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.

RAVE - Trou Normand

While I wouldn't necessarily recommend that your team lose to Italy in its opening game of the World Cup in order to provide you with a topic for heated conversation over dinner at Trou Normand, you nevertheless DO need good company and something to talk about in order to fully enjoy your time here.

Thankfully, I was blessed with the good company, dining here with Amo and Simi - my wife was back in the UK visiting her family (again, sheesh!).

The reason I say one needs something to talk about is that Trou Normand is strangely lacking in the usual atmosphere that accompanies a hot, new restaurant. The place has a sparse, underpopulated feel to it. It's a large, high-ceilinged space, with a handful of large tables. There are more tables in another room at the back, and a patio, but you can't see those from the main, front dining room.

No matter though, as the food is spectacular, and not the usual California vegetables on most other menus in the city.

I told Amo - who's vegetarian - that it was particularly brave of him to eat at this distinctly non-vegetarian location. Nevertheless, they made a special meal for him - something pasta-based and devoid of the wonderful meat that Simi and I enjoyed. We had the Pork Pate with Mulberry, a mountain of fresh Ham, and some Risotto balls that Amo ordered but had to hand over when they turned out to contain some meat too! Lovely jubbly. For our entrees Simi had Pork Ragu and I had the Bucatini All'Amatriciana. Both were delicious. In fact, everything was.

I guess this should come as no surprise, seeing as Trou Normand is owned by the same guy that owns Bar Agricole, but still, good job Simi, who booked the place.

REVIEW - Edge of Tomorrow

A mostly enjoyable, if necessarily repetitive alien invasion story starring Tom Cruise and Emily Blunt.

It was repetitive for a couple of reasons:

First, the story was a mash-up of virtually every other Tom Cruise movie, and Groundhog Day. Our hero (yawn) is stuck in an ever-recurring day as a new recruit to the front line against the alien forces.

Second, Tom Cruise plays Tom Cruise as he always does, with the same look, the same voice, the same action sequences. At least Emily Blunt was in a refreshing change from her usual roles, and she buckled her swash as well as our mad Scientologist.

But this doesn't have a complex plot, nor particularly fiendish aliens, so it's not RAVE-worthy.

RAVE - Godzilla

Despite my regular rants against comic book rehashes like - oh, the list is far too long to repeat here - I have a soft spot for zombies, sci-fi, and monsters. As did many of the nerds who applauded the title roll, the first appearance of, and then the actions of this gargantuan but unlikely hero at last night's IMAX 3D showing. Especially when our leathery do-gooder blasted a river of white hot, nuclear breath down the throat of a feisty MUTO (the necessary acronym for a clumsily-named Massive Unidentified Terrestrial Organism).

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

While light years ahead of previous iterations of this famous rampaging beast - with its stop-start, plasticine animation - this monster was more realistic than any Godzilla I've seen before, although not up to Jurassic Park level.

Despite my pickiness, the fact that the last hour of the movie featured Big G, two MUTOs, and various representatives from our overladen but inevitably insufficiently-armed military laying waste to downtown San Francisco added for this audience in, er, downtown San Francisco a certain je ne sais quaaaaagghh to the whole affair.

The evening was capped when one of the theater's escalators abruptly halted, sending dozens of outward-bound film goers stumbling while one wag shouted "Godzilla" and we all waited for the crash of glass towers and a giant reptilian foot to .........

REVIEW - Verbena

It wasn't exactly a case of "while the cat's away, the mice will play" but Mrs P is in Vegas - slaving away at a Skrillex show - so I had dinner with Amo and Simi at this new-ish place with its hot reputation.

But did it deserve the warmth of that rep? Not exactly. At least the two non-vegetarians out of the three of us thought the place was good-looking but the food was perhaps a bit over-contrived.

Amo and I started with the Roasted button mushrooms, with cauliflower, lovage, and tomato vinegar. Neither of us thought they tasted of much that was write-home-worthy. Simi had the much tastier Sprouted seed bread, with chevre, and beet sauerkraut.

