RAVE - Mr Turner

Covers the last 25 years or so of the life of J.M.W. Turner, the English painter of land- and sea-scapes. Now, before you switch off, it's admittedly a slow-ish piece, but one that's full of rich characters, and richer language.

Timothy Spall plays the grunting, harrumphing Turner who - when not grunting or harrumphing - busies himself with his brethren at The Academy, wobbles off to paint a scene, or grabs his housekeeper for a quickie.

Turner's interactions with John Constable, John Ruskin, Benjamin Haydon, and the rest of the rabble at The Academy are wonderful, and turn this into a rewarding couple of hours.

"Capital", as Turner might have said.

RAVE - The Imitation Game

It was heartening to find the movie theater completely full today, replete no doubt with hundreds of other party-poopers who would happily do anything rather than sit around listening to their families squabble over their Christmas dinners.

And what better way to mark the fake birthday of Jesus (his being born on December 25 is about as likely as Father Christmas barreling down one's chimney after all) than seeing a war film about the cracking of the Nazi Enigma machine by a group of upper class braniacs.

While it was entertaining, full of droll, British humor, and arguably THE key development of the second World War (historians have calculated that the breaking of the code machine shortened that war by two years and saved 14 million lives), it dragged on a bit. There was no real explanation of how the code-breaking machine actually broke codes, or why there needed to be a dozens of rotating dials on the front. Instead, the film focused on what an utter dick Alan Turing was to everyone who had the misfortune to meet him. His being gay certainly led to his prosecution, sentencing, and eventual suicide, but surely it had nothing to do with his mathematical acumen.

And whatever possessed the producers to cast airhead Keir Knightley as one of those braniacs?

REVIEW - Wild

Wild in name only, this film will appeal mostly to the ladies.

Reese Witherspoon undertakes an 1,100 mile walk following the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) that starts near the US Mexico border and follows the Sierra and Cascade Mountains. She does this to try and come to terms with her Mother's death, and we are treated to incessant flash-backs to her family life.

Quite why she embarked on the hike so woefully ill-prepared is another matter. She had the wrong-sized walking boots, the wrong fuel for her camp stove, a tent she had clearly never seen outside of its packaging, and tons of equipment she didn't need and wouldn't use.

One noteworthy item for my friend Bill, who works at REI in Houston, was the excellent service Witherspoon's character got when she called REI from a stop on the trail and they sent the correct pair of boots for her to pick up at her next stop.

Whether that single incident makes it worthwhile for anyone, including REI employees, to sit through this film is anybody's guess.

REVIEW - Exodus: Gods and Kings

Perhaps it's a mite disingenuous to describe this as "not as bad as Noah", because that particular 138 minutes was almost entirely reprehensible. This story of Moses' exploits with the Hebrew slaves in Egypt, which led to the parting of the Red Sea was 10 minutes longer and several tonnes of camel crap lighter.

But as with Noah, I found Ridley Scott's (intentionally?) clumsy treatment of the alleged source material to be annoying. I don't remember the Bible talking of Moses fighting in battle with Pharoah-to-be Ramses. I thought it spoke of him being a kind of quartermaster, overseeing the Egyptian grain supplies. But maybe that's my memory.

What WAS shoddy was the way the climactic scene on the bed of the - temporarily dry - Red Sea, just happened to see Moses and Ramses in a convenient face-off as the giant tidal wave of the returning waters apparently bore down just feet away, with - in  the next scene - them both looking dry and perky on their respective banks of that Sea.

As always, for the woman's / non-believer's / non-hypercritical view, we need to consider Mrs P's opinion which was "Good movie. I really enjoyed it".

As they say, it takes all sorts.

RAVE - Chinos

OK. So it may not be the best time to give one's opinion of a restaurant after first having had a skinful of alcoholic refreshment. But, at least I can remember that Chinos is:

a) right across the street from the 'skinful' supply joint Elixir (which is very handy indeed)
b) in the space formerly occupied by Andalu
c) owned by the Tacolicious group (which is a bit like saying "our guitarist was formerly with Led Zeppelin")
d) serves killer Manhattans to go with its killer dumplings

Which brings me to the food. I'll dispense with listing the dishes we ordered, because Gareth and I had a LOT of food - or at least we ordered a lot. That means I won't be describing the many dumplings, pot stickers, and wontons we ordered, each replete with some kind of Chicken / Pork Belly / Riblet accompaniment, and great sauces.

They were all freakishly good, while still probably falling a bit short of one of the City's better established Chinese food specialists.

It all goes to show that if you combine good friends, good food, and the right amount of liquor, you can rarely go wrong.

RAVE - Foxcatcher

What makes this film Weird with a capital W is not the story - it's a true story and one that's told very modestly, stripped of any razzle-dazzle. No, what's truly weird are the actors.

Steve Carell - Anchorman, Date Night, The Office, etc. - is completely unrecognizable in looks, style, and delivery. Channing Tatum - Magic Mike, 21 & 22 Jump Street, White House Down, etc. - is relatively recognizable facially, but playing with the knuckle-dragging gait of a wrestler is nothing like his usual pretty boy self. And Mark Ruffalo - The Normal Heart, Zodiac, and other somewhat under the radar stuff - is equally cast out of type, as Tatum's brother, also an Olympic Gold Medal wrestler.

Carell plays mega-rich John Du Pont, who seems to have little to do but fret in the shadow of his mother. He decides to support the US Olympic wrestling team, initially by hosting Tatum and Ruffalo - the Shultz brothers - and their fellow wrestlers at Foxcatcher, his country estate and state-of-the-art  training facility. The team is preparing for the 1988 Seoul Olympics.

Du Pont's strange character is played brilliantly by Carell, and his innate weirdness culminates in
tragedy for the group.

