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My friend Carolyn and I both have UGC cinema cards that allow us to see as many films as we want in any UGC or MK2 theatre, as well as many independent cinemas. And since we're both freelancers, we can go when everyone else is at work. So yesterday we met up at the Cinéma du Panthéon to see the French film, Un Conte de Noël (which, strangely for a French film showing in Paris, had English subtitles…and thank goodness! The film is complicated enough even in one's native language).

Not only is Catherine Deneuve the star of the film, she also happened to be the main decorator for the tiny theatre's café on the top floor, aka Le Salon. We expected something cramped and dark, like in most theatre cafés, but this one is surprisingly bright, spacious, and cozy. If the weather is nice, you can even sit on the mini garden terrace. They serve lunch and afternoon meals from noon-7pm on weekdays only: soups, sandwiches, salads, cheese and meat platters, and desserts. We'll be back! 

Since 1955, Miami’s Seaquarium has attracted locals and tourists alike. Once it was a world class installation, far and away the most advanced of its time. Few were the package tours to Miami from abroad that did not include a visit to this venerable institution.  

But soon it was to be eclipsed by the super marine parks of Sea World and the rest of the Orlando area attractions. Now it mostly attracts a local market, albeit a market that has grown enormously since 1955. 

Having visited Seaquarium sporadically since 1965, it doesn’t seem to have changed all that much. In 1965 when Orlando was just beginning to chip away at it’s income base, it looked tired and in need of a slap of paint. It still looks the same way. The same old whale (there were two in 1965), almost the same dolphin families. There is actually one 36-year old performer, though you would never know, as dolphins don’t seem to age like we do. Have you ever seen a wrinkled dolphin?  

It isn’t a cheap day out. A hefty US$ 36.00 admission for adults and US$ 27.00 (plus tax) for children 9 and under (though that’s half of what you pay for Sea World). The cost is exacerbated by an annoying US$ 8.00 parking fee and US$ 4 Pepsis. Look on the web site for a US$ 2.00 to US$ 4.00 discount coupon per person. Being very careful, my grandson and I spent almost US$ 100.00 just on admission, parking, one drink, one hot dog and one chicken sandwich.   

That being said, you may ask is it worth it? I would say yes. I saw no long faces amongst the crowds. Children and adults all seemed to be having a good time. There is a remarkable amount to see in a relatively small area. It’s not as hard on the feet as Orlando attractions, and there are virtually no lines. That alone is worth the outing. 

My grandson refused to sit in the “splash area” at the whale show. He told me his Mum would not be pleased if he came home soaking wet! We then proceeded to get drenched at the upper-deck dolphin show. Until he dried off after about ten minutes, he was seriously thinking of not going home at all!     

As a young lad, he was fascinated to see sharks leap into the air and tear a dangling fish to pieces. My day was made when a daring great white heron stole a chicken leg from a crocodile, and swallowed it whole (the chicken leg, not the crocodile!). You could see the leg descending its throat. Awesome!  

It took us about four hours to see every show and visit every attraction, though if you are a little less organized, it will take longer. Not that there is anything wrong with that.  

The food offered at the attraction is somewhat basic. It will keep you alive, but not much else. At least they did not have grilled dolphin on the menu, an item that always distresses the uninitiated.  

All in all, it makes a great day out with the kids and remember to keep off those US$ 4 Pepsis! 

Miami by Martin 

October 15, 2008

Athens has been my home for more than three decades and yet it never ceases to surprise me. Even a stroll in a neighborhood I think I know well always stands my expectations on end. And I know there’s a lot more to it than antiquities, traffic jams, sidewalk cafes, museums and souvenir shops. How much more unpredictable might it seem to you, the visitor. Although you might not believe your eyes, all the photos below were taken in Athens.

You come to make a pilgrimage the Acropolis and at its foot you find a Cycladic village (1), with whitewashed houses, tiny flower-filled courtyards and straggly lanes going nowhere . . . until you spy a handwritten sign pointing to the Sacred Rock (2). 

You’ve been told that Athens lacks greenery and yet the Byzantine church dome below the village can scarcely be seen through the foliage (3).

Gods and goddesses still abound – on rooftops and sidewalks – at least as statues, like this terracotta Athena who guards a handsome neoclassical door (with only token help from the sleeping hound) (4).

And mythical allusions appear in many a taverna name: The sign here reads Sisyphus and you will have to climb some steep stairs to get to it, but at least you won’t be pushing a boulder at the same time (5).

This is Plaka, where anything is possible. Walk into a shoeshop and you may find a glass floor spanning ancient ceramic drainpipes. Enter the so-called Roman Agora or Forum, where Athenians shopped and traded until the 19th century, and you’ll confront a Turkish mosque, a multi-seated Roman lavatory and the legendary Tower of the Winds, which was also a water clock. Suddenly the trill of a solitary flute subdues all other sounds – for which I can provide no photo as proof.

