Le Panier des Quatre Saisons

Le Panier Des 4 Saisons - Chamonix
24 Galerie Blanc Neige, Rue du Docteur Paccard, Chamonix
Tel: 0033 45053 9877

As the name suggests, this quaint restaurant specializes in seasonal menus; you won't find any cheese fondue or raclette here. Ordering à la carte can be pricey, but the two set menus offer a good selection of the highlights, and there's also a vegetarian option (shocking! This is France, after all!). The rather ridiculously named Menu Ballade Festivale gets you four courses for 34 Euros. You can sample the matafan aux fines herbes (a bready pancake with bacon, served with Savoie ham and salad), filet de canette and crême brulée. Or perhaps carpaccio de boeuf, filet de fera and soupe de melon. The menu also comes with faiselle, which you can have with either cream or a red berry coulis.

The place has a cozy, cabin-like feel and would be a very attractive place for dinner on a cold winter after a hard day on the slopes. The service is friendly and unfussy. Head here if you want a break from the regular alpine fare of cheese and potatoes.

Matafan aux fines herbes

Filet de canette

Faiselle au fruits rouges

Crême brulée

See also: France Chamonix restaurants French food pictures

Blog upgrades

Dear Readers,

Greetings from Geneva airport's gate A2, which despite being (allegedly) smoke-free, nevertheless seems (with the rest of Geneva) to be tainted with that permeating smell of cigarette smoke. It seems somewhat incongruous that a land that so prides itself in order, timeliness, cleanliness and cows should be so tolerant of the white death sticks.

Anyway, that wasn't the point of this blog entry, which is aimed instead at informing you that I've been trying to do some upgrading and maintenance of this blog, adding (as you'll see below) some slideshow functionality, which will hopefully reduce the length of some entries (particularly those 15-course Chinese banquets...). Sadly, this slideshow programme I'm using doesn't seem to let you select the order in which photos appear, so you might have to watch everything backwards until I can figure out how to resolve this.

I've also started tagging my entries with keywords, which you'll see appearing at the bottom of each entry. Clicking on a keyword will take you to my tags page on del.ic.ious, where you can see all other entries tagged with the same keyword. So you could, for example, enter "London+restaurant" to see a list of all restaurant that I've reviewed in London (I hope…). This will involve some retro-tagging, though, so it might take a while until they're all linked.

I'm also thinking about changing the rather mundane template, particularly as there's a lot of dead space on the left-hand side at the moment. Let me know if you have any suggestions!

So much for Swiss punctuality – my flight's been delayed an hour….

Pluto: fruit or vegetable?

I hope you're all suitably inflamed at the International Astronomers' Union's demotion of Pluto to a 'minor planet' and have gone out to buy your "Honk if Pluto is a planet" bumper stickers. In fact, only 4% of the Union's 10,000 members took part in the vote, which appears to have been hijacked by the "Pluto is not a planet" camp. Pluto's exclusion as a planet hangs upon the third of three new criteria devised to characterize planets - that a planet should have cleared its orbit of neighbouring objects. Pluto was thus penalized because its highly elliptical orbit overlaps with that of Neptune. But this patently absurd criterion points to the definition's inconsistency, because by this same token, Neptune, not having cleared Pluto off its orbit, shouldn't be a planet either.

So who really cares whether Pluto's a planet, anyway? Well, apart from the fact that we now have to figure out what to do with Colin Matthew's recent Pluto composition to complement Holst's Planets suite (Should it not be played? Should he compose a rival Minor Planets suite?), the whole debacle highlights other inconsistencies we live with on a daily basis.