Amo had the Peas creamed in carrot juice, with - wait for it - huitlacoche escabeche. Simi had the Cabbage leaves stuffed with lemon Verbena sausage, manilla clams, pork belly, and trout roe - and the clams and trout roe were the reason I didn't order the same. Instead, I had the Meatballs braised in black mole, with hominy cooked in whey, and kale.

Thanks to the artfully undersized portions, we each scoffed some equally artful desserts.

But for me the menu didn't add up to much.

REVIEW - The National

What a trooper I am. Stirring myself from a flu-induced day of couch-tending, we went with Gareth and Bronwyn to see The National and Portugal, The Man at The Greek Theater in Berkeley.

It as a bit nippy, but there was no rain to dampen our spirits. We got there early enough to get decent seats, and surprisingly - for me - found Portugal, The Man to be more than just the dull strummers I'd painted them as beforehand. I'm a bit cynical though, especially when it comes to music. So The National really didn't do it for me. I knew it wouldn't either for Mrs. P, whose radio channels are decidedly more R&B- than Indie-centric.

With The National having been compared to Joy Division, Leonard Cohen, Wilco, Depeche Mode, and Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds - at least according to Wikipedia - their set was absolutely guaranteed to not inspire much singing along among the sold out crowd. And so it was. Like a dirge with all the jokes taken out.

And if I'd written that Wikipedia entry, I'd have compared them negatively with Joy Division et al.

RAVE - Wexler's

What could go wrong with cocktails at Per Diem with my good friend Gareth, followed by more cocktails and dinner at Wexler's? Well, doing this on top of a dose of flu acquired from an unsuspecting but nevertheless inescapably guilty four year old. If Nihal could read, he'd probably be offended. But he can't, so he isn't.

Despite the flu though, the Manhattans certainly helped with the sore throat, if only temporarily. And the totally gorgeous Terrine of Chicken Liver Mousse with Brioche, and Concord Grapes was intense flavor-wise. Gareth's BBQ Scotch Eggs were a delightful concoction totally different to the congealed balls of hard-boiled bar food I remember from the UK.

We both had the Wexler's Plate of Pork which was good and porky. I was in such a good mood I even had a dessert, something I rarely do. I cast diet and caution to the wind and had the Bourbon Banana Cream Pie, which I remember as a sloppy mess of banana, cream, and chocolate.

I paid for it all the next day though, with two bouts of nausea and a day nursing my flu on the couch.

It was a testament to Wexler's, and whoever made the Manhattans that the evening still got a Rave.

RAVE - Barndiva

Saturday lunch in Healdsburg at the gorgeous Barn Diva was the second half of Amo's birthday celebration. This time we were just four, and this comparatively intimate group was treated to wonderful weather in an idyllic garden setting, and a pretty top notch lunch.

My Crispy Sonoma Duck Leg, with Avocado, Fregola Sarda (salad) and Olive Tapenade Vinaigrette was as good as Duck Leg can get, while the Goat Cheese Croquettes with Tomato Jam and Lavender Honey were an unnecessary but delightful diversion.

Alright, the food itself perhaps wasn't worthy of a trip to Healdsburg from San Francisco, but the company and the setting definitely were.

RAVE - Roka Akor

We were here for with a group of nine celebrating Amo's birthday, and while I normally steer clear of an "everyone shares all the dishes" type of experience, there was little option with so many - including me - eager to taste as much as possible.

My choices of Wagyu Gunkan with Ossetra caviar, Yellowtail Sashimi with Shallots and Poached Garlic Ponzu, Crispy Fried Squid with Chili and Lime, and Chinese Broccoli with Ginger Shallot Dressing were gladly shared in order for me to also sample the Edamame, Robata Grilled Japanese Shishito Peppers with Ponzu and Bonito Flakes, and the Grilled Pork Belly with Marinated Golden Beets. Everything was excellent, even if the packed restaurant made for somewhat patchy service.

The place was a bit like Dr. Who's Tardis, in that while it looks small from the outside it's in fact a huge space with a clubby cocktail and sushi bar in the basement with a even larger restaurant at street level. I know The Tardis doesn't have a cocktail and sushi bar, but you get the point.

