Category: food

Paris: Day 3

November 9, 2023 • 9:00 am

Today’s post will be short as it reports just two activities, only one of which is photographed: eating and walking. The eating was at a bistro near Republique named l’Angés du Canal, and the walking was afterwards.

Once again I’d planned to go to the Exhibition of Félins at the Museum of Natural History, but subway work and rain diverted me. (I wonder if I’ll ever get to see those cats!) The weather finally broke and I walked a long way from the Bastille to central Paris, one of the world’s most beautiful walks in the world’s most beautiful city.

But back to nourriture. The bistro l’Angés du Canal is indeed close to the Canal Saint-Martin, one of the small waterways in northern Paris, has a good-looking lunch menu (here), and is highly regarded (here and here).  A short walk from Republique takes you over the canal, where there are MALLARDS as well as cormorants. The water isn’t that clean, but they look to be in good shape, and I watched a cormorant catch a fish.

I was happy to see mallards, which must be all-year residents here. At the earliest, Botany Pond won’t be filled until June, which is late for mallard nesting season.

I believe these are cormorants from the way they dry their wings, but I’m not sure. A reader might provide an ID:

A cormorant (?) drying off:

The Canal-Saint Martin is about 5 km long and a popular wandering spot, lined with restaurants, bakeries, coffee shops, and other places to linger. It’s crossed by many pedestrian bridges: this one looks like the one we crossed to get to the restaurant (source of photo here). As Wikipedia notes:

The canal is drained and cleaned every 10–15 years, and it is always a source of fascination for Parisians to discover curiosities and even some treasures among the hundreds of tons of discarded objects.

The restaurant. They also serve cheese fondue, but you can eat it only outside because of the smell, and it was too cold for that

We were immediately served an amuse-bouche consisting of sausage slices and a cup of peanuts, as well as the local dark bread:

Althugh there’s a 24€ lunch menu, we decided to order à la carte to try some of the specialities.

Appetizers: Winnie had ceviche de crevettes crues de Madagascar, i.e., raw shrimp ceviche. Sadly, it proved to be mediocre.

But my foie gras, on the other hand (please don’t shame me; I eat it once a year!), was tasty, served with two slices of toasted dark bread and a glass of chablis:

The restaurant is known for its beef, so I decided to have it in a form I’ve never eaten in Paris: a hamburger, described as “Le burger au bœuf wagyu, pain Thierry Breton.” I doubted that it would be real wagyu, but I was curious to try a gourmet French hamburger. It came with a basket of freshly-made potato chips, served warm. I swear they were among the best chips I’d ever had, and Winnie couldn’t stop eating them. They were replenished constantly.

The burger was large but the patty was small, and I was supposed to eat it with a knife and fork.  I took one bite, and discovered that although I had ordered it very rare (“saignant”, or bloody), it was well done. (Horrors!) I sent it back, which gave me a chance to order a real steak instead.

The well done burger. There should have been two beef patties, but they stuffed the Thierry Breton bun with veggies.

It turned out, fortuitously, that a Frenchman at a nearby table had ordered a well done burger (how is that possible in France?) and I got his and he got mine.  But when I sent the burger back, I decided to replace it with a real steak instead, “L’entrecôte de bœuf Hershire maturée, chips à la peau, salade, sauce poivre ou béarnaise.”  I think this is beef from Scottish Ayrshire cattle, but I’m not sure, I got the steak saignant again (barely cooked), and with pepper sauce. There was no salad, but I got more chips, which were addictive. The nude steak:

And with the pepper sauce, which although thick was not overwhelming.

You can see below how rare it was; properly cooked and delicious. With it I had a class of  Côtes du Rhône (two glasses of wine was enough for me yesterday). I suspect that many readers would find beef this rare repugnant. . .

And more chips arrived; the wine was free because they’d screwed up my burger order, a double felicity:

Winnie’s plat is not on the online menu: it was salmon and pollack filets on a bed of black rice risotto with saffron foam:

Winnie skipped dessert, as she was meeting another friend later for sweets, but I had the “baba, du rhum et d’la chantilly, nom de Dieu !” (The exclamation mark is on the menu. This classic bistro dessert was the best version I’ve had, as I didn’t overwhelm it with the rum (it was served sans rhum and I did the pour), the cake was delicious, and there were copious amounts of good whipped cream to top it with.

Oh, and it was shaped like a phallus:

I wonder if eating a dessert with a “nom de Dieu!” (“name of God!”) title would erode my atheism. The Martinique rum, left at the table in case you want to pour more on the cake, was also tasty, unlike the cheap bistro rums they often give you.

Soaked with rum and ready to eat:

I enjoyed my meal tremendously, especially after I’d replaced the burger with the steak, but I’m afraid Winnie wasn’t as satisfied as I.

Later she sent me a photo on WhatsApp of what she ate with her friend, simply labeled “dessert!”.  I now find out that it’s cheesecake from a place called “She’s Cake”  The cup contains a latte .

Today we dine at an old reliable friend, the bistro Auberge Pyrénées Cévennes, where they have a terrific salad with lardons and croutons and the biggest cassoulet you can imagine.

Paris: Day 2

November 8, 2023 • 9:00 am

Yesterday, which was again gloriously sunny, nevertheless began with a disappointment, We showed up at what was voted Paris’s best bistro of the year with reservations for four:

It also had a great-looking menu:

I was much looking forward to the menu, even thinking about the assortment of aged cheeses, but they had CANCELLED our reservation: apparently there was a glitch because reservations were made through another site. We were desolated.

Fortunately, there was another restaurant of high repute within walking distance across the Seine. And we could get a table there! So we went instead to Amarante (see here and here for glowing reviews).

I had a small bottle of dry cider since four of us would be splitting one bottle of wine, and I needed something to get the alcohol titer going. Here was the wine: a very good red from southern France:

The ladies had veal tongue, while I had påté. The påté was okay, but nothing special.

Tongue:

Påté:

The dishes. First, pintade, or guinea hen:

Mine: fatty pork belly with polenta. It was excellent, with a crackly outside as it had been cooked twice. But there was not enough!

