Mark L. Van Name's Blog, page 176

Arpege disappoints

On the plane from New York to Paris, a Frenchwoman claimed the window seat in my row.  Until she fell asleep, she was determinedly chatty, so we ended up discussing a variety of topics, most of them about her.  At one point, though, she brought up restaurants.  Her list of NY favorites was a perfect duo--Per Se and Le Bernardin--so I was concerned when I mentioned that one of the places I was hoping to eat in Paris was L'Arpege and she said, after a long pause, "Arpege disappointed."

How right she was.

The restaurant certainly does not lack for accolades.  Chef Alain Passard is a legend of French cooking. The place has earned three Michelin stars and is in the top twenty on the list of the top 50 restaurants of the world.  He serves organic produce from his biodynamic farm southwest of Paris, so everything is pure and fresh. 

With all of this going for Arpege, I expected a great meal.  Instead, what I ate--and paid handsomely for--was a so-so-at-best dinner, one in which the same vegetables in the same preparations repeated over and over, the portions were too large, and the supporting cast--bread (one type) and dessert (a bon-bon plate and a sad, dry but fancy little apple pie)--were mediocre at best.

The tasting menu certainly was heavy on the veggies, to the point that when the fish (turbot) arrived, I was thrilled to see a non-vegetable offerings.  By contrast, Guy Savoy's vegetable courses, of which there were several, each featured different ingredients in varied and evocative preparations. 

The service was also spotty, sometimes quite good and other times downright neglectful, to the point that I almost had to beg for the check.

I appreciate the ideas behind the food at L'Arpege, but I have to side with the Frenchwoman on the plane:  Arpege disappointed. 

Paris perfection: Musee d'Orsay and Restaurant Guy Savoy

I'm sleeping a lot here, incredible amounts, ten or eleven hours a night, and still I'm tired, still I'm processing stress dreams over and over and over.  I figure this is all to the good, but I'm rather tired of it and ready for my psyche to get over itself.  Of course, the fact that I'm impatient with myself about the speed at which I'm destressing probably says a great deal about me.

On the walk to the museum today, I couldn't help but notice this woman striding speedily in front of me.

As always, click on the image for a larger version.
Note the shoes:  Yes, she walking at high speed on the uneven sidewalks of Paris in turquoise suede Louboutin boots with stiletto heels.  An amazing--and amazingly expensive--feat.

The Musee d'Orsay is my favorite museum, so going to it again was like visiting with an old, dear friend you haven't seen in entirely too long.  I should hasten to add that I know it's not the best overall museum, nor the one with the largest collection of anything, nor the grandest; it is simply the one I fell in love with when I first visited it and have fallen in love with again on each and every visit.

As I did today.  A snack in the stunning restaurant, a slow wander through the amazing Impressionist collection, and then my traditional pilgrimage to the small but stirring set of Van Gogh pieces.  Its Starry Night is not the one most people think of when they visualize the Van Gogh painting of that name, but it is a version that I love, one that up close vividly makes clear the passion with which Van Gogh was painting, the thick strokes and layers of paint, the simplicity of the brilliant image construction, and the power of his art. 

Dinner was at the Michelin three-star Restaurant Guy Savoy. I'd eaten some years ago at the Las Vegas restaurant of the same name, and though the meal was excellent, it was not quite up to that of its down-the-strip competitor, Joel Robuchon.  I'd heard from many people, however, that the Paris restaurant was another thing entirely.

Wow, were they right.

The tasting menu this evening was exceptional, the kitchen executed it flawlessly, and the service, led by Hubert, was superb.  This was a world-class dinner.  The food blended classical French techniques, with amazing sauces on almost every course, with a playful inventiveness that always kept in mind the spring season to which the menu was a tribute. For example, this lobster dish


evoked mist rolling off the sea in the morning, and then was utterly delicious.  

I could go on and on, but it's rather late here, so I'll leave it at this:  If you're willing to pop for the price, which is considerable, visit Restaurant Guy Savoy, choose the largest tasting menu you can afford, and prepare to enjoy one of the great meals available anywhere. 

The Paris/Louvre exercise plan

Before I get into the main topic of today's post, a couple of happy snaps seem in order.

Not far from the hotel, I walked by this little shop.

As always, click on an image to see a larger version.
I'm referring to the one with the small, silverish name:  Zimmerli.  It is a shop for the company that makes the world's best underwear, of which I own entirely too many pairs--underwear I bought, of course, in a fit of crazed four a.m. shopping.  I must never shop at that hour.

This year, Paris is celebrating the 850th anniversary of Notre Dame.  This shot is from the last row of seats, during a service today.


It is not the grandest cathedral, nor the most opulent, nor even the one that speaks most to me, but Notre Dame will always have a special place in my heart.