REVIEW - Dom Hemingway

Jude Law said in an interview recently that he only truly got into the character of Dom Hemingway when he donned the "outfit" - especially the exaggerated sideburns.

Dom is just out of a twelve year stint in jail - a sentence he took while keeping schtum about the other thieves in his safecracking gang. The ringleader owes him, big time.

That's about the size of the plot. But Dom is much larger than any plot. He's loud, abrasive, and foul-mouthed. He's got anger issues. Big ones. Throughout the movie he's bellowing, blustering, and boozing. This makes him a mostly unlikeable character, but a very watchable one. It's just a shame that was all there was to the film.

RAVE - Bergerac

Third night in a row dining out, and Bergerac was like an upscale version of the previous night's Jamber, in that it's not really an out and out restaurant - more of a cocktail bar with just enough on the bar bite side to save you sending out for a sandwich

The food choices were scant and - perhaps because of that - were served double-quick. We were in and out within forty minutes, having had a suitably elegant cocktail each, prosciutto, thyme and egg pizza for me, and the Kung Fu duck Tacos for madameoiselle.

It's an ideal place to drop into when you're emptying out of Slim's club opposite, or en route to one of the many other nearby bars and clubs.

REVIEW - Jamber

I'm really the wrong person to opine about a selection of American Beers - where even fifteen years after moving here from the UK every American-brewed micro-beer tastes either too sweet, too nutty, or just too anything other than proper English beer or International lager.

So, after dithering over the beer choices and picking a flight of Scrimshaw Pilsner, Downtown Brown Nut Brown Ale, Islander India Pale Ale, and Burning Oak Black Lager - of which the Pilsner was the only one remotely attractive to my palate - I switched to the more reliable wine choices.

We were there to join twenty or so friends to celebrate Cheri being back for the weekend from her new life in Las Vegas, so we were stationed in the semi-private upstairs room that overlooks the busy bar and restaurant below.

I say "restaurant", but it's not really a destination dining spot. More of a place to grab a bite while you're there for the alcohol. Despite that, the bites were good. I had the Jamburger - basically a small but juicy burger with the usual accoutrements - plus tasty tomato jam. Pavey went for the Parmesan and Rosemary Mashed Potato Tots, with bacon jam - yes, BACON JAM.

RAVE - Bix

I have harangued my other half about going back to Bix several times, and each time she grunts and chooses somewhere else. Each time that is, until last night when she was outvoted by Cheri and me who both love the place.

I like the vibe at Bix - that of a classy jazz bar - with its pillared bar, wood paneling, and balcony. 

The food wasn't perfect - at least for me. The ladies chose Potato Pillows with Crème Fraîche and American Caviar, and Roasted Beets with Gorgonzola Panna Cotta and Black Walnut Vinaigrette, while I had the distinctly unimpressive Pork Belly “Bánh Mì” with Cucumber and Sriracha. These were stone cold, and should have come with a microscope to see the pork belly.

For entrees they chose to split the Pacific Halibut with Spring Vegetable Ragout, Yuzu Butter and Mint, while I fared better with the Chicken Hash à la Bix with Marscarpone Vodka Sauce.

I think Bix may have finally won over my wife. We'll find out next time I suggest eating there.

RANT - Noah

I'm tempted to make this post a simple "What a dog's dinner of a movie" and leave it at that, but there was so much to dislike about this pile of effluent that I couldn't possibly be as brief as that.

I must admit that I went into this film with a negative predisposition. When the trailers said "The untold story of Noah" I thought "Eh? Untold?" Whether you believe in the Bible account of the Flood - and I do - may deeply affect whether you enjoy this movie or not. Indeed, whether you even go to see it.

The film is basically in 3 parts. First, the setup - a dull tale of Noah and his family eking out a sparse life in a barren land together with a brief, narrated history of the world from its creation through to its then current state of lawlessness and godlessness. The second part covers the flood itself - nowhere near blockbuster worthy effects, just a lot of rain and as late-night TV host David Letterman described it "Noah ends up on a cruise".  The film neatly sidestepped Letterman's follow-up "The real problem was not getting all those animals into the Ark. It was keeping the Hippos away from the buffet!" by garnishing the story with a magical potion wafted about by Noah's family that put all the animals into hibernation. The final part is a dreary post-flood account of Noah getting drunk a lot, and the family shambling off into the sunset where they interbreed their way to where we are today.