Winnie and one of our friends had tripe with mashed potatoes and butter on top. I tried the potatoes, which were creamy and about half butter, but I cannot stomach tripe,

For dessert, chocolate mousse (not shown because I screwed up the photo), pain perdu (“French french toast”) with ice cream, and my “dessert”: a piece of St. Nectaire cheese, which was very good but not large enough.

Insufficient quantity! For post-meal cheese, I like to have at least three on the plate, but they offered only one,

But the restaurant did have a nice tidy kitchen:

Altogether, I’d judge the meal okay+, as the quality was okay but the quantity niggardly. When I leave a restaurant still hungry, as I did, the meal cannot not be considered excellent, for a foodie not only wants good food, but LOTS OF IT, and in Paris I eat only one meal per day. I stopped at a patisserie afterwards for a big piece of plum cake, and  then I was satisfied.

Here are other miscellaneous photos from the morning and right after lunch. We stopped by the Tour d’Argent, perhaps the most famous restaurant in Paris (but not the best). It’s famous for its view of Notre Dame and the Seine. We didn’t go in, but they have a fancy food store downstairs and, browsing, we saw the most expensive tipple: a 90-year-old bottle of Calvados (apple brandy) for 1750 euros ($1,870 US)

Below: a famous small street, the Rue Crémieux , sometimes called ” The most beautiful street in Paris ” as it’s lined with small and colorful houses.

From Paris Secret (translated):

But what pretty secrets does Rue Crémieux hide? Bordering this psychedelic street: 35 small terraced houses built on 2 floors at most were once built according to a model of a workers’ town very fashionable in the 19th century. At the time, the apartments were occupied by wealthy workers. In the 1900s, rue Crémieux witnessed an event that marked the capital: the flooding of the Seine in 1910. While at number 8 rue Crémieux, the river level reached 1.75m, a commemorative earthenware plaque has since been placed in the same place. If today, rue Crémieux is one of the  most popular spots in the capital, this has the gift of exasperating its inhabitants.

A photo from the link above:

We stopped in a grocery store to see if they had  petit suisse , a mixture of half-and-half crème fråiche and heavy cream. It comes in small yogurt-sized containers and can be served as a snack or, sweetened with jam or sugar, as dessert. Meanwhile, I was photographing the cat food, as French cat food is always presented as a gourmet item, as you can see. They have påté, delices du jour (“delights of the day”) , filets , and even “soup”! My theory, which is mine, is that the French like their beloved cats to dine as well as they do, and thus name the cat food as if it were human food.

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I was going to go to the Félins (cats) exhibit at the nearby Museum of Natural History , but we spent so much time walking its beautiful grounds, and looking at the latest outdoor instillation, that I decided to go another day. Two photos of the exhibit from the website:

The French Museum of Natural History, or Muséum National d’histoire Naturelle,  is world famous, and I used to visit it and the gorgeous grounds when I was doing part of a sabbatical at the University at Jussieu. From the Wikipedia site (bolding is mine):

The museum was formally established on June 10, 1793, by the  French Convention, the government during the French Revolution, at the same time that it established the Louvre Museum. But its origins went back much further, to the Royal Garden of Medicinal Plants, which was created by King Louis XIII in 1635, and was directed and run by the royal physicians. A royal proclamation of the boy-king Louis XV on March 31, 1718, removed the purely medical function. growing and studying plants useful for health, the royal garden offered public lectures on botany, chemistry, and comparative anatomy. In 1729, the castle in the garden was enlarged with an upper floor, and transformed into the cabinet of natural history, designed for the royal collections of zoology and mineralogy. A series of greenhouses were constructed on the west side of the garden, to study the plants and animals collected by French explorers for their medical and commercial uses.

From 1739 until 1788, the garden was under the direction of  Georges-Louis Leclerc, Comte de Buffon , one of the leading naturalists of the Enlightenment. Though he did not go on scientific expeditions himself, he wrote a monumental and influential work, “Natural History”, in thirty-six volumes, published between 1749 and 1788. In his books, he challenged the traditional religious ideas that nature had not changed since the creation; he suggested that the earth was seventy-five thousand years old, divided into seven periods, with man arriving in the most recent. He also helped fund much research, through the iron foundry which he owned and directed. His statue is prominently placed in front of the Gallery of Evolution.

Following the French Revolution the museum was reorganized, with twelve professorships of equal rank. Some of its early professors included eminent comparative anatomist  Georges Cuvier  and the pioneers of the theory of evolution,  Jean-Baptiste de Lamarck  and  Étienne Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire . The museum’s aims were to instruct the public, put together collections and conduct scientific research. The naturalist  Louis Jean Marie Daubenton  wrote extensively about biology for the pioneer French Encyclopédie, and gave his name to several newly discovered species. The museum sends its trained botanists on scientific expeditions around the world. Major figures in the museum included  Déodat de Dolomieu , who gave his name to the mineral  dolomite  and to a volcano on Reunion island, and the botanist  Rene Desfontaines , who spent two years collecting plants for study Tunisia and Algeria, and whose book “Flora Atlantica ” (1798–1799, 2 vols), added three hundred genera new to science.

That was a panoply of the early great biologists! Here’s Buffon’s statue in the garden, holding a bird. He appears to be sitting on a lion, too:

A photo from Wikipedia, labeled “A perspective view of the  Grande Galerie de l’Évolution  (called in English the ‘Gallery of Evolution’) and the Jardin des Plantes (‘Garden of the Plants’), in Paris.”

As you can see by the name, the exhibits are big on evolution, as the French don’t have the American problem of creationism.

They were setting up a huge outdoor exhibit of plant and animal statues in the gardens, which will begin soon and run through Christmas. They will be illuminated at night, which will be cool. Here are some of the statues; some, like the peacock even have hydraulics so they can move

Can you identify the plants and animals?

This spider is very large: about five feet long. It’ll be a sight when it’s lit up at night!

This is what the creatures will look like at night (not my photo, and no you can’t see the Eiffel Tower from the garden):

This is a real plant; can you identify it?

