Chicago by Bike

It's fun to have outings around town. Growing up, my father used to always take us on road trips on the weekend. In retrospect, I suppose that the road trips were not generally long excursions. I mean, the furthest we generally got was about forty or fifty miles from home, but we certainly had adventures. For instance, one day we would drive up an old logging road until the car got stuck. On another day we were chased out of an estate by Dobermans, on a third day we would find the most wonderful swimming hole around. The important thing about these outings were not to go to exotic locations, not to accomplish amazing feats of endurance, but simply to see a new side to the world. I suppose one of the lessons that I've drawn from these adventures is that you don't need to go far from home to have them.

I began the last post with a passing reference to one of my favorite books as a young child, Muncus Agruncus, A Bed Little Mouse. Things that I liked about that book included the nice rhythms, an interesting vocabulary for a children's book. Consider the following lines:

"One by one his brave fleet disappeared,

While the roar of the cataract burst on his ears.

Into the wild foam cloudland he whirled

With mizzen mast bending and all sheets unfurled. . ."

I mean, how many books for five year olds mention mizzen masts at cataracts, or have the inventiveness to come up with the word, "cloudland"? It really is a great book. And the whole plot is about a naughty little mouse that decides to have adventures around the house he lives in. It too reinforces the lesson that one can have incredible adventures without straying too far from home. But equally, the book also mentions the joy of returning to home. After being chased all 'round by a broom when the owner of the house catches site of the mouse, Muncus retires to bed but not before laying out plans for his next adventure.

Now that I'm a full adult - something that one feels in a deep way after turning 30, and which has been further emphasized now that I'm on the verge of turning 32 - I still try to keep up such adventures. My adventures in Chicago have been raised to a whole new register today, since I decided to go out and buy a bicycle. I then spent the next 12 hours exploring the city in a whole new way. I bicycle is such a very unique form of transportation, and I think that it's very difficult to come close to the feeling of riding a bicycle through any other means of travel. Unlike a car or a motorcycle, it's quiet, and you are not confined to the road, but can take excursions along paths, sidewalks, and fields. Unlike walking, you can travel at a fast enough pace to get to places far beyond the range of two feet, and even beyond your immediate horizon. And if you want to stop somewhere, it is easier done than said.

The uniqueness of this form of transportation was immediately apparent when I road down the road away from the bicycle store. Almost instantly I was in parts of the city that I had never been to before. To understand this, you have to realize that in Chicago, just like in some other cities (Amsterdam is the most striking example of this phenomenon), really good neighborhoods are sometimes one or two blocks from a really bad neighborhood. In the case of my first ride from the store, it's a one-block difference. It's actually sort of amusing that in Chicago you can usually determine whether you've driven into a poor, slightly dangerous neighborhood by the existence of White Castle hamburger joints. These joints sell hamburgers for $.49, and so they're always located in neighborhoods where (a) there are lots of people interested in $.49 hamburgers, rather than the $7.00 hamburgers one can get at downtown diner and (b) where the property is cheap enough to be paid from the narrow profit margins of $.49 worth of beef. And sure enough, less than fifty feet from the bicycle store there is a White Castle. But then one block over you're in suburbia, with tree-lined streets, and polite and happy people, and even a university. It's sort of crazy how things like this work out sometime. Anyway, normally I don't explore these little bits of suburbia, because I don't particularly feel like crossing through WhiteCastleland (Or if we were in England I suppose we could spell it Whitcastle), but on my bike, travelling at the speed of the breeze (literally, since the breeze was under 30 miles per hour), a bad neighborhood is a mere passing blur.

In general, I find that Chicago has a certain wonderful randomness about it. For instance, Chicago has the largest population of Poles of any city outside of Poland. So, when you're driving around, chances are that you'll find a giant statue in the middle of nowhere celebrating some noble Pole's defense of the motherland. I suppose New York has these things too, but they seem to be more endemic to Chicago. I passed a few of these places within minutes of leaving the store, and they are sometimes in the most delightful little parks. Chicago has other amusing sites too.

And getting around in Chicago on a bicycle is rather easy nowadays. The mayor of Chicago Richard M. Daley - who might as well be known as the emperor of Chicago after the number of years he's been in power and the number of things that have his name written on them - really likes riding bikes, and so he's trying to make Chicago the most bike-friendly city in the United States. Although he does have a way to go, I was amazed at the number of bike lanes, biker signs, and paths there are in this town: something I missed in my bikeless days. It seems that at least in the areas that I road through today there were always convenient ways for a bicyclist to get around. And perhaps the greatest of these is the lakeshore path. It's a path, 18 miles long running from the Southside of Chicago, through the center of town, and way up north, and it never wanders more than a few hundred yards from the water's edge. The path for the most part is free from intersections, and crosswalks, so you can basically bike the length of Chicago and have beautiful views the whole way. Not many cities have anything even close to this. Further, the path has two lanes, and although it can get quite crowded on the weekend, it nonetheless is possible to bike quite fast on it (with a few exceptions downtown). Furthermore, there are many detours one can take.

For instance, I visited Northerly Island for the first time the other day. Northerly Island is an island just off the coastline of Chicago. I suppose it's not really an island, but more of a peninsula thanks to a narrow isthmus connecting it to the downtown area. It used to be an airport called Meigs field . . . in fact, it was still open when I first arrived in Chicago. But it was closed in rather dramatic fashion. When the lease expired, the mayor was determined to turn it into parkland, and so he hired bulldozers to secretly destroy the runway in one nighttime operation. It was sort of ridiculous, and many people are right to be mad about that move (especially the people who didn't get a chance to get their airplanes off of the island beforehand), but the result has been this wonderful expanse of fields, grasses, water, birds - and if you visit at the right time - complete silence. All of this with the center of the city not more than a mile away, and completely in view. In addition, I think that on the right day it may be one of the most perfect places to fly a kite in the world. What makes it the perfect kite-flying place? Well, it was an airport, so it has huge wide-open spaces. Some of these places are now covered with prairie bushes, but huge stretches are mowed, so there is plenty of space to move around easily. It's also in the windy city, so there are often very strong breezes, especially since there are few buildings or hills on the island to interfere with the wind. The place has a full sand beach with a food vendor, and crashing waves, so that both gastronomical and auditory desires can be fulfilled. It is also - well, at least the day I was there - almost entirely devoid of people: or rather, even better than that, there were actually quite a few people on the island, but it's big enough that you can find space all to yourself and still feel safe. And finally, except for the crashing waves, there was almost no sound to be heard there. It was so quiet you could hear the wings of birds as they flew by (And the island serves as a bird rehabilitation center, so there are lots of birds, and apparently in the winter you can see Great Snowy Owls).

Anyway, when I road my bike there today there were many more people there, since it was Saturday, and some were already swimming in the lake. What a pleasant addition to city life here!

I also discovered that with a bicycle I can commute from Hyde Park, my little neighborhood of the moment, all the way to downtown in a little over twenty minutes. I thought this was remarkable, since it sometimes takes me longer than that to take the bus; but with no traffic, and no stops, a bike can make the trip in no time. Actually, I should say one complimentary thing about the busses: most of the busses are outfitted with bike racks, so it is easy to use public transport and a bike. Even the trains in Chicago allot a certain number of spaces for bicycles for free. This came in handy at the end of my day when I got a flat tire. Yes, it happened downtown, eight or so miles from home, and in many cities this would be the beginning of an annoying hassle. But in Chicago, I just hung out downtown, shopped a little, had a decent bouillabaisse with a glass of wine, enjoyed one of the bi-weekly firework shows, and took the bike home on a bus!

