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The Seven Temples of the Food World
Alan Richman crossed oceans, countries, and continents to eat at the seven greatest dining destinations on earth
A great restaurant is always happy to see you, never making you sorry you stepped through the front door.
That's one of my definitions of greatness. You might think the menu has to be in French or the chef has to be on television. That's not important to me.
A great restaurant must be great for at least a decade. Less, and it's merely dishing up tasty food. You might think a great restaurant is one that challenges you. I think the eating should be easy.
I know this: Greatness is never effortless. When I asked Ferran Adrià of Spain's El Bulli if he'd dreamed he might one day be considered the world's best chef, he replied, "Absolutely not. I never looked for this. It was not in the script. It wasn't logical for a Spanish cook to think this."
I embarked on a pilgrimage, traveling 27,000 miles to the world's greatest restaurants. I was on the road for two weeks. I averaged 4,500 miles between meals. For a trip that was supposed to consist of endless eating, I was hungry a lot more than you might expect.
It's hard to say how much I ate. At six of the seven restaurants, I had six to nine courses. That was in America, France, Monte Carlo, Italy (two stops), and Australia. At El Bulli, I had forty-one. You've heard about El Bulli, I'm sure, mostly about nonstop foams. It's a myth. If I had eaten just foam, I wouldn't have been so full when I left at 3 a.m.
What did I eat on this trip? Here's a taste:
A sweet, salty caviar-and-smoked-salmon croque-monsieur at Le Bernardin in New York. A presentation, museum-quality in appearance, of gray-hued mackerel in a pinkish red-onion gelée at Maison Troisgros in France. An assortment of vegetables, many from the farmers' market in Nice, presented in a small Murano glass under a soaring Versailles-like ceiling at Le Louis XV in Monte Carlo. Pork cheeks accompanied by handmade, hand-cut saffron tagliatelle at Hosteria Giusti in Modena. At dal Pescatore, pumpkin tortelli of such complexity and subtlety that I realized after a lifetime of pumpkin filling identical in flavor to Thanksgiving pie, I had finally found it done right, not that I expect to find dal Pescatore again, so deep in the Lombardy countryside is it concealed. Linguine with hot chilies scoured of spiciness, surely the greatest pasta dish not to be invented in Italy, at Sean's Panaroma, overlooking Australia's Bondi Beach.
I haven't mentioned what I ate at El Bulli. The answer: Everything. Most of it was unimaginable, a majority of it was great, and one item reminded me of my childhood—candy-avored paper with embedded candy flowers, not so different from the tiny candy dots on strips of paper I bought for a penny or two and took to the movies.
(Should you wonder, as I did, what the waitstaff at El Bulli eats, my waitress told me the grim news: "Pasta and hamburgers. Sometimes my favorite, chicken with potatoes. I'm happy that day.")
I flew more than around the world—twice I doubled back. My longest leg was Barcelona to Australia by way of London and Singapore. I had more meals on airlines than I did in restaurants, which erases a small measure of splendor from my journey.
I drove a thousand miles, took one train and one bus. I wasn't planning on busing anywhere, but buses are remarkably convenient when an airline has lost your bags and you have nothing to lug. (I would like to express my thanks to Emilie and Veronique of Troisgros, who tracked down my bags—yet another example of greatness.)
Before I set off, I hosted a dinner at Le Bernardin, one of only two stops on this trip where I ate with friends. Let me add a postscript to my definition of greatness. It's making sure a customer doesn't feel alone.
New York City
Better my mother never had to hear this: No kitchen has influenced my love of food more than Le Bernardin's.
Even to me it sounds implausible. The dining room is corporate, albeit with nice wood accents. The service is formal, although thankfully in English. The food is fish, plain and simple.
More than twenty years ago, when Le Bernardin opened, I didn't care much for fish. I wasn't sure why, until I ate my first meal there and realized that I'd never had fresh fish before. My mother, who made me love food, didn't make me love fish. We had flounder on Friday nights, the same day as the Catholics, broiled and drenched in butter.
After that first meal at Le Bernardin—I had the monkfish—I was unable to order fish elsewhere. Two years passed before other American restaurants understood freshness and started catching up. Co-owners Gilbert and Maguy Le Coze, brother and sister, introduced me to everything from salmon cooked rare to sea urchin cooked not at all.
Today, under Maguy Le Coze and co-owner Eric Ripert, Le Bernardin remains the most influential seafood restaurant in America, and its hold on me has deepened. Le Bernardin continues to excel, and Ripert is unquestionably the finest seafood chef in the world.
I know a little about fish now. Enough that I can say to Ripert, "I know where to find fish that is fresher than your fish." He will argue that he gets the top fish in Manhattan, which he does, and then he'll admit that I am correct. If you want the freshest striped bass or shad (and I don't), you've come to the right city, but otherwise a Michelin-starred spot in Brittany, a roadside trattoria in Liguria, or a beachfront shack in Southeast Asia can offer a far more compelling local catch.
"I admit if you pick up your fish on the dock, grill it right there, it will be fresher than ours," he concedes, "but no one is more dedicated to seafood."
Gilbert Le Coze, the original chef, didn't just redefine freshness: He changed the way Americans eat fish. Before him, raw fish outside of Japanese restaurants was virtually unknown. Ripert, who worked for such icons as Jean-Louis Palladin (who in my estimation cooked French food in America better than any other chef) and Joël Robuchon (who in the opinion of almost everyone cooked French food better than any other person in France), does with fish what no other man has.