RAVE - Absinthe

Never let it be said that I bear a grudge, but I last went to Absinthe around 14 years ago. On that
occasion I was accompanied by two colleagues and friends from the UK. Their generosity at picking up the $600 bill for the three of us was ruined by the waiter who sarcastically commented on their 12% tip saying "It's a shame you didn't enjoy your meal". Now, say what you want about $70 tip being too little, too much, or just about right - the wait-jerk deserved avoiding.

Absinthe happens to be a place we drive past a few times each week, so I've had plenty of time during those 14 ensuing years to dwell on that experience. It was therefore with some degree of anticipation that we ventured in there for brunch on Saturday.

Suffice it to say that the experience was top notch, with impeccable food, excellent service and a pleasant ambiance to the place.

At last - perhaps several years after the fact - we've discovered somewhere that rivals Foreign Cinema for a weekend brunch.

RANT - The Hunger Games: Mockingjay, Part 1

The clumsiest title of the year is dampened still further by the absence of anything that could be described as action, or excitement, or drama.

I'd been determined to avoid this film ever since the trailers started a few months ago, but when your wife suggests every couple of days that you should take her, and after ignoring those suggestions a few times she says she'll find someone else to go with her, you've just got to knuckle down and go.

But even she said as we trudged out of the theater, "that was a bit dull, wasn't it?" I bit my tongue and waited until we were in the car before I uttered the predictable - but very accurate - "I told you so".

In fact, I told her so after the first, and the second installments of this by the numbers series of movies.

While Stanley Tucci's Hunger Games TV host is a reprehensibly over the top character, several members of the cast have that vacant, "Go on, slap me!" look, with Josh Hutcherson / Peeta Mellark at the front of that line.

For me, 90 minutes would be infinitely better spent watching that slap-fest rather than another freaking Hunger Games movie.

REVIEW - Rosewater

Quite why an Iranian-Canadian journalist living in the UK warranted a Mexican actor to play him in film is beyond me.

I can perhaps understand why talk show host and general mirth-maker John Stewart chose to make this his screenwriting and directing debut. The journalist Maziar Bahari was arrested and interrogated in an Iranian prison for four months with part of the evidence used against an interview he did on John Stewart's TV show wherein jokes were made about him being a CIA spy.

The famous Iranian lack of a funny bone meant they took those "jokes" seriously, but either the treatment Bahari received was nowhere near as "brutal" as the media would have us believe, or John Stewart decided to play this one straight and with little dramatic action but this was all too pedestrian for me.

I hope I'm not making light of Bahari's suffering, but blame John Stewart.

RAVE - Marlowe

We ate a its former location a couple of times, and it's lack of drama made me determined not to go again.

But they've moved into new premises, and my wife made the reservation so I was persuaded to try out Marlow v2.

And I guess I was happy I did, because the old Coco500 space has given the Marlowe team a brighter, airier space while still keeping it relatively intimate.

The Duck Liver Cromesquis - basically a bowl of duck liver pate, grape, and mustard seed was delicious. As was my wife's Steak Tartare, poached egg, and crostini, My Marlowe Burger, with caramelized onions, cheddar, bacon, horseradish aioli, and fries was good, if not up to Serpentine or Slow Club standards. Her Smoked Black Cod was -  according to her ladyship - "killer", although thanks to my aversion to fish I'll have to take her word for it.

RANT - Presidio Social Club

This place is a time machine - and not in a good way.

Built in 1903, frequented by a clientele that's got a 50s feel about it, and with a menu straight out of the 70s, The Presidio Social Club reveals all that's bad with American habits. Just like gun laws, the Bible Belt, and Country & Western music, there's such a huge number of prospective buyers and marketing dollars to spend in their direction that literally anything will sell, and often in large volumes.

Added to that you have the herd instinct. It may be the same in your town, but here in San Francisco there are lines of wannabe diners outside the dullest establishments, simply because they've been pronounced THE places to eat. That can be the only reason places like Presidio Social Club, Town Hall, Bi-Rite Creamery et al are so popular. Maybe the food was once the best that could be had, but most - if not all - of these places have long been eclipsed by better alterantives.

Having said that, my Gruyere cheese toast with tomato fondue dip was a tasty, if un-adventurous appetizer. On the other hand, my Prime rib was fatty and devoid of anything approaching flavor. My date was once again the brightest thing in the busy room, but her food was similarly lackluster.

Needless to say, we will not be making the trek to this outpost again for a long while.

RAVE - The Theory of Everything

A film about the relationship between Professor Stephen Hawking and his wives and family, rather than an examination of his theories on time, and the origin of the universe. Half way through, I was regretting that we were unlikely to hear much about his thinking process, but by the time the film was done I appreciated it for what it was - a love story.

The story began at Cambridge, where new student Hawking meets the woman who would eventually become his long-suffering wife. Very soon after, he starts to develop signs of a motor neuron disease - better known here in the US as Lou Gehrig's Disease), a condition that would within months consign him to a wheelchair and to a life communicating via a computer.

The love and kindness shown to Hawking by his wife, his family and friends is uplifting while never being condescending. This proved to a powerful, moving film, with exceptional performances from Eddie Redmayne and Felicity Jones.

And while we're on the subject of the wives of incredibly intelligent men, my own loving, long-suffering better half announced on our way out of the theater that, unlike Mrs Hawking, who got a somewhat fit female helper for Stephen, if I ever found myself requiring 24 hour help she would find me a fat, Thai boy. That's how much she trusts me!

RAVE - Interstellar

I love long movies. They allow a story to really be told, and characters to properly be developed. But during the nearly 3 hours of Interstellar, I had plenty of time to think of other things, like the last time we saw comic Eddie Izzard.

He explained some of the many things that are wrong with the way people use language: Imagine the first manned space mission to Mars. After the rocket blasts off from Earth, and powers out of Earth's gravitational pull, the crew performs its systems checks and secures themselves in the cryogenic sleeping pods that will keep them in suspended animation during the seven year flight. When those years have passed, and the craft nears Mars, computers wake the crew. They emerge from their pods, stretching as they gradually wake up. They make their way to the front of of the ship and there, laid out before them, is the red planet. Now THAT is awesome.

