Shakespeare meets The Who
The cast of Cal Shakes' world-premiere production of The Verona Project; photo by Kevin Berne.
If you are dedicated to producing 400 year old plays that have been presented over and over, you have to reach far and wide to find a way to make them fresh and new. This year, Cal Shakes has take The Two Gentlemen of Verona, shattered the form of the play and re-assembled it as a rock opera, The Verona Project.
And that’s the easy part. They had music in Shakespeare’s day, he would have understood.
Changing the character of Silvia to Silvio, and making the the lovers gay, seems like just pandering to the news of the day, but that’s what they have done.
This is California, we’re supposed to be pretty open minded around here. Nobody gasps, nobody storms out of the theater in high dudgeon when Silvio and Val develop a love affair on stage. I’m not offended, I just feel preached to.
Plot? You want plot? We got plenty of plot here. Val and Pro (Proteus) are friends, until Pro finds a girl, Julia. So Val moves to the big city, meets Sylvio and falls in love, but it’s all hush-hush because Sylvio is the Dukes son and is engaged to Thuria. Pro leaves Julia and moves to the big city to find himself. The Duke finds out about Sylvio and Val. Sylvio denies Val, who runs away. Proteus falls in love with Sylvio. Julia comes to the big city to find Pro, disguised in her father’s old Guards coat. The Duke thinks Julia is one of his Guards and orders her to guard Sylvio.
Then things get complicated.
Then things work out.
We are happy that Sylvio and Val get to be together. We wonder about why Julia takes Proteus back, since he’s still a jerk. We wonder about the amazing fluidity of Pro’s sexuality, switching from straight to gay and back without the tiniest hesitation.
We liked the music. We loved the acting, particularly Arwen Anderson as Julia. The set, as always with Cal Shakes, in innovative and wonderful.
The part Bill Shakespeare wrote have stood the test of 400 years. The new parts probably won’t. Too preachy, too California touchy-feely, I’m OK/You’re OK psychobabble.
Overall? Go see it. You’ll like it.
. . .
After the show, dinner at Postino, the old standby. They have a young man singing and playing guitar most evenings, and he’s great. Linda ordered the trout, and was amazed at how beautifully they had managed to bone it out and still preserve the form of the fish. Micky and I had the short ribs, Gail had a rib eye so good she took some home–and she never does that. Postino is like the original version of a Shakespeare play–tried and true, not fancy, not hyper-modern, just cranking out the good stuff day after day.
A new kid in town
I can at least show you the front door
Nibbler’s Eatery, our favorite local place, has closed. Daniel and Tracy are opening a new restaurant on Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley and couldn’t run both.
Not to let a good space go to waste, though, they have remodeled Nibblers into The Fig Tree. Last week they had what is called a “soft opening”, which means they are open, but not officially. No advertising, no promotion. Sort of a short shakedown cruise before jumping in with both feet (ok, that’s a hideously mixed metaphor. It still makes more sense than a Sarah Palin world salad.)
The space has been repainted and decorated–it is warm but not cluttered, modern without coldness, very open, very clean styled. Gail considers it an improvement.
The Fig Tree features much of the style of Nibblers, but with a vastly less complex menu and lower overall prices. The central theme of the menu is the “burger bar”, a list of various meats, toppings and sauces so you can create your own gourmet hamburger.
Because they aren’t officially open yet (although they would love to see you there), I’m not supposed to review the food. I’ll just have to say that Gail and I ate there, and it was good. It will be better over time, too.
The Fig Tree will be a nice addition to the Pleasant Hill area–a local place for a good, but not fancy, meal at a reasonable price. Give it a try.
A little local gem
Not really stained glass--it's all paint.
You just can’t eat at the fancy places all the time–sometimes you just want lunch. Looking for Mexican food, we tried El Jarro, (3563 Mt. Diablo, Lafayette) and were surprised as all get out at how good it was.
El Jarro is just a tiny storefront place in the middle of Lafayette, with three forlorn tables in front (which might have been less forlorn if it wasn’t 65 degrees in the middle of July.) Go inside, and the dining room in front is pretty standard suburban Mexican. Down the narrow passageway alongside the kitchen, though, you end up in the coolest little back room this side of Guadalajara. The widows look like stained glass, but it’s all paint. The wall is painted with a trompe l’oeil image of a hacienda, and the view through its imaginary windows.
Even the skylights are painted, leading to the odd colors.
Chips and salsa arrive promptly. The chips are warm, and the salsa is spicy. This is starting to look really good.