If I bother to highlight the discrepancies between the Bible's version and director Darren Aronofsky's butchering of that story I'd be here all day. But what drugs he was on when he came up with the notion of stone monsters, fox-like creatures covered in scales, and a stowaway on the Ark itself are anybody's guess.

I know I annoyed my wife - who certainly wasn't brought up on the original story - every time I muttered my disgust at these directorial fabrications, but I'm glad I didn't watch it with a genuine skeptic / critic / hater of everything Biblical. You know who you are Bill.

REVIEW - Frances

Having opened in 2009, it's somewhat of a marvel that this place is still packed every night of the week, and requires that one books two months out in order to get a table at a reasonable dinner hour.

It's even more of a marvel considering - as I do now that we've eaten there for the first time - it's not that good.

The food has its moments. Our first appetizers - or bouches as they're shown on the menu - were first class. We had the Applewood Smoked Bacon Beignets and the Duck Liver Mousse, both of which had us salivating for more. Our Baby Kale Salad, with Medjool Date, Roasted Baby Carrot, Almond, and Pecorino di Rocca was OK. Nothing to sing about. Our entrees were mixed, or at least our enjoyment of them was. Mrs P had the Pacific Halibut, with Toasted Fregola, Charred Garbanzo, Spinach, and Green Olive, and she pronounced it "delicious, a real treat". I fared less well, with the Five-Dot Ranch Bavette, with Spring Onion Jus, Black Chanterelle, Comté & Toasted Levain. It didn't look like a great cut of meat, and tasted just so-so.

The decor is modest. The floorboards creak too much. And the tables are jammed in a bit too tight for comfort. All in all, Frances is not a destination restaurant, and definitely not the place for an all-important date.

REVIEW - Bad Words

If this was my wife's - non-existent - blog, this movie would be rated a RAVE. She really enjoyed this, as did the bulk of the trashy audience with us.

But it isn't, and MY vote is just an average REVIEW.

Many people have said this is a crude, rollicking performance by Jason Bateman. But for me, it was just "crude" and "rollicking" compared with Bateman's otherwise tedious romantic comedies like Identity Thief and TV's Arrested Development, both of which I've avoided like the plague they are.

OK, so with biases publicly stated, I found this mildly amusing but nothing I could get my teeth into completely.

Bateman plays a 40-year old who - for a reason that only becomes apparent late in the film - decides to exploit a loophole in the competition's rules that normally preclude anyone older than 14 years' old, and go head to head with the competing kids.

General, mild merriment ensues with Bateman eschewing his usual Mr Nice Guy style to play a coarse, somewhat vindictive individual who happens to be a great speller.

As I said, it was only orrdinery.

RAVE - Petersen Automotive Museum

Strange that, having lived barely half a mile from this place on Wilshire Boulevard for a couple of years, it took a trip back to LA and the services of our hosts - George and Cecile - to allow us to visit this museum that celebrates America's devotion to the automobile.

It has around 150 vehicles on display at any one time, with another 200 or so in storage, creating an inventory that allows the museum to rotate its exhibits.

There was everything from ancient late 19th Century vehicles that were at the forefront of motorized transport, right up to bleeding edge electric cars, with a healthy dose of Packards, Deusenbergs, lowriders, hot rods and motorcycles in between.

A perfect way to spend an hour or two away from the LA traffic.

RAVE - Starry Kitchen, Los Angeles

This was the ultimate pop-up eaterie, currently occupying the space inside Chinatown's Jazz Club - which features it seems everything but Jazz - with an eclectic, Pan-Asian menu the owner said is always changing.

Starry Kitchen features Singaporean chili crab, a giant beast bathed in a complex sauce and ideal for everyone to tuck in and share.

We started with the crispy, green tofu balls and, while the others in our party of five munched on the crab, I tucked into the double-fried sweet ginger chicken wings, the Pandan chicken, and the braised sweet soy sauce ginger pork belly.

