Opera 101—Inglourious Basterd

As a short respite from what was quickly turning out to be the season of the bitch, last night La Maratonista and I saw Mozart’s Don Giovanni. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect since the plot of this opera basically revolves around a serial rapist, but, when the villain gets his just due by being dragged down to Hell at the end of the story, I guess one can’t really say that the author is condoning his behavior. In the end, it was far less squirm-inducing than something like Madama Butterfly. And it may turn out to be my favorite opera so far, despite the subject matter and the setting.

Like so many operas, including next month’s Carmen as well as Rossini’s Il barbiere di Siviglia, Beethoven’s Fidelio, Verdi’s La forza del destino, and Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro, Don Giovanni is set in Seville. I’m not quite sure why Seville held such fascination for the mostly French authors that these works are based on, but there you go. Yes, it’s beautiful, but, since Seville is the city that began my love-hate (okay, now mostly hate) relationship with Spain, a country I have visited many times, this constant intrusion into my opera-going is unfortunate.

Looking out over the city of Seville, Spain

For me, (cue dramatic music) Seville will always be a city of betrayal. It’s the city where I met him who some know as Ascot Man—on a weekend that began innocently enough with me flying down from Paris to attend a wedding in the cathedral, and somehow ended a week later with me on the red carpet at the Goya awards in Madrid. Oddly enough, the bastard in this particular passion play was neither Ascot Man, nor the future congressman I was initially traveling with, but rather the groom (and former housemate), who turned out to be one of the lyingest liars I have ever met.

So, perhaps it’s quite appropriate that Don Giovanni is set there after all.

Lucas Meachem as Don Giovanni, the bragger of Seville
Photo by Cory Weaver.

The action of the opera begins with the attempted rape of Donna Anna. She escapes, and her father, coming to her defense, is killed by Don Giovanni, who then flees before his identity can be discovered. Naturally, because it’s opera, Anna and her fiancé, Don Ottavio, swear revenge in a beautiful duet. Meanwhile, Donna Elvira, who Giovanni had jilted some time before, arrives in Seville seeking her former lover.

To give you an idea of Elvira’s tenacity, we learn she has come all the way from Burgos, in northern Spain. (Incidentally, my one and only visit to Burgos was on a weekend away with Ascot Man. On our way to the northern coast from Madrid, we stopped to visit a friend of his who was restoring his family’s castle—or monastery, or some other kind of once-glorious medieval ruin—outside of Burgos. I’m not really sure, because I’ve tried to block most of that trip from my mind. Although I’m very certain ascots were worn.)

But I digress. Suffice it to say that Burgos is a long way from Seville and Elvira is very determined to get her man back.

As usual, Giovanni talks his way out of the situation and leaves his servant Leporello to explain his master’s true character in the hilarious “Madamina, il catalogo è questo,” tallying up his master’s conquests.

Marco Vinco as Leporello, with Don Giovanni's not-so-little black book
Photo by Cory Weaver.

Ryan Kuster and Kate Lindsey as Masetto and Zerlina
Photo by Cory Weaver.

Later, Giovanni and Leporello come upon the wedding festivities of Masetto and Zerlina, whom he immediately tries to seduce, until Elvira interrupts. In the midst of this, Anna and Ottavio arrive to ask Giovanni for help in capturing her father’s murderer. Watching Giovanni in action, Anna realizes the truth, and again calls for vengeance on her father’s killer. Ottavio, for whom the sun rises and sets on Anna, will do anything for her. (As a point of contrast, Ascot Man once claimed that, although he would willingly sacrifice his life for me—in some hypothetical instance where this might be needed—he would never ever do dishes. Apparently, in this future life of leisure, I wouldn’t have to do them either, but somehow this wasn’t really the selling point he thought it was.)

