The Courtier Salutes...

A great piece in The Atlanta Journal Constitution tells us about George Carley, Presiding Judge of the Supreme Court of Georgia, in a way which not only reveals much about the man, but also gives us quite an example of how a courtier should behave:

George Carley knew he was having a heart attack.

It was 4 a.m. and the intense pressure on his chest could mean only one thing. But before telling his wife, Sandy, the Georgia jurist took care of some urgent business. First, he smoked what he thought might be his last cigarette. Then he shaved.

Only then did he tell his wife he was having a coronary, and she ordered him out to the car. But wait: He’d forgotten one other thing, he told Sandy. Would she go back into the house and get his coat and tie? Carley might have been about to die, but he wasn’t about to die out of uniform.

Forget it, Sandy said.

In this case, Mrs. Carley was right to refuse to go back for a coat and tie, but one has to admire Justice Carley for managing to get himself reasonably put together before heading to hospital.

In a very small way it reminded me of when I was struck by a car last year while crossing Pennsylvania Avenue. After the impact I hobbled over to the side of the road, blood pouring from the gash in my knee and from my hands, my poor suit from Paris completely ruined, to await the arrival of my boss, who was nearby. I sat on a low stone wall and smoked a cigarette more or less calmly until she arrived, trying to brush the road bits out of my hair and tidy up as best I could so that I wouldn't make a big dripping mess on the pavement.

This is not to say, of course, that a gentleman should act like an automaton, or a lady like a Stepford Wife, in times of injury or emergency. However, there is something to be said for taking the time to consider whether there are a few minutes to put things together before heading into public territory. Justice Carley will be retiring in 2012, but apart from his remarkable legal legacy (dealt with extensively in the article) he is also an excellent example for younger people to keep in mind with respect to how to behave and present oneself, if one wants to build a good public reputation.

Justice & Mrs. Carley

Thanksgiving with Buttercup

For those of you who intend to head home rather than hunker down with a cask of plonk, The New Yorker has some helpful hints for traveling this Thanksgiving, e.g., "Long car trip? Spice it up by cutting the brake line." In a few hours I myself will be heading up to Chez Pere for the holiday. For that matter, four weeks from today I will be heading up the Passeig de Gracia to have my afternoon "tallat" at Cafe Francesco, and perhaps drop in at Vinçon for some last-minute Christmas gift ideas: but one holiday at a time.

Travel between now and the end of the year is something that we Americans tend to do as a matter of course, with Thanksgiving being the most heavily traveled holiday of all. Experts are predicting that Thanksgiving air traffic will decline, and that the road traffic will not be so heavy due to more people staying at home this year. This will be small comfort to me and my sister as we hit the Beltway this afternoon, in what will no doubt be a sea of other early getaway vehicles.

Much as I enjoy spending time with my family during Thanksgiving, probably the most memorable Turkey Day I can (vaguely) remember came during my third year of law school. Since I was leaving for Barcelona only two weeks later, and had exams to study for in the meantime, it didn't make much sense to head home from South Bend that year. I chose to spend the Thanksgiving holiday with some similarly-orphaned classmates. Each of us agreed to contribute a dish to the table, and arrived late morning on Thanksgiving Day at the flat of one of the group members to start preparing our meal.

After the end of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, we set about our work. Some well-intentioned soul had brought a case of Beaujolais Nouveau for us to enjoy throughout the afternoon, and another well-intentioned soul thought it would be a good idea to watch "The Princess Pride" while we were preparing our feast. The combination of these two ingredients led to some unexpected results.

If you have seen "The Princess Bride", you are aware that it is a classic comedic film from the 1980's. However I assure you that you truly have not experienced the movie until you have gone through several bottles of Beaujolais Nouveau. Lines which garner a chuckle under normal circumstances become howlers when sipping young wine while sprawled on the living room carpet. As we waited on a turkey that doesn't seem to be cooking properly (and which we never did eat), or burnt pumpkin pie, or mashed potatoes that were too lumpy, we decided to watch the film again.

