ByGD
Airports are so big that you usually only see them in pieces, just a sliver out the airplane window, or a looming entrance as you hop out of the car. But the shuttle from our “airport hotel” to Pudong near Shanghai followed a road that gave us a pretty good view. I had to take a picture because it is so odd to see a whole airport.
ByGD
After meaning to go for several years, I finally saw a performance by the contemporary dance group Catapult Dance Company last month. They’ve been around for five years, and I’ve been meaning to go see them for almost as long. The piece was called Homeland, and I saw it 24 hours after seeing Carmina Burana at Pacific Northwest Ballet. The contrast kind of messed with my head. But in a good way.
Catapult Dance is a nonprofit contemporary dance company in Seattle headed by Michele Miller (who is also my daughters’ martial arts teacher). They are a small company, both in number and in output, producing only one or two new works each year. According their web page, all the work is a combination of choreography by Miller and improvisation by the dancers. Their technique is described as an amalgamation of forms that includes modern dance, contact improvisation, martial arts, and physical theater. Kate Olson develops a score for each new piece as it is being developed. Looking back through their history, all the dances address topical social issues.
Homeland, as you can probably guess, relates to human migration; the walls we build to keep people in or out; and whether those walls contribute to our feelings of safety or fear. Compared to the dance I’m used to, Homeland was so literal. I mean, even the old story ballets have like a code of pantomime movements that stand for actions. Throughout the hour-ish long piece, the dancers built and destroyed walls, hid behind them and struggled to get over or through them. A couple crossed the Sonoran Desert alone, and one of them doesn’t make it. (Don’t ask me how they made a black box theater be the desert. Something about the lighting, maybe, but it was obvious.) A detainee pounds on doors (there were actually doors in the wall – we didn’t have to imagine those) looking for escape or demanding release.
Homeland was a challenging piece for me as a viewer just because the idiom was so different from what I’m used to. This post is coming a long time after PNB’s Carmina, but that ballet was still fresh in my head when I saw Homeland. I could almost feel gears in my head trying to shift.
I know that I missed a lot of things from not knowing where to put my focus. The score zigzagged over the line between noise and music so much that I failed to recognize meaningful musical references when they came up. My friend who watches a lot more contemporary dance than I do had to point it out to me. My daughters noticed a lot of movements from kung fu that I didn’t pick up on, even thought I had been told to look for them.
The most obvious differences between ballet and contemporary dance is pointe work. But even a lot of my favorite ballets are barefoot, so that doesn’t bother me. But one thing about contemporary that I have a hard time with is all the walking around. I’ve noticed it at Kaleidoscope performances, and at SIDF earlier this year (that sums up all of my exposure to contemporary dance). Homeland, with its focus on migration, had even more walking around, and honestly, it tested my patience.
But then every time I started to tune out or wonder if these dancers just needed to catch their breath more often than ballerinas, something big would happen and I’d almost miss it. There would be something kind of like a lift except in a shape I’d never imagined before. Or I’d think, “Wait, did that person literally just climb a wall?” I appreciate the classical structures underlying ballet, but my favorite moments are when I see completely new movements, and Homeland offered up a lot of them.
It was humbling to realize that even with such straightforward stories, I had to work at Homeland. As a ballet fan, I can get a little smug about the people who prefer tutu ballets or only want to watch dances created before 1950 (especially because they usually forget the really innovative things that happened in the first half of the 20th century – Limón anyone?). Smug and complacent are really close neighbors, the kind who like to build walls.
I am not the kind who likes to build walls, so in one sense, Homeland was preaching to the choir. (Not that it was actually preaching, because as a teacher once told me, “Art asks questions.”)
Homeland focused a lot on the suffering of those who must replace one homeland for another, but the dancers frenetically stacking blocks and cowering behind them weren’t showing much joy either. But not all walls are literal. Habits of the mind can be confining, too, and one of the most significant reasons for attending performances is to break down the walls you didn’t know you were building.