This is one of the city’s most colorful districts, a mosaic of historical relics and contemporary kefi – the Greek equivalent of joie de vivre or zest for life. It doesn’t fit the stereotype of a pristine collection of monuments, but it is definitely more fun. The Parthenon inspires us as an example of what humankind is capable of, Plaka reminds us not to take ourselves too seriously — as in this piece of street art from a wall near the Roman Agora (6).

Sometimes you have to visit a place because of the person that is associated with it.   The Maglio of Breganze is such a place.   A maglio is a mechanical hammer used to temper hot  iron into different shapes, invented to save the human wear and tear caused by pounding on an anvil. 
 
Bruno Tamiello’s father had a shop, just like his ancestors before him, and Bruno has lovingly restored it and  brings history alive at this remarkable place.   As you walk through the wooden double doors, you are plunged into a world  of semi-darkness.  The walls are lined with old farm tools, all of which were forged by Bruno’s kin.  Tamiello’s blue eyes light up as he explains what it was like to be a boy at his father’s side, entranced by the open flame, never tiring of watching his father at work on the hot iron.
 
When Bruno yells:  “Via l’acqua”, loosely translated as “Pull out the stops” something amazing happens:  he pulls on a long wooden handle  and with a loud whoosh , water starts to flow through a canal, moving  water wheels both in and outside the building.  These in turn move a series of a half dozen long pulleys, used for operating a lathe and generating energy.  (imagine Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory..).  “ Now, stand back”, says Bruno, “we are working with really hot iron here-” as he moves to the open flame pulling out an iron rod that is red hot on one end. 
After cooling the shovel , Bruno goes to the next station, the grinding stone.  He uses a special stone found only in this area, and particularly adapted to this job.  When shovels started to become mass produced, Tamiello’s business faltered.  One trick of the trade he used to convince customers his shovels were superior was by clanging them against an anvil.  The mass produced shovels made a dull clang, while Tamiello’s rang like a bell.

Yet, modern technology was no match for slow craftsmanship, and the shop closed its doors in 1978.   Bruno  couldn’t bear to see the place deteriorate, so he began the long  task of restoration, doing much of the work himself, and the maglio was officially designated as a museum in  2001.
 
The shop is located in Breganze, just 20 minutes from Bassano del Grappa.  Bruno accepts groups
7 days a week, as long as you make a reservation. 
  

My mother-in-law found the first truffles of the season yesterday while out walking in the woods near the winery.  (At least that's what she claims because potential truffle locations are guarded like the families best jewels.)  She had already discovered a handful of girolles mushrooms and then she spotted them, a couple of flies hovering near the ground under an oak tree.  If you don't have a truffle pig or dog, that's the sign to look for, flies.  

Personally, I don't know what all the fuss is.  Sure they're rare.  They smell worse than some of the stinkiest French cheeses.  But the taste, in my opinion, is nothing special and you need a lot of truffle bits in an omelet (the preferred dish for eating this mushroom) to taste anything.  I actually prefer other types of mushrooms to truffles. 

As it's way too early in the season for the truffle market to be open, she is searching out one of her 'contacts' in the world of truffle trading to see if he's interested.  They weigh 300g (10.5 oz.) and they are white truffles.  Although, as you can see from the picture, this white truffle looks rather black to me.  This year's going rate is still unknown.  Last year a kilo of truffles went for 1000 euros, so maybe she'll get lucky and make 300 euros since it's early and there are not likely to be too many fresh truffles on the market yet.

A few years ago I accompanied Nini to a truffle market in a nearby village.  About the only thing it has in common with the regular fruit and vegetable marche is that it lines the main road. 

Basically, potential buyers park their white Renault trucks on the curb; open the back doors to display an old fashioned scale and a wicker basket.  A mis-matched jumble of people stroll, for all appearances, aimlessly up and down the street.  Some are typical Provencal farmers still wearing their blue zip up coveralls.  Others have come out in their Sunday best complete with beret and walking cane.  Then there's the housewife dressed to the 9's.  These are the sellers.  They have, hidden in their handbags and their jackets (the zip front jumper comes in handy in this case), their cache of truffles in all shapes and sizes.  They all seem to know one another and they slyly congregate by two's in storefronts and hidden corners to discuss what they've heard is the going rate of the day.   

The other group of truffle people are the buyers.  A mixture of city people, rather easy to spot in this country village; the elderly well to do couple with their tiny little dog in a Louis Vuitton carry case.  The man in the loafers and chinos lazily fingering his keys with the Porsche keychain.  The couple walking arm in arm, she carrying an expensive handbag and he a leather jacket.  These are truffle lovers hoping to get a deal by buying them directly from the finder thus avoiding the in between guy ie., the buyer hanging out in the back of his truck.

