I am getting quieter and quieter. Yes. Partly because I've been away and working. Partly because I have no inspiration whatsoever.
I have been compiling a few things. Chocolates, for one... Which I couldn't find on my own, nooo... Had to read about in the Cool Hunting newsletter. Charlemagne have the crappiest site ever, but apparently make hemp-flavored milk chocolate, among other things. Here's what CH has to say about it.
Photography... Philippe Chancel, so unapologetically French, in the intimacy of a falsely modest woman (who you kidding, lady), so playful in Angkor, tyrannically geometric in North Korea... And Denis Darzacq, with his amazing series on free-falling.
The sis, bless her, had the good grace of not waiting a second to share her latest find. Here's PeekVid, thanks to which I was able to watch the new episodes of Scrubs. The last two are hilarious - the musical one, especially, deserves to be mentioned. It was written with the help of the team of Avenue Q. A similar idea: alluc.org.
Sorry, people. All I can do for now. More soon, hopefully.
Showing posts with label chocolate. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chocolate. Show all posts
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Saturday, December 9, 2006
In the Eurostar
The press shelf at the entrance of coach 7 of the Saturday night Eurostar going to Brussels has just suffered the worst razzia in its history.
It started in the boarding area at Waterloo. I bought The Guardian and Mojo. The Guardian, well... because it's the Guardian. Mojo, because apart from being the best music magazine i ever came across, it has Dylan on the cover with a fine example of the countless wanky quotes he managed to deliver over the years: "I don't break the rules... Because there are no rules." Oh boy.
Then the Eurostar. Last week's Economist was sitting there, titling: "Why ethical shopping harms the world." Bastards. Questioning once again my entire value system. I haven't read their piece yet and I know exactly what's going to happen. First, I'm going to stop buying my favorite chocolate à l'orange, which is fairtrade, organic and absolutely delicious. I got so much shit for it, was called a bo-bo (bourgeois-bohême, something like a posh tree-hugger). Didn't stop the name-callers from devouring it, but eh. After this I'll get into a series of arguments with my French, left-wing, anti-globalization friends, who'll tell me I sold out, I have no soul, I've been brainwashed, so on and so forth. Ah hell. I'm tired already.
Anyway, my handbag was wide open and in went the magazine. So did this week's Economist, with something on Britain's failing transport system, so I can nod emphatically, get all indignant and feel like I still belong.
Though I never really read it when I was in London, I also grabbed today's Times, just for kicks. And as a preventive measure. You never know when nostalgia will hit and you'll start craving some witty British writing at night and in bed, when your eyes become too dry to bear another internet minute.
And then, just to compensate, French magazine Jalouse, a special edition on Asian coolness: fashion, design, cinema and other artsy fartsy stuff from Shanghai, Bangkok and Tokyo. Probably very insubstantial, but I still took it, for their effort. And mine.
No idea when I'll be back in London. So I guess anything will do.
It started in the boarding area at Waterloo. I bought The Guardian and Mojo. The Guardian, well... because it's the Guardian. Mojo, because apart from being the best music magazine i ever came across, it has Dylan on the cover with a fine example of the countless wanky quotes he managed to deliver over the years: "I don't break the rules... Because there are no rules." Oh boy.
Then the Eurostar. Last week's Economist was sitting there, titling: "Why ethical shopping harms the world." Bastards. Questioning once again my entire value system. I haven't read their piece yet and I know exactly what's going to happen. First, I'm going to stop buying my favorite chocolate à l'orange, which is fairtrade, organic and absolutely delicious. I got so much shit for it, was called a bo-bo (bourgeois-bohême, something like a posh tree-hugger). Didn't stop the name-callers from devouring it, but eh. After this I'll get into a series of arguments with my French, left-wing, anti-globalization friends, who'll tell me I sold out, I have no soul, I've been brainwashed, so on and so forth. Ah hell. I'm tired already.
Anyway, my handbag was wide open and in went the magazine. So did this week's Economist, with something on Britain's failing transport system, so I can nod emphatically, get all indignant and feel like I still belong.
Though I never really read it when I was in London, I also grabbed today's Times, just for kicks. And as a preventive measure. You never know when nostalgia will hit and you'll start craving some witty British writing at night and in bed, when your eyes become too dry to bear another internet minute.
And then, just to compensate, French magazine Jalouse, a special edition on Asian coolness: fashion, design, cinema and other artsy fartsy stuff from Shanghai, Bangkok and Tokyo. Probably very insubstantial, but I still took it, for their effort. And mine.
No idea when I'll be back in London. So I guess anything will do.
Thursday, December 7, 2006
Warming up
The place I'm staying at while I find my own:
Stairs and wooden floors.
Not surprisingly, duplexes are a popular thing here. Seem like the practical thing to do in the tall, narrow, 1900 houses.
My girl Chiqui gives advice worth following. Listening to her, I paid a visit to Mr. Marcolini this evening. "The sex shop of chocolate shops," said J. True. The black carpet on the stairs reminded me of Agent Provocateur. It's pure visual pleasure. Haven't tasted any of it yet, but it's promising.
Sablons is a lovely area. Small, paved streets, adorable restaurants, antique shops, art galleries and unaffordable rent. Walking past Louise avenue towards Porte de Namur, the neighborhood is posh, but it does make you want to spend a couple hundred more euros a month. Had dinner at L'Ultime Atome (see what they did?), place Ernest Solvay. Great food - excellent tarte tatin. Kind of loud. Shame for the music - I don't know who on earth still thinks Manu Chao is cool. I did a quick search on Google, looks like the NY Times mentioned it a while ago.
Now, Chiqui, I'll have to explore this thing about people partying in a cemetery. And visit the comic bookstore you're mentioning.
Turning in now. The cab will pick me up at 6:15. I'm taking the Eurostar back to London. No, I'm not giving up already. I'll be back on Saturday.
Stairs and wooden floors.
Not surprisingly, duplexes are a popular thing here. Seem like the practical thing to do in the tall, narrow, 1900 houses.
My girl Chiqui gives advice worth following. Listening to her, I paid a visit to Mr. Marcolini this evening. "The sex shop of chocolate shops," said J. True. The black carpet on the stairs reminded me of Agent Provocateur. It's pure visual pleasure. Haven't tasted any of it yet, but it's promising.
Sablons is a lovely area. Small, paved streets, adorable restaurants, antique shops, art galleries and unaffordable rent. Walking past Louise avenue towards Porte de Namur, the neighborhood is posh, but it does make you want to spend a couple hundred more euros a month. Had dinner at L'Ultime Atome (see what they did?), place Ernest Solvay. Great food - excellent tarte tatin. Kind of loud. Shame for the music - I don't know who on earth still thinks Manu Chao is cool. I did a quick search on Google, looks like the NY Times mentioned it a while ago.
Now, Chiqui, I'll have to explore this thing about people partying in a cemetery. And visit the comic bookstore you're mentioning.
Turning in now. The cab will pick me up at 6:15. I'm taking the Eurostar back to London. No, I'm not giving up already. I'll be back on Saturday.
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