The menu has the usual Mexican restaurant fare, but it all has a flair. There is a section of tortas, or sandwiches, which I thought was unusual enough to pass up the fajitas I always have. I tried a Torta Cancun, which is grilled chicken breast, ham, cheese, avocado, lettuce and tomato on a Mexican style roll. It was excellent.
Not all Mexican food is tacos--this is a great sandwich (or Torta)
Gail had the chiliquiles, which are usually day-old tortillas torn into strips and cooked with cheese and a red or green sauce. We have enjoyed these at our friends Barbara and Max Tudor at their home in Mexico City, so Gail wanted to try them here.
El Jarro serves their chiliquiles with what is euphemistically called “steak”, which is some unidentifiable cut of beef that Gail found to be flavorful but a tad gristly. Still, she thoroughly enjoyed her lunch and ate it all.
This is just a little local restaurant, nothing fancy, but we really enjoyed the food, the ambiance and the service. We plan on going back soon.
Prima
Every garden needs a sea serpent, and now Manfred and Margit have theirs
Out last night with Manfred and Margit Michlmayr. First stop, the Sunset Soiree at the Bancroft Garden, a Friday evening with music and wine, food and art. We just enjoyed walking around in the evening light, taking in a beautiful garden at the height of its wonder. Margit fell in love with the above piece, and now it’s coming to live at their house.
After the garden, we headed into downtown Walnut Creek for dinner at Prima Ristorante, a well-known spot right on North Main.
A lifetime ago, when I was going to Miramonte High School, Friday nights consisted of cruising up and down Main Street with thousands of other teenagers. Those days are gone, outlawed by anti-cruising laws and the advent of video games that people played by going to sites as https://factschronicle.com and getting the best hardware for them, also as an elo booster for this as well, like not only the old school games I actually prefer but they have this new versions that the quality seems unbelievable and of course the speed performance, you can get More information here and look for the virtual games they recommend . North Main is now where people congregate for supper at fine restaurants, the street is full of valet parking attendants and well dressed folk out for a big night.
We were seated in the loggia, the front part of the establishment with the big windows which open onto the street. Manfred, with no body fat and short pants, wanted to be in the warmest part of the building and we loved the view. Gail and Margit kept noticing the fancy shoes on the women out on dates, I noticed the flashy cars pulling up to the valet–only 1 limo last night.
On to the food:
Warm olives for a starter course.
Manfred loves mussels–he orders them pretty much any time they are on the menu.
One of the nicest presentations of mussels I have seen
Presentation again–making the food beautiful is almost as important as making it delicious. Prima excels at both skills.
Watercress, pear and goat cheese salsd.
Gnocchi with lamb ragu.
Gnocchi, little potato dumplings served like pasta, are notoriously difficult to master. Margit liked hers so much we ended up debating whether they were house-made or purchased from a supplier–I’m voting for house made.
Gail’s Risotto Fruits du Mer, hold the mussels.
Gail likes risotto, doesn’t like mussels. That’s OK, it leaves more for Manfred.
Lamb tagliata. That seems to be the fancy restaurant word for “sliced”.
I had the lamb. A nameless, formless cut of very tender, tasty roast lamb sliced on the plate. Two triangles of fried polenta. Some roasted peppers and onions. I may not sound very enthusiastic, but there was nothing left when I was finished, and it was all good.
Prima is attached to a wine store, so their wine list is extensive and well chosen. Manfred and the waiter had a deep discussion, and then he ended up with a red he really liked. I just drink the house iced tea; it was fine.
There was so much good food, we would well have skipped dessert, but the Michlmayr sweet tooth came into play, and we had to have something.
Pistachio Brulee with brandied cherries
Although dessert was Manfred’s idea, there were four spoons competing for the goodies and we made short work of it.
Prices are reasonable, service is good (might have been better if there wasn’t a huge party in the main room). Valet parking right in front. Prima is a keeper.
Another fabulous garden
I’m not much of a garden guy–too much weed pulling in my youth has permanently soured me on the joys of gardening, this is the main reason why i like to get help at https://www.thehappygardeners.com.au/how-to-clean-up-your-garden-and-keep-it-low-maintenance/.
Gail, though, likes gardens. We have a big one, she’s on the board of a bigger one. So it’s no surprise when people invite us to see their pride and joy.
After bridge on Tuesday, we went over to Stuart Schneck’s house, to see the magic his wife Christina has worked in the Oakland hills.
Right from the street approach, I knew we were onto something special.
This is a rare spiral aloe.
This really dark succulent is always stunning–and that’s just on the front walk.
These are poppies. Stuart swears they don’t harvest opium.
