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Isabella Fiore, Manolos, Prada, Jimmy Choo, Nine West, Enzo. or so i'm told. Boy, "comfortable" is an elastic term. Or, elastic-waistbanded term, heh. Jimmy Choo? Are we talking heels? Let's talk comfort. Josef Siebels, baby. Leather needs zero breaking in, light as a feather, and the insoles have pressure points that give you a nice little massage up the backs of your legs. Men and women's. I wear them to work and out with nice pants. If one must wear a skirt or dress -- well, Fat Guy and SLKinsey, what did you wear with your kilts? The photos don't show your feet. Ingrid

In no particular order, these are my highlights from the final episode of The Restaurant. It’s not a scene-by-scene, just the parts I remember. The episode’s about both Rocco and JC wanting out of their arrangement and checking out other options. Rocco functions a bit better in The Restaurant, perhaps in the same way you have a couple of really good hair days after making an appointment to have it cut. Rocco goes to see the Oracle at a restaurant called Beppe that looks really comfortable and is totally empty. God, I would love to eat in a restaurant that’s not open. It would be quiet enough to have a conversation. Laurent is along for the ride. Rocco says some snotty thing to him about how Laurent’s making considerably more money than he is. Laurent snips back something about, “Maybe not now.” In terms of the overall program, this scene is the sweet bubble-gum center in my Blow-Pop. Signore Beppe, sitting all relaxed and Italian at his cozy little bar, tells Rocco he is: not good-looking like he used to be, puffy, and looks like a homeless person; probably needing Viagra; makes problems out of everything; and should leave the country for several months, go to Tuscany, for example. Laurent was not in the frame for this part of the scene, probably because he fell off his barstool in a fit of helpless Gallic giggles that the sound editor had to deal with. Jeffrey flies down to Miami to check out a hot chef whose name starts with an R. Call him Miami Heat. Oh my, and such a chef. He likes, he really enjoys, the feel of knocking someone out cold. He says it’s his favorite thing in the world in the interview close-up. All right, fine, he’s a prize fighter, and for all we know, the line was edited and what he said was, “…out cold when I catch them hurting defenseless kittens.” JC has his regulation 12 apostles around the table (Does he make them fly coach, I wonder, while he flies charter?). I understand JC’s wife wants to sit near her husband but the seating arrangement was all wrong. JC kept shouting down to Corporate Chef about how he was going to plotz when he tasted something. Well, now I understand Corporate Chef’s Tips for Success: Agree with JC. It’s not like his preferences are hard to read. I don’t know about this business of deep-frying meatballs though. I prefer mine browned in a skillet and finished through poaching in the sauce. You know Rocco’s time is so up when Mama’s meatballs are no longer pre-eminent. JC is high on Any Chef Not-Rocco but therein lies the rub. Miami Heat is JC’s transitional cook, his Rebound Chef. Miami Heat doesn’t know this. He doesn’t have any way of knowing that JC hasn’t even broken up with Rocco yet. Meanwhile, Rocco has a sit-down with Mama and he tells her he wants to start seeing other restaurants. Prettier restaurants, mom-and-pop restaurants, restaurants that won’t talk back. Mama recommends he look out for the people he hired, figure out what part in this impasse with JC he was responsible for and cut it out, and get some therapy. Oops, no, that’s not what she says. She says he should do what he want and she is on his side, and holds his hand. With her other hand, Mama swats him with the loaf of bread she’s eating and snaps, “Be a big, grown-up boy!” Oops again. Rocco is in The Restaurant during dinner service. A couple of times, I think. He visits the kitchen to annoint Gavin, who is either a victim of poisonous editing or is some kind of Piece of Al Haig Work. Either way, Gavin is Top Toque and is not afraid to say so. Unfortunately, power that announces itself is generally not so powerful. A line cook whose name I missed is not impressed with the regime change and in a rare moment of reality on this program, demonstrates how easy it is to say “Chef” with a sarcastic inflection. Rocco also takes a moment to fire a cook he likes on a personal level. Just business. Except when it’s about naming Mama Executive Chef. Naturally, Rocco doesn’t have the guy’s final check ready, nor does he assure him he’ll have it within the appropriate time-frame. Fired Cook has tears in his eyes and I am caught unawares by the sight of honest emotion, and they make it worse by filming him outside with snowflakes on his eyelashes, a la the Little Match Cook. Jesus. Cut to Carrie kneeling at Rocco’s feet in the dining room, as she exudes feeling feeling feeling about the divorce-like air in the restaurant. Carrie wears low-rise jeans, BTW, which I notice simply because they have her SQUATTING for no reason as Rocco sits at an empty table, and they keep shooting her from the back. Yvonne takes a spill on her scooter and Rocco dashes to Mt. Sinai where her swollen knee has a scrape. Interesting exchange here. Rocco