The Hunger Games Trilogy: Book 1
The Hunger Games (2008) (edit title/settings)
by Suzanne Collins (Author) (edit contributors)
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qwerty zx
2 of 3 members found this review helpful.
* Rated 1 stars
“I don't really understand all the fuss about this book, it is awfully written. Everything is in first person narrative, it is like something a fifth grader wrote for homework. The world depicted is extremely unrealistic, why are the "hunger games" continuing ? The people at the Capitol are too advanced compared to the other districts, and it is not believable that they're dependent on them for their economic fortune, so why are they keeping them so poor and oppressed, out of spite? The only character I liked in this novel was Rue and she was killed...”
qwerty zx wrote this review 6 hours ago. ( reply | permalink )
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Saturday, March 26, 2011
A Paris Farewell
A Paris Farewell
By AMY M. THOMAS
Copyright by The New York Times
Published: March 25, 2011
http://travel.nytimes.com/2011/03/27/travel/27paris-cover.html?hpw
I’VE always been one of those girls. A die-hard Francophile. An American helpless in the face of Parisian charms and pleasures. A New Yorker who could never seem to shake the City of Light. I went for a college semester, I went with boyfriends, I went to eat chocolate. And finally, for a two-year period beginning in 2009, I went to live my dream.
Now that I’m back home in New York, my vision of Paris has been altered. What was once mysterious is now intimately understood. What was once mythical is now more real (though, admittedly, still magical). To some extent, Paris will always belong to the Truffauts, Fitzgeralds and Bernhardts of the world. But now some of my own history runs through its streets too.
Weaned as I was on “A Moveable Feast” and “Memoirs of Montparnasse,” when I moved to Paris, I saw it clearly divided between the artsy Left Bank and the buttoned-up Right Bank. The Left Bank was for thinkers and dreamers; artists and musicians; students and stargazers who famously sought inspiration — and, peut-être, absinthe. It’s where Josephine Baker shimmied, where Hemingway feasted and where Sartre and de Beauvoir had endless philosophical debates.
The Right Bank was for bankers at the Bourse and flâneurs on the grand boulevards. It was where manicured gardens, symmetrical squares and majestic monuments reigned supreme; a mélange of foreign embassies, tony boutiques and chichi cafes, all steps from where King Louis XVI and thousands of others were guillotined at the Place de la Concorde during the French Revolution.
I made my home in the center of the Right Bank, off the Rue Montorgueil. On an amazing market street filled with patisseries, fromageries and boucheries, nothing made me happier, or feel more Parisienne, than meandering up and down the pedestrian blocks, inhaling the irresistible smells of roasting chickens, stinky cheeses and warm, yeasty baguettes. On more occasions than warranted, I’d treat myself to a crème-filled pain aux raisins from Stohrer, one of the oldest bakeries in Paris. Not too far away in the Marais, at a bread stand inside the Marché des Enfants Rouges, the Cornet Vegetarien — a sandwich of fresh greens, grated carrots and fennel, marinated onions and thinly sliced avocado, dressed with olive oil and honey and dusted with chives and lime zest — was like nothing I’d ever eaten. And the man who prepared it, Alain, a barrel-chested maestro who was given to bursts of song and dance, always made my day.
For macarons, I learned there was only one place to go: Pierre Hermé on the Left Bank. If I was alone, I took the delicate ganache-filled meringue cookies to the Square des Missions Étrangères, a small spot of green in the center of the well-to-do Rue du Bac neighborhood, and ate them in gleeful silence. But if I were bringing friends from out of town for the petites douceurs, we’d savor them together near the central basin in the Jardin du Luxembourg, where tourists and Parisians alike crowded around to watch the motorized sailboats skate across the water.
Back over on the Right Bank, inside the Palais Royal, I found a welcome solitude among the rows of trees pruned into perfect squares. I loved the Technicolor flowerbeds during late summer and how the rosebushes miraculously bloomed in winter, the buds like drops of blood against the white snow. And in the spring, the green fields and gold dome of Les Invalides opening before me when I zipped across the Pont Alexandre III to the Left Bank never failed to make me sigh.
As my circle of exploration expanded from the city center, I started seeing Paris itself growing in new ways. Cashmere emporiums and Costes brothers cafes were infiltrating the Left Bank, nudging it away from “bohemian” into the realm of “haute bourgeois,” while neighborhoods like Belleville and the Haut Marais, with their emerging artists and galleries, infused the Right Bank with creative juice. Apparently, my staunch division of Paris based on riverbanks wasn’t so black and white. And by the time my two-year stint was up, two other sides to Paris were luring me: the east and the west.
The Edgy East
I was first introduced to Canal St.-Martin on Paris’s east side by a friend who lived there and took me on my maiden Vélib’ bike ride, guiding me past the waterway’s peaked iron bridges and enchanting locks — where Amélie had skipped stones — to the flat and sprawling Parc de la Villette just north of the neighborhood. The boomerang-shaped canal was once Napoleon’s conduit for supplying fresh water to Paris. Later, the surrounding area became home to the working classes. But since the millennium, as my friend pointed out — and I couldn’t help but notice as we wended our way through picnicking Parisians flaunting Ray-Bans, iPhones and flashy baskets (sneakers) — the quartier has attracted more and more artists and writers, young couples and hipsters (or bobos — “bourgeois bohemians” — in Parisian parlance).
“When I moved to the neighborhood in 2002,” Elizabeth Bard, author of “Lunch in Paris: A Love Story With Recipes,” wrote in an e-mail, “they called our street the ‘rue des squatters’ because of all the illegal squats and an infamous ‘tent city’ that had been set up by tenants of a crumbling building down the street.” Today, as Ms. Bard points out, you’re just as likely to see potted geraniums and bamboo gardens as you are pilfered shopping carts and homeless camps.
The more time I spent in this gentrified quartier, the more I realized how fitting it was that a fashionable New York writer had made her home there with her Parisian boyfriend (now husband). Like the Mission in San Francisco or the Lower East Side in Manhattan, Canal St.-Martin is gritty with dirt and makeshift tarp shelters. But it’s also alive with creative energy. At Chez Prune, perhaps the neighborhood’s most popular cafe, with a lively terrace, I started making a game of counting the scruffy bearded men with fabulously disheveled coifs — the way only French men can wear their hair. They always seemed to be engaged in nicotine- and wine-fueled debates over their latest film or art projects before they hopped onto their Vespas, mobile phones cleverly tucked inside their helmets. It seemed like the epicenter of artsy intellectualism — the way I imagined Café Select on the Left Bank might have been in the ’60s.
This buoyant energy was everywhere I went in the east. Following a hairpin turn behind the stellar wine bar Le Verre Volé — where I’d devoured sautéed squid with oranges and green olives and a delicious bottle of Côtes du Rhône, with help from a friend — I discovered La Galerie Végétale, an airy, industrial space selling black-and-white photography and an impressive variety of potted succulents. Peering into the steamed-up windows of Voy Alimento, a beatnik-y cafe next door, I made a mental note to go there if I needed exotic herbs and organic teas by the gram.
Around the corner on the Rue Lucien-Sampaix, I watched a steady stream of waifish girls shuffle by in their distressed booties and hand-knit caps at Bob’s Juice Bar, which was opened by Marc Grossman, a New Yorker, in 2006. As I sat at the communal table, sipping carrot and apple juice with a fresh ginger kick, I realized that eating in the east was an international adventure. You could swing a baguette and find pizza topped with baba ganouj at Pink Flamingo Pizza, Cambodian noodles at Le Cambodge or humble bio (organic) carrot soup at Zuzu’s Petals.
As I became familiar with these neighborhood anchors, there was one address I knew I needed to conquer: Le Chateaubriand. Since Fred Peneau opened the bistro with the chef Inaki Aizpitarte in 2007, it’s earned a reputation as Paris’s pinnacle of “bistronomy.” As tough as reservations are to come by, it also accepts walk-ins. So by 9 every night, there’s a train of fashionable foodies pressed against the zinc bar, eyeing the diners already gorging on the five-course, 50-euro (about $68) menu.
Sure enough, the night of my reservation, the fashionable crowd gathering at the bar added to the evening’s excitement. As my dishes got more complex — moving from a dollop of mozzarella dusted with black pepper and vanilla to a deliciously juicy duck breast to pear crumble served with buckwheat ice cream and grapefruit compote — the din from the crowd flooding the entrance grew louder, until the whole interior seemed to vibrate. When I ventured a few weeks later to Le Dauphin, the modern all-marble wine bar opened by the Chateaubriand team, I saw the same cool kids snacking on tapas like oyster tapioca with blood sausage and dried duck meat.
As I was happily sinking my teeth into the quartier’s dining scene, other new ventures were infiltrating. Art was creeping up from the not-too-distant Haut Marais, including Galerie Chantal Crousel’s second Parisian exhibition space on the Rue Léon Jouhaux. And as a sign that the bobos might soon be ceding their territory to tourists — already appearing on boat tours of the canal — Le Citizen, the quartier’s first boutique hotel, made its debut.
“So many people are fed up with the conventional Sixth Arrondissement,” Sophie Berdah, a real estate developer who opened Le Citizen, explained as I sat with her in the hotel’s sun-flooded lobby, looking out at the prime stretch of Quai de Jemmapes. “This neighborhood is very off the track, so clients are people who know Paris a little.”
I appreciated how in tune Ms. Berdah was with the quartier’s spirit that is still more shabby than chic. I spent a night in one of the 12 rooms, enjoying personal touches like hand-delivered carafes of sparkling water; artwork from the California-based Creative Growth Art Center, which supports artists with mental and physical disabilities; and books from Ms. Berdah’s private collection as well as Artazart, the exhaustive design bookstore across the street. Mostly though, I contented myself bytaking in the views overlooking the canal — knobby chestnut trees, vagrant homeless camps and all.
The Refined West
It was a hotel opening on the other side of town that drew me deeper into Paris’s western elegance. Temporarily working in an office on Avenue Hoche, one of the grand arteries that shoots away from the towering Arc de Triomphe at the head of the Champs-Élysées, I would often stroll on my lunch breaks down to Parc Monceau, a relaxed expanse of green where schoolchildren and joggers run free. As I walked by the quartier’s harmonious rows of limestone town houses, past storefronts for Nicolas Feuillatte Champagne and Franck Sabet carpets, I noticed the scaffolding that would soon be dismantled to reveal the newly refurbished Royal Monceau.
Paris is a city filled with five-star hotels, each with its own history and style. The Royal Monceau is one of the artiest, having attracted guests from Maurice Chevalier to Ray Charles to Madonna since opening in 1928. In 2008, it was shuttered for a much-ballyhooed redesign by Philippe Starck. Then one autumn day in 2010, voilà, the scaffolding came down, and a coterie of suited doormen appeared, flanking a plush ruby carpet that extended from the hotel’s interior onto the sidewalk. Inside, the vast salon was filled with guests lounging in intimate groups of saddle-stitched leather chairs, nibbling club sandwiches and leafing through international newspapers. I spent 40 minutes browsing the bookstore’s hundreds of contemporary art, architecture and design titles and limited-edition accessories, like the signed and numbered .38 Special bullet ring by the French artist Jacques Monory. Then I found my way to the hotel’s gallery, and caught the debut exhibition of 50 original Jean-Michel Basquiat works.