He succeeds in making fish, potentially the most pedestrian of proteins, infinitely fascinating. He does it by treating each variety as though it has a distinct taste, impossible for most of us to detect. He cooks each one as though it has different needs, which of course it does. And then he adds sauces and salsas and vinegars and spices and broths and, if it is the season, black truffles.
Something miraculous happens to fish at Le Bernardin. The secret, Ripert says, is his philosophy: "At Le Bernardin, fish is the star of the plate. We elevate it. We do not cook with fish. We cook for the fish. A lot of chefs integrate fish into their dishes, but they are not thinking about the fish. They are thinking presentation; they are thinking garnish. They are saying, Maybe I will put a salmon with that.' "
I asked Ripert to begin our meal with one of the late Gilbert Le Coze's most famous preparations, and he picked tuna carpaccio—thin slices, raw, topped with a lime-ginger mayonnaise. The genius of Le Coze was not in cooking fish but in selecting fish, and he believed in minimal embellishments, such as this spicy, creamy, tart, exquisitely balanced mayonnaise.
In Ripert's pot-au-feu of wild salmon, the fish was very soft and the truffle-enhanced, porcini-scented mushroom broth sweet and deep. The baked custard of sea urchin seemed to be mostly heavy cream but actually had none at all, merely milk. Sea urchin, perhaps the most sumptuous of ocean creatures, added richness naturally, resulting in what friends dining with me declared a "deathbed dish," their highest compliment.
I asked Ripert if he was most proud of what he has learned to do with fish, and he said that he was most proud of what he has learned to do with sauces, because Robuchon, his revered teacher, once said to him, "You'll never be a good saucier."
At least nobody said he wasn't a gifted fish cook.
"Oh yes," he said, smiling. "Robuchon said that, too."
Roanne, France
The train from Lyon to Roanne is a journey into the past. The tracks meander through towns that no travel guide deems worthy of a special trip—St-Romain-de-Popey, St-Germain au Mont d'Or—past meadows of wildflowers, past homes with lace curtains, past tiny farms with terra-cotta roofs.
Across from the Roanne train station is Troisgros, an institution as well as a restaurant. Troisgros was first traditional, then nouvelle, and now it is unlike any other restaurant in France. The chef is Michel Troisgros, son of one of the icons of French culinary history, Pierre Troisgros. The father is 79 and continues to cook, although only in his own home. "I see him cooking for my mother. He is always thinking, How can I make it different?" Michel says.
Michel is fortunate to have such a father, such a family, such a tradition. He has not let history down. To me, he is the finest chef in the world. Greatness has never been so perfectly passed along.
The restaurant Troisgros does not exactly struggle, but life these days as a three-star chef in a fading city is problematic, for the world has bypassed Roanne. The TGV, the fast train, came along to link Paris and Lyon without stopping there. A new superhighway skipped the city—the old N7 is indispensable no more. On or near that road can be found Troisgros, La Côte d'Or in Saulieu, Pic in Valence, La Pyramide in Vienne, and Oustau de Baumanière in Les Baux-de-Provence, establishments that once riveted France.
The great restaurants of Europe have long been defined by the Michelin guide as "worth a special journey." Troisgros alone meets that standard for me. The dining room, a study in beige and white with a few soothing paintings, is not especially notable. Nor is the impeccable service, so discreet as to be nearly unseen. I will concede that the wine list is a lure, but I am not the type to indulge in pricey bottles. I always ask for the same 1992 German Riesling, most likely lingering on the list because nobody orders it but me. The butter is also a favorite of mine, a sweet butter of extraordinary richness laced with coarse salt.
Before dinner, I like to read the menu in the small book-lined room a few steps up from the front desk. I am invariably alone because other guests prefer the bar, which long ago held basketball and tennis trophies but now stocks thirty-year-old Glenddich and forty-year-old Bas Armagnac, as is commonplace in restaurants of this stature. A waiter will bring my Riesling and a few amuse-bouches that I do not munch on absentmindedly, as others would, particularly when crackers are involved. Regardless of what tops them—watermelon, truffles, bottarga—I'm in ecstasy, because Michel Troisgros is the cracker king.
The menu is somewhat daunting, linguistically. Mid in with the French basics are elements of Japanese cuisine (Pierre was among the first French chefs to establish a presence in Japan), Italian (his mother's legacy), and South American (brother Claude is a celebrity chef in Brazil). Yet haute cuisine has rarely made so much sense, come so precisely to the point.
You might have eaten chicken Kiev and asked yourself why anyone would make a fuss over a bird with melted butter. The Kiev of Troisgros is the ultimate fried food, a thin shell stuffed with pigeon, black truffle, foie gras, and spinach. I promise that if you come for two meals, you will order it twice.
I always eat my vegetables when I am there, specifically Michel's asparagus made three ways—with mayonnaise and black truffles, with red-pepper sauce and bits of red pepper, with fresh mint and a mint-leaf garnish. When asked what preparation he most loves, he mentioned gelées, which are cool extracts of pure flavor.
When I appeared interested, he sent out razor clams in a green-apple gelée, then the mackerel in a Vin Santo gelée—the strong fish was calmed by the bracing acidity of red onions and tart-sweet wine. His father became famous for his salmon with sorrel sauce, which tingled with acidity. When I hear people speak of food that dances on the tongue, I think the expression must have originated here.
My favorite dining moments usually come when I am dazzled, mystified, and awed, and they occur more with the food of Michel Troisgros than with anyone else's. He makes food I've never tried taste like food I can't believe I've done without.