is behaving like a normal boyfriend until he finds out she’s not seriously injured, when he snits something about leaving The Restaurant during service for this. Of course. He only leaves to do important things, like go on Cleavage Patrol at the local Barnes & Noble. Yvonne looks none too pleased at Rocco’s lack of pleasure in her well-being. I hope the doc she was hanging out with mentioned he can do a nice marinara himself after Rocco left. Running underneath it all, the continuing father-son crap going on between JC and Rocco, including JC’s smug little assessment that Rocco will never be as successful as he is. I can so easily imagine them around a family dinner table, screaming at each other, and Rocco slamming the door to his bedroom while Mama looks reproachfully at JC. It’s enough to make me want to lock them all in a Skinner Box and throw away the key. And it’s not like JC getting a psych assessment of his business partner in a coat-check room is in any way sketchy. If the kitchen can do stuff “on the fly,” why shouldn’t a mental health professional? Wasting no time because it involves getting what he wants, Rocco bundles Mama up in her snowsuit and they hit the sidewalk to look at spaces that may be available. This was one of my favorite moments. Rocco says they’re going about 4 blocks and Mama’s just aghast at the prospect of having to haul butt on snowy, slippery streets that far. I’m with her on this one. God invented cabs for a reason, namely, so I don’t have to risk wiping out with every step I take. I kept waiting for Rocco to do what everyone does with me in a situation like that: offer to carry Mama piggy-back. He does not. But I am pleased to see they walk slowly and Rocco’s got a good grip on her hand. They peek in at a number of places, Rocco explains that “Closed for Vacation” means the place is toast (Hey! That kinds of sheds a new light on Signore Beppe’s urging Rocco to “take a long vacation,” now doesn’t it?”) and we learn that Mama doesn’t like old junk, when Rocco admires some antique-y items in a shop. Mama, you become so much more well-rounded in this last episode. Who would have thought you hated to walk AND possibly furnished your home from Scandanavian Design? Rocco and JC meet at The Restaurant to talk about their future. For those keeping count, this is Conversation 4,632. Maybe this will be the one that takes. Of course it won’t, we all know that. I’m expecting JC to spill it in fairly short order – he’s got another chef whose name starts with an R, the plates won’t need to be changed, their wives both use L’Oreal 631 (I’m not dissing those who dye – I partake of it myself), the guy’s itching to close the restaurant he owns, uproot his life, and throw his lot in with the Lord of Ultimate Darkness in a highly unstable venture with an awning that’s looked dingy from Day One. But instead JC’s preamble goes on and on about what they both wanted and how much they put in, blah blah blah. Yeah, it’s a knife in my heart that you may not recoup your investment a thousandfold. Rocco says much the same which is basically nothing. So, as is to be expected when two blockheads are squabbling, a solution is near to hand that they manage to completely fuck up. They both want out. They both have projects they want to pursue. Somehow, despite neither one of them really wanting Rocco’s as it is, they’ve gone into litigation over who controls it. Somebody needs to put a call in to Miami so somebody can knock some sense into Dumb and Dumber. The Peanuts gang from the front of the house are ice-skating together. The feuding bar staff make efforts to fight no more forever, Shane looks mighty fine in a form-fitting ensemble, various women staff skate around, fall, almost fall, and laugh that high-pitched shrieking laugh that always reminds me of malls. The purpose of this scene, so unlike the majority of scenes with its peace-making jolliness, is to leave the workers on an upbeat note. Fine. The program closes with several text frames of what-happened next. As mentioned, litigation. Also two tiresome quotes from Plaintiff and Defendant, aka Beavis and Butthead, The Whiners, Fred and Ethel, The Two Stooges, and so on. I would have preferred a Animal House type closing, where we’re told where each one ended up, the more fictitious the better as reality here has been a wash-out. Things to be grateful for: there were no video montages inserted into the shows, no playful food-fights, no slow-motion sequences in the kitchen during a rush, and the product placements were not in evidence. Small blessings. It’s all about small blessings.

That finale, my friends, was no train wreck. If only. Oh for a conflagration. Instead, it was just…limp. Like it or not, JC grabbed Rocco's mojo but good. Rocco bedding down in The Restaurant with his girlfriend (Fertility rite? Too cheap for a motel? Roommate hang a necktie on the door?) was plain weird. Mama lives right there, why not stay with her? If I thought this program had the capacity for wit, irony, or even some cheap self-parody, the “no wood in the oven” admonition might have had an intentional link to Signore Beppe’s assumption that Rocco’s been in need of Viagra. (Or maybe it’s a new Italian wine, for all I know, Chianti di Viagra.) Why didn’t anyone tell me that “rocco” and “fiasco” are synonyms?