ByGD
Few opera composers are as well-loved (especially at my house) as Rossini, and everyone loves a fairy tale. Rossini’s opera is actually named La Cenerentola, which is a mouthful. If it’s easier, he also called it Goodness Triumphant. But it’s a good idea to use one of these names rather than the more familiar one, because Rossini’s Cinderella is not Disney’s Cinderella. And the “long ago in a land far away” of Seattle Opera’s Cenerentola is Dickensian London.
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Qingdao hosted the sailing event at the 2008 Olympics, but sailing is not just for foreign competitors. Contrary to impoverished stereotypes, the Chinese own plenty of their own sailboats. There’s even more than one Qingdao Yacht Club.
ByGD
Taste of Iceland has become an annual tradition for me, but until 2017, I never actually attended the tasting part. This annual international chef collaboration isn’t cheap, and it always features lamb – how could an event celebrating Iceland’s food cuisine exclude lamb? – so I skipped the dinner in favor of the museum exhibits, concerts, laser shows, and literary events. Last year I was invited to the press preview at Cuoco, but I was sick on the day and missed it. I blogged about what I missed last year, but this year I was got to experience the event in real life.
This year’s Taste features Icelandic chef Award-winning Icelandic Chef Georg Arnar Halldorsson from Restaurant Óx right on Laugavegur in downtown Reykjavik. Óx is as much an experience as a dinner. With only 11 seats at a table surrounding the chef, the meal is a ritualized three-hour omakase experience shared with a cohort. At ISK 32,500 per person, the closest I will ever get to an evening at Óx is this week’s Taste of Iceland event. (Even so, it’s worth checking out their website just for the Game-of-Thrones-opening-sequence-like landing page.)
For the second year in a row, the American collaborator is chef Ron Anderson of Cuoco is a Tom Douglas joint in the redeveloped North Lake Union area that I haven’t had a chance to try yet.
Icelandic bartender Tóta joined Cuoco’s mixologist Jonny Spielsinger to design a flight of custom cocktails featuring Reyka Vodka and Brennivín. They cost extra, but what’s the point of going if you don’t try them?
Tóta contributed two drinks that showcased two of Iceland’s most popular liquors. Vodka and Brennivín might bring shots to mind, but Tóta’s drinks highlighted the fact that they do, in fact, play well with others.
With its floral garnish and pink color, Odin looked like it would be a too-sweet drink. But it actually had a sharpness, like fresh lemonade, thanks to the sherry-casked Brennivín and crowberry-rhubarb puree.
In a nod to Marvel, Loki was a greenish drink that pretended to be something it’s not. With an elaborate garnish of cucumber and rosemary echoed in the drink flavors, this Reyka vodka cocktail could pass for a health drink. It was like and refreshing, with a gingery taste that just screamed ‘healthy summer beverage.’
Cuoco House mixologist Jonny Spielsinger didn’t name his drinks, but he went high concept with the Iceland/Seattle partnership.
Speilsinger mixed Icelandic alcohol with one of Washington’s top crops. Brennivín with Honeycrisp apple juice, in-house cinnamon agave syrup, and lemon and garnished with apple. The apple and cinnamon, as I expected, evoked apple cider. But I expected a sweet preschool drink and instead got Christmas. It was balanced and sweet but not too sweet. I liked it.
In this one, Icelandic vodka meets the most iconic species of Washington, but not one usually associated with food. Speilsinger took Doug fir tips and made his own syrup; mixed it with vodka, sage, and lime and rimmed the glass Icelandic volcanic salt. The result was like a margarita without the tequila. The smoky-flavored salt replaced the kick of a margarita’s stronger-tasting tequila, but threatened to overwhelm the herbal flavor of the Doug fir. I could have gotten very drunk experimenting with the exact right amount of salt per sip to perfectly balance the effects. As it was, I might have gone back (a couple times) for more. This was my favorite cocktail, I’m already wondering if I could make my own Doug fir infusion.
