Sunday, May 18, 2008
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Quote of the Day
"I was at some crummy party somewhere, and here's my agent talking, and he says, 'So, what do you do?' I said, 'You're my agent!' I'll never forget him saying that."
Bruce Robinson (writer, director, actor, and one of my secret boyfriends)
Bruce Robinson (writer, director, actor, and one of my secret boyfriends)
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Not my Bag, Baby
I started watching the repeat of the Met's HD broadcast of Roméo et Juliette, with Anna Netrebko and Roberto Alagna but I stopped pretty quickly. Here are my reasons:
1. They had no chemistry
2. He was wearing baby-blue velvet or something. Ugh.
3. He has a coarse voice, not at all suited to the role. We need an Alfredo Krauss type here.
4. She is so ravishingly beautiful but her ball gown was so grown up, she looked far too mature for the part, yet still played it somewhat girlishly. Odd combo.
5. We're spoiled here in Toronto with the COC's chorus. I find the Met chorus very wobbly. I'm not sure what their procedure is for weeding out the tired voices, but they don't seem to be.
I'm going to bed with J. J. Cale. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
1. They had no chemistry
2. He was wearing baby-blue velvet or something. Ugh.
3. He has a coarse voice, not at all suited to the role. We need an Alfredo Krauss type here.
4. She is so ravishingly beautiful but her ball gown was so grown up, she looked far too mature for the part, yet still played it somewhat girlishly. Odd combo.
5. We're spoiled here in Toronto with the COC's chorus. I find the Met chorus very wobbly. I'm not sure what their procedure is for weeding out the tired voices, but they don't seem to be.
I'm going to bed with J. J. Cale. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
Blog Princess Presents the King of Cheeses
I have already referenced my discovery of Colston Bassett stilton on this blog. Here is the full story and tonight's update.
A couple of years ago I was at a dinner party of all artists (two opera singers, one director, one pianist), all except for me - however we were all food appreciators. On the side board was perched a stunning piece of stilton and the hostess said to me, "I hope you'll be trying that later." I replied "Oh, listen, it looks great, but I really don't like strong cheeses." I went on to explain that I hadn't actually tried stilton in years. She replied with, "Do me a favour: just try a small piece."
And so after dinner I did. I couldn't believe it. I was so used to an eye-watering variety of smelly vileness, but this cheese, although very strong and smelly, had a rich, creamy smoothness that had me under its spell.
Then our hostess told us the delightful story of being in the Neils Yard store at London's Covent Garden market and asking them where in North America she might purchase Colston Bassett stilton. They fetched out a small box with hand written cards in it, and informed her that a certain Alex Farm Cheeses in the St. Lawrence Market in Toronto carried it. This was great luck indeed as this wonderful market happens to be about a five minute walk from where our hostess works and from where I live.
It wasn't more than a few days later when I showed up at Alex Farm Cheeses and made a very expensive purchase of the stilton to take to visit my parents over Easter. I've been a fan ever since.
And tonight we treated ourselves to a very rich and easy meal: Delia Smith's recipe for Stilton Soufflé Omelette. Here it is, transcribed:
This is a great recipe for one person. It's quick and easy, yet special and different. If you want to make it for two people, use a 9 inch (23 cm) pan and double the ingredients. It is excellent served with a tomato and basil salad.
Serves 1
Ingredients
3 oz (75 g) Stilton, crumbled
3 large eggs, separated
½ oz (10 g) butter
1 level tablespoon freshly snipped chives
salt and freshly milled black pepper
You will also need a 7 inch (18 cm) solid frying pan.
First pre-heat the grill, then put the frying pan on to a medium heat. Whisk the egg whites to soft peaks and leave them on one side while you beat the egg yolks in a separate bowl and season them well. Now melt the butter in the hot pan, being careful not to let it burn, then quickly fold the egg yolks and half of the Stilton, plus the chives, into the egg whites.
When the butter is foaming, pour the mixture into the pan, shaking the pan to make sure the mixture is evenly distributed – don't be tempted to stir it, though, or you will knock the air out of it. Cook the omelette for about 1 minute and then slide a palette knife around the edge to loosen it from the pan. Now scatter the remaining cheese all over the surface, then place the pan under the grill, 4 inches (10 cm) from the heat, and let the surface cook for about 1 minute, until it is lightly tinged brown and the cheese is melting. Then remove the pan from the grill and, using the palette knife, carefully loosen the edges, fold one half of the omelette over the other, slide it out on to a heated plate and serve immediately.
This recipe is taken from Delia’s Vegetarian Collection. It has also appeared in Sainsbury's Magazine (Dairy Collection).
MY NOTES: I multiplied the ingredients for three people and about doubled the cooking times. I also used a 10" pan. The servings were very generous. VERY generous. This recipe is easy and so delicious. A real keeper! I'll try it again with different flavourings.
A hunk of beautiful cheese:
The mixture shortly after being poured into a hot pan. It was already incredibly fluffy and, with a hot pan, the mixture stayed this way:
The omelette has just come out from under the grill. Gently goldened and still wobbly-soft:
The omelette was folded over before being cut into servings. At its thickest it was about 4" tall and meltingly fluffy. We ate it with a very simply dressed salad.
A couple of years ago I was at a dinner party of all artists (two opera singers, one director, one pianist), all except for me - however we were all food appreciators. On the side board was perched a stunning piece of stilton and the hostess said to me, "I hope you'll be trying that later." I replied "Oh, listen, it looks great, but I really don't like strong cheeses." I went on to explain that I hadn't actually tried stilton in years. She replied with, "Do me a favour: just try a small piece."
And so after dinner I did. I couldn't believe it. I was so used to an eye-watering variety of smelly vileness, but this cheese, although very strong and smelly, had a rich, creamy smoothness that had me under its spell.
Then our hostess told us the delightful story of being in the Neils Yard store at London's Covent Garden market and asking them where in North America she might purchase Colston Bassett stilton. They fetched out a small box with hand written cards in it, and informed her that a certain Alex Farm Cheeses in the St. Lawrence Market in Toronto carried it. This was great luck indeed as this wonderful market happens to be about a five minute walk from where our hostess works and from where I live.