Monte Carlo
Now I understand why everyone I know is envious of this trip. I am standing on the balcony of a parquet-floored suite at the Hôtel de Paris, a regal sanctuary in Monte Carlo. The restaurant Le Louis XV is a few floors down.
I have made it here by automobile, powered by a buffet breakfast at Troisgros that included a sweet called "lost brioche" that is much like English bread-and-butter pudding. I looked around the little breakfast room, happily saw no other diners, and emptied the entire serving bowl onto my plate. This was precisely the kind of fuel a traveler needs to drive nearly 400 miles under the influence of jet lag.
My suite is number 513—514, should you wish a recommendation for a nice room when you're next in Monte Carlo. As I stand there looking over the harbor and waving at tourists passing below, I can't help but wonder if they believe the Maybach parked importantly outside the front door of the hotel is mine. Or perhaps they believe the entire principality is mine. This balcony might give that impression.
Dinnertime arrives. I tighten the knot in my tie, descend by elevator, and cross the lobby to the restaurant.
I try not to appear awestruck. It is my belief that a man need not visit the great tourist shrines along the banks of the Seine if he can get a reservation here, and I have been here often enough that I consider the nymphs and angels frolicking on the ceiling to be my close friends, notwithstanding that they are thirty feet above me. I am also an admirer of the waiters, each of them a young man of exceeding sociability and impeccable manners. I am charmed when wealthy tourists come to Le Louis XV to dine, spend $1,000 per couple for food and wine, hand their waiter a $12 disposable camera, and ask for a snapshot. They are accommodated with grace.
The chef, officially, is Alain Ducasse, but he has an empire to attend to and is not often here. Franck Cerutti, going on 48 but preternaturally young looking, not a gray hair to be seen, is the chef de cuisine. He is overseer of the kitchen and seemingly at peace. "Alain Ducasse has the worries, so he has the white hair," Cerutti says.
When I ask him why so many of his waiters are young, he tells me that this restaurant is the training ground for all of Ducasse's establishments, and that after a few years, they are sent off to new positions. "This is a bit like a nursery school." He prefers unspoiled waiters, and he makes his point by mimicking the sour face of an old Parisian waiter, the kind that has tormented Americans—and for that matter, Frenchmen—since the dawn of haute cuisine.
To me, Le Louis XV is the greatest restaurant in the world, when food, service, and ambience are taken into consideration. It is flawless. Even though the room is Napoleonic and the waiters are so poised they could be flag bearers in the horse artillery, the food is simple. It is Mediterranean cuisine of the type found nowhere but on the Mediterranean. It could not be. The products are nowhere else.
If the cooking is essentially local, the elegance that Cerutti brings to it is world-class. He recalls that when Ducasse took over the restaurant twenty years ago, critics complained that such cuisine was not for Le Louis XV. "We were first to do regional, paysan cuisine that was really for the home," he says. "Everybody thought we were crazy."
In winter he has truffles, game, and root vegetables. In the summer, the food is more recognizable to an American guest, more of what we think of as Mediterranean. "For me, using products from around the world would not be possible," Cerutti says. "A tomato grown in Hong Kong is not the same as a tomato grown here."
I have a bouillon made from white beans, little more than a creamy conveyance for the snails and the shoulder of rabbit floating atop it; followed by the large shrimp called gamberoni; two sheets of homemade pappardelle, one of them white and the other black from cuttlefish ink; cannelloni with an intense puree (here called a marmalade) of tomatoes; rouget with tapenade; and finally, lamb of exquisite tenderness with zucchini flowers. With everything comes fresh vegetables: tomatoes and artichokes and zucchini from the market in Nice where Cerutti goes regularly to kiss the cheeks of the women who sell them, or from purveyors who have learned over the years that he does not kiss if he finds slipups.
"My main preoccupation," he says, "is to source the best, to the point where if one day they deliver produce I don't want, I go mad. But they don't do it anymore."
The people come to the restaurant, Cerutti concedes, not for his cuisine but for that of Ducasse, but he says that Ducasse is now too busy to cook. In most ways, Cerutti's Mediterranean food is no different from Ducasse's Mediterranean food, since the chefs have a similar sensibility, but Cerutti realizes that he is now the man in charge. "It is my cuisine now," he says, giggling impishly. "I have killed the father."
Modena, Italy
I am strolling down the Vicolo Squallore, an alley bare of everything, even illegally parked cars, seemingly an impossibility in an Italian city. Nothing moves. No sounds. It would be creepy, but thankfully it is midday. Now I understand why Hosteria Giusti opens only for lunch.
I have been to this most inaccessible of restaurants once before, but it was a dozen years back. I seem to recall the entrance as being on a main street of Modena, under a grand covered sidewalk with a vaulted ceiling, much like those found in nearby Bologna.
At the end of the alley, I come upon a tiny courtyard with a big umbrella, some patio furniture, and a sign with a message that might as well be permanent: HOSTERIA AL COMPLETO. Translation: You aren't getting in.
Hosteria Giusti is a shrine to home cooking. The sole hint that it might be different from other tiny trattorias—if it's large enough to be called that—is the few empty wine bottles on the windowsills. Krug. Gaja. Dom Pérignon Rosé. Fancy stuff. Not what you'd expect in a region where the house wine is invariably Lambrusco, a fizzy red.
