[off to a really bad start]
[off to a really bad start]
September. The leaves on the tree in front of your windows show first signs of yellow. You need to unpack the woolen jackets. You try to drag out the day where you’ll have to wrap up the lounge chairs on the balcony into large garbage bags for the winter – a sure sign that summer is gone for good. Before you know it, you walk through the grocery store – it is not even mid-September yet – and you are greeted by a large assortment of Christmas cookies (something I refuse to acknowledge before the last week of November. These things are called Christmas cookies for a reason!).
To get over that upsetting sight, I progressed to the fridges and got a bottle of the untranslatable Federweißer (“partially fermented grape must” is not really a sexy term), one of the best things about autumn.
Since mi@ is not letting me post my formatted update tonight, here’s stepecito 165 as an emergency update for all “Small Steps” readers. I’ll add this chapter at the usual place as soon as the &$$§%$&&&/!!!”§$!!! html-Editor at mi@ works again and refrains from further crashing my browser. Sorry for the inconveniences, dear tanguer@s!
My first encounter with Alice Coote involved a lot of squinting. I had accidentally stumbled into a TV broadcast of the 1999 Stuttgart “Alcina” (a production I’ve named various times as one of the best, if not the best, opera stagings EVER) and couldn’t decide whether the Ruggiero was sung by a man or a woman. The voice sounded more like a mezzo, dark and compelling, but the acting was so incredibly convincing and testosterone-laden that I wasn’t sure. But decide for yourself: Is this a guy or a girl?
As a part of the Vienna salon cookout, I prepared one of my favorite dessert classics – pears in port. It’s a dish that is amazingly simple to prepare (the most demanding part is cutting the fans), but never fails to impress.
The secret is the port wine, and the contrasting sensation of cold ice cream and hot fruit, which make it the perfect, sensuous solution to the “he/she/* is coming to dinner and I need to convey my prurient interests in a subtle, culinary manner” situation. If he/she goes home after this one, cross them off the list. – People who cannot enjoy food, do, in my experience, have a general problem with sensuality. In which case you might be better of on your own (and with seconds of this dish!), or sharing the dessert with your friends.
While walking around Vienna (in this case, I think it was Weihberggasse in the center), I caught this piece of vintage-styled gender-marketed writing utensils that I had to take with me at least as a photo. The “Smart Women” series has, among others, a journal for writers, and one for readers.