It wasn't more than a few days later when I showed up at Alex Farm Cheeses and made a very expensive purchase of the stilton to take to visit my parents over Easter. I've been a fan ever since.
And tonight we treated ourselves to a very rich and easy meal: Delia Smith's recipe for Stilton Soufflé Omelette. Here it is, transcribed:
This is a great recipe for one person. It's quick and easy, yet special and different. If you want to make it for two people, use a 9 inch (23 cm) pan and double the ingredients. It is excellent served with a tomato and basil salad.
Serves 1
Ingredients
3 oz (75 g) Stilton, crumbled
3 large eggs, separated
½ oz (10 g) butter
1 level tablespoon freshly snipped chives
salt and freshly milled black pepper
You will also need a 7 inch (18 cm) solid frying pan.
First pre-heat the grill, then put the frying pan on to a medium heat. Whisk the egg whites to soft peaks and leave them on one side while you beat the egg yolks in a separate bowl and season them well. Now melt the butter in the hot pan, being careful not to let it burn, then quickly fold the egg yolks and half of the Stilton, plus the chives, into the egg whites.
When the butter is foaming, pour the mixture into the pan, shaking the pan to make sure the mixture is evenly distributed – don't be tempted to stir it, though, or you will knock the air out of it. Cook the omelette for about 1 minute and then slide a palette knife around the edge to loosen it from the pan. Now scatter the remaining cheese all over the surface, then place the pan under the grill, 4 inches (10 cm) from the heat, and let the surface cook for about 1 minute, until it is lightly tinged brown and the cheese is melting. Then remove the pan from the grill and, using the palette knife, carefully loosen the edges, fold one half of the omelette over the other, slide it out on to a heated plate and serve immediately.
This recipe is taken from Delia’s Vegetarian Collection. It has also appeared in Sainsbury's Magazine (Dairy Collection).
MY NOTES: I multiplied the ingredients for three people and about doubled the cooking times. I also used a 10" pan. The servings were very generous. VERY generous. This recipe is easy and so delicious. A real keeper! I'll try it again with different flavourings.
A hunk of beautiful cheese:
The mixture shortly after being poured into a hot pan. It was already incredibly fluffy and, with a hot pan, the mixture stayed this way:
The omelette has just come out from under the grill. Gently goldened and still wobbly-soft:
The omelette was folded over before being cut into servings. At its thickest it was about 4" tall and meltingly fluffy. We ate it with a very simply dressed salad.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Quote of the Day
In his book How to be Idle, my hero Tom Hodgkinson (editor of The Idler) titles chapter seven, "2 p.m.: On being ill." Now bear in mind, he's not talking about life-threatening situations, just those nasty old colds and such like. Willow, I think you might appreciate them.
Not just one quote, but three:
"When ill, you can avoid all those irksome tasks which make living such hard work. You don't even have to get dressed, for one thing. You can pad around the house in your dressing gown like Sherlock Holmes, Noël Coward or our friend, that hero of laziness, Oblomov. 'The dressing gown had a number of invaluable qualities in Oblomov's eyes; it was soft and pliable; it did not get in his way; it obeyed the least movement of his body, like a docile slave.'"
"When ill, you are the master. You do what you like. You can wander over to the record player and put on your old Clash albums. Stare out of the window. Laugh inwardly at the sufferings of your co-workers. You can surrender to delirious netherworlds as you fall in and out of sleep. You can even imagine yourself to be a latter-day romantic poet, pale, consumptive, surrounded by beautiful, adoring young girls."
"What happened, I wonder, to the doctors of the turn of the century, who used to recommend long periods of inactivity on the South Coast for minor ailments? These days doctors just sell you pills, but there used to be a wonderful medical prescription known as the 'rest cure' - in other words, the only way we can cure this is for you to do as little as possible for as long as possible. When the sickly, velvet-coated dandy Robert Louis Stevenson fell ill in 1873, aged 23, the diagnosis was 'nervous exhaustion with a threatening of phthisis' and the prescription was a winter on the Riviera 'in complete freedom from anxiety and worry.'"
Tom Hodgkinson: Such is my devotion to you that I could say that if I were less lazy and somewhat inclined to have children, I would want to bear yours. But truthfully, I'd rather just hang out with you and listen to Clash albums in our dressing gowns.
Not just one quote, but three:
"When ill, you can avoid all those irksome tasks which make living such hard work. You don't even have to get dressed, for one thing. You can pad around the house in your dressing gown like Sherlock Holmes, Noël Coward or our friend, that hero of laziness, Oblomov. 'The dressing gown had a number of invaluable qualities in Oblomov's eyes; it was soft and pliable; it did not get in his way; it obeyed the least movement of his body, like a docile slave.'"
"When ill, you are the master. You do what you like. You can wander over to the record player and put on your old Clash albums. Stare out of the window. Laugh inwardly at the sufferings of your co-workers. You can surrender to delirious netherworlds as you fall in and out of sleep. You can even imagine yourself to be a latter-day romantic poet, pale, consumptive, surrounded by beautiful, adoring young girls."
"What happened, I wonder, to the doctors of the turn of the century, who used to recommend long periods of inactivity on the South Coast for minor ailments? These days doctors just sell you pills, but there used to be a wonderful medical prescription known as the 'rest cure' - in other words, the only way we can cure this is for you to do as little as possible for as long as possible. When the sickly, velvet-coated dandy Robert Louis Stevenson fell ill in 1873, aged 23, the diagnosis was 'nervous exhaustion with a threatening of phthisis' and the prescription was a winter on the Riviera 'in complete freedom from anxiety and worry.'"
Tom Hodgkinson: Such is my devotion to you that I could say that if I were less lazy and somewhat inclined to have children, I would want to bear yours. But truthfully, I'd rather just hang out with you and listen to Clash albums in our dressing gowns.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Up for a Walk?