Since I couldn’t afford one of the 139 rooms or suites that start at 730 euros a night, I figured I’d do the next best thing: splurge on lunch. I had two gorgeous options: Il Carpaccio, the upscale Italian restaurant tucked in the back corner under a vaulted ceiling, and La Cuisine, where Laurent André and Gabriel Grapin serve elevated classics according to the season. When in Rome, I told myself, and went directly to the French side.
My smoked herring starter, marinated in olive oil and served with pickled onions, was rich enough to call it quits. But I didn’t. From there, I moved on to the daily special of steamed cod and baby spinach and, being a sweet freak, couldn’t resist finishing the meal with a bespoke millefeuille (I chose pistachio cream and fresh raspberries), dreamed up for the hotel by the cult pâtissier Pierre Hermé.
Inspired by my Royal Monceau experience, I embraced this new code of western luxury. I knew my time in Paris would soon draw to a close and was all too happy to see the city in a different light. Just as the edgy east had drawn me in throughout my first year, as autumn turned to winter during my second year, I eagerly soaked up its more sophisticated side.
I went to see the giant green and orange neon Cy Twombly canvases that were fetching millions of dollars at Larry Gagosian’s new gallery, in a former hotel particulier. At the nearby contemporary auction house, Artcurial, I was entertained by the modelesque black-suited servers at the new Gilles & Boissier-designed cafe as they briskly trotted down the restaurant’s central artery to deliver burrata salads and salmon tartares to the well-coiffed, middle-aged patrons in their camel-colored cashmere. Since I was so close, I couldn’t resist the pull of the historic salon de thé Ladurée. I left with a rectangular pastel green box filled with rose and chocolate and pistachio macarons: a perfect Parisian memento.
My edible explorations in the west came to an exquisite finale at L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon. To the dismay of epicures worldwide, Mr. Robuchon had shuttered his gastronomic mecca, La Table, in November 2010 but then quietly popped up the next month in the brand-new shiny red and black basement of Publicis Drugstore at the head of the Champs-Élysées. With my Parisian tour drawing to a close — pourquoi pas? — I made a reservation.
As soon as I arrived, I spied Mr. Robuchon, who has more Michelin stars than any other chef in the world, supervising in the open kitchen. I knew it was going to be a special lunch. “Une coupe de Champagne?” I was asked as soon as I was situated at my corner perch at the bar, seated between two pairs of men. I accepted.
Having never been to any of Mr. Robuchon’s restaurants, I commanded a feast. I started with a basic salad, which was anything but: the endive, walnut, Stilton and apple combination was light and effervescent, beautifully refined. As were the procession of other small plates: John Dory with coriander, lime and a tomato compote; delicate black cod with daikon; and brochettes of creamy Parmesan-covered salsifis — a root vegetable (salsify to the Englsh-speaking) that I had never heard of but was given to me by Mr. Robuchon himself as un cadeau, and something I’ll now forever seek on menus.
As the lunch rolled on, I discovered the two pairs of men I was seated between included Michelin reviewers and members of the Club des Cent, a distinguished, if not clandestine, organization of 100 French gastronomes. The gentlemen pointed out many others in the restaurant I should have recognized but didn’t, including the actor Jean Reno and the singer Charles Aznavour and the former French prime minister Jean-Pierre Raffarin. The atmosphere was electrifying, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the food.
By the time I finished my golden caramel soufflé, most everyone in the restaurant was gone, and there I sat, “Mademoiselle Amy,” befriended by the staff, if only for the day. Antoine poured me a glass of Vouvray and Patrick insisted I have a second dessert that the pastry chef, François Benot, wanted to share: a mélange of banana, passion fruit, rum, granité and cream that he dreamed up in the Seychelles.
When I finally left the opulent den, parting with repeated handshakes, smiles and “enchantées,” I was beyond sated, beyond charmed. But I couldn’t help but also feel a tinge of melancholy: If only I could pack up this moment and a hundred others — biking across the Pont Alexandre III, admiring the rosebuds in the wintery Palais Royal gardens — and place them alongside the boxes of macarons and photos of Alain in the Marché des Enfants Rouges. Then I stepped out onto the Champs-Élysées, into the buoyant heart of Paris, and the wistfulness vanished, just like that.
BY THE COMPASS
RIGHT BANK
Stohrer, 51, rue Montorgueil, Second Arrondissement; (33-1) 42-33-38-20; stohrer.fr.
LEFT BANK
Pierre Hermé, 72 Rue Bonaparte, Sixth; (33-1) 43-54-47-77; pierreherme.com.
EAST
Chez Prune, 38, rue Beaurepaire, 10th; (33-1) 42-41-30-47.
Le Verre Volé, 67, rue de Lancry, 10th; (33-1) 48-03-17-34; leverrevole.fr. A two-course dinner for two is about 50 euros, or about $68 at $1.37 to the dollar.
La Galerie Végétale, 29, rue des Vinaigriers, 10th; (33-9) 54-32-19-68; lagalerievegetale.free.fr/BIO.html.
Voy Alimento, 23, rue des Vinaigriers, 10th; (33-1) 42-01-03-44; voyalimento.fr/.
Bob’s Juice Bar, 15, rue Lucien Sampaix, 10th; (33-9) 50-06-36-18; bobsjuicebar.com. Lunch for two, about 20 euros.
Pink Flamingo Pizza, 67, rue Bichat, 10th; (33-1) 42-02-31-70; pinkflamingopizza.com. Pizzas are 11 to 16 euros.
Le Cambodge, 10, avenue Richerand, 10th; (33-1) 44-84-37-70; lecambodge.fr. Entrées, 10 to 14 euros
Zuzu’s Petals, 8, rue Marie et Louise, 10th; (33-9) 51-79-00-31; zuzuspetals.fr. Lunch for two, 30 euros.
Le Chateaubriand, 129, avenue Parmentier, 11th; (33-1) 43-57-45-95; Five-course dinner for two, 100 euros.
Le Dauphin, 131, avenue Parmentier, 11th; (33-1) 55-28-78-88. Tapas are 5 to 14 euros.
Galerie Chantal Crousel, 11F, rue Léon Jouhaux, 10th; (33-1) 42-77-38-87; crousel.com.
Le Citizen, 96, quai de Jemmapes, 10th; (33-1) 83-62-55-50; lecitizenhotel.com. From 149 euros.
Artazart, 83, quai de Valmy; (33-1) 40-40-24-00.
WEST
Le Royal Monceau, 37, avenue Hoche, Eighth; (33-1) 42-99-88-00; leroyalmonceau.com. Rooms from 730 euros.
Gagosian Gallery, 4, rue de Ponthieu, Eighth; (33-1) 75-00-05-92; gagosian.com.
Artcurial, Hôtel Marcel Dassault, 7, rond-pont des Champs-Élysées, Eighth; 01 42 99 20 20; cafe-artcurial.abcsalles.com. Lunch for two, about 48 euros.
Ladurée, 75, avenue des Champs-Élysées, Eighth; (33-1) 40-75-08-75; laduree.fr.
Atelier Joel Robuchon Étoile, 133, avenue des Champs-Élysées, Eighth; (33-1) 47-23-75-75;joel-robuchon.net. Discovery menu for two: 300 euros.
AMY M. THOMAS, who writes about food, fashion and travel, lived in Paris for two years. She is writing a book about her Parisian experience.
By AMY M. THOMAS
Copyright by The New York Times
Published: March 25, 2011
http://travel.nytimes.com/2011/03/27/travel/27paris-cover.html?hpw
I’VE always been one of those girls. A die-hard Francophile. An American helpless in the face of Parisian charms and pleasures. A New Yorker who could never seem to shake the City of Light. I went for a college semester, I went with boyfriends, I went to eat chocolate. And finally, for a two-year period beginning in 2009, I went to live my dream.
Now that I’m back home in New York, my vision of Paris has been altered. What was once mysterious is now intimately understood. What was once mythical is now more real (though, admittedly, still magical). To some extent, Paris will always belong to the Truffauts, Fitzgeralds and Bernhardts of the world. But now some of my own history runs through its streets too.
Weaned as I was on “A Moveable Feast” and “Memoirs of Montparnasse,” when I moved to Paris, I saw it clearly divided between the artsy Left Bank and the buttoned-up Right Bank. The Left Bank was for thinkers and dreamers; artists and musicians; students and stargazers who famously sought inspiration — and, peut-être, absinthe. It’s where Josephine Baker shimmied, where Hemingway feasted and where Sartre and de Beauvoir had endless philosophical debates.
The Right Bank was for bankers at the Bourse and flâneurs on the grand boulevards. It was where manicured gardens, symmetrical squares and majestic monuments reigned supreme; a mélange of foreign embassies, tony boutiques and chichi cafes, all steps from where King Louis XVI and thousands of others were guillotined at the Place de la Concorde during the French Revolution.
I made my home in the center of the Right Bank, off the Rue Montorgueil. On an amazing market street filled with patisseries, fromageries and boucheries, nothing made me happier, or feel more Parisienne, than meandering up and down the pedestrian blocks, inhaling the irresistible smells of roasting chickens, stinky cheeses and warm, yeasty baguettes. On more occasions than warranted, I’d treat myself to a crème-filled pain aux raisins from Stohrer, one of the oldest bakeries in Paris. Not too far away in the Marais, at a bread stand inside the Marché des Enfants Rouges, the Cornet Vegetarien — a sandwich of fresh greens, grated carrots and fennel, marinated onions and thinly sliced avocado, dressed with olive oil and honey and dusted with chives and lime zest — was like nothing I’d ever eaten. And the man who prepared it, Alain, a barrel-chested maestro who was given to bursts of song and dance, always made my day.
For macarons, I learned there was only one place to go: Pierre Hermé on the Left Bank. If I was alone, I took the delicate ganache-filled meringue cookies to the Square des Missions Étrangères, a small spot of green in the center of the well-to-do Rue du Bac neighborhood, and ate them in gleeful silence. But if I were bringing friends from out of town for the petites douceurs, we’d savor them together near the central basin in the Jardin du Luxembourg, where tourists and Parisians alike crowded around to watch the motorized sailboats skate across the water.
Back over on the Right Bank, inside the Palais Royal, I found a welcome solitude among the rows of trees pruned into perfect squares. I loved the Technicolor flowerbeds during late summer and how the rosebushes miraculously bloomed in winter, the buds like drops of blood against the white snow. And in the spring, the green fields and gold dome of Les Invalides opening before me when I zipped across the Pont Alexandre III to the Left Bank never failed to make me sigh.
As my circle of exploration expanded from the city center, I started seeing Paris itself growing in new ways. Cashmere emporiums and Costes brothers cafes were infiltrating the Left Bank, nudging it away from “bohemian” into the realm of “haute bourgeois,” while neighborhoods like Belleville and the Haut Marais, with their emerging artists and galleries, infused the Right Bank with creative juice. Apparently, my staunch division of Paris based on riverbanks wasn’t so black and white. And by the time my two-year stint was up, two other sides to Paris were luring me: the east and the west.