The food was sensational, and once the place filled up it made the otherwise drab interior of the Jazz Club feel like a genuine destination restaurant.

REVIEW - Baker Street Bistro

Baker Street Bistro doesn't say "we're French" in the way that Bistro St. Germain might, but the reviews on Opentable were positive so we went ahead and journeyed across the city to the Marina district and arrived at what Madame described on first sight as "a dump".  But, bearing in mind the reviews, we parked up and went inside only to find it was just as unimpressive in there too.

(I make it sound like it's a long way all "across the city", but San Francisco isn't that big a place, so it only took half an hour. Of course, those 30 minutes don't begin to describe the gulf between the hipster locales of the nearby Mission district and the poseur vibe of the Marina).

The food was okay, but not really good enough to provide the sorely needed oxygen to this place with zero atmosphere. My view was taken up by a wall of nine or ten large clocks, only half of which were working.

One of the restaurant's daily specials couldn't be made as their meat grinder was kaput, so Pavey couldn't have her Steak Tartare, and opted instead for the vegetable soup followed by roast Salmon, with Buerre Blanc a l'Orange, Puree de Carottes and Ginger, with Sauteed Spinach. She ended it all with a hmph.

I had the Salade du Sud-Ouest (smoked duck breast on a bed of greens with pine nuts and duck gizzard confit), and the Cassouet Toulousain (white bean stew with tomato, duck leg confit, bacon, and garlic sausage). That cassoulet was excellent, and kind of dragged the whole experience up to average.

So, all in all nowhere near a match for most of the French restaurants we've visited elsewhere in the area, from Bouchon or Bistro Jeanty in Napa, to L'Ardoise, Cafe Claud, Le Charm here in SF, or even Chez Papa right here on Potrero Hill.

Baker Street Bistro isn't worth Le Schlepp over to the Marina.

REVIEW - The Grand Budapest Hotel

We saw this despite, rather than because of it being directed by Wes Anderson, the culprit responsible for The Fantastic Mr Fox, The Royal Tennenbaums, The Darjeeling Limited, Rushmore, and other equally dire films.

I remember a conversation with my wife's sister, who explained that those movies are existential. Now, I know as many words as the next man, but existential seems to be like another way of saying "crap".

As I said, despite not liking anything Wes Anderson has done before, I dragged my wife's sister's sister along to see this, mainly because of the stellar cast.

Ralph Fiennes, Adrien Brody, Willem Dafoe, Jeff Goldblum, Harvey Keitel, Jude Law, Edward Norton, Bill Murray, Jason Schwartzman, Tom Wilkinson, an unrecognizable Tilda Swinton, and the unrecognizable-if-it-was-up-to-me Owen Wilson.

The story, while being at the same time central to the movie, but curiously like a silent era slapstick in places, was overshadowed by the crisp, witty dialog delivered with a suitably elegant and campy style by most of the cast.

While not the masterpiece that Anderson's accolytes might have you believe, this was nevertheless fun, and a pleasant surprise.

RAVE - Bouchon

What better way to celebrate a birthday than spend the weekend at The Village Inn at Yountville, Napa, and have dinner at Bouchon? Well, aside from a weekend somewhere hot, like Bora Bora, Napa will do - and it's 18 hours closer to home.

Bouchon was a hasty rejig of our scheduled dinner at Ad Hoc, another place we've eaten at before, but at the last minute we got into Bouchon and were sipping cocktails there as I canceled Ad Hoc.

Dinner was a spectacular Ham Rillette followed by Steak Bouchon, while Mrs Page had the Rillette au Deux Saumons - fresh and smoked salmon - followed by Coquilles Saint-Jacques. The atmosphere, service and food is second to none, and really feels like you're in Paris.

The fact that it was a very short stroll across the street from our hotel was the icing on the cake.

REVIEW - Non Stop

It's hard to say too much about this latest Liam Neeson escapade without giving the story, so I'll have to be careful.