There are two types of places I am happiest living in. One is deep in the downtown depths of a city. The other is right outside in the country. For now I am living in the former. I’m in Toronto, as is obvious, and, as I like to say, if I were any more downtown, I'd fall into Lake Ontario!
For exercise I take long, brisk walks (okay, brisk-ISH), and there are several which I do in rotation. Some of these are not pretty, part of the reality of living in a city. But some are gorgeous and occasionally on this blog, I am going to highlight some of the interesting spots I pass. Here is my immediate neighbourhood as it appeared yesterday, in the full, ardent embrace of spring. I can feel my sap rising just looking at these blossoms. And could this city get any girlier right now?
A few minutes later, and I'm puffing my way along King Street East, between Jarvis and Church streets. Here we find St. James Cathedral and its lovely gardens, so beautifully illustrated on Bachelor at Wellington’s blog, courtesy of his new Toronto friend. We look north and see the fountain and part of the gardens.
A close up of one of the dickie birds that seem to prefer this fountain to Lake Ontario, just a bit south of here, and one of the largest bodies of fresh water in the world. But more on that on another walk.
And a close up of the base of the fountain. I think these are cormorants, which are birds creating some real trouble for the Toronto islands, but more of that on another walk too.
Then we turn south and look at St. Lawrence Hall, the second floor of which was a beautiful ballroom and concert venue for visiting artists in the 19th century. Part of it is now the home of Opera Atelier, and is also the venue for wedding receptions and a very excellent restaurant. One of the charms here is the real gas lights that still burn outside it. I shall get a picture at dusk and post it soon. Honest guv.
We finally turn west and see the splendid cathedral. The first Anglican service was held on this spot in 1793, when the Town of York was established (now Toronto). The fifth - and current - iteration of this building opened in 1853, after the devastating fire of 1849 that destroyed so much of the city. The architect of this Gothic Revival cathedral was Frederick Cumberland, and two more of his buildings were completed the same year and still stand. More on those on another walk.
The gardens here are a delight in all seasons and a beautiful spot for contemplation. The bandstand is often a shelter at night for some of the less fortunate of our fellow citizens. Well, I reckon if you have to sleep rough, this is a good spot for it.
For exercise I take long, brisk walks (okay, brisk-ISH), and there are several which I do in rotation. Some of these are not pretty, part of the reality of living in a city. But some are gorgeous and occasionally on this blog, I am going to highlight some of the interesting spots I pass. Here is my immediate neighbourhood as it appeared yesterday, in the full, ardent embrace of spring. I can feel my sap rising just looking at these blossoms. And could this city get any girlier right now?
A few minutes later, and I'm puffing my way along King Street East, between Jarvis and Church streets. Here we find St. James Cathedral and its lovely gardens, so beautifully illustrated on Bachelor at Wellington’s blog, courtesy of his new Toronto friend. We look north and see the fountain and part of the gardens.
A close up of one of the dickie birds that seem to prefer this fountain to Lake Ontario, just a bit south of here, and one of the largest bodies of fresh water in the world. But more on that on another walk.
And a close up of the base of the fountain. I think these are cormorants, which are birds creating some real trouble for the Toronto islands, but more of that on another walk too.
Then we turn south and look at St. Lawrence Hall, the second floor of which was a beautiful ballroom and concert venue for visiting artists in the 19th century. Part of it is now the home of Opera Atelier, and is also the venue for wedding receptions and a very excellent restaurant. One of the charms here is the real gas lights that still burn outside it. I shall get a picture at dusk and post it soon. Honest guv.
We finally turn west and see the splendid cathedral. The first Anglican service was held on this spot in 1793, when the Town of York was established (now Toronto). The fifth - and current - iteration of this building opened in 1853, after the devastating fire of 1849 that destroyed so much of the city. The architect of this Gothic Revival cathedral was Frederick Cumberland, and two more of his buildings were completed the same year and still stand. More on those on another walk.
The gardens here are a delight in all seasons and a beautiful spot for contemplation. The bandstand is often a shelter at night for some of the less fortunate of our fellow citizens. Well, I reckon if you have to sleep rough, this is a good spot for it.
Well, I'm pooped. Let's head back to my place for a wee dram of Cardhu and some good bread and cheese. Good idea?
Saturday, May 10, 2008
A Quote of the Day and a Mum for All Time
Isaac: I got a kid, he's being raised by two women at the moment.
Mary: Oh, y'know, I mean I think that works. Uh, they made some studies, I read in one of the psychoanalytic quarterlies. You don't need a male, I mean. Two mothers are absolutely fine.
Isaac: Really? Because I always feel very few people survive one mother.
Woody Allen as Isaac and Diane Keaton as Mary in Manhattan (1979).
~
This is not the case for me. My mother is the most loving, fun-loving, generous, free-spirited, youthful, capable, smart woman I know. By the way, she's on the left. :)
~
This is not the case for me. My mother is the most loving, fun-loving, generous, free-spirited, youthful, capable, smart woman I know. By the way, she's on the left. :)
I love you Mom... Happy Mother's Day! (She's not a blog reader... so fingers crossed she'll see this.)
Happiness is...
... this love letter to New York.
Isaac: Chapter One. He was as tough and romantic as the city he loved. Beneath his black-rimmed glasses was the coiled sexual power of a jungle cat. I love this. New York was his town, and it always would be...
~
Party Guest: I finally had an orgasm, and my doctor said it was the wrong kind.
Isaac: You had the wrong kind? I've never had the wrong kind, ever. My worst one was right on the money.
~
Isaac: Has anybody read that Nazis are gonna march in New Jersey? Y'know, I read this in the newspaper. We should go down there, get some guys together, y'know, get some bricks and baseball bats and really explain things to them.
Party Guest: There is this devastating satirical piece on that on the Op Ed page of the Times, it is devastating.
Isaac: Well, a satirical piece in the Times is one thing, but bricks and baseball bats really gets right to the point.