By the end of the get-together, the wine was depleted, we had given up on any semblance of a turkey dinner, and had laughed ourselves silly. Our Thanksgiving dinner consisted of things like tepid Stove Top stuffing or cranberry sauce out of a can. It was certainly not the best-cooked Thanksgiving dinner I have ever had, but without question it was one of the most enjoyable.

(Not) Chewing the Fat

In the evenings before bed, I often listen to podcasts from sites such as EWTN, SQPN, and Librivox. However on Sunday evenings after "Masterpiece Theatre", I turn to WAMU 88.5 FM here in Washington, D.C. for my evening's entertainment. From 7:00 pm to 11:00pm Ed Walker hosts "The Big Broadcast", featuring recordings of classic radio plays, variety shows, and so on from the 1930's through the 1960's.

Last evening I enjoyed a detective serial from the spring of 1951, sponsored by Kraft Foods. The announcer took intervals during the story to push Velveeta processed cheese. During one of these breaks, he noted that Velveeta was a good source of milk products for the busy mother, "which is so important now that it's Lent." When was the last time you heard someone remind you of the liturgical season on commercial radio?

For Advent of course, Catholics do not have to fast or abstain from meat, and given the number of Christmas parties most of us either want or have to attend over the next several weeks, this is probably a good thing. At the same time however, it might be good to make a little sacrifice for yourself as we enter the new liturgical year this Sunday after Thanksgiving. Perhaps we can hold off on eating Christmas candy until Christmas actually arrives, or limit ourselves at Christmas parties taking place before Christmas to not eating any cakes or sweets. Not only would this be better for our saturated fat intake, but it would also make the 12 days of Christmas a bit more meaningful.

The Queen's Throne

A little Friday humor for my readers:

As I have written about previously on this blog, Catalans tend to be obsessed with certain biological functions when we arrive at the Christmas holidays. One example of this finds expression in the caganer, the figurine of a defecating person (traditionally in peasant garb) who is hidden in a discreet location in Nativity scenes. The earliest mentions of it occur in the 17th century, though one suspects it is of much earlier origin, probably from the Middle Ages.

Over time the makers of caganers, who also make the enormous array of more standard ceramic figurines for the Nativity scene, began to express themselves by creating pooping images of famous persons, such as the King of Spain, Fidel Castro, etc. Today it has been announced that Queen Elizabeth II will be so honored. She can be purchased at caganer.com for 15 euro, plus shipping. One wonders whether Her Majesty will be amused.

The Courtier Shares A Confidence

While on some level I am reluctant to do so, since the more miserly part of me would like to keep this knowledge to myself, I cannot help but err on the side of generosity and share with you, dear reader, the fact that The Courtier finds himself passionately in love - with a shop. For those of you in the D.C. area who are not already familiar with it, Rodman's in Friendship Heights is a venue which has proven to be a great pleasure for me to visit. It is an unusual combination of grocer, wine/beer shop, and general store, resembling little if anything that exists anymore in our national "sameness" retail environment here in the city.

I first became aware of Rodman's a little over a year ago, while serving Grand Jury Duty. At lunch one day, two of the ladies on our panel who lived in the Friendship Heights area were discussing a recent sale they attended at a place called Rodman's. When I asked what Rodman's was, they were shocked that I had lived in NW Washington for so many years and had never dropped in to check out the store. Truthfully, I had seen it on Wisconsin Avenue numerous times, but simply assumed it was a neighborhood grocer. Their protestations that it was something quite different and extraordinary I found somewhat unbelievable.

Then in December of last year I decided to pay a visit, and was rewarded with what has to be one of the most unusual shopping experiences in the District. There in the seasonal aisle of the grocery section were products from Spain I had never seen all gathered together for sale in one place in the U.S., everything from turron to chocolates to pastries typical of Christmastide. In the wine department were easily 50 wine labels from Spain, some of growers well-known to American buyers and others of good quality which I had never seen before in this country.