I should also probably say a word or two about the place I bought the bicycle, since it's really a great organization. It's called the Working Bikes Cooperative, and it is a 501(c)(3) non-profit organization that rescues hundreds of bicycles, many of which would probably have gone to the dump otherwise. These bikes are repaired and fixed-up by the staff, and then sold three days a week from their outlet on Western Avenue. So, you go in, pay between $40.00 and $120.00 and leave with a working bicycle. But the best thing about the organization isn't the fact that it's one of the few used bicycle shops in Chicago, but the truly amazing thing is what they do with all the bikes and bike parts they don't sell: they send them thousands of miles away to be distributed for free in third world countries. As many of your probably know, farmers and factory workers in such places often have to walk six or seven miles a day to get to their jobs. Literally hundreds of bicycles are shipped to places in Africa, Central America, and South America. So you know that when you put down your 40 bucks, that you're doing something that is producing real good in the world. I may actually feature the organization on my other weblog, but the location of this site is secret at the moment. I'll be sure to tell you more about it when everything is off the ground. It's far more than a humble blog . . . but more on that later.

So, now, after a long day of biking through new neighborhoods, relaxing on lawns, watching fireworks, eating good food, and enjoying the sun (I'm a little burnt, I admit), I'm now sitting in my apartment, drinking red wine, listening to the stereo, and enjoying the pleasant period of contemplation that so often follows a full day. There's something so wonderful about those few hours before bed, when you have time to sit back and contemplate everything that’s happened, and to look forward to the next day's adventures. After hiking with friends, it’s the time to sit around and tell stories, and to have conversation around the fire; after working in restaurants or the farm, it is the time to just let all those tired muscles unwind, and after a party it's the time to sit back with the last of the wine and chocolate, and enjoy the silence of a clean apartment. (When I throw parties, I almost always clean up the place before I go to bed, mostly to generate this satisfied feeling.) Anyway, right now I’m relaxing, and I know that there are clean and crisp covers waiting on the bed in the other room. And on top of all of this there is that content feeling: you’re content not only knowing that you’ve sucked the marrow out of a day, but also knowing that it's time to plan for tomorrow’s adventures. Actually, I'll let Nancy Watson have the last word.

Chicago and the Thumbtack

One of the memories I recall often is a fairly ironic one. Before I went to graduate school, before I even went to college, sometime in high school I remember having a giant map of the United States and Canada on my bedroom wall. One day, in Muncus Agruncus fashion—"And on his desk were the maps and plans/For the next time he might find some time on his hands."—(a good children's book, if you ever have a chance to read it - as a young child I memorized it), I had some time on my hands and I decided to mark all the cities I had visited, and to figure out all the places in the United States I wanted to visit at some point in my life. Every city that fell in either of these two categories was marked with a thumbtack. New York was marked, as was Boston, San Francisco, Seattle, New Orleans, Vancouver, Montréal, Toronto, even Denver and Albuquerque were marked. I saw Los Angeles on the map, and experienced a little conflict. I don't feel a special bond to Los Angeles, and in fact, to this day I still haven't been there. The smog, the temperatures, the gangs, the lack of a downtown (Although apparently Gehry's working on that, see NYTimes April 25th): it just doesn't seem like a particularly satisfying place. I'm probably wrong about this, it probably has many redeeming characteristics, but I can't recall them off-hand. I suppose most of our media comes from there, and there's the film history, and those are interesting things. Anyway, I remember finally deciding that I should at least visit Los Angeles for a few days, to do touristy things like visit Hollywood and so on. So Los Angeles got a tack. And then I remember noticing that Chicago wasn't marked on the map. I felt at that moment that I didn't have a particular desire to ever visit Chicago. I had even less inclination to visit the place than Los Angeles. No second cities for me. I did have an uncle there, however, and he might be worth visiting. Holding the tack over the city, I finally decided that on some flights I'd probably have a stopover in Chicago anyway, so I might as well extend the stop-over by a few days and visit the place. So with a little rationalization, I managed to convince myself that I wasn't being irrational when I put that last tack on the map.

The irony is that I ended up going to graduate school in Chicago, and I've now lived in the city I never particularly wanted to visit for almost a decade. A whole third of my life! It's funny how fate sometimes can produce these twists. I have to say that when I first arrived in Chicago I didn't like the place. I arrived in the city after almost 30 hours on a bus (with a stopover in Tennessee), and two suitcases. One was full of clothes, the other was full of books - something that neither I, nor Ms. Wright, who was kind enough to help me move those suitcases through New York's subway system, are likely to forget. Despite the fact I had an uncle in Chicago, he couldn't meet me at the bus station, so I had to make my way over to the University of Chicago on my own. I arrived in the housing office (having finally been assigned an apartment two days before), got my key, and then went to my apartment in the city I didn't even want to visit. My first time ever in Chicago.

Although my first apartment wasn't great it had some pluses. For one thing it was located immediately adjacent to the Midway park, and so in the afternoon after class I could collapse on my sofa, with the windows wide open and listen to Louis Armstrong on the stereo while looking across a tree-lined corridor at the front facade of the U of C. That was nice. What wasn't nice was the fact that there were almost never any people on my block (the buildings below 60th were far more isolated back then), and the garage in back of the building was given the ominous title of "the garage where people get shot." Crime was a bit of a problem back then. The area was getting better at that point in time, but shootings were still routine. Well, for the shooters and the police I guess, certainly not for the victims. I remember getting a ride from a woman one night during that first winter, and she asked me how I liked Chicago. I said that I was getting tired of the gray cold winter days, and that I was looking forward to spring. She told me not too hope for spring, "People don't hang out on the streets in the wintertime," she said, "they only do that in the summer. So when the temperature rises, you are more likely to be shot. If you know what's good for you, don't wish for summer." She was speaking from a bit of authority because someone she knew, was actually shot dead on the Midway when he made the mistake of walking between two rival gangs. But, even though this was the case, I still think the routineness of things was perhaps a little too overstated even back then. Yes, there has always been crime in Hyde Park - the side effect of having a prestigious and wealthy school, and one of the more wealthy neighborhoods surrounded on all sides by extremely poor and struggling neighborhoods, but it's not as bad now as it was in the 80s/early 90s. Even so, when I had to cross the Midway at night I did choose my course quite deliberately. I'd walk along 59th until I saw a section of the park that had no people on it, and then in a quick dash I'd make for the shadows and disappear into the darkness before emerging on my street corner. With all the negative publicity, each midnight crossing felt a little like an adventure.

Needless to say all this talk about crime, getting shot, not wishing for summer, and the emptiness of my block did not make me feel especially warm about Chicago. I mean, I enjoyed my time here even in those years - I did have some great friends and I loved taking classes at the U of C - but I didn't have any inclination to stay in the city longer than I had to. This was further emphasized by my forays in the downtown region. Not knowing about the Northside, all my intuitions about the city were determined by the "Loop" area. And these were not good intuitions. For instance, I discovered that it was impossible to get a decent cup of coffee in the evening, since everything seemed to close at 6 PM. Even the Starbucks joints were unavailable after that time. The only people downtown were businessmen in suits and naive Midwestern tourists that had the annoying habit of always stopping suddenly and unpredictably on the sidewalk.

But, I have to admit that over the years Chicago has grown on me. Part of this is the result of changes in Chicago itself, the most striking change being the construction of Millennium Park, which I think has been one of the city's greatest successes. Now, it is not uncommon to see crowds of people downtown at 9 or 10 at night, dancing in the open air, or listening to music and so on - I mean, nothing compared to New York, but it's progress. There are also coffee shops open in the area, and there is always a wonderful green space to collapse and listen to free concerts by the CSO and other world-famous ensembles. There is nothing quite like collapsing on a lawn listening to Dvořák and looking around at the fabulous architecture, and even seeing a few stars. Even the tourist crowd seems to have become far more interesting and multi-national. I mean, there are still hordes of Midwesterners who stop suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk, but now there are German and French - and I think that was Finnish? - people doing the same thing. I suppose we've always been an international city, but it is only recently that everyone has begun to congregate outside of the ethnic neighborhoods.

