Guess What We Did Today?

Eggplant subji and some beautiful bruschetta-- that'll do it!

___________________

Pray for a good harvest, but continue to hoe.

-Old Saying

What Smells so Bad?

The Black Cow & Galliano

In case you've missed the 100th anniversary of the RBF Chicagoist would like to bring you up to par on this summer concoction by "properly saucing" it up a notch.

I'll admit I haven't relived the good 'ol A&W days in awhile, but the pairing of a quality root beer (sorry A&W you get the slip here) with some decadent custard and a bit of vodka and Galliano got me inspired enough to test but not drive. Delicieux!

For the kiddies just minus the spirits and they will be quite jubilant as well and glad you remembered this classic rendezvous. Though I do dream a bit of the drive-thru days with rubberized-hooked trays brought to the car (how awfully American is that?!) And the lama that was fenced off in the play area adjacent to the A&W stand who would spit on those who were less worthy.... oy vey!

Gather these and please:

*2 oz Galliano

1 oz Vodka

Root Beer

1 oz Heavy Cream

Combine Galliano, vodka and heavy cream in a tall glass filled with ice. Fill with Root Beer – we prefer Sprecher, but for a Chicago taste, try Goose Island (Ed. Note: Berghoff can work, as well. All three of these are free of high fructose corn syrup). Stir to combine. Top with a dollop of whipped cream, preferably homemade, and a root beer barrel.

For a cute dessert, serve this cocktail alongside a miniature old-fashioned root beer float. Fill a shot glass with small scoops of ice cream and another with root beer – serve them together and let your guests pour the float*

-cheers

Swollen Summer

Afoot and lighthearted I take to the open road, Healthy, free, the world before me, The long brown path before me, leading wherever I choose

............................................

From this hour, freedom! From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines, Going where I list, my own master, total and absolute, Listening to others, and considering well what they say, Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating, Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the hold that would hold me.
Walt Whitman, USA, from Song of the Open Road

Brown Turns a New Hand onto a Classic...

... and the myth, magic and language were all pleasurably retained.

Instead of becoming cultural wallpaper, William Brown tweaked A Midsummer Night's Dream in just the right places while leaving intact Shakespeare's words, which I just want to revel in as long as possible. Like old sages and bards whose wise, snippy wisdom has faded into dust, your ear senses something intuitively divine and enchanting-- it's timeless and invigorating.

There was a time when words carried much more strength and power, and still made sense-- even the proclaimed difficulty in Shakespeare's texts continues to transcend.

Puck-Robin Goodfellow is punked-out, Lysander's horrendous perm and retro 60's attire suit his charming ways; Demetrius is an ultimate uber-nerd chasing love while Bottom's hammish self is transformed into an ass.

Brown took some chances, and I'll let others grumble their complaints, but much to his credit they were timely for a modern audience and nearly everyone was out of their seats at the end when Athens comes strong at the end with a celebratory traditional Greek dance.

An amazing evening performance in such a great setting.

Deep in the Woods...

... for the annual gathering-performance. There has been some "modernizing" of the cast look which could really blow. I guess it's just so damn difficult to have both the language of Shakespeare and appearance jostling those give-it-to-me-easy-fast-and-mindless masses, c'est ca.

" I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,

Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,

Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,

With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine."

Act ii. Scene. 1

When Literature was Savored Slowly- like a Good Meal

There seems to be a renewed interest in "lit-crit" lately which I find encouraging and necessary both to counterbalance the plethora of crud saturating every nook and cranny of online book sales, cult-like Oprah book clubs, self-publishers, mega-chain book stores and frankly overly-inflated, sometimes downright pompous writer-wannabes; or as Seaton writes in his review of Praising It New in the WSJ the "many writers with literary pretensions who are now hyped beyond their merits or neglected in spite of them".

True, the fact that you can find a bombardment of books, clubs, etc. does highlight something positive about a possible increased readership and interest in actual reading, and maybe even more hopeful, a true engagement with the author's work-- but I'm still skeptical. Even I find myself at times drawn to some of the more banal, cliched tripe that is more like fast-food drive-thru gut/mind rot and literally everywhere vs the "source of wisdom and delight" that in the past seemed more the norm, or at least what a writer was striving for, even when dealing with topics/characters of grave intensity and depth.

I feel there is a need for a more penetrating exploration of the written word. A slowing down to actually take in and digest what the writer has skillfully crafted and prepared for the offering. Do you sit graciously at the table and use napkin, fork, spoon and knife? Or do you just devour without a breath in between, a utilitarian taste with no sense of texture, scrambling to just inhale without any discrimination or even some bit of critique and complementary discussion?

Northrop Frye's Anatomy of Criticism is a good reference and counterbalance to read and read again I find, even now. Harold Bloom's foreworded thoughts end quite poignantly:

"If I live long enough, I fully expect individual computers themselves to declare their possession of personality and genius, and to bombard me with the epics and romances of artificial intelligence. In all this proliferation, I hardly will to Frye for comfort and assistance. But, where shall I turn? ... Frye's criticism will survive because it is serious, spiritual, and comprehensive, but not because it is systematic or a manifestation of genius. If Anatomy of Criticism begins to seem a period piece, so does The Sacred Wood of T.S. Eliot. Literary criticism, to survive, must abandon the universities, where "cultural criticism" is a triumphant beast not to be expelled."

Oh... and like with any good meal, don't forget to have an excellent wine in tow!

Bonjour Aout!

So it's August... where has the Summer gone? Ho-hum!