A damned hamburger is NOT awesome!

Interstellar was awesome, in it's breadth and scope. But several times I could hear chuckles from the viewers around me as another leap in logic, reason and space was made by the director and crew. It's apparent that director Chris Nolan wanted to pay tribute to Stanley Kubrick and his 2001. So just like 2001, Interstellar was in part tedious, part illogical - or at least tough to explain, and in part "awesome".

Matthew McConaughey powers through wormholes and ripples in the time-space continuum as he leads a mission to uncover a new planet for earth's inhabitants to occupy. The kind of thing the U.S.S Enterprise has been doing for thirty years, without anyone aging faster than anyone, or any thing else.

REVIEW - The Coachman

After my falling out of love with the other notable British-themed restaurant in town - The Cavalier - we decided to try out recent newcomer The Coachman for an alternative.

While The Cavalier attempts a somewhat retro British look - hunting prints, wood, and subdued colors - The Coachman borrows from many styles, refreshingly un-British in its decor.  It did have - for at least the night we were there - a distinctly UK-centric soundtrack playing in the front third of the place, which is mainly taken up by a few tables and the open kitchen. The middle is occupied by a long bar, and the rear opens out into the main dining area.

That's where we waited - and waited - for the server, first to bring menus, then to come back and ask us if we wanted anything to drink, then to go away and order the drinks from the bar, then to come back and ask us if we'd chosen our meals, and so on for what seemed like an eternity. It would be easy to say that the "eternity" detracted from the overall experience. But the main detraction came from the food.

The chips and gravy, braised lamb, pork belly, cheddar, and fermented chili were sloppy, tasty, inelegant, and filling. A little too filling for us to complete our entrees: Ribeye (tough), Yorkshire pudding (overcooked, and greasy), and Mash (ruined by having too much parsnip); Lamb roast (fatty / chewy), curried aubergine, savory oatmeal, and roasted carrots.

All in all a not very good advertisement for British food.

RAVE - Nightcrawler

A Nightcrawler is a video cameraman who chases police crews investigating crime scenes during the night, shooting video he then sells to news stations.

Jake Gyllenhall plays a low-life LA resident who makes a meager living stealing chain-link fencing and man-holes from the street, selling them to scrap metal merchants. He happens upon a car crash and sees a guy capturing the scene on video as the police pull an injured woman from the wrecked car.

His instincts tell him there's an opportunity to make some money from this, so he trades a stolen bike for a video camera and police scanner, hires a down-on-his-luck Riz Ahmed as his navigator and scanner listener and the two begin their night-time activities: listening for the police radio codes signifying crashes, shootings, home invasions and other mayhem then driving to the scene pressing their camera into the (preferably) bloody action.

The film uses Gyllenhall's character's despicable nature and non-existent moral code, and TV News Director Rene Russo's equally despicable focus on broadcasting the nastiest of that mayhem to suck in audiences.

This makes for a pulse-pounding film that examines the motives and morals of the people behind the news we watch on TV.

RAVE - US Formula 1 GP

My good friend Bill and I made our annual pilgrimage to the US F1 Grand Prix in Austin, Texas this past weekend.

I have to say that I don't particularly like the Circuit of the Americas. I'm glad the US looks like it has finally settled on a proper home for the annual US leg of the F1 series. I just wish it was a bit easier to get to, a lot easier to park at, easier to get an affordable hotel within an hour's drive of the circuit, easier to get around the place once you've schlepped in from one of the parking lots, easier to see more than one corner of the track, and easier to get something healthy to eat.

Despite the unlikelihood of any of that list getting fixed, we'll no doubt be there again next year.

RAVE - Cotogna

Not being a chef sometimes makes it hard to judge a restaurant. Last night we ate at Cotogna which, to our non-professional tongues, seemed like it produced the best-tasting pasta in San Francisco.

But - and here's the relevance of my non-chef statement - pasta is pasta is pasta. Isn't it? I mean, provided it's freshly-made in-house, it's only a combo of flour and eggs. Logic says every chef's pasta should taste roughly the same.

However, last night we debated whether Cotogna's home-made pasta was better than last week's home-made pasta at SPQR.

The decision, narrowly, fell to Cotogna.

My appetizer, the Raviolo di ricotta, comprised a poached egg inside a pasta shell. While that in itself combines the devil's own ingredients, the execution was impeccable.

The rest of the meal: Mrs P's Burrata, radicchio & pomegranates, and Pappardelle with muscovy duck, and my Pork Loin with sunchokes and apples were equally outstanding. Together with the service, this place consistently manages the complex algorithm that makes up a perfect date place.

All I had to do was bring the perfect date.

RAVE - Placebo at The Masonic

It still surprises me when I visit a venue where its founders - in this case the weird and wonderful Freemasons - probably anticipated receiving guests with more formal attire and intent but now entertains bleached goths and assorted die-hard Depeche Mode-rs.

And so it was last night, when the gloriously loud Placebo played.

We'd seen Placebo a couple of times before, but I'm still in credit with Mrs Page concert-wise, so she was happy to join me for an eardrum punishment session on the balcony of the Nob Hill Masonic Lodge.

Brian Molko has a voice that can cut glass, and that plus four guitars, two keyboards and a drummer who worked up a real sweat attempting to out-do the rest made for a great show.

REVIEW - Fury

Despite all the Brad Pitt hype, this turned out to be just another war film, and a not very good one at that.

It was hampered by a weak story: a five man tank crew under Mr Perfect Hair slugs its way through Germany during the closing stages of WWII, while breaking in a new recruit.

