RANT - Cafe Jacqueline, North Beach, San Francisco

First of all, this dinner would have been a complete disaster if it wasn't for Cheri and Gareth, who joined us for 3.5 hours in this horrible restaurant. Also, to stave off any "grumpy old man" aspersions, I wasn't feeling 100% when I went into the place. And so ...

Anyone peeking in through the window of this North Beach tiddler would think I've gone off the rails. True, first appearances are of the quaint living room of an elderly French maid. However, once inside, this wolf in sheep's clothing reveals its teeth.

After being seated by a gruff waiter (American, not French), my heart sank when I realized that everything on the menu was a freaking souffle. This place has no website, so there's no way in advance to learn of the total lack of variety. Now, I know that souffles are somewhat of a culinary art form, but I don't count Asparagus Souffle, Cauliflower Souffle, Spinach Souffle, Cheese Souffle, ad nauseum (literally), as any kind of entree choice. And each souffle had to be shared by two guests, so that cut the table choices down even further.

I could go on, but I'll summarize a few things that made this place such a wash-up.

1. It was over ONE HOUR from being seated to getting our first course - soup!

2. It was TWO HOURS before we got our entree!

3. And it was THREE HOURS by the time we got dessert! My Writer's Guild aspirations prevent me from having more than one exclamation mark after each of those zingers.

4. They only had one white wine chilled - and it wasn't the one we wanted. It wasn't much of a hardship to drink a Crozes Hermitage (red) while we waited for the white to chill, but it was strange that the tardy onion soup was scaldingly hot while they couldn't serve a sufficiently cold white wine.

5. You know how it is when you've been driving for several hours, and you arrive at home, park and switch off the engine, and you sigh. Deep. At that point you realize how negative the droning, incessant noise of the road, the engine, the traffic had been. That's exactly how it felt when Mme Jacqueline turned off her bloody Cuisinart after each souffle. The noise was constant and intrusive, adding to the already booming noise from the tables.

6. After all the web reviews about the "fabulous" souffles, they weren't. In future I'll remember to discount most of those tourist comments, and lump them in with the rest of the weak-ass "tiramisu was to die for" group.

RAVE - Stonehenge (2,000 BC), by Bernard Cornwell

Like many people I'm intrigued by how structures like Stonehenge and The Pyramids of Giza (and everyone else) were built.

Was it a virtually unlimited supply of slaves + ancient ingenuity + religious fervor?

I'm not sure how historically accurate this book is. I read with awe how the source for Stonehenge's blocks was chosen from Wales, by Druid priests presumably bored with the notion of choosing a place closer to the required site in modern day Wiltshire, about 70 miles west of London.

The story spends a lot of time fantasizing about the characters that might have been involved in the planning, selecting, retrieving, manhandling over 100 miles of hills and rivers, and finally erecting the temple. 

Hard to believe, Cornwell's story is likely closer to the truth than this folk tale from the 16th Century states: The Devil bought the stones from a woman in Ireland, wrapped them up, and brought them to Salisbury plain. One of the stones fell into the Avon, the rest were carried to the plain. The Devil then cried out, "No-one will ever find out how these stones came here!" A friar replied, "That’s what you think!," whereupon the Devil threw one of the stones at him and struck him on the heel. The stone stuck in the ground and is still there.

Of course, this was just one of the many structures built on this site since 8,000 BC. Earlier structures were made of sticks and antlers, or with fewer stones.

Nevertheless, whoever quarried the stones and brought them here, for its most recent makeover 4,000 years ago, this book is an interesting take on the project.

REVIEW - Inglourious Basterds

Notice, this is not a RAVE, just a REVIEW. The movie fell short of deserving a RAVE.

I can see why so many writers have praised Chistoph Waltz's performace as Col. Hans Landa over Brad Pitt's as Lt. Aldo Raine. Waltz is maniacally over the top at times, in a good way.

I liked the film - perhaps even loved it - yet somehow it was too typically Tarantino. Good character development, although maybe a little drawn out in places, and once you realized those repeated drawn out stretches were solely set ups for the next slice of action, the formula seemed a little artificial.

QT's work isn't reliably excellent:

Reservoir Dogs (1992) was shocking but patchy.
Pulp Fiction (1994) was perfect.
Four Rooms (1995) was again patchy (he only directed 1/4 of this film).
Jackie Brown (1997) was fabulous.
Kill Bill (2003/4) was mixed (ground-breaking but pointlessly long).
Sin City (2005) was just plain lame (The Rt. Hon. Roger Espley * points out that Mr T. only directed one scene from Sin City, so he's largely absolved of this stinker)
Grindhouse - Death Proof (2007) was shabbier than the B-movie roots it tried to emulate.

* Roger also claims Tarantino directed From Dusk Til Dawn, but he only wrote the screenplay (presumably getting drunker and drunker as he did so - have you seen it???)

Therefore, the so-so nature of Inglourious Basterds should come as no surprise.

RAVE - Big Bosoms and Square Jaws: The Biography of Russ Meyer, by Jimmy McDonough

Did you know Roger Ebert is a Russ Meyer fan, and wrote the script for Beyond The Valley of The Dolls? Nor did I.

It turns out that one of America's most loved film reviewers liked hanging around with Russ Meyer, because Meyer liked hanging around with well-endowed women.

When I was younger, I had no idea what Vixen!, Supervixens and Beneath The Valley of the Ultra-vixens were about. By the time I was old enough to appreciate them, they were already old hat.