Take the tomato. Is it a fruit or a vegetable? You may not know that this was actually the subject of an 1893 U.S. Supreme Court case (see Nix vs Hedden). The plaintiffs filed suit against Hedden, a port collector, for wrongful taxes under the 1883 Tariff Act, which imposed levies on vegetables but not fruits. The court ruled in favour of Hedden, judging that although the tomato is botanically a fruit, it is considered a vegetable in common usage (being eaten as a main course rather than a dessert, for example). But what makes a fruit a fruit? In fact, a common definition of a vegetable is "any edible part of a herbaceous plant", which includes the seed-bearing fruit. So by this definition, all fruits should be vegetables. Yet we cling on to this idea that there are such things as "fruits" that are distinct from "vegetables". How does your local supermarket decide that things that are clearly fruits, e.g., squashes, pumpkins and the like, should go in the vegetable section? (I should point out that pumpkins can be eaten both as a main course and a dessert...) Conversely, why are peppers not classed as fruits? And what about cucumbers? Clearly a contender for a fruit. Interestingly, Wikipedia defines "gazpacho" (whose main ingredients - other than stale bread and garlic - are the three aforementioned fruits: tomato, cucumber and pepper) as a cold "salad" (rather than, say, a cold "vegetable soup", which would clearly be contentious), itself defined as a dish, at least one of whose main ingredients must be a raw fruit or vegetable.

But really, if we can't even classify a cucumber right, what hope do we have for a 2000km-diameter, 1 trillion trillion tonne piece of rock flying around the Sun at 5000km per second?


WANTED: The humble cucumber, for centuries masquerading as a vegetable is, in fact, a fruit. Its blandness and versatility enable it to repeatedly evade correct classification of its true nature. Often seen in salads in sliced, cubed or spear forms, its greenish translucent colour has nonetheless helped it to avoid the controversies courted by its tastier fruit-cousin, the tomato. In England, it commonly hides between slices of buttered bread, while in Spain, it seeks camouflage by blending in with other fruits, notably the bell pepper and tomato, inside a cold salad known as a "gazpacho", whose generous helping of olive oil, sherry vinegar and garlic helps to mask its flavour. Rarely seen being crunched on like an apple. The cucumber is wanted on charges of high treason against the fruit-state.

See also:

• Pluto
• fruit
• vegetable
• food

l'Argentière...

Ici des fotos du glacier de l'Argentière, à une altitude de plus de 2000m, pour votre amusement. Profitez de ça, alors qu'il n'est pas complètement fondu...

See also: France travel pictures food

Chamonix 2006: ça commence...

Oui, c'est encore cet événement annuel lorsque je visite les Alpes pour faire des exercices digestifs...



Desolé, que c'est la première fois que j'utilise ce "slide show", ainsi que les fotos ne sont pas arrangés en sequence.

wannabe a wannabe rockstar wannabe

So it happened that I was browsing YouTube trying to educate myself on the concept of Mentos and Coke rockets (really, some people have too much time on their hands, which probably also says something about those of us who go watch them on YouTube). Anyway, it was here that I learned about the Terra Naomi phenomenon, self-proclaimed, self-promoting singer-songwriter wannabe rockstar from LA. It seems her virtual summer tour, filmed from her studio (apartment) in Hollywood, has been a cult-ish success, so much so that it has spawned a whole host of Terra Naomi wannabes on YouTube. It's really quite scary.

It's a fascinating phenomenon, though I suspect that it wouldn't be so easy for a nuclear physicist to promote themselves on YouTube in aspiration of that elusive Nobel Prize. Her songs are actually not bad, if a little sentimental, but The Vicodin Song is quite cool, and I feel we should support such entrepreneurship. Incidentally, if anyone's in London this weekend, it seems she's doing a set at The Troubadour on Old Brompton Road. I, however, will be in the Alps.

So there. Terra Naomi. Get the CD. Buy the T-shirt.

A Scanner Darkly....

I must admit that the main reason I went to see Richard Linklater's adaptation of Philip K. Dick's A Scanner Darkly is because I was curious to see whether Keanu Reeves is a better actor in person or as a cartoon.

Yep, you guessed it.

Anyway, I suggest you don't go see this movie if you're tired as, engaging though it is, it won't do anything to keep you awake if you're struggling to fight those Zs.... The animation, however, is excellent, and the dialogue is smart, snappy and at times very funny. Loosely, the story revolves around the societal damage of drugs and police states, with a rather dark and convoluted plot surrounding an undercover officer. But the plot is not as important as the message, and the film has a very trippy feel about it, which will make you wonder what the heck is going on most of the time. Robert Downey Jr.'s shady, smart-mouthed suspect steals the show, if such a thing can be said of cartoons, and Woody Harrelson's character is exactly as you'd expect a real-person Woody Harrelson character to be. And I loved the ending, which is by far the best part of the movie. I wish I could remember the last line to show you.