The garden in the front of the house is stunning, but nothing compared to the rear. They are creating a sculpture garden within the plants, too.
The duck sculpture was a purchase from the Bancroft Garden sculpture show.
There are fountains, as in the background of the above shot.
The Buddha is from Christina’s mothers garden.
Stuart painted the fence–they both are artists.
I thought the figures on the fence Stuart painted were very Picasso-esque, and showed great artistic and emotional freedom. Or maybe I’m just a lousy art critic.
A piece by Oakland artist Mark Bullwinkle.
This was once a barbecue.
Remodeling a barbecue into, er, ah, something else requires more imagination than I have. Not more than Christina has, though.
Kangaroo paws. Who knew such a thing existed?
Finishing with the garden, we wandered into the house. Art blossomed from every wall and surface. Christina has worked in many media, and they are all on display. Stuart paints some. Their son paints a bit. They collect. There is art just everywhere.
These are watercolors Christina does when she isn’t gardening.
A crazy quilt Christina did.
Color me impressed. I first noticed Stuart a couple of years ago because he is a dead ringer for Scott Adams, the Dilbert author. Then I started noticing his bridge. Now I’ve seen his house, and the incredible amount of work and creativity he and Christina have put into it.
As always, scratch a bridge player and you’ll find something interesting and not bridge-related, underneath.
Our herd increases
Our herd of chickens, of course. Some people have a flock–we have a herd.
The easy way to get more chickens is to go online and order them. Chicks are shipped US Priority mail. They don’t need to eat for the first 48 hours after they hatch, so the chicken factory takes brand new babies, boxes them up and trots them down to the Post Office.
When they arrive in Lafayette, the postmaster gives us a call and we go get them.
Neither rain nor snow nor sleet nor coyotes nor hawks................
You can hear the peeping from quite a distance
A dozen chicks fit easily in the box, and they keep each other warm.
We prep the coop with fresh bedding, food, water and a heat lamp–babies need to be kept very warm for the first couple of weeks, and they don’t have a momma to hide under.
Then it’s time to lift them out and move them to their new home.
Auntie Lynn takes care of them, but this is the first time she's held a baby chick. They are surprisingly light and tiny.
It's a good life for the birds, and they don't have to worry about being Sunday dinner.
With the 12 new babies, we now have 18 in the herd. The chicks will live in the coop for 7 weeks, unless they get adopted by one of the older birds who is hoping for chicks. That happens occasionally, but we can’t count on it. Sometime a “broody” hen, who is sitting on eggs (which won’t hatch since we have no rooster), see chicks and thinks they must be hers, so she adopts them.
After their time in the coop, they just run free in the yard, eating bugs and seeds. We go out and feed them cracked corn, but it’s only for a treat–they don’t need anything from us. They imprint on the garage as “home” and go back inside to sleep every night in the rafters, high and safe from racoons and skunks. If they can avoid coyotes and hawks, they could theoretically live 10 years. Stay tuned.
Some things work out well
Sunday evening, July 3. Gail tells me the ice maker isn’t working. I open the freezer to see what I can see, and notice that the light isn’t working. I look in the refrigerator side, and that light isn’t on, either. This isn’t good.
I poke, I prod, I check the circuit breakers. Nothing. The fridge is dead. I’ll have to figure it out in the morning.
Monday, July 4. This isn’t the best day to try to get a repairman out, but I don’t have a choice.
The first guy I talk to says I’ll need to get the factory guys out. The factory guys tell me the first appointment is July 14. I don’t quite see myself explaining to Gail that we’re keeping our food in an ice chest for 11 days.
The next name that pops up on Google is for Same Day Appliance Repair. He answers the phone himself, which is a pretty good sign on a holiday. Then he says he’ll be here between 1 and 2. Today. I can handle this.
Five minutes early, he shows up.
Looking into the guts of the issue.
Ten minutes later, he has the problem diagnosed. A switch burned out, it’s easy to replace. The machine hasn’t had any real service in the 20 years it’s been here, so we should clean, service, lube and re-fill with new freon. The tab for the whole works? $500. Not bad for 20 years of service, and a pittance compared to the $3000 a new icebox costs.
Immigration was good for Fidel, and good for us, too.
The thing that makes this special on Independence today is Fidel Cerrato, the repairman. He’s from Guatamala, where he worked for United Fruit (parent of Chiquita Banana) and learned his trade, after seeing the world as a merchant seaman for many years.
Fidel does a great job. He sings along with our music, when Cielito Lindo comes on. He recognized Placido Domingo, which is more than I am likely to do. His wife was travelling with him, waiting patiently in the truck for him to finish.