It was further hobbled by crushingly unoriginal dialog. I know tank crews are not particularly renowned for their poetry, but Pitt's line "The war will end some day, but before then a whole lot of people gotta die" probably had that other great artillery commander William Shakespeare turning in his grave.

It was somewhat interesting to see the war from the bowels of a tank, but it didn't turn this pedestrian affair into anything like the trailers would have us believe.

RANT - Her

A film for those who believe their lives are empty and meaningless, Joaquin Pheonix plays a nerd going through a divorce who has a "relationship" with his operating system.

Unlike most people who have a love hate relationship with their Windows O/S, this serves a a salutary reminder not to get in too deep with their otherwise enabling technology. "Apple fan boys" anyone?

Perhaps Phoenix's silver screen weaknesses are warning enough. Heaven knows his mustache, apparently ripped from Sonny Bono's face sometime in the 70s should be some indication of his lack of backbone.

Aside from standing by and waiting for the obvious disaster, there's little for the viewer to do as Phoenix bumbles through life as a letter writer - interesting that in a world where technologists can create super-intelligent operating systems there's still a need for people to write letters - frittering away his real life.

Not for the first time I was tempted to bludgeon the actor with his "smart" phone.

RAVE - Kill The Messenger

Another true story turned into a movie, this one about a journalist working for the relatively small-time San Jose Mercury News uncovering the machinations of the CIA, who unbelievably helped a Nicaraguan drug cartel import and sell tons of Cocaine in the US during the 90s.

The CIA's misguided (i.e. criminal) involvement was driven by their need to help fund the Nicaraguan Contra rebels in their fight against their government's communist leanings. The fact that they did so by enabling the spread of crack use in America's largest cities was jaw-dropping in its ineptitude.

I remember taking my brother to see All The President's Men when it first came out and him shaking his head when we exited the theater saying "that was dull". Well Lawrence, my dear brother, Kill The Messenger bears a lot of that film's hallmarks, but it's definitely not dull.
 

RAVE - Pride

I may have said before - once or twice - that I often mix metaphors and judge movies by their covers, having a pre-formed review in mind before I even sit in the theater and pop my first handful of Raisinettes.

And so it was, a few days before we saw Pride that I said to a group of friends that we intended seeing this movie but I feared it would be full of the obvious South Wales coal miner versus Gay Londoner jokes, just like Marigold Hotel was full of the British retiree versus Indian humor.

But I was wrong.

Pride turned out to be funny, as most British comedies full of regional accents and observations tend to be, and not stereotypical in any way. Well, it was stereotypical, but not in a demeaning way.

It was based on the true story of the epic battle between two of history's least likeable characters, the miner's leader Arthur Scargill and Margaret Thatcher. Scargill led the miner's through a year-long strike and Thatcher was her right-wing self.

A gaggle of gay campaigners in London saw the pressure and criticism undergone by the mining communities echoing their own experience and decided to collect money in support of one particular mining village in South Wales. They visited the village with the first of their collections, and initial mistrust and anti-gay bias turned into mutual trust and collaboration.

The soundtrack - full of 80s gems from Soft Cell, Culture Club, Joy Division et al - was knockout, as were the acting and the script.

REVIEW - Automata

"Different Strokes" neatly sums up my view of this movie. More accurately, it sums up the views of other commentators on this mish-mash of Blade Runner, I Robot, and every other Robots-Go-Wild-and-Take-Over-The-World sci-fi story in between.

Admittedly, there are those Asimov fans who tend to like virtually anything based on the great One's writings. Then there are the "scientists" who like to debate the propensity of machines to evolve.

This is a low-budget attempt - certainly lower budget than Blade Runner or I Robot. It's Bulgarian-made - albeit starring a decidedly unglamorous Antonio Banderas as an Insurance agent investigating robots that may have been tampered with, but set in a similarly post-apocalyptic landscape that turns out to be more conducive to robot existence than human.

Without giving away any more of the rather obvious plot, I'll just consign this to the Would-a/Could-a pile.

RAVE - Fleet Week

If you like the sound of thundering engines overhead, watching the Fleet Week air show from the deck of a boat in San Francisco Bay is about the best way to experience it.

Our boat was a modest Red & White cruise charter, but at least it had a bar and food, and the weather was sunny enough for us to spend most of the three hours on deck enjoying the sight of seemingly thousands of other craft weaving their way around the Bay while various daredevil pilots did the same just above us.

Everything - from the aerobatic crop dusters, through the US Navy Blue Angels, to the United Airlines 747 coming in so low it looked like it was going to land on the Embarcadero - was a hoot.

REVIEW - Nombe

I could probably summarize our experience at Nombe the same as that at Hillside Supper Club - great service but so-so food.

The vibe was allegedly "Japanese American", although the food seemed to have little Japanese influence and mostly American diner.

What it really had going for it was that the San Francisco Giants were playing a baseball game against the St. Louis Cardinals, and - as is the case in every diner and even some of the supposedly classier places here - the game was on the TV. The fact that the Giants won, and thereby made it through to the World Series was good enough. The added bonus was that Nombe is on Mission street, which turned out to be celebration central for every local Latino and his banner-waving, whoopin' and hollerin', car-horn honkin' pals.

I hope over the coming weeks to be doing more celebrating of the Giants' progress through the World Series, although I expect to do little of that from a table at Nombe.

REVIEW - Hillside Supper Club

A decent, if unspectacular Bernal Heights restaurant that leans heavily on its neighborhood-ness - which basically equates to easier parking - and not a whole lot more.

Service was a high note - another product perhaps of the place not being super full, despite it being prime time Saturday night (even in Bernal Heights they must have something going on, eh?)

Our appetizers - Mussels, Roasted Garlic Soup, Meatballs ("Alright, but not as good as mine", said Mrs. P), and Duck Liver Mousse ("Not the best I've tasted, and certainly not as good as the other night at Cafe Claude", said yours truly) were just OK.