~
Mary: Don't psychoanalyze me. I pay a doctor for that.
Isaac: Hey, you call that guy that you talk to a doctor? I mean, you don't get suspicious when your analyst calls you at home at three in the morning and weeps into the telephone?
Mary: All right, so he's unorthodox. He's a highly qualified doctor.
Isaac: He's done a great job on you, y'know. Your self esteem is like a notch below Kafka's.
~
Isaac: What are you telling me, that you're, you're, you're gonna leave Emily, is this true? And, and run away with the, the, the winner of the Zelda Fitzgerald emotional maturity award?
~
Isaac: Why is life worth living? It's a very good question. Um... Well, There are certain things I guess that make it worthwhile. uh... Like what... okay... um... For me, uh... ooh... I would say... what, Groucho Marx, to name one thing... uh... um... and Wilie Mays... and um... the 2nd movement of the Jupiter Symphony... and um... Louis Armstrong, recording of Potato Head Blues... um... Swedish movies, naturally... Sentimental Education by Flaubert... uh... Marlon Brando, Frank Sinatra... um... those incredible Apples and Pears by Cezanne... uh... the crabs at Sam Wo's... uh... Tracy's face...
~
Isaac: You're God's answer to Job. You would have ended all argument between them. He'd have said "I do a lot of terrible things but I can also make one of these. And Job would've said "OK, you win."
~
Isaac: They probably sit around on the floor with wine and cheese, and mispronounce allegorical and didacticism.
~
Yale: It's just gossip, you know. Gossip is the new pornography.
~
Tracy: Not everybody gets corrupted. You have to have a little faith in people.
Something Gingery and Sweet
No, not another picture of Tibby...
I decided to bake the weekend's treat a little early and to use one of my new honey purchases, Vipers Blugoss (borage honey from New Zealand) and Tasmanian lavender honey.
This recipe is new to me: a friend of mine brought me a slice of cake to work that really tickled my tastebuds. This was spicy, not too sweet, and very much the sort of thing you could eat at almost anytime: breakfast, tea, or after dinner. The recipe is from Regan Daley's excellent In the Sweet Kitchen. It's called a sticky gingerbread, but I would describe it as a very moist, spicy cake.
I've copied it here, with my notes at the bottom:
*****
Black Sticky Gingerbread
Serves 10 to 12
Dark, moist and not overly sweet, with that almost-burnt caramel and spice flavour, this is the ideal anytime (read: breakfast!) cake. My grandmother would never forgive me if I didn’t recommend whipped cream as an accompaniment
1 cup unsalted butter
½ cup water
¾ cup unsulphured blackstrap molasses
¾ cup flavourful honey, such as a dark wildflower, berry or chestnut
1 cup tightly packed dark brown sugar
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 ½ teaspoons baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
2 tsp ground ginger
2 tsp ground cinnamon
½ tsp allspice
1/8 tsp ground cloves
3 large eggs, at room temperature
½ cup 2% milk
1 packed tbsp grated fresh ginger root
1. Preheat the oven to 325 F. Lightly grease a 9" x 9" x 2" baking pan and line the bottom with a piece of parchment paper that has been cut to hang over two opposite edges by a couple of inches. This overhang will make removing the cake from the pan clean and simple.
2. Combine the butter, water, molasses, honey and brown sugar in a medium non-reactive saucepan and place over low heat. Stir the mixture frequently until the butter is melted, and all of the ingredients are well blended. Remove from the heat, pour into a large bowl and set aside to cool.
3. Meanwhile, sift together the flour, baking soda, salt, ginger, cinnamon, all spice and cloves and set aside. When the molasses mixture feels just warm to the touch, add the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add the milk and stir to combine. Fold the dry ingredients into the batter in four additions, using big, long strokes. Don't be concerned if you can't get all the lumps out - settle for most of them! Stir in the grated ginger.
4. Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake in the centre of the oven for 1-1/4 hours to 1-1/2 hours, or until the top of the cake springs back when touched and a cake tester inserted into the centre comes out clean. Allow to cool for 15 minutes, then, using the overhang of parchment, lift the cake out of the pan and cool completely on a wire rack before cutting. Well-wrapped in plastic, this gingerbread actually improves with age. If stored at room temperature, it will have a sponge-cakey texture and will keep for about 4 days. Refrigerated, it becomes stickier, denser and wonderfully chewy and will last at least a week. Allow the cake to return to room temperature before serving. This cake is fabulous warm, and the only adornment it needs is mounds of softly whipped cream.
*****
I baked this in buttered bundt pan and the time was much less than 1-1/4 hours, in fact it was exactly 50 minutes. I also left out the grated fresh ginger, but I'll try this next time.
I decided to bake the weekend's treat a little early and to use one of my new honey purchases, Vipers Blugoss (borage honey from New Zealand) and Tasmanian lavender honey.
This recipe is new to me: a friend of mine brought me a slice of cake to work that really tickled my tastebuds. This was spicy, not too sweet, and very much the sort of thing you could eat at almost anytime: breakfast, tea, or after dinner. The recipe is from Regan Daley's excellent In the Sweet Kitchen. It's called a sticky gingerbread, but I would describe it as a very moist, spicy cake.
I've copied it here, with my notes at the bottom:
*****
Black Sticky Gingerbread
Serves 10 to 12
Dark, moist and not overly sweet, with that almost-burnt caramel and spice flavour, this is the ideal anytime (read: breakfast!) cake. My grandmother would never forgive me if I didn’t recommend whipped cream as an accompaniment
1 cup unsalted butter
½ cup water
¾ cup unsulphured blackstrap molasses
¾ cup flavourful honey, such as a dark wildflower, berry or chestnut
1 cup tightly packed dark brown sugar
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 ½ teaspoons baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
2 tsp ground ginger
2 tsp ground cinnamon
½ tsp allspice
1/8 tsp ground cloves
3 large eggs, at room temperature
½ cup 2% milk
1 packed tbsp grated fresh ginger root
1. Preheat the oven to 325 F. Lightly grease a 9" x 9" x 2" baking pan and line the bottom with a piece of parchment paper that has been cut to hang over two opposite edges by a couple of inches. This overhang will make removing the cake from the pan clean and simple.