The big news for me today was just how incredibly out of shape I am.  Yes, of course I knew that intellectually, but I was nonetheless surprised by how fatigued and sore I was from today's activities:  strolling about two and a half to three miles, plus walking in the Louvre for nearly four hours.  Museum time is always mentally tiring, particularly time in a place as crammed with amazing art as the Louvre, and it is also physically a bit tiring, but I was entirely more wrung out from today's activities than I should have been. Where once I would have breezed through such a day without noticing it, now I am paying for it with soreness and fatigue.  I have much to do to improve myself. 

The two great personal issues I must address remain the same:  time and my health.  They are related.  I hope one product of this sabbatical is an ironclad determination to deal with both. 

Napping, luxury, dinner, nothing

Despite my best intentions not to plan, I had developed a vague plan for today:  Arrive on time, sleep about six hours, wander, hit my favorite spot at dark.  In developing this itinerary, I'd assumed I'd be well rested after a week off work and a flight in first class.  Of course, the reality was otherwise:  I arrived tired and rather tight from cramming into coach.

So, in the spirit of the trip, I threw the plan out the window. 

Instead, I blogged, read a bit, then had a long nap.  I showered, ate a lovely dinner in the hotel's more casual restaurant, and will now read, perhaps flip through the amazingly varied TV channel selection, and then crash. 

Tomorrow, I will begin walking about Paris.  I expect I will feel quite rested; I am already much better than I was when I arrived.

In other news, this hotel has redefined luxury for me.  I've never stayed anyplace quite like it.  I knew I was spoiling myself with my first hotel selection, but I had no clue how much.  I highly recommend it (and I'll tell you later, maybe after I leave Paris, maybe before, where I am). 

Ah, the joys of travel

It's 4:15 EDT as I write this.  I'm sitting in the Admiral's Club at RDU.  My itinerary had me leaving RDU at 2:40, arriving in JFK at 4:30, and flying first class to Paris on a 6:00 p.m. plane.  I paid a boatload of saved miles for a round-trip, first-class ticket, so the overseas flight would pass in comfort.

That was all before travel joy happened.

My flight is now scheduled to take off at 5:13 and arrive at 6:49.  I can live with that.  I spent more time at home, then passed more time waiting at the airport.  I don't mind waiting.  I have a laptop and tons to read, so that's fine.

My new flight to Paris leaves at 9:00 p.m., and now I'm due to arrive at 9:30 a.m. instead of 6:30 a.m.  I can also live with that.  Unfortunately, I no longer have a first-class seat, nor do I have any ability to change that fact; I've already failed at doing so.  So, the flight will be later and now will suck vastly more--and I'll still have paid for something I'm not getting.

At this point, I'm focusing on making it to Europe.  After that, I'll deal with the rest.  

***
Now, it's 7:27 EDT, and I'm ensconced in a wonderful hotel in Paris.  I'll have to fight for a refund on my miles when I'm back in early May, but for now I'm happy simply to be done traveling.  I was lucky enough to score an exit row seat, so at least I had leg room.  The flight passed quickly, customs in Paris was as simple and quick as I've ever experienced, and the taxi was a Mercedes; I cannot complain about anything since I hit the ground.

I did not, though, sleep on the plane, so I am off to take a nap.

Portrait of the author as a kitchen worker

Today, after service and while we were finishing clean-up.


You can always tell how very much I like having people take my picture.  Yes, that is me trying to smile.

Today, the lead and a fair number of other folks couldn't make it, so for a time we went into the weeds.  I ended up working the ovens, helping with meat, making barbecue sauce from what ingredients we had, and generally staying very, very busy.

We made it, though, as the team at Shepherd's Table Soup Kitchen always seems to manage.  We fed north of 250 people (I didn't hear the final count), and the food earned more compliments from guests than I've heard on any other day.

Tomorrow, I head to Europe.

My time at Shepherd's Table Soup Kitchen

As I've mentioned in earlier posts, I'm spending this first week of my sabbatical working for the Shepherd's Table Soup Kitchen feeding a good, hot lunch to those who need it.  I chose this particular place because it serves food to anyone who shows up; it takes no Federal money, so it doesn't have to qualify the guests or ask any information of them.  Though the group is religious, it doesn't require any particular religion of the guests.  I love the simplicity of its approach:  if you're hungry, come on down, and we'll feed you. 

The place operates on a shoestring budget, but thanks to the Interfaith Food Shuttle, lots of donations, and a crew composed almost entirely of volunteers, it feeds between 250 and 300 people at lunch five days a week.  So far this week, we've fed something like (these totals may be off slightly) 276, 269, 259, and 289 guests. 

Note the term "guests."  Part of the goal is to treat each diner as our guest, from when one of us greets them at the door, to when we serve them food, to when one of us bids them farewell.  "Treat each and every person with dignity," the team lead, a woman who's been volunteering there for over thirty years, told our group on Monday.  After four days of work, I'm happy to report that everyone I've seen interact with our guests has done just that. 