This is a funny and well-written account of the life and times of the alleged inventor of the adult movie industry, a claim I'm sure Russ Meyer put about himself.

One snippet from Wikipedia is of special interest to me:

In 1977, Malcolm McLaren hired Meyer to direct a film starring The Sex Pistols. Meyer handed the scriptwriting duties over to Roger Ebert, who, in collaboration with McLaren, produced a screenplay entitled Who Killed Bambi? According to Ebert, filming ended after a day and a half when the electricians walked off the set after McLaren proved unable to pay them. (McLaren has claimed that the project actually died at the behest of main financier 20th Century Fox, under the pretext that "We are in the business of making family entertainment.") The project ultimately evolved into The Great Rock & Roll Swindle.

RAVE - 1491, New Revelations Of The Americas Before Columbus, by Charles C. Man

Nothing like the 1421 example above. This one reveals that not only were there well-developed civilizations here before Christophe landed (we already know about the Inca and Maya), but those "Indian" empires were preceded by several others going back as far as 15,000 years ago.

That means several things:

1) Whenever and from wherever these earliest settlers landed, most of Northern Europe was iced over, making the Americas the first or second world, not the "New World".

2) The many cities built by the earliest settlers (especially in what are now Peru, Mexico and Brazil) were way bigger than any then current European cities.

3) Lots of other interesting stuff.

RAVE - 1421, The Year China Discovered America, by Gavin Menzies

The incredible true story (or is it?) of how China discovered North and South America, Australia and Africa, long before Europeans.

Gavin Menzies is an ex Royal Navy submarine captain, and when he retired from the Royal Navy he combined his passion for history with his knowledge of winds and sea currents to retrace the steps Columbus would have followed on his path to the East Indies.

As we all know, he fetched up in what became known as the West Indies, and named the island on which he landed La Española, meaning "The Spanish Island". When d'Anghiera wrote his history of  the island in Latin, he translated the name as Hispaniola. Because Anghiera's account was translated into English and French very soon after, the name "Hispaniola" is the most frequently used name for that island. Of course, now its Eastern half is Dominica and its Western half is Cuba. 

This is nothing to do with the main story.

Briefly, Menzies surmised that other, much earlier ships discovered the island, and they might have been from China. Having retraced the prevailing tides and potential winds to China, he explores outwards from China, discovering not only that winds and tides could be used to plot ancient Chinese fleet movements up the West and East coasts of The Americas, to Africa and Australia.

The evidence he found to support his theories are stunning, and you need to read this book in order to decide whether he's gullible, or a genius.

To make matters even more intriguing, in the blue corner are a number of other "experts" who say they don't believe Menzie's theories: www.1421exposed.com

RANT - Product labels that take hours to remove

Having just spent 3 days soaking, drying, soaking, and scraping, to get 4 "Made in China" stickers off some new light fittings, I thought a potentially petty rant was in order. I know retailers don't want people switching one price label for a cheaper one while fiddling with products in a store, but why do they use cheap 'n nasty labels that require a flamethrower to remove them?

Next time I'm in a store and like the look of something, but see that it's got awkward stickers on it, I'll try to remember to say to a member of staff, "You remove these stickers while I wander around and do the rest of my shopping. I'll be about 30 minutes. If, by the time I get back, you've got those labels off, I'll buy the product".

RAVE - Roku

One of my favorite gadgets is the Roku player, initially released to allow you to play Netflix movies on your TV, but now allowing you to play Amazon.com's movies on demand, and most recently adding MLB.com. I know that Xbox and Wii now give you access to Netflix and Amazon on Demand, but the Roku interface is waaayyy better.

I've had it for over a year, but having watched so many movies over the past week, it occurred to me that I should be sharing the love. It costs $99, plugs in and works right away, and gives us handy alternatives to all the cable stuff we've already seen.

RANT - Got Juice? THIS RANT HAS BEEN INVADED AND OCCUPIED BY PAVEY PAGE.

Seeing as restaurants often let us down one way or another, it's an ideal time to summarize those let-downs, prompted by brunch this morning:

The first opinion is 100% Pavey, but she doesn't want the rest ascribed to her, as "people will think I'm just a complainer". Darling, they know that already.

1. How can so many restaurants in this allegedly health-conscious city have $4,000 coffee machines but not find it in their budget to spring for a $100 orange-squeezer, thereby requiring that guests searching for an orange burst resort to Od-bloody-wallah, or some other preservative-laden excuse for a juice? Props to Slow Club, for always having fresh oranges and knowing how to squeeze 'em.

Just to keep the lady happy, the rest are my personal rants:

2. Wait staff who tell you what THEIR favorite is on the menu. Who gives a flying wosname what rocks THEIR boat? Follow that path and one of these days you'll be lying face down in a pool of battered spider legs.

3. Real men don't "split a salad".

4. Waiters that ask "have you eaten with us before?" as a prelude to telling us they serve "family style", and suggesting that we order various dishes so we can share. Next time a condescending waiter asks me if I've eaten with them before, I'll say "No, but I've eaten several times at various restaurants. and I DO remember how to eat, so just shut up and take my order".

5. What's the point of serving iced water in a glass that's still hot out of the dishwasher? It's at the other end of the beverage scale to those fine establishments that keep their beer glasses in the freezer.

The following tips for waiters come from Mr. Clarity's excellent blog:

6. Good waiters never say “you guys.” It’s childish and trashy. In adult English, the plural of the pronoun you is you. In other words, you don’t need to say “you guys” or “you folks” or “you kids.” Just say “you.”