2. Combine the butter, water, molasses, honey and brown sugar in a medium non-reactive saucepan and place over low heat. Stir the mixture frequently until the butter is melted, and all of the ingredients are well blended. Remove from the heat, pour into a large bowl and set aside to cool.
3. Meanwhile, sift together the flour, baking soda, salt, ginger, cinnamon, all spice and cloves and set aside. When the molasses mixture feels just warm to the touch, add the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add the milk and stir to combine. Fold the dry ingredients into the batter in four additions, using big, long strokes. Don't be concerned if you can't get all the lumps out - settle for most of them! Stir in the grated ginger.
4. Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake in the centre of the oven for 1-1/4 hours to 1-1/2 hours, or until the top of the cake springs back when touched and a cake tester inserted into the centre comes out clean. Allow to cool for 15 minutes, then, using the overhang of parchment, lift the cake out of the pan and cool completely on a wire rack before cutting. Well-wrapped in plastic, this gingerbread actually improves with age. If stored at room temperature, it will have a sponge-cakey texture and will keep for about 4 days. Refrigerated, it becomes stickier, denser and wonderfully chewy and will last at least a week. Allow the cake to return to room temperature before serving. This cake is fabulous warm, and the only adornment it needs is mounds of softly whipped cream.
*****
I baked this in buttered bundt pan and the time was much less than 1-1/4 hours, in fact it was exactly 50 minutes. I also left out the grated fresh ginger, but I'll try this next time.
Captain Luke on the Case
There are many aspects to Captain Luke's persona: son of Delaware, salt-encrusted dreade pirate, and now, it seems, ace boy spy. In my post of May 7, something didn't ring true for the brave captain, and so - after some digging around on the internet- he came to the conclusion that Mr. Larry Lamborghini had at least one more alias, along with his penchant for great Italian sports cars.
and on his Christmas album of organ favourites.
I didn't believe him at first... but the pictorial evidence is most intriguing.
Here is my postcard of Larry "Lamborghini", as he saucily names himself:
Here is my postcard of Larry "Lamborghini", as he saucily names himself:
And here is what Captain Luke dug up online... two photographs of a Mr. Larry Ferrari, as he boldly named himself on an official headshot...
and on his Christmas album of organ favourites.
What do you think? I was all very "pish posh" when Captain Luke gruffly approached me with his theory, but, having closely examined the eyes, the smile, the nose, and most certainly the eyebrows, I am almost convinced that he is correct!
What do you all think?
What do you all think?
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Eros versus Morpheus
One reason I enjoy opera is the noise and action. As an audience member I like action. If I’m at a lecture, I need a good slide show if I’m expected to stay awake. But put me in a comfortable seat, a warm room, dim lights and some beautiful music but no action, and I’m gone. That's usually okay with me and with my neighbours because I’m still, I don’t snore and I’m pretty sure I don’t drool (at least if I do the evidence has been wiped away by the time I wake).
Now, if you google Debussy’s opera Pelléas et Mélisande you will find many adjectives. I am quite keen on adjectives and I would have to concur with the following list:
subtle ~ haunting ~ mysterious ~ elusive ~ magical ~ fatalistic ~ shimmering ~ beautiful ~ fleeting ~ ethereal ~ obsessive ~ ravishing ~ elusive ~ erotic
But I would have to add one more that I feel sure I would have found before long on my search results:
sleep-inducing
Is there any solution to this, in my opinion, unstageable opera? Orchestrally, three fairly brilliant composers have taken a crack at Maeterlinck’s Symbolist play (from 1902): Schoenberg, Fauré and Sibelius; and one operatically: Debussy. I’ve given Debussy’s opera several attempts now. But it always works the same way. I listen to the first ten minutes, all shimmering, haunting, slightly-creepy music and a minimum of action and then… zonk, I’m out like a light. I’m not just dozing. I’m gone!
I won’t go into the details of the production I just saw. Okay, I’ll fess up: I don’t feel I can comment fairly because, apart from the fact that the bits I heard sounded pretty good (okay, Russel Braun was fantastic), I was asleep for about 80% of it. I don’t have sleep issues, I’m not overly tired. But this opera is one long lullaby! As for the eroticism, I caught moments of it when I woke. “Wha~? Oh. Oh!… mmmm… snooze.” Never was eroticism so vaguely out of reach, so fragile and annoyingly delicate. When the opera premiered in 1902, a Paris Conservatory professor criticized its “filthy score”. That might give a hint to a possible solution (she intoned hopefully). I’ll bet a bar of Soma’s Madagascar/Conocado chocolate that a really naughty production of Pelléas et Mélisande keeps me awake.
Now, if you google Debussy’s opera Pelléas et Mélisande you will find many adjectives. I am quite keen on adjectives and I would have to concur with the following list:
subtle ~ haunting ~ mysterious ~ elusive ~ magical ~ fatalistic ~ shimmering ~ beautiful ~ fleeting ~ ethereal ~ obsessive ~ ravishing ~ elusive ~ erotic
But I would have to add one more that I feel sure I would have found before long on my search results:
sleep-inducing
Is there any solution to this, in my opinion, unstageable opera? Orchestrally, three fairly brilliant composers have taken a crack at Maeterlinck’s Symbolist play (from 1902): Schoenberg, Fauré and Sibelius; and one operatically: Debussy. I’ve given Debussy’s opera several attempts now. But it always works the same way. I listen to the first ten minutes, all shimmering, haunting, slightly-creepy music and a minimum of action and then… zonk, I’m out like a light. I’m not just dozing. I’m gone!