Finally, on the way home, I saw one of my favorite signs in Paris on the Métro. It has now been translated into four languages. But English translations of French lose something (I always get a French menu in a restaurant). I would translate the French here as, “Do not put your hands into the doors; you risk by so doing getting pinched VERY HARD,”  (Actually, I’d used “pinced,” but I’m not sure it’s an English word.) Isn’t that better than the English translation they give?

It turns out, after my ignorance of decades, that this rabbit has a name: it’s Serge, also known as Lapin du métro parisien, the Rabbit of the Paris Metro. 

From Wikipedia:

The rabbit design has changed over time, with the first version of it drawn in 1977 by Anne Le Lagadec. The rabbit has had an official Twitter account since 2014.

An early version of Serge, with a rounder face and smaller ears:

Serge’s Twitter account is here , and here’s a tweet from October 7, an important day for several reasons.

Translation: [Serge Day] Happy birthday to all the Serges! This special day is an opportunity to see if you really know me  Who will be my biggest fan? #RATP #Sergelelapin

The video shows him winking:

Sadly, Serge, in a “feminist makeover”, is now (unofficially) portrayed as a GROPER :

Parisian artist Zoia, 20, has  created her own set of stickers  warning against groping on the Metro.

In the stickers, Serge is pictured between two lady rabbits, one of whom brandishes a baseball bat while warning him: ” Be careful! Don’t put your hands on my body, you risk getting smashed very hard! ” (Warning! Don’ t put your hands on my body or you risk a very hard wallop!”

Sexual harassment on the Paris Metro is an ongoing problem with  a survey in 2017  showing that almost half of women had suffered unwanted attention, groping of threats while traveling on the Metro.

Finally, a Métro safety video, similar to airline safety videos. Serge makes an appearance at 1:19, but where are his ears?

h/t: Winnie for help with links and research.

Is this the world’s best sandwich?

October 9, 2023 • 1:00 pm

When I was depressed on Saturday afternoon because of the war in the Middle East, I thought I’d cheer myself up a tad by going to a place that has been in Chicago far longer than I’ve been here, and has been lauded for having “the best sandwich in the world”: Ricobene’s breaded steak sandwich. I’ve known about it for at least two decades, but somehow never hauled my sorry tuchas over there. I decided I’d do it at last.

From an article by Ted Berg called “Chicago has the best sandwich in the world and most people don’t even know it.”

The next paragraph of this post contains a bold and speculative claim about a sandwich, but I need you to understand that it is not an unresearched one. I worked in a deli, making sandwiches, for three years. At my last job, I regularly wrote sandwich reviews. I have traveled to 42 states and 20 countries and eaten sandwiches in most of them. I know sandwiches, I promise.

And the breaded steak sandwich from Ricobene’s in Chicago is the best sandwich in the world. Mark it down.

When ordered with mozzarella cheese and hot giardiniera — those are important — the sandwich presents a combination of flavors and textures that bests every single one of the thousands of other sandwiches I’ve sampled in my 34 years.

The primary ingredient, the eponymous breaded steak, is exactly what it sounds like. But even by the high standards we hold for fried steak, it’s amazing — piping hot, remarkably tender, and with a perfectly seasoned, tasty breading that somehow maintains some crispiness even when it’s slathered with the sweet tomato sauce that complements it perfectly.

The cheese adds some saltiness, some gooey texture, and works to bind together a very messy mix of ingredients (though somewhat inadequately). The giardiniera — a relish of pickled vegetables — adds some crunch and a vinegary heat that seems to amplify all the other delicious flavors in the sandwich. And the soft, fresh hero roll is somehow up to the challenge of containing this very sloppy sandwich without being too bulky.

Straight up: It’s a perfect sandwich. And so while I recognize the haunting fact that somewhere out there, someplace I’ve never been and someplace I might never be, there could be a sandwich as good as this one, I am unwilling to believe there are any sandwiches distinctly better than this one. That’s why I feel comfortable calling it the best sandwich there is.

How can you read that, live a 25-minute drive from Ricobene’s, and not try the sandwich? After having gone there on Saturday, I mourn my lost sandwich-less years in Chicago.

It’s an unprepossessing looking place in Bridgeport that’s mostly under the El; you have to know about the glories inside. Fortunately, there’s a big free parking lot across the street.

But the inside is full of feeders, most having the steak sandwich (I took mine away, which deprived me of the opportunity to get fries, an essential side):

The goods come within a few minutes, neatly wrapped inside two layers of aluminum foil and paper. It’s a messy sandwich so this is necessary:

And the contents. There are two big pieces of breaded steak (note: not one!), along with mozarella cheese and sauce, and of course the steak is breaded. I had regular grilled peppers and onions rather than the hot giardiniera, which I’ll get next time. And next time will be soon.

This, the “regular” (there’s also a “large” for $15), is a substantial meal, for the two big hunks of beef give heft to the sandwich. And the flavors are incomparable: somehow all that different stuff (see video below) combines into an ethereal piece of food. I thought to myself after finishing it, “Perhaps I should have ordered the large one.” But I wouldn’t have been able to finish it.

Is this the best sandwich in the world?  I don’t know, as I haven’t had all the world’s sandwiches. Nor have I had all of America’s highly-touted sandwiches, like Iowa’s famous pounded pork sandwich or some of the BBQ sandwiches in the South (I think BBQ is best on a plate, not a sammy). And if you count burgers as sandwiches, as that would complicate matters.

What I can say is that this is one of the best sandwiches I’ve had in America, and the best sandwich I’ve had in Chicago. If you come here, get one.

Here’s a video about it.

Israel: Day 14 (and a bit of day 13)

September 16, 2023 • 9:15 am

It’s Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, and also Sabbath. All this means that Jerusalem is closed down tighter than Mitch McConnell’s mind, and even Donald Trump has more neurons than there are people in the street.  Here’s a photo taken about noon on Jaffa Street, one of the main streets of the city. It’s BARREN! The only people afoot are pious Jews on their way to and from shul:

I saw NO stores or restaurants open today—not one. This is a disaster for me, as I decided not to purchase the expensive breakfasts in my hotel, thinking that surely some Arab or secular Jew would be serving noms somewhere.