I've been meaning to post a follow-up thank you for this course. Going about my business the last week or so, it was on my mind quite a bit. I've actually been cooking a bit more, despite having an even more hectic schedule than usual -- I've even had to curtail my e-g activities. As far as I'm concerned, there are so few opportunities to gab/exchange information with a wide circle of foodies w/ disabilities (or who are involved with such), that I don't mind if someone goes OT. Like I do, heh. Here's my thought of the day: Let's rename "special education," "equal education." And "special needs," "equal needs." You know, the internet was pretty invented by a man who is deaf. We could all be interacting with flesh and blood people RIGHT NOW if he had been able to hear. Not a pretty picture is it? Ingrid

I ordered in from an otherwise stellar Chinese restaurant here in San Francisco this weekend and I had exactly the same thought as I scanned the menu. Their eggrolls SUCK. I had the same question -- was my youthful love of them akin to my love of Durkee french-fried onions? (Ok, I still like those but as a topping, not a main dish.) It seems there are Ages of Rolls. I was a child during the Eggroll Age, a young adult during the Springroll Age, and am enjoying in my middle years the Imperial Roll Age. What will be next? I predict the Time of Lumpia. For every roll, there is a season. So say I.

Creamy polenta topped with sauteed mushrooms (mix of crimini and porcini works great but even all crimini works) and a mix of fontina and gorgonzola. Run that baby under the broiler and dig in. Watch out for the roof of your mouth. It's good but even better when cool enough to taste.

If anyone in San Fran is looking for a large grocery store with an extensive selection of Latin dairy products (and plenty of cactus paddles, banana leaves, etc.) try Food Co. in Mission. Lots of smaller stores have stuff like crema Mexicana but Food Co. is cheap compared w/ Safeway and has as big a range of products. You can do a whole shop there. Ingrid

Almost forgot -- this really sums it up.

One of my brothers was accepted into CIA years ago but decided not to go. He had worked in a restaurant all through high school (our town's only Mexican place, and very popular). He started as a dishwasher and ended up doing weekend nights on the line. He's a worker, good under pressure, with a tendency to be a maniac, if you know what I mean. He's also a big eater, adventurous, and genuinely likes to cook at home now for his family. So why didn't he go to CIA? He said finally, "I just don't care about food as much as they do. It's all they think about." There it is. I'm glad he saw that.

A big, fat, buttery vote for Castello from me. I was at a bbq where the apps included it and plenty of bread...had a hard time moving on to the steak. I managed, though. Threw the cheese on the steak. Pt. Reyes doesn't do it for me. It's too salty and dry. Then again, I use to hate bleu altogether, so I'll keep applying myself and maybe love will bloom.

Seems to be a Calamari Convergence thing happening because I had a fantastic plate of wood-fire grilled calamari on Saturday night. I like the fried stuff, especially when it comes with those really thin slices of fried lemon but it had nothing on the grilled. It was very tender and smoky. They put it on a few rounds of orange and frisee, then topped it with a chop of capers, parsley, garlic and lemon and olive oil. A little sprinkle of salt. Perfect. A starter at Park Chow on 9th Ave. in San Francisco if anyone can get there. It's an inexpensive place, too.

I haven't attended the school but 2 good friends have taken a short series on cooking basics. One was pretty much a newbie but the other is a serious foodie and a good cook. She just thought she could use some real training. Both loved the place. The foodie said she'd tried another teacher in SF who offers classes but thought Tante Marie's was much more welcoming and committed to the skill AND pleasure of cooking. Also -- the school has been generous in providing gift certificates to auctions for the non-profits I've worked at. A solid school in my book. Ingrid

Every time I hear Adria's name, I immediately think "Dali." Surreal. Cerebral. Brilliant but best approached conceptually rather than through, I don't know, hunger? Gathering now that while complex enough to satisfy through intellectual appreciation, his food is -- food. I had wondered. Not that I'm for everything-I-ever-learned-about-food-I learned-in-kindergarten. Or a Thomas Kincaid -- ACCK! -- of the kitchen.

Got an idea for the bar stools. Call JC, say you want to do a remake of the Dating Game. You see where I'm going with this. Rocco: "So, tell me, Contestant #2, what are the names of my two restaurants?"

I handle the quotes feature with the same finesse Rocco showers on The Ladies. But thanks, Jon. And those are very lovely Hot Topics this week, Mr. Lurie. i

I keep wondering who got THAT particular pizza. Saved for staff meal.

