Arms and the man

  Not so many hours ago, a

  rather loud head-of-state-

  to-be picked a quarrel in

  our language, with a mag-

  azine for its opinion of a

  steakhouse in a building

  with his name on it. We're

  all on notice, to beef up.

It didn't always happen, of course, that the arbiter of life and death on our minor little coil would plump for enter-prises blustering his name. We'd have said, lustering, but the neologism would have emptied the room, of anyone cognizant of the difference between a clip joint and statecraft.

  This is Christmas Eve, and

  we are circumspect where 

  the foibles of consumption

  are concerned. But it is

  as good a time as any, to

  reiterate a belief of long

  acceptance, that any child

  who hustles his weaknesses

  is incongruous as a hero.

  

  He's every bit as apt to

  adore our enemies, cave to

  our clients, and call for

  nuclear shuffleboard, in

  the middle of morning tea.
  You'd think he had lost, 
  or knew he did. 

Dance studio
  Betty Lasker, photography

Dinner at home in Washington
  Photographer unknown
  1962

Study for our masthead
  Ivan Terestchenko, designer
  Tassos Paschalis, photography
  2010

While other people do important things

 you don't always
 have to be there

  

  Luca Finotti

  Joost Vandebrug

  Stanley Kubrick

Suppose it were Friday cxx: Great party

  Somewhere between being
  happy, and fluent in be-
  ing amused, the face ac-
  quires a stylish guard,
  an ornament of bone or
  horlogerie to deflect a
  search as with a shield.
  It doesn't always work.
  

 

 

  The beguiling expedient

  shows a little wear and

  tear, this time of year,

  but who would ever tell

  the hour of its leaving?

iv  Joost Vandebrug 
     photography

Waffling well

  It is not unprecedented, in
  this week of the calendar,
  for souls even as stern as
  ours to drift out upon rev-
  eries inspired by our cul-
  tures' adaptations of the
  fruits of the field as well
  as the vine - dried, confec-
  ted, fermented, fresh; and,
  allowing thus our guard to
  drop, to latch upon a treat.

Having cast my lot against

our corrupting of cocktails,

I can not expect much mercy 

anymore, toward how I handle

breakfast. I think I get the

flag, in other words, but I'm

not so sure about the amplifi-

er. Why the incorrigible must

seem delightful at that time

of day, must be how the waffle

got its reputation. 

Still, we do wince at infidel-

ity to expectation, enough to

shift Michel Roux's brilliant

notion for breakfast, to that

late night sphere of nightcap

snacks, when most of the wit-

nesses have found their way

to the other side of the door.

For, if breakfast is indeed

the feast of greater triumph

for our finest cocktail hour,

at least the waffle could not

care less when it is served.

What occasion could be more

practiced in the art of in-

dulgence, we needn't ask of

Christmas Eve, which proves

there is at least one night

a year when anyone's blog is

relevant -- and what is any

amplifier worth, that can't

exploit the sounding board

of the groaning board of in-

gredients beyond expected

conflation?

Waffle Sauce Café et Drambuie

             In a small saucepan, warm 1 cup maple syrup,

             then add 1 tablespoon instant coffee, dissol-

             ved. As soon as the syrup is hot but not boil-

             ing, take the pan off the heat and whisk in

             1/4 cup vodka and 1/4 cup Drambuie, not too

             vigorously [perish the thought, Ed.]. Cover

             the sauce with plastic wrap and set aside in

             a cool place. Before serving, gently re-heat

             and stir in 8 coffee beans, freshly crushed.

Michel Roux

Sauces

  Sweet and savory,

  classic and new

Kate Whiteman

  translation

Martin Brigdale

  photography

  [Glenfiddich Prize, 1997]

op. cit.

Reliance

The gentle hardware we once
used, against our temperate
Winter, fails now to defend
against a savagery absorbed
with our destruction immed-
iately. His flatulent pride
is a lunge against our qui-
et habits of learning, hab-
itats scattered with just a
few thousand printed pages,
due for critical recital in
a calm he can not tolerate.

Who will miss the lock, now
his invasion's so official,
against which ardour's leap
is only a reflex of what we
meet each other for, again?









    How many times, Tacitus?
    How often go we down the
    road so paved by tenors,
    laughing at the thought:

    Plunder, slaughter, dis-
    possession:  these they
    misname government; they
    create a wilderness and
    call it peace.

Edmund Keeley
A Wilderness Called Peace
  A Novel
Simon & Schuster, 1985©


i, iii  m-ban

iv     Joel Andrew
         

Yeah, they thought this one through real good

    America's little Electors had

    a blast yesterday at College,

    restoring us to autocracy's

    genius for Due Process, re-

    viving Executive calumny for

    citizens who speak ill of The

    Tronald, by tweeting them to

    the Dump, and letting loose

    his hounds of schadenfreude,

    to threaten, mock, revile and

    ostracize the intemperate from

    his preciously smart councils.

    Next time they open a College,

    who will be there to choose?

Leonard W. Levy
Origins of the Fifth
  Amendment
  The Right Against
  Self-Incrimination
Oxford University Press, 1968©

i  Andreas Lindquist

Cold convention

    Will they elect a President

    whose enemy is his country?

Last evening?

I loved the house today. All

afternoon, the aromas of the

slowest sustainable braising

of veal cheeks in a mirepoix

of carrots, celery, shallots,

onion, garlic, anchovy paste,

clear beef stock and a gagli-

oppo from Calabria gave us a

thought to crush some pine

nuts for a pesto, for a light

course of pasta first; and so

the basil, in its brightness,

floated gently above the ten-

derness simmering on the hob.

                         It's not even a nut-

                         it's a little seed -

                         but its place in

                         cooking, in at least

                         one instance, is

                         critical.

To this day, the Presidency

of the United States had not

been mislaid. It would be the

last evening, the authorities

advised, when it would be pos-

sible to say this. Tomorrow

would be soon enough, to see

if they were right. This day

would be for Sunday dinner's

blessings to fill the house,

and guide us to a happy rest.

Marcella Hazan
  and Victor Hazan
Ingredienti
  I pinoli
Scribner, 2016©