Neeson is an air marshal on a transatlantic flight when someone sends him a text saying they're going to kill one of the passengers every twenty minutes unless the airline deposits 150 million dollars into a numbered account. (I'm not sure why we always refer to those accounts where criminals stash the proceeds of their scurrilous activities as 'numbered', seeing as everyone's bank account is numbered, but hey, we can only fix so many problems during one flight).

Aside from the somewhat far-fetched shenanigans and - not that riveting - plot twists, this was your basic flight highjacking given a new coat of paint.

Not something they'll ever show on the blurry little screens on any flight, but not a complete nose-dive into the sea kind of film.

REVIEW - Stalingrad

An event as momentous as the battle of Stalingrad warranted something a little better than this - an overblown rehash of Hollywood's earlier attempts with a couple of romantic - and to my mind, pointless - diversions.

I may sound a little geriatric in saying so, but the movie was unbelievably LOUD. Part of that was because it was in San Francisco's IMAX theatre, where everything is cranked up to 11. Part of it was the subject matter. Just as you can't make an omelet without breaking eggs, I guess it's hard to make a war movie without the requisite explosives.

Notwithstanding the noise and the romance - this Russian language version of the story of the Russian army versus Nazis failed to add anything to the much better Enemy At The Gates. If you haven't seen that excellent film, I suggest you rent it rather than trying to catch the latest Stalingrad.

RAVE - Lone Survivor

I ignored my favorite political talk show host Bill Maher's comment "Why give away the outcome of a movie in the title?" and saw the excellent Lone Survivor.

This was thoroughly engrossing, taut, and - I've read somewhere - a very accurate portrayal of life on the front line in Afghanistan.

Mark Wahlberg is one of four Navy Seals airlifted into the mountains to hunt down a Taliban leader. I don't want to give away too much of the plot - aside from there being just one survivor of the mission, but their task takes an early swerve toward disaster when they encounter a group of goat herders and decide to let them leave rather than kill them.

This was another of the current crop of movies based on a true story. I don't know whether that made what could have been a me-too war caper into a gripping fight for survival, but maybe it did, and it was.

RANT - John's Grill

This place, along with The Tadich Grill, and House of Prime Rib, represents the type of restaurant mostly frequented by out of towners, and (rightly) avoided by locals.

It's a tired place, made 'famous' by Dashiell Hammett's The Maltese Falcon. According to the restaurant's blurb, it's a favorite place of "local and national celebrities", although the pictures of those "celebrities" on the walls all look like they're of people who were at best small timers and only back in the day (and that 'day' looks like it was sometime in the fifties).

The menu too is tired, consisting of the dull steak and seafood staples that're done so much better by the more happening steak places in town or the many seafood specialty places around.

My Caesar Salad and Rib Eye Steak (I said the menu was tired) were underwhelming and made only palatable by my hosts, a large party of business associates from out of town and out of the country.

RANT - 3 Days To Kill

Kevin Costner is a somewhat weary CIA operative. Weary because he's getting a bit old for all this shootin' and fightin' stuff, and he's dying of a rare type of cancer.

His estranged wife and daughter are living in Paris, where he finds himself having to resolve one last case, while trying to re-establish a father/daughter relationship.

His CIA handler, played pointlessly and almost invisibly by Amber Heard, feeds him leads on his case, the names of people she needs offed, and an untested drug that might help with his disease. Oh, and the drug's side effects also lead to all-too-frequent passing out spells for our weary shooter.

And Costner's nasty apartment has been occupied by a family of squatters from Mali.

Confused? Watching the movie won't tidy things up for you much.

What with Costner's wheezing and coughing through his every step, the incessant calls to his cell phone from his daughter or his handler, and the totally unnecessary wrinkle of having to deal with the squatters whenever he goes to his apartment this is a movie that needs a good sorting out.

It wasn't helped by the obligatory car chase through Paris that did nothing to add to the excitement or logic of the film.

Lame.

REVIEW - The Monuments Men

This started with my wife and me on opposite sides of the fence - she was fully lathered up and ready for what she expected to be a blockbuster movie. Me? I was already annoyed at the way the film had been advertised: "The Untold Story of blah, blah ..." when I remember reading the book The Monuments Men: Allied Heroes, Nazi Thieves and the Greatest Treasure Hunt in History by Robert Edsel.