Too bad I forgot to get pictures.
As always, the dinner is a four-course prix fixe for $80.
This might possibly be the best thing I have ever tasted.
This char was like the best sashimi, rich in flavor and buttery in texture – it would literally melt in your mouth. The Icelandic wasabi was mild with a hint of parsley flavor and lemony top note. Fancy little touches in the presentation not only added subtle flavor but helped elevate the experience beyond mere eating – the greens were cut into perfect little circles like the arctic habitat that spawned the fish. The flower petals were the same ones garnishing Tóta’s Odin cocktail.
I have always loved eating out, but lately, as my husband’s kitchen skills have improved, we’ve kind of given up on fancy restaurants. After all, prices just keep getting higher, but there is only so good that food can get, right? Most of the time, he can duplicate the food at home. But every now and then you eat something like this arctic char that makes you think, ‘yeah, it’s worth the hype.’ You can buy arctic char at Whole Foods, but it won’t taste like this at home.
I might have snuck back for a second plate.
It’s unfair for anything to have to follow that char. But the Icelandic cod doesn’t have anything to be ashamed about. Its texture was much firmer and drier; more meaty than the ephemeral char. Capers made from wild garlic gave little pops of sweetness while sunflower seeds imparted a nuttiness. There was a thick creamy sauce and thinner, oily broth and their umami was a powerful counterpoint to the mild-flavored fish. The overall effect was rich and savory, almost like a return to earth after the spiritual char. (It only sounds hyperbolic if you haven’t tasted it.)
It helps that Icelandic meat is not quite the industrial horror of U.S. meat production, and consequently is also less damaging to the environment. Still hard to get past the idea of eating little fuzzy baby lambs, though. Fortunately, this year I attended with a carnivorous companion who could spare me the moral quandary and share his tasting notes.
He said the lamb had perfect texture. The dish let the lambiness speak for itself, not hiding it’s natural gaminess under sauce. But the smoke-flavor was strong in the fatty bits and lingered in the aftertaste. The man standing next to us commented that lamb is his least-favorite meat, but that hew would happily eat this one.
Just as you can’t have an Icelandic menu without lamb, you can count on skyr for Icelandic dessert. Usually that means a skyr cheesecake, which I am totally in favor of. But for this meal, the skyr was made into ice cream. I can’t imagine why I’ve never seen that done before. Skyr is the perfect texture for ice cream – a little thicker than soft serve, but softer than hard ice cream. Instead of using sweet toppings to foil the slight yoghurty tang of the skyr, Georg kept things slightly on the savory side with twice-baked beets and tiny crumbs of rye bread that gave it the most satisfying crunch. The frozen raspberries kept it sweet enough to stay on the dessert side of the menu.
Georg was so quiet and self-effacing he seemed uncomfortable interrupting the conversation to announce each dish; Consul Hlynur had to call everyone to attention. Those in attendance listened politely as chef Georg introduced the first dish. After eating the char, they applauded each time he introduced a new one, with the applause growing louder each time. They may not have celebrity culture in Iceland, but those of us Cuoco last night knew Georg’s cooking was something to celebrate.
WHERE: Cuoco at 310 Terry Ave. N.
WHEN: Oct. 17-20
COST: $80 (plus service charge and tax)
RESERVATIONS: Reservations are strongly encouraged and can be made via www.cuoco-seattle.com, OpenTable or by calling the restaurant at 206.971.0710.
WHO:
Icelandic Chef Georg Arnar Halldorsson
American Chef Ron Anderson
Icelandic Mixologist Tóta
Cuoco Mixologist Jonny Spielsinger
Stay up-to-date on Taste of Iceland events happening in Seattle by following @IcelandNatural and using #TasteofIceland on Twitter and Instagram and ‘Liking’ Iceland Naturally on Facebook. Visit www.icelandnaturally.com to learn more about Taste of Iceland in Seattle.