Behaviour Befitting Paris: An Orgasmic Reverie

Behaviour Befitting Paris: An Orgasmic Reverie

In the bottom left quarter of page 17 of yesterday's front section of the Sunday edition of the Chicago Tribune there appeared an advertisement depicting prominently a pair of shapely, stocking-clad legs, presumably with skirt removed or drawn up to reveal just a wee bit of slip at outer thigh and crotch at the extreme upper-left corner of the image. One leg, the left one, is stretched out straight but with ankle slightly bent and foot thus turned in, the other leg bent at the knee up into the air but leaning over toward the straight leg. The view is seemingly from the ceiling, looking down at these legs which are hanging out off bed or couch and down to the floor. Parts of two arms are visible, reaching down between the aforementioned legs, in a manner suggesting that the hands are clasped out of sight, hidden between the knee of the bent leg and that of the straight leg. The feet are both adorned with what appear to be rather fashionable high-heels. In a fancy and flowing script, starting a little to the right of the crotch, there appear the words: Be good. Be bad. Be inspired. I assume the arms belong to the same person whose legs appear in the picture but, to whomever they belong, the positioning of the legs, the manner of dress and undress, and the accompanying text all conspire to give one the impression that the owner of the legs -- being old-fashioned I assumed it's a woman -- finds herself here in some sort of orgasmic reverie.

Being of a relatively puritanical bent -- mind you not particularly in any religious sort of sense but more in an aesthetic and curmudgeonly sense -- I failed, it seems, to react to this carefully wrought image in the manner desired by the makers and placers of the advertisement. These folks give some further advice:

Pack your most romantic attire, although it may end up on the floor.

So, perhaps I was unmoved because in fact the real audience targeted by this ad is the female (or at least those who are inclined to identify with the owner of the legs depicted in the ad). The last of the advice is the following:

Whatever behaviour Paris brings out, let inspiration be your guide.

Well, as ye may have guessed, this advertisement was not paid for by the Chambre de Commerce de Paris or the Conseil de Tourisme de l'Île de France, no this bit of tackismo is for the Paris Las Vegas casino and hotel, brought to you by the folks at Harrah's License Company, a corporation whose name calls to mind immediately the relationship between 'licence' and 'licentious', at least for latter-day Savonarolas such as myself.

Now, since this site is devoted more or less exclusively to the discussion of things culinary, I had best turn to that topic. Among the several things listed in the advertisement as being included in the "Paris Romance Package" -- just in case the view from your room of the 'Eiffel Tower' and entry to the top of said tower are not enough to move you to act -- is a dinner for two. Specifically, what is offered is A Northern Italian feast for two at Le Provençal.

Now, call me a pedant, call me a puritan, call me an old-fashioned party-pooper, but when I see something like this I am moved, namely to speak out against the ignorance and boorishness that surrounds us. "A Northern Italian feast for two at Le Provençal." I think one would have guessed that at Le Provençal, they might specialise in, well, maybe Provençal cuisine. And however poorly defined the cliché phrase 'Northern Italian' is in culinary terms of American usuage, it surely is intended to stand in contrast to the Southern Italian cuisine which is so strongly associated with olive oil and garlic and tomatoes and anchovies and eggplants and pasta and... pretty much all the stuff that Provençal cuisine is associated with. Indeed, Southeastern France (and Liguria) are, from a culinary standpoint, far more closely allied to Southern Italy than they are to the bulk of what any sane person would think of as the culinary core regions of Northern Italy, namely, Emilia Romagna and Lombardia.


There are a couple of questions that this seemingly confused dining option raises. First, is it the folks at Harrah's who are ignorant and confused or are they merely playing to what they perceive as their targeted audience, the ignorant and confused general populace? Second, how, when and why did 'Northern Italian' cuisine replace French cuisine (including its Provençal aspect or element) as the prestige cuisine, at least among the confused and ignorant vulgus? Is this tied to the general outpouring of ill-will toward the French on account of geo-political issues over the past couple of years, what one might want to call the Freedom-Fry movement?

Well, I shan't puzzle my puzzler too long over these questions and certainly won't be signing Amata and me up for a romantic jaunt to Parigi Las Vegas. For me, gambling and romance don't seem to make an especially good or natural match, James Bond stories notwithstanding; one thinks of the French saying heureux au jeu, malheureux en amour.* But then, what would Savonarola or I know of that?