And while we're on the subject of lying advertisers, the trailer for the upcoming Russell Crowe flick Noah, laughably says this too is an "Untold Story". Give me a break.

Anyhow, Edsel's book was good. This film was not.

The only reason I've not given it a RANT was because of our opposing expectations, and the effect they had on our enjoyment of the movie. Mrs. P loved it. I thought it was poorly told, unevenly directed, and devoid of any excitement or intrigue. The fact that it lacked any humor was not necessarily a disappointment - after all, the theft or destruction of millions of irreplaceable pieces of art by the Nazis during the Second World War doesn't really warrant too many gags - however, the presence of Oceans Eleven, or at least Oceans Two (George Clooney and Matt Damon), led one to at least expect some lightheartedness.

There wasn't any, and even if there had been it wouldn't have saved this film.

RAVE - Skrillex at The Independent

With bass enough to not only restart the heart of the most lifeless cardiac patient, but capable of taking a vat of skimmed milk and churning it into the thickest butter, DJ wunderkind Sonny Moore, aka Skrillex practically blew out The Independent last night.

While support came from DJs Louisahhh!!! and Craze, their sets - while sounding good and solid at the time - paled into insignificance once Skrillex took over the tables for what, it must be said, made for a bit of a marathon evening of revived hearts and freshly-churned Cheddar.

Even though The Independent's usual sound and light equipment is worthy of most indie rock mortals, Skrillex' crew wheeled in a truck full of extra speakers, all with volume dials super-glued at 11. And the light show - reminiscent of an acid trip through Vegas - had my fellow traveler fretting about passing out in a blubbering heap.

Heaven knows what he was doing at a Skrillex show, but one diversion was comedian Dave Chappelle crowd-surfing his way to the bar at the back of the room.

Thankfully, aside from faint traces of cheese in my beard - something the years, and a healthy dairy diet have got me used to - I awoke as I often do, feeling like an 18-year old.

As often is the case, a suitably irreverent closing line is available from my good friend Mr. Espley.

REVIEW - Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit

Based on characters created by writer Tom Clancy, but derivative of a dozen other undercover operative movies, this one stars Kevin Costner and Chris Pine as CIA agents trying to circumvent a dastardly Russian plot to bring down the US currency and the country with it.

There's the requisite amount of action, little intrigue, only one explosion, a frenetic but not very entertaining car chase through Moscow, not much female attraction (sorry Keira Knightley, you've lost your hot-ness, and with all your money you should really get your teeth fixed), and that's about it.

It's a very old-fashioned type of "thriller", in its plot and delivery, played by one actor who's getting too old for this kind of stuff, and another who hasn't yet earned his stripes.

RAVE - Great Band Names

One of the bands appearing recently at one of our local venues, The Parkside, was the fabulously named Rage Against Florence and The Machine.

Their wit reminded me of Jack Black's band in the movie High Fidelity.

They were playing at John Cusack's producer party as Sonic Death Monkey and Black introduced themselves by saying "We're on the verge of being called The Kathleen Turner Overdrive, but tonight we're performing as Barry Jive and The Uptown Five".

RAVE - Vestry

This relatively new place - at least to us - managed to find a spare 30 feet of frontage on Valencia Street, right next door to its sister bar The Chapel. Despite those names' religious overtones, the place is very relaxing, in food and surroundings.

There may be plenty of places where its possible to dine on pate, meatballs, burgers and so on - even on the same block - but The Vestry proved to be a very agreeable place to have all of those.

RAVE - CBGBs

I learned several things watching this film.

First, CBGB stood for Country Bluegrass and Blues - none of which featured in the real-life club, or this movie.

Second, American use of the word Punk to describe music is very different from the way it's used in England. For me, Punk means The Stranglers, Sex Pistols, The Damned, and so on. For Americans, it's more of a punk-ish attitude, rather than music and fashion movements. That's the only excuse I can find for featuring performances by Tom Verlaine, Patti Smith, David Byrne, and (ha ha) Sting, all of whom would get thrown out of any decent Punk band for being too dull.