Anyway, Ottavio (who I’m pretty sure would do the dishes if Anna asked him to nicely), along with a disguised Anna and Elvira, crashes the party that Don Giovanni is throwing to woo Zerlina away from the jealous Masetto. When Zerlina cries out from an adjoining room, the three guests unmask themselves and declare that Giovanni must pay for his crimes. However, Giovanni once again escapes his accusers and, after a long series of digressions involving Leporello disguised as his master, ends up in a cemetery, sitting below the grave and statue of Anna’s father.

Here the opera takes a turn to the supernatural, as the statue seems to come alive and solemnly intones to Giovanni “Di rider finirai pria dell’aurora” (Your laughter will end before dawn). While a terrified Leporello looks on in horror, Giovanni insists on inviting the statue to dinner.

Note: While I mostly wasn’t impressed with the sets of this production (I really didn’t get the mirrors at all; they weren’t used and therefore seemed rather pointless), the cemetery looked great. The woman next to me was notably excited when she finally realized that one of the “statues” was in fact a real person.

The graveyard set. Photo by Cory Weaver.

The opera concludes with Giovanni eating a lavish dinner while being serenaded by musicians playing opera tunes, including a sly nod to “Non più andrai” from Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro. When the ghost of Anna’s father finally arrives, he offers Giovanni a last chance to repent, but Giovanni will have none of it and he’s dragged down to Hell. This final death scene was well acted on Lucas Meachem’s part, but the smoke was rather uneven and looked a bit awkward from our vantage point in Dress Circle.

Don Giovanni's last supper. Photo by Cory Weaver.

All in all, I really enjoyed this opera more than I thought I would, especially after the tepid critical reception it has gotten. Granted, if I had already seen Don Giovanni many times, I suppose I might be more critical. I wasn’t very impressed with the set, which I had really been looking forward to after seeing the initial press photos. However, I loved Andrea Viotti’s costumes. How could I not when they were mostly pinks and purples?

Ellie Dehn as Donna Anna in her beautiful lavender gown.
Photo by Cory Weaver

And the opera itself is truly a masterwork with gorgeous music throughout and some really beautiful arias. I loved the bit with what I now know was the conductor, Nicola Luisotti, playing fortepiano.

I thought the women outsang the men, especially early on. This was a bit unusual, as I normally think the sopranos are the ones that get drowned out by the orchestra in the War Memorial Opera House. Kate Lindsey (Zerlina), in her San Francisco debut, stood out for me, not only with her vocals, but also her acting and movement, particularly during her “Batti, batti, o bel Masetto” number. I also thought Ellie Dehn (Donna Anna) was very strong, which is odd given that I remember being underwhelmed with her Countess Almaviva last year. Serena Farnocchia (Donna Elvira), also in her San Francisco debut, was fine vocally, but had an odd way of leaning during many of her numbers which was rather disconcerting. I kept wanting to straighten her out.

Mostly, I was excited to see that in an opera about such a dastardly man, the women did such a great job. Not that Lucas Meachem as Don Giovanni and Marco Vinco as Leporello didn’t, but I was worried in the beginning when I could barely hear the lovely “Notte e giorno faticar.” Luckily, this seemed to be less of a problem as the opera went on, since I think that Vinco has a nice tone and is a great actor. It was also thrilling to see Adler Fellow Ryan Kuster, who I had noticed in his tiny Turandot role earlier this month, step up to the plate for the role of Masetto. And the voice of Morris Robinson was pitch perfect as the otherwordly Commendatore statue.

The biggest downside for me was that this opera is rather long, and the heat in the balconies, while not quite fires of Hell level, did not help my endurance. But it was fun to go out from seeing a ghost in the opera house to the streets of San Francisco filled with costumed Halloween revelers.

Don Giovanni has three more performances at the War Memorial Opera House: November 2, 5, and 10.

It’s Not Because I Hate Gwyneth Paltrow

Okay, maybe it is. Just a little.

