Rhino's Round-up

Here's a little round-up of the things I've learned in the past week. Remember, I'm doing all this so you don't have to. Selfless to a fault. ::sigh::

• Wii Sports is actually MUCH more fun than I realised. When people ask, I shall finally be able to say that I played a little tennis at the weekend - I feel this will be good for my image. I'm still rubbish at golf, though, so the keys to the executive washroom remain - tantalisingly - out of reach.

• "99 Francs" is a good example of how an annoying book can actually be made into a very entertaining movie. Thanks in no small part to the talent of Jean Dujardin (a little less deelish here than in other roles, it must be said). Advertising looks such FUN. Plus we're pretty sure we saw Guillaume Canet in the cinema. Yumm.

• Damon Albarn's "Monkey" is, quite simply, wonderful. I know you've probably read that elsewhere already, but it really is. I say that even though my short-sightedness meant I had to keep asking "Who is that woman in white floating from the ceiling?" and "Why does that man have a pig's head?" because I couldn't read the subtitles. Some stunning set-pieces, including an under-the-sea scene featuring a large starfish. No Guillaume Canet though.

• Pramil is my latest restaurant recommendation. I can still taste those raspberries with green tea ice-cream (I mean that in a good way). Bon appétit!!
  

Two Good Reasons to Get Into Jazz

When I tell you, dear reader, that I spent Saturday night in a dark cellar, drinking cocktails and watching four - and sometimes five - men perform on a small stage, you could be forgiven for thinking "Ha, as usual, plus ça change etc." - but NO! Because this time (my italics) it was all in the name of culture. Well, nearly all - these two hotties certainly helped to rekindle my interest in jazz :-) Paris, of course, has a longtime relationship with the genre, with American jazz musicians moving to the City of Light as early as the 1920s. Who can think of St. Germain without the Age of Cool, Chet Baker, Miles Davis? And the scene here is still very much alive and kicking, so I'm not really sure why I don't go and see more. Anyway, this weekend, Pierre's friend Benjamin Le Jean was playing with his group L'Esprit de la Maison at the Caveau des Oubliettes in St. Michel. Not only was the music excellent (click on the link to check out his MySpace) but all the other details were just as they should be - a packed, smoke-filled basement, killer double-rum cocktails, pretty girls, cool guys and three sets that went on until past 2 a.m. (FYI the two sax players in the pic are Samuel Maingaud of L'Esprit de la Maison and guest Benjamin Petit). There was just one tiny - and very French - hitch in the proceedings when Benjamin Petit, after being announced as a special guest, was prevented from actually reaching the stage fora good five minutes by a long line of teens going through the obligatory French kissing goodbye ritual. Hilarious. Just to keep the cultural mix nice 'n' eclectic, dinner earlier was okonomiyaki at Aki (11 bis rue Sainte-Anne, 75002 - highly recommended) All this, plus Raph's birthday picnic in the Parc Montsouris, where I found myself playing "Time's Up!" and trying (unsuccessfully) to mime Marie Trintignant, while drinking champagne out of small bottles. More birthdays coming this week too...stand by...

La French Touch - The Next Generation

I don't know whether you've noticed, dear reader, but your Rhino75 has become something of a music buff of late. Yes, you see, now I mention it...All part of my never-ending (my italics) quest to keep my people ahead of the curve. It's true, it's all about you!! So, hot on the heels of Bearforce1, I bring you the latest artist to embody "la French touch" - Lil'Maaz, with his chart-topping choon "Mange du Kebab" (which can loosely be translated as "Have a kebab!"). Ostensibly a simple Turkish kebab-maker from Paris's 18th arrondissement, Lil'Maaz released this self-penned ditty after being "discovered" by executives from a nearby production company popping in for a lunchtime doner. Hmmm, right. It does feature some corking lyrics though. "Chez nous, il y a des odeurs d'orient qui resteront sur tous tes vêtements" ("We have all the smells of the East that'll stick to your clothes.") Lovely. Anyway, before we all get too complacent and start snickering about French music, according to the evening news on France's most-watched television channel, Lil'Maaz is currently back in the studio recording an English version. Altogether now "Shish .... kebab... shish ...kebab" - you have been warned. (Click on the pic to go to web site and watch the video which is actually quite amusing)

Spring Fever: Part Two

It's not just me. Read what the U.K.'s Independent had to say about Spring here.

Spring Fever

Daniel Rose is a charming young man from Chicago who, in addition to knowing all the songs from "Guys and Dolls" (no mean talent in itself), also happens to own and run a restaurant in central Paris called Spring. Having met him a couple of times at parties and, indeed, listened to his theory of the perfect chocolate tart, when the ever-lovely Meg Le Blagueur and Petite Anglaise invited Micke and I to join them for dinner there, well, they didn't need to ask twice. Now, having someone you know cook for you always has a high potential for embarassment and awkwardness and this is multiplied by 10 when you're actually paying. What if he was having an off night? What if my most hated vegetable (endive) featured heavily in every course? Because there isn't a choice. Daniel goes to the market and does the shopping himself every day, taking his cue from whatever's in season, looks good and could feasibly provide two starters, a main course and a pudding. And trust me, he knows what he's doing. I'm no food critic, so I'll spare you any purple prose on the meal itself (though you can see the pics at the top of this post) but it was very, very good. The highlights, for me at least, were a selection of fresh, sweet peas and beans served in a chicken broth and given added richness by the addition of diced foie gras, and the duck -- cooked to perfection and the meatiest magret de canard I've had in nine years here. Simply delicious. Add to this a bottle of white, a bottle of red and a bottle of champers and you've got a very happy Rhino and chums. Of course, I'm being a bit of a tease here because Spring is actually closed from July 22 for the summer, but if you're looking for the perfect way to ease into what the French call la rentrée in September, I'd thoroughly recommend it.