I was wrong. Perhaps in the Muslim quarter of the Old City they are dispensing dishes of hummus, but after a long morning’s walk I’m too tired to find out.  And so I’m resting in the afternoon heat, with my only food for the day consisting of cookies.

But enough tsouris. Here are a few photos from my visit yesterday to Yad Vashem, Israel’s huge memorial to the Holocaust.  It consists of several parts, including the dominant Holocaust History Museum, in which I spent over three hours, as well as a Children’s Memorial, which was closed, as was the Hall of Holocaust Art (though there’s plenty of that art in the Museum), and also closed was the Hall of Names, which tries to document every person killed in the Holocaust. Here’s a summary from Wikipedia:

Established in 1953, Yad Vashem is located on the Mount of Remembrance, on the western slope of Mount Herzl, a height in western Jerusalem, 804 meters (2,638 ft) above sea level and adjacent to the Jerusalem Forest. The memorial consists of a 180-dunam (18.0 ha; 44.5-acre) complex containing two types of facilities: some dedicated to the scientific study of the Holocaust, and memorials and museums catering to the needs of the larger public. Among the former there are an International Research Institute for Holocaust Research, an archives, a library, a publishing house and the International School for Holocaust Studies; the Holocaust History Museum, memorial sites such as the Children’s Memorial and the Hall of Remembrance, the Museum of Holocaust Art, sculptures, outdoor commemorative sites such as the Valley of the Communities, as well as a synagogue.

A core goal of Yad Vashem’s founders was to recognize non-Jews who, at personal risk and without financial or evangelistic motives, chose to save Jews from the ongoing genocide during the Holocaust. Those recognized by Israel as Righteous Among the Nations are honored in a section of Yad Vashem known as the Garden of the Righteous Among the Nations. [One of these is Oskar Schindler, whose famous list is in the Museum.]

Yad Vashem is the second-most-visited Israeli tourist site, after the Western Wall, with approximately one million visitors each year. It charges no admission fee.

I was unable to make reservations online for some reason, but I showed up at opening time and was the first person admitted. Here’s Yad Vashem’s site on Mt. Herzl (where Theodor Herzl, the “father of Zionism” is also buried:

The Visitors’ Center is in front, with the large triangular History Museum behind it. Other places are scattered through the lovely wooded site.

No photos are allowed inside, so I took none. All I can say is that the Museum has a ton of stuff, arranged chronologically beginning when the Nazis took power, going through their gradual oppression of the Jews, the formation of ghettos, the camps and executions of Jews, and finishing (after several hours if you look at everything) with the Allied liberation of the camps, in some ways the most heartbreaking bit.

I’ll say only three things: of the Holocaust-related sites I’ve visited, this is one that, like Auschwitz, will change your life and view of humanity. Second, if you are in Jerusalem and don’t visit Yad Vashem, you’re making a huge mistake. Finally, given the tons and tons of evidence on display, anybody who denies the Holocaust is a blithering idiot. And yet many do; it’s as ridiculous as denying that the Earth is spherical.

Here’s Herzl’s grave, which I didn’t see, in a photo from Wikipedia. He died at only 44 of heart disease and was originally buried in Vienna. His remains were moved to Israel in 1949:

On the way back to town on the tram, there were quite a few ultra-Orthodox Jews (Haredim). Several, like this young man, were reading bits of the Torah and praying or reading aloud. (Note the diagnosic sidelocks, called payot). While I feel a genetic kinship (and, indeed, have one) with the Haredim, their beliefs—and especially the way they treat their women and pollute the minds of their children—appall me. Such is my inner conflict with religious Jews.

Back in town, there were police (with sniffer d*gs) and IDF soldiers everywhere, preparing for any holiday-related terrorism:

But on a nearby door, the Lion of Judah was there to protect me:

I went to lunch at the nearby place I call “Mr. Falafel,” because that’s what he looks like. A falafel in half a pita with all the trimmings, including fries, makes a satisfying lunch.

Yesterday’s lunch avec Fanta. I swear: I could survive on hummus and falafel alone, and they’re healthy!

Since today was a holiday, I figured I’d have a long walk around the ultra-Orthodox area of Jerusalem: the Mea Sharim. Insofar as they can, the inhabitants here live the life of a 19th century shtetl: no t.v., no music, schools teaching only religion, all men dressed in black with religious accoutrements, and so on. Many of the women shave their heads, covering them with wigs and scarves, and must undergo ritual purification after their periods.

And of course shabbos is observed from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday. I wanted to take photos, too, but tried to do so with some respect, not letting people see me with my camera. I realize that this too is disrespectful in a way, as I’m seeing these people as curiosities as well as humans, but sue me.

I’ve mentioned my cognitive dissonance about this group. They have so much diligence, and such respect for learning, but then squander it all on religious learning. Kids are brainwashed from birth, never getting a chance to have secular learning. Women are taught that their role is to take care of the home and breed prolifically; rarely do you see a mother without a passel of kids in tow. All this waste and oppression in the service of a delusion!

And yet why do I feel a kinship with them? I do not know.

Some photos from around Mea Sharim this morning. First a flag that I assume is the flag of Jerusalem:

The residents:

Haredim break out the fur hats, which can cost several thousand dollars, on special occasions like today. And remember: it’s hot!

Every haredi child I see breaks my heart. Their entire lives are mapped out for them, a life just like that of their parents:

Many of the haredim are poor and prefer to study the Torah rather than engage in jobs. The Israeli government, to its discredit, promotes this by giving them subsidies (ultra-Orhodox are also exempt from Army service). Some of the homes I saw were shabby, but I can’t say they’re all like that. When I took this photo I heard religious singing from within:

You never see a young family without a stroller, and often with four or five kids. The woman’s job is to have a big brood.

The man on the right is the only black Orthodox Jew I’ve seen in Israel.