I walk in, confirm my hard-won reservation, make sure the Morandi family knows the struggle I have endured to come here. First, the begging for a table. "Yes, very difficult," Cecilia Morandi admits. Then finding my way from the autoroute to the nearly unmarked city center. "Yes, yes, difficult," she agrees, and adds soothingly, "and always they change the traffic pattern." Finally, chancing upon my hotel and a parking spot, which meant driving through a pedestrian zone and making a U-turn in the courtyard of the cathedral where Virginia dé Medici is buried and maybe leaving tire marks on her grave, a sin that surely deserves a place in hell, or at the very least a traffic ticket, except that in Italy drivers who observe such niceties as pedestrian zones and no-parking signs are thought of as cowards.
Now that I am safely at my table, I recall that the restaurant is located behind the family-run salumeria—an Italian delicatessen—that is indeed on a street with a sidewalk under a vaulted ceiling. You may enter either via the alley or by ducking through a small doorway in the shop. From there you negotiate a winding passage to the dining area, passing by a kitchen that smells of bubbling balsamic vinegar.
The room has four tables with white cloths, a hutch holding about 150 glasses, a long table with more than fifty different digestifs, and a small table with a few random magazines and a cookbook by Mario Batali. (Wherever you happen to go in Italy, he will already have been there.) Dining is informal. Matteo Morandi waits tables, serving the food of his mother, Laura. On the day I visited, he wore orange pants and blue running shoes.
Hosteria Giusti a dozen years ago was random bliss. No menu, no wine list. The late Nano Morandi, father of Cecilia and Matteo, was a wonderfully amusing and forceful man who brought out his wife's food faster than you could eat it, which was troublesome because everything he brought out was something you desperately wanted to finish. Today, Hosteria Giusti is quieter, more measured, with a wine list and a menu. The focus of the wine list is champagne, not that locals order much of it. "Lunch is Lambrusco, Lambrusco, Lambrusco," Matteo says.
At my lunch, there are seven customers at the other three tables, and all have Lambrusco. I order a 1998 Dal Forno Romano Valpolicella Superiore, a monster of a wine, the definition of melted tar. It is hardly a luncheon wine, but it sells for about half what it would in the States. I cannot resist a bargain.
I eat simply. There is no other choice. I begin with bread puffs, a specialty of the Emilia-Romagna region, so light they verge on nothingness, offered with three toppings: culatello, which is the heart of the prosciutto; salumi, in this case similar to American salami; and lard that I like better than the culatello, more of a compliment than you might imagine. Pure white lard from Tuscany is practically butter, but it is rarely multidimensional. This one has a pleasing hint of porkiness, a tang.
I insist on two orders of pasta, simply because it is ridiculous to come this far for one. At Giusti, the pasta is superior because it is untouched by mechanical devices: "It takes two or three hours to make four portions of tagliatelle," Cecilia points out. First, pappardelle with duck. Second, those pork cheeks with saffron-laced pasta, a combination that reminds me of osso buco with saffron risotto. To finish, a thigh of baby pig, majestic and much like a cool confit. For a moment, I deceive myself. I think it is light.
Hosteria Giusti is a reference point for Italian food. To eat here is to imagine you are dining in the Italian home you wish you had. "We think our kitchen is very simple," says Cecilia. "It is strange that we became famous, for this is what we eat every day. For us, it is normal. For our clients, it is not."
Canneto sull'Oglio, Italy
The pan is very hot. In goes much butter. Out goes most of it, the pan wiped almost clean. In goes grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, made from raw cow's milk, three years old, surely the world's most essential cheese.
I am watching the preparation of the savory, crunchy, cheesy tidbit I ate the moment I sat down at dal Pescatore. I have labeled it a tuile—a cookie—because of its shape, but it is not that. Nor is it a cracker, although it has the thinness of one. If it is a cracker, it is one of unprecedented cheesiness.
Obviously, I am in the kitchen, where I do not belong. If I am violating protocol, everybody is too polite to rebuke me. I am sorry to inform those of you who regularly drink Giacomo Conterno Barolo Riserva Monfortino or have the revenue to request showers of white truffles that this is a better experience. Wandering freely is as much fun as a man can have in a great restaurant.
The cheese melts into a puddle of goo. The goo is scooped out, curled over a long rod. It quickly hardens. Voilà, or whatever they say in Italy. My tuile. Nothing could be simpler. I reach over, grab one, bite. The crunch nearly echoes. My astounding tuile is nothing more than melted, hardened, concentrated Parmesan cheese. You could do this at home, but chances are it won't be as exquisite as dal Pescatore's. That's because most of what is fabulous about Italian cuisine is products and traditions. They don't travel well.
In the small kitchen of the restaurant, the mother, Nadia Santini, cooks across the counter from her son Giovanni and his grandmother Bruna, who work together. "My grandmother," says Giovanni, "is making sure that everybody does everything the right way. She was born in 1929, and she has spent fifty-five years in this kitchen."
Now elegant, dal Pescatore has been enormously upgraded from its opening-day ambience in 1926, when it was called Vino e Pesce (Wine and Fish) and the menu consisted of fish fried for people passing by on bicycles. Today it boasts a helicopter landing pad a half-minute walk from an eighteenth-century farmhouse being renovated as a home for Giovanni.
The star of the kitchen is clearly Nadia, although everyone, herself included, denies it to demonstrate familial solidarity. She happened to answer the phone when I called from America. I did not at first realize it was her, although she sounded oddly upbeat for a person relegated to the task of taking phone calls from strangers looking for directions. Dal Pescatore is near Canneto sull'Oglio, a town that is not on my map of Lombardy.
I said apologetically that I would be dining alone, and she replied, "Oh, that's fine, my husband loves to go to a restaurant alone so he can talk to everybody, all the waiters, everybody who will talk to him." I got suspicious: "You would not be the famous chef, would you?" She answered, "No, I am not famous. I am the only one here who is working. Everywhere you go, there are horses and there are donkeys. I am the donkey."
