Rhino75 in the Coffee Table Studio!!

To mark their 100th (count 'em!) episode, those gorgeous gals Katia and KylieMac invited Micke, myself, Francophoney, Tracey and Pierryck along to the by-now-surely-world-famous coffee table studio to take part in a very special (my italics) podcast. We had a brilliant time discussing such diverse topics as Turkish toilets, foie gras, and saying goodbye à la française, and you can listen to the results HERE.
(P.S. these excellent photos are by the Muffin Man. I'm the one with the whiny voice, playing with the cat)

Happy Thanksgiving!!

Happy Thanksgiving, dear reader!! As you can see, in my neverending (and, frankly, exhausting) quest to keep ahead of the curve, I've already had my Thanksgiving dinner: chestnut soup, sweet potato and cheesy biscuits, stuffed pork (little bit edgy, but I've already peaked on turkey this month) with all the trimmings, deeeeeeelicious French cheeses, pecan pie and persimmon pudding. And a couple of bottles of wine each. By the end of the evening, I felt thoroughly (my italics) American (no mean achievement) and went around telling everyone I was going to "bust their ass" and asking if they were "talking to me? You talking to me?." Marvellous. Actually, I should confess that it was my very first Thanksgiving dinner EVER, but I'm never one to look a four-course meal in the mouth, am I? Many thanks to Laura and Braden, the only friends I have with enough plates, knives and forks to contemplate organizing something like this (and without whom I'm sure I'd be a good 10kg lighter) and, of course, my fellow cooks/guests, for a top evening.
P.S. Rhino's TOP TV PICK OF THE WEEK: "Dirt" with Courtney Cox. LOVIN' it.

Playing God

WHAT a week it's been, dear reader! First of all, dinner alongside Mia Farrow (that makes her sound like a ship, doesn't it?). Then the rugby - proof, if proof were needed, that sometimes that great English strategy of just "winging it" really is the best option. Grumpy old Chabal, the wild caveman, the supposed (my italics) baby-eater, spent most of his time on the floor, eating the TURF! Pffft. And to cap it all, Ma Rhino was viciously - there is no other adverb - attacked by... errm, a robin, and now has her arm in plaster. As always when emotions are running high, I decided to seek solace in a dark room full of strangers. No, not there - the THEATRE. As luck would have it, my friend Sandrine happens to be playing God at the moment. Literally. The show is called "Si ON n'existait pas" (their caps - for once!). Let me set the scene (ahem, ahem clears throat). ON decides to create a female companion for Adam, her firstborn, mainly to keep him away from the goats. But, unfortunately, Adam and Eve don't fancy each other at all. Enter Lily and .... oh but I'm telling you the plot!!! Go and see it - an original idea, great writing, lots of laughs, and top-notch performances. As a plus, the play also has original music, which you can purchase afterwards. The picture above (by yours truly) is of ON sitting on the bidet, trying to figure out what to do next - if that doesn't speak to us all, I don't know what does. (Click on the photo to see some more of my pics of the show).

Fabulous Sport

In a bid to restore Britain's national sporting pride, I will tell you that Darren's (he's on the left) new footie show starts on Canal + Sport TODAY at 12:45 p.m. He's even put in a slot called "La Leçon d'anglais" ("The English lesson"). This is his first "solo" venture, plus he's a mate, so get watching if you can (Lecteurs français: à vos télécommandes, s'il vous plaît!!).

Doppelganger

So there I was, sipping my double vodka and tonic at the gay street party and eyeing up the (plentiful) talent when a cute Spanish guy came up and asked if he could take a photo of me because "you're the spitting image of my friend Tim." Cue the start of a very drunken afternoon with a lovely bunch of people, including said Tim and friends. We met so many wonderful guys 'n' gals this year at Brighton Pride, thanks in no small part to my two best wingwomen Sis and Jo - it must surely qualify as BPE (Best Pride Ever). Lovely too to have shared part of it with Petite Anglaise who gamely came along to the Lines & Bears line dancing tent and debated buying a Monkey Spanker. Back to Paris tomorrow afternoon, but still on holiday for a while. Hope you've had a FAB weekend too. Bons baisers de Brighton.

