Lady T

Beautifully nuanced and accessible. I never tried the Manischewitz 'exotics' -- the peach and mango stuff -- on their own merits. My late mother-in-law (upon whose memory be peace) used to mix them half-and-half with...yikes...7-Up, and drink that as a pre-dinner tipple. I never checked the 7-Up bottle to see whether it was kosher, and kept my mouth shut. What is it about the Rebbe's writing that always calls up memories like these?

Trendy raw food. And Sam Donaldson singing. For eternity. You've nailed it, sir: that's Hell.

Me three!

Sunday dinner is almost always cooked at home, after I get back from singing Mass in the morning: I stop at Whole Foods and pick up some of whatever looks good and/or is on sale, plus a bottle or two of wine at a local liquor place, and then the entire rest of the afternoon is spent cooking, and reading, and laughing, and eating, and drinking. In solitude (surprisingly comforting and healing) or with friends, that's what sets me up for the coming week.

I have to admit a shameful thing here: it took me until the third or fourth time I'd seen her show to realize that it wasn't some sort of comedy put on for the entertainment of people who actually do cook: the ingredients are contemptible, the skill is non-existent, the resulting tastes are horrifying, and the bared-fangs-fakey perkiness of the presentation makes me instantly homicidal. Now that I know better, I'll go find a good cookbook to read, and I am well pleased.

Good roast beef, plenty of marbling, cubed and pureed with sufficient home-made beef stock... *wanders away, thinking...* (Edited to add a touch of good red wine and a sprinkle of finely chopped parsley)

I recall reading and loving the Cooks with Wine book -- but not cooking from it, somehow.

Most any cuisine that has hot variations will cause me trouble at the hottest extreme, but the one that most consistently leaves me gasping and moaning if I don't order with care is Thai. I persevere, however, because I love the flavors of the spices in spite of the heat.

That chocolate dessert is talking to me -- and this is that dangerous not-quite-time-for-dinner-yet part of the day. There's a lovely old-fashioned neighborhood bakery called Bennison's right on the way on my commute home. Wonder what they've got this evening...? I'm loving the photographs, phaelon. Keep posting!

As a recently-arrived Evanston resident, I can certainly agree with the LuLu's and Trio recommendations. Mount Everest has a nice little lunch buffet as well, for absolute rock-bottom prices -- but arrive 11:30ish; the food can get steam-table-itis after a while, no matter how careful the staff is (and it is) about stocking the pans and removing tired stuff. The nice thing about Mount Everest is that they'll let you sit and read, or talk, or keep eating, as long as you like. No hurry at all. Relaxing, yes? The other nice thing about all three of the above locations is that they're all pretty close to the Davis/Church Street downtown (as distinct from the Main Street, Dempster Street, and Central Street downtowns!) district, where the shopping possibilities are anywhere from dead-cheap to serious-investment, and the people-watching can be priceless. Bookstores. We got bookstores -- but then, bookstores are a terrible vice of mine. The Baha'i Temple is a seriously beautiful piece of architecture set in some of the most carefully thought-out landscaping you can find on the North Shore, overlooking Lake Michigan -- more and more interesting the more closely you look. If I go there, though, I avoid weekends, when the hordes of tour groups and students rupture the basic serenity of the place and the structure.

I came here to post on that very thing. I like to stick them in on high for 30 seconds, flatten them down, let them harden a bit and then eat them. It's so good. Ehh. Okay. Sold. The kid's gonna be a chef. Or possibly, in the (very loosely quoted) words of Anthony Bourdain: he's gonna shave his head, climb a tower someplace, and start shooting strangers.

I very much like raisins, actually -- usually plumped in warm brandy first -- for baking. I can take or leave 'em for eating out of hand, but boozy fruit in pastries is a fave of mine in the cold months.

I'd like the whole list, actually: Beltane, Samhain, the equinoctial feasts, Candlemas...what do you serve for any/all these occasions?

One of my nephews likes to put the yellow Peep chicks in the microwave and watch 'em dance, and melt, and... ...and I've told my sister to watch that kid's career choices really, really carefully.

It actually constitutes the base of my most popular soup: Creme du Cialis Potage ... makes those veggies stand up and be counted, as it were ... For 36 hours?