Dal Pescatore is no longer simple. The waiters wear tudos. The music is soothing. The chairs are noble. The dining room has doors that open onto an expansive garden. Fancy it may be, but it remains the most typical Italian restaurant I know.
Italians believe that when you get off the plane in Italy, the air smells Italian. When you go to the seaside in Italy, the air smells Italian, even if it is blowing in from France. Tomatoes to them taste Italian. Americans like me have no chance of understanding what this means without going to a restaurant like dal Pescatore and eating food that is not significantly different from what has been on the menu for the past three-quarters of a century. Until 1995, I was told, the menu included horsemeat. That's because farmworkers in this part of Italy, when faced with famine, ate their horses.
Here I had grilled eel, one of the river fish that Giovanni's great-grandfather prepared at the start of the twentieth century, not that others hadn't been cooking it pretty much the same way for at least 500 years. At first bite, I thought it was too…well…local. A little strong. A little weird. By the end of the plate, I was insane for it. The crisp skin reminded me of Peking duck. The marinated meat, moist and savory, started tasting like soft, sweet beef.
The French could learn much from the frogs' legs that are made here. They're no more than a nugget of meat, a little like sole on a stick. Here also the menu includes culatello, and I wondered if these frogs' legs could be called culatello of frog.
Almost nothing changes at dal Pescatore. The father, who oversees the dining room, is named Antonio. Someday he will have a grandson named Antonio. For that matter, Giovanni someday expects to have a grandson named Giovanni. "It's easy to remember," he says. The food changes slowly, not because the family cooks are incapable of being inventive but because they realize the consequences of being too creative.
"The food we prepare must be with an Italian heart," says Giovanni. "If we do something strange, similar to what others are doing in their kitchens, and we continue in that way, in ten years the new generation will eat exactly similar to the rest of the world. But we are not similar. We are Italian."
Roses, Spain
There are two roads to El Bulli. From Roses—Spain's answer to a New Jersey beach town—you can take the tortuous, dangerous, hellish, no-guardrail, pray-we-don't-meet-a-truck-oh-Christ-here-comes-one back road over the mountain, or you can go the hard way. The alternative route takes you over a rugged old military trail where you pass through gnarled, barren, and feral land—think An American Werewolf in London. As soon as the ultimate road primeval ends, you arrive at the ultimate restaurant urbane. El Bulli is located above Cala Montjoi, a remote beach a mountain or two removed from the town where Salvador Dalí lived.
My guest—also accepting the role of plucky driver—was a Spanish journalist named Xavier Agullo, who picked me up wearing a Lacoste shirt not tucked into his jeans, and no socks. "El Bulli is rock 'n' roll," he explained while insisting that I not wear the suit I had brought for the occasion. "Since 1985, I am going to El Bulli, back then maybe nine or ten times a year, and back in those days people came up from the beach to eat and washed away the sand with a hose on the terrace."
He's the one who valiantly suggested we get there via the Cap de Creus route, which is by no means wide enough for two cars—fortunately, we met none. We arrived at El Bulli in daylight, which I would recommend simply for the beauty of the locale. The restaurant sits on a ledge above a cove frequented by bathers who I imagine have no idea that the restaurant looming over them is the most important on earth. It's elegant without being fancy, surrounded by pine trees that are occasionally the source of ingredients.
The room has a beamed ceiling and considerable white stucco. The few pieces of art, which range in style from medieval to modern, are easily ignored. The floor is tile. There is no music. It is nearly impossible to look at anything but the food, in part because it is so captivating and in part because it comes so quickly—for us, approximately one course every six minutes. Even if you are a confident enough gourmet to believe you can decipher the cuisine, you will not have sufficient time to do so. Nobody thinks that fast.
The "welcoming cocktail," described as a Cosmopolitan, comes in a cockeyed bowl and is eaten with a spoon. Tiny marshmallows vanish as though they weren't there. A joke? A subtle dissertation on the disturbing yet transitory implications of intoxication? Before I am close to figuring it out, the cocktail is gone and out comes Adrià's now legendary olives that aren't olives. I am face-to-face with spherification, a technique that appears to magically transform solids into liquids, encasing them in a membrane. How does he do it? With calcium chloride and sodium alginate, of course. Easy to understand if you read up beforehand. Or if you were a chemistry major.
The non-olive looks exactly like a green olive. It tastes like a green olive. However, it's liquid. If you should foolishly bite into it instead of popping it whole into your mouth, you will understand why you should not wear your finest garments to this restaurant. A later course consists of spherified ham-and-beans—in this case Iberian ham and white beans. At least I think they were spherified. I was a very poor chemistry student.
Sometimes you are required to follow orders from the chef, because this is his world, his new order. He is abnormally concerned with the number of bites you are to take, or what end of a food item to sink your teeth into first. Sometimes—forgive me, master—I am tempted to defy him. I never do.
Take his razor clams with seaweed salad and lemon foam. But first a word about foams. In the field of molecular gastronomy, foams have faded away, and Adrià is about as happy to hear them considered his signature dish as Sinatra was to learn that "My Way" was thought of as his signature song. Unlike most foams, this one is tasty, much like pure lemon. But back to the razor-clam crisis. These are not small mollusks, and we are instructed to eat the whole four inches of the beast at one time. That's a lot of clam. I could have chewed all night.
