Lately, as I’ve been looking to turn over a new leaf and stop making lunches out of the pile of m&m’s in front of me, I’ve thought often of this scene from The Fifth Element. I have a way of falling into my work and whatever deadline is in front of me so that during my work week especially, it’s a real drag to figure out what to eat three times a day. I’m fully aware that I’m extremely privileged to have these kinds of problems. Still, I’m gonna admit that when I’m swimming in browser tabs, pages of notes and interview transcripts on my desk, I wonder to myself: Where’s my bottle of microwaveable stewed chicken pills?
Tag: movie bites
Movie Bites: The Joy Luck Club
I’m pretty sure my parents forbade me from watching “The Joy Luck Club” when the movie first came out. But I remember watching it at an aunt’s house not too long after anyway. I can almost feel my aunt’s living room shag carpet under me as I lay sprawled out in front of the TV watching this movie.
The movie is a fuzzy cloud to me now, but of course it’s the illicit parts of the movie which have stuck in my mind. The shine of that silk robe in the darkened bedroom, the baby in the bath, that handful of condoms being flung about.
And then there’s this scene. It’s a perfect, if ridiculous, white-boy-meets-Asian-family faux pas. (Because would Rich really have done the same to his white mama’s meatloaf? If so, that’s not just clueless, it’s rude.) For some reason I’d misremembered his soy sauce dousing as a vigorous salt shaking–equally egregious. It made me think. I rarely find salt and pepper shakers on the tables of Chinese restaurants. Maybe I’ll see little pots of vinegar and soy sauce and hot chili sauce, but they’re intended as condiments, not extra seasoning for the customer to augment the chef’s choices. I take it as a statement about the chef’s authority over the customer’s eating experience. What need does the eater have for more salt and pepper at the table? The cooking is done.
Movie Bites: Babette’s Feast
Can the loving decadence of a haute French feast thaw hearts hardened by years of puritanical self-denial, unrequited love and too many harsh Danish winters? In Babette’s hands, the answer is yes.
This was a sweet movie, good rainy day fare.
I’m pretty ignorant about wine. I lean toward that which is sweeter, and cheaper, and when I do partake I’m usually satisfied with one glass and tipsy by the second. But Babette’s careful attention to the pairings underscored their central role in French cuisine. Every course had its wine accompaniment, and Babette was fastidious about each. I couldn’t help thinking though, if I were so lucky to have been a guest of Babette’s I’d have been drunk and under the table before the quail ever made it out.