Schneier

Mashed??? Roast potatoes, creamed spinach, and tomato and onion salad. Tradition is tradition, after all. Bruce

I get that it's the base charge that matters. My question is: how much is that base charge? My impression is that it was low enough not to really matter. Bruce

I'm going to be in San Diego on Friday, and I'm looking for high-end suggestions. Barring any other input, I'm going to Roppongi. I'll report back next week. Bruce

I wrote this last May, but figured that it was still relevent enough to post here. Bruce ***** VIENNE, FRANCE: This is the kind of thing that I live for when traveling. We're traveling with two friends, Lee and Melissa. We know them through the Minneapolis wine scene. Two years ago, they were here (in Ampuis near Vienne) in January for the Marche au Vins, the local Cote-Rotie wine sale/festival in the local High School gymnasium. Back then, they discovered a local confiture salesman in the food area associated with the wine festival. He had--although this might have inflated over the years--over 150 different jams, jellies, preserves, and the like. They bought several, including a citron vert that they still tell stories about. After the jar was emptied Melissa carefully saved the hand-lettered-and-photocopied label, hoping to find him again. "Papa Verde," in some town or another near Vienne. Yesterday we picked up another wine friend from the Lyon train station--he's spending a few weeks in Brussels--and the five of us went off to a wine appointment at the Cote-Rotie producer Jamet. It's hard to get appointments on Saturday, but we managed this one. Afterwards we poked around the town of Condreau for a while, looking for something to do. Melissa took her old faded jar label into the tourist office to try and find out where Papa Verde was. He lived in a town too far from where we were, but the woman at the tourist office suggested we visit a more local confiture maker: Les Saisons de Rosalie. She gave us a photocopied flyer with a sloppy map. He was in the town of Longes, which was too small to appear on any but our most detailed map, and could only be gotten to by roads similarly small. It didn't seem to far. We decided to go. The roads were one line and twisty up through the vineyards of Cote-Rotie. Then it leveled out, and we drove through fields and forests. Following the signs was relatively easy, and we only made a wrong turn once. Finally, we were in Longes. The flyer gave a street name, and amazingly Longes had more than one street. But a handmade wooden sign on the road directed us to Les Saisons de Rosalie. It was a house. The door was open, but it seemed empty. But a nearby garage looked like the place to go, so we went in. Inside was a pretty showroom filled with little jars. Quickly, a young man came out of his house and joined us. This was Phillipe, who made all the confiture. I had the best French of anyone--there were five of us, if you're counting--so I handled communications. The mere though of this would reduce anyone who watched me struggle through high-school French to guffaws, but I did reasonably well. He took us into his basement kitchen--"laboratory," he called it--and had us taste his wares. We tasted about two dozen things. I remember four floral jellies: lilac, wisteria, primrose, and local dandilion called pissenlit. He had two grape jellies: syrah and vigionner. He had various fruits. An onion jelly. Rhubarb. More. Everything was amazingly delicious. We all bought armfuls of the stuff. Phillipe showed us a picture of an awards ceremony where he won some kind of award for his work. In the picture was, he said, the best confiture maker in the world and the best confiture maker in France. He showed us his garden. I have no idea how many French make the drive to his little garage each week, but it must be enough. I have a strong appreciation where a jelly maker, living in the middle of nowhere, living in a town not even on the way to anywhere, can practice his craft, win awards, and build a career. He said he would be willing to send us stuff by mail if we sent him a fax, although clearly he didn't do this kind of thing regularly. He doesn't even have a consistent product line; it changes with the seasons and as he experiments. Rosalie was his grandmother. I asked. And while we leave France on Monday, Lee and Melissa are heading towards Switzerland. They're going to pass nearby Papa Verde's town. Bruce

Good for her. Bruce

I make my coq au vin with real cocoa. Bruce

I have nothing to add on topic, but I just wanted to say that this is the funniest thread title that I have seen, ever. I chuckle every time it goes by. Bruce

I visited Nova Scotia about five years ago. The McDonalds up there serve something called a McLobster. Basically a lobster salad sandwich. Bruce

Ouch. That hurts. Bruce

Ridge Monte Bello. I opened a 91 last night. Beautiful. Bruce

I remember their size. The one near the University of Rochester we called Wegman's, but the one further away was larger, and known as MegaWegman's. I also remember an even larger one, that we called GigaWegman's. Bruce

My god! This sounds fantastic. Unfortunately, I have other plans on that weekend. Please let us know as soon as you know the dates for 2004; I need to get this on my calendar. Bruce

Really. This is good info. Thanks. Bruce

I'm certainly interested, specially because you're not going to Rover's. And anyway, taking notes during dinner is one sure-fire way to increase the romance. Bruce

Isn't the charge a percentage plus a small base charge? I assume with a reasonable-sized check, the base charge is basically lost in the noise and you're paying a percentage of the check. Bruce

Don't take them to DB Bistro and feed them a DB burger. It's just too frightening. Bruce

Lobster quiche. Really. Bruce

That's him. He had a line of cashew bins in front of him. The black walnuts were on a shelf behind. And we made the most fantastic pie last night. Brown sugar and maple as the sweetener. Bruce

I've resigned myself to contorting my hand and using right-handed scissors, just as I've resigned myself to holding my hand funny when I write. Bruce

Sometimes the trick is to keep those observations to yourself. With a tableful of foodies, of course you're going to overanalyze the meal. That's part of the fun. But with a regular audience, it can be confusing. Bruce

I assume a vegatarian restaurant is a meat-free environment. Kitchen staff is not allowed to cook burgers for themselves to eat in the break room, for example. I don't think it's advertised, but I think it's a given. Bruce

We'd have to get two, and then work out some sort of system. I'm left handed, and my wife is right handed. Bruce

My wife, in her distant past, went to Stand Up Frank's once or twice. (Or maybe more regularly; there are some things you just don't ask about in too much detail.) She still tells stories about that place. Bruce

Closed. Gone. Caput. I think it went downhill before it closed, though. Bruce

Does this make a difference if you're a lefty? Bruce