Course number twenty-nine is one of my favorites. Mostly, it's gravy. Hare gravy, although it might be civet. (I wasn't so good at fifth-grade Spanish, either.) Also a few dots of black-truffle puree and a little apple-and-black-currant jelly. I fool myself into thinking that this is easy to understand, a Ferran Adrià creation with training wheels. My analysis: a wonderful treat for an imaginary winter, a winter hologram. No meat, because all a hungry man really enjoys is the gravy.
After the meal, Adrià asks me what I think of the gravy. Luckily, I am well prepared, which I would not have been had he asked me about twenty or thirty of his other preparations. I give him my no-damn-meat-needed theory. Right! He says, "The meat has no taste." He then asks me to explain the purpose of the jelly. "Well," I reply, cocky now, "it is a traditional condiment, and—"
He says, "Some people say, Why not a piece of bread to dunk in the gravy?' The jelly takes the place of the bread!"
I nod dumbly.
And then I am forgiven.
"I do not want to condition people," Adrià says. "Freedom is most important here, and in life. Everybody has a right to think what they want here, as they do in a theater or a museum or a movie. This is why I never like to talk about dishes. Everybody has to find his own way."
I had plates that were plates, plates that were mesh, and plates that were gold. I had food hidden in a black box and food wrapped in edible paper. Oils from the roots of plants. Fruit as a powder. Oil as a spiral. Yogurt somewhere between foam and air. The marrow of tuna, fried. The muscle of an oyster. A miniature sea cucumber (yuck). Transcendent gnocchi. So many sweets I wondered if Adrià had ever outgrown his adolescence. So much thoughtfulness I wondered if he had matured into a philosopher.
I was about to tell him I wouldn't forget this meal, but it seemed a superfluous comment. I'm certain that nobody does.
Bondi Beach, Australia
Better than being a customer at Sean's Panaroma (pan-aroma, get it?) is being a waiter.
This storefront restaurant on Australia's Bondi Beach is open for seven meals a week—only five in winter. It's an unstrenuous way to earn a living. To be fair, it hasn't always been that way. When chef Sean Moran first opened for business in 1993, the workweek consisted of twenty-one meals. "We used to be breakfast, lunch, and dinner seven days—we were chockablock with meals," he says. "It was purely panic. We didn't know what we should be. Would people come only for breakfast? Cooking breakfast is masochistic, really. So we made it a weekend brunch. And then we said fuck it."
Of particular importance, Sunday dinner is no longer on the schedule. After lunch that day, the roses that decorate the room are no longer of use.
The waiters stroll across the street. They walk past the North Bondi Surf Life Saving Club (est. 1906). A few strides and they're at the north end of the beach, where the beautiful people come to sun. The surfers are at the south end, the tourists in the middle. The fact that the venerable lifesaving club has its headquarters up at the north end tells me they have certain priorities when deciding which people should be saved.
Among the beautiful people are girls, and the waiters say to them, "We work over there," pointing toward the little restaurant. "Come over for a flower." The girls can't resist. Getting into Sean's Panaroma is nearly impossible any other time.
To Moran, his restaurant is heaven. To Gabrielle, one of the waitresses, the job brings "an inner joy." To me, it is the perfect bistro. Everything there is so alluring, I didn't hesitate to fly from Barcelona to Sydney to have one dinner. Imagine a restaurant in St-Tropez where the staff is nurturing, the chef brilliant, the clientele fashionable, and the beach a few steps away. It exists, but not in France, to my knowledge; it is a half-hour taxi ride from downtown Sydney.
Elegant it is not. Here and there I see a bit of corrosion caused by salt blowing in from the bay. The dining room isn't beautiful—I'm really not fond of the Peg-Board wall. Still, it has grown on me. The bathroom is inside, but you must walk outside to reach it. Amenities include peppermint soap and an orchid, but not hot water.
The back of the restaurant is a warren of tiny storage areas plus a larger room where Moran's malt scrolls and cracked-wheat logs with sesame crusts are baked daily—not a viable economic proposition for a restaurant of this size. "I'm not a baker," says Moran. "The team does it. Everyone has a go." When there was too great a demand in Australia for organic butter and he couldn't get any, he found organic cream, and now the butter is made on the premises, too.
His cuisine is part home cooking, part Italian, and part gastropub—sturdy food enhanced with pan drippings and plenty of lemon. Plate arrangements are not elaborate; the food arrives looking au naturel. What makes it unparalleled are his products, for Australia takes the concept of organic seriously. It is not a marketing tool, as in America, but a guarantee of superior quality. He and his partner, Michael Robertson, live partly in the Blue Mountains, a hundred kilometers away and a thousand meters above sea level, where they have, as Moran describes it, "a shack, a veggie patch, and fruit trees."
I ate alone, but not for long. Seated next to me were three Australian women who had ordered exactly the same food so as not to suffer "dish envy." They yanked my wooden table closer to theirs—strong Aussie stock, they were—and proceeded to nibble everything that came my way: firm Coffin Bay oysters that hadn't spawned; chunky prawn-and-cauliflower dumplings, much like coarse quenelles, in a prawn broth; slivers of black truffles, cultivated on Australian soil, with hand-rolled noodles; and skin-on panfried harpuka, a game fish, with sorrel gnocchi, each course accompanied by a local wine, the term somewhat loosely defined. My favorite was an '06 Saint Clair Reserve Pinot Grigio from New Zealand.
Should you visit, you might notice a pair of field glasses on the shelf in the back of the restaurant. Feel free to use them. They're for watching the whales that occasionally swim by.