7. When guests have studied their menus and appear to be ready to order, don’t ask, “All set?” It makes you sound indolent and uncouth. And especially do not ask, “Have we decided?” The smarmy use of we in place of you irritates many guests because it reminds them of condescending medical doctors who talk this way. The traditional and polite question is, “May I take your order?”

8. When you are checking to see if guests are enjoying their meals, don’t ask, “How are you doing?” This wording implies that the guests are somehow responsible for the quality of the meals. The traditional, polite and logical question is “How is everything?” It keeps the responsibility where it belongs: on the chef.

9. When a guest appears to have finished eating, don’t ask, “All set?” And especially do not ask, “Are you still working on this?” The guest is a human being enjoying a nice meal, not a beaver gnawing through a tree trunk. The traditional and polite question is, “May I take this?” or “May I clear your place?”

10. When a guest has paid his check in cash, don’t ask, “Do you need change?” or “All set?” Hustling tips in this way is presumptuous and offensive. The traditional and polite response is, “I’ll bring you your change.” It’s up to the guest to say, “No, please keep the change,” or to quietly leave the tip from the change that you bring back to him (or her).

RAVE - District 9

2 words. Alright, 3, maybe 4 if you're being picky - The Fly, plus Transformers. That's if you don't want the higher-brow critics' view that this is an excellent allegory of racial tension disguised as a great action movie. However you paint it, it's a damned good film. The first 15 minutes need to be got out of the way before it settles into a story you want to follow, but settle it does, with only the grating South African excents getting in the way. Mrs. Page is convinced the closing scenes set this up for a follow-up, not least of which is the forced relocation of the aliens to District 10.

I've not given anything away. Just go see it for yourself.

RAVE - The Huntington Library, Art Collections and Botanical Gardens - Pasadena

Visited our friends George, Cecille and Peri / Perry / Peris (all 5 of them) this past weekend, in Pasadena. We were treated to a weekend of sightseeing and culinary indulgence. We visited The Huntington, one of those glorious country homes filled with treasures available only to the fabulously rich or government-funded. Rooms choc full of Gainsboroughs, original manuscripts (Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, Samuel Johnson's original Oxford Dictionary, and an original version of Audubon's Birds of America that would make my favorite ornithologist - that's YOU, Bill Eley - very happy). I bought a Johnson bio at the bookstore, but now need to buy "Samuel Johnson's Insults: A Compendium of Snubs, Sneers, Slights and Effronteries from the Eighteenth-Century Master". Sounds like my kind of read. So, dodge the paparazzi next time you're in LA, and chill out at The Huntington

REVIEW - Perbacco

If ever a restaurant deserved a "Meh", this is it.

It's just one of a dozen FiDi joints busy as hell at lunchtime (when the suits just need somewhere handy for the office), but much quieter at night (when most people opt for genuinely relaxing or romantic nosh somewhere more salubrious).

So, unless you're already downtown, this one's not worth the parking hassles.

RAVE - Jardiniere

I'm usually suspicious of places that advertise their handiness for pre- or post-theater dinner, as though the only reason you'd ever go there is because it's within a pirouette of the SF Ballet.

No doubt many people use Jardiniere, Absinthe or Paul K for that reason, but I believe Jardiniere is worth much more than that.

Overall, the atmosphere is elegant, almost glamorous. Maybe it was seeing Larry David dining with a group of no doubt less-whiny-than-he friends. Maybe it was the fancy balcony, or the sweeping staircase leading to that balcony.

It's one of those rare places in San Francisco where you feel inclined to dress up.

Curiously, I forget the specifics of the food. It's not particularly adventurous, just very well made, and rich.

RAVE - Desert Island Discs

The longest-running radio program in the world is BBC Radio's "Desert Island Discs".

Each week some public figure gets to slide into the studio and tell us which 8 songs, 1 book and 1 "luxury" they'd want with them if they were stranded on a desert island. Of course, the whole premise failed if you asked stupid questions like "what about electricity, and a CD player?"

There are dozens of reasons for compiling this list: the now extinct titillation of making mix-tapes for girlfriends, the fact that we've just got back from Fiji, and the hatred I have for those Facebook ads where you have to sign up to spam hell in order to pick from someone's list of favorite deodorant scents or ice cream toppings.

I have kept re-visiting this subject over the years (i.e. fretted constantly). What would I pick, in the unbelievably unlikely event that I'd be dragged onto the radio to pontificate about my "Top 10, or 8?"

OK, have to be sensible about this. My first temptation is to start with Motorhead and build the noise up gradually from there. But millions of people and a handful of close friends (all critics) will be cocking their shotguns waiting for a mistake like that. So, I have to have some rules:

#1. More of an objection than a rule: You can't possibly pick THE Top 10. I'd want it to be like "High Fidelity", where John Cusack and Jack Black (and that other, weedy guy), argue over the "Top 3 songs to play at a Klan BBQ". So, Top 10 Post Punk songs would be very different than my Top 10 British Blues songs. But, rules is rules, so HUGE compromises were necessary.

#2. You don't want to fall into the trap of picking stuff that's too obvious - so while I used to think that if I have to pick a strictly limited set of tunes for my desert island delectation, I'd better pick bloody long ones - out go Led Zepp, Lynyrd Skynyrd, along with obvious-and-dreadful U2 and their ilk.

One sobering realization is that, although my "hipster blinkers" convince me I'm keeping pace with what the ankle-biters are listening to now, there's a potentially unhealthy block of ancient stuff in this list!