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.

Gay Bloggers in the Dark

Imagine if you will, dear reader, the following scene. Seven gay bloggers in a pitch-black room. The Scissor Sisters are playing in the background. From time to time, different voices can be heard asking "Is that you Rhino?" or informing the rest of us that "There's something sticky running down my leg!". There's also a blind man who keeps hitting me on the head. Just another typical Saturday night at Rhino75 Towers, I hear you cry, but you'd be WRONG!! (No mention of the smell of poppers, you see). No, Micke, Matoo, Thanos, Norman, Fabien, Ikare (who together must constitute the crème de la crème of French gay bloggers) and myself were, in fact, dining at the surely-soon-to-be-fashionable -again Dans Le Noir, a restaurant offering "a dining experience in complete darkness" (here's another link, in English this time). Three observations: 1) Just because someone's blind doesn't necessarily mean they're any less clumsy in the dark than you are - this is reassuring 2) I am FANTASTIC at pouring wine in the dark - I always suspected this might be the case, but now we know for sure 3) You may not be able to tell that you're eating lamb, but you can tell that it's lukewarm and greasy, even with the lights off. Yes, the food's a bit rubbish, but then again, you're not really there for that. The whole experience was terrific fun and, as a special treat, the people on the next table to us decided to have a fight and the whole place had to be cleared. Afterwards, in a reversal of the usual order of play, we decided to go from a dark room to a disco, and it doesn't get more disco than the Crazyvores, where we finished off the evening with a display of Vogue-ing that would have brought a tear to Her Madgesty's eye. A great evening and a big thanks to the boys who were, without exception, utterly charming - Mwah!!
(P.S. is it me or has the quality of Crazyvore totty risen exponentially? Or was I wearing my vodka-goggles?)

Cooking by Numbers

Those of you who've been concerned about the contents of my fridge - and you are legion - will be relieved to hear I've finally found a solution. No longer do I have to worry about my rather haphazard style of food shopping - faced with the usual almost giddily eclectic selection of inredients, I now simply turn to the wonderful (my italics) Cooking by Numbers. Et voilà!! OK, it doesn't specify if those apricots are hunza or not, or if the chocolate should be Valrhona, and indeed there's no mention of champagne, but when you're lacking inspiration on a Wednesday night, it fits the bill perfectly. Try it and see... I particularly liked the description of Lemon Chicken - "Chicken partners up with its old friend lemon with crazy results" though it did come with the caveat "You are missing an essential ingredient: chicken". What a bummer! In other news, I'm off to London AGAIN this weekend, though for work this time, and will be having dinner here on Friday evening. I, of course, reveal that information in the hope that I'll be "papped" either entering or leaving the restaurant. Over to you!!

Happy Halloween!!

To celebrate this ancient pagan festival, I shall be having pumpkin soup for lunch from those delicious boys at Cojean and then will spend the afternoon trying to extort sweets from my co-workers. I also plan to go to work dressed as The Mummy. Never let it be said that I don't enter into spirit of things. Enjoy!

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....

Hold it, Flash Bang Whallop, Wot a Picture!*

Mario Testino take a back seat, Stéphane Sedanoui, get your coat, because Rhino75 is in town and he IS SNAPPING. My friend Sandrine popped round for a cuppa at the weekend and, before we knew it, we'd decided to take some pics - and though I say it myself (my italics - as usual), the results aren't half bad. Yes, yes, ok, it's pretty hard to take a bad picture of Sandrine, but still, the experience provided (badly needed) inspiration for the next stage of my **showbiz** career - photographer! (ta-da!!). I've got it all worked out. I'm going to get some silver umbrellas in the sitting room and cover the sofa with a lot of white sheeting (shows up the cat hair, but what the heck, we're talking bohemia here). Some powerful lighting, a jaunty beret and a slightly louche manner and I'll be all set. I will, naturally, be specialising in pics of muscular young men wearing casually unbuttoned overalls, or looking sweaty in a vest (them, rather than me), because I feel that's a sadly neglected genre. I'll subsidise that part of the business by charging my mates for a few 8" x 10" glossies. Is that a genius plan, or is that a genius plan? I was so taken with the whole idea, I didn't even bother to wash the teacups but ran straight round to see Sid (who is, after all, a real artist and, therefore, up on all that kind of thing.). To keep those creative juices flowing, we watched a DVD of these guys, which was rather fab, before everything suddenly melted into a red wine haze. One of my few memories of the rest of the evening was Sid ordering steak tartare for dessert... if that isn't bohemian, I don't know what is. Sometimes my life is just like "Moulin Rouge" (but with a bigger role for Kylie).
*a musical classic from the rather wonderful "Half a Sixpence" - To see it is to understand England.

