Tuesday, April 12, 2011

The Feast

In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy
a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment.

We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter
truth we critics must face, is that in the grand scheme of things, the average
piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so.

But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery
and defense of the new. The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations,
the new needs friends.

Last night, I experienced something new, an extraordinary meal from a singularly
unexpected source. To say that both the meal and its maker have challenged
my preconceptions about fine cooking is a gross understatement.
They have rocked me to my core.

In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau's famous motto:
Anyone can cook. But I realize, only now do I truly understand what he meant.

Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere.
-Anton Ego, Ratatouille(2007)


One of my favorite song, for no apparent reason. :)


The Feast (translation of Le Festin)

The dreams of lovers are like good wine
They give joy or even sorrow
Weakened by hunger, I am unhappy
Stealing on my way everything I can
Because nothing in life is free.

Hope is a dish too soon finished
I am accustomed to skipping meals
A thief alone and hungry is sad enough to die (see note)
As for us, I am bitter, I want to succeed
Because nothing in life is free.

Never will they tell me that I cannot shoot for the stars;
Let me fill you with wonder, let me take flight
We will finally fea . . . st.

The party will finally start
And bring out the bottles, the troubles are over
I'm setting the table; tomorrow is a new life
I am happy at the idea of this new destiny
A life spent in hiding, and now I'm finally free
The feast is on my path
A life spent in hiding, and now I'm finally free
The feast is on my path. . . .

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