The Edgy East
I was first introduced to Canal St.-Martin on Paris’s east side by a friend who lived there and took me on my maiden Vélib’ bike ride, guiding me past the waterway’s peaked iron bridges and enchanting locks — where Amélie had skipped stones — to the flat and sprawling Parc de la Villette just north of the neighborhood. The boomerang-shaped canal was once Napoleon’s conduit for supplying fresh water to Paris. Later, the surrounding area became home to the working classes. But since the millennium, as my friend pointed out — and I couldn’t help but notice as we wended our way through picnicking Parisians flaunting Ray-Bans, iPhones and flashy baskets (sneakers) — the quartier has attracted more and more artists and writers, young couples and hipsters (or bobos — “bourgeois bohemians” — in Parisian parlance).
“When I moved to the neighborhood in 2002,” Elizabeth Bard, author of “Lunch in Paris: A Love Story With Recipes,” wrote in an e-mail, “they called our street the ‘rue des squatters’ because of all the illegal squats and an infamous ‘tent city’ that had been set up by tenants of a crumbling building down the street.” Today, as Ms. Bard points out, you’re just as likely to see potted geraniums and bamboo gardens as you are pilfered shopping carts and homeless camps.
The more time I spent in this gentrified quartier, the more I realized how fitting it was that a fashionable New York writer had made her home there with her Parisian boyfriend (now husband). Like the Mission in San Francisco or the Lower East Side in Manhattan, Canal St.-Martin is gritty with dirt and makeshift tarp shelters. But it’s also alive with creative energy. At Chez Prune, perhaps the neighborhood’s most popular cafe, with a lively terrace, I started making a game of counting the scruffy bearded men with fabulously disheveled coifs — the way only French men can wear their hair. They always seemed to be engaged in nicotine- and wine-fueled debates over their latest film or art projects before they hopped onto their Vespas, mobile phones cleverly tucked inside their helmets. It seemed like the epicenter of artsy intellectualism — the way I imagined Café Select on the Left Bank might have been in the ’60s.
This buoyant energy was everywhere I went in the east. Following a hairpin turn behind the stellar wine bar Le Verre Volé — where I’d devoured sautéed squid with oranges and green olives and a delicious bottle of Côtes du Rhône, with help from a friend — I discovered La Galerie Végétale, an airy, industrial space selling black-and-white photography and an impressive variety of potted succulents. Peering into the steamed-up windows of Voy Alimento, a beatnik-y cafe next door, I made a mental note to go there if I needed exotic herbs and organic teas by the gram.
Around the corner on the Rue Lucien-Sampaix, I watched a steady stream of waifish girls shuffle by in their distressed booties and hand-knit caps at Bob’s Juice Bar, which was opened by Marc Grossman, a New Yorker, in 2006. As I sat at the communal table, sipping carrot and apple juice with a fresh ginger kick, I realized that eating in the east was an international adventure. You could swing a baguette and find pizza topped with baba ganouj at Pink Flamingo Pizza, Cambodian noodles at Le Cambodge or humble bio (organic) carrot soup at Zuzu’s Petals.
As I became familiar with these neighborhood anchors, there was one address I knew I needed to conquer: Le Chateaubriand. Since Fred Peneau opened the bistro with the chef Inaki Aizpitarte in 2007, it’s earned a reputation as Paris’s pinnacle of “bistronomy.” As tough as reservations are to come by, it also accepts walk-ins. So by 9 every night, there’s a train of fashionable foodies pressed against the zinc bar, eyeing the diners already gorging on the five-course, 50-euro (about $68) menu.
Sure enough, the night of my reservation, the fashionable crowd gathering at the bar added to the evening’s excitement. As my dishes got more complex — moving from a dollop of mozzarella dusted with black pepper and vanilla to a deliciously juicy duck breast to pear crumble served with buckwheat ice cream and grapefruit compote — the din from the crowd flooding the entrance grew louder, until the whole interior seemed to vibrate. When I ventured a few weeks later to Le Dauphin, the modern all-marble wine bar opened by the Chateaubriand team, I saw the same cool kids snacking on tapas like oyster tapioca with blood sausage and dried duck meat.
As I was happily sinking my teeth into the quartier’s dining scene, other new ventures were infiltrating. Art was creeping up from the not-too-distant Haut Marais, including Galerie Chantal Crousel’s second Parisian exhibition space on the Rue Léon Jouhaux. And as a sign that the bobos might soon be ceding their territory to tourists — already appearing on boat tours of the canal — Le Citizen, the quartier’s first boutique hotel, made its debut.
“So many people are fed up with the conventional Sixth Arrondissement,” Sophie Berdah, a real estate developer who opened Le Citizen, explained as I sat with her in the hotel’s sun-flooded lobby, looking out at the prime stretch of Quai de Jemmapes. “This neighborhood is very off the track, so clients are people who know Paris a little.”
I appreciated how in tune Ms. Berdah was with the quartier’s spirit that is still more shabby than chic. I spent a night in one of the 12 rooms, enjoying personal touches like hand-delivered carafes of sparkling water; artwork from the California-based Creative Growth Art Center, which supports artists with mental and physical disabilities; and books from Ms. Berdah’s private collection as well as Artazart, the exhaustive design bookstore across the street. Mostly though, I contented myself bytaking in the views overlooking the canal — knobby chestnut trees, vagrant homeless camps and all.
The Refined West
It was a hotel opening on the other side of town that drew me deeper into Paris’s western elegance. Temporarily working in an office on Avenue Hoche, one of the grand arteries that shoots away from the towering Arc de Triomphe at the head of the Champs-Élysées, I would often stroll on my lunch breaks down to Parc Monceau, a relaxed expanse of green where schoolchildren and joggers run free. As I walked by the quartier’s harmonious rows of limestone town houses, past storefronts for Nicolas Feuillatte Champagne and Franck Sabet carpets, I noticed the scaffolding that would soon be dismantled to reveal the newly refurbished Royal Monceau.
Paris is a city filled with five-star hotels, each with its own history and style. The Royal Monceau is one of the artiest, having attracted guests from Maurice Chevalier to Ray Charles to Madonna since opening in 1928. In 2008, it was shuttered for a much-ballyhooed redesign by Philippe Starck. Then one autumn day in 2010, voilà, the scaffolding came down, and a coterie of suited doormen appeared, flanking a plush ruby carpet that extended from the hotel’s interior onto the sidewalk. Inside, the vast salon was filled with guests lounging in intimate groups of saddle-stitched leather chairs, nibbling club sandwiches and leafing through international newspapers. I spent 40 minutes browsing the bookstore’s hundreds of contemporary art, architecture and design titles and limited-edition accessories, like the signed and numbered .38 Special bullet ring by the French artist Jacques Monory. Then I found my way to the hotel’s gallery, and caught the debut exhibition of 50 original Jean-Michel Basquiat works.
Since I couldn’t afford one of the 139 rooms or suites that start at 730 euros a night, I figured I’d do the next best thing: splurge on lunch. I had two gorgeous options: Il Carpaccio, the upscale Italian restaurant tucked in the back corner under a vaulted ceiling, and La Cuisine, where Laurent André and Gabriel Grapin serve elevated classics according to the season. When in Rome, I told myself, and went directly to the French side.
My smoked herring starter, marinated in olive oil and served with pickled onions, was rich enough to call it quits. But I didn’t. From there, I moved on to the daily special of steamed cod and baby spinach and, being a sweet freak, couldn’t resist finishing the meal with a bespoke millefeuille (I chose pistachio cream and fresh raspberries), dreamed up for the hotel by the cult pâtissier Pierre Hermé.
Inspired by my Royal Monceau experience, I embraced this new code of western luxury. I knew my time in Paris would soon draw to a close and was all too happy to see the city in a different light. Just as the edgy east had drawn me in throughout my first year, as autumn turned to winter during my second year, I eagerly soaked up its more sophisticated side.
I went to see the giant green and orange neon Cy Twombly canvases that were fetching millions of dollars at Larry Gagosian’s new gallery, in a former hotel particulier. At the nearby contemporary auction house, Artcurial, I was entertained by the modelesque black-suited servers at the new Gilles & Boissier-designed cafe as they briskly trotted down the restaurant’s central artery to deliver burrata salads and salmon tartares to the well-coiffed, middle-aged patrons in their camel-colored cashmere. Since I was so close, I couldn’t resist the pull of the historic salon de thé Ladurée. I left with a rectangular pastel green box filled with rose and chocolate and pistachio macarons: a perfect Parisian memento.
My edible explorations in the west came to an exquisite finale at L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon. To the dismay of epicures worldwide, Mr. Robuchon had shuttered his gastronomic mecca, La Table, in November 2010 but then quietly popped up the next month in the brand-new shiny red and black basement of Publicis Drugstore at the head of the Champs-Élysées. With my Parisian tour drawing to a close — pourquoi pas? — I made a reservation.
As soon as I arrived, I spied Mr. Robuchon, who has more Michelin stars than any other chef in the world, supervising in the open kitchen. I knew it was going to be a special lunch. “Une coupe de Champagne?” I was asked as soon as I was situated at my corner perch at the bar, seated between two pairs of men. I accepted.
Having never been to any of Mr. Robuchon’s restaurants, I commanded a feast. I started with a basic salad, which was anything but: the endive, walnut, Stilton and apple combination was light and effervescent, beautifully refined. As were the procession of other small plates: John Dory with coriander, lime and a tomato compote; delicate black cod with daikon; and brochettes of creamy Parmesan-covered salsifis — a root vegetable (salsify to the Englsh-speaking) that I had never heard of but was given to me by Mr. Robuchon himself as un cadeau, and something I’ll now forever seek on menus.
As the lunch rolled on, I discovered the two pairs of men I was seated between included Michelin reviewers and members of the Club des Cent, a distinguished, if not clandestine, organization of 100 French gastronomes. The gentlemen pointed out many others in the restaurant I should have recognized but didn’t, including the actor Jean Reno and the singer Charles Aznavour and the former French prime minister Jean-Pierre Raffarin. The atmosphere was electrifying, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the food.
By the time I finished my golden caramel soufflé, most everyone in the restaurant was gone, and there I sat, “Mademoiselle Amy,” befriended by the staff, if only for the day. Antoine poured me a glass of Vouvray and Patrick insisted I have a second dessert that the pastry chef, François Benot, wanted to share: a mélange of banana, passion fruit, rum, granité and cream that he dreamed up in the Seychelles.
When I finally left the opulent den, parting with repeated handshakes, smiles and “enchantées,” I was beyond sated, beyond charmed. But I couldn’t help but also feel a tinge of melancholy: If only I could pack up this moment and a hundred others — biking across the Pont Alexandre III, admiring the rosebuds in the wintery Palais Royal gardens — and place them alongside the boxes of macarons and photos of Alain in the Marché des Enfants Rouges. Then I stepped out onto the Champs-Élysées, into the buoyant heart of Paris, and the wistfulness vanished, just like that.