Besides these changes, part of my increased appreciation of Chicago comes from a recognition of how many great things the city has to offer. The first of these things is the lake. It's so wonderful to wake up in the morning, and to run along the shores of Lake Michigan. It just helps alleviate the sort of claustrophobic feeling I get in Chicago when I think about how far it's from the ocean. I suppose I have an unusual connection to the ocean. I grew up on a house immediately adjacent to Provincetown bay - it was a hotel that my parents ran - and the water after a full moon was literally six or seven feet from where I slept. Actually, as an aside, the house could be sort of frightening in a storm. When the waves hit the concrete embankment just outside my bedroom window, the spray would actually make it over the five stories of our building, and flood the street on the other side. My mother even remembers one Christmas when they almost abandoned the building because of a storm. This wasn't an irrational fear: about a decade before we moved in the water had flooded the entire first floor to a depth of three or four feet (there was a mark next to the front desk to indicate this).

Lake Michigan is not an ocean, and it won't give you that wonderful salty spray, and you're not likely to see whales going by. But it's also not a mere lake, not only because you can't see the other side, but also because it sort of has a very strong personality, complete with moods. Sometimes it appears to be the most wonderful happy blue, and beckons a day of pleasant sailing. Other days when it is more reflective, it seems clear and flat like a mirror. But it sometimes wears a quirky shade of neon green, or it becomes rough and gray. Or on a few occasions after some especially violent storms it is s tumultuous brown, and everyone knows not to mess with the lake on that day. All these effects are just changes in the lighting or the turning up of the bottom in a storm, and so on, but they do make the lake interesting, and the "mood" metaphor soon seems a rather good way of describing the changes in the lake. In the past few years, my appreciation for the lake has grown as I've discovered the joy of sailing on it. Yes, you can sail in other cities, but there is something rather incredible about leaving Grant Park harbor and being out in a beautiful expanse of water, and yet having a completely unobstructed view of the entire downtown. It can be a particularly inspiring view at night.

Another thing that Chicago has going for it is its city architecture. Emporis recently gave Chicago the distinction of having the fourth greatest skyline in the world based on the number of buildings with an index for the height of the buildings. It has only been exceeded by New York (number 3), Seoul (number 2) and Hong Kong (number 1). All of these cities have far more high-rises than Chicago, but what Chicago lacks in numbers it makes up with in quality. Yes, a lot of cookie-cutter skyscrapers have gone up in recent years, but buildings like the Hancock Tower, the Sears Tower, the AON center (my favorite skyscraper in the world from its exterior), the Monadnock building, some of the finest examples of van der Rohe architecture in the world, Koolhaus buildings, dozens or Frank Lloyd Wright structures, and perhaps even a Santiago building in the near future give Chicago a distinctive look.

And then there are the wonderful public spaces. Like the parks along the river: unlike cities such as New York that are actual ports, Chicago's lakefront is entirely devoted to recreation. Chicago has miles and miles of parks along the water, including basically a single waterside park running 16 miles from the south side up to Evanston. In addition, there is Millennium Park, Grant Park, various smaller parks spread out throughout the city, and the old Meigs field that is being turned into a park with grounds set aside for migrating birds. And with two firework shows every week during the summer, bike paths, free concerts, free outdoor movies, music festivals, and so on, Chicago is a wonderful place to be during the summer, and few cities can rival it.

So, now after spending almost a decade in this city I didn't even want to put a thumbtack into, I can say that I actually like the place. This is not to say that I still don't have complaints. In particular the dating scene sucks compared to New York - well, at least for the sort of people I'm attracted to. It's also so difficult to do things late at night. Yes, there are places on the Northside one can go to, but in New York you can almost always count on being able to get a wonderful pizza or sandwich delivered from one of the pizza joints, or from the all-night delis: concepts that seem to be almost completely lacking in the 9-5 culture of Chicago. And that really is the culture here. I mean, I've recently been doing work downtown, and have been a part of the morning rush, and it really is incredible. It reminds me a little of what New York was like during the subway strike. But then at 5 PM everyone disappears.

It occurs to me that I also live quite a distance from downtown Chicago. I live in Hyde Park, which although it's a great neighborhood (modulo the comments above), it's still about eight miles from the Loop. I often wonder how much more enjoyable Chicago would be if I actually lived in the heart of the city? Actually, I'm seriously considering moving downtown this summer. I suppose part of it is that I just need a change. Eight years in a Ph.D. program begins to wear one down a little. But part of it is also the fact that I think I'm getting a rather poor deal with my apartment. Although $800.00 a month is far cheaper than the $1200.00 is costs to live downtown, the difference in locale might be worth the difference in price. Actually, in my apartment hunting so far, I've learned that $1200.00 is sort of a magic number in Chicago. That is, if you want to live downtown that's what it costs to get a studio or a one bedroom. And it doesn't matter where the studio is. If it's in an old building that's falling apart with no amenities, and minimal services, it's $1200.00. If you want a studio in a swanky apartment building with swimming pools, saunas, air conditioning and heat, wireless internet, free cable and a balcony, it's $1200.00. I take this to be a sign of a young housing market. For the fact is that Chicago has seen lots of construction over the past few years, and barring any dramatic bursting bubble this will continue in the future. In one year I think something like 14 high-rise apartment buildings were built, and I'm talking about 40 story buildings - and the buildings keep coming up at a maddening pace. But I also note that things are getting a lot more expensive from month to month. It may be that the magic number will have gone up to $1300 in a month or so. Anyway, I have narrowed my decision to move down to two buildings, and am just waiting for an opening. So, hey, if any of you all want to visit Chicago again in the near future, you might want to wait until I find myself a new pad right in the heart of it all!

Yes, I have complaints about Chicago, but on those days when the sun is bright in the sky, when a gentle breeze is blowing across the lake, and the sounds of a concert drift in from the distance, and you're reclining on a beautiful grassy space beneath trees and surrounded by freshly planted flowers, Chicago is pretty damn cool.

Improvisation on April 21st, 2006

I've decided to add another improvisation to my blog tonight. I've been meaning to post more improvisations, but despite my initial enthusiasm for my Apple GarageBand software, I've subsequently decided that unless you use a lot of peddle the grand piano sound there is rather unfortunate. Anyway, although I'm most comfortable with a piano, I'm learning to appreciate the other sounds GarageBand has to offer. Actually, using other sounds both in the software, as well as just on my keyboard, is teaching me a lot about Bach's fugues. His fugues are so much easier to play with an organ sound. This shouldn't be surprising given that Bach was both one of the best organists of his day, and the composer of arguably the best organ music ever written, but I never adequately appreciated how much more freedom one has on an organ. It's much easier to change fingers in the middle of a chord, or to get out of a fingering puzzle (which can happen quite frequently with Bach), when you don't have to worry so much about getting the initial attack of your notes right.

Anyway, as usual, I don't claim this little improvisation at my keyboard is anything great, but I thought it sort of captured my mood tonight before going to sleep. I suppose a "mood" is not quite the right world. Occasionally, amid the tumult and insanity that happens every day, I sometimes get an intuition of some sort of constancy amid it all, and that intuition alone is somehow reassuring. This short improvisation sort of captured this feeling for me tonight, so well, in fact, that I've actually started transcribing a version of it into musical notation. Perhaps it will form the foundation for something interesting in the future. In the meantime, the link to the AAC file is here, the MP3 is here.

Of Dinner Parties and Dating

One of my favorite things to do is to host dinner parties. It's probably one of my favorite activities of all time - so much so that it is difficult for me to explain the extent of my enthusiasm for them. But to give you a clue, I often think that one of the best presents anyone could give me for a birthday or another gift-giving holiday would be the combination of an unlimited supply of groceries with forced manual labor in the kitchen. This is because I love to cook, and to spend a whole day in front of a stove preparing appetizers and entrées for people that I care about is complete bliss. Or another clue: when Babette Harsant wins a sizeable lottery in Babette's Feast (Babettes Gaestebud), and decides to spend all the money she won on a single extravagant meal, which she cooks almost entirely herself, I can't help but think, "Man, what a reasonable way to spend one's money!" Although I admit that if I won a $10,000,000.00 lottery, I wouldn't spend it all on food. But the only things that would stop me from dropping down the full check for groceries is my knowledge that (1) I don't find it enjoyable to cook for more than eight people without some assistance, and (2) a dinner party has to be the proper size, and although extravagance is permitted, it has to also be limited to the proper level for the occasion. I only do perfect dinner parties.