Any road up (as they probably still say on Coronation Street), you can find the list here.

PS - The Jonas Brothers' pic is ironic. You'll have to listen really closely to hear any of their drivel on my desert island.

RAVE - Glasvegas show in San Francisco

Wowed by Glasvegas on Monday night with Felicia, David and Pavey.

- listen to Daddy's Gone, from Monday night's show
- and the official version

11 days in Paradise (or 8 + 3 days getting there and getting back) - Day 1

Destination Fiji (Yasawa Island, specifically). Left for SF airport around 5pm, Wednesday July 15, thankfully early enough to turn around halfway to come back home and pick up specs (mine) and hay fever tabs (hers), then head back south to SFO again. A short hop (look out for: RANT about airline schedules that allow 1.5 hours for a 45 minute flight, just so their late arrival % is kept lower than it would be if they were honest) to LAX, where within minutes of landing we learn that Air Pacific to Fiji is 12 HOURS LATE!!!!! The implications are capital letter-worthy. The hotel we're staying at on Yasawa, a little island off Fiji's main island ain't cheap, and we're going to miss our first night!

The "good news", according to the airline, is that they're putting us up for the night at the Westin LAX, and our plane will take off in the morning. Being comp'd at a hotel you wouldn't want to stay at under normal circumstances, and less so when it's instead of one you've been looking forward to for months is, um, sub-optimal. A dreary dinner in a dreary airport hotel follows.

Day 2

Skipped dreary breakfast to head back to LAX, where, believe it or not, the plane is even later than its already half a day tardiness.

At last we're on our way, with the flight uninterrupted by anything approaching entertainment.

10 hours later and we're on Fiji's main island, with a scratchy garland around our necks, receiving confirmation of our worst fears. There's only one seaplane transfer to Yasawa per day, and we've missed it by a few hours. The "good news" part deux, is that the airline is comping us a night at Hotel Le Mercure. We were already scheduled to spend the day chilling out here, now it'll be overnight. The proper good news is that our travel agent has worked a deal out with the Yasawa resort that we extend our stay by one night, to make up for the first night we lost. Sound.

So, pizza and a couple beers watching Australia vs France at rugby (oz satellite), and the vacation is kinda started.

Day 3

I haven't missed a day - the jump from Thursday to Saturday is courtesy of the international date line we crossed a few hours ago. Around mid-day our driver picks us up for the short ride to Nadi airport, and our seaplane transfer to Yasawa island.

Airport formalities are nonexistent. We're the only passengers on this flight, so almost immediately we stroll out to our ride. We've been on this plane before, when we made the same journey for Christmas 2006, but it's still a very exciting 30 minutes of skipping over the coral reefs, shark spotting.

Landing on water is even more stomach churning than landing on a regular airstrip. You plop down onto the water and wade ashore, just like Captain Cook (except for the seaplane and the camera and ipod bags we're holding aloft).

We receive our second scratchy garland while a beefy bunch of helpers haul our luggage and assorted sacks of island supplies over their heads, and then we're in the truck bouncing up the rutted track to the other side of the little island, and our home for the next 8 nights.

It's around 3pm when we're unpacked, be-shorted and sipping Fiji Gold by the pool. Change into a slightly more elegant tee-shirt and dinner shorts for 7.30pm dinner. An underwhelming steak dinner in paradise. (Almost a Jimmy Buffet moment there).

Day 4

It's fry-day, as in lollop by the pool, sipping mojitos without syrup, mud slides without ice and pink margharitas without enough of whatever makes them pink.

Giving the job of cocktail mixing to anyone belonging to a group forbidden to drink alcohol is probably a little short-sighted, but the location means you end up kicking back and enjoying it all anyhow.

The infinity pool is f.a.b, as is the weather and my date for this trip.

And who was that teacher who wrote in my term report: "doesn't concentrate in class, will never amount to anything"? -- They ALL did? Come on!

Had dinner served on the front deck of our bure (burr-ray, or house). The idea was a good 'un, but we were somewhat distracted by the Lions versus Christians re-enactment nearby, where a hungry lizard was feasting on the moths attracted to the light on our bure wall.

Fast asleep by 9.30pm, which will likely become the pattern for this vacation.

Day 5

An early brekkie, so that we can be all sorted for our 10am power boat ride to Yawini, the uninhabited island we're picknicking on today.

It's one of the high spots of the vacation. We're dropped ashore with beach mats, umbrella and icebox, and the boat zips off with shouts of "see you in 4 hours" from the crew. Try to take candid pics of her indoors, only to find out that "you can take pictures, but you're not to post anything on Facebook". Deal. I'll sell them on hotasianbabes.com instead.

We get back to the resort in time for a couple hours floating around on a floaty thing in the pool, while finishing off "Ghosts: Confessions Of A Counter Terrorism Agent", the second book I've read so far this trip, and we're not half-way through yet.

Dinner was a not-too-appetizing octopus, and half-decent lamb entree, so an entertaining 1 all draw.

Day 6

Yesterday's picnic was so good, we're here again, this time on "Lovers Beach". And sure enough, not long after we're dropped ashore and the boat leaves, the sky darkens and it pisses with rain. Sat on an icebox under an umbrella in the rain, looking along an otherwise paradisaic beach gets us talking about man versus wild, and what would Bear Grylls' advice be.

Pavey ventured that he would tell us to hike into the forest behind us, retrieving wood for a fire, large leaves for shelter and juicy bugs for sustenance, while I reckoned it'd be safer to stay under the umbrella, eat the sandwiches from our picnic and wait for the boys to arrive in the boat. Pretty much what BG does off camera I bet.