BY THE COMPASS
RIGHT BANK
Stohrer, 51, rue Montorgueil, Second Arrondissement; (33-1) 42-33-38-20; stohrer.fr.
LEFT BANK
Pierre Hermé, 72 Rue Bonaparte, Sixth; (33-1) 43-54-47-77; pierreherme.com.
EAST
Chez Prune, 38, rue Beaurepaire, 10th; (33-1) 42-41-30-47.
Le Verre Volé, 67, rue de Lancry, 10th; (33-1) 48-03-17-34; leverrevole.fr. A two-course dinner for two is about 50 euros, or about $68 at $1.37 to the dollar.
La Galerie Végétale, 29, rue des Vinaigriers, 10th; (33-9) 54-32-19-68; lagalerievegetale.free.fr/BIO.html.
Voy Alimento, 23, rue des Vinaigriers, 10th; (33-1) 42-01-03-44; voyalimento.fr/.
Bob’s Juice Bar, 15, rue Lucien Sampaix, 10th; (33-9) 50-06-36-18; bobsjuicebar.com. Lunch for two, about 20 euros.
Pink Flamingo Pizza, 67, rue Bichat, 10th; (33-1) 42-02-31-70; pinkflamingopizza.com. Pizzas are 11 to 16 euros.
Le Cambodge, 10, avenue Richerand, 10th; (33-1) 44-84-37-70; lecambodge.fr. Entrées, 10 to 14 euros
Zuzu’s Petals, 8, rue Marie et Louise, 10th; (33-9) 51-79-00-31; zuzuspetals.fr. Lunch for two, 30 euros.
Le Chateaubriand, 129, avenue Parmentier, 11th; (33-1) 43-57-45-95; Five-course dinner for two, 100 euros.
Le Dauphin, 131, avenue Parmentier, 11th; (33-1) 55-28-78-88. Tapas are 5 to 14 euros.
Galerie Chantal Crousel, 11F, rue Léon Jouhaux, 10th; (33-1) 42-77-38-87; crousel.com.
Le Citizen, 96, quai de Jemmapes, 10th; (33-1) 83-62-55-50; lecitizenhotel.com. From 149 euros.
Artazart, 83, quai de Valmy; (33-1) 40-40-24-00.
WEST
Le Royal Monceau, 37, avenue Hoche, Eighth; (33-1) 42-99-88-00; leroyalmonceau.com. Rooms from 730 euros.
Gagosian Gallery, 4, rue de Ponthieu, Eighth; (33-1) 75-00-05-92; gagosian.com.
Artcurial, Hôtel Marcel Dassault, 7, rond-pont des Champs-Élysées, Eighth; 01 42 99 20 20; cafe-artcurial.abcsalles.com. Lunch for two, about 48 euros.
Ladurée, 75, avenue des Champs-Élysées, Eighth; (33-1) 40-75-08-75; laduree.fr.
Atelier Joel Robuchon Étoile, 133, avenue des Champs-Élysées, Eighth; (33-1) 47-23-75-75;joel-robuchon.net. Discovery menu for two: 300 euros.
AMY M. THOMAS, who writes about food, fashion and travel, lived in Paris for two years. She is writing a book about her Parisian experience.
Friday, March 25, 2011
36 Hours in Seattle
36 Hours in Seattle
By DAVID LASKIN
Copyright by The New York Times
Published: March 24, 2011
http://travel.nytimes.com/2011/03/27/travel/27hours-seattle.html?adxnnl=1&hpw=&adxnnlx=1301068945-/xEj8xdptPK/vVYYXH/6Lg
SPRING comes early to Seattle and lasts long. By the end of February, the rains relent and pastel shades of plum and narcissus initiate a progression of color and scent that lasts months. But new flora is not the only thing popping out of the ground in Seattle these days. Seemingly overnight, whole swatches of downtown and close-in neighborhoods — notably South Lake Union and the Pike-Pine Corridor — have transformed themselves into vibrant enclaves of restaurants, bars and galleries. With so many converted and repurposed buildings, Seattle’s cityscape is starting to look as layered as the wardrobes of its inhabitants. The tarry pitch of the timber port never disappeared; it just got plastered over with grunge flannel, tech money, yuppie coffee, Pacific Rim flavors, and more recently the backyard chickens and chard of urban pioneers. Don’t let a passing shower keep you from entering the mix. This is one of the rare American cities where you can be outdoors year-round without either shivering or sweating.
Seattle
Friday
4 p.m.
1) PARK TOWER VIEW
Volunteer Park (1247 15th Avenue East; 206-684-4075; www.seattle.gov/parks), a 10-minute cab or bus ride from downtown at the north end of Capitol Hill, has gardens designed a century ago by the Olmsted Brothers, a conservatory bursting with plants from regions around the world, and a squat brick water tower that you can ascend for terrific views of the city below and the mountains and water beyond. Rain or shine, it’s the ideal place for spring orientation. If hunger strikes, stroll a couple of blocks east through one of Seattle’s oldest and prettiest neighborhoods for a slice of lemon Bundt cake ($3) and a Stumptown coffee at the cozy, humming Volunteer Park Cafe (1501 17th Avenue East; 206-328-3155; alwaysfreshgoodness.com).
6 p.m.
2) COOLEST CORRIDOR
The Pike-Pine Corridor is Seattle’s happiest urban makeover: from a warren of shabby flats and greasy spoons to an arty but not oppressively gentrified hamlet just across the freeway from downtown. When the locally revered Elliott Bay Book Company (1521 10th Avenue; 206-624-6600; elliottbaybook.com) abandoned Pioneer Square to relocate here last year, the literati gasped — but now it looks like a perfect neighborhood fit, what with the inviting communal tables at Oddfellows (1525 10th Avenue; 206-325-0807; oddfellowscafe.com) two doors down, and a full spectrum of restaurants, vintage clothing shops and home décor stores in the surrounding blocks. When it’s time for a predinner drink, amble over to Licorous (928 12th Avenue; 206-325-6947; licorous.com). Behind the shack-like facade is a soaring, spare, just dark and loud enough watering hole that serves creative cocktails (Bound for Glory, with Bacardi, allspice, lime juice and Jamaican bitters, $12) and bar snacks (salumi plate, $12).
7:30 p.m.
3) FRESH AND LOCAL
One of the most talked-about restaurants in town, Sitka & Spruce (1531 Melrose Avenue East; 206-324-0662; sitkaandspruce.com) looks like a classy college dining room with a long refectory table surrounded by a few smaller tables, concrete floors, exposed brick and duct work. But there’s nothing sophomoric about the food. The chef and owner, Matt Dillon, who moved the restaurant to the Pike-Pine Corridor last summer, follows his flawless intuition in transforming humble local ingredients (smelt, nettles, celery root, black trumpet mushrooms, turnips, pumpkin) into complexly layered, many-textured but never fussy creations like beer-fried smelt with aioli ($12), spiced pumpkin crepe with herbed labneh ($19) and salmon with stinging nettles ($23). Heed your server’s advice that entrees are meant to be shared — you will have just enough room for dessert (warm dates, pistachios and rose-water ice cream, $6.50), and you will be pleasantly surprised by the bill.
Saturday
9 a.m.
4) ART AND WATER
There used to be two complaints about downtown Seattle: it offered no inspiring parks and no waterfront access worthy of the scenery. The Olympic Sculpture Park (2901 Western Avenue; 206-654-3100; seattleartmuseum.org), opened four years ago by the Seattle Art Museum, took care of both problems in one stroke. Masterpieces in steel, granite, fiberglass and bronze by nationally renowned artists have wedded beautifully with maturing native trees, shrubs, ferns and wildflowers. Wander the zigzagging paths and ramps past the massive weathered steel hulls of Richard Serra’s “Wake” and Alexander Calder’s soaring painted steel “Eagle” until you reach the harborside promenade. From there continue north to a pocket beach and into the adjoining grassy fields of waterfront Myrtle Edwards Park. It’s all free.
10:30 a.m.
5) URBAN VILLAGE
The development of South Lake Union into a thriving urban village, brainchild of the Microsoft tycoon Paul Allen, is finally alive and kicking. This former industrial no man’s land now houses the city’s best galleries, an ever increasing collection of dining spots, some nifty shops and the spanking new Amazon campus. Use the South Lake Union Streetcar to hop from Gordon Woodside/John Braseth Gallery (2101 Ninth Avenue; 206-622-7243; woodsidebrasethgallery.com), which specializes in Northwest landscapes, to Honeychurch Antiques (411 Westlake Avenue North; 206-622-1225; honeychurch.com), with museum-quality Asian art and artifacts, and on to the Center for Wooden Boats (1010 Valley Street; 206-382-2628; cwb.org), where you can admire the old varnished beauties or rent a rowboat or sailboat for a spin around Seattle’s in-city lake. Need a (really rich) snack? The newly renamed Marie & Frères Chocolate (2122 Westlake Avenue; 206-859-3534; claudiocorallochocolate.com) has some of the most exquisite chocolate macaroons ever confected.
1 p.m.
6) LUNCH BESIDE THE CHIEF
Tilikum Place, with its imposing fountain statue of the city’s namesake, Chief Sealth, is Seattle’s closest thing to a piazza, and the Tilikum Place Café (407 Cedar Street; 206-282-4830) supplied the one missing element — a classy informal restaurant — when it opened two years ago. Understated elegance is the byword here, whether it’s the delicate purée of butternut squash soup with bits of tart apple ($4), the beet salad with arugula and blue cheese ($8) or the light and piquant mushroom and leek tart ($10).
4 p.m.
7) WALK ON WATER
You don’t have to leave the city limits to immerse yourself in the region’s stunning natural beauty. Drive or take a bus 15 minutes from downtown to the parking lot of the Museum of History and Industry (2700 24th Avenue East; 206-324-1126; seattlehistory.org) and pick up the milelong Arboretum Waterfront Trail. A network of well-maintained paths and boardwalks takes you through thickets of alder, willow and elderberry into marshy islands alive with the trills of red-winged blackbirds and marsh wrens, and over shallows where kayakers prowl amid the rushes and concrete pillars of the freeway overhead. If the sun is out, you’ll want to prolong the outing with a stroll through the flowering fruit trees in the adjoining arboretum.
8 p.m.
8) LA DOLCE VITA
Maybe it’s the stylish Italian vibe or the pretty people basking in the soft glow of dripping candles, or maybe it’s the sumptuous, creatively classic food — whatever the secret ingredient, Barolo Ristorante (1940 Westlake Avenue; 206-770-9000; baroloseattle.com) always feels like a party. The pastas would do a Roman mother proud — gnocchi sauced with braised pheasant ($19), leg of lamb ragù spooned over rigatoni ($18). The rack of lamb with Amarone-infused cherries ($36) is sinfully rich, and the seared branzino (sea bass) ($28) exhales the essence of the Mediterranean. Don’t leave without at least a nibble of cannoli or tiramisù ($7).