What is the proper level of extravagance? Well, it varies from party to party, but I'd guess that my average grocery bill would be about as much as it would cost to take the same amount of people out to eat at a nice restaurant instead, and some people can't understand why I go the hard route. "Why spend the whole day leaning over a stove when you could just go out to eat?" Well, the first response I have is that I love to cook, and until my fame enables me to walk into the kitchen of a restaurant and take over the operations of the place (I think Alain Ducasse has earned the right to do this), dinner parties have a distinct advantage for me. I suppose my love of cooking is rooted in my experience with my father, who was the chef at several restaurants, and so he spent most of his life cooking food. My mother did most of the cooking at the house, so I probably learned some inspiration from her as well. Further, I've worked on farms and handled fresh produce, I've been a dishwasher, a prep chef, a waiter, a caterer and even a sommelier at various restaurants, and so I've constantly had my love of cooking reinforced, especially as I learned new things at every job I worked at. I suppose my perfectionist tendencies also have had a role in my love of cooking. I am not a relentless perfectionist, but there is nothing I like more than tweaking a sauce to get just the right flavor to compliment the main dish, or to pick out the perfect wine to go with the appetizer, and so on. In short, I think of cooking as one of the fine arts, and don't consider it one step below painting, sculpture or music.

I also thrive on complexity when I cook, on the sorts of decisions that are usually left to the discretion of the kitchen in most restaurants. If I have a five person dinner party and someone can't digest gluten, another person is vegan, a third person doesn't eat pork, a forth person is allergic to peanuts, I think of it as so much more fun than a simple, "We'll eat anything you cook approach." Because under the former circumstances, I get to experiment and figure out things like the right proportion of corn meal, rice flour and baking powder to achieve the particular effect of wheat flour I require, or how to achieve the flavor of a rich beef stew with only mushrooms, seasoning, and wine. Anyway, for these reasons, it would be worth paying extra money to be able to cook the meal, so restaurants and dinner parties don't compare.

They also don't compare since the goals, and the teleology of both activities are so different. If you go to a restaurant, it may be that all the parties involved have the same goals in mind, but often they diverge. For instance, in a restaurant you might have the goal of lingering over the meal for the evening, but that isn't what your hosts are necessarily counting on. Their goal may well be to maximize the turnover of the tables, so the restaurant and the staff could make a decent profit that evening. Who wins this conflict? It's really up for grabs, and frequently your dinner will be down to two hours tops. But at my dinner parties, part of the goal is to keep people there having fun as long as possible. If the party starts at 7 PM, it should end around 1 or 2 in the morning. It is not unheard of for people to end up staying the night in my neighborhood in order to make it to the end of a dinner party. Of course, the goal isn't just to make the party last long, but to maximize it’s length in order to keep the conversation flowing, to keep everyone learning new things about food, music or their personalities, and to make the festival as memorable as possible.

Now, it takes a bit of skill to direct a dinner party to achieve these ends. You don't just have a pile of courses lined up in the other room and expect the party to work out. At each stage of the process the diners have different expectations, different goals, different ways to approach what they are doing. All these things have to be taken into account. Maybe it's worthwhile going through typical components one-by-one. Keep in mind that I don’t mean the following to be the way every dinner party should work out: it’s equally important to add variety and spice (as we shall see), but nonetheless, it is possible to discern a general framework that repeats itself often. This framework involves seven different components.

(1) Hors d'Oeuvres. When the party is beginning, it is inevitable that everyone arrives at a slightly different time. The quorum hasn't been assembled. Hence, I find my goal at the beginning of a meal is to provide sustenance for whoever is there, without depriving the people who aren't there of anything special. If there is wine, it shouldn't be the best of the selection. If there is food, it should not be filling enough to deprive people of their appetites, and it should also be of the nature to be consumed either over a long-period of time, or over a very short time, and there should be enough available so that late arrivals will still get a taste. Finally, since the chef is probably still cooking, the dishes should be self-sufficient requiring minimal specialty work to serve. It is convenient if it can all be prepared ahead of time.

(2) The appetizer. After everyone has sat down at the table, it’s time for me to make my first impression. And as the saying goes, you never have a second chance for a first impression. This is even more important for meals, since chances are that the first thing that is put down on the table will be the thing that people will remember most after the affair is over. Hence, it needs to be interesting, slightly surprising, and show a certain degree of cleverness that will make one’s guests feel curious about what will follow. I remember once having a dinner party in which one of my guests said that she absolutely did not like Brie, and wouldn't eat anything with it. Since she wasn't allergic to this particular cheese, I figured that it would be a worthwhile challenge to make her come to terms with Brie. Hence, I figured that her problems with the particular substance were its texture and tanginess. So I decided to produce Brie without these additions. I figured out that it was possible to whip up the Brie into a light mousse with some heavy cream, and thereby eliminate the features of the cheese she didn't like. Since whipped Brie needs a support, and preferably something with a slightly different texture, I served it on brittle crackers that I made from just sprinkling Parmesan cheese onto Silpat and baking it for ten minutes. The resulting dish had the lightness of mousse with the crustiness of hard crackers, and all without the tanginess and the strange texture Brie that is intermediate between cream and hard cheese. Of course she loved the dish and asked what it was. I was happy to announce that it was in fact Brie. For me, that was the perfect appetizer: it was light, challenging and interesting, and at the end of the evening it was one of the things that she, as well as other guests remembered most. All of this serves the purpose of the appetizer, to please the palate and to make everyone just want more.

(3) The pre-entree course. After the appetizer, it is customary to have some sort of pre-entrée course. Options include soup, salad, or a light entrée. The goal here is to take advantage of the increased expectation of what is to come next, and to provide something satisfying and slightly filling, while at the same time, not achieving the absolute creativity of the appetizer or the nearly absolute filling-ness of the main entree. Soup and salad are nice here, because they generally have reliable textures, and a certain straightforward appeal that contrasts nicely with the surprise and indirect manner of the appetizer. I have on occasion followed the Italian fashion and have served an entrée here, but one toned down slightly either in heartiness or size from the main course. Gnocchi is nice, as is a pasta dish, or a risotto. After the pre-entrée course, I like my audience to be slightly satisfied, and although not full, requiring a few moments to digest before the next meal comes. This gives me time to plate the main course. In short, the goal of the pre-entrée course is to keep people wanting more, while beginning to satisfy their long-term cravings.

(4) The main course. Unlike the earlier dishes, the main course should be filling and hearty. It should eliminate everyone's hunger, while still leaving just enough room for after courses and desert. Unlike the other dishes, it also should have several different components or textures so that diners can alternate between the pleasures of something crisp and something fluffy, or something difficult to cut and requiring minimal effort. At the end of the main course it is time to sit back and relax. It is here that group conversation flows the easiest. Conversations that began with small talk about the appetizers and food, that progressed to topics that were interesting during the pre-entree course, now should reach their fullness, before smaller groups at the table break off from the main conversation to talk amongst themselves. Wine should flow freely here (well, perhaps everywhere else too), and no one should feel rushed. Seconds should be available for those diners with more appetite, but there shouldn't be any felt obligation to eat more than you wish. In short, it’s important to give everyone what they want, and what is suitable for their particular bodies.

(5) The coaster. The little squares of pottery or cardboard that we put under our cups and glasses started out from far nobler stalk. The original coaster was a small silver dish that an object such as a wine decanter sat on. This item would "coast" around the edge of table like a coastal vessel might coast along the shore of a continent. The word "coast" also sounds relaxing, bringing to mind the thrill of coasting along a road on a bicycle and not having to peddle. I think that this is the right way to approach the immediate after-dinner item. This could be cheese and bread, or perhaps a salad, or some appetizer-like thing that guests can pick at. As the items make their rounds people have the chance to reflect on what they've eaten, and to begin to come together again as a group before the glory of the dessert. Perhaps a little more explanation is in order. During the main course people eat at their own rate, consuming the appropriate amount of food for their bodies and hunger. In the same way, conversations seem to break off into smaller groups as people pursue issues that have come up in the course of the night. You need to have some little something that can enable people to continue on their separate ways before the final pièce d'résistance lands on the table. Of course, it’s unnecessary to have food here: the last of the wine might be sufficient, as would a good bottle of sherry or brandy (the traditional coaster). Finally, at the end of the coaster, coffee and tea requests should be taken. In my house this is generally a rather elaborate affair since I serve everything from Turkish coffee and espresso, to over fifty different kinds of tea. Hence time has to be given in order that everyone can make the right decision. In short, the goal of the coaster is to keep things alive after the excitement of the meal has passed.