I won’t go into the details of the production I just saw. Okay, I’ll fess up: I don’t feel I can comment fairly because, apart from the fact that the bits I heard sounded pretty good (okay, Russel Braun was fantastic), I was asleep for about 80% of it. I don’t have sleep issues, I’m not overly tired. But this opera is one long lullaby! As for the eroticism, I caught moments of it when I woke. “Wha~? Oh. Oh!… mmmm… snooze.” Never was eroticism so vaguely out of reach, so fragile and annoyingly delicate. When the opera premiered in 1902, a Paris Conservatory professor criticized its “filthy score”. That might give a hint to a possible solution (she intoned hopefully). I’ll bet a bar of Soma’s Madagascar/Conocado chocolate that a really naughty production of Pelléas et Mélisande keeps me awake.
It's HERE!!!
Summer is here, no matter that it's a cool night.
Not five minutes ago the tinkling bell of the ice-cream truck came calling to me from down the road. As a kid, I always had to have the soft whipped ice cream dipped in that miraculous chocolate-like coating AND ideally with a flaky bar stuck in the side. Mmmmmmmmm... Later I fell for those rocket ices (what was the name?), with the red/blue/white stripes. Later still, I'd have an ice cream sandwich, the large chocolate cookies sandwiching the firm vanilla ice cream.
I'm not going to partake, having a Lindor ball instead. BUT... I love that delightful, tinny melody.
Not five minutes ago the tinkling bell of the ice-cream truck came calling to me from down the road. As a kid, I always had to have the soft whipped ice cream dipped in that miraculous chocolate-like coating AND ideally with a flaky bar stuck in the side. Mmmmmmmmm... Later I fell for those rocket ices (what was the name?), with the red/blue/white stripes. Later still, I'd have an ice cream sandwich, the large chocolate cookies sandwiching the firm vanilla ice cream.
I'm not going to partake, having a Lindor ball instead. BUT... I love that delightful, tinny melody.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Come for a Visit
What's not to love about a postcard featuring potted palms and a pocket hankie?
And on the back, the credit:
And on the back, the credit:
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
The Good Doctor
So, last birthday, Dr. M gave me this personalized first-aid kit, the kind you hang on your kitchen wall or in the lunch room at work. I was very puzzled as to what might be in it. I opened it...
And it was full of chocolate! Dark chocolate and rooiboss tea, and a personalized instruction card on how and when to take my medicine.
It has since been emptied and refilled... several times. This is one physician who knows how to write a prescription. Thank you Dr. M. ;)
And it was full of chocolate! Dark chocolate and rooiboss tea, and a personalized instruction card on how and when to take my medicine.
It has since been emptied and refilled... several times. This is one physician who knows how to write a prescription. Thank you Dr. M. ;)
In Honour of Loving
I read this morning on Edward's blog that Mildred Loving has passed away at the age of 68. Last year, on the 40th anniversary of an important Supreme Court ruling, she released the following statement:
LOVING FOR ALL
By Mildred Loving
Prepared for Delivery on June 12, 2007,
The 40th Anniversary of the Loving vs. Virginia Announcement
When my late husband, Richard, and I got married in Washington, DC in 1958, it wasn’t to make a political statement or start a fight. We were in love, and we wanted to be married.
We didn’t get married in Washington because we wanted to marry there. We did it there because the government wouldn’t allow us to marry back home in Virginia where we grew up, where we met, where we fell in love, and where we wanted to be together and build our family. You see, I am a woman of color and Richard was white, and at that time people believed it was okay to keep us from marrying because of their ideas of who should marry whom.
When Richard and I came back to our home in Virginia, happily married, we had no intention of battling over the law. We made a commitment to each other in our love and lives, and now had the legal commitment, called marriage, to match. Isn’t that what marriage is?
Not long after our wedding, we were awakened in the middle of the night in our own bedroom by deputy sheriffs and actually arrested for the “crime” of marrying the wrong kind of person. Our marriage certificate was hanging on the wall above the bed. The state prosecuted Richard and me, and after we were found guilty, the judge declared: “Almighty God created the races white, black, yellow, malay and red, and he placed them on separate continents. And but for the interference with his arrangement there would be no cause for such marriages. The fact that he separated the races shows that he did not intend for the races to mix.” He sentenced us to a year in prison, but offered to suspend the sentence if we left our home in Virginia for 25 years exile.
We left, and got a lawyer. Richard and I had to fight, but still were not fighting for a cause. We were fighting for our love.
Though it turned out we had to fight, happily Richard and I didn’t have to fight alone. Thanks to groups like the ACLU and the NAACP Legal Defense & Education Fund, and so many good people around the country willing to speak up, we took our case for the freedom to marry all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court. And on June 12, 1967, the Supreme Court ruled unanimously that, “The freedom to marry has long been recognized as one of the vital personal rights essential to the orderly pursuit of happiness by free men,” a “basic civil right.”
My generation was bitterly divided over something that should have been so clear and right. The majority believed that what the judge said, that it was God’s plan to keep people apart, and that government should discriminate against people in love. But I have lived long enough now to see big changes. The older generation’s fears and prejudices have given way, and today’s young people realize that if someone loves someone they have a right to marry.
Surrounded as I am now by wonderful children and grandchildren, not a day goes by that I don’t think of Richard and our love, our right to marry, and how much it meant to me to have that freedom to marry the person precious to me, even if others thought he was the “wrong kind of person” for me to marry. I believe all Americans, no matter their race, no matter their sex, no matter their sexual orientation, should have that same freedom to marry. Government has no business imposing some people’s religious beliefs over others. Especially if it denies people’s civil rights.
I am still not a political person, but I am proud that Richard’s and my name is on a court case that can help reinforce the love, the commitment, the fairness, and the family that so many people, black or white, young or old, gay or straight seek in life. I support the freedom to marry for all. That’s what Loving, and loving, are all about.
LOVING FOR ALL
By Mildred Loving
Prepared for Delivery on June 12, 2007,
The 40th Anniversary of the Loving vs. Virginia Announcement
When my late husband, Richard, and I got married in Washington, DC in 1958, it wasn’t to make a political statement or start a fight. We were in love, and we wanted to be married.