Rhino's Celebrity Sandwich

Now before you start getting all excited, I must stress that this is a celebrity sandwich in the most literal sense, not another random proposition in the Marais. It is often my wont of a lunchtime, dear reader, to wander down to the Lafayette Maison "sandwicherie" in search of sustenance. In case you're interested, my faves are "Smølt" which is three kinds of Norwegian salmon on what French people call Polar Bread (go figure) and "Indies" which consists of the merest soupçon of tandoori chicken and lettuce, again - bizarrely - on the aforementioned Polar Bread (not very Indian, if you ask me, but whatEVER). But I digress. On Friday, no sooner had I settled down at the "breakfast bar" to tuck into my "Smølt" then I spotted the gentleman above. As a huge fan of French cop shows, I of course recognized him instantly as Didier Cauchy, aka Capt. Jean-Louis Scandella, from the "La Crim'" series. Actually, to be honest, I only recognized him as "that bloke from La Crim'" but still. Imagine my surprise (my italics) then when he came and sat down next to me (ham and cheese sandwich, looked very uninspiring). The whole celebrity encounter would have ended there had the woman opposite us not decided to lean over and say: "I know you... television?" For the merest fraction of a second, I thought she was talking to me, and was about to reply "Ah, yes, although I don't do that anymore, you know," when my neighbour piped up. "Ummm, yes, maybe La Crim'.'" Anyway, it turns out that he's also been appearing in the France 2 summer mini-series "The Secret of the Volcano" which was filmed on the island of La Réunion and where they all got bitten alive by mosquitos etc. Yeah right, like anyone watched that. There was no shutting him up. Despite lots of telly work, he claims that he still can't afford to buy an apartment in Paris, or at least not one that doesn't need a lot of work doing to it, but luckily, the woman turned out to be an estate agent, and, well, it was all very amicable and "you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours." Yawwwwwwnnn. I soon lost interest in their real-estate conversation but have decided that Lafayette Maison is the new celebrity lunch hang-out and it can only be a matter of time before I'm swapping mock-sushi with Johnny Hallyday and Eddie Mitchell (it is a well-known fact that all major French celebrities are 102). The rest of the weekend? I cooked a rather nasty (and not in a Janet Jackson way) tomatoey supper for Sid 'n' Nancy, which we tried to forget by drinking wine, champagne and vodka, and I went to an excellent party on Saturday night/Sunday morning in a very hot and sticky apartment overlooking the Canal St. Martin. I'm still recovering. Onwards and upwards.

When is a museum not a museum?

Answer: When it serves FABULOUS food. Then it's a restroseum. This weekend, dear reader, Signor G. and I decided to take our lives in our hands two metros and a bus out to the Parisian suburb of Vitry-sur-Seine to check out the MAC/VAL, a new contemporary art museum that opened at the beginning of the year. After an epic trek, involving fights with dragons, pastry terrorists* and other magical creatures, we arrived, dust-spattered and parched, at our destination. Leaving our guide and bearers at reception, I crawled over to the desk and croaked (in my best French) :"Errm, do you have a restaurant?" Little did we suspect what a garden of earthly delights awaited us. A 12-month old Comté cheese that took the roof of your mouth, spicy Spanish chorizo, buffalo mozzarella, an oriental seaweed salad, a tasty purée of courgettes and rosemary, all served outside on a beautifully sunny afternoon atop primary-coloured tables. Faultless. And the best was yet to come. Signor G. chose a chocolate mousse that was quite possibly the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. Sex on a spoon. In fact, I managed to scoff quite a lot of it myself when he wasn't looking, as well as my own sticky choccy cake. Before we knew it, two and a half hours had flown past, and we still hadn't seen any art. After lunch, the collection could have proved disappointing, but NO, not a bit of it. From the spaghetti forest to the old children's elephant costume, the whole thing was gorgeous, accessible and - above all - FUN!! Fantabulous. For a taster of what's on offer, click on the pics. As if that wasn't enough epicurean activity for one day, in the evening I went with a group of friends to celebrate Cath's birthday here. My protestations that I wasn't "really hungry, I had a massive lunch" were exposed as a blatant lie as I polished off my curried salmon in banana leaves in record time, and STILL found room for green tea and coconut ice-cream. And to round off the evening, pink champagne in St. Germain-des-Pres. Needless to say - apart from some chocolate fingers chez les LOGs Sunday afternoon - I'm now back on my tried 'n' tested (my italics) NSTC** diet.
*Two young men, carrying two ominous-looking buckets and what looked like a jerrycan of petrol got on the bus. Signor G. and I exchanged nervous glances and even the driver tried to stop them boarding. Then I noticed that one of them was carrying a large fruit crumble - an unlikely terrorist accessory, I think you'll agree - and then that the buckets, in fact, contained butter and the "petrol" was peanut oil. Hence, pastry terrorists. Stay safe.
**No Solids Till Christmas