(6) Dessert. Now the group needs to come together before the pièce d'résistance: the dessert. The goal of a dessert is to be the icing on the cake, the one flavor that you want to be left lingering on everyone's pallets. Sweet and pleasing flavors are great, like chocolate, sweetened fruits, or creams and custards. This is the flavor that guests will have as they either go home or continue to talk and relax. I usually go for things that are impressive, overwhelming, and intoxicating. This could be everything from a five level Dacquoise to a simple box of chocolates. In short the goal of the dessert is to leave sweet flavors lingering in the mouth.

(7) Finally, there need to be provisions for everyone who wants to stay a couple more hours shooting the breeze. In one of my best dinner parties, this is the time everyone went out on the porch to drink sherry and enjoy the stars. Sometimes, a movie might come out here (or perhaps after the coaster), or some favorite pieces of music can be listened to with the sort of concentration that only comes from sitting with dark skies. Coffee and tea are convenient because when they run out, more can be made on demand. One of the great advantages of a successful dinner party is that you have a group of happy people to shoot the breeze with.

Of course, there are other things to keep in mind. I like to approach the whole evening with some sort of theme. For instance, one dinner party had a mushroom theme, and in almost every course there was just a little bit of mushroom prepared in a slightly different fashion. In the form of a tart for the appetizer, raw and dowsed with vinegar in the salad, and the gills of the portabellas were reduced in a liquid and strained to make the background pallet of the sauce for the homemade portabella and goat cheese ravioli. Although many of my guests may not have noticed it, the whole evening was an experiment in the various different ways a mushroom can be prepared. I think of these sorts of details as the things that really elevate a meal to an art form. Other nights I've used single spices to link the meal, such as curry or pepper, and on more than one occasion it has been garlic.

I suppose that one of the other neat features of a dinner is that it is ephemeral. It is enjoyed at the moment, but like the banners that Cristo flew in New York, they are only retained in people's memories.

Now, I should say that the inspiration for today's post came from two fronts: both from my interest in cooking, as well as my interest in dating. Here’s where the real fun starts. A few days ago I was spending some time trying to figure out what sort of restaurant to take my latest date. At first I did a few searches on the best restaurants in the area, but decided that it would have felt very awkward having a first date at some stuffy restaurant where you have to sit in a particular way and thereby increase the inherent awkwardness of the first meeting. So I needed to find a slightly more casual, relaxing sort of restaurant. I then began exploring restaurants in Chicago, and I admit I got carried away. Until this moment I suppose I never realized just how many terribly interesting restaurants I haven't been to in town. And the recipes and reviews of the restaurants were intoxicating. I finally narrowed it down to a few that I really wanted to try:

Le Lan - the new restaurant opened by Arun (One of my favorite chefs in Chicago whose Thai recipes are so good that not even Charlie Trotter messes with them when he uses them in his cookbooks) Anyway, this one of the restaurants I'm most curious about.

L'Etoile's emphasis on seasonal foods, prepared in a style that really brings out the inherent qualities of the ingredients.

Blackbird- one of the top 50 restaurants in the United States, but not quite as expensive or snooty as Trotter's or Everest.

North Pond - a really pretty little restaurant on the north side of Lincoln Park, which has the attraction of adding moonlit strolls to a satisfying meal. I have to say that if the reviews of the place are correct, the dinners there must be truly inspired, because the head chef combines things I would never consider combining! (e.g. venison can work well, but do you really need to add a chickory coffee reduction?)

At the end of the search I was ready to pick one of these places, and then I realized that in coming up with this list, I completely forgot about how important it is to pace a relationship, since just like dinners, it’s possible to take a relationship a little too fast or a little too slow. But it struck me that the analogy with a dinner went even further than this, and that I was about to make the mistake of replacing what should be an appetizer with a main course. Perhaps parallel to the seven stages of a dinner, there are the seven stages of a relationship? It seems to be a thought worth exploring. So let's give the analogy a try.

(1) The hors d'oeuvres. It occurs to me that the part analogous to the hors d'oeuvres are the initial moments of contact. These might be the telephone calls you need to have in order to set up the date, or perhaps a posted profile on an online dating site. It’s important to know that this is not dating in a proper sense, but rather the first few off moments that you and your date will share before meeting one another. Hence, these first conversations should be casual, and they have to fit comfortably into one another's schedules. You also don't want to reveal too much here, since you haven't even met the other person. She or he might be completely different than you imagine him or her to be, so it’s important not to be too invested in your ideal. But it's convenient if some aspects of the date can be prepared ahead of time.

(2) The appetizer. I think the analogue to the appetizer is the first few dates. Like the appetizer in a dinner this is your chance to make a first impression, and you (almost) never have a second chance to make a first impression. The whole goal is to make a lasting impression in the other person's mind, but to do it in the light-hearted, flirtatious manner. There also should be some surprise, but without too much commitment. Hence, unlike my initial inclination to go to one of the best restaurants in Chicago, I should have been aiming for something a little less: a particular restaurant that you like very much, and that you can depend upon for its food and atmosphere, and that maybe is a little quirky. I often go to first dates at the Fox & Obel in Chicago. The place consistently has very good food, but it’s presented in a rather causal light-hearted fashion. It's a café in a grocery store, after all: but the atmosphere is more like a restaurant. I suppose that in lieu of a first dinner, this might be the time to meet in a coffee or teashop. The goal is to play with those first few sentiments that each of you brings to the table. All of this serves the purpose of the appetizer stage of a relationship: to please the palate and to make everyone just want more.

(3) The pre-entrée course. Chances are that the first date or two was a little awkward. Ideally, you've gotten over that awkwardness and the two of you are off to wonderful things. Some physical contact would be nice here. I think that this is analogous to the substance component of a meal. Maybe I reveal my gender in saying this – I'm a man after all – but I hardly think that only one sex is interested in a little action here. The thing to keep in mind is that this isn’t all the substance of a relationship, or at least not all the substance of a good healthy relationship. Another aspect of the substance part of the atmosphere is meaningful interactions: you’ve got to go past the small talk. During the appetizer stage everything might have been confined to small talk about the restaurant, the location, how the two of you met, etc. But in order for a relationship to really work, the conversation has got to be more meaningful, and hopefully now that you're completely comfortable with the other person, this will be easy. Any question or issues that you think is significant or interesting in your own life can kick it up a notch. I suppose more important than what the questions are, are how they are approached. There’s got to be seriousness from time to time, the actual interchange of interesting and meaningful thought. All of this is substance. And what's more it’s at this stage, the substance stage, when the relationship seems to break free of the gimmicks that brought the couple together in the first place. No longer is it the fact that you're dating a lawyer, or a doctor, or that someone likes the Animaniacs, or that he’s just a gorgeous hunk. Now the relationship has to go beyond any particular features of you and yours. I once had a dinner party in which a guest was asked why he was dating the woman he happened to be dating, but who could not make the party. The expectation was that he'd rattle off her abilities, or features of her personality that he liked, or interests they share, all in some easy and digestible format. But he couldn't name any particular things, and was honestly tongue-tied. Many people thought that this was indicative of his lack of meaningful connection with this particular woman, but I took it to be a sign that they had reached a rather deep and meaningful stage in their relationship, and so it seemed to suggest to me the strength of their relationship rather than the weakness of it. For it was no longer the case that the meaningful parts of their relationship were determined by particular superficial features of their personalities, but it was something that transcended either of them in the strict sense of the term. This is substance. This is the first entrée. Part of the goal of the pre-entrée course is to keep people wanting more, while beginning to satisfy those long-term cravings.