Midnight
9) THE BEAT GOES ON
At See Sound Lounge (115 Blanchard; 206-374-3733; seesoundlounge.com) young and not so young Seattle join forces to party to house music spun by a revolving cast of D.J.’s. There’s a small dance floor — but the compensation is lots of booths and sofas to crash on. The scene outside can get rowdy in the wee hours, but inside the beat and liquor flow smoothly.
Sunday
10:30 a.m.
10) BAYOU BRUNCH
Lake Pontchartrain meets Puget Sound at Toulouse Petit (601 Queen Anne Avenue North; 206-432-9069; toulousepetit.com), a funky bistro-style spot near the Seattle Center in Lower Queen Anne. Grab a booth and settle in with a basket of hot, crispy beignets ($7.50 for the large); then indulge in something truly decadent like pork cheeks confit hash topped with a couple of fried eggs ($12) or eggs Benedict with crab and fines herbes ($16). You can cleanse your system afterward with a brisk walk up
the hill to Kerry Park (211 West Highland Drive) for a magnificent farewell view.
IF YOU GO
The best, cheapest way to get from the airport to downtown is the new Link Light Rail; $2.50 one way (soundtransit.org).
The two-year-old 346-room Hyatt at Olive 8 (1635 Eighth Avenue; 206-695-1234; hyatt.com) has hands-down the best fitness center and pool of any downtown hotel; most of the sleekly appointed guest rooms have city views. Doubles from $179 to $279.
Pan Pacific Hotel Seattle (2125 Terry Avenue; 206-264-8111; panpacific.com), which opened in 2006, is a light and airy perch above the evolving scene in South Lake Union, a 15-minute walk to downtown. Doubles from $200.
By DAVID LASKIN
Copyright by The New York Times
Published: March 24, 2011
http://travel.nytimes.com/2011/03/27/travel/27hours-seattle.html?adxnnl=1&hpw=&adxnnlx=1301068945-/xEj8xdptPK/vVYYXH/6Lg
SPRING comes early to Seattle and lasts long. By the end of February, the rains relent and pastel shades of plum and narcissus initiate a progression of color and scent that lasts months. But new flora is not the only thing popping out of the ground in Seattle these days. Seemingly overnight, whole swatches of downtown and close-in neighborhoods — notably South Lake Union and the Pike-Pine Corridor — have transformed themselves into vibrant enclaves of restaurants, bars and galleries. With so many converted and repurposed buildings, Seattle’s cityscape is starting to look as layered as the wardrobes of its inhabitants. The tarry pitch of the timber port never disappeared; it just got plastered over with grunge flannel, tech money, yuppie coffee, Pacific Rim flavors, and more recently the backyard chickens and chard of urban pioneers. Don’t let a passing shower keep you from entering the mix. This is one of the rare American cities where you can be outdoors year-round without either shivering or sweating.
Seattle
Friday
4 p.m.
1) PARK TOWER VIEW
Volunteer Park (1247 15th Avenue East; 206-684-4075; www.seattle.gov/parks), a 10-minute cab or bus ride from downtown at the north end of Capitol Hill, has gardens designed a century ago by the Olmsted Brothers, a conservatory bursting with plants from regions around the world, and a squat brick water tower that you can ascend for terrific views of the city below and the mountains and water beyond. Rain or shine, it’s the ideal place for spring orientation. If hunger strikes, stroll a couple of blocks east through one of Seattle’s oldest and prettiest neighborhoods for a slice of lemon Bundt cake ($3) and a Stumptown coffee at the cozy, humming Volunteer Park Cafe (1501 17th Avenue East; 206-328-3155; alwaysfreshgoodness.com).
6 p.m.
2) COOLEST CORRIDOR
The Pike-Pine Corridor is Seattle’s happiest urban makeover: from a warren of shabby flats and greasy spoons to an arty but not oppressively gentrified hamlet just across the freeway from downtown. When the locally revered Elliott Bay Book Company (1521 10th Avenue; 206-624-6600; elliottbaybook.com) abandoned Pioneer Square to relocate here last year, the literati gasped — but now it looks like a perfect neighborhood fit, what with the inviting communal tables at Oddfellows (1525 10th Avenue; 206-325-0807; oddfellowscafe.com) two doors down, and a full spectrum of restaurants, vintage clothing shops and home décor stores in the surrounding blocks. When it’s time for a predinner drink, amble over to Licorous (928 12th Avenue; 206-325-6947; licorous.com). Behind the shack-like facade is a soaring, spare, just dark and loud enough watering hole that serves creative cocktails (Bound for Glory, with Bacardi, allspice, lime juice and Jamaican bitters, $12) and bar snacks (salumi plate, $12).
7:30 p.m.
3) FRESH AND LOCAL
One of the most talked-about restaurants in town, Sitka & Spruce (1531 Melrose Avenue East; 206-324-0662; sitkaandspruce.com) looks like a classy college dining room with a long refectory table surrounded by a few smaller tables, concrete floors, exposed brick and duct work. But there’s nothing sophomoric about the food. The chef and owner, Matt Dillon, who moved the restaurant to the Pike-Pine Corridor last summer, follows his flawless intuition in transforming humble local ingredients (smelt, nettles, celery root, black trumpet mushrooms, turnips, pumpkin) into complexly layered, many-textured but never fussy creations like beer-fried smelt with aioli ($12), spiced pumpkin crepe with herbed labneh ($19) and salmon with stinging nettles ($23). Heed your server’s advice that entrees are meant to be shared — you will have just enough room for dessert (warm dates, pistachios and rose-water ice cream, $6.50), and you will be pleasantly surprised by the bill.
Saturday
9 a.m.
4) ART AND WATER
There used to be two complaints about downtown Seattle: it offered no inspiring parks and no waterfront access worthy of the scenery. The Olympic Sculpture Park (2901 Western Avenue; 206-654-3100; seattleartmuseum.org), opened four years ago by the Seattle Art Museum, took care of both problems in one stroke. Masterpieces in steel, granite, fiberglass and bronze by nationally renowned artists have wedded beautifully with maturing native trees, shrubs, ferns and wildflowers. Wander the zigzagging paths and ramps past the massive weathered steel hulls of Richard Serra’s “Wake” and Alexander Calder’s soaring painted steel “Eagle” until you reach the harborside promenade. From there continue north to a pocket beach and into the adjoining grassy fields of waterfront Myrtle Edwards Park. It’s all free.
10:30 a.m.
5) URBAN VILLAGE
The development of South Lake Union into a thriving urban village, brainchild of the Microsoft tycoon Paul Allen, is finally alive and kicking. This former industrial no man’s land now houses the city’s best galleries, an ever increasing collection of dining spots, some nifty shops and the spanking new Amazon campus. Use the South Lake Union Streetcar to hop from Gordon Woodside/John Braseth Gallery (2101 Ninth Avenue; 206-622-7243; woodsidebrasethgallery.com), which specializes in Northwest landscapes, to Honeychurch Antiques (411 Westlake Avenue North; 206-622-1225; honeychurch.com), with museum-quality Asian art and artifacts, and on to the Center for Wooden Boats (1010 Valley Street; 206-382-2628; cwb.org), where you can admire the old varnished beauties or rent a rowboat or sailboat for a spin around Seattle’s in-city lake. Need a (really rich) snack? The newly renamed Marie & Frères Chocolate (2122 Westlake Avenue; 206-859-3534; claudiocorallochocolate.com) has some of the most exquisite chocolate macaroons ever confected.
1 p.m.
6) LUNCH BESIDE THE CHIEF
Tilikum Place, with its imposing fountain statue of the city’s namesake, Chief Sealth, is Seattle’s closest thing to a piazza, and the Tilikum Place Café (407 Cedar Street; 206-282-4830) supplied the one missing element — a classy informal restaurant — when it opened two years ago. Understated elegance is the byword here, whether it’s the delicate purée of butternut squash soup with bits of tart apple ($4), the beet salad with arugula and blue cheese ($8) or the light and piquant mushroom and leek tart ($10).
4 p.m.
7) WALK ON WATER
You don’t have to leave the city limits to immerse yourself in the region’s stunning natural beauty. Drive or take a bus 15 minutes from downtown to the parking lot of the Museum of History and Industry (2700 24th Avenue East; 206-324-1126; seattlehistory.org) and pick up the milelong Arboretum Waterfront Trail. A network of well-maintained paths and boardwalks takes you through thickets of alder, willow and elderberry into marshy islands alive with the trills of red-winged blackbirds and marsh wrens, and over shallows where kayakers prowl amid the rushes and concrete pillars of the freeway overhead. If the sun is out, you’ll want to prolong the outing with a stroll through the flowering fruit trees in the adjoining arboretum.
8 p.m.
8) LA DOLCE VITA
Maybe it’s the stylish Italian vibe or the pretty people basking in the soft glow of dripping candles, or maybe it’s the sumptuous, creatively classic food — whatever the secret ingredient, Barolo Ristorante (1940 Westlake Avenue; 206-770-9000; baroloseattle.com) always feels like a party. The pastas would do a Roman mother proud — gnocchi sauced with braised pheasant ($19), leg of lamb ragù spooned over rigatoni ($18). The rack of lamb with Amarone-infused cherries ($36) is sinfully rich, and the seared branzino (sea bass) ($28) exhales the essence of the Mediterranean. Don’t leave without at least a nibble of cannoli or tiramisù ($7).
Midnight
9) THE BEAT GOES ON
At See Sound Lounge (115 Blanchard; 206-374-3733; seesoundlounge.com) young and not so young Seattle join forces to party to house music spun by a revolving cast of D.J.’s. There’s a small dance floor — but the compensation is lots of booths and sofas to crash on. The scene outside can get rowdy in the wee hours, but inside the beat and liquor flow smoothly.
Sunday
10:30 a.m.
10) BAYOU BRUNCH
Lake Pontchartrain meets Puget Sound at Toulouse Petit (601 Queen Anne Avenue North; 206-432-9069; toulousepetit.com), a funky bistro-style spot near the Seattle Center in Lower Queen Anne. Grab a booth and settle in with a basket of hot, crispy beignets ($7.50 for the large); then indulge in something truly decadent like pork cheeks confit hash topped with a couple of fried eggs ($12) or eggs Benedict with crab and fines herbes ($16). You can cleanse your system afterward with a brisk walk up
the hill to Kerry Park (211 West Highland Drive) for a magnificent farewell view.
IF YOU GO
The best, cheapest way to get from the airport to downtown is the new Link Light Rail; $2.50 one way (soundtransit.org).
The two-year-old 346-room Hyatt at Olive 8 (1635 Eighth Avenue; 206-695-1234; hyatt.com) has hands-down the best fitness center and pool of any downtown hotel; most of the sleekly appointed guest rooms have city views. Doubles from $179 to $279.