Our main meals - Roasted Local Black Cod, Garganelli Pasta, and Chicken Trio (Leg, Sausage, and Farm Egg) followed the same thread - fresh and decent, but not particularly noteworthy.

That's what one gets for being unadventurous I guess.

RAVE - SPQR

We revisited this non-North Beach Italian restaurant for only the second time in over ten years, and were reminded what we had been missing during that decade.

First, it's still hard to get a reservation, even with so much competition in the city, and particularly at the "good" end of Filmore. But we were with special friends, so with a little extra forethought and a month's notice, we got a Friday night table.

I don't remember exactly what we had. After our appetizers of suckling pork confitura, brassica and grains salad, hamachi crudi and the like, the dinner blurred into a feast of flavors and excellent Rosso di Montalcino.

The bustling atmosphere and great company did nothing but enhance the experience.

We're looking forward to 2024, when our regular next visit looms.

RAVE - Gone Girl

I'm really in two - make it three minds about this latest film from Ben Affleck about a guy whose wife goes missing leaving him to suffer under the spotlight of police and TV investigation.

On the one hand it's a tense movie, full of tightly-wound characters that ooze menace, and a story that keeps you guessing long after the credits have rolled.

On the other, it's an unevenly-paced film that had me first of all wondering when something interesting was going to happen, then when it did thinking the film was about to end, to the final third where a lot happened without resolving many of the loose ends.

My third mind was occupied by the inane audience that, like so many I find in SF, seem to be unbalanced in their participation - laughing out loud at non-comedic moments, or screaming at non-scary ones.

But after all was said and done, our conversation on the way home was full of items that were left unresolved, with activities incomplete and the big question: "Did it all really happen, or was it all in his or her mind" left unanswered.

RAVE - Jardiniere

We last dined at Jardiniere over 10 years ago, and found it a delightful spot mostly occupied with diners squeezing in an early meal before going on to the theater, opera, or symphony nearby.

I was excited to go again, not only to celebrate our 11th Wedding Anniversary, but also to see if it had lost any of its late night style. We needn't have worried, as it was special in every way.

The ambiance - that of relaxed luxury from the moment we left our car with the parking valet and sat for pre-dinner cocktails at the bar occupying the ground floor - to that of the busy restaurant up the sweeping staircase. The well-controlled efficiency of the many, many staff permeated the evening, where the standards were impeccable.

We splurged on the tasting menu, 10 courses of oyster, caviar, halibut, albacore tuna, wagyu beef, pork belly, hazelnut mousse, and a variety of amuse bouches to keep us engaged.

Jardiniere offers a refreshing change to the many temporarily trendy, impossible to get into places that spring up all over San Francisco.

RAVE - A Walk Among The Tombstones

Liam Neeson is an ex-Cop, and a recovering alcoholic. He's employed as a private detective by a drug trafficker whose wife has been abducted and murdered by two serial abductors and murderers who seem to be targeting the families of criminals.

I've heard this described as a B-Movie, but we thought it was A-caliber, with a very strong story line with albeit B-Movie undertones. It was dark, brooding, relatively slow paced while still being engrossing with not an ounce of fat.

There's nothing much else to say - there's no intense action, no unexpected plot twists - just good old detective sloggery.

RAVE - Stone's Throw

First of all, take a cab. Take a horse. Just don't try and drive - or more specifically - don't try and park anywhere near this place. It's impossible. Tellingly, once you reserve your table they tell you they have a deal with Uber that gives you a piddling 5% of your taxi fare off your restaurant bill. Did I say it's IMPOSSIBLE to find a parking space without half an hour of circling?

Anyhow, with that embuggerance out of the way, we enjoyed the food - we were in high spirits, which helped - and the service from everyone we met was excellent.

I'm repeating myself, I know, but we enjoyed the food. Mostly.

The Duck Pate and Mousse, with French's Mustard, Cornichons, and Warm, Soft Pretzel was f.a.b., while the Brentwood Corn Risotto, with Summer Truffle, Trumpet Mushrooms, and Tetragonia was equally delightful. Mrs Page really enjoyed her Pan Seared Salmon, Brentwood Corn, Chanterelle Mushroom, and Sauce Diable, while I devoured my Prime Beef Ribeye, with Tomato-braised Romano Beans, Confit Potatoes, and Toasted Garlic Vinaigrette.

If I was to criticize - and I will - the menu writer is perhaps a bit too full of himself, as I found it all a bit over-written without properly describing the wine, the beer, or even the food. And the decor seemed to be all over the place, with no cohesive theme.

We'll probably go back again sometime, but we'll make sure the chauffeur circles the block in the Bentley while we relax inside.

RAVE - The Drop

One of these days, someone will make a movie set in Brooklyn, or New Jersey, where the sun occasionally shines, and people occasionally have a smile of their faces. But neither were to be seen in this gloomy portrait of a bar used as a drop for the ill-gotten gains of a Chechen gang.

One side-note was the devastating logic used by the dour barman, Bob Saginowski when he told Cousin Marv that he was wrong to call them Chechnyan. "But they come from Chechnya" said Marv. "Right, but you don't call people from Ireland 'Irelandians' do you?"

Bob was played by Tom Hardy, who among other roles was Handsome Bob in RocknRolla - despite Mrs Page constantly referring to him as "Gorgeous George".

Bob's slow-burning love interest was Naomi Rapace. I seldom remember actresses from their earlier roles. My excuse this time was that she looked unrecognizable with eyebrows (she was eyebrowless in The Girl with The Dragon Tattoo trilogy).

And the Drop bar's former owner, James Gandolfini, was in his last role before sadly passing away.

Bob and his love interest were not the only slow burners here. The film's pace, tone, and action was almost always on a low heat, which allowed us to focus on the excellent performances by our main trio, and equally on the plot. It took some time to develop, but it was worth it in the end.

