The Way the Cookie Crumbles

Triple-Choc Cookies, originally uploaded by rhino75.

Tummy troubles, computer problems, sending bits of my phone flying to opposite corners of the room, trapping my hand underneath the sofa, Raphie leaving StarAc' - it's been a miserable few days. So, now I've (fingers crossed) sorted out most of this list (I don't think Raphie's going to change her mind), it's time to pick up my prescription from Dr. Feelgood. First of all, bake Nigella's triple-choc cookies (and fill flat with yummy smell). Second, pour a large Jack and Coke. Third, settle down to a double bill of "Shrek 2" and "Shortbus". I feel better already.

"Rendition"

OK, I confess, I've got a bit of a thing for Reese Witherspoon. I don't even fully understand it myself, in fact I just used to put it down to the fact that we were both irresistibly attracted to Ryan Philippe but no, I'm starting to think it's all about THE WORK. From "Legally Blonde" through "Walk the Line" via "Sweet Home Alabama" has she put a foot wrong? I think not. Her British accent is almost better than mine, as she proved playing that minx Becky Sharp in "Vanity Fair," and she comes across in interviews as a smart woman (when I said I had a thing for her, you didn't think it was this bad, did you? Admit it). So the minute (my italics) I saw the trailer for "Rendition" I was excited: Reese, Jake and Meryl, my personal Holy Trinity, all in one movie? I thought we just HAD Christmas? Honestly, go see it. It's movie that makes you think. Not just about the subject matter (if you don't know what rendition is - and I didn't really before reading about the movie - here's a quick explanation) but also about the dichotomy that is the U.S. By that, I mean the fact that the country that implements a policy like this is also the country that exposes and is shocked by it. And, indeed, the country that makes a major movie about it (ok, the director's South African but the project and, I imagine, most of the money, are American). While the message "torture is wrong and counter-productive" is hammered home pretty hard (thank goodness), the reasoning behind the rendition policy is given a more nuanced treatment (Meryl Streep's wonderful performance - we hate her YET we can see where she's coming from YET we know she's wrong, oooh, oooh, oooh - triffic). What else? A fair chunk of dialogue is in Arabic, which is unusual and nice to hear. That said, the "Romeo-and- Juliet-but-actually-not-at-all" plotline between Khalid and Fatima was given too much time in the final cut, I felt, even though I could see why it was there. And the timeshift "effect" was clever but didn't seem to serve much purpose apart from confusing me. Overall though, the wooly liberal that I am thought it was tops and would heartily recommend it.

P.S. I see that there are now rumors that Jake and Reese are getting married - maybe it IS about our shared taste in men after all....

Propping up the Bar

Design contre Design:catbar, originally uploaded by rhino75.

Wandering round the Grand Palais last night, clutching an empty champagne flute and in search of a bar, I came across this beauty. JUST the thing for Rhino75 Towers this Christmas, don'tcha think, dear reader? And Kitty would love it. There was also this rather saucy chair and a bed in the form of a uterus - you don't get many of those in the Ikea catalogue methinks. They're all part of a small exhibition called "Design Contre Design" which I wasn't expecting to see at all but was actually rather fun. I was there, naturally, for the big guns Courbet show. Have you noticed that no sooner do I mention that I love Courbet on this blog than the Grand Palais comes up with this exhibition - it's almost (my italics) spooky. I was familiar with many of the portraits but had never seen his landscapes before - a revelation, particularly the seascapes (check out La Vague) - or the hunting scenes. Such a wide range and yet you could see all the signs, particularly in the landscapes, of the Impressionists to come. Loved it. And I got to stand next to Bernard Tapie. While eating a bite-sized risotto. But I digress. Off to Brighton AGAIN this weekend to help sis celebrate her birthday and watch a bit more X-Factor. Hurrah!!

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).

Man of the Match

Maybe England should hire this guy for the team next time. I trekked all the way out ot the Stade de France for that? Grrr.

Deadly Dishcloth

Have you, dear reader, ever seen anyone fight off a vicious knife attack using just an old dishrag and a hardback book? And come out on top? If not, hie thee to a cinema and watch The Bourne Ultimatum. It's terrific. By that I mean it does exactly what it says on the packet. And it will change your views on using everyday cleaning materials in martial arts FOREVER (my caps). I've had a soft spot for Jason Bourne from the first movie, where I even entertained the (erroneous, in retrospect) idea that maybe Matt Damon might be hot after all. What's great about this final - at least for now - instalment is that for the first time I could see the flaws in Jason Bourne's modus operandi (Latin! Fancy!). If he'd really done his homework re: Waterloo Station, he would have known to have turned in the opposite direction by Paperchase and gone down into Bonaparte's pub next to Boots. No-one would ever follow you in there. In my experience, anyway. Mind you, the film would then have been a good twenty minutes shorter and that annoying caricature of a journalist (corduroy jacket, rubbish notebook with NO shorthand) would still be alive. There are probably loads of people who live in Tangiers (Tangerines?) tutting about those scenes too and saying things like "Everyone knows that street is one-way." Oooh, and weirdly, the CIA Deep Cover HQ is just like my office, all grey and full of scared-looking people. All this - in-depth knowledge of Waterloo Station, used to working in a climate of fear, good with a dishcloth - leads me to think I may have missed my vocation. If you don't hear from me for a while, don't worry, I'm probably on a mission....