Pan Pacific Hotel Seattle (2125 Terry Avenue; 206-264-8111; panpacific.com), which opened in 2006, is a light and airy perch above the evolving scene in South Lake Union, a 15-minute walk to downtown. Doubles from $200.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
36 Hours in Hong Kong
36 Hours in Hong Kong
By NAOMI LINDT
Copyright by The New York Times
Published: March 17, 2011
http://travel.nytimes.com/2011/03/20/travel/20hours-hongkong.html?hpw
IN Hong Kong, that most cosmopolitan of cities, contrasts abound. Ladies toting Gucci handbags wait two hours in dingy alleys for a coveted bowl of noodles. Incense-filled Buddhist temples fight for space with gleaming new high-rises. Cutting-edge art galleries share a block with junk shops. Always reinventing itself — a recent example being the rebirth of the former marine police headquarters as the 1881 Heritage, housing a luxury mall and boutique hotel — Hong Kong is a city of constant change. Its coiffed, work-hard-play-harder professionals attract the world’s most inventive chefs to their city, while the nonstop shoppers — soldiering on, late into the night — get first shot at the latest in fashion and design. Somehow, over seven million residents have managed to carve out a niche in this buzzing, compact, vertical city.
36 Hours in Hong Kong
Friday
5 p.m.
1) START WITH ART
Hong Kong has lagged behind places like New York and London when it comes to the arts. But recent high-profile arrivals like Ben Brown Fine Arts and the Gagosian Gallery, coupled with the city’s plans to develop the West Kowloon Cultural District over the next decade, signal a creative awakening. Head to trendy Sheung Wan and its independent galleries to see the latest in contemporary international art. For photography, try the Upper Station (22 Upper Station Street; 852-3486-2474; theupperstation.com), known for work that examines Hong Kong’s changing identity. The nonprofit Para/Site Art Space (4 Po Yan Street; 852-2517-4620; para-site.org.hk) hosts exhibitions that often feature political or social commentary by emerging artists from places like Indonesia and Thailand.
8 p.m.
2) CULINARY RENAISSANCE
Following a $65 million renovation involving designers like Colin Cowie and Charles Allem, the 50-year-old Hotel Miramar in Tsim Tsa Shui was reborn as the Mira Hotel in late 2009. Not only are the rooms getting raves, but its Cantonese restaurant, Cuisine Cuisine (118 Nathan Road; 852-2315-5222; themirahotel.com), scored two Michelin stars this year under Ken Yu, known for his use of fresh ingredients and exquisite homemade sauces. Dishes like honey-glazed barbecued pork (130 Hong Kong dollars, or about $17 at 7.6 Hong Kong dollars to the U.S. dollar) and pan-fried cod with pomelo sauce (240 dollars) are served under a ceiling of suspended glass balls.
10:30 p.m.
3) SING IT OUT
Karaoke bars come in all shapes and sizes on Kowloon, but to see fashionable 20- and 30-somethings in full crooner mode, head to Cloudnine on Minden Avenue’s night-life strip (No. 8; 852-2723-6383). In the dimly lighted back room, the casual cool crowd — men in designer jeans and sneakers, women with blunt bangs and in miniskirts — share bottles of Johnnie Walker and tackle syrupy Cantopop ballads while lounging on velour couches. For a breath of fresh air, head across the street for a glass of wine (66 Hong Kong dollars) on the leafy terrace at Courtney’s (No. 7, the Minden Hotel; 852-2739-7777; theminden.com).
Saturday
9 a.m.
4) TRADITIONAL TRACK
For over 100 years, compact double-decker trams (hktramways.com) have been rumbling back and forth across Hong Kong Island. They still provide one of the cheapest and most scenic ways to experience the city’s daily life with a bird’s-eye view. Hop on anywhere along the line, grab a seat on the upper deck and watch the colorful panorama unfold — outdoor markets spilling over with choy sum and bok choy; storefronts strung with glistening Peking duck; old-school barber shops; and high-rises budding from the hills. A one-way ride is just 2 Hong Kong dollars.
11 a.m.
5) NOODLE MANIA
Disembark near the Central MTR station and walk toward D’Aguilar Street to partake of another Hong Kong obsession: Butao Ramen (11-12 Wo On Lane; bowl of soup from 75 Hong Kong dollars). Hong Konger Meter Chen sampled more than 800 bowls of ramen during his 15 years in Japan before convincing his favorite Tokyo chef to join him in opening this tiny 15-seat dining spot last October. Devotees wait in line for up to two hours to slurp one of the day’s 200 bowls, which are filled with a salty pork-rib-based broth, thin noodles and finely sliced barbecued pork, ear mushrooms and scallions.
12:30 p.m.
6) THE BRITISH ARE COMING
The British fashion designer Gareth Pugh opened his first store in the world last year on Ice House Street (No. 10; 852-2801-5332), sharing the block with Comme des Garçons and Ann Demeulemeester. His goth-rock designs — cropped tops made of safety pins; second-skin leather pants — are housed in a creepy, cavernous space. A short walk away is Rupert Sanderson’s first flagship outside of Britain (8 On Lan Street; 852-2530-3391; rupertsanderson.com), where you’ll find patent oxfords and sky-high python-skin platforms.
3 p.m.
7) TEA TIME
Wind your way through pond- and bird-filled Hong Kong Park to reach the Flagstaff House Museum of Tea Ware (10 Cotton Tree Drive; 852-2869-0690; hk.art.museum; free), which chronicles over 3,000 years of Chinese tea drinking. Housed in a 167-year-old Greek Revival mansion that was once the residence of the commander of the British forces, the collection includes intricately designed tea services with flourishes like mother-of-pearl inlay and hand-painted fish and swallows. Afterward, sip a perfectly steeped cup (from 38 Hong Kong dollars) at the adjacent antiques-filled Lock Cha Tea House (852-2801-7177; lockcha.com).
7:30 p.m.
8) CHEF’S TABLE
In response to astronomical rents and ruthless landlords, chef-run private kitchens — speakeasy-like restaurants in residential buildings — have taken Hong Kong by storm. A noteworthy newcomer is TBLS (31 Hollywood Road, seventh floor; 852-2544-3433; tbls-kitchenstudio.com), where the young Vietnamese-American chef Que Vinh Dang prepares a six-course set menu (580 Hong Kong dollars) that changes monthly. The open kitchen takes center stage in the minimalist space, producing dishes like cassoulet pot pie with homemade sausage, tomato-basil alphabet soup with a wagyu beef sloppy Joe, and “instant sangría”: macerated fruit, homemade rainbow sorbet and red wine. To secure one of the 26 seats, book at least a month in advance.
10 p.m.
9) SHAKE IT UP
The cocktail revolution has hit Hong Kong’s shores, led by year-old Lily & Bloom (33 Wyndham Street; 852-2810-6166; lily-bloom.com). The New York firm AvroKO (the Stanton Social, Public) designed the brasserie-meets-supper club space — black banquettes, wrought-iron chandeliers, vintage glassware — and the Milk & Honey alum Christy Pope consulted on the menu, which includes the Old Cuban (120 Hong Kong dollars), made with 23-year-old rum, mint and lime; and a blackberry-pineapple sidecar (110 dollars). At boudoir-themed Varga Lounge (36 Staunton Street; 852-2104-9697; greenflashgroup.com.hk), sip signature tipples like the absinthe-and-pineapple Green Fairy (70 dollars) among images of ’50s pinup girls and retro furniture.
Sunday
10 a.m.
10) HOT BUNS
Scoring a seat at the dim sum house Tim Ho Wan (2-20 Kwong Wa Street; 852-2332-2896) should be your main mission of the day. The chef Mak Pui Gor left his post at the Four Seasons’ three-star Lung King Heen in 2009 to open this crammed, hole-in-the-wall, which received its own star soon after opening. Everything is amazing here, but the sugarcoated baked barbecued pork buns (14 Hong Kong dollars) are superb. Waits can be as long as four hours and you’ll need to be pushy — don’t hesitate to repeatedly show your number to the gruff lady who runs the show and demand an update (you can ask for a wait estimate and return later). It’s worth it.
1 p.m.
11) SPIRITED GARDENS
The tranquil, bonsai-filled grounds and lotus ponds at Chi Lin Nunnery (5 Chi Lin Drive; 852-2354-1888; chilin.org) are a welcome respite from the urban bustle. Founded in 1934 but rebuilt in the 1990s, the wide-eaved Tang Dynasty-style wooden pavilions that make up the elaborate temple complex were built without a single nail. If you’re lucky, you’ll catch a glimpse of the shorn, brown- and gray-robed nuns placing orchids and bowls of fruit at the feet of gold-cloaked deities, just as they’ve done for decades.
IF YOU GO
The sprawling minimalist rooms at the Upper House (88 Queensway; 852-3968-1111; upperhouse.com) in Pacific Place, by the Hong Kong interior designer Andre Fu, offer commanding harbor and mountain views coupled with king-size beds, light wood paneling and limestone-clad baths. Doubles from 3,300 Hong Kong dollars, about $432.
Cherry red and lime green Arne Jacobsen Egg chairs punctuate the muted, technologically thoughtful rooms (in-room PC, Blu-ray player, mobile phone for guests’ use) at the design-savvy Mira (118 Nathan Road; 852-2368-1111; themirahotel.com), located among Tsim Sha Tsui’s many shops and restaurants. Doubles start at 1,615 dollars.
Occupying the top 16 floors of a 118-story building, the city’s tallest, the Ritz-Carlton (1 Austin Road West; 852-2263-2263; ritzcarlton.com) is making a triumphant return to Hong Kong. Introductory rates from 4,088 dollars.
By NAOMI LINDT
Copyright by The New York Times
Published: March 17, 2011
http://travel.nytimes.com/2011/03/20/travel/20hours-hongkong.html?hpw
IN Hong Kong, that most cosmopolitan of cities, contrasts abound. Ladies toting Gucci handbags wait two hours in dingy alleys for a coveted bowl of noodles. Incense-filled Buddhist temples fight for space with gleaming new high-rises. Cutting-edge art galleries share a block with junk shops. Always reinventing itself — a recent example being the rebirth of the former marine police headquarters as the 1881 Heritage, housing a luxury mall and boutique hotel — Hong Kong is a city of constant change. Its coiffed, work-hard-play-harder professionals attract the world’s most inventive chefs to their city, while the nonstop shoppers — soldiering on, late into the night — get first shot at the latest in fashion and design. Somehow, over seven million residents have managed to carve out a niche in this buzzing, compact, vertical city.
36 Hours in Hong Kong
Friday
5 p.m.
1) START WITH ART
Hong Kong has lagged behind places like New York and London when it comes to the arts. But recent high-profile arrivals like Ben Brown Fine Arts and the Gagosian Gallery, coupled with the city’s plans to develop the West Kowloon Cultural District over the next decade, signal a creative awakening. Head to trendy Sheung Wan and its independent galleries to see the latest in contemporary international art. For photography, try the Upper Station (22 Upper Station Street; 852-3486-2474; theupperstation.com), known for work that examines Hong Kong’s changing identity. The nonprofit Para/Site Art Space (4 Po Yan Street; 852-2517-4620; para-site.org.hk) hosts exhibitions that often feature political or social commentary by emerging artists from places like Indonesia and Thailand.
8 p.m.