Noodles & Pearls

Never let it be said, dear reader, that Rhino75 is unadventurous when it comes to the wonderful world of cuisine. While it's true that my fridge is normally full of champagne, gourmet chocolate and rhubarb yoghurt, a man (even a gay one) cannot live on such delicacies alone (unfortunately). Sometimes one needs something just a little bit more, well, substantial. And so when Pierre suggested an initiation to Taiwanese food - specifically beef noodles and tea with tapioca pearls - I jumped at it. ZenZoo is a tiny little place but 100% the real deal, I'm assured by Pierre and a Taiwanese friend who came with us - apart from the prices, which have been brought up in line with the rest of the restaurants in the rue Sainte-Anne area. The beef noodles - only available at the weekend - were fantastic. The meat melted in my mouth, while the broth was spicier and less salty than you'd get with Japanese ramen, for example. Deelish, though I confess the sheer quantity of noodles defeated me. Plus it came with two side-dishes, fried cod and seasoned tofu. The best bit though was the tea. I chickened out of having the tapioca pearls - which I regretted once I'd tasted them. It's a strange idea to get your head round, sweet tea with black wine gums in the bottom that you suck up through a big straw, but I liked it. Most of the people around us were drinking a version with milk, which looked a little off-putting but is probably yummy too. Anyway, if you get a chance to go, I'd definitely recommend the place. They have puddings too, but we were all feeling a bit of a cheesecake craving and so nipped over the road to La Ferme, which didn't disappoint either. A top way to spend an afternoon.

Ah, C'mon...

More proof - as if any were needed - dear reader that Rhino75 isn't French. I was CONVINCED (my italics) that this recruitment agency was actually called "C'mon job" as in "oh, c'mon, get your act together and get a job!" - even, or maybe particularly, if you're a ballet-dancing chef with a thing for power tools. I thought it was a bit of a weird name, but presumed they were trying to be funky and offbeat by using English. I actually commented on this to a French pal. Imagine my surprise when he pointed out that it actually stands for "C'est mon job" or "It's my job". I still prefer my version. In other news, Sis!! arrives here tomorrow (yayyy!), I have Friday off work (who-hoo!) and I may be going flying again with Captain J on Sunday (hurrah!). Good things in store.

Paris Blognic

Just wanted to say a HUUUUGGEEE "Merci!" to everyone who came and helped make this such a FAB day (for me, anyway!!). And, yes, thank you for asking, my head is STILL bright red - NOT a good look, I know. The weather was perfect, the ladies were exquisite, the men were hot, the tart was chocolate, and the booze was plentiful. So plentiful, in fact, that we last "happy few" actually got locked in the Buttes-Chaumont, leading to some eye-watering - there is no other word - attempts to scale the park railings at midnight...All this, a "Guys & Dolls" medley, and a valiant effort to finish off a three-litre box of wine finally got the better of us all. And special thanks to my best girls and adored buddy Frog who are so much better at this sort of thing than I am. Click on the pic to go to the Blognic Flickr pool and see everyone's photos.

Rhino75's Film Buff Teaser

Another classic movie moment, selflessly (my italics) recreated especially for YOU, dear reader, by the lovely Le Meg and myself - but which film is it?....

Hang Out with My Friends!!!

While I'm busy tagging and untagging pictures of myself on Facebook and furiously listening to music on Last.fm, some of my friends are actually out there DOING stuff. Cool stuff, too. So if you're in Paris over the next few days, you should go along and watch them.



First up is the ever-lovely Nardac, whose band Blutschwester (check out their MySpace) will be playing this evening at 21h00 in the 20th arrondissement. If you can't make it along to La Féline (6 rue Victor Letalle, 75020) tonight, they're doing another gig June 13th at Le Cave de Zorba (137 rue Faubourg du Temple, 75011), plus one in Amsterdam on June 8th. Here's a pic of her in action, sorry, sorry, I meant HERE'S some pics of the band from their gig in January.