Anyway, back in the dark days of no blogging (i.e., the past two months), I was extremely saddened to arrive home from a lovely weekend in Santa Barbara to find the following in my mailbox:

I knew this was coming, but actually having it delivered affected me more than I thought it would. I am a long-time subscriber to Bon Appétit, courtesy of a long ago Christmas gift from my sister that she generously continues to renew. I always felt Bon Appétit was more relevant for the home cook than other food magazines, with recipes that were fairly basic and thoroughly tested. However, some recent trends in the magazine’s coverage had me concerned that it was becoming less about food and more about style and celebrity. This confirmed it. Really, Bon Appétit, you never put people on your cover and you start with Gwyneth Paltrow?!?

And then I did it. I cancelled my subscription. With a grand, dramatic note that may have involved third-rate actresses* and lame women’s magazines.

And, either Bon Appétit really doesn’t care about their customers, or they were overwhelmed with people doing the exact same thing, because I received no response. Zero. To the point where I went back to the subscription site to make sure it had been done. It had. Although, apparently, they have chosen to deliver issues until my subscription runs out in January. So the magazine keeps showing up in my mailbox, effectively neutralizing my grand, dramatic gesture.

This is doubly frustrating because I really wanted to cut back on a few subscriptions and this was a good excuse to start. Especially since I really can’t think what else to cut out—aside from National Geographic, which I subscribed to accidently when I thought I was renewing my subscription to National Geographic Traveler (not that it’s not a good magazine too, it’s just less relevant for me). Even in the digital age, I really like getting all of these, even if, for my purposes, I would prefer Entertainment Weekly to be monthly.

Do you still buy magazines? If so, which ones do you feel are worth subscribing to? Do you read each issue right away, or only when they pile up? (Except for Entertainment Weekly, I have a tendency to read mine only when the next one arrives and I need to make room for it on the coffee table. And then I clip and file recipes and articles for future reference.)

Speaking of making room and overflowing mailboxes, please sign the email charter now and be part of the solution. Only you can prevent the virtual forest fires that I want to set when I see a clogged inbox.

*Even though she totally deserves her Emmy nomination for her role as Holly Holliday on Glee.

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy

While none of these is my new job title, please accept my sincere apologies for not being particularly active here in the last few months. When not visiting missions, most of my spare time has been spent in pursuit of that elusive quarry, a new job, leaving little or no time for blogging. I’m thrilled to report that my search has ended happily and, with an ongoing reading challenge, a new subscription to the Lamplighters, and the upcoming season of the San Francisco Opera, regular posting will begin anon.

In the meantime, how awesome does the latest version of Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy look? I love Alec Guinness as much as the next person, but that is one fine cast.

And thanks to those loyal readers who wrote to ask where and how I was. It is always nice to be missed.

Royals and Rulers, Volume Three

And, with this entry on Hampton Court, home of Henry VIII, the last of my London recommendations have been posted over at Worth the Detour.

That’s not to say there aren’t plenty more worthwhile things to see in London, that's just what I decided to write about from this latest trip. Other stops along the way included:

Highgate Cemetery



The old and the new: Big Ben and the London Eye



Ai Weiwei's "Sunflower Seeds" at the Tate Modern

Violets and Elderflowers

While in France last month, I noticed that many things came in violet flavor. I had never noticed this before, but brought back a bag of violet candies for the office. It was quite interesting to see people’s reactions as they tasted them, since violet is more associated with bath products here than food. Even I thought the first taste was somewhat unusual, despite loving the original aviation cocktail and currently having a bottle of crème de violette* on my bar. However, I grew to really like the candies, and I couldn’t help but notice that certain people definitely kept coming back for more. I asked a French co-worker if this abundance of violet-flavored products was something new or just something I had never noticed. She had never noticed it either, so I guess it’s a new thing.

I noticed a similar phenomenon in London with elderflowers, which I had the opportunity of tasting (via a bottle of elderflower spring water) while eating lunch at Kenwood House on Hampstead Heath. I liked the taste, and would probably buy a similar product here, but elderflower’s only presence in the U.S. seems to be in the French liqueur St. Germain (which I do not currently have on my bar, but maybe I should). Please let me know if I’m wrong about this.