Clapperboard Queen

Showbiz, dear reader. I just CAN'T keep away from it, try as I might. Just when I think I've finally left behind the smell of the greasepaint, the roar of the crowd, for good, Lady Luck lifts her fickle finger and pokes me back into the limelight. I'd just settled down in the Swedish Centre cafe with a mug of coffee and a pastry filled with what the Swedes delightfully refer to as "Grandma's cough" when the phone rang. My phone, I mean, not theirs. It was Toby. "Listen," he said. "Do you mind if we meet for coffee round the corner instead? I've got to do something with some musketeers, but it won't take long..." Which is how I found myself with French actor Jean-Christophe Bouvet, a Jack Russell and four musketeers (the Lames du Marais), shooting a film about Marie-Antoinette's dog. We all mucked in and it was great fun but I still have absolutely no idea (my italics) what it was all about. Afterwards, we did indeed go for that coffee with Jean-Christophe and his charming assistant Florian and had a rather wide-ranging discussion about working with Rip Torn, Tecktonic dance moves and Aussiebum undies. All that and then out for dinner to celebrate the birthday of another rising star... "Fabulous" doesn't even START to cover it...(P.S. coming soon, pics and more from Micke's MUTHA of all Gay Karaoke nights)

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)

Worse Than My Bite

The next time I post, dear reader, I shall be missing a tooth. In a matter of hours (my italics) I shall be making my way to my (HOT!! NEW!!) dentist's for an extraction. Soup and milkshakes are set to feature heavily in my life from here on in - pray for me!! BTW what are we thinking about Madonna's "rumored" new single "The Beat Goes On"? - I think I may be a fan...

Rome 2: Obesa Cantavit

Remember last summer, dear reader, when I was waxing lyrical about the BBC/HBO series "Rome"? Well, I've just finished watching Season 2 and if anything it's even BETTER (my italics) than the first. First of all, we get to see a LOT more of the hunktastic James Purefoy, as his character Marc Anthony takes centre stage. And once he gets to Egypt, things really hot up as he starts wearing eyeliner and taking part in orgies (the summum of debauchery for the suburban creature that I am). In fact, there's a lot more nookie in Season 2 overall which, let's face it, is the main reason we're all watching in the first place. Who's interested in an accurate depiction of some boring old Senate debate (Cicero, what a pompous ass!) when we can watch two good-looking people - one of whom happens to be James Purefoy - going at it hammer 'n' tongs? PLUS, as if that weren't enough, this season, we can see several new characters in flagrante delicto (nice Roman touch there, note). My fave is Marcus Agrippa, played by Allen Leech. Yes, yes I KNOW he looks a bit like an Eastern European twink porn actor, but that is, I'm sure, merely a coincidence (ahem). With a bonus in the shape of Alex Wyndham ("The Line of Beauty") as the decadent Maecenas. But sadly, to use a common Roman expression, Obesa cantavit. Opinion seems to be divided - on the viewer bulletin boards at least - as to whether it was disappointing viewing figures, high production costs, or "artistic differences" between the BBC and HBO, that led to the plug being pulled. Anyway, I got through a whole box of Kleenex watching the last episode (wiping away the tears, I hasten to add). Now I've only got "Heroes" to brighten my televisual week ::sigh::

I am the Muffinmeister

muffinmeister, originally uploaded by rhino75.

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.

*Flashback*

Cast your mind back, dear reader, a couple of weeks to our Paris Blognic. A day of sun, fun, new and old friends, chocolate tart, cookies, Pimm's etc. etc. "Yes, yes, Rhino, so you had a picnic, big deal, get over it," I hear you cry. But WAIT. That same picnic has now been immortalized (my italics) in the pages of that most illustrious publication, the Financial Times. There, that's shut you up, hasn't it? I DO feel slightly disappointed that any reference to my chocolate tart ended up on the cutting-room floor. But you can't have it all and it's always nice to get a mention in a pink-coloured publication. Many thanks to Karen (aka Mimi Pompom) for writing it. And you can read the article here. An autographed picture of me wearing nothing but this flag is also available upon request.

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.

Sunday in the Park with Jens

Knowing as you do, dear reader, my love of all things Swedish, it will surely come as no surprise to hear that I spent all Sunday afternoon at the Parc de La Villette to catch the free set by Jens Lekman. What I wasn't counting on was actually getting to meet him afterwards and have a chat. Not only a great songwriter (anyone who samples the strings from the Mamas & the Papas version of "Do you Wanna Dance?" instantly has my heart) but a nice guy to boot, who very gamely agreed to let me take his pic with the girls. He's got a new album coming out in September and expects to be doing a gig in Paris sometime in November. Until then, I shall be doing my best to keep his profile up on Last.fm. Another true celebrity encounter (and I didn't have to stalk him round the supermarket this time). Remember, rhino75 - living the dream so you don't have to.

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.

Evening at the Petit Palais

As "my regulars" know, alcohol and art is one of my favourite cocktails. So when I received an invitation to a champagne-fuelled private view of the permanent collection at the Petit Palais, well, they didn't have to ask me twice. Plus, to be honest, it's a museum I've never visited before. I've popped in to its bigger brother the Grand Palais more times than I care to remember but never actually made it across the road. My mistake. It's FAB. And the excellent thing about this kind of evening is that everywhere you turn, they've put a bar, so I was able to watch the sun go down in the garden while sipping a glass of bubbly. It was great to see some of my favourite Courbet - did you know that he was actually one of the first artists to work with a knife rather than a brush? Just like on "Paint Along with Nancy" - and the wonderful, wonderful "Grimaces et misères" by Pelez (yes, yes, I like my art miserable, I know). And, of course, the Impressionists, for those who like that sort of thing - in fact, I like it well enough, but have just seen too much too many times. An exquisite evening, from which I emerged feeling elegant, sophisticated, and a little bit wobbly. (For the full-size versions of the photos, click here).