Venturing downstairs into the basement, the savvy shopper could pick up anything from greeting cards to imported soaps, toys and games to pharmaceutical items, bath mats, and home appliances. The variety of items for sale is truly unusual, and seems to follow no coherent rationale with respect to what is and is not carried - which is what makes shopping here part of the fun. For my annual Nit de Sant Joan party this summer, I turned to Rodman's for virtually all of my party needs, from disposable serving pieces to alcohol, food and so on.

On my most recent visit, I virtually jumped for joy at finding fuet, a sausage typical of Catalonia and hard to find in this country, in the deli section. If you want a giant Russian Christmas pudding, Christmas cracker party favors from England, or dozens of kinds of Belgian beer, you will not be disappointed. The fact that a store like Rodman's, in this day and age, can not only survive but thrive is a testament to its owners, but also to the loyalty of its customers, who have not abandoned it for the big box chains, a process which led to the demise of so many interesting mom-and-pop shops in the city. Should you find yourself in Friendship Heights anytime soon, I highly recommend a visit.

A Virtual Feast

Recently I made dinner for this lady (who can also be read here) and this gentleman (who can also be read here), and we had a long-ranging, interesting discussion. The conversation turned to food, as it often does, and the lady asked us what we would choose for our last meal. For some morbid reason I have had a long-standing idea as to what my last meal would be, before being executed by the Communists, and so have decided to share it with my readers, visually at least. Thinking about this has made me realize it is more likely that my execution will take place in the autumn, given my choices, and as this is also my favorite season of the year, it fits rather nicely.

To begin with The Widow must be present, preferably in vintage form, in abundance:


And naturally there must be plenty of French and Catalan cheeses:


I have always loved a flavorful pumpkin soup:


The green course would be, not a surprise to those who know me, "espinacs a la catalana", or Catalan-style spinach, with raisins, pine nuts, and a bit of cured bacon:


The fish course would be Dover sole, preferably from Scott's in Mayfair:


Followed by "anec amb peres", roast baby goose with pears:


And a lemon tart, preferably from the Pastisseria Airo in Sarrià:


Along with a well-made tallat:



and a glass of Catalan muscatel to finish:

Ignoring the Obvious

Last evening I watched a documentary on the life of Rosalind Russell, who was probably best-known to film audiences for her turns in "His Girl Friday" and "Mame". She was also a highly successful Broadway actress at the beginning and at the end of her career. "Friday", in particular, is the film of hers that I have always enjoyed most, because of the dizzying pace of comedic dialogue between Russell and Cary Grant that is still matchless today.

Despite her fame, Rosalind Russell never actively sought the spotlight, but chose to keep her private life off the pages of newspapers and magazines. She suffered for years from breast cancer, unbeknownst to anyone but her close friends, undergoing a double mastectomy back in the early 1960's and at a time where treatment for cancer was nowhere near where it is today. Sadly, a few years later later the cancer metastasized and claimed her life at a comparatively early age.

The documentary featured family, friends, and film critics, and was narrated by Kathleen Turner, who read passages from Russell's autobiography. Ms. Turner has a husky voice not dissimilar to Ms. Russell's toward the end of her life, so in this respect it was not a bad casting call. However, whether because Turner was involved (taking a break from advocating infanticide), or whether because the filmmakers simply chose to overlook it, little to no mention was made of Russell's Catholicism, despite the fact that she grew up in a large, Irish-American Catholic family, attended Catholic school, and even played a Mother Superior once in the comedy "Where Angels Go, Trouble Follows", well-known to the ladies in my readership who are Haley Mills fans.

In doing some background reading about Rosalind Russell last evening, I came across the following, written after her death by her husband of 35 years, Danish producer Frederick Brisson. I am sharing it with my readers, as it shows not only what a fun woman she was, but also what a good marriage and strong bedrock of faith she possessed. In particular, I was touched by Ms. Russell's regular prayer, which she herself composed, and which helped her to cope with her suffering during her long illness: "Trust Him, when darkest thoughts assail thee, Trust Him when thy faith is small. Trust Him, when to simply trust Him is the hardest thing of all."