All over the city are stickers showing the scary visage of Menachem Mendel Schneerson (1902-1994). But he wasn’t really scary, and was quite magnanimous for an Orthodox rabbi (read the bio):

From Wikipedia:

. . . known to many as the Lubavitcher Rebbe or simply the Rebbe, [Schneerson] was an Orthodox rabbi and the most recent Rebbe of the Lubavitch Hasidic dynasty. He is considered one of the most influential Jewish leaders of the 20th century.

As leader of the Chabad-Lubavitch movement, he took an insular Hasidic group that almost came to an end with the Holocaust and transformed it into one of the most influential movements in religious Jewry, with an international network of over 5,000 educational and social centers.  The institutions he established include kindergartens, schools, drug-rehabilitation centers, care-homes for the disabled, and synagogues.

Schneerson’s published teachings fill more than 400 volumes. . . He is recognized as the pioneer of Jewish outreach. During his lifetime, many of his adherents believed that he was the Messiah. His own attitude to the subject, and whether he openly encouraged this, is hotly debated among academics. During Schneerson’s lifetime, the messianic controversy and other issues elicited fierce criticism from many quarters in the Orthodox world, especially earning him the enmity of Rabbi Elazar Shach.

Schneerson moved to the US in 1941, eventually building his synagogue in Brooklyn. I visited there years ago, giving my non-Jewish girlfriend a tour of NY Judaism, and we were immediately swept up by Lubavitchers. She was spirited to the “women’s section” of the synagogue, where ladies were allowed to watch the real worship below from behind a small screen, while I was draped, despite my objections, with a yarmulke, a tallis, and tefillin wrapped around my arm. I was then forced onto the synagogue floor where hundreds of Lubavitchers were praying and davening. I refused to pray, of course, but they prayed over me, hoping that this would constitute a mitzvah that would hasten the return of the Messiah.

Curiously, many Lubavitchers believed that Schneerson was the messiah, and refused to believe he had died. Read about him on Wikipedia; he had an amazing life, working 18 hours a day every day and never taking a vacation.

Back to Jerusalem: I was getting famished and saw this sign, but of course the place was closed. Even as I write this my tummy is growling:

No soup for me! Kubbe has semolina dumplings in it. I won’t mention the soup dispenser in Seinfeld.

The lost and found police station, once the residence of the British consul:

Note the lions. This is what you get when you shoot into the sun with a dirty camera lens.

And, as I see so often, a sign where a terrorist attack occurred. Those who can read Hebrew are invited to translate it in the comments:

Jerusalem Monopoly—a “fast dealing property game.” I’m dying to find out what the properties are named.

Wait: I just found out!:

Locations include:

David’s Tomb
Teddy Stadium
Presidential Residence
Mamilla
Tower of David, Ammunition Hill, Mount Herzl
The Western Wall Tunnels
The Western Wall
The Kotel
The First Station
Montefiore Windmill
Old City Walls Promenade
Mea She’arim
The Hebrew University of Jerusalem
Lion’s Gate
The Jerusalem Biblical Zoo
Chords Bridge
The Knesset
The Israel Museum
Mount of Olives
Mahane Yehuda Market
City of David.

This board game can bring Biblical locations to life. It also teaches some basic math and counting skills through all the wheeling and dealing among players. Monopoly: Jerusalem Edition can also be an effective Hebrew School teaching aid for children ages 8+.

A kitty outside my hotel, where I was looking in vain for food:

And a kitty on the window of a sushi joint. Hebrew readers: what is it saying?

Lord, am I hungry. Where is my manna?

Israel, Day 9

September 11, 2023 • 9:45 am

I’ve been chilling in Tel Aviv, resting, walking along the sea, and eating, as sightseeing is thin on the ground here. This is a far more secular and modern city than is Jerusalem, and somehow I find the latter more interesting—though less relaxing. As Steve Pinker wrote me when I told him I was going to Israel for R&R, “Most people wouldn’t say that Israel is a place to go for some rest.”  But for me, resting is not the aim of a vacation, and I doubt that I’ll put in any beach time here, though there’s a beautiful beach on the Mediterranean right across the street.

However, there are several sights I want to see, and today I went to the first one: the modest and well-preserved domicile of Israel’s first Prime Minister, David Ben-Gurion, only a few blocks from our hotel.

First, though, some food—for humans and then cats.  Breakfast at the hotel; as usual, it’s the big meal of the day:

Fresh bread, and they have lox and an adequate cream-cheese substitute:

There is Turkish coffee, “American” coffee, or you can, as I do, order a cappuccino.

Part of the spread:

Fruit, yogurt and some veg (the fruit and veg here are infinitely better than available in the States. The melon, for instance, is perfectly ripe:

Vegetables and salads:

Cheeses, dairy stuff, tuna, and lox (depleted):

Eggs and western breakfast stuff (you can also order oatmeal, Belgian waffles, omelettes, and green shakshouka (see below):

Something I always get: the King of Israeli breakfast dishes, shakshouka (the classic red version with tomatoes):

Free red and white wine by the reception desk, 24/7:

And a free happy hour from 5-7 p.m. daily, with wine, hard liquor, juices, and all kind of tasty nibbles (I haven’t had a drink since I’ve been here: for some reason I lose my appetite for booze when traveling).  They will also make drinks for you.

Happy hour nibbles, and not insubstantial ones. Last night they had big veggie spring rolls:

I always check out the cat food in local grocery stores to see if there’s anything interesting. Here all we get is American-style cat food with Hebrew labels:

And a certificate of compliance with kosher specifications (kashrut) at a local pizza parlor. Even in Tel Aviv they take this seriously, as conservative and Orthodox Jews (though I’ve yet seen none of the latter here) take it seriously. Note that the certification must be renewed every five months.

A few sights on the walk to Ben-Gurion’s house. Below, a warning, though I’m not sure what it’s warning about unless you have a pacemaker. Are you in danger of having your hand fly off?

Tel Aviv is a center for Bauhaus architecture, and driven by seen some but haven’t photographed it.  I will as I come across it, Architectural Digest explains:

When the Nazis rose to power in Germany in 1933, resulting in the closure of the Bauhaus design school that same year, tens of thousands of Jews fled Germany to settle in Mandatory Palestine. With 60,000 new immigrants arriving within just a few short years, housing was urgently needed. Dozens of architects were commissioned to build a new city. Among the most influential European architects selected were six German Jews who had studied at the Bauhaus school in Weimar and Dessau. They were key to the development of Tel Aviv’s “White City,” whose moniker is attributable to its whitewashed façades.