Most of the time I do grits just so I can make fried mush with butter and syrup the next morning. These suggestions help a lot, though.

I can putter and play and take all the time I want/need without a deadline. It tastes better. It's cheaper. I can play with different wine pairings that interest me without some twit looking down his/her overrefined nose at me. I can have all the asparagus I want. Nobody will complain about the shallots in the vinaigrette. and finally: It's the best of all revenges on the elderly aunts who told me, long ago, not to play with my food. (Guess how well they cooked? )

Irresistible.

Word.

Contralto, here. Soba, do definitely go see Salome. Among its varied virtues (in addition to its glorious-sounding vices) is the fact that it's a shortie -- only an hour or so, if I recall correctly (and correct me if I'm wrong!). If I might contribute: talk to as many opera singers as you want, Soba, and that's how many stories you'll hear about how to support yourself and/or make it big. Here in the States, it's common to do at least one degree in music; where I work, you can throw a paper clip into the Chicago Symphony Chorus' ranks and hit three M.A.'s and a doctorate before the clip hits the floor (and the manager kills you with her bare hands for disrupting the rehearsal). 'Tain't required, however. If you can 'sing the shit out of' a role the way Ms. Voigt does, you're going places whether you have formal credentials or not. Guaranteed. Degree work ain't enough, though. In addition to -- or as a part of -- the degree training, it's a must to work with at least one (and preferably an interesting range of 'em, over time) voice teacher to train in the reflexes (exactly as athletes must do in their particular sports) necessary to produce a flexible, beautiful, healthy, projected singing sound...even and accurate, all the way up and all the way down the range. Along with that, a coach/repetiteur to help you learn new repertoire and/or a language coach to make sure audiences and critics don't laugh at your pronunciation can be helpful. That STILL ain't enough. Some singers get their major-league breaks by winning competitions. Some win auditions. Some do it by working with teachers who Know Somebody. And yes, the Casting Couch is a factor in some houses. Horizontal coaching, anyone? Why do I mention the CSO Chorus in a discussion of opera singers? Because just about everybody in paid choral work, whether symphonic or operatic, has the same training: languages, scales, arpeggia, stage skills, dancing, occasional fight choreography, upper-respiratory survival and fitness in a hostile world, you name it. But God didn't kiss our instruments with big enough, or beautiful enough, or distinctive enough, sound to cut it in the world of three-thousand-seat houses. Or maybe our teachers didn't Know Somebody big enough to make sure the managers of the big houses heard us doing repertoire that flattered us. Or maybe we decided the life of the Wandering Minstrel ain't for us and opted for singing as an avocation rather than the source of income (mortgage companies and landlords encourage this kind of thinking). That should be enough to get a discussion going...as long as we don't forget about food! (No, Soba, high-test singing isn't an automatic guarantee of gourmandise. But find a group of singers and you'll almost always find a good variety of restaurant recommendations, and good company with whom to eat.)

Saw that, Blovie, and thank you kindly. I'm still boggling about any house that would sacrifice quality singing for visual concept -- which, to be sure, is to say that there are a lot of houses that boggle me, and particularly in Europe. It's not every day, though, that an international-level presenter pulls something quite so publicly, blatantly actionable, even in the name of trying to attract the younger set. Life in the arts is always amazing, I guess...Sam, Kathleen: have you seen a lot of casting decisions like these where you sing?

And, also at the intersection of Food, Life, and Singing: I just noticed the Anthony Tommasini article in today's NYT. Run, do not walk, to get a copy, and read all about Deborah Voigt getting the boot from the Covent Garden production of Ariadne auf Naxos because the director considers her to be too fat to wear a slinky black evening dress which is apparently central to his concept of the Prima Donna. Talk to me, colleagues...I'm having a serious "WTF!?!?!" moment here in Chicago.

*Groan* St. Souci has always been good at getting me restaurant reservations. *Dives for cover*

What is this margarine? Food of the pods? Margarine: Looks like butter. Tastes -- if it's the good stuff -- like candle wax. At best. If it's not the good stuff, it tastes rather the way you'd imagine a parade ground tastes after a platoon of Marines has stomped all over it. Nasty. Avoid.

Given the huge thicket of (often conflicting) Federal, state, and local regulations involved, I wonder whether French imports ever did actually comply.