2) CULINARY RENAISSANCE
Following a $65 million renovation involving designers like Colin Cowie and Charles Allem, the 50-year-old Hotel Miramar in Tsim Tsa Shui was reborn as the Mira Hotel in late 2009. Not only are the rooms getting raves, but its Cantonese restaurant, Cuisine Cuisine (118 Nathan Road; 852-2315-5222; themirahotel.com), scored two Michelin stars this year under Ken Yu, known for his use of fresh ingredients and exquisite homemade sauces. Dishes like honey-glazed barbecued pork (130 Hong Kong dollars, or about $17 at 7.6 Hong Kong dollars to the U.S. dollar) and pan-fried cod with pomelo sauce (240 dollars) are served under a ceiling of suspended glass balls.
10:30 p.m.
3) SING IT OUT
Karaoke bars come in all shapes and sizes on Kowloon, but to see fashionable 20- and 30-somethings in full crooner mode, head to Cloudnine on Minden Avenue’s night-life strip (No. 8; 852-2723-6383). In the dimly lighted back room, the casual cool crowd — men in designer jeans and sneakers, women with blunt bangs and in miniskirts — share bottles of Johnnie Walker and tackle syrupy Cantopop ballads while lounging on velour couches. For a breath of fresh air, head across the street for a glass of wine (66 Hong Kong dollars) on the leafy terrace at Courtney’s (No. 7, the Minden Hotel; 852-2739-7777; theminden.com).
Saturday
9 a.m.
4) TRADITIONAL TRACK
For over 100 years, compact double-decker trams (hktramways.com) have been rumbling back and forth across Hong Kong Island. They still provide one of the cheapest and most scenic ways to experience the city’s daily life with a bird’s-eye view. Hop on anywhere along the line, grab a seat on the upper deck and watch the colorful panorama unfold — outdoor markets spilling over with choy sum and bok choy; storefronts strung with glistening Peking duck; old-school barber shops; and high-rises budding from the hills. A one-way ride is just 2 Hong Kong dollars.
11 a.m.
5) NOODLE MANIA
Disembark near the Central MTR station and walk toward D’Aguilar Street to partake of another Hong Kong obsession: Butao Ramen (11-12 Wo On Lane; bowl of soup from 75 Hong Kong dollars). Hong Konger Meter Chen sampled more than 800 bowls of ramen during his 15 years in Japan before convincing his favorite Tokyo chef to join him in opening this tiny 15-seat dining spot last October. Devotees wait in line for up to two hours to slurp one of the day’s 200 bowls, which are filled with a salty pork-rib-based broth, thin noodles and finely sliced barbecued pork, ear mushrooms and scallions.
12:30 p.m.
6) THE BRITISH ARE COMING
The British fashion designer Gareth Pugh opened his first store in the world last year on Ice House Street (No. 10; 852-2801-5332), sharing the block with Comme des Garçons and Ann Demeulemeester. His goth-rock designs — cropped tops made of safety pins; second-skin leather pants — are housed in a creepy, cavernous space. A short walk away is Rupert Sanderson’s first flagship outside of Britain (8 On Lan Street; 852-2530-3391; rupertsanderson.com), where you’ll find patent oxfords and sky-high python-skin platforms.
3 p.m.
7) TEA TIME
Wind your way through pond- and bird-filled Hong Kong Park to reach the Flagstaff House Museum of Tea Ware (10 Cotton Tree Drive; 852-2869-0690; hk.art.museum; free), which chronicles over 3,000 years of Chinese tea drinking. Housed in a 167-year-old Greek Revival mansion that was once the residence of the commander of the British forces, the collection includes intricately designed tea services with flourishes like mother-of-pearl inlay and hand-painted fish and swallows. Afterward, sip a perfectly steeped cup (from 38 Hong Kong dollars) at the adjacent antiques-filled Lock Cha Tea House (852-2801-7177; lockcha.com).
7:30 p.m.
8) CHEF’S TABLE
In response to astronomical rents and ruthless landlords, chef-run private kitchens — speakeasy-like restaurants in residential buildings — have taken Hong Kong by storm. A noteworthy newcomer is TBLS (31 Hollywood Road, seventh floor; 852-2544-3433; tbls-kitchenstudio.com), where the young Vietnamese-American chef Que Vinh Dang prepares a six-course set menu (580 Hong Kong dollars) that changes monthly. The open kitchen takes center stage in the minimalist space, producing dishes like cassoulet pot pie with homemade sausage, tomato-basil alphabet soup with a wagyu beef sloppy Joe, and “instant sangría”: macerated fruit, homemade rainbow sorbet and red wine. To secure one of the 26 seats, book at least a month in advance.
10 p.m.
9) SHAKE IT UP
The cocktail revolution has hit Hong Kong’s shores, led by year-old Lily & Bloom (33 Wyndham Street; 852-2810-6166; lily-bloom.com). The New York firm AvroKO (the Stanton Social, Public) designed the brasserie-meets-supper club space — black banquettes, wrought-iron chandeliers, vintage glassware — and the Milk & Honey alum Christy Pope consulted on the menu, which includes the Old Cuban (120 Hong Kong dollars), made with 23-year-old rum, mint and lime; and a blackberry-pineapple sidecar (110 dollars). At boudoir-themed Varga Lounge (36 Staunton Street; 852-2104-9697; greenflashgroup.com.hk), sip signature tipples like the absinthe-and-pineapple Green Fairy (70 dollars) among images of ’50s pinup girls and retro furniture.
Sunday
10 a.m.
10) HOT BUNS
Scoring a seat at the dim sum house Tim Ho Wan (2-20 Kwong Wa Street; 852-2332-2896) should be your main mission of the day. The chef Mak Pui Gor left his post at the Four Seasons’ three-star Lung King Heen in 2009 to open this crammed, hole-in-the-wall, which received its own star soon after opening. Everything is amazing here, but the sugarcoated baked barbecued pork buns (14 Hong Kong dollars) are superb. Waits can be as long as four hours and you’ll need to be pushy — don’t hesitate to repeatedly show your number to the gruff lady who runs the show and demand an update (you can ask for a wait estimate and return later). It’s worth it.
1 p.m.
11) SPIRITED GARDENS
The tranquil, bonsai-filled grounds and lotus ponds at Chi Lin Nunnery (5 Chi Lin Drive; 852-2354-1888; chilin.org) are a welcome respite from the urban bustle. Founded in 1934 but rebuilt in the 1990s, the wide-eaved Tang Dynasty-style wooden pavilions that make up the elaborate temple complex were built without a single nail. If you’re lucky, you’ll catch a glimpse of the shorn, brown- and gray-robed nuns placing orchids and bowls of fruit at the feet of gold-cloaked deities, just as they’ve done for decades.
IF YOU GO
The sprawling minimalist rooms at the Upper House (88 Queensway; 852-3968-1111; upperhouse.com) in Pacific Place, by the Hong Kong interior designer Andre Fu, offer commanding harbor and mountain views coupled with king-size beds, light wood paneling and limestone-clad baths. Doubles from 3,300 Hong Kong dollars, about $432.
Cherry red and lime green Arne Jacobsen Egg chairs punctuate the muted, technologically thoughtful rooms (in-room PC, Blu-ray player, mobile phone for guests’ use) at the design-savvy Mira (118 Nathan Road; 852-2368-1111; themirahotel.com), located among Tsim Sha Tsui’s many shops and restaurants. Doubles start at 1,615 dollars.
Occupying the top 16 floors of a 118-story building, the city’s tallest, the Ritz-Carlton (1 Austin Road West; 852-2263-2263; ritzcarlton.com) is making a triumphant return to Hong Kong. Introductory rates from 4,088 dollars.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Lewinski and Kaczynski limericks
Lewinski and Kaczynski limericks
The Washington Post runs a weekly contest in its Style section called the 'Style Invitational'.
The requirements this week were to use the two words 'Lewinsky' (the Intern) and 'Kaczynski' (the Unabomber) in the same limerick.
Now, remember, the following winning entries were actually printed verbatim in the newspaper, no bleeps or xxxs:
Third place:
There once was a girl named Lewinsky
Who played on a flute like Stravinsky
'Twas 'Hail to the Chief'
On this flute made of beef
That stole the front page from Kaczynski.
Second place:
Said Clinton to young Ms. Lewinsky,
We don't want to leave clues like Kaczynski,
Since you made such a mess,
Use the hem of your dress
And please wipe that stuff off your chinsky.
And the winning entry:
Lewinsky and Clinton have shown
What Kaczynski must surely have known,
That an intern is better
Than a bomb in a letter,
When deciding how best to be blown
The Washington Post runs a weekly contest in its Style section called the 'Style Invitational'.
The requirements this week were to use the two words 'Lewinsky' (the Intern) and 'Kaczynski' (the Unabomber) in the same limerick.
Now, remember, the following winning entries were actually printed verbatim in the newspaper, no bleeps or xxxs:
Third place:
There once was a girl named Lewinsky
Who played on a flute like Stravinsky
'Twas 'Hail to the Chief'
On this flute made of beef
That stole the front page from Kaczynski.
Second place:
Said Clinton to young Ms. Lewinsky,
We don't want to leave clues like Kaczynski,
Since you made such a mess,
Use the hem of your dress
And please wipe that stuff off your chinsky.
And the winning entry:
Lewinsky and Clinton have shown
What Kaczynski must surely have known,
That an intern is better
Than a bomb in a letter,
When deciding how best to be blown
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Twilight Reviews I can agree on...
Twilight (2005) (edit title/settings)
by Stephenie Meyer (Author) (edit contributors)
Readers & Reviews › Reviews › Review
Displaying 1-20 of 213
Kimberly R
191 of 306 members found this review helpful.
* Rated 1 stars
“Fluff....that's what this book is. This book was CLEARLY written for young adult girls who fantasize about their knight, or in this case, their vampire, in shining armor. Blach..... So many things irritated me about it including how on earth could an OLD, and you would think wise, vampire fall in love with a goofy teenager. Give me a break!!!!! And, I thought the author was beating a dead horse with the constant talk from Edward about not wanting to put his human girl in danger and the girl's constant talk about not caring if she was in danger. Edward has all the power and control over his little woman. Ugh..... But, even after bashing this book, I still finished it!!!! So, I admit that I enjoyed it on a teenage girl level! If you want to read purely for entertainment, because we all need books like that sometimes, go for it. If you're looking for something that goes beyond entertainment and the usual male/female roles, avoid it. I would love to see young girls (and grown women!) reading books that empower them and challenge stereotypical male/female roles instead of upholding the status quo.”
Kimberly R wrote this review Sunday, January 11, 2009.
he Twilight Saga: Book 1
Twilight
by Stephenie Meyer
* Rated 3 stars
Alex wrote:
At the time I would've put it as my favourite book on earth but now, 2 years later, I realise that I would never be able to read them again
The Twilight Saga: Book 1
Twilight
by Stephenie Meyer
* Rated 1 stars
aquillinmypocket wrote:
Horrible book. Horrible writing, horrible plot, horrible characters. Twilight does not deserve even a fraction of the hype that it has received. Do yourself a favor and keep all your brain cells alive - don't read it.