(4) Main Course. So, there is already some substance, and with the main course this only grows. The couple has gone beyond the superficial he-can-do-this, she-can-do-that sort of mentality. Conversations have become deep, and perhaps the initial excitement of coming together has diffused into a background sense of contentment and belonging. But at this stage it occurs to me that the practical nature of the relationship begins to emerge even more forcibly. Chances are the couple is living together, or at least spending a lot of time at each other’s apartments. In addition to the romantic sides of their relationships, the practical nature of the relationship begins to come through. Love is now expressed in routine day-to-day activities ranging from the preparation of meals, to the cleaning of the toilet. Sure, there’s still interest and creativity, but these practical things have to be dealt with. Also, it's important for the couple to deliberately spend some time apart. Just like the conversation during the main course of a dinner begins to fragment but come back together, one's love relationship divides sometimes and comes together at others, but more on this in a moment. Things are more complicated during the main course, and the stakes are a little higher. A lot of people end up bailing at this point. Maybe they took things too fast and are satiated by the time the main course comes around. Or perhaps the flavors of the appetizer and first-entrée mix poorly? Perhaps there is another dinner party that looks like more fun? I suppose there are now restaurants that only serve appetizers, maybe some people think its better to stick with the small things. But even if the main course is a lot of work, it can keep two people afloat for years on end. In short, it is important to give everyone what they want at this stage, and what’s suitable for their particular bodies.

(5) Coaster. The first time I tried to write this post, I was thinking all big-picture, so I was looking for the coaster as an after-dinner sort of affair, and since dinner is the substance part of the relationship, the obvious place to look for the coaster were in those days after kids have left for college. That's a plausible way of pushing the metaphor. But, at the same time there are coaster moments even in the prime of one's life. That is, Bob Nozick notwithstanding, there has got to be some variety of intensity to a relationship. One can't be deeply obsessed with someone 24/7, and no matter how much two people are in love, they're going to eventually need some time apart. Often our society is structured in sort of a way that this is inevitable. Both members of the couple - or maybe in some circumstances only one - go off to a job during the day, and thereby spend some time with other people. Or, if two people are working at the same job, one has to go for a solo drive every now and then to unwind. Further, there are going to be times when other women and men begin to look interesting, or when one would rather spend a night out with the guys rather than an intimate evening with one's significant other. Successful relationships have to find ways of dealing with these moments. Perhaps it's being able to live a fantasy life through your significant other, or perhaps it's just letting the other person work things out. Don't get me wrong, when I say that a man will get interested in other women or vice versa, I'm not advocating infidelity or anything - although who knows maybe that is a real option for some couples. Personally, I find it difficult to even be attracted to someone who is seeing someone else, and I know enough about open relationships to know they aren't the ideal thing for me to be in. Anyway, blame my intuitions on my Catholic upbringing if you want. The point is that there will be times that a relationship will fragment, and each person will do his or her own thing, but it’s important to still preserve a sense of unity. In short, to adopt the metaphor, the goal of the coaster is to keep things alive even after the excitement of the meal has passed.

(6) Dessert. What is the dessert of a relationship? Well, to quote the English translation of Sex and Lucia (i.e. Lucía y el sexo), "It's full of advantages." Some of these are obvious - a decent sex life for instance - but some are not so obvious. I'll let you fill in what would be the dessert stages of a relationship. But I will add that there seem to be obvious corollaries to coasters. I mean, just as there are times that you drift apart, in a good relationship there will be times to come back together again. I remember fondly a moment when I saw someone I was dating across a lawn, and I thought to myself, "Damn, that gorgeous woman is dating me." Moments like this can keep a flame alive. In short the goal of the dessert is to leave sweet flavors lingering in the mouth.

(7) Shooting the breeze? And yes, there are moments of just shooting the breeze. I remember my parents having long conversations every night before they went to bed, which I could actually overhear through the thin bedroom wall. At the time I actually found it annoying, since despite the fact that they were whispering the conversation did keep me up. But in retrospect those conversations about a day's activities seemed an important part of their relationship, and I know that such pillow talk has always been an important part of just about any meaningful relationship I've been in. Maybe here the metaphor and the reality converge. One of the great advantages of a love relationship is that you do have someone to shoot the breeze with.

As I write this it also occurs to me that sex itself can take very different forms, and that for each of the courses of a dinner, or stages in a relationship, one might be able to find a correlative sort of sex. But, I've rattled on long enough now, so I'll leave it to you to figure out how to apply the analogy to your sex life, except to say that there definitely seems to be a difference between appetizer sex, and dinner sex, and if you can't make those sorts of distinctions then it occurs to me that you probably have a very unrealistic sex-life. But, hey, if it works, go with it.

Well, this has been an interesting little exercise in analogies. I suppose the last thing to say is that although I've described some analogies here, things almost never happen according to some exact plan, and it is far better that they don't. Sometimes I'll throw a dinner party that will be composed of a single course. Other times there may be far more than seven components to a meal. Sometimes dinners have to be rushed to make a movie, and so the sacue can't be made perfect. Similarly, some couples manage to start out in a deep and meaningful relationship from their first one-night stand, while other couples might not feel really comfortable with one another until late in life (Tevya's relationship in Fiddler on the Roof comes to mind here, "Do I love you . . .") Sometimes a couple's first role in the hay can be deep and meaningful, and sometimes the fact that it's not is the point. I suppose all of this is to justify my initial thought that when you choose a restaurant for a first date it should probably be an appetizer affair and not even a pre-entree affair. But what do I know, I'm still single. But I'm working on it. I have yet to find the catch of my days.

Reflections on The Seven Samurai

I recently watched one of my favorite movies of all time, Akira Kurasawa's The Seven Samurai (Shichinin no samurai). After several years of deciding that it was too expensive to purchase - it is a part of the Criterion Collection so it is $35-$40.00 for one DVD, which always struck me as a little excessive - I finally decided that it was time to own it.

I say it is one of my favorite movies of all time, but I wonder if anyone else has had the experience I have with my favorite movies? I go through spells when the movie seems absolutely perfect, and I'm just in awe of the masterpiece, and then I see the movie again at another time, and it strikes me as disturbing, or not entirely convincing, inauthentic. For instance, I often cite La Double Vie de Véronique as my favorite movie of all time. I just love the cinematography, the way the movie effectively builds up to climaxes, like the scene when Véronique and Veronika almost meet, the music and how well integrated it is into the plot, and the mystery that is created with all the details that pose an endless series of open questions: Why did he put that there?, What does that mean? The first time I saw the movie I left it with such an incredible amount of enthusiasm, that I ended up watching it again on the very same night, and a half dozen times afterwards with hardly any decrease in fascination. But then, a few years later I went back to it and found it discomforting, and even a little disturbing. Some of the sexual asymmetries struck me as troubling, and I even felt it was overdone at moments. But, I suppose the lesson to draw from this is that there are no pleasures in life that are completely fulfilling, everything wanes from time to time.

I actually had a little bit of this feeling when I was watching The Seven Samurai again last night. For instance, some of the crowd scenes seemed less convincing than I remembered. A small detail, yes, but one that I had never observed before. Yet, even so, I ended up being genuinely moved by the movie again. I tried to describe to a friend a few weeks ago what I found remarkable about this movie. The first thing that comes to mind is just what a well-told story it is. Kurasawa is the consummate storyteller. He knows precisely the pace that things should move so that his audience stays interested in the story, but at the same time he manages to prevent the feeling that everything is moving too fast. The fact that I still have this reaction after having watched it dozens of times seems a testimony to the precision of its forward momentum. Many movies I've watched seem to move at the right speed initially, and then on the second or third viewing they seem too fast. I suppose other movies have given me the opposite impression: they seem too fast and then after seeing them a few times they seem OK. An instance of the latter would be the first installment of Jackson's Lord of the Rings, and an instance of the former would be Nirgendwo in Afrika, which is still one of my favorite movies despite the fact that the pace feels uneven now.