This may be Bauhaus:

Thie certainly isn’t, but it’s interesting, like third-rate Gaudi:

And the nearby British Embassy, surrounded by barriers.

Israel harbors 94 embassies, of which 89 are in Tel Aviv and 5 in Jerusalem (the U.S., Guatemala, Honduras, Papua New Guinea, and Kosovo). In 2017, Trump, facing much criticism, moved the U.S. embassy to Jerusalem.

David Ben-Gurion’s modest Tel Aviv home still stands a few blocks from the sea, and is pretty much as it was when he died. Here’s a capsule bio from Wikipedia:

David Ben-Gurion (/bɛnˈɡʊəriən/ ben GOOR-ee-ən; Hebrew: דָּוִד בֶּן־גּוּרִיּוֹן [daˈvid ben ɡuʁˈjon] i; born David Grün; 16 October 1886 – 1 December 1973) was the primary national founder of the State of Israel and the first prime minister of Israel. Born in Płońsk, then part of the Russian Empire, to Polish Jewish parents, he immigrated to the Palestine region of the Ottoman Empire in 1906. Adopting the name of Ben-Gurion in 1909, he rose to become the preeminent leader of the Jewish community in British-ruled Mandatory Palestine from 1935 until the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948, which he led until 1963 with a short break in 1954–55.

Ben-Gurion’s interest for Zionism developed early in his life, leading him to become a major Zionist leader and executive head of the World Zionist Organization in 1946. As head of the Jewish Agency from 1935, and later president of the Jewish Agency Executive, he was the de facto leader of the Jewish community in Palestine, and largely led the movement for an independent Jewish state in Mandatory Palestine.

On 14 May 1948, he formally proclaimed the establishment of Israel, and was the first to sign the Israeli Declaration of Independence, which he had helped writing. Under Ben-Gurion’s leadership, the 1948 Arab–Israeli War saw the uniting of the various Jewish militias into the Israel Defense Forces (IDF), and the expulsion and flight of a majority of the Palestinian Arab population. Subsequently, he became known as “Israel’s founding father”. Following the war, Ben-Gurion served as Israel’s first prime minister and minister of defence.

There are three things to add about him. Without Ben-Gurion, it’s likely that Israel wouldn’t exist.  Second, he was an intellectual and deeply read man, which you’ll see in a second. Finally, he was deeply beloved by Israelis, and may have been the best Prime Minister ever. (He’s buried by a kibbutz in the Negev Desert.) Here’s a photo from Wikipedia:

Here’s his house at 18 Ben-Gurion Street (of course):

Except for some honors and awards, and items behind glass (his office is glassed off), the house is pretty much as it was when he died in 1973. It’s not humble, but neither is it grandiose. What makes it stand out most is the huge number of BOOKS.

Ben Gurion’s office (the only room behind glass). Perhaps this is just as it was when he died:

The kitchen and eating nook, with an old Israeli fridge:

Formal dining room:

Two bedrooms (looks like, as many couples did, they slept separately):

The living room adjacent to the office:

And oy, the books, divided by language and topic. Here, for instance, are his books on Hinduism:

. . . and on American Judaism:

LOOK AT ALL THESE BOOKS!

This is a panoramic shot encompassing bits of four rooms (click to enlarge):

Besides the books, there are many photos of Ben-Gurion with famous people and heads of state, as well as awards given him by heads of state, like this tusk;

David and Winnie:

David and Nixon (I don’t know who the woman is, but perhaps Ben-Gurion’s wife):

The old equivalent of bobblehead dolls. From left to right: Menachem Begin, Ben-Gurion, Golda Meir, and Theodore Herzl.

Finally, right by the door is a WEIRD MANNEQUIN of Ben-Gurion, perhaps to show how large (or, rather, small) he was):

There was only one other couple visiting the house when I was there, and it surely deserves more attention than that. I learned a lot by going there and reading up about its famous inhabitant.

Ben-Gurion had a wife, Paula, three kids, and yes, a few mistresses on the side.

Israel: Days 2 and 3

September 4, 2023 • 10:00 am

Note: click the photos to enlarge them.

I spent most of yesterday with a man who works with a private agency that translates documents from the Arab world (also Russia, China, and other countries) into English and Hebrew, so that we (and other government agencies) know what is being said in mosques and in Arab state media.

If you know where to look, all the stuff to be translated is online, including sermons in mosques.  Lots of horrific things have been revealed, but I’m not sure how much of what I heard is for public consumption. Suffice it to say that the day was very interesting, and I learned a lot about how Israeli security works.

On the way to meet my friend, I passed the “Kippa Man” stall, a place that sells only kippas, the Hebrew word for the Yiddish “yarmulke”. These are the skullcaps or beanies worn by observant Jews. There are many stores selling them in the center city, some (like this one) selling only kippas, while others sell them along with other souvenirs, like the tee-shirt below.

You can find a kippa to fit your style and taste. The prices below are 20-25 shekels, about 5-6 American dollars.

But you can also buy other souvenirs. Here’s one that caught my eye, but I didn’t buy it. (Wearing it on an American campus would get you demonized!)

You can get burgers at his McDonald’s but no milkshakes (or even milk). It’s kosher, Jake!

At my friend’s office, he showed me a rare document: Mahmoud Abbas‘s Ph.D. thesis, for which he paid a thousand bucks. Abbas, of course, is the president of the Palestinian Authority, apparently for life. (He was elected in 2005 for a four-year term, but extended it indefinitely, and is sill in office.} He’s also chairman of the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO). Abbas is 87, and apparently will leave office only in a box.

Abbas doesn’t read or write Russian, so it’s weird that he has a thesis written in Russian and conferred by a Russian university (it’s about the dangers of Zionism with an addendum that denies the Holocaust).