Anyway, if and when I get around to breaking my long-standing vow never to go to Las Vegas and decide to visit my exiled Landsman, Hungryrabbi, I hope he will guide me toward some of the Central American or Chinese joints, to the Jewish deli and the salumeria, and keep me at a safe distance from the Strip. Gondolas and miniature Eiffel Türmchen just don't grab me. And I know for certain I don't want to eat 'Northern Italian' food in a restaurant called 'Le Provençal' located in a hotel called 'Paris' situated in the middle of the Nevada desert.

Antonius

* Which I have always thought implied also malheureux au jeu, malheureux en amour aussi rather than the inverse (malheureux au jeu, heureux en amour). But again, que sais je, moi, ikke?

Must be 21 or older and slightly insane to gamble. Know when to stop before you lose your house. Gambling problem? Be sure to come to this casino. Call 1-800-BIG-LOSS for more advice.

a corporation whose name calls to mind immediately the relationship between 'licence' and 'licentious'

...and belonging to the same set of corporations that conspicuously leaves the "bl" out of the word gambling. And a town that means "the meadows" that has probably the highest percentage of paved land in the US.

Vegas' goal is to bring a sampling of all of the world's tourism in one place: spectacle, theater, gambling, dining, theme park, gambling, museums, monuments, gambling, etc., so that you can't think of spending your money anywhere else. The sad part is that most people can't tell the difference between the sham parts (Ooh! Bobby Flay's restaurant! The Eiffel Tower! A museum of french impressionists' art! Crab legs on the buffet!) and their origins.

That being said, the Paris casino is relatively pleasant. Higher ceilings and better lit, they give the illusion of being outside in early evening (with air conditioning, natch). Their shops aren't oppressively endless (viz Caesar's or Alladin), but I didn't even think of eating there.

My dear old P P O-f P-p (Pedantic, Puritanical, Old-fashioned, Party-pooper),

I suppose it was too much to hope that the titular "reverie" was your own. (Sono cattivo, mi scusi.)

Moving past that small disappointment, I am left smiling with avuncular affection at your outrage.

You are shocked! shocked! at the "ignorance and boorishness" of...Las Vegas!

It's Vegas. VEGAS!! A vast, crass, collision of ignorant stereotype and cliche, fetish, fantasy, escapism and brilliant marketing aimed at the lowest cultural denominator and given unfettered expression by unlimited access to capital.

And you're looking for culinary coherence?

At the opera, do you storm out to the box-office demanding a refund because that woman is clearly NOT in the last stages of TB, she's 200 lbs. if she's an ounce and healthy as a horse! Don't they do any basic research before they charge money for this sort of innacurate representation?

At a bordello (need I say, I speak purely hypothetically), should you reserve the "Doctor's Office" room for your entertainment, would you be appalled to discover that the "nurse" was clearly unacquainted with orthodox use of the blood pressure cuff?

It's Vegas. It's opera in a bordello with a soupcon of Epcot for garnish.

You, piccola Savanorola, should reserve that room immediately, pack up Amata, head on out and wallow in its totally authentic American vulgarity.

Grab the rebbe and reserve a table for the "Northern Italian Feast." Start with around of their signature Michelangel-tinis (Vodka, Sambuca, gorgonzola stuffed olive -mmmmm), then the appetizer plate of deep fried northern Italian mozzeralla fingers a la Provencal, with it's trio of dipping sauces - pesto alfredo, roasted garlic-sun-dried tomato, and Sicilian BBQ. Then a soup, perhaps their signature northern Italian "Goombah Gumbo" - where the classic pasta fagioli gets a unique Bayou twist. Then go all out and spurge on the Northern Italian Mare e Terra platter: "Alaskan" King Krab "Amalfi" with garlic "butter" and grain fed Texas beef fillet a la Toscana.

Chow down, drink up, then take in the semi-nude Piaf tribute drag show and head back to the room to let "inspiration be your guide."

It'll do you good.

mrbarolo wrote:that woman is clearly NOT in the last stages of TB, she's 200 lbs. if she's an ounce and healthy as a horse!

This line gets my vote for all-time best quote to be placed at the top of the page.

Bill/SFNM