Go see it. Let me know what you think. Or don't. Whatever.

P.S. - Winona Ryder is, however, much better in person...

See also: Films

The sushi belt

I used to like conveyer-belted sushi joints. Granted, you have to be careful which ones you go to; you don't want tuna nigiri that's been going round and round for hours. But Kulu Kulu on Brewer Street, for example, had great sushi, it had a horde of eager Japanese students waiting outside to get a glimpse of a free seat at the belt, and it was pretty cheap. You could set yourself on your stool with your free cup of green tea in relative peace, with nothing much more to worry about than how much wasabi to mix into your soy sauce. You could sit there watching coloured plates go by and decide that no, you weren't gonna settle for tuna nigiri today, you'd hold out and treat yourself to some of those spicy tuna rolls instead.

But then the gueilo arrived. People who don't know how to use chopsticks, so think it's ok to eat with their hands. People who pick a plate of nigiri, but eat the salmon separately from the rice. People who stick their noses into the tub of wasabi (yes, it's green....). People who eat nothing but California and cucumber rolls, so that wait as you might for 30 minutes for that clam nigiri, there's nothing ever on the belt but freakin' California and cucumber rolls.

Then the Hong Kong brats arrived. Rich kids with copper-coloured hair who think it's cool to be seen in their dodgy Miami Vice jackets and designer frames. Kids who ask if there are any oysters left, just for the sake of letting people know that they know what oysters are. Morons who reach across you for the wasabi instead of asking you for it. Who stand up and lean on the counter to see what's coming on the belt. Who reach across to the other side of the belt to grab a plate of agedashi tofu. Who have no respect for the sushi chef. Who speak obnoxiously in a mixture of Cantonese and Mandarin, and who have no regard for your personal space, making you wanna poke them with your chopsticks.

There's no decorum at the belt any more. I'll be staying away until it revolves and some conveyer etiquette returns....

See also:

• London
• restaurants
• food
• Japanese
• sushi

最好的时光

Three Times (2005)

Qi Shu, Chang Chen, Dir: Hou Hsiao-Hsien

My excuse for not doing any studying for Mandarin class this summer is to watch movies in Chinese. There aren't many opportunities to see films from Taiwan on general release, so after deciding that the prospect of seeing an open-air screening of Terry Gilliam's Brazil at Somerset House in the potentially pouring rain wasn't that appealing, we decided to check this one out instead (it didn't rain, by the way...).

Three Times is a collection of three love stories set in Taiwan at different time periods. Or perhaps they're best described as three stories about love, since none of them are love stories, at least not in any conventional sense. In the first segment, set in 1966, a young military recruit whiles away his free time in a pool hall, where he develops a boyish infatuation with May. Cowardice or shyness prevents this becoming anything more than longing looks and smiles, until Chen has to leave for military camp. May moves on, and Chen spends his time off from the camp looking for her in all the pool halls in Taiwan, until he finally tracks her down. The segment ends touchingly with May and Chen eating noodles at a street stall, still sharing nothing more than a look, before waiting for the bus that will take Chen back to the military base.

The second story, set in 1911 during the republican movement, is the most unusual. It's shot with no dialogue, which is instead presented in inter-titles, with a rather bizarre piano soundtrack. The story follows the acquaintance between an aspiring republican and a courtesan and the relationship that will never happen. She has hopes of one day being released by her madam to become a concubine, while he, given his aspirations and political views, could never accept one.

The final segment is set in 2005. A young photographer becomes involved with a troubled singer who suffers from epilepsy. Hou captures all the emotional chaos of modern youth - rebellion, self-determination, casual relationships, sexual confusion, reliance on electronic communication, the struggle for space and identity - amidst the physical chaos of urbanization, traffic, pollution and neon lights.

The first third of the film is by far the best. Sumptuously shot in vivid, saturated colours, patiently filmed and full of quiet satisfaction, you'd think watching people play pool badly was the most interesting thing in the world. It's a subtle film, full of context, things that aren't said and things that aren't done. But it's a long and depressing film. Worse, it feels long and depressing. Two-thirds too long. The second segment in particular is painfully slow to watch and the silent film look isn't entirely convincing. It's no Wong Kar-wai movie, either in sentiment or aesthetic quality. For your 2h15m investiment, you don't get the satisfaction you'd get from In The Mood For Love or 2046.