Tablet has an article about it, saying that although a 19-page abstract is available publicly, this document isn’t:

Abbas’ dissertation has been a subject of considerable interest over the years. The thesis isn’t publicly available: By all accounts, it is kept in an IOS special storage facility requiring special authorization to access.

Well, no, because I saw it. But I can’t read Russian so I can’t shed  any light on it.  It appears to be Soviet anti-Zionist propaganda, and I don’t know who translated it into Russian, or even if Abbas even wrote it (his signature is at the bottom).

Lunch at a nearby restaurant: hummus and falafel at last! It was very good hummus, thick and creamy, mixed with hot, crispy falafel balls and served with good fresh pita bread, but my host old me that there is far better hummus to be had in Jerusalem. Ergo my search continues. He also demanded more olive oil from the waiter for me to pour atop the dish. I was still full from he huge breakfast at the hotel, so this is all I ate.

The next three photos are by Jay Tanzman, whose captions are indented.

Public toilets (read the red sign):

“Information for Shabbath [Sabbath] keepers. The toilets are activated by pressing an electric button.”

JAC: Since pressing a button seems to involve forbidden “work” on the Sabbath (which is why my hotel has a “Sabbath elevator” in which you don’t have to press buttons, as it stops on every floor), why is it not considered “work” to flush by pressing a button in a public toilet? This must have been the result of a fierce rabbinical discussion. Later, I was told that perhaps the Orthodox are being warned that they would have to press a button if they flushed, and that might deter them from doing their business.

But why not use the system they have in U.S. airports: when you stand up, the toilet automatically detects that and flushes. Standing up after using the john cannot possibly constitute work! As for urinals, they can flush sporadically without pressing buttons or pulling levers.

Jay says of the photo below: “Speaks for itself.”

[JAC: The Gazans were firing missiles at Tel Aviv just in the last two weeks. Fortunately, the Iron Dome knocks out nearly all of them. I have been told what to do if I hear the “incoming missile” siren: run, following everyone on the street.]

A group of young soldiers on their way somewhere. I surreptitiously took their picture from behind. I cold have gotten a picture from the front earlier, but I didn’t know how well that would go over.
Note that there are both men and women in the group. In Israel, everyone except the Orthodox Jews must serve two to three years in the IDF (Israeli Defense Forces). Even Gal “Wonder Woman” Gadot did her stint. The exemption of the Orthodox from military service constitutes, in my view, an unwarranted coddling of religion, one of the things that makes Israel a partial theocracy.

This is a photo Gadot put on her Instagram showing her reporting for duty at the IDF for the first time. She served two years, from age 18-20, as a combat fitness instructor. This is after she was crowned Miss Israel in 2004.

Gadot in uniform. I love Jewish girls! (And don’t dare criticize her for doing her mandatory military service for Israel. She’s already taken a lot of heat for that from those who hate Israel, simply because she was born here.)

This afternoon we went scouting for good hummus again. On the way we saw what looked for all the world like an Orthodox Jew playing electric guiar for money in the streets. That can’t be rue (for one thing, the hat is wrong, and it’s culturally inappropriate. You be the judge:

And for lunch we went to a well known hummus joint in the center city, Hummus Ben Sira. The hummus plate came with lots of fresh pita bread, a big plate of hummus topped with whole chickpeas and olive oil, salad, and tomatoes, pickles. and sliced onions. It was a lot of food!

The hummus was creamy and delicious, beating yesterday’s selection (see above) by a long shot.

Jay had shakshouka, described by Wikipedia as

a Maghrebi dish of eggs poached in a sauce of tomatoes, olive oil, peppers, onion, and garlic, commonly spiced with cumin, paprika and cayenne pepper. According to Joan Nathan, shakshouka originated in Ottoman North Africa in the mid-16th century after tomatoes were introduced to the region by Hernán Cortés as part of the Columbian exchange.

This spicy dish is common for breakfast in Israel; in fact, it was on this morning’s breakfast buffet:

A hungry customer waiting for his hummus:

Jay (Tanzman) and Anna (Krylov) in front of the hummus joint. If you’re in the Center City, I recommend this place, but the most famous ones in Jerusalem are in the Old City, where we’re planning to go tomorrow.

A panoramic view of the walls around the old city:

. . . and more shelters. The area near where I took the photo above is a gorgeous residential area, but houses are hideously expensive in Jerusalem:

One of the quiet and lovely streets nearby:

A house sign, which I’m told shows the family name:

And of course no matter where you are, there are always bomb shelters nearby:

Jay found a friendly and meowing tabby street cat to pet. Jay and Anna own two kitties, including a gorgeous gray British Shorthair named Mishka (see here; their other kitty is Geddi).

This has got to be the world’s fanciest YMCA: the Jerusalem International YMCA, whose construction began in 1926 and took 7 years.

Across the street is the King David Hotel, the most prestigious place to park your carcass in the city.The hotel, which partly housed British military before Israeli independence, was site of an infamous Jewish bombing in 1946, when the Brits were fighting the Jews.  From Wikipedia:

The British administrative headquarters for Mandatory Palestine, housed in the southern wing of the King David Hotel in Jerusalem, were bombed in a terrorist attack on 22 July 1946 by the militant right-wing Zionist underground organization the Irgun during the Jewish insurgency. 91 people of various nationalities were killed, including Arabs, Britons and Jews, and 46 were injured.

The hotel was the site of the central offices of the British Mandatory authorities of Palestine, principally the Secretariat of the Government of Palestine and the Headquarters of the British Armed Forces in Palestine and Transjordan. When planned, the attack had the approval of the Haganah, the principal Jewish paramilitary group in Palestine, though, unbeknownst to the Irgun, this had been cancelled by the time the operation was carried out. The main motive of the bombing was to destroy documents incriminating the Jewish Agency in attacks against the British, which were obtained during Operation Agatha, a series of raids by mandate authorities. It was the deadliest attack directed at the British during the Mandate era (1920–1948)

The King David Hotel:

From Wikipedia, the hotel after the bombing:

A colorful kitty statue nearby:

. . . and a fancy and very expensive pottery shop, which had lovely handmade stuff:

We saw a lot of security today, with heavily armed cops stopping people on the street (we didn’t know why) and asking for their ID. Across the street from our hotel as we returned, two guys were getting badly hassled by the cops.Again, I have no idea why:

Thus endeth Day Three of the Trip to Israel.