This got me thinking of flavors and trends. As my co-worker observed, maybe violet is France’s answer to cinnamon—an observation that made me laugh since one French friend’s request for something from the U.S. always used to involve Big Red gum. But, while the spice obviously crops up in many items, especially baked goods, its use as a flavoring seems limited.

Seeing a bottle of green apple soda at the local burrito place made me wonder whatever happened to push that one off the shelves. When I was younger, everything seemed to come in sour green apple. I really miss it, but we seemed to have moved away from the sour to the sweet, haven’t we?

Is there a flavor you think of as distinctly American? For my international readers, is there something that you feel visitors to your country should try? Is there a product you stock up on while abroad that has a flavor you can’t get in your home country?

*For those in San Francisco, you can find crème de violette at Cask, on Third Street near Market.

La Ciccia

I don’t normally write about food here, but I had such an amazing dinner earlier this week, I just had to. La Ciccia is a Sardinian restaurant located on the edge of Noe Valley near Glen Park. It was recently featured in a New York Times article on San Francisco Italian restaurants, but I’ve wanted to try it since it was featured on Check, Please! Bay Area. Seeing everyone on that show praising the restaurant so highly, and having recently watched the Sardinia episode of Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations, where everything he ate looked so incredibly delicious, La Ciccia quickly moved to the top of my list of restaurants to try. However, it took me some time to get there since most of my restaurant budget these past few months has been devoted to pre- or post-theater excursions.

In any case, I finally went, and it was delicious.  For antipasti, we started off with a plate of prosciutto, Sardinian flat bread, and an octopus stew in a spicy tomato sauce.  Despite being in public, I couldn’t resist “saucing” my plate, as they say in France. (Yes, the French have a verb for soaking up the sauce on your plate with your bread, and, while acceptable at home, one shouldn’t do it in a restaurant.)  For primi, we had two of Bourdain’s favorite dishes, Spaghittusu cun Allu Ollu e Bottariga (bottarga is a dried fish roe that is shaved over the fresh pasta) and Malloreddus a sa Campidanese (semolina gnochetti with a pork ragu). I think they’ve spoiled me for all other pastas; I would go back for either of those in a heartbeat. As a secondo, we shared the sea bream special. I’m not a huge fan of fish, but I really enjoyed this simple preparation. To finish, we shared the Truta de Arriscottu, a ricotta and saffron cake served with honey and almonds, a perfect dessert that wasn’t too sweet. To me, it had a taste very similar to madeleines, although no Proustian side effects. The wine suggested by our waiter (random side note: a gorgeous man from Milan), a lovely Cannonau, or Grenache, went perfectly with the food.

Heaven, absolute heaven.

Water, Water, Everywhere

“There is a witchery in the sea, its songs and stories, and in the mere sight of a ship, and the sailor's dress, especially to a young mind, which has done more to man navies, and fill merchantmen, than all the pressgangs of Europe."—Richard Henry Dana, Jr., Two Years Before the Mast: A Sailor's Life at Sea

This month’s book salon topic was water, which was the theme of the summer reading programs this year at the San Francisco Public Library: An Ocean of Summer Reading.

I had intended to use this theme to celebrate my own personal Bay to Breakers (the Chesapeake Bay, that is) by reading two classic works of nonfiction, Beautiful Swimmers: Watermen, Crabs and the Chesapeake Bay by William Warner, which won the Pulitzer Prize in 1977, and Two Years before the Mast by Richard Henry Dana, which recounts Dana’s shipboard adventures in the 1830s. I’ve been meaning to read Beautiful Swimmers since an ex-boyfriend recommended it to me when I moved to the Eastern Shore back in 2005, but, like with my ex, Fate had other plans and the book remains one of the great unread on my shelf. 