Another feature of Kurasawa's storytelling ability is the fact that he also is an expert at appealing to the audience's curiosity. For instance, Kurasawa makes very effective use of curiosity in the long scene in the beginning when Kambei, who may well be considered the lead character in the drama first appears. Yes, we only meet the lead character after twenty minutes of the movie have passed, and when he appears, we have no idea who he is. And this impression is reinforced by the fact that Kurasawa presents us with a band of spectators who also have very little knowledge about what's going on. The constitution of the crowd in itself is quite remarkable. It includes the villagers in search for their samurai, and Kikuchiyo and Katsushiro, two characters who will also be significant in the movie. And we learn so much about the characters in this sequence. For one thing, we are introduced to most of their mannerisms: the impulsive and excited Katsushiro who leans forward with excitement at the action. The odd Kikuchiyo - masterly played by Mifune - who stands in contraposition to the samurai in the way he embraces his emotions, and his emotional conflict and lack of control are conveyed through the abruptness and unconventionality of his motions. And the careful and calm Kambei who says little, but nonetheless knows exactly what to do. I suppose this is another thing that Kurasawa manages to elevate to an art in itself: the mannerisms of the characters. Some of these: like Kambei rubbing his head, Gorobei rubbing his chin, or Manzo with his awkward poses are constructed like character motifs in an opera - they are epithets that quickly reveal the characters emotions, thoughts, and personalities. I wonder if Kurasawa's ability here is at all linked to aspects of traditional Japanese drama, since these dramas also use small hand gestures and motions to convey different character types? Just a thought.

And then there is the cinematography. I've always been in awe of Kurasawa's use of the camera. With very primitive technology at his disposal, he manages to create completely convincing effects - or rather effects that are perfectly placed between the twin poles of realism and stylized drama. The rain sequence in Rashomon comes to mind here, and we have similar rain scenes here. But the most distinctive thing about the camera work is how the camera seems to linger over the scenes. There are moments when almost nothing is going on in the scene, and yet the camera stays focused on the characters for what seems like a half a minute. But this is the perfect compliment to the approach that Kurasawa takes, since it allows us to absorb all the mannerisms of the characters, their facial expressions, the darkness of the scene, the sparseness of the set. One scene that really comes to mind in this regard is the scene when we first meet Kyuzo. This is the scene when Kurasawa wants to convey to us the incredible skill of this swordman who will have a major role it what follows. We first meet him in a rather grand occasion. He has agreed to fight another samurai in the central square of the town. A large audience develops around the two samurai, including Kambei and Katsuchiro. It is actually through Kambei that Kurasawa teaches us a little about how he wants us to view his characters. For initially, the differences between the two samurai are not particularly evident. They both fashion their practice swords in the same manner, they both enter the "ring" with equal confidence, and we might miss the difference between them. But by focusing on Kambei's eyes and the attention that he gives both swordsman we are taught to look at the smallest details of the two samurai. And to instill the point even further Katsushiro's attention is divided between the ensuing bout and Kambei's attention. And Kambei looks over the two swordsman equally, but then becomes fascinated by one of them in particular. So Katsushiro is also fascinated by this particular swordsman, and so we as an audience become fascinated. Then we note the differences. The fact that Kyuzo stands carefully and firmly in his position full of confidence, while his opponent is just slightly hasty, and holds a slightly more casual, less confident form. Then the first exchange occurs, and we might well draw the same conclusion as Kyuzo's opponent: it was a tie. But we don't, even if we missed the small difference in technique. And there is a difference, since as Michael Jeck (in his excellent commentary that comes with the DVD) points out, Kyuzo's opponent makes the same mistake Katsushiro does when he first attempts to hit the various samurai on the head with the stick in the trial scenes: he leads with his arms. You can make the same mistake in squash and tennis actually: it is very important in most racquet sports - or in fencing for that matter - that you use your body weight to your advantage rather than just using your arms. The fact that even these details are worked out with precision in the film is a testimony to Kurasawa's genius. But even if you missed this detail it is quite clear who we are supposed to be in awe of. We learn it from Kambei's attention, Katsushiro's attention on Kambei, and the slight difference in the samurai's stances. It's funny, in this entire sequence, hardly a single word is spoken. Almost the only complete line is when Kambei says before the final exchange: "It's so obvious." It is almost a self-referential line since not only does Kambei seem to be saying that the difference between the two is clear, but Kurasawa is almost asking us to reflect on his direction: haven't I made if obvious? But what a glorious scene, and the fact that it is presented in a rather taciturn manner is a good way of introducing the taciturn character of Kyuzo. The duel between two samurai, a sequence of more than five minutes with hardly a sentence being spoken, and yet in the course of it we instantly learn who Kyuzo is, and we learn to respect him, and what's more Kurasawa teaches us how to watch his movie.

I suppose another thing about this scene is it's realism. Unlike a Jackie Chan movie (And don't get me wrong, I do like Jackie Chan films), in which we see the most fantastic fighter in the whole movie do acrobats, and jumps, and motions that no human would possibly do in a real fight, here the violence is quick, and one gets the impression that although the samurai are willing to resort to violence, it's a last resort, because they recognize that there are real consequences to their action. How different this is from contemporary movies like The Last Samurai! Compared to Kurasawa that movie is a joke. Sorry, I suppose some people probably like Zwick's film very much. I suppose one could even argue that some of the bouts in that movie are more realistic in Zwick's film since they are not over in single strikes like most of the bouts in The Seven Samurai. But what realism Zwick's film gains from these details is lost in how distant Zwick's characters seem from real life. They just are so cliché and when there are emotional changes these changes just seem contrived. In contrast, Kurasawa says a lot of things about ordinary life in the course of his film, and his characters are far from cliché with rich and distinct personalities. If an emotional change occurs in Kurasawa's film, I can't help but see it as firmly rooted in the character's identities rather than in some contrivance of the plot.

And there are so many other things to talk about in this movie. The casting: just how perfect each of the characters is cast. The range of emotion: from the depth of despair in the beginning, to the laughter that Kikuchiyo provides, to the thrill of when Kyuzo comes back in the morning, to the shame Katsuchiro and Shino feel, to the anger that Kambei shows when several of his men desert, to the horror when we see that a prisoner of war is going to be brutally killed by an old lady in the village.

And finally, this movie seems deep with significance. It seems to raise questions about poverty, fairness, when violence is acceptable, when it is not, of the greed of some people, the cowardice of others, and the impulsiveness of yet others. A lot of issues about life can be seen as important elements in this movie. The movie also seems to capture some of the most admirable features of what I might call a "samurai approach" to the world we find in Miyamoto Musashi and others. I actually find some aspects of this approach quite appealing, and I often have recourse to samurai metaphors when I talk about what it is like to study academic philosophy. Yes, it sounds a little like a joke, but I'm actually serious. It seems like a lot of things that are valued in this samurai approach can also be applied to academic study. For instance, I have a lot of respect for people who honestly care about the craft of philosophy when they are engaging in it: people who argue more for the learning that is possible through argument than for any superficial victory one might have in winning one. Compare Kambei's description of Kyuzo: "A man interested only in perfecting his skill." And also I tend to value the importance of choosing your opponents wisely (contrast the samurai who challenges Kyuzo to a real duel when he is not up to it), and not using excessive force when it is unnecessary. If you are in an argument with a student about the limitations of first-order logic, you don't bring up Gödel's proof, but something that the student could actually understand, even if it isn't entirely satisfactory in its detail. But if you are going to argue the same question with a logician, you have to be more careful. In fact, now that I think about it, it is striking how important the student-teacher relationship is to the approach to life taken in Kurasawa's movies, and indeed how important it is for much of the early literature of China and Japan, so perhaps the analogy with teaching philosophy is even closer than it appears. But the analogical considerations I mention could be brought to bear in just about any occupation that offers some space for self-improvement. Even in squash a value is put on doing something quickly and efficiently with precisely the amount of effort it requires.

Well, so these are just some thoughts about one of my favorite movies. If you haven't seen it, you should. Although as with all things, it can be disappointing if it is built up with too much hype. So, let me close by saying it is just a samurai movie.