RANT - The Cavalier

It might be a little unfair to Rant at The Cavalier, and it might also be a little uneven of me to flip from Raving about it the last couple of times we've eaten there, but my judgement is based on sound bias.

Coming from England, I had hoped that The Cavalier's intent of being a "British Gastropub" would mean their execution would be somewhere higher than pubs - gastro or otherwise - reach in England.

But it ain't.

The fact that - as their web site proclaims - it was set up by the "owners and creators of the critically acclaimed restaurants Marlowe and Park Tavern" - both of which I have come to dislike (and not for their food, necessarily), nailed their aspirations, and their fate firmly to the mast.

The Cavalier's attempts to out-Brit the British failed on every front:

• Farrow and Roasted Beets, with Basil, Pea Tendrils, and Pumpkin seeds was basically a small seed salad.
• Lamb Strumpets, with Pickled Mint and Chile tasted of nothing, aside from the hard-to-achieve dull-tasting mint.
• Fish and Chips, with two small pieces of "seasonally caught" fish, "thrice-cooked" chips - I'd have been happier with once-cooked, and tasting perky, rather than three-times cooked and being decidedly un-perky - and minted peas that one had to dig for amid the always uneventful mountain of watercress.
• Ale-brined Berkshire Pork Tenderloin, calvados and apple jus. Mrs Page tellingly thought her sides of Roasted Brussels Sprouts and Cabbages stood out on this dish, an opinion I'd rarely share where sprouts and cabbage were concerned.

Come on Ramsey, Heston Blumenthal, and Jamie Oliver - where are you when we need you?

RAVE - The November Man

We had varying opinions as we left the theater after seeing Pierce Brosnan shake the mothballs off his secret agent suit.

My wife had high expectations of the movie, and came out disappointed with its violent tone. In perfect disharmony I had low expectations based on the rather dull, been there done that feel from the trailers, but found myself surprised for a few reasons:

a) There's still plenty of life in the wrinkly Brosnan
b) A little bit of muscle never did anyone any harm (unless it does in fact, harm them)
c) There are still too many heavily-armed cold war types swanning around in Serbia to put it on my "must visit" list, and
d) Brosnan, the CIA, and those heavily-armed cold war types seemed to have been sprayed with equally heavy cop repellent as there's not a single anti-crime official attracted by the various explosions, gun fire or car chases perpetrated around Belgrade or any other location behind the former Iron Curtain.

This was an old school spy versus spy story, with enough intrigue and action to keep 50% of the Page household happy for ninety minutes or so.

RAVE - Afflicted

A low budget but nevertheless engaging story of Derek and Clif, two Canadian friends who plan a year long trip around the world and intend filming and blogging about the trip as it progresses.

One snag is that Derek has a blood clot near his brain, and this clot could erupt at any time. It's no condition to begin a round the world trip in my esteemed medical opinion but hey, my medical opinion is usually reserved for haranguing my wife's - and by association, her family's - advice on potions and tinctures to be deployed when one sneezes.

Where was I? Or more importantly, where were Derek and Clif? They started their trip in Barcelona, then on to Paris by train where they meet up with some friends. These friends seem like just the pair you need when visiting Paris, organizing a night out at a club where the main intent is to get Derek hooked up with one of the local ladies.

All seems fine until the friends discover Derek passed out in bed, covered in blood. There's no sign of the "lady".

Derek seems OK when he's awake and showered, so he and Clif continue their travels to Italy. After a couple days Derek starts to display symptoms of an unusual disease. On the positive side he can see better than before, but on the negative his skin is discolored and blotchy.

And then things go pear-shaped. The film bears some of Blair Witch's hallmarks, but comes out mostly unscathed.

Which is more than I can say for Derek.

RAVE - 1760

While it's not the best-looking restaurant around town (it's on mostly ratty Polk Street, and is perhaps a bit cafe-ish for a full on date) the food definitely stands out - in flavor, presentation, and execution. Mostly.

I say "mostly" because there were a couple of misses along with the hits.

We started with the Shishito Peppers - a favorite of mine made even better by them being served with chopped olives, hazelnuts, and smoked sea salt. Then came the first miss of the night, the Lollipop Kale, with Guianciale, red currant, and ginger. Quite why it was "lollipop" was a bit of a mystery, as it looked like regular kale. But hey, even the menu writer has to get his kicks somehow.

The second course was excellent. I had the fingerling potatoes, with charred avocado, cilantro and more nuts - roasted peanuts this time. Mrs P had the Hamachi Crudo, with pluots, avocado-yuzu kosho, and sea grapes. It was delicious, apparently, even though we had to consult a culinary dictionary to find out what animal / mineral / vegetable produces yuzu kosho, and an atlas to find out in what sea one grows grapes.

Yes, there was room - or at least my eyes told me there was - for a third course. And this was where my first miss of the meal came. I chose the Fried Duck Sandwich, with slaw, pickles, and spicy aioli. It certainly made an entrance, with a large steak knife skewering the bun. But once I took my first bite I'd had enough. There was just too much slaw, too many pickles, and not enough duck to taste. It was a good job I was already full up. Saving the course was my wife's BBQ Pork Belly, with corn porridge, peaches, and charred frisée.

All in all, a great experience, with interestingly - even adventurously - prepared dishes.

RAVE - The Trip to Italy

This movie - the second of two featuring Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon as a pair on assignment by The Observer newspaper touring and writing about restaurants - may be somewhat of an acquired taste, but man do I like that taste.

One IMDBer who clearly hasn't the taste described it as "the Beavis & Butthead of the BBC set". Alright, so the film sounds unscripted and the two comics incessantly bicker and banter, talking about their careers, and their women, often while doing impersonations of Tom Jones, Alan Bennett, Roger Moore and all the other Bonds. But it's definitely not Beavis & Butthead.

