Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Mercredi, c'est Ravioli.
Bloggers can go on, at sometimes amazing length, about their experiences says Meredith, who always goes on at amazing length about the most menial things, so she knows what she is talking about.
She goes to Chez Spencer, and for the first time, her friends have no names. No Hiya, no Joyce, no daddy and mommy, no Matt, Peter, Robert. Just my friends. What happened to Meredith's posse? Did they lose their nametags?
And those nameless friends, they don't talk. They don't say things like "I am beaming with delight owing to this fish soup" or "I liked every dish on the round table, but I like mine the best, and the one to my right the second best."
Despite the mute, anonymous people around her, Meredith is still herself:
There's a seven-course tasting menu, also. Small as it was, it was larded with luxury signifiers (foie gras, champagne, oysters, three mentions of truffles) and, most exciting, it was French. À la Lyonnaise, sauce verte, ProvenÇal, sauce Bearnaise: These are words with an almost erotic import for me.
It is most exciting that it is French, but it is also exciting that it is larded with luxury signifiers. Meredith is excited by luxury. By conspicuous consumption. It's no wonder she'll go to fancy place after fancy place: she is lusting not for food, but for dreams of riches and power. In a way, it's pathetic.
By the way, don't you notice anyone missing in the list of luxury signifiers? 7 letters, starts with an L. Also, do you notice that Meredith is displeased with the place (enough to write a scathing review after one single visit, even though the timidity in the cooking might have been due to, say, the chef being out of town that night). Can you connect the dots?
She goes to Chez Spencer, and for the first time, her friends have no names. No Hiya, no Joyce, no daddy and mommy, no Matt, Peter, Robert. Just my friends. What happened to Meredith's posse? Did they lose their nametags?
And those nameless friends, they don't talk. They don't say things like "I am beaming with delight owing to this fish soup" or "I liked every dish on the round table, but I like mine the best, and the one to my right the second best."
Despite the mute, anonymous people around her, Meredith is still herself:
There's a seven-course tasting menu, also. Small as it was, it was larded with luxury signifiers (foie gras, champagne, oysters, three mentions of truffles) and, most exciting, it was French. À la Lyonnaise, sauce verte, ProvenÇal, sauce Bearnaise: These are words with an almost erotic import for me.
It is most exciting that it is French, but it is also exciting that it is larded with luxury signifiers. Meredith is excited by luxury. By conspicuous consumption. It's no wonder she'll go to fancy place after fancy place: she is lusting not for food, but for dreams of riches and power. In a way, it's pathetic.
By the way, don't you notice anyone missing in the list of luxury signifiers? 7 letters, starts with an L. Also, do you notice that Meredith is displeased with the place (enough to write a scathing review after one single visit, even though the timidity in the cooking might have been due to, say, the chef being out of town that night). Can you connect the dots?
Labels: meredith brody
Comments:
at least she used a few of her allotted 50,000 words to delve into the history of the space. she actually asked the guy what the space was used for in a previous incarnation ... unbelievable! a watershed moment in the meredith chronicles!
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