Christmas 2005

Well, when I started this blog, the primary purpose was to share pictures and stories of my adventures with my internationally distributed group of friends, and despite this fact, I've almost never posted any of these adventures. The simple reason is it just took so long for me to get the photos developed, and scan them into my computer that by the time I could reasonably complete the project the moment had passed. But now I have a handy little digital camera that is small enough to bring just about anywhere. So, I can finally let you all know what I'm up to from time to time.

My latest adventures were two weeks in New York, with a quick escape for Christmas in Vermont. It was great to be in New York again, since it has become my favorite city. I suppose this is only natural since I grew up five hours away, and I spent many weeks in college traveling down to the city for running races, symphony rehearsals, operas and shows. A lot of people describe New York as an "exciting" place, and I suppose it is. But the adjective I would use to describe it is "comfortable." People seem more direct and interesting, service is so much better than in Chicago, and you can have deli sandwiches delivered at 3 AM. That makes it my kind of town, and just hanging out in it can be cathartic. My sister's place is also in a great neighborhood, just a few dozen feet from Central Park

on the upper West Side. Hence, if I want to go to Central Park I can be there in less than a minute. It has turned out to be a great place to study, although it was a bit too cold for that this last trip.

Here are some highlights from my trip. One fun afternoon was spent at Anna's apartment in midtown. Anna is a classical singer specializing in the Spanish repertoire, and she has a fantastic apartment, just off of Time's Square. As the photos below show, it is very difficult to imagine better views in New York than those from her balcony.

If you look to the south you have an unobstructed view all the way past the Statue of Liberty (which looks very, very small from this vista).

If you look to the southeast you get a perfect view of the Empire State Building.

I can honestly say that these are some of the best views I've seen of the city. Yes, I've been to the top of the Empire State building among others, but those buildings are just a little too tall. You can see everything below you, but you lose a sense of proportion and relative size. But from Anna's building you're in the middle of things. But many of these views might not last forever since a new high-rise will be going up to the south. It's a real shame, but at least it won't obstruct the view of the Empire State Building. Anyway, we had a great time talking about Goya, Granados, and listening to Alicia de Larrocha, and spending time with her cats. I decided then and there I needed to learn Spanish in the next few years. I mean, it's funny, I've studied so many languages, but I've never studied what is probably the most useful language to be speaking in the United States other than English. And maybe this will be a prelude to a trip to Mexico. I've actually never been there, but the tales I've heard of the regional cuisine there really inspire me. Italo Calvino's Under the Jaguar Sun comes to mind. But, in general, I've always thought that Mexican cuisine is one of the great untapped cuisines of the United States. I say untapped, because Mexican cooking has an extraordinary range of flavors and techniques, but most restaurants in the U.S. can't even begin to express this range. The most expensive Mexican restaurants in the United States seem to actually err more than the cheaper ones, since they make the cooking just a little too French - I mean, don't get me wrong, I love cooking French food and think that no other culture has such rich tradition and such exacting techniques for manipulating the ingredients as the French, and so I cook it often - one quarter I even managed to cook the cuisine of a different region of France every week, paired with a wine from the same region. But I think it's true that when you apply too many French techniques to Mexican food it just seems to lose some of its vitality. As a consequence, I've had some of the best Mexican food I've ever had at complete dives. But, anyway, I digress.

Speaking about food, I also should mention that I had probably the best Korean dinner I've ever had at Do Hwa in Chelsea, and one of the best risottos I've ever had at Épices (although the second time we went back it wasn't quite as good). Two restaurants I'd highly recommend. Maybe I'll add a restaurant review section to this blog at some point. Funny, this post is largely revolving around food, but then so did my trip to New York.

On Christmas Eve I made a quick trip up to the mountains of Vermont. Not many photos to share from the adventure, since, well, I didn't have a camera with me until the ride home. But we did somehow get there despite the fact that our rental car broke down on the way. And we had a wonderful dinner at the Inn at Sawmill Farm. The Inn is perhaps an anamoly. It is a converted barn that was transformed into an inn and restaurant, and then it was stocked with one of the greatest wine cellars in the world, complete with many years of Petrus and Château Latour. When I was a teenager I used to enjoy telling people that my little 600 person town in Vermont had almost as many top wine cellars as New York City (The other inn in my town with a similar reputation, The Hermitage, has unfortunately now closed). Anyway, we didn't have a Petrus '66 on our table, but we did have some good food and absolutely fabulous bread and butter. Yes, we all ordered elaborate preparations of duck, venison, and what have you, and they were prepared well, but my most vivid gastronomical memory of that dinner was just the quality of the rolls and butter. I wonder if someday I'll start a list of the best places for rolls and butter. The white bread at Épices on the upper West Side certainly would make the list.

Back in the city we made preparations for New Year's in New York. The preparations were a little difficult to make since my sister and her beau were leaving the next morning at 6 AM for Deer Valley, Utah, and I myself was leaving at 10 AM for Chi-Town. Add to this the fact that my friend Zarya (a.k.a. the opera-singing neurologist) might or might not be coming from Montréal for the festivites, and some friends of my sister who might or might not make the trek from Brooklyn, and you have the beginnings of a logistical nightmare. Even so, we seemed to have a reasonably good time. Five of us (Ari Lauren and her friend Jenny joined us) had dinner at the Rosa Mexicano in Lincoln Center at a quarter to 10. We were actually amazed that we made it there at all since we only made the reservation an hour or so beforehand. The demand for a holiday table at Rosa Mexicano must have been down a bit this year. The place was all dressed up for the holidays, complete with a DJ on the first floor. The food was quite good, although not good enough to overcome my previous assessment of Mexican restaurants in the U.S - but the tableside guacamole was a real hit. We then rushed out to the meet Zarya - who in fact made it to town in time for the fireworks - and then after watching the running race in Central Park (which I definitely want to run in sometime in the next few years), we went back to Alexis' for grappa and Steely Dan.

Actually, Steely Dan is worth an aside. Alexis put it on the stereo since the band was a subject of much conversation at dinner, with Ari saying it was one of the main influences on her music. I admit that I've never really been into the band, despite the fact that it's a band from my alma mater. But I have to say, that when the lights are down low, and you have a decent stereo, Steely Dan can really set a nice mood. And hanging out with my sister's friend Ari at the same time has also inspired me to try to write some rock music of my own. It's sort of funny, I was actually seriously into music composition at one point in my life. As a high school student I was really thinking about becoming a composer for a while - this was in my conducting phase - and I even went to Carnegie Mellon as a high school student to study with Leonardo Balada among others. But when I was composing I was writing opera scenes, elaborate piano works, and modern classical works for woodwinds that were too complicated, I admit, for a high school student such as myself to complete - although I suppose I did manage to produce a couple of things that I liked. But writing rock music seems like it would be a breeze in comparison! I mean come on, I-IV-V with a reoccurring baseline can produce masterpieces! I think I might even be good at it if I can manage to get my jazz piano down, or pick up a guitar again. Anyway, I actually fooled around with itunes the other night and found myself creating all sorts of interesting beats. Maybe I'll put a few of them online in the near future. Although this last evening was a little goofy. I mean, I found myself writing all sorts of songs with a new age feel. I really don't like "new age" music, but I have to say it is a lot of fun to create with an electric keyboard.

The rest of the evening was spent trying to find a place to dance with Zarya and her friends, but the only success we ended up having was a strange little dive of a bar in Chelsea, with an audience that consisted entirely of transvestites and guys who had nothing better to do than stare in our general direction. But even in these circumstances I was beginning to dance a little, something perhaps partly induced by the tequilas. It's funny that I've hardly danced at all in the past few years. I mean, growing up, I was that seven year old who couldn't stop dancing at weddings, in high school most of my love relationships revolved around dancing, and in college not only did I study Scottish country dancing, and ballroom dancing, but also what might be described as intensive classical flamenco (I still have the boots). I suppose I just haven't found myself in particularly inspiring circumstances in the last few years. Zarya, who is quite attractive, was beginning to persuade me to begin again, but alas, a few minutes later and we were all back on the streets again. That is perhaps the story of the rest of the evening. And maybe the story of my dating life at the moment. But I do have better hopes for the upcoming year.