Everywhere I went, I asked about greatness. Learning its meaning was as much my obsession as eating at restaurants that demonstrably possessed it. I worry now and then that I have a rather narrow viewpoint, one limited to my sense of taste, although I know I am occasionally able to expand my parameters to include beauty, kindness, and history.
Michel Troisgros told me that to find greatness in the modern world, "You have to love the work, love the people, and love the life. That is the same for all professions, but for a chef it is a big responsibility because you take from the planet what it gives you naturally. I think that is the new thing in cooking today. It is not like thirty years ago, when our customers were eating for the sake of eating. People do not want to eat a lot. They want the experience of eating. The chef is the artist and the artisan. He has to interpret what nature gives him."
For Franck Cerutti of Le Louis XV, the cost of greatness is not sleeping at night, of continually asking himself how he might make his kitchen better. He says, "Here at Le Louis XV, we are very organized to being sick about organization. Sometimes I am afraid we lose the instinctiveness from so much of it. I taste every day, every minute, always questioning myself: Is this the way it should be?' So much doubt!" Nadia Santini says that on the day after she married her husband and became part of the dal Pescatore family, her husband's grandmother Teresa said to her, "We eat well today because we worked very well yesterday, and if we want to eat well tomorrow, we must work very well today. For thirty-three years, when I arrive in the kitchen, I think what it is to work very well."
For Moran of Sean's Panaroma, "It's all in the attitude, the vibe, that comes out of the kitchen. If it's there, you can feel it when you walk into a restaurant." Eric Ripert of Le Bernardin adds, "To make a restaurant great, you cannot compromise standards. If I serve truffles, I could certainly fake them with fake truffles and truffle oil and 99 percent of my clientele would not see the difference. We don't do that."
Adrià has the most straightforward explanation of all: "People who are able to make something magic and you can't explain it—that is great."
I expected greatness from these seven restaurants. I encountered no disappointments. I ate much more than I expected I would, but perhaps that is the best definition of greatness. In its presence, a fork is impossible to put down.


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True Wild Life | Buffalo | The buffalo is also known as the African buffalo and the cape buffalo, as the buffalo is found in large herds across Africa but the buffalo is more prominent in South Africa. Although the buffalo and water buffalo (found in Asia) look very similar it not thought that the buffalo and the water buffalo are closely related. The African forest buffalo is a subspecies of the African buffalo but the forest buffalo is about half the size of the standard buffalo.
The African buffalo is one of the most successful grazers in Africa. The buffalo inhabits swamps and floodplains as well as the grasslands and forests of the major mountains of Africa. Buffalo can be found from the highest mountains to sea level areas, and the buffalo tends to prefer habitat with dense cover such as reeds and thickets. Herd of buffalo have also been found in open woodland and grassland.
Other than the human, the African buffalo has no real natural predators as the buffalo is able to easily defend itself using the buffalos sheer size and power. Lions, crocodiles, leopards and hyena are all amongst those animals that prey on the buffalo although they are usually only successful in catching the buffalo in large numbers.
The buffalo has a very unpredictable nature which, along with the size of the buffalo, makes the buffalo a severe threat to humans. There are numerous buffalo attacks on humans every year and the buffalo is thought to be one of the most dangerous animals in Africa behind the hippo and the crocodile. Because of this the African buffalo has not been domesticated unlike the water buffalo in Asia.

subset: commoncrawl


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Genome Statute and Legislation Database SearchStart a New Search Glossary of Terms
|Citation/ Title
(link to state's page)
|2013 State Bills:
|Health Insurance Coverage
|Each group or individual medical expense, cancer, and blanket disability policy, certificate of insurance, and membership contract must provide minimum mammography examination coverage. The definition of minimum mammography examination is amended to include: a) a mammogram each year for a woman who is under 35 years of age if: (i) the woman has two or more first-degree family members diagnosed with breast cancer or ovarian cancer; (ii) genetic tests indicate the woman is at higher risk for breast cancer; or (iii) the woman's physician recommends the test. Died in Standing Committee on April 24, 2013.
Last Reviewed: May 25, 2018


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BATS CEO: Trade Problems 'Part of the Business'
Stock-exchange operator BATS Global Markets says the "system issue" that cheated customers for more than four years on short-sale transactions might uncover even more problems. Michael Driscoll has details on The News Hub. Photo: BATS.
This transcript has been automatically generated and may not be 100% accurate.
... the the ... the stock exchange the system's problems with hundreds of thousands of souls else says it's just fun doing business with mall man story when I don't like that it was like to still use it this morning ... out of ... time ... and again I am doing double duty ... aam ... so just on investments and that's what ... this is the business they do and then the other thing ... that I have led to the tothe they sigh is ... common and when one is ... who I he's a challenging problem to solve what this company does nothing but handled it well that's the sad truth in everything that they said that is correct and this is an active business that there are errors in there and ... when the scary things about the story is that that switches exchange for talking about it's not a well-known name is the third biggest one nation ... it's ... regarded pre highly in the industry for the way they handle things and ... there's some sort of ... anxiety and panic if things are happening ... like this and that's what about increases in other exchanges that have had their own problems that are somehow I realize that I mean it's interesting to me I mean if if I mean if you have a mobile business and decide all in on the Chemical cave in which a spot of building cars ... that would really be a silver medal chance in twenty ... oh no I think they're trying to sort it out in front of this and say you now have these problems happen were ... upfront about it we discover ourselves ... it's ... some numbers are scary hundreds of thousands of problems for the same time the dollar value is four hundred thousand so when you open a trade by trade cases it's pretty small so ... you know the data even try to reassure us this isn't something that's going on ... stock investors know the SCC in ... this year's expected and that they regard this August up from a symbol of that happening can cost problem of re happy to have totaled ... aam and they may be ready to ... scream that we've heard that the SEC's concerned about this sort of the reasons I've touched on earlier aam but they're worried about an hour have Proms like this happening that's ... been happening all over the place in this is just the carrying costs in line to ... use the money used to be that ... guys like Eastwood as an advocate for someone will go under immense strain of each shell I'm that's the way to trading trading would go ... aam this sort of thing didn't have so much ... no it didn't happen some sows the only job and took naps and you don't get a lightning fast aam you know we have the flash crash of that thing didn't happen when you have what's called open outcry well there's a lot of people around and say that's right that that sort of a sign of the times that stock exchanges Friday ... webcasts and ... used in many other things moved Electronic and ... his is a sort of the cost of doing business ... what's interesting Melinda beginning a lot more about this ... thank you very much like this ... that it is my can read mall Mac continuing coverage on this day don't come ...