The first movie saw our two ad libbers touring The Lake District in England. This time they're on a culinary trip down the west coast of Italy. Aside from having Mrs. P go on and on about how I've never taken her to the Amalfi coast, the film was a real joy.

Great scenery, great restaurants, and great fun.

RAVE - Jack White at the Civic Auditorium

Sometimes all of your good deeds and times you took one for the team are repaid. And so it was last night, when Her Gorgeousness bought us tickets for Jack White at Bill Graham's Civic Auditorium.

Normally a soul-less venue - we saw possibly our worst show ever there one New Years Eve, listening to a dull George Clinton's Parliament support an even duller Macy Gray, preceded by a curiously dull Basement Jax - last night was literally and figuratively electric.

This was the third time we'd seen our Jack. The first was when the White Stripes' sound got totally lost in the wide open space of Shoreline Amphitheater. The second was part of a mixed bill at The Treasure Island Festival, where the execrable Tegan and Sarah were followed by the equally dreadful Vampire Weekend. The wonderful Gotan Project lifted our spirits until White's then band The Raconteurs appeared on stage. "At last" I thought, "decent guitars!"
Anyhow, after his recent appearance on Jimmy Fallon's late night TV show where for one of his songs he was accompanied by six female musicians, last night's performance saw him backed by a selection of old friends who managed to provide enough uplifting noise to match his screeching guitars.

PS - I have to credit official photographer David James Swanson for the pic. I'm still trying (unsuccessfully) to get the video downloaded from my wife's iPhone.

RANT - The Hundred Foot Journey

Yet again I have to say, if this was Mrs. Page's blog there'd be a glowing review of The Hundred Foot Journey. However, as it's my blog, the film gets panned, chewed up and spat out like the rubbish it is.

I have to admit my opinion was written in my mind as we strolled into the theater. The phrase "predictably slushy, and slushily predictable" sounded just right for what I expected to be a formulaic load of old mush. And so it was.

A family from India moves first to the UK when their restaurant is burned down by rioters, but the UK doesn't work for them so they tour France looking for just the right place to set up their new venture. The place they choose just happens to be the other side of the road - the "hundred foot journey" - to a classic French restaurant owned by Helen Mirren.

General merriment (not) ensues as the two eateries duke it out for custom. I won't be spoiling anything by telling you (because even The Pinball Wizard could see what was going to happen) the Indian son turns out to be a wonderful chef, and everything ends happily. Even for the decidedly undesirable Om Puri who, in a story line sure to pander to the film's Indian audience rather than anyone not brought up on a steady diet of over-engineered film romances, finds himself paired with the albeit aging but still solid 7/10 Mirren to his 1/10.

The only good thing about the film was the total lack of ridiculous singing and dancing.

REVIEW - Into The Storm

At least this film wasn't a disaster. Well, it was about a disaster, but it was decent enough to satisfy those discerning folks who'd rather sit through a predictable movie about the wind than watch The Expendables.

We earthlings must love disaster movies. We've had earthquakes, volcanoes, tsunamis and floods, contagious diseases, zombies, aliens of every shape and color, dinosaurs, and apes. And even though this particular type of disaster has already been done in film, Into The Storm out-twisted Twister.

The effects were special, although there were some flaws in logic, with the wind wild enough to raise airliners into the maelstrom but still managing to leave the good guys with their feet firmly planted.

At least it got me out of the house, away from the TV, albeit staring at a larger screen.

REVIEW - Lucy

Named after the alleged first ape from which we're all descended, Lucy is a woman duped into delivering a suitcase supposedly containing papers to a gang boss at his Taiwan hotel.

Surprise, surprise the suitcase contains not papers, but a powerful, brain-enhancing drug. Bags of the drug are implanted to Lucy's and three other unfortunates' intestines, and they're sent on their way to Paris, Rome, and Berlin (I think).

Lucy's package starts to leak, and her brainpower expands accordingly, from the basic sub-10% of its capacity that us humans normally use.

What transpires is visually interesting, but full of illogicality, inconsistency, and pointlessness.

Morgan Freeman files one of his standard 'egg-head without a clue' performances, while Scarlett Johansson shows that she's a lot hotter than Lucy's name-sake.

All in all, barely worth the time it took to watch.

RANT - Snowpiercer

A dull, overblown exercise that leans heavily on Orwell's 1984, and adds little except the - at first - interesting setting of this story, namely on an ever-running train that's powering its way to nowhere.

Set in a post-apocalyptic ice age, the train has to keep moving or else it, and earth's surviving members, would freeze. Quite how it keeps moving is left to our imagination. Maybe I missed the bit where the locomotive's power was explained during one of the film's snooze-induced moments. Who knows. And in the end, who cares?

The novelty of the entire story taking place on a train soon wears thin, as the less fortunate passengers are consigned to the rear, being fed re-processed protein "food", eventually battling their way through the more elegant passengers traveling in the forward carriages to the inventor and owner of the train at the front.

Tilda Swinton is unrecognizable as the go-between the train's front and back sections. And this film is equally unrecognizable as entertainment.

RAVE - Calvary

Now, you might think that seeing as our wives are off swanning around in England and Spain, Amo and I mistook the title of this film, thinking we were going to see a western about The Cavalry. But no, we knew this was a movie about an Irish Catholic who, since his wife had died made his vocation the Priesthood.

Brendan Gleeson and an array of odd-ball mostly Irish villagers play out the story of a Priest who is told during confession by one of his parishioners that he was going to kill him - because he'd been a good Priest. He's given one week to get his affairs in order, before they are to meet on the windswept local beach for the final - potentially murderous - scene.

This was a Philomena-esque film, with the pace and excellence of Nebraska. It was a brilliant script, choc-full of witticisms, sound logic and weird characters.

Our evening was rounded off with dinner at Dosa, and being chatted up by two tipsy. middle-aged women at the bar. 

Hope the wives are jealous when they hear this!