Alright, the club did see the birth of The Ramones, and played host to early Lou Reed and Iggy Pop (or at least the film did), and so deserved its notoriety.

Alan Rickman was perfect as the legendary club's owner, Hilly Kristal, and despite my irrational bias against anything that professes to be about the birth of Punk yet leaves out the British contingent, I still enjoyed this movie.

RAVE - Escamoles in Mexico City

Spending a week in Mexico City consisted of at least three hours every day bumping around in nose to tail traffic from meeting to meeting in a taxi, with the occasional respite of an interesting meal in the company of some fine hosts.

One such meal I was cajoled into trying last week was Escamoles, the larvae of ants harvested from the roots of the Agave tequila plant. Frankly, how they're harvested is hardly the point. They're ants eggs for heck's sake.

But surprise surprise (especially for those hosts who were certain I'd turn my nose up at these insects) they tasted great, and easy to eat once I'd pecked gingerly at the first spoonful. Apparently, they're best cooked in oil and butter, they look like small pieces of corn, and taste like nutty cottage cheese.

I don't believe they'll ever take the place of a good packet of smokey bacon crisps, but if I'm stranded in the Mexican desert any time, I'll know where to look for a snack.

RAVE - Philomena

This, along with Nebraska and The Invisible Woman, makes a trio of laid back, downright gentle films that have come along lately and while each of them was rewarding, Philomena stood out with its heart-rending story and wonderful script.

Steve Coogan plays a world-weary journalist who - because he's got nothing else going on - decides to pursue the human interest story of Judy Dench, an Irish Catholic who's young child was sold by the nuns from the convent in which she was forced to live as a single, pregnant woman. That story leads the two to track down her son who has grown up in the USA.

It's funny, touching, and an enjoyable movie that reminds us what a great writer Steve Coogan is, and how dirty the Catholic church can be when it puts its mind to it.

RAVE - Nebraska

Bruce Dern plays a decrepit old guy who believes the Publishers Clearing House-type mailer that informs him he's won a million dollars. His secret isn't kept for long. He journeys from Montana to Nebraska with his son, to pick up his alleged winnings, and everyone he bumps into congratulates him on being a millionaire.

There were dozens of fabulous lines, including my favorite: Woody (Bruce Dern's) wife [upon learning Woody has "won" a million dollars] "I never knew the son of a bitch even wanted to be a millionaire! He should have thought about that years ago and got a job!"

This was a gentle, very un-Hollywood-like film. Wry, dry, easy-going fun.

RAVE - American Hustle

You've seen the trailers: Christian Bale as Irving Rosenfeld, sporting an elaborate comb-over, hefty gut and a wicked way with the con; Bradley Cooper, FBI investigator and a bit of a horse's ass; Jennifer Lawrence, Rosenfeld's deceptively dumb blonde wife; Amy Adams, Rosenfeld's co-conspirator and lover; and Jeremy Renner as an is-he-crooked-or-not Mayor - a great cast.

But it's not the thriller the trailers would have us believe. It's about the relationship between Rosenfeld and his wife, between Rosenfeld and his lover, between all three of them and the FBI, and how those relationships all play out with the Mayor.

A generous RAVE then, because it wasn't a complete success. Mrs P and I were both looking at our watches after a half hour, but it ended up an enjoyable if imperfect movie.

REVIEW - The Invisible Woman

We could not have picked a different movie to the previous night's Wolf of Wall Street. Rather than a film about money, with a lot of sex going on, The Invisible Woman was a film about sex, with virtually nothing going on.

Set in the 1830s, It's the story of a middle-aged Charles Dickens and his love affair with an 18-year old fan. Ralph Fiennes is impeccable as Dickens, the father of 10 who became bored with his long-suffering wife, and took a fancy to Nelly Ternan, played by Felicity Jones.

It's tough picking out the high points here because, aside from superb acting there was very little going on worth talking about.

A gentle movie, soporific even. It was tough watching this in the fully reclining leather chairs at The Embarcadero theater zzzzzzzz.