The meal we prepare is substantial:  meat, starch, veg, salad, sandwich (or pizza slice), fruit, dessert, and beverage (water, tea, and sometimes milk and/or juice).  Each guest gets the same basic serving size of each item, and each chooses which courses he or she wants, though most want some of everything. 

The room seats 80, and we serve for just one hour, so obviously the whole process relies on each guest eating reasonably quickly and then clearing a space for the next person. As the above numbers show, the guests do just that.  Everyone is, in fact, remarkably more pleasant and cooperative than the crowd at most sandwich shops or cafeterias. 

The volunteers are a mixed bunch, with lots of regulars, on some days groups from schools, and a few first-timers and oddballs like me.  The regulars go about their business with rhythm and good humor, and they also do a good job of integrating the rest of us. 

The teams work by days, a different team for each day of the week.  This approach has meant that I'm the only non-staffer working every day this week, and it's also yielded an odd phenomenon:  each day I know more, but each day I look like a fresh face to the day's team.  Fortunately, proving what I know is easy and quick, so I've gotten to work on just about every aspect of the prep, setup, cooking, serving, and cleaning up workflow.

I'm still processing a lot of what I've seen and learned, and I'm finding some of those lessons to be about myself.  That is a very good thing.

Of one thing, though, I am already certain:  The mission of Shepherd's Table is righteous, and the people who make it happen are doing good work.  I am proud to have been able to work alongside them this week.  

Holden wet and Holden wild

I know I owe you a report on my time working at the Shepherd's Table Soup Kitchen, but that's just going to have to wait until tomorrow. 

Why?

Because you need a shot of the world's cutest dog.

Here he is, fresh from a bath, looking both noble and, yes, a tad sad at his own wetness.

As always, click on an image to see a larger version.
You can't blame Holden for his expression, because, after all, how would you feel if you had to wait in the den to dry after a bath?

Of course, even Holden has a dark side.  Unhappy at not receiving a treat late one evening, he began to vibrate so fast that we worried he might transport himself to a parallel dimension.


Fortunately, he quickly became bored, calmed down, and took a nap, thus avoiding upsetting the laws of physics as we know them today.

CNN, Steubenville, and rape culture

If your eyes are at all open, you see rape culture all around you.  If you don't, consider the recent example of the rape case in Steubenville, Ohio, and CNN's coverage of the case.  (I won't recount all the details, but on the off chance that you haven't heard of the case, consider going here or here.)

What the CNN reporters did so tragically wrong was not simply show tremendous insensitivity to the victim; by focusing so heavily on the "tragedy" of the young men, the consequences those rapists would pay (a whole year in juvenile jail, possibly to be extended later), the network anchors also participated in our ongoing rape culture, as if somehow the rape was something that happened to the young men.

No.

These men raped a young woman.  Period. 

There is no excuse, ever, for raping someone.  Period. 

Talking about her being so drunk she was passed out does not in any way excuse anything.  They violated her body without her consent.  Period. 

When we talk about a rape case, we as a culture must start with a basic assumption:  there is never an excuse for rape.  Then, and only then, can the rest of the discussion begin.

As long as we even hint at rape as something that "happened," we are excusing it and furthering rape culture.  As long as we even remotely imply that the victim was in any way responsible, we are excusing the rape and furthering rape culture. 

That is wrong.  Period.

My new job

I started my new job today.  It pays nothing, requires me to report in the morning when I am normally asleep, and has no future for me.  In fact, it finishes in a week.

Perhaps I should explain. 

As I've mentioned before, my company, Principled Technologies (PT), offers a sabbatical program.  This program gives each employee a seven-week, full-pay-and-benefits sabbatical in his/her seventh year and each seven years thereafter.  For various reasons I've delayed mine for quite a while, but now, in my eleventh year, I am taking it, as I have discussed before.

One cool thing about PT's sabbatical program is that if the employee will spend one of the seven weeks working with a charity, PT will contribute five grand either to the expenses the employee incurred getting to that charity or to the charity.  So, for example, if an employee were to fly to Africa to do charity work, PT would cover five grand of the expenses.  If, on the other hand, an employee were to work at a local charity, PT would donate the five grand to the charity.  Splits are also fine:  some money can go to cover employee expenses, and some to help the charity.

Long ago, I narrowed my choices to two:  working with a child-soldier-related charity in Africa or working in a soup kitchen locally.  For various reasons, the charities my Children No More program have helped (both directly and indirectly) didn't seem like good choices, so I decided to stay local and work in a soup kitchen. 

I made this choice because I wanted to serve people directly, and because I wanted to be as far from in charge as I could be, so that I was doing something very different from my normal job.  I also wanted to work for a place that would feed anyone, without requiring them to produce an ID or be part of a particular religion. 

In the end, I chose the Shepherd's Table Soup Kitchen, where I worked today. 

More on my experiences tomorrow.