Twilight
by Stephenie Meyer
* Rated 1 stars
sara hopkins wrote:
To all twilight fans, i am sorry, THIS BOOK SUCKS. I don't like the fact that they ruined the meaning of "vampires".
The Twilight Saga: Book 1
Twilight
by Stephenie Meyer
Rated 0 stars
Liz wrote:
I only read this book so I could make an informed decision on its quality. It is beyond atrocious. The worst part was all of it. Fans of this book should line up sensibly to receive their frontal lobotomy. I would rather spend eternity reading Dan Brown than read any of the subsequent books, and I have come to the conclusion that if there is a hell, it consists of a looped audiobook of the Twilight saga being read by Gilbert Gottfried.
The Twilight Saga: Book 1
Twilight
by Stephenie Meyer
Rated 1 stars
“I'm reading this right now because I've met so many adult women who are so obsessed with this book. I wanted to see what all the fuss is about.
And it's shit. Utter shit.
There are so many things wrong with it, I haven't time or space to discuss them all. But the worst part is the protagonist/narrator, Bella Swan. She's whiny, self-pitying, dull, and completely self-absorbed. She has no interests or passions to speak of until she gets caught up in her obsessive love for a vampire named Edward.
Edward, for his part, is obsessed with Bella because she's the one human he's met whose mind he cannot read. What Edward doesn't realize, however, is that there is nothing there worth reading. Bella may be mysterious to him, but the laughable part is that she's just a dumb, shallow, whiny teenaged girl; tThere is no mystery.
The plot is thin, the premise poorly-realized, and there are glaring lapses in basic logic to be found throughout the book. Other characters, settings, and situations are just flimsy backdrops against which the Edward-Bella folie au deux plays out.
The only explanation I have for Twilight's popularity--especially with fans over the age of 14 or 15--is that it offers up a fantasy in which a girl with all the personality, drive, and self-confidence of a clod of dirt can still be, singled out, above all other girls, to be the Eternal One True Love of a truly extraordinary young man. You don't have to be talented, or cool, or funny, or have any plans for your future; you don't have to be graceful or have great clothes or drive an expensive car; you don't have to have any friends or social skills or an interesting family--he'll sweep you off your feet and love you, and only you.
Trouble is, Edward is manipulative, controlling, and engages in the kind of behavior that would send any sane woman fleeing. When a guy lets himself into your house--without asking, without telling you--just so he can watch you sleep? That's not romantic; that's stalker behavior. When a guy makes it clear that he could easily lose control and kill you, even though he "loves" you? That's not sensitivity; that's horrifying. When a guy tells you that he knows what's best for you, and that you need his protection? That's not love; it's control.
In real life, the shared obsession (I'm not dignifying it with the word "love") Edward and Bella have would be considered an unhealthy, even abusive, relationship. It's not romantic, not in any worthy sense of the term. So when I see teenage girls and grown women say how they wish they could find their Edward, or that more men were like Edward, I can only cringe.”
Julian B wrote this review Thursday, July 17, 2008. ( reply | view 32 replies |
permalink )
The Twilight Saga: Book 3
Eclipse (2007) (edit title/settings)
by Stephenie Meyer (Author) (edit contributors)
Readers & Reviews › Reviews › Review
Mark V
2 of 2 members found this review helpful.
* Rated 1 stars
“By p. 310 I realized that the first 300 pages could be cut and the plot would never suffer.
***
Here's my favorite AWFUL sentence: "All at once, everything was surreally normal." p. 367.
But then I found this WTF! sentence: "For one brief, never-ending second, an entirely different path expanded behind the lids of my tear-wet eyes." p. 529.
Easily, the worst novel I have read this year. What makes it so insidious lies in its perpetuation of the cult of youth: Bella longs to be immortalized, cemented in forever love with her vampire lover (or with her second best, werewolf back-up lover). The novel packages a frieze of teenage-surging hormones and its allure appears in selling a tableau of peak experience--the ecstasy of romantic abandonment forever encapsulated in the formaldehyde jar of brutish vampire conquest.
Next, I am disturbed by how strongly Bella wants to bed Edward before marriage; Edward is the chaste one of the two--but only because if he did act on his instincts, his sheer strength would brutalize Bella. Thus, Bella can never be fulfilled and forever longs to be Alpha's Beta. The goo of their dysfunctional relationship oozes out of the novel's excessive page-count. Bella's sexual urges being unfulfilled fuels the page-flipping reading like a gerbil running on its wheel and the promise of marriage extracted, ironically, becomes the Gotcha! that this is really selling traditional family values after all. Even the cover dangles the symbol of lost virginity by its red ribbon/sash being frayed past use.
Did I mention the inane, vapid, and jejune dialogue yet? Argh!”
by Stephenie Meyer (Author) (edit contributors)
Readers & Reviews › Reviews › Review
Displaying 1-20 of 213
Kimberly R
191 of 306 members found this review helpful.
* Rated 1 stars
“Fluff....that's what this book is. This book was CLEARLY written for young adult girls who fantasize about their knight, or in this case, their vampire, in shining armor. Blach..... So many things irritated me about it including how on earth could an OLD, and you would think wise, vampire fall in love with a goofy teenager. Give me a break!!!!! And, I thought the author was beating a dead horse with the constant talk from Edward about not wanting to put his human girl in danger and the girl's constant talk about not caring if she was in danger. Edward has all the power and control over his little woman. Ugh..... But, even after bashing this book, I still finished it!!!! So, I admit that I enjoyed it on a teenage girl level! If you want to read purely for entertainment, because we all need books like that sometimes, go for it. If you're looking for something that goes beyond entertainment and the usual male/female roles, avoid it. I would love to see young girls (and grown women!) reading books that empower them and challenge stereotypical male/female roles instead of upholding the status quo.”
Kimberly R wrote this review Sunday, January 11, 2009.
he Twilight Saga: Book 1
Twilight
by Stephenie Meyer
* Rated 3 stars
Alex wrote:
At the time I would've put it as my favourite book on earth but now, 2 years later, I realise that I would never be able to read them again
The Twilight Saga: Book 1
Twilight
by Stephenie Meyer
* Rated 1 stars
aquillinmypocket wrote:
Horrible book. Horrible writing, horrible plot, horrible characters. Twilight does not deserve even a fraction of the hype that it has received. Do yourself a favor and keep all your brain cells alive - don't read it.
Twilight
by Stephenie Meyer
* Rated 1 stars
sara hopkins wrote:
To all twilight fans, i am sorry, THIS BOOK SUCKS. I don't like the fact that they ruined the meaning of "vampires".
The Twilight Saga: Book 1
Twilight
by Stephenie Meyer
Rated 0 stars
Liz wrote:
I only read this book so I could make an informed decision on its quality. It is beyond atrocious. The worst part was all of it. Fans of this book should line up sensibly to receive their frontal lobotomy. I would rather spend eternity reading Dan Brown than read any of the subsequent books, and I have come to the conclusion that if there is a hell, it consists of a looped audiobook of the Twilight saga being read by Gilbert Gottfried.
The Twilight Saga: Book 1
Twilight
by Stephenie Meyer
Rated 1 stars
“I'm reading this right now because I've met so many adult women who are so obsessed with this book. I wanted to see what all the fuss is about.
And it's shit. Utter shit.
There are so many things wrong with it, I haven't time or space to discuss them all. But the worst part is the protagonist/narrator, Bella Swan. She's whiny, self-pitying, dull, and completely self-absorbed. She has no interests or passions to speak of until she gets caught up in her obsessive love for a vampire named Edward.
Edward, for his part, is obsessed with Bella because she's the one human he's met whose mind he cannot read. What Edward doesn't realize, however, is that there is nothing there worth reading. Bella may be mysterious to him, but the laughable part is that she's just a dumb, shallow, whiny teenaged girl; tThere is no mystery.
The plot is thin, the premise poorly-realized, and there are glaring lapses in basic logic to be found throughout the book. Other characters, settings, and situations are just flimsy backdrops against which the Edward-Bella folie au deux plays out.
The only explanation I have for Twilight's popularity--especially with fans over the age of 14 or 15--is that it offers up a fantasy in which a girl with all the personality, drive, and self-confidence of a clod of dirt can still be, singled out, above all other girls, to be the Eternal One True Love of a truly extraordinary young man. You don't have to be talented, or cool, or funny, or have any plans for your future; you don't have to be graceful or have great clothes or drive an expensive car; you don't have to have any friends or social skills or an interesting family--he'll sweep you off your feet and love you, and only you.
Trouble is, Edward is manipulative, controlling, and engages in the kind of behavior that would send any sane woman fleeing. When a guy lets himself into your house--without asking, without telling you--just so he can watch you sleep? That's not romantic; that's stalker behavior. When a guy makes it clear that he could easily lose control and kill you, even though he "loves" you? That's not sensitivity; that's horrifying. When a guy tells you that he knows what's best for you, and that you need his protection? That's not love; it's control.
In real life, the shared obsession (I'm not dignifying it with the word "love") Edward and Bella have would be considered an unhealthy, even abusive, relationship. It's not romantic, not in any worthy sense of the term. So when I see teenage girls and grown women say how they wish they could find their Edward, or that more men were like Edward, I can only cringe.”
Julian B wrote this review Thursday, July 17, 2008. ( reply | view 32 replies |
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The Twilight Saga: Book 3
Eclipse (2007) (edit title/settings)
by Stephenie Meyer (Author) (edit contributors)
Readers & Reviews › Reviews › Review
Mark V
2 of 2 members found this review helpful.
* Rated 1 stars
“By p. 310 I realized that the first 300 pages could be cut and the plot would never suffer.
***
Here's my favorite AWFUL sentence: "All at once, everything was surreally normal." p. 367.
But then I found this WTF! sentence: "For one brief, never-ending second, an entirely different path expanded behind the lids of my tear-wet eyes." p. 529.
Easily, the worst novel I have read this year. What makes it so insidious lies in its perpetuation of the cult of youth: Bella longs to be immortalized, cemented in forever love with her vampire lover (or with her second best, werewolf back-up lover). The novel packages a frieze of teenage-surging hormones and its allure appears in selling a tableau of peak experience--the ecstasy of romantic abandonment forever encapsulated in the formaldehyde jar of brutish vampire conquest.
Next, I am disturbed by how strongly Bella wants to bed Edward before marriage; Edward is the chaste one of the two--but only because if he did act on his instincts, his sheer strength would brutalize Bella. Thus, Bella can never be fulfilled and forever longs to be Alpha's Beta. The goo of their dysfunctional relationship oozes out of the novel's excessive page-count. Bella's sexual urges being unfulfilled fuels the page-flipping reading like a gerbil running on its wheel and the promise of marriage extracted, ironically, becomes the Gotcha! that this is really selling traditional family values after all. Even the cover dangles the symbol of lost virginity by its red ribbon/sash being frayed past use.
Did I mention the inane, vapid, and jejune dialogue yet? Argh!”
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