We didn’t get married in Washington because we wanted to marry there. We did it there because the government wouldn’t allow us to marry back home in Virginia where we grew up, where we met, where we fell in love, and where we wanted to be together and build our family. You see, I am a woman of color and Richard was white, and at that time people believed it was okay to keep us from marrying because of their ideas of who should marry whom.
When Richard and I came back to our home in Virginia, happily married, we had no intention of battling over the law. We made a commitment to each other in our love and lives, and now had the legal commitment, called marriage, to match. Isn’t that what marriage is?
Not long after our wedding, we were awakened in the middle of the night in our own bedroom by deputy sheriffs and actually arrested for the “crime” of marrying the wrong kind of person. Our marriage certificate was hanging on the wall above the bed. The state prosecuted Richard and me, and after we were found guilty, the judge declared: “Almighty God created the races white, black, yellow, malay and red, and he placed them on separate continents. And but for the interference with his arrangement there would be no cause for such marriages. The fact that he separated the races shows that he did not intend for the races to mix.” He sentenced us to a year in prison, but offered to suspend the sentence if we left our home in Virginia for 25 years exile.
We left, and got a lawyer. Richard and I had to fight, but still were not fighting for a cause. We were fighting for our love.
Though it turned out we had to fight, happily Richard and I didn’t have to fight alone. Thanks to groups like the ACLU and the NAACP Legal Defense & Education Fund, and so many good people around the country willing to speak up, we took our case for the freedom to marry all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court. And on June 12, 1967, the Supreme Court ruled unanimously that, “The freedom to marry has long been recognized as one of the vital personal rights essential to the orderly pursuit of happiness by free men,” a “basic civil right.”
My generation was bitterly divided over something that should have been so clear and right. The majority believed that what the judge said, that it was God’s plan to keep people apart, and that government should discriminate against people in love. But I have lived long enough now to see big changes. The older generation’s fears and prejudices have given way, and today’s young people realize that if someone loves someone they have a right to marry.
Surrounded as I am now by wonderful children and grandchildren, not a day goes by that I don’t think of Richard and our love, our right to marry, and how much it meant to me to have that freedom to marry the person precious to me, even if others thought he was the “wrong kind of person” for me to marry. I believe all Americans, no matter their race, no matter their sex, no matter their sexual orientation, should have that same freedom to marry. Government has no business imposing some people’s religious beliefs over others. Especially if it denies people’s civil rights.
I am still not a political person, but I am proud that Richard’s and my name is on a court case that can help reinforce the love, the commitment, the fairness, and the family that so many people, black or white, young or old, gay or straight seek in life. I support the freedom to marry for all. That’s what Loving, and loving, are all about.
Monday, May 5, 2008
I Like it Chocolatey
These were baked for tea time yesterday. I literally couldn't cram more chocolate chips into them without them falling apart. The chocolate is Callebaut 70% dark, my favourite, and they are still moist the next day, kind of like mini cakes really.
Mmmmmmmmm... Dinner
Wasn't too sure what to cook last night, but ultimately dinner was organic pork sausages sauteed in onion, salt, pepper, marjoram and single malt scotch. Later I added mushrooms and slices of red cabbage. It was all cooked till tender. Served, somewhat Germanically - or so I like to think - on rotini pasta.
It was very tasty.
It was very tasty.
Quote of the Day
"Tosca, mi fa dimenticare Iddio!"
That out and out rotter and perfect cad, Scarpia, to the heroine of the opera, Tosca. As evil as Scarpia is, he's perfectly cast when it's a sexy baritone. And here is my new Tosca poster, framed and hung at last.
That out and out rotter and perfect cad, Scarpia, to the heroine of the opera, Tosca. As evil as Scarpia is, he's perfectly cast when it's a sexy baritone. And here is my new Tosca poster, framed and hung at last.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
The Elgin and Winter Garden Theatres
There is lots of talk here about Toronto’s cultural renaissance, but there is also a lot of grumbling, as can be expected, that we are not a world-class city and are unlikely to ever be. There is much argument for and against. I am going to use my blog this summer to occasionally bring you some charming and intriguing corners of the city that mean a lot to me, famous and not-so-well known.
To start with, this post is about a location where I have spent many happy evenings: the last operating double-decker theatre in the world: The Elgin and Winter Garden Theatre Centre. The larger 1561-seat Elgin Theatre is a throw-back to a gilded age, complete with ornate boxes and a gorgeous lobby.
The Elgin Theatre:
To start with, this post is about a location where I have spent many happy evenings: the last operating double-decker theatre in the world: The Elgin and Winter Garden Theatre Centre. The larger 1561-seat Elgin Theatre is a throw-back to a gilded age, complete with ornate boxes and a gorgeous lobby.
The Elgin Theatre:
The 992-seat Winter Garden Theatre, up in the roof of the building, has an outdoor ambience about it with walls hand-painted with garden scenes, columns disguised as tree trunks and a ceiling hung with real beech leaves, cotton blossoms and garden lanterns.
The Winter Garden Theatre:
The centre was originally built in 1913 as a vaudeville theatre; it has also been a nickelodeon and movie palace. Restoration was completed in 1987 and this double theatre is now a National Historic Site.
An early photograph:
Here are some fascinating renovation details:
~ in the lobby 28 layers of paint were removed from the original surface:
~ over 300,000 sheets of wafer-thin aluminum leaf were used in the seven-step process of re-gilding the plaster details in the Elgin. The photograph below shows some of the opera boxes of the interior.