We stroll, like the others, seemingly on a Sunday outing.  My mother-in-law eventually crosses someone she knows.  They greet with air cheek kisses, "Et, alors?" she says leaving the question open.  "Ah, it's not good at all," he shakes his head despairingly.  I don't know whether he's referring to the price or the lack of quality truffles until he reaches inside his coat, pulls out a plastic grocery sack and opens it to a nice amount of black mushrooms.  "Oh," shes ays nodding and smiling pretending to be impressed.  He does have a bit more than her.  He jerks his head in the direction of a nearby vendor.  "He seems to have the best price but it's not good," he repeats: "Only 750 euros a kilo."

"The lady in the gray car is giving 800 a kilo," she replies and I think that's generous of her to be so honest.

When he walks away, my mother-in-law leans in and whispers, "Keep you eye on him.  See where he goes.  He knows of a higher bid.  What happens is that after they get enough, the price goes down.” 

We go back to the lady offering 800 euros a kilo.  Pretty good in my opinion.  We wait casually until the person ahead of us is done then my mother-in-law opens her sack and takes out her truffles.  The lady inspects them with a grunt or two and then places the biggest on the scale.  A couple hundred grams.  "In total there are 500 grams," my mother-in-law interjects.

"350 euros for all," the lady says.  "Merci."  We walk away.  We stop at a few more cars and even talk with the couple in leather until we end up behind the 'friend' of earlier.  After some whispered discussion, she finally sells her truffles for 400 euros.  Seemingly pleased she treats us all to a truffle omelet lunch.    

Don’t be fooled by the “Japanese” name: the name means “here it is!” in the Neapolitan dialect - “it” being the mozzarella. It is Italy’s way on the Sushi Bar Concept, being, actually a research project based on Italian HQ products with top-quality buffalo Mozzarella from the Campania region.

In this slick café, mozzarella in many forms - entwined, blobs, balls - is paired with an excellent – and extensive – choice of cold cuts, cured hams, salads, pasta dishes and other delicacies from all over the country. Very good Italian wines are on the list, too.

The first mozzarella bar in the city, and perhaps the world (other Obikà locations are Milan, Turin and London. NY coming soon), Obikà is a homage to this most versatile cheese. The setting is rather funky, too (and that’s where the Japanese misunderstanding comes from…), with designer tables (rather cramped, to be honest), plenty of black & white and steel details.

It also enjoy a lovely terrace on the street, a good place for people watching, appreciated also by the rather hipster clientele. This may be the only down side: the vibe is a little posed and, sometimes, staff go with the flow and the service may be not enough attentive. But the mozzarella is so genuine, it beats it all!

Every day, from 19:30, there is aperitivo with mozzarella bites and small tasting. On Saturday and Sunday Italian brunch is served from 12:00 - 15:00

Buon Appetito!

The 'vendenge' or grape harvest is rapidly approaching.   The month of August is the time to prepare both in the cave and in the fields.  Wine that is not ready yet to be bottled is transferred from tank to tank.  Those storage tanks were then cleaned with high pressure water to remove all the deposits.  The tractor made its way up and down the fields clearing the way for the harvesters.  As we are a 'bio'winery, we don't treat our grapes.  This means not using fertilizers nor weed killer. The result, rows of vines with grassy hillocks in between that need to be trimmed before the workers can traipse in to clip the grapes. 

After closely monitoring the grapes throughout the summer, one final step in needed before finalizing the start of the harvest.  As this was a difficult summer due to the unusual weather conditions, these final days before the harvest are imperative to the timing of each fields pick date.  Raphael spend this past week taking grape samples from each field and grape variety, pressing them and placing in mini bottles. They were then sent to the wine university of Suze la Rousse to be analized for sugar content, acidity and PH.  The more sugar in the grapes, the higher the alcohol percentage in the wine.  Right now it's between 9 and 11%.  And we like our wine to be at a nice high 14%.  This means a delayed start this year.  According to Raphael, we'll be lucky even then to make our percentage goals.  

No, we don't do this with our feet during the harvest.   Ever seen A Walk in the Clouds with Keanu Reeves?  I've mentioned a few times to Raphael that it might be fun to invite a group of people to the winery for an end of season party and he could save just a few buckets of grapes for us all to stomp on- the married women at least.  Of course, that would be after we each consumed a few glasses of wine (14% alcohol please).  He then asked, as his mind is likely to go in such directions, if I was thinking we'd be naked.  Okay, maybe after a few bottles of wine and we'll take that 15% rose you made last year please.    

For the samples, he presses the grapes with his hands.  (I'll be uploading a picture of his hands next.  They're quite a lovely purplish black now.) The bottles are then labeled with the field name and the grape varietal coming from that parcel of land.