We arrive back in civilization in time for lunch and a snooze. Lines that you would not expect to hear from Scott of the Antarctic.

Pavey's listening to an audio book, "Julie and Julia', the autobiography of a New Yorker who attempts to cook her way through Julia Childs' groundbreaking recipe book.

Having read "A Year of Living Biblically" myself, I realize these authors dispensed with all the hassle of coming up with a plot, and characters, and basically turned their blogs into books.

My initial suggestion, along the lines of ploughing through someone else's book and writing about your experience, was "Mr. & Mrs. Page bump 'n grind their way through the Kama Sutra". Her response is "we'd have to do it using fake names". I'm thinking we'd have to do it using stunt doubles. So, file that one under "potential, but strangely gruelling book ideas".

Much easier would be "Cooking My Way Through The Cheeky Chappie's Recipes: Can Jamie Oliver Really Write, Or Is He Just Another Cockney Wanker?".

Day 7

Snorkelling off one of the reefs is today's big deal. Wade out to the boat for the 30 minute zip up the coast to where the reef is deepest and brightest. However, I must've been bitten by a fat, lethargy-carrying mosquito, as I elect to guard the pool and leave it to Pavey to check on global warming's impact on the local reef.

She says the big blue starfish were a treat, and tasted like chicken.

Day 8

Breezy today. Too breezy to contemplate the 30-minute boat ride to Yawini, the deserted island, for our planned picnic. So, another day ant counting in the hammock on our stretch of beach. I know I work for a multinational technology company, but the name's slipping from my grasp. HAL?

Day 9

Finally sent some postcards today. The mail system is pretty darned marvellous. I can send mail from an island with no roads and intermittent electricity, to the other side of the world, for around $1. Now, if I could invent a machine that dematerializes and then rematerializes humans into postcard sized pieces (pre-stamped and addressed of course) I could revolutionize the cost of travel. Some smartass might point out that the mass of one human is equivalent to several thousand postcards though, so at $1 per card I'll have revolutionized diddly-squat, but they'll be missing the point. I will have succeeded where Jeff Goldblum failed - TWICE. (Hold on, he wasn't in Fly II was he?) As I said, the postal service is pure science fiction.

On a more germain front, today was a gloriously sunny one, which we enjoyed first on our beach, under an umbrella, then on our deck, and then after lunch by the pool. What sunbathers might call a well-balanced bake-off.

Day 10

Last full day in Paradise. Although that would be unfair to the permanent paradise that is our life in San Francisco, making sure that "HAL" and "Iron Man" are kept thriving and profitable.

Back on Yawini, our private island, for the day. Again we saw the lonely white and yellow fish we saw on our first day on this beach. Curiously, he (?) Just swims in a tight circle, nibbling at our fingers and on one brave maneouvre, tugs at the cord holding together Pavey's skimpy bikini bottom. It usually costs me a day or two of "being nice" in order to get a slice of that action, so maybe I'll have to perfect my lonely circling motion in future. Pavey ignores the plot and starts calling the fish Wilson.

Later that night, the scuba-master tells us that "Wilson" is a Sergeant Fish and we should NOT be dangling fingers in front of its row of sharp teeth!

Day 11

Last day [sigh], and after packing, and booking dinner on the main island of Fiji, we trudge off to the beach to board our seaplane.

We still have Nadi to LAX at 10pm tonight, then a hop back to SFO, to arrive bleary eyed several hours before we depart. When Dr Who does this there's always trouble!

RAVE - Barrow's Boys, by Fergus Fleming

How a British civil servant came up with the idea to keep no-longer-fighting military types busy, by directing them to find the North West Passage, the source of The Nile, and the frosty Poles.

When the Napoleonic wars ended, demobilized naval officers were kicking their heels around England, looking for stuff to keep them gainfully employed.

The Admiralty appointed Second Secretary John Barrow to keep them busy, so he assigned them tasks of exploration.

For the next 30 years, Barrow's teams of captains, first mates and other ranks (but mostly well-bred captains) set about their journeys of discovery.

This is history that reads like the adventure stories they really are.

REVIEW - La Folie

Perhaps a little too eclectic for some, definitely something to be sampled on special occasions, La Folie is very French, and somewhat of an acquired taste.

Has that put you off?

There are several more approachable French restaurants in town - L'Ardoise, Chez Papa, Chez Spencer, even RN74, to name le quatre.

You could therefore dine at many better French restaurants before sitting down at La Folie and wondering whether you can stomach the Frog's Legs with Frog's Leg mousse Cannelloni, or Warm Pig Feet, Sweetbread and Lobster Terrine. 

You can tell my heart's not really in this one. La Folie definitely doesn't warrant a RANT, but I can't bring myself to RAVE about it. 

RAVE - Incanto

The mandate from Incanto, "we use every part of the beast" can be off-putting, but as long as you don't dwell too much on whether it's right eat the thymus and pancreas glands of animals, or Tuna heart, you will enjoy it here.

And you don't actually have to order anything off the butcher's beaten track if you don't want to.

The focus on quality at this Noe Valley gem is second to none, and it shows in the little touches - the descriptive wine tags on your glass, the home-made breads, the Reidel glasses.

I don't know if this is the best Italian experience in San Francisco, but whether you prefer this or Delfina depends on whether you like your food edgy or comfortable.

RANT - The DMV as a metaphor for what's wrong with America

NOTE for my English friends, DMV is the Dept of Motor Vehicles, performing the same fine job as the DVLC (Driver & Vehicle Licensing Center).