I guess it worked out well that I chose Two Years before the Mast since some of my Thanksgiving vacation was spent in Monterey and along the coast, which Dana describes so vividly. This book is a fascinating tale of life at sea and pre-Gold Rush California—it’s a shame more people haven’t read it. Although, not for nothing, but I bet if the cover still looked liked this, it would have far more readers.

Other books read by the salonistas include Billy Budd by Herman Melville, Black Water by Joyce Carol Oates, The Story of a Shipwrecked Sailor by Gabriel García Márquez, and Zeitoun by Dave Eggers. One person attempted multiple books, but apparently had the same reaction that I did to Wide Sargasso Sea. There may have been another selection that I’m forgetting, but I had had three martinis by the end of the evening, so I really have no idea what the sixth person read.

Which brings up the most important question of all, how did people function on three-martini lunches?

The Two Americas

The amazing thing about California is its sheer size and the resulting diversity of landscapes and mindsets. A great example of this diversity can be found in the two classic landmarks that I stayed in this past week.

In what is quickly becoming a Thanksgiving tradition, I headed down to Pasadena for the holiday. Last year, I flew down early and had a marvelous side trip to Palm Springs and Joshua Tree National Park. This year, I decided to take a few days off and drive leisurely down 101 (or I guess “the 101” being that I was visiting Southern California).

I have driven along the coast twice since moving here, with the focal point of both trips being Hearst Castle, when I stayed at the Sand Pebbles Inn on Moonstone Beach in Cambria. This time, I stayed at two iconic places along the route: Asilomar and the Madonna Inn.

Asilomar boardwalk and dunes at sunset

I had longed to stay at both for some time: Asilomar, because it was designed by Julia Morgan, architect of my beloved Hearst Castle, and the Madonna Inn because I had heard so many crazy things about it.

Asilomar Room

While both high on my list of landmark lodgings, these two places couldn’t be more opposite, with Asilomar representing a sort of East Coast, old money rusticity, and the Madonna Inn (named after its original owner, Alex Madonna, not the pop star), representing classic American roadside kitsch. And yet it made perfect sense to me that I loved them equally and that they were both terrific representations of my new home state.

The Traveler's Yacht room at the Madonna Inn

You can read about these incredible places in more detail at my new travel blog, Worth the Detour.

Opera 101—Walk Like an Egyptian

This week, I enjoyed my second opera of the season. If Le Nozze di Figaro was light-hearted fun, Aida was opera with a capital O. Skipping from the opera buffa of Mozart, right over the bel canto of Rossini, to this grand opera of Verdi was quite a jump. All of a sudden—DRAMA! SPECTACLE!

Aida was not an opera I had any familiarity with at all, beyond the fact that it took place in Egypt, and somehow involved an elephant. It was definitely harder to relate to on a musical level than Mozart, with fewer standout “numbers” (you are not going to leave the theater humming, that’s for sure); however, the pageantry of the first half alone makes it a terrific introduction to the world of opera.

The Good:  The costumes were absolutely gorgeous, especially Pharaoh. The elephant was very well done and the triumphal march quite stirring. For the most part, the singing was very strong. Also, the woodwinds sounded great—as a former player of the clarinet, I always appreciate when woodwinds get a chance to shine.

The Bad:  I assume this is Verdi and this style of opera and not the performers, but the lyrics were unintelligible to me. Whereas I could follow much of the Italian in Figaro, here I totally had to rely on the supertitles. This may be why I felt the acting wasn’t as strong as in Figaro, which became especially problematic for the emotional tomb scene, where the production values could have been stronger.

Thankfully, there was no ugly. It was a fantastic night out all around. For that, I’d also like to give a shout-out to Indigo, for their fabulous food and even more fabulous policy of no corkage fees. We had a delicious meal and were able to enjoy a great wine (the Calcareous Vineyard Très Violet 2006—a blend of Syrah, Grenache, and Mourvedre) purchased on my trip to Paso Robles last year.