~ 1,500 pounds of flour were made into bread dough, which was used to clean 20,000 square feet of hand-painted walls in the Winter Garden
~ 5,000 branches of beech leaves were harvested, preserved, painted, fire-proofed and suspended from the magical Winter Garden ceiling
Most of the productions I have seen there have been by Opera Atelier. The two founders and co-artistic directors are husband-and-wife Marshall Pynkoski and Jeannette Zingg. The two trained as ballet dancers, grew too tall and ended up dancing at the Moulin Rouge in Paris, before it closed, to give them access to the documents they sought to research baroque opera and ballet. They are a most glamorous couple, tall, dark-haired, lean and equally beautiful. Zingg is photographed below:
They returned to Toronto from Paris and formed Opera Atelier in the early 80s. To audiences here and around the world on tour, they brought the look and feel of Baroque performance in operas by great composers such as Monteverdi, Gluck and Purcell. They researched the rather extreme and very symbolic gestural acting and choreography. A large part of their early success was the costuming by self-taught Dora Rust-d’Eye who produced the most remarkable and sumptuous pieces.
Cyril Avvity and Nathalie Paulin in Persée, photo by Bruce Zinger:
They continue to flourish as they evolve and delve into more “modern” composers such as Mozart and their current production of Idomeneo has been receiving great press with the casting of Canada’s Measha Brueggergosman as Elettra and the American male soprano Michael Maniaci as Idamante. Brueggergosman has an intensely media-friendly persona. She is famous for her talent and for losing a boatload of weight, and emerging even more stylish, funky and front-cover worthy than she was before. Maniaci is famous for being a very rare male soprano. We're not talking counter tenor or male alto here, but male soprano, a voice created a couple of hundred years ago through the dreadful process of castration. Of course, that practice has long been banned. But Maniaci, physically complete, happens to have a voice redolent of those magical, mysterious voices of the castrati. The production has been lauded. I can't concur, but I’m glad I caught it, if not for yet another opportunity to see the lovely Elgin Theatre.
Measha Brueggergosman and Curtis Sullivan in Idomeneo, photographed by Bruce Zinger:
The Winter Garden Theatre:
The centre was originally built in 1913 as a vaudeville theatre; it has also been a nickelodeon and movie palace. Restoration was completed in 1987 and this double theatre is now a National Historic Site.
An early photograph:
Here are some fascinating renovation details:
~ in the lobby 28 layers of paint were removed from the original surface:
~ over 300,000 sheets of wafer-thin aluminum leaf were used in the seven-step process of re-gilding the plaster details in the Elgin. The photograph below shows some of the opera boxes of the interior.
~ 1,500 pounds of flour were made into bread dough, which was used to clean 20,000 square feet of hand-painted walls in the Winter Garden
~ 5,000 branches of beech leaves were harvested, preserved, painted, fire-proofed and suspended from the magical Winter Garden ceiling
Most of the productions I have seen there have been by Opera Atelier. The two founders and co-artistic directors are husband-and-wife Marshall Pynkoski and Jeannette Zingg. The two trained as ballet dancers, grew too tall and ended up dancing at the Moulin Rouge in Paris, before it closed, to give them access to the documents they sought to research baroque opera and ballet. They are a most glamorous couple, tall, dark-haired, lean and equally beautiful. Zingg is photographed below:
They returned to Toronto from Paris and formed Opera Atelier in the early 80s. To audiences here and around the world on tour, they brought the look and feel of Baroque performance in operas by great composers such as Monteverdi, Gluck and Purcell. They researched the rather extreme and very symbolic gestural acting and choreography. A large part of their early success was the costuming by self-taught Dora Rust-d’Eye who produced the most remarkable and sumptuous pieces.
Cyril Avvity and Nathalie Paulin in Persée, photo by Bruce Zinger:
They continue to flourish as they evolve and delve into more “modern” composers such as Mozart and their current production of Idomeneo has been receiving great press with the casting of Canada’s Measha Brueggergosman as Elettra and the American male soprano Michael Maniaci as Idamante. Brueggergosman has an intensely media-friendly persona. She is famous for her talent and for losing a boatload of weight, and emerging even more stylish, funky and front-cover worthy than she was before. Maniaci is famous for being a very rare male soprano. We're not talking counter tenor or male alto here, but male soprano, a voice created a couple of hundred years ago through the dreadful process of castration. Of course, that practice has long been banned. But Maniaci, physically complete, happens to have a voice redolent of those magical, mysterious voices of the castrati. The production has been lauded. I can't concur, but I’m glad I caught it, if not for yet another opportunity to see the lovely Elgin Theatre.
Measha Brueggergosman and Curtis Sullivan in Idomeneo, photographed by Bruce Zinger:
Clever Old Photoshop
Here is Tibby as he actually appears (top) and as he appears after applying "palette knife" to him in Photoshop (bottom) . He said it wasn't at all painful, but would I now let him sleep and get on with some picture hanging. Oh, okay!
Sunday at Home
So after a terrifically busy week, I am so happy to be home today, puttering about my digs. One of the many things I want to get done is hanging four new pictures: two posters I got framed and two delightful limited-edition prints I purchased yesterday. And to do this I will use my official picture-hanging hammer. This is not the heavy duty job in my tool box. No, this is my girly hammer, pictured here, which hangs in my kitchen. It was given to me by M a few years ago. I believe he got it from the gift shop at the Art Gallery of Ontario. As you can see, under its rhinestones and feathers, it's a real hammer. I used it to knock the nails into the wall from which it is now suspended.More pictures of the hanging later, and no doubt some baking for Sunday tea. :)
Always Take Candy from a Russian Gentleman
Because, even though he calls it "Rosshon kendy"....
... it turns out to be nipplicious chocolate, and somewhat alcoholic, if my taste buds are not lying, although they aren't in the best state of health this morning. Hee hee.
... can anyone identify this?
... it turns out to be nipplicious chocolate, and somewhat alcoholic, if my taste buds are not lying, although they aren't in the best state of health this morning. Hee hee.
... can anyone identify this?
Friday, May 2, 2008
Quote of the Day
“Stop being a breadwinner and kiss me!”
Deborah Kerr as Kay Dorrance to Clark Gable as Victor Albee Norman in The Hucksters (1947).
SPOILER: He kisses her! Hee hee.
Deborah Kerr as Kay Dorrance to Clark Gable as Victor Albee Norman in The Hucksters (1947).
SPOILER: He kisses her! Hee hee.
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