See also:

• Films

Smiths of Smithfield

OK, so I lied. My sister offered to buy me my sixth (? I've lost count) dinner to celebrate PhD-dom and who was I to say no...?

Smiths of Smithfield is a four-storey converted factory opposite Smithfields meat market. It's the kind of place you might find in the Meatpacking district in Manhattan: bare brick, slick, minimalist fittings, a laid-back atmosphere and a LOT of customers. The ground floor is a bar, the first floor a cocktail bar, the second floor a dining room and the third floor a fancy (and rather pricey!) restaurant. No offence to chef John Torode (who, admittedly, annoys the heck out of me on TV), but the third floor menu is a bit silly, unless you're of the disposition to pay 85GBP for 30 grams of Beluga caviar, so we went for the second floor dining room. A word of warning, the place is LOUD. The architects seem to have thought that it'd be cool to open up the floor and connect the dining room to the cocktail bar downstairs, which is weird because not only does it waste space that could be taken up by tables, but also pointlessly adds to the background noise, which the bare brick does little to absorb.

That said, the menu has an interesting variety of starters and small dishes, ranging from gazpacho and salt cod dumplings to Thai duck salad and baby ribs with hoi sin sauce. My only gripe is that there seems to be no context for these things; it's a mish-mash of dishes from all over the place, but no recognizable identity, much in contrast to the setting in Smithfield, not to mention Smiths' eagerness to emphasize the importance of sourcing in its food. For the mains, however, there's only one thing you need to have, and that's Welsh black ribsteak with chips and mustard mayo. It's undoubtedly one of the best steaks you'll have in London. You might make the mistake of being tempted by more unusual choices, and the crisp belly of pork, for example, won't disappoint, but it pales in comparison to the steak and if you don't have it, you'll just have to come back for it anyway, so you might as well save yourself the trouble.

Desserts are pretty good, but not that sizeable, with the exception of the champagne jelly trifle, which HUGE (and not bad at all).

So for an incomparable steak, try this one out. It's very reasonably priced (a serious steak with for less than 12GBP in London - you won't find that easily elsewhere!), the food is great and it's a pretty cool place for an easy, mid-week meal out with friends or colleagues. Be sure to book ahead, though.

Salt cod dumplings

Thai duck salad

Crisp pork belly with mash potato and green sauce

Famed Welsh black ribsteak with chips and mustard mayo

Champagne jelly trifle

See also:

• London
• restaurants
• British
• steak

Bloods and Crips...

In answer to your question, Timothy Taylor introduced the concept of Bloods and Crips to describe two camps of chefs in his novel Stanley Park, about the trials and tribulations of a young chef in Vancouver. I don't even take credit for this factoid, as the book was a Christmas gift from schmandrea.

Regardless, in his latest book, The Nasty Bits, Anthony Bourdain has the following to say on the subject:

"Taylor's protagonist breaks down the world of chefs into two camps: the Crips - transnationalists, for whom ingredients from faraway lands are an asset, people who cook without borders or limitations, constantly seeking innovative ways to combine the old with the new - and the Bloods, for whom terroir and a solid, rigorous connection to the immediate region and its seasons are an overriding concern. "Crips" would describe chefs like Norman Van Aken, Nobu Matsuhisa, Jean-Georges Vongerichten, guys who want the ingredient, at its best, wherever it might come from and however long it might have traveled, practitioners of 'fusion'."

As for Bourdain's own inclinations, well, he seems to be sitting on the fence. For while he suggests that Bloods are more likely to cook with integrity, seeking to nurture rather than dazzle, he displays a healthy cynicism for old-school French stuffiness and the organic movement and declares that, "Fully conscious of the evil that men do in the name of food, I have a very hard time caring when confronted with an impeccably fresh piece of codfish."

But whether The Game or G-Unit would prefer stacks or foie-gras, I have no idea.....

See also:

• Food
• Bloods
• Crips
• chefs