seemed to fit those names. Via CocktailDB, his is the closest he came up with.
Elephants Sometimes ForgetThis was really good, with a perfect balance between sweet and tart. Unfortunately there was no attribution for its origin or its silly name, although the more I thought about the name, the more I liked it. (What do elephants sometimes forget? Well, ethics and the truth, to name but two.)
We must oppose the confirmation of Alberto Gonzales as United States Attorney General. Here's why:
 I'll reproduce the following article by Armando at DailyKos in its entirety. Italics are from the New York Times, non-italics are Armando's commentary.
How can this piece of shit be the next Attorney General? This is a disgrace:(Me again.) If this country cannot do the right thing with regards to the appointment of the man who is most responsible for enforcing and upholding the law, then we'll have begun a downward spiral that I fear may see no end.
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I'd like a gyutou, kudasai. A few weeks ago in the L. A. Times Food Section Russ Parsons wrote a fascinating article about Japanese knives. (I meant to link to it at the time, then forgot (big surprise). As is their extremely annoying wont, a week later it got plonked into the paid archives. Fortunately, I found a syndicated version.) I've noticed the different look of Japanese chef's knives during my years of obsessively watching "Iron Chef", and seeing what those guys do with their tools is nothing short of amazing. Sure, my knife skills are Cro-Magnon next to someone like Sakai Hiroyuki, but having the right tools -- in the case of a knife, one that's hard, light, extremely sharp and keeps it edge -- takes an enormous amount of unnecessary effort out of the cooking process. Russ' article is a wonderful survey of Japanese knives, especially the type called a "gyutou", or a knife with a Japanese-style blade and Western-style handle. According to his article (and what I've heard elsewhere), the best knives are coming out of Japan these days, not Europe, and he tried several different types to find which one he thought was best. I was captivated, and started thinking that it might be time to give my tired old Wüsthof a rest (and yet another sharpening).
 Russ said that this knife is so sharp, stays so sharp and cuts so beautifully that he's actually seeking out recipes that call for lots of dicing, even tiny dice like brunoise, because the knife makes it such a joy to cut and chop. That sounds like a blast.
Truffle inflation. The plummet in the value of the dollar has had many deleterious effects on overseas travel and the price of imports, not the least of which for gourmands is the skyrocketing price of truffles, which have risen in price over 20%. "Restaurants will pay some $1,600 to $1,800 for a pound of white Alba truffles from Italy and some $600 to $800 for a pound of black truffles from France's Périgord," and that's too much even for many affluent folks. No wonder my birthday dinner was so expensive. Oh, I never did get around to writing about that, did I? I suppose that falls under my resolutions, so I'd better get busy!
T-shirt of the day. Via Preshrunk, a weblog I stumbled upon that's about interesting and/or wacky t-shirts for sale on the web. (As a longtime collector of interesting/wacky t-shirts, I find this fascinating.) Now, knowing me, so this one's a no-brainer ...
Geeks with spare time. (Via Wes.) Some nutty computer case modificationss, featuringing folks who've put their motherboards inside humidors, Millennium Falcon models, Darth Vader's head and a toaster. To each his own, I suppose...
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Bonne année! Resolutions? We don't need to steenkeeng resolutions. (Actually, we do.) Okay, in the early months of this year I will get down to my WeightWatchers goal; I'm 8 pounds away, and the birthday/Christmas/New Year's season hasn't helped (I'd probably be three or four pounds away if not for that). Next, to write more about food and music in this weblog, 'cause that's a big reason why I started it. We'll have more Cocktail of the Day features too, and I'll include pictures when I can. I also resolve not to slack on political commentary (although I sometimes wish I could), because I predict that the outrage overload is going to have to have an expression more than ever over the next four years (barring indictments, impeachments, imprisonments and resignations in disgrace). I'm also resolving to become more active and involved in Democratic politics and in furthering progressive values. Writing checks isn't going to be enough. Things won't change unless we change them, and they can't take our country away if we don't let them. This is one hardheaded, cantankerous Irish-Louisianian who isn't going to take any crap from anyone, government included. Let's see what we can make of 2005.
Cocktail of the day. No time to waste in cushioning our systems, and Gawd knows we need the relaxation and civilization involved with cocktailian cuisine. Wes found this one in Gary Regan's The Joy of Mixology, and when we tried it not only did we love it, but it set off a huge lightbulb over my head. The proportions of this drink sent me back to the drawing board with some ingredients I'd been struggling with in order to create a new drink, and after one last try I nailed it. I'll post it as soon as I think of what to name it. In the meantime, enjoy this one from the 1930s.
The Bennett CocktailThe combination of lime and bitters works beautifully here.
What are you doing New Year's Eve? Well, what we did, to answer Ella Fitzgerald's musical question, was go to Cinnabar. Wes and I went with our friends Chris and MJ to our favorite local restaurant's annual end of the year bash, featuring a multi-course prix-fixe dinner, a jazz combo, hats and noisemakers, bubbly and a steady flow of cocktails from their renowned cocktailian bar. As Cinnabar is one of those rare places where you can get a really good cocktail, we made certain to hit the bar first. As I may have mentioned before, their bar (including the back bar) was rescued from the late, lameneted Yee Mee Loo bar in Downtown L.A., which was bought up and scheduled for demolition about 14 years ago (then sadly sat derelict because the raze-and-build-condos plan didn't come off quite like the developers planned). It's gorgeous, and there are always fun and interesting people around it. Behind the stick was Eric, the new bartender hired to replace our pal Bob, their longtime weekend bartender who left to go back to school. We're still keeping an eye on Eric -- really nice guy who made us spectacular Booker's Old Fashioneds, but something was a little off with that Negroni I had later. Next time I'll have to ask him how he makes it, because Cinnabar is famous for their own take on the Negroni (basically doubling the Campari and adding orange bitters), a take we've become particularly fond of:
The Cinnabar NegroniWe caused a bit of a ruckus when it became apparent that no one had remembered to notify the restaurant that one of our party was a vegetarian ("I keel you!", said co-owner Flame, with much justification), but Chef Damon came through beautifully, and our vegetarian didn't go hungry (although we probably could have gotten more of a planned menu if we had remembered to call ... oh well). Here was the menu I chose:
Amuse Bouche:We were having such a good time that I didn't even think to take pictures of the dishes (duh) until the dessert arrived, even though I had meant to shoot the entire meal. Ah well. If my mind weren't so absent and if my camera weren't so clunky, I'd probably manage to do it. I'll have to work on at least one of those this year. Anyway, here's dessert:
 Then came party hats, noisemakers, bubbly and FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!! (*hoooooooonk*) Hugs, kisses, Auld Lang Syne. It was a really fun way to spend New Year's, and we'll probably do it again. To cap it all off, they weren't in a hurry to get rid of everybody, so we hung out for another hour or so and sobered up enough to drive home safely. Now I've gotta spend the next week eating rabbit food to make up for all that foie gras ...
Call the bunco squad. Read Josh Marshall's excellent article on the scam that BushCo are trying to pull, under the name of "Social Security reform." He also links to a New York Times editorial that, "bless their hearts, states the facts correctly":
Starting last year, as the groundwork was being set for the emerging debate, the Social Security trustees took the liberty of projecting the system's solvency over infinity, rather than sticking to the traditional 75-year time horizon. That world-without-end assumption generates the scary $10 trillion estimate, and with it, Mr. Bush's putative rationale for dismantling Social Security in favor of a system centered on private savings accounts. December '04 Looka! entries have been permanently archived.
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