Finally! I'm not the only one who's over Momma! Yay! The Curmudgeon Club will now come to order.

Cannot believe I missed it. But sad to say the recaps/comment here are probably better than the original. The Lord of Ultimate Darkness, our own JC -- and not the good kind of "JC" -- dropped the ultimate clue about this whole thing. Remember when he was talking on the phone in his Limousine of Ultimate Darkness about Rocco's replacement? His exact description began, "Well, he's young and good-looking." There you have it folks. For any Brady Bunchers out there, Rocco turns out to have been Johnny Bravo. He fit the chef's jacket, so to speak. Yes, I know he's respected cook, blah blah, but Paul Prudhomme wouldn't have gotten a call back. I've had a problem with Rocco's stated purpose about the place all along, this stuff about not being proud of his Italian heritage, how he felt like he was looked down upon. I grew up in the Northeast, and yes, there's prejudice there as everywhere. But Italians and Italian-Americans are pretty well accepted. And Italian-American food is one of the favorites of people who won't touch ethnic cuisine. So it really smacked of insincerity to me. Or maybe it was just Rocco himself. Nothing wrong with saying, "I'm doing red-sauce Italian cause it's my mother to me and it's a straight shot to a lot of peoples' hearts." Ingrid

I made my mom do something with me the last time I visited that could well put me in the running for Biggest eGullet Loser. JP lives 2 towns over from where I grew up and I found the address. I insisted we scope it out, and as we drove by, I said the magic words, "No, no, Claudine, that's not the way you do it. Here, let me." No sign of him of course. Nice house. Then we went home and had some red wine with nice croutons and cheese. Family.

If memory serves, native Americans basically saved the Europeans' butts. My 2nd grade history teacher explained that Squanto showed John and Priscilla to put a dead fish in with the seed corn. Yadayadayada, a Thanksgiving feast. Now, where the native Americans were getting their info from is another question....

That's always been my question: How'd anybody go from wheat in a field to a loaf of bread? Now, THAT's thinking outside the box! Ingrid

Research also shows that the one-time appeal of soy products for women -- estrogen -- is probably not such a great thing after all, as we are now bombarded by estrogenic substances, including many plastics. Proving as always there's such a thing as too much of a good thing. (A little education can be a dangerous thing, BTW. The idea that "processed" and "chemical" and "artificial" are by definition negative led me to explain to a young woman that the natural arsenic in peach pits was not a superior form of birth control, as compared with "artificial" bc pills. Yikes.) Ingrid

Counterintuitive as it may sound, I have found that the food is not necessarily how I choose a restaurant. Some great food in SF is only available in places where the service or environment cause me stress. SF has a TON of great food; the trick is finding the restaurants that provide as much pleasure as the skill of their kitchen staffs. As to what I order -- I tend to pick things I don't cook at home much, if at all. Duck. Gnocchi. Anything in a mushroom reduction. Hand-made pasta. Oysters -- yes, oysters, because I can't open them. What seems simple to one person may not be simple to another. It's funny because I went out recently to Boulevard, had a fantastic meal (foie gras, Kobe beef, asparagus, I could go on) that was a very special occasion. A friend unexpectedly took me out the next night to a place where I had a tomato salad and roast chicken. It was very simple but well-cooked. Honestly, if they'd had a bowl of strawberries on the dessert menu, I might have gone for it. I was still kind of full from the night before, the thought of another complex meal was unappealing. I know that more and more people eat out several times a week. Maybe this is partially to blame for "radical simplicity." Ingrid

This is one of the most sensible posts I've read among many excellent recommendations, on this thread and elsewhere. If I ever apply my immense store of parental wisdom to an actual child this will be included. (Cusina's line about being a better parent before having kids also a keeper.) Ingrid

Perhaps what I needed was a place to vent, cause I feel much better about the whole thing now. I love my friends, and several are exploring dietary programs because of weight, overall fatigue, or just trying to see if something will make them feel better. I'm much more skeptical about the power of controlling food intake in regard to long-term health. I've worked on the issue of environmental toxins, body burden, and human health. While I would never advocate stuffing your face with nothing but steak and bacon (well, hardly ever advocate), I now believe that the more serious dangers are ones we hear little to nothing about. At the risk of inciting a riot, I should disclose I'm a size 0 who has a certain coat-hanger appeal herself. LOL! I think i should respond to my next dinner party invitation by saying I have to have extra chicken skin, a chocolate milkshake and my own loaf of bread. Ha! Ingrid PS Telling someone they should check out any diet is RUDE. "No soup for you!"