Galápagos: Fernandina

August 15, 2023 • 9:30 am

Yesterday morning we made a trip to Fernandina Island, the youngest in the archipelago, and home of a still-active volcano

First, though, I’ll show you the breakfast buffet.  There are several stations, and a fair amount of Ecuadorian food:

The omelet station:

Pancakes and, at upper right, green banana balls, which I couldn’t resist:

A great breakfast: mango juice, Ecuadorian latkes, a cheese and ham tortilla, a sausage, a green banana ball, fresh fruit (the pinapple is terrific), and I had a cappuccino on the side. I try not to eat too much at breakfast, as I never have it at home.

On to a 2.5-hour walk on Fernandina Island:

Fernandina Island (Spanish: Isla Fernandina) is the youngest and third largest island in the Galapagos, as well as the furthest west. It has an area of 642 km2 (248 sq mi) and a height of 1,476 m (4,843 ft), with a summit caldera about 6.5 km (4.0 mi) wide. Like the other islands, it was formed by the Galápagos hotspot. The island is an active shield volcano that has most recently erupted in January 2020.

Here it is, with the top shrouded in clouds. Even the ship’s naturalists cannot access most of the large island. Like us, the naturalists must stay to the paths, which are only along the shore. Clearly there are undescribed species on this island, though it’s regularly accessed by scientists who are allowed to climb to the top.

Here’s where it’s located (arrow):

And the view from the landing site:

Some flightless cormorants, a famous endemic bird species that’s hard to find and photograph. It is the world’s only flightless cormorant, and of course is found on an island with almost no predators.

My one shot of this bird in which you can see the rudimentary (or vestigial) wings.  They do help the bird to balance, showing that a vestigial trait need not be a useless trait.

Two love-cormorants courting. Females are larger, so she’s probably on the right.

And of course the marine iguanas, the world’s only marine lizard, are ubiquitous.

And when I say “ubiquitous”, I mean ubiquitous. You have to watch your step lest you tread on one

Face on shot:

Head shot. Darwin found this lizards odious and ugly, but I think they’re lovely and marvelous:

Our naturalist guide displaying the skeleton of a marine iguana:

A lava lizard. There are seven species in the archipelago, and I don’t know which this is:

The Galápagos mockingbird, one of four endemic species in the islands. The mockingbirds were found one species per island, which helped give Darwin the idea that the species descended from a common ancestor and formed in geographic isolation. This notion, however, didn’t come to him until several years after he returned to England. Mockingbirds are mentioned in The Origin, but you won’t find any word about finches in that book.

Another lava lizard; it may be the same species as above:

The endemic lava cactus. Imagine: a cactus that can grow on lava! It helps create soil that eventually allows other plants to grow.

These markers are set in the ground by the National Park and are used by satellites to measure the movement of the tectonic plates on which the islands lie.

An endemic Galápagos sea lion:

And her baby nearby. Babies suckle until they’re nearly three years old, though they also learn to hunt a bit during that time.

A contented mom.

A Sally Lightfoot crab, quite colorful.

Another herd of marine iguanas. They need a name for a group of these animals. Can you suggest one?

A lava heron hunting crabs. This species is also endemic to the archipelago.

The Galápagos brown pelican, an endemic subspecies though some sites call it an endemic species. Since it’s geographically isolated from other pelicans, this is a judgement call.

Sea lion with her pup, which, we were told, was about a year old.

She had another pup nearby, only a couple of months old. They can nurse several pups of different age at once as they have delayed implantation.

While going back to the ship, a young pup climbed up on the dock and made friends with a traveler.

Finally, I didn’t know there were endemic snakes in the archipelago; I thought the only endemic reptiles were the iguanas and lava lizards. I was wrong; behold the Galápagos racer!

A lot of life to see in only a couple of hours!

The Miami airport

August 11, 2023 • 1:00 pm

Miami isn’t one of my favorite American airports, as it’s large and unwieldy, but it does have decent food.  Scouting the offerings on the internet, I found that there’s a highly-rated Cuban restaurant in Terminal D, close to my departure gate. Here it is:

I knew what I wanted: ropa vieja (“old clothes”), a shredded and stewed mess o’ beef, black beans and rice, and platanos maduros (fried bananas). And they had these things, and, as Hemingway would say, I deserved them and they were good. I added arroz con leche (rice pudding) for dessert. No Cuban coffee for me, though, as it’s very strong and I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight.

Here’s my lunch. Only $19, very filling, and inexpensive for an airport:

By the way, the Hemingway trope comes from his wonderful short story Big Two-Hearted River, in which Nick Adams, back from World War I, where he was badly wounded (as was Hemingway), goes fishing in Michigan to recover. His wartime trauma is never mentioned, only implied, which is what makes the story great. But I remember the food bit in that story: Nick backpacks to the river to fish, but takes along a can of beans and a can of spaghetti. He tells himself that if he’s willing to carry those heavy items in his pack, he deserves to enjoy them.

In honor of that story, I once mixed a can of prepared spaghetti (no meat) and a can of pork and beans and ate them. And damn if it wasn’t good!

Hemingway knew what he was about, though later he’d be eating potato salad and quaffing beer in Paris, as he describes in his book A Moveable Feast:

“It was a quick walk to Lipp’s and every place I passed that my stomach noticed as quickly as my eyes made the walk an added pleasure. There were few people in the brasserie and when I sat down on a bench against the wall with the mirror in the back and a table in front and the waiter asked if I wanted beer I asked for a distingue, the big glass mug that held a liter, and potato salad.

The beer was very cold and wonderful to drink. The pommes a l’huile were firm and marinated and the olive oil delicious. I ground black pepper over the potatoes and moistened the bread with the olive oil. After the first heavy draft of beer I drank and ate very slowly.”

Hemingway didn’t write about food very often, but when he did it always gets your saliva flowing