DMV puts the EFF in inefficiency.

I'm writing this in my Blackberry, so I'm clearly expecting a wait.

There are probably a million such musings. After all, what else are you going to do while otherwise wasting half a day shuffling around in a stinky hall? No, I'm not talking about Country dancing, just trying to register a car.

First of all, there are no empty parking spaces at the DMV. That's like having no cutlery at a restaurant!

There's a high proportion of down-and-outs, ruffians and rapscallions in line. Is it really this demographic that's buying and registering cars. Or more to the point, is it really this demographic that's so hit by the recession that their collective disenfranchisement is bringing down Detroit?

There's also a high proportion of apparent foreigners. Even the DMV "greeter" isn't sporting English as his first language. Now, I'm not saying that "foreigner" equals "down-and-out". Perish the thought. I am one of those down-and, er, foreigners. I don't know what this proportion says, but by the time you consider all the foreigners down-and-outs, ruffians and rapscallions, precious few middle-class Obama supporters are in evidence today.

Anyhow, 1 hour standing in line buys me the news that I have the wrong paperwork. Have to come back tomorrow with some new paperwork and do it all again. Sigh.

Surely some clever consultant has had a look at the workflow (or lack of it) here?

There's a crazy screaming coming from the other end of the hall, momentarily distracting everyone from their own plight.

Day Two, and today's excuse for the line out into the parking lot (still with no available spaces) is "we can't give you a number, because the computer's overloaded". Now, I was convinced that yesterday's lack of movement was because the only computing power in the building was the Blackberry in my hand. So, everyone's told to each take a torn off scrap of paper on which the mastermind behind this latest initiative has written a letter. Then, we have to move into a parallel line that's even longer, to wait for the same freaking guy to issue us a number. Various opinions are offered from both lines: "Unf*******believable!", "These motherf****** don't know what they're doing!", "This is f****** retarded!" (that last insight from a woman with no teeth), "This motherf****** is out of control!"

Suddenly, everyone in line is a computer expert, especially the guy with a horn on his head. Seriously (in every sense of the word) he has a boney horn sticking out of his forehead.

Oh, the line moved! Nah, it was the western continental plate shifting a few microns.

I can smell weed. I'm in line at the DMV and the woman behind me has just lit a bowl! Must be medicinal, but whatever, someone's enjoying the wait.

They just called B120. Only 60 more to go before me! With a bit of luck I'll be out of here before the holiday weekend starts.

Stepped outside for some air, only to have to listen to a "conversation" between a couple of drunks swigging from containers in brown paper bags. Might listen in for a few stock tips, or at least a heated debate about Afghan versus Lebanese.

Back inside, and someone's holding a dog right underneath a sign that says "No Animals. No Smoking". Now, if that dog lights up I'm going to find security, although that'll probably be harder than finding a midget at NBA camp.

Bugger! I've just realized there are four series of letters and numbers being called, so my B180 might not be 60th in line after B120. Where's the Vicodin?

Someone could make a killing selling cold drinks from an ice box here. There are no vending machines, no TVs showing Wimbledon, no respite whatsoever from the tedium. Except for the floorshow. I've just seen the oldest gay bikers outside of Palm Springs. Top to toe leathers and silly hats. I hope I'm still going when I'm that age. And I hope I have the sense to not dress like that. You can always count on San Francisco.

In a country with 200 million cars, surely this could all be done online? Imagine if you could only buy an iPhone by lining up overnight outside an Apple store! What's that? You do have to line up outside an Apple store to buy an iPhone?

I've just seen the guy who "served" me yesterday wandering around behind the counter in the same tee-shirt he was wearing yesterday. Gives me an idea for another post: "The stinky tee-shirt as a metaphor for what's wrong with America".

What! Suddenly there are no staff at any of the 27 counters. Did someone call a strike? Don't tell me everyone takes their lunch at the same time. Maybe they're all out back in a customer service class.

Another scary thought: a percentage of the assorted crazies, whack jobs and certifiably insane are here to take their driving tests. Knowing well the caliber of the group to which they aspire, in a couple of hours most of these troubled souls will be causing mayhem on Oak Street.

Now I think about it, I realize the DMV is not a desert of efficiency because it's a government agency, but because of the customers it serves. If this was a place where middle-class white Americans had to line up in order to get licenses for their ride-on lawn mowers, there would be hell to pay. The place would grind to a complete standstill under the weight of clamoring and complaining suburbanites. No, these down-and-outs and foreigners put up with the parlous state of the DMV because that's what they do - put up with stuff.

Post-script

It took me 2 days, a total of 5 hours to get a temporary registration for my car. I have to go back in a couple weeks when I get the title documents for the car. I'd say "God Bless America", but I don't want to blaspheme.

RANT - People who carry huge bunches of keys on their belts

It was hard to find an image that showed this phenomenon in real life, but you know who I'm talking about.

What is it with these people who have 40 or 50 keys clipped to their belts while they're traipsing down the street? Surely there aren't that many doors they need to open at a moment's notice?

REVIEW - Joy Division Films

Film subjects are often like London buses. You wait around for ages, and then 2 or 3 turn up at the same time. It happened with generation-body-swap movies (Big, 17 Again, 18 Again, 13 Going on 30, Freaky Friday, Like Father Like Son, Vice Versa, and way too many more), gritty, modern remakes of classic Westerns like Open Range, Appaloosa, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, etc.), and it happened with Joy Division documentaries. I don't understand why, 16 years after Ian Curtis' death, 3 documentaries went into production at virtually the same time. In Hollywood, I'm sure it's down to one person hawking a script around several studios, not getting picked up but sparking other producers to assemble almost identical propositions. But this is (or was) England, and grimy Manchester to boot.