Now, Saturday may be a write-off, but by Monday you should be raring to go again. Which is good news because the equally lovely and talented Sandrine is going to be performing in "Cabarets Furieuses" - I suppose it's like a series of sketches, really. Anyway, I've helped her learn her lines for a couple of them and they're really good, sharp, quirky and a bit offbeat. Plus, she's a terrific actress.
They're performing at the "Mélo d'Amélie" (4 rue Marie Stuart, 75002) at 20h30 on June 4th, or if you can't make it then, again on June 24th at 20h00 (that's the one I'm going to).
P.S. I shall, of course, be doing my own little piece of performance art this weekend i.e. the traditional Saturday night trolley-dash round the Monoprix food hall just before it closes. Something of a Marais institution, it normally starts around 19h45, but please remember, it's NOT suitable for small children and there are no subtitles for the hearing-impaired. Come early, come often.

I'm in Two Minds...

...about whether to read it. "Rhino, enough already with the cheap schizophrenia jokes!" I hear you cry, dear reader, and rightly so. Because today's post concerns those two most serious of bedfellows, literature and politics. My friend Emma has written a book (slight digression: is everyone I know writing a book, apart from me? Because it's STILL all about ME) which is impressive enough but wait...it's in French! Now, I haven't actually read it yet - I'm going along to pick up a signed and possibly wine-stained copy at the launch this evening (in a Scottish pub - sounds promising) but given that she's a funny lady and that she really does have first-hand experience of Ségo, Sarko and Jacques, I'm hoping for great things. Wary French speakers click here to see what her publishers have to say, while reckless spendthrift French speakers should click straight on the pic and order from Amazon. And English speakers, pop along to her blog for a taster of Emma in VO. And there you have it, yet another shameless plug for one of my mates, brought to you by Bookpacker. Will it never end?

Crumbs

Behold, dear reader, the fruit of my loins weekend labours. Does that look a) deelish or b) deelish? (Take your time over that one). The occasion: Sandrine's birthday. The motivation: a rash promise on my part and a tea party on hers. The result: some rather medieval scenes chopping hazelnuts in the Rhino75 kitchen, a bit of a cake-tin crisis, and finally, this baby. Of course, it went down a storm, so much so, in fact, that a Navy SEAL was spotted taking some home. And the lovely Mrs. LOG suggested I open a salon de thé, or tearoom, on boulevard Beaumarchais (well, she's my friend, isn't she?). After tea, we hopped on the bus and sped across town to see this guy's one-man show "Imagine-toi" (Imagine Yourself). Now, when I first heard that we were going to see a clown/mime artist, I was naturally afraid. Spending my Sunday afternoon watching someone walk backwards in a wind (they always do that one, don't they?) with a red nose and checked trousers is not my idea of time well spent. How wrong can you be? It was absolutely fantastic. Funny, touching, and he even got one of our party up on stage to help him out. If you're in Paris and you get a chance to see this show, GO. By the end, I was starting to find the star of the show rather cute too - yes, Rhino75 was lusting after a sweaty clown again. In my defence, I was feeling a little feeble after a bit of a HUMDINGER of a party the night before, hosted by the lovely Kirsty. I'm still getting flashbacks of dancing to the BeeGees, Peter, Björn and John, talking Tina Arena, drinking vats of delicious Aussie wine and meeting some very fun people, including a direct descendant of William Wordsworth (classy, eh?). P.S. The Parisians among you should keep an eye out for the Freresbrothers. I went to see them on Friday night with Micke (they're friends of his) and they were great fun (and fantastic singers to boot).