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Lady Bisons track and field team ranked third nationally academically
The Lipscomb Lady Bisons track & field team finished third in NCAA Division I in the list of Indoor and Outdoor Scholar Teams released by the U.S. Track & Field and Cross Country Coaches Association.
The Lady Bisons posted a 3.5 grade point average. The University of Tennessee-Chattanooga was first with a 3.550 and Butler University was second with a 3.547.
The selection of the All-Academic Indoor and Outdoor Scholar Teams of the Year Award is based on a combination of academic and athletic achievements, with the top honor going to the team that had the combination of the best overall finish at the respective Division Indoor or Outdoor National Championships and cumulative GPA. A team must have a minimum 3.00 GPA to be nominated.


text: At a recent wedding in Colorado, a groomsman escorted a bridesmaid down the aisle by carrying her in his hand. Bride Jamie Wilborn says her friend Renee couldn't make it to the wedding, but thanks to the iPad, "She got to see the whole ceremony, she got to meet everyone and be here for the reception." Still, you shouldn't get any ideas about using this method to weasel out of buying another bridesmaid dress.


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Did you see the chesh on that boy's face?
I was cheshing my face off for the whole bus ride after I got another dirty text from Nelson
I was cheshing my face off for the whole bus ride after I got another dirty text from Nelson
by evillaura August 06, 2008
An alternate spelling and pronunciation of the word "chest" coming from that time someone landed on the community chest in monopoly and someone else squealed "Lard jaysus das' not da community chesh again ish i'?"
by SnickersBars4YrButt January 02, 2008
Snobbish persons who suffer from delusins of Grandeur and who hold habouring resentment for neighbouring towns
by sarah December 10, 2003
the coolest group of people, including a large land animal known to the common homosapian as bigbird or old man in mulan, a spanish speaking mexican who is also reffered to as a the big nice man in mulan or nala from the lion king, a slut who wears nothing but a bra and has many sexual encouters from everything from a man, to a woman, to a frog, a crazy physcotic man who is also refered to as a hawaiian or mushu from mulan, and dobby.
by jocjoajocjeajcojeaocjoajoc August 07, 2009
"You want some chesh"
"We gotta get some chesh"
"We gotta get some chesh"
by Mutunuzzz December 06, 2018


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The Heat for Boston
Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy were in Vegas to promote their upcoming The Heat at CinemaCon today. The Heat was shot in Boston, a comedy about two mismatched detectives chasing down a bad guy. It was announced at the presentation that there will be a special screening for Boston police in honour of their hard work and dedication in light of what happened this week.
The Heat opens on June 27. I really, really, REALLY want it to be good. I really, really, REALLY want it do as well as Bridesmaids. So that, finally, people will come around to the fact that women can be funny too, motherf-ckers...
A word I use deliberately here because in the red band trailer for The Heat, where McCarthy gets to mouth off repeatedly, Bullock only throws one down at the end, when she's dressed like a punk, like it was a conscious decision -- because Sandy can't cuss when she's all prettied up in her America's Sweetheart clothes.
Guess what?
Girls have dirty mouths too. Especially, um, sorority girls. But don't let that be the defining example of what happens when breasts meet the swears. Swearing is not an exclusively male habit and it doesn't diminish character. Or, for that matter, femininity. Real women swear a LOT. And very, very creatively. And it's OK. And Sandy in real life probably does too. Would you love her less for it? F-ck no. But the MiniVan Majority? Maybe. I guess that explains it.
So into what she's wearing here, especially how those pants are fitting.
Ethan Miller /Getty Images


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We first had an opportunity to throw a leg over the Fuji SLM 29er 1.1 at the Outdoor Dirt Demo. It was hot off the presses at the time and was something like the 48th bike claiming to be "The Ultimate Bike Ever Made" that we'd seen that day. By this point in the afternoon though, we needed to see some proof in the pudding. You can't imagine our surprise when after a couple of laps the Fuji SLM 29er 1.1 turned out to be our favorite bike of the day.
About The Bike:
The Fuji SLM 29er 1.1 is a 29″ carbon fiber hardtail bike that's tailor made for the XC and racing markets. Reading over the Fuji SLM 29er 1.1 parts spec, there's a lot to be impressed by. This is a carbon fiber hardtail that's dripping with XTR. XTR shifters and derailleurs, sure. But brakes? Cassette? Chain? This bike is decked out in Shimano's highest level of racing components with only the carbon Oval M600 Crankset breaking the pattern. Why would Fuji decide