RANT - A Most Wanted Man

Much of the praise about this film seems to be accompanied by the parenthetical comment that it was Philip Seymour Hoffman's final film. He certainly wasn't looking like a man in peak physical condition in this one.

When a Chechen refugee arrives in Hamburg claiming his father's money - all 10 million plus dollars of it - the security forces spring into action. Well, they hardly "spring" into anything, certainly not action.

I wholeheartedly agree with one reviewer who said on imdb.com: "If you like long periods of watching Philip Seymour Hoffman driving in his car, or standing around smoking, then this is your kind of film. This film is so slow it's even slow for a John le Carre book. The film is so slow you don't have to worry about a toilet break. In fact, you'll probably see more action in the hallway than you will in the film". Thank you, drjgardner for those deservedly scathing comments.

I know it's lazy of me to simply use someone else's review, but this movie isn't worth wasting any of your time watching, or my time reviewing.

RAVE - Monsieur Benjamin

If I was in a grumpy mood, I'd summarize this place by saying "Great, but ...."

But as for today at least, I'm in a great mood, I'll just focus on the good points.

Monsieur Benjamin has only been open a few weeks, but it's already working well. The great service helps a lot with that, along with the size and decor of the place.

It has a large menu, with plenty of unusual choices, like Seafood Sausage, Beef Tongue Dijonnaise, Sweetbreads, and Marrow Bones.

We were much more conservative, and started with the Potato and Leak Croquettes, Duck Terrine, and Pate de Campagne, then had the Blanquette de Veau, and Duck Confit and Sausage. All were very good (remember, I'm in a great mood, so no "but ...")

The clientele was curiously old-ish. The oldsters weren't necessarily curious, but it was definitely an older crowd than we expected. Not that it distracted us, just sayin' ....

REVIEW - Some Firsts in New York City

Although I've visited New York many times - for business and pleasure - last week I experienced a few surprising firsts. At least they were for me.

For the first time I experienced the New York subway, traveling just a few stops from somewhere near my hotel in Chelsea, to Wall Street. It was a predictably uncomfortable experience, with the air oppressively hot and the trains crowded. I was reminded of a London friend who used to avoid the underground, saying "The Tube is only for poor people".

As we left the subway it started raining, so we sheltered in a Dunkin' Donuts. This marked my second first of the day. I've so far managed to avoid these darkest spots of the dark side, but I compounded my new error by having one of their coffees and wondered why on earth DD is taking market share from Starbucks. On second thought, as I also loathe Starbucks they deserve to have their market share dinged a bit.

Once in the Wall Street offices of our customer, I followed the chopper-spotters to the 9th floor where we were able to see President Obama's helicopters land him and his retinue at the East River heliport. They were whisked away in a fleet of black SUVs, allowing the dozens of ferries and rather more heavily armored boats to continue on their way.

My third New York first was definitely the high spot of the trip.

RAVE - Dawn of the Planet of the Apes

This follows directly - thankfully, so we can at least have some idea where the heck we are time-wise in this series of films that started after the ape-versus-human wars had decimated the earth to a point where even Charlton Heston looked good - from the last movie where the apes escaped back over the Golden Gate Bridge to the redwood forests North of San Francisco. Phew.

The troupe of genetically enhanced and evolved apes that escaped the lab in Rise of the etc etc are living and developing their culture in Northern California - which is more than can be said for many of the area's human residents today. But the world's deterioration - largely unexplained in the film - means that some of SF's remaining residents venture into the ape's region looking to get a power-producing dam working again.

This causes the effluent to hit the fan, with the two groups quickly escalating from grunts and bananas to clumsy speech (well, they are apes) and assault rifles. As with the latest Godzilla flick, downtown San Francisco - or at least computer generated images thereof - features heavily in the mayhem.

It wasn't as ground-breaking as the last Planet movie, although the gradual humanization of the apes is spectacular. What this one lacks is some context to the situation - there's little explanation of what's going on in other parts of the State, or the country, let alone the World.

RAVE - Eleuthera

I'd visited the Bahamas many years ago, and remember among other things meeting an elderly
American who congratulated me on my accent, saying "Oh, we just love your fake English accent". I was nonplussed, but surprisingly polite when I told him "It's not fake. That's how we normally speak!"

Anyhow, I was excited about visiting again, for many reasons aside from my accent. I was with my favorite companions - my brother and sister-in-law Lawrence and Beverley, and my wife.

We spent the first night in Nassau - the late arrival of our flights meant we missed our island-hopper to Eleuthera. When we arrived the next day on Eleuthera - minus Lol and Bev's luggage that was delayed at Heathrow by British Airways and only arrived 4 days' later - we stayed for 2 weeks at Sky Beach Club, a beautiful property with a few houses with their own pools, and a main bar, pool, and restaurant on an almost totally deserted beach.

Needless to say - but I'll say it anyway - the sun was hot, the water was warm, the company was fabulous, the food was pretty good, and the Rum Punches were even better.

As I've said, "the food was pretty good", but perhaps not unexpectedly a bit Caribbean island-ish - patchy in certain beach-centric places with Lawrence's barbecue offerings a high point as always.

Those "beach-centric places": Sunset Inn (3/10), The Rainbow (5/10), Skippy's (7/10), and The Beach House (8/10), were all within 10 minutes' drive of our house. We also tried the immensely forgettable Fish Fry night in Governers Harbor that, among other things taught me all about Country Rap - where traditional country line dancing is attempted while middle-aged white women-friendly Rap is played and yours truly stood by with beer in hand shaking his head in dismay.

We visited a number of beaches and they were each sparsely-populated, spotless, with pink or white sand. Eleuther is definitely a place for sand and sea lovers. Away from the beaches it's a surprisingly ordinary island, with few trees, and fewer roads.

It was one of those vacations - aren't they all? - where we were just not ready to leave when the two weeks were up.