Morning After

We were only meeting up for "a quiet drink and a chat," really. OK, maybe the choice of bar was instrumental in our downfall. The next happy coincidence was bumping into David and Carlos - who'd already got a bit of a thirst going. And then, suddenly (my italics), it was 2 a.m., the bar was closing and - through a vodka haze - it just seemed like a FANTASTIC idea and the most natural thing in the world to keep going. And going. On a school night. Which may be why this morning I wasn't the least bit surprised to be approached by this large pink rabbit on my way to work. Happens all the time. Honest. ;)

"It's so funny..."

"...how we don't talk anymore," sang Sir Cliff Richard, Britain's self-styled Peter Pan of Pop (see left). I don't know to whom he was referring but it could easily have been us, dear reader. For which apologies, but the problem with this New Year's resolutions business is that it's just so time- consuming getting them all going. I'm exhausted already and I still have to sort out my two main ones. However, if all goes to plan I shall be over-achieving on such a MASSIVE (my caps) scale, international fame and fortune can surely not be far behind. Fingers crossed. But I digress. What on earth is a big poster of Sir Cliff doing in my local metro station? By that I mean, why is he doing a concert in Paris? In all the years I've lived here, never once has a French person asked me about, or indeed made any reference to "zis Cleef Reeechard." I've never heard any of his music on the radio. So who's gonna go?? The Palais des Congrès is pretty big, after all. I'm worried. Given that he's now Sir Cliff, will they round up all the British people in Paris and force them to buy a ticket? Will we all have to do the Shadows guitar-walk? Actually, the Cliffsta, as I call him, and I go back a long way (doesn't everyone in **showbiz**?). In my London days, I'd just popped into Fortnums to pick up a few bits, as you do. I remember I was rooting through the wine bins looking for a choice bottle of claret when, all of a sudden, I noticed that everyone was looking at me. I put it down to the old Rhino75 charisma and tried to continue my search. But now I'd noticed them, I could sense that they weren't just looking, they were staring - and when I looked up then I saw they weren't actually staring at me (hah!) but just to my left. At Sir Cliff. Looking very unlike the Peter Pan of Pop and more like an old turkey. And why was he in the wine section? I thought he was teetotal. True story. Oh alright, I KNOW that anecdote had a slightly less satisfactory ending than Abba The Movie, (i.e. we didn't shoot off into space in an elevator to the strains of "Bachelor Boy") but it still counts as a Rhino75 celebrity encounter (just like here, here and here). Still to come: how I once had Jeanne Moreau nestled in my armpit and discussed accountancy with Kristin Scott-Thomas in a lift (not at the same time though, I hasten to point out - otherwise it sounds like some bizarre gender-reversal version of "Jules et Jim"). Peter Ustinov eat your heart out.

Babette's Feast

Well, John's really, but just as impressive. We've all had a look at MY culinary efforts on this blog and though some have been more successful than others (don't mention those microwave muffins, please), compared to the spread John laid on last night, I'm just a tin-opener. We kicked off with oysters, served with a chilli, coriander and basil pesto, followed by toasts topped with black pudding, tomato, and gorgonzola, served with a pureed pear sauce. Admit it, you're drooling already, aren'tcha? Next up, pan-fried foie gras with mango and ginger (my fave), followed by a small cup of spicy tomato soup, crème fraîche and basil pesto. THEN came a beetroot, goats cheese and green bean salad, dressed with lime zest and capers. This is where things started to get a little problematic as it was already midnight, we weren't even at the main course, and despite a palate cleanser of fruit sorbet, some people simply just couldn't eat any more. Casualties of war. Even *I* failed to do justice to the succulent main dish of veal marengo and mashed potato and truffles, as I was rapidly turning into Mr. Creosote. Another button mushroom, frankly, and it would have got very messy indeed. We never actually made it to the puddings (which looked fantastic by the way), although I did have to test one of the chocolate truffles handrolled by yours truly (see pic). Despite ending up looking like I was staging some kind of dirty protest, I'm pleased to report I didn't actually inflict too much damage on them. All of this for between 10 and 13 people, depending on arrivals and departures during the evening. I think he should go in for MasterChef. Truly marvellous and, in my book, an outstanding way to start 2007. Mind you, I came down to earth with a bump today as I had to spend all day in the office - yes, yes, **showbiz** oblige - while you were probably doing what I should have been i.e. sleeping off that hangover; Still, it was very quiet, Starbucks was open and I did manage to watch "One Fine Day" on tv. It may be a new year, but my heart still belongs to him. ::Sigh::

The Vegas Experience: Cold Beer, Dirty Girls...