This is what happens to the leftovers.  Too bad it hasn't been fermented yet.  I'd volunteer for this phase.

        
                             Let the garden
                             do the cooking!   
                                                      

It's officially hot and sunny in Crete until further
notice.  The weather forecasters can take a
few months off.  The current temperature of
32C/90F is bound to rise until the fall.  The
occasional strong winds (meltemi) will provide
relief to some and trouble for others.  

The cicadas have taken center stage in the Sounds of
Summer concert.  The children are on the beach from
morning to dusk …until their parents plead with them
to break for food and sleep.  

On the docks, the fishermen are weary from working
double time in an attempt to supply demand for fresh
seafood.  The stream of visitors seem unaware of the
crisis of dwindling fish stocks (or that the huge hotels
serve farmed seafood from the other side of the
world).    

In our organic garden, the heirloom tomatoes,
eggplant, peppers, and cucumbers are holding up to
the usual summer threats of bugs, wind, scorching
sun and drought.  It's survival of the fittest in the plant
world and we appreciate their efforts.  These
conditions magnify the flavor of fresh produce —
intensely sweet tomatoes, peppers and melon, to
name just a few of Crete's summer bounties.

The refreshing cucumbers balance out perfectly with
tomatoes in our usual horiatiki (aka village or Greek
salad).  If we do not have to cook in this weather,
there's no reason to bother!

Kali Orexi!  Nikki Rose 

Once again, a movie about grape growing, wine making and wine drinking gets it wrong.

"Based on a true story of love, victory and fermentation." Oh? Movies are notoriously bad at history, no matter how much the producers spend on artificial verisimilitude. When they spend zilch, it's embarrassing. No location shots in Paris, just three or four period Citroens to represent for "France," a yellow Gremlin for California. Everything's shot in telephoto so you can't see modern-day backgrounds, except for endless helicopter shots over lush vineyards (impossibly lush, given that the story takes place in early spring).

The woozy premise behind Bottle Shock is a blind tasting in Paris, organized in 1976 by a British wine merchant, Steven Spurrier. The top white, pitted against formidable French competition, was Chateau Montelena from Calistoga. An American red, from Stag's Leap, came in second to a classified Bordeaux. The lone journalist who covered the event, George Taber, wrote a few lines in Time that got picked up by the trades. The news made the insular French recognize that decent wine could come from Napa, thereby Changing the Course of Western Civilization.

Alan Rickman, an excellent actor, disgraces himself by portraying Spurrier as a pompous wine snob shunned by respectable Parisian wine makers. Nothing could be further from the truth. As it happens, Spurrier is a host for InTouch; here's part of his profile:

"Steven Spurrier joined the wine trade in 1964 as a trainee with Christopher & Co., London's oldest wine merchant. In 1970 he moved to Paris where he opened Les Caves de la Madeleine, which rapidly became one of the most highly regarded specialist wine shops in Paris.

"Three years later, he opened L'Academie du Vin, France's first private wine school, and went on to stage the most famous tasting in the modern history of wine, the so-called Paris Tasting of 1976, when a Chardonnay and Cabernet Sauvignon from California scored more highly than some of the most prestigious wines of Burgundy and Bordeaux.

"In 1988 Spurrier returned to the UK, where he became a wine consultant and journalist."

So the notion that Spurrier was desperate for publicity is sheer invention, along with almost everything else in the film. Word is, he's most unhappy. The real story is in Taber's book, The Judgment of Paris (Scribner, 2005), which should make an interesting movie some day. Can't come too soon. As for Bottle Shock, despite its success at indie festivals (Sundance, SIFF), it has failed to find a commercial distributor.

Chasing last week's patriotic cocktail (generically in support of the US Olympics team), this week brings a shot for Barack Obama. It comes from longtime restaurant impressario Jackie Roberts of The Pink Door:

2 oz. Crater Lake Vodka (hand crafted American vodka from Oregon ) WHY? Because he loves America

2 oz. Freshly pressed grape juice WHY? Because he's fresh!

1/2 oz. cointreau WHY? Because he has a sweet side

1/2 oz. freshly pressed lemon juice WHY? Because he HAS to win Florida

Just a whisper of curaçao to make the drink green WHY? Because he is serious about the environment.

Coincidentally, we hope, it's also the second straight use of Blue Curaçao in this (Dubious Drinks) series. Anyway, dubbed the Obama-Rama, the cocktail is served up in a sugared martini glass garnished with a frozen grape and a tiny American flag, decorated with glitter bling by Jackie's own hand.

Will set you back ten bucks, with a dollar of that going to Obama's presidential campaign. Have one on the shaded view deck, or during the nightly cabaret performances.