There is a lot of negative talk about immigration these days, by people who forget that this entire nation is founded on immigration. My grandparent or great-grandparents immigrated from Italy and Germany and Ireland. The odds are that your family has been here fewer than 4 generations, too.
I often think that anti-immigration fever is nothing more than the “I got mine, Jack” attitude, and I don’t have much respect for it. My grandfather came here at age 7, speaking no English. He became a barber, and raised a family of 12. My father was the first to graduate college in the family. My brothers and I all have graduate degrees. Immigration has been good to my family, and millions of others. To try to deny that opportunity to new generations seems both childish and churlish.
Happy Independence Day, and thanks, Fidel.
You get what you pay for
Remember the peeler I bought at the county fair last week? It came with a julienne slicer, too. Both guaranteed for life, they were.
I didn’t bother keeping the “guarantee” papers, since they usually want you to include so much for “shipping and handling” the whole exercise is futile, but I really thought I’d get at least some use out of the product.
Wrong.
Haven’t tried the peeler yet, so I guess there’s still some hope, but the julienne slicer didn’t make it through the first carrot. Those two little metal pieces, that should be spot welded together, seem to have been joined with Elmer’s glue.
It sliced up a storm while it worked, it just didn’t work very long.
I can’t say I’m surprised, I can’t say I’m hurt. I expected it to be junk, and it was. It was just an exercise in hope, and once again hope was dashed against the rocky shore of reality.
The murmur becomes a roar
Last September, I wrote about Oakland Art Murmur, the first of the month happening with all the galleries open, music, food, people, just a ton of hipness oozing over the streets.
Friday night, we went again, and it’s bigger, better, hipper than before. The area is booming, with more and more galleries. Old buildings are being refurbished into super-modern display spaces, or funky retro display spaces, or car repair facilities that become display spaces on first Friday.
There seem to be a number of large spaces divided and sub-divided into little tiny spaces where people are selling their creations. Some of it is what you would traditionally call “art”, much of it isn’t. There are specialty foods, jewelry, clothes, decor items, anything you can think of that can be hand crafted and made individual and special.
I could dance in these, I think
I liked the hand made shoes, and the shoemaker:
Hardly the stooped cobbler of rhyme and fable. And nary an elf in sight.
You can make art out anything; this guy is just using old wood:
I really like this for the corner of a room.
Sometimes, the locale is the art. This is some kind of old industrial space turned into a Tiki lounge.
The medium is the message? The location is the inventory?
I enjoyed being there, for whatever reason the place exists.
Art Murmur is a giant street party–even if they do frown on taking your beer/wine outside. I noticed that a high percentage of the artists were young and female, for whatever reason. Some of the art is great, some isn’t’–but that’s why you go to a lot of galleries, look at a lot of artists, see whose work resonates with your style. It’s a pleasant, interesting way to spend Friday night, and even cheap if you don’t see something you just have to have.
Right up my Alley
It looks like a dump from the outside. The inside isn't as nice.
Out with wild and crazy friends Harry and Michael last night, we ended up having dinner at The Alley, a certifiable dive on Grand Avenue in Oakland.
Why? Who knows. Because Harry lived in this area 30 years ago and spent his very flaming youth here. Because we love an adventure. Because you can only eat so much really good food without indulging in a greasy fried mess to balance it out. Because Gail loves piano bars. Because it’s Fourth of July weekend and what’s more American than a dive bar with thousands of business cards tacked to the wall?
The camera lies. It isn't this well lit.
The menu is basic–burgers, steaks, fried chicken. The wine list is more basic-chardonnay, white zin, merlot. No iced tea (unless you want a Long Island Iced tea, which doesn’t have any tea in it, just booze). I started with the onion rings, which were great. The fried chicken wasn’t as good as The Colonel, but then nobody really is.
Nine o’clock, the piano man sits down, and the regulars fill up the seats around him. This is a piano/karaoke set-up, he plays you sing. Same guy has been playing weekend nights since the 80’s, probably the same regulars. Some tall guy with a ponytail grabs the mic for the first number, puts his whole heart and soul and body in it. If only he could sing better; never have flat notes been sung with such energy and emotion.
They go around the piano, everyone getting their turn. Nothing modern, all show tunes and old standards, songs you know the words to. A couple of them can really sing, but it doesn’t really matter, everyone has fun. People join in on the chorus, provide the backbeat when needed.
Finally, we had had enough fun. Dinner and drinks and the show were about $45 bucks. You have to pay the big bucks to get the great experiences, I guess.
Totally Unauthorized 