...and live mud-wrestling. Don'tcha think our hotel was made for us?? And that's before we'd even got to the bikini bull-riding. If you want a laugh, IMAGINE our faces when we arrived here. We were thinking Céline Dion, we got The Eagles' "Hotel California" - you remember that bit "You can check out but you can never leave" ? And that's just the guests - the place is staffed by the supporting cast of "Shaun of the Dead." Brrwwwoooga. But I digress. Yes, dear reader, Rhino75 is BACK!! First of all, thank you so much for all the lovely birthday messages, either blogged, mailed or texted. I love you guys and it made my day. Well, that and the $9.95 all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet. No great revelation this, but Vegas is COMPLETELY bonkers. Hotels the size of small towns, tacky attractions by the truckload to lure the punters in, yet at the same time, it's like that movie "Westworld." What I mean by that is that the whole thing has no visible means of support. The place is spotless but you never see anyone cleaning it. The sheer quantity of food on offer - each hotel has at least four restaurants - is mind-boggling, but you never see any delivery trucks. The crime rate is supposed to be low yet you never see a cop. Spooky. The other weird thing - for us - is that the whole thing is designed to fulfill straight men's fantasies - I always suspected I would have a role in a straight man's fantasy some day :). No, what I mean is that there's not much on offer for the pink dollar apart from designer shopping, of which we did our fair share, Mamma Mia and Toni Braxton. That said, it was an EXCELLENT vacation, we had a fantastic time and laughed like drains from the moment we arrived until we got back to Gatwick. And as for the birthday build-up...watch this space for more pics and stories...

Who Ate All The Pies?

Forgive me, dear reader, I cannot tell a lie - 'twas I. Rather unexpectedly, it turned out to be a bit of a gourmet weekend round at Rhino75 Towers. Delicious, but it won't help me get into my Hedi Slimane Santa Suit, that's for sure. It all started with those rather rustic-looking pies on the left. I was having a bit of a medieval afternoon, getting all hot and bothered trying to roll out sticky pastry on the (well protected) stone floor of my bijou kitchen when MFM (my favourite Muse) rang, and we decided to make dinner together. Minutes later, I was down at the greengrocers, when my eye fell on a punnet of orange and yellow girolles mushrooms, singing out to me like a sort of fungal Circe. When MFM came round (with drummer/ Heidegger expert and Brook in tow), after a quick glass of champers, she took charge of the situation and whipped up a truly mouthwatering girolles risotto, while I threw some rocket in a bowl and the American boys played barmen and generally added a U.S. vibe. There was even a power cut in the middle, which we all agreed somehow seemed to help the whole thing along. And afterwards we watched a little porn on cable and compared handwriting. Marvellous. Girolles were on the menu again when Mr. and Mrs. LOG had a whole gang of us round for Sunday lunch - Mr. LOG's special chicken and girolles fricassee with new potatoes, asparagus, a yummy saint-nectaire cheese, and Rhino's pies, which went down very well, if I say so myself. And about a gallon and a half of red wine. Each. Post-prandial viewing was a little more "daytime" though - the first feature-length episode of "Dallas". That hair, those clothes. And that was just me. BTW, the lovely Miss FVE (end photo) has a new show - "L'Envers des Corps" - opening this week at the gallery where she works and spent most of Saturday afternoon dusting a golden skeleton in the name of art, so I urge the Parisians among you to go along. There. Now pass the Rennies, I've got indigestion.

Last Night...