New Order Story (1994)

Shabby first 10 minutes, with toe-curlingly horrible excerpts from The No Show, hosted by Lily Allen's dad, Keith, doppelganging Noel Edmonds. Inexcusable inclusion of several Bono quotes. Starts with Blue Monday, then flashes back and forth in time. Good live studio stuff from the band, but repeated reminders that Barney Sumner could never fill Curtis' vocalist shoes. Definitely the weakest of the 4 band documentaries - and arguably shouldn't be held up alongside the genuine Joy Division films. Don't get me wrong, I like New Order, but the vignettes from Neil Tennant reveal where New Order's true comparisons lie. They lost their Mojo long before they slumped into Electronic, Monaco and Revenge. It was telling that the film closed with Joy Division's Atmosphere, perhaps unintentionally reminding everyone how deep was that slump.

Joy Division: In Review (2006)

Good, in that any film covering JD must be good, but band interviews have been substituted with music author and journalist reviews. Interviews with everyone BUT the band members. Even featured the ex Mrs. Tony Wilson, but no Wilson himself. Consequentially, has a more NME Review style of Joy Division's discography than the other films. Music journos being what they are, there are eyebrow-raising (but in the end, valid) comparisons between Joy Division's Atmosphere and The Ronettes' Be My Baby, and Love Will Tear Us Apart and Frank Sinatra's output. More of a critique than an homage to Joy Division. Footage of Sex Pistols and The Clash that I hadn't seen before, which was good. Not sure that anyone seeing this version, without an earlier exposure to Joy Division, would come away a fan.

Control (2007)

The best of the 3 or 4 Joy Division documentaries, by a squeak. Great live footage, interviews with band members, very atmospheric - goose-bump inducing. Focuses more on Ian Curtis' life than do the other films.

Joy Division (2007)

Not to be confused with the 2006 film of the same name, which is nothing to do with the world's best band, this 2007 documentary is almost as good as Control. "Which one should newbies watch first, Control or Joy Division?" is a question posed and answered on IMDB at http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1097239/board/nest/108706429.

24-Hour Party People (2002)

While not dedicated to Joy Division, the band features heavily, and this is the best film of the 5. Fantastic collage of punk, Manchester post-punk, baggies and the Factory scene. And funny.

RANT - "Have you eaten with us before?"

I hate restaurants that say "Have you eaten with us before?", and then whatever you answer they proceed to explain about "family style" serving. If I want to share my meal with someone at the table, I can do that without a nod from the staff.

"Shall we split a salad?" - that's another suggestion I hate.

RAVE - Ghost Wars, by Steve Coll

A great story, and not just because I read most of it while floating in the pool in Fiji (look closely at the header image on this blog's home page).

This book goes into great detail about the attitudes, prevailing conditions and bungling of various branches of the intelligence services over years of engagement in Afghanistan.

The fact that when Russia had invaded and was occupying Afghanistan, the preferred method for encouraging the Taliban to oppose Russian forces was by sending them hundreds of millions of dollars in cash and military equipment, backfired in a big way. As soon as Russian forces retired back to their own county, the Taliban used that very equipment against American and allied forces.

If the book's too much for you, rent Charlie Wilson's War on DVD / Blu-Ray, as Charlie and his involvement in Afghanistan features in the book.

RAVE - Endurance: Shackleton's Incredible Voyage, by Alfred Lansing

This book presses all of my literary buttons: It's accurate history, written like an adventure story, about places and activities we fairweather adventurers dream about.

The efforts that Shackleton and his team made, and the conditions under which they traveled, are unlike normal humans will ever experience. The resilience and determination they showed are almost too much to comprehend.

When I read this and thought "what would I do if I was stuck on a rock in the middle of the Antarctic, with scraps of penguin meat for food and no fresh water, a leaky rowing boat, no maps or charts, with many of my crew injured and/or about to die of starvation and exposure?", I stopped thinking.

Makes you wonder what drove them to spend years in Antarctica freezing their bits off. Could their home lives have sucked that much?

REVIEW - Music your Dad hates

Watching The Song Remains The Same, on Palladia channel, and remembering my dad telling John Boyland and me that we'd break the record player if we continued playing Communication Breakdown that loud. Ha!

RAVE - Pandora

Maybe someone, somewhere doesn't yet know of this great site. Pick an artist or song, and Pandora uses its Music Genome Project roots to pick other songs you'll like. Save as many stations as you like, so that when you're feeling moody, you can pick the station to lift you, or deepen that mood.

There are also hacks that let you save Pandora's tunes as MP3s on your computer. There's one described here.

RAVE - Blip.fm

Build your own playlists and sets; you'll never find an easier DJ gig. Different from Pandora, in that here you pick each individual song to create your own playlist or station.

RANT - Google

I hate the fact that to Google became the generic for web search, when they neither invented it nor did the best job of deploying it.

RAVE - Slanted Door

It's hardly worth me adding my thumbs up for Slanted Door. Every resident or visitor to San Francisco already knows of this place, visits it as often as they can or stumbles into it when they're traipsing around the Ferry Building.

On the down side, it's one of those places where they always ask you "have you eaten with us before?", like we don't know the next statement is going to be "we serve family style here". If there's one thing that touches a raw nerve for me it's restaurants telling me whether or not I can share my food with my friends.