...I dined on Ferrero Rochers, crisps, "creative" chocolate chips and champagne, and chatted with two people who've acted in French cop show "PJ", a Canadian author, and an American punk drummer/expert on Heidegger. So eclectic it made me feel quite giddy. I should go to more parties like that. Many thanks to my favourite "muse" who was, as always, the perfect hostess.

Art for Art's Sake

I wanted you to be the first to know, dear reader. This evening, over pancakes with syrup and New York-style cheesecake at our local American Diner, a new business plan was hatched that, I confidently predict, is going to ROCK this town. Or at least a part of it. We even drew diagrams on the (paper) tablecloth using Signor G's extensive collection of hotel pens (don't ask), just like in the movies. Talk about a winner but, of course, I can say no more for the time being (my italics). I know I can count on you to be discreet. Walls have ears etc. More importantly, I know you're wondering why on earth we were in a diner eating pancakes at 7 o'clock in the evening? Don't worry, it's nothing to do with putting the clocks back. We were just in need of some heavy carb-loading after an afternoon cruising the FIAC international contemporary art fair. The queue was round the block when we arrived but we decided to have a go at blagging our way in at the front, using our **showbiz** credentials. And, thank goodness, it worked. I had naturally packed a headscarf and a cushion in case we needed to resort to the "Clear the way, clear the way, lady with a baby coming through" Plan B, but I'm not sure I could have carried it off at close range (the beard, you see). Anyway it was FAB, MUCH better than either 5 Billion Years or ArtParis06. We even had ice creams and saw Stanislas Merhar again. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he was stalking me. I do like a bit of art on a Sunday afternoon. Other highspots of the weekend include a storming night out with Noodle on Friday, where we managed to "pull" the only straight couple in a gay bar. Though, to be fair, she worked in fashion and he owned a restaurant, so it was almost as if they were part of the community. Plaid and baggy - let these be your fashion watchwords for autumn/winter 2007, apparently. We made our excuses and keeled over left. And spent Saturday afternoon wandering round in an alcohol-cold sweat in the Japanese supermarket, stocking up on wasabi green peas, miso and other oriental goodies. As if you needed any further proof of how internationally fabulous we can be. I ask you. Livin' the dream....

Things I've Learnt This Weekend

Aren't these FAB? I was round at Sid's last night, flicking through his encyclopedia of Russian prison tatoos (fantastic!) and listening to his homemade concept cd (more challenging, I think he'd be the first to admit) when I spotted these beauties, specially commissioned for the Bowling Club boys, and fell in love. I wanted to share that with you. And while we're sharing, following the success of "Entertaining at Home the Rhino Way" (champers and pizza out of the box, though Noodle has now got me hooked on microwaveable tapas - about as Spanish as I am and just as delicious), by popular demand, here's the latest installment of "Rhino75's Rules" - an occasional series of tried and tested tips for modern living, pearls of homespun wisdom prised from the (barnacle-encrusted) oyster that was my weekend. Remember: I do these things so you don't have to. No need to thank me.

• If you go out for an evening with Marky D, the maddest things happen
• Never challenge a gay Latvian to a drinking competition (oh no...)
  
• Mushrooms and cemeteries are apparently the key to the Latvian psyche
• 22 is too young, even if he does give you his number (more of a reminder, that one)
• The average Parisian generates this much rubbish every day
• German girls are cute
  
• Anthropologists can be fun, particularly when drunk
• Some people genuinely don't get the point of a butt-plug (no pun intended)
• Le Blageur knows some interesting party games involving spoons
  
• Having to work on Sunday sucks (particularly after partying - thanks to Maitresse and Nicolas). Having Monday and Tuesday off ROCKS, though.
  

In other news, I feel congratulations are in order. Petite Anglaise and I plan to marry in Vegas next month, dressed respectively as Elvis and Britney (Whaddya mean you were drunk? You promised, Petite, you promised). I am hoping this will a) increase my site traffic and b) that all 10 of my regular readers will club together and buy me that Kitchen Aid mixer that's been gathering dust on my wishlist for a while now. Desperate situations require desperate measures. Thank you.