As a rule, I'd rather not. Not because I don't want them to taste what I'm tasting, but because if I order a plate of "barbecued willis ranch pork spareribs with honey-hoisin sauce", I want to eat that order rather than fight over it with everyone else at the table! 

But I digress .... Slanted Door is the real deal; fabulous food in a fun atmosphere, with lots to see inside and outside.

RANT - Greens

There are some vegetarian restaurants I've been to where the food is genuinely interesting - even exciting - for carnivores AND herbivores.

Greens is not one of them.

With all the ambience of a nursing home ward, the place is devoid of fun, unless slopping around in birkenstocks is your idea of fun.

The location, at Fort Mason, has all the potential of a cool, historical dock-side. In fact, the only real excitement I've seen at Fort Mason was a Robot Wars final, the one that used to be televised and hosted by that guy off Red Dwarf.

Anyhow, the lettuce and pea soup at Greens will bring you right back down to earth with a bland bump.

RAVE - Foreign Cinema

To describe Foreign Cinema as an oasis would be to suggest that everything around it is a cultural and culinary desert. True, there are some eyesores on Mission Street around 21st and 22nd, but the best restaurant experiences start like those at Foreign Cinema, where there's no hint outside of the wonders inside.

Pass through the night-clubbish entrance, skoot past the side door to Laszlo's, the cool pre- or post-dinner bar, and you're into the open air courtyard that houses 1/3rd of the tables and the projected movies - usually classic French and Italian fare.

The idea has now been copied by several other restaurants in town, but no-one has matched the accompanying food.

Once the novelty of the film-on-a-big-brick-wall has been absorbed, you can concentrate on the superior Mediterranean menu.

We've been here often - sometimes just to show visitors how much fun it is to socialize in San Francisco - and have always enjoyed the great food, atmosphere and company.

RAVE - Cyrus

Aside from Raffles in Singapore, Cyrus (Healdsburg) is probably the most luxurious dining experience we've ever enjoyed.

The scene was set by spending the weekend at Hotel Healdsburg, in the main square of this Sonoma wine region capital, and being able to stroll a couple blocks to Cyrus for our 9.30pm reservation.

We didn't leave until 1am, and there were still diners lapping up the decadent 5 or 7 course tasting menus.

We had the latter, but would probably have just 5 courses next time. Not for budgetary reasons - although it was far from cheap at around $750 for the 2 of us, including wine pairing - but because there was just so much food, so many flavors. With the 3 or 4 amuses bouches, our 7 courses became 10 or 11, and although we remembered how much we'd marveled at courses 1, 2, 3 and 4, towards the end of the meal it all became a bit of a blur.

Service was p.e.r.f.e.c.t, with the best organized dining room I've seen anywhere in the world. Without seeming to clutter the room, or hang around waiting to spot something that needed doing, the staff not only made sure our every need was anticipated, but whenever a course was ready, each of our meals was delivered simultaneously by two waiters. Big deal, you might think, but when this done by six waiters to a table of six, eight waiters to a table of eight, without interfering with the impeccable service we were getting, you realized how much effort went into the organization.

Each course was a joy, and the whole experience didn't feel over-priced.

Definitely one for very special occasions.

RAVE - SPQR

The measure of a really good dish at a really good restaurant is when I make up my mind to try that dish at home, when cooking for guests.

I've done that with 2 or 3 ideas from SPQR - the simple-but-wonderful pan heated olives rolled in spiced breadcrumbs, and pan-cooked, bacon-wrapped brussels sprouts. I forget what the third one was, and I notice that neither of the first two is currently shown on their web-site. Maybe I ruined it for everyone?

SPQR now takes reservations, which is tons better than waiting around on the sidewalk to get a table.

However you get in there, it'll be worth your while.

RANT - Sushi Groove South

Revolting stink of fish hit us when we entered the restaurant and permeated the dingy space.

So-so sushi - soggy when it should have been crisp, lacklustre when it should have popped, flat when it should have been spiky.

I didn't have fond memories from the last time we went there 5 years ago, and it'll be a lot longer than 5 years before I get dragged in there again.

I know everyone has their favorite sushi place. Mine remains Blowfish.

RANT - Limon

What's the attraction with these Peruvian restaurants. Jonny and Mikki love Crudo. Everyone but me loves La Mer, and Michael Bauer loves Limon.

If you're desparate for ceviche, by all means slide on down to Limon, but apart from that it's just fishy Mexican food to me.

You should know I'm not a fan of fishy-smelling fish, and usually order the Tempura when dining at a sushi restaurant, so I'm probably not the ideal arbiter of fish-centric Peruvian cuisine.

Therefore, on this rare occasion ignore my Limon diss; go there and make your own mind up.

RAVE - Delfina

We've been here a couple times with David and Felicia, and aside from them vowing never again to take the bus from Pacific Heights to The Mission - it goes through the Civic Center DMZ where it picks up the tarts and taggers (jerks were spraying graffiti inside the bus, while it was in motion) - all was well at Delfina.

This place seems to overflow onto the sidewalk, with people waiting to get in, or staying around to swap stories of how much they loved it while getting out.

The atmosphere is boisterous and friendly, whether you're squeezed in at the tiny bar or seated in the shabby chic dining room.

The food is fresh and interesting, bettered only by actually being in the Italian countryside.

I've read some reviews where people think Delfina is over-rated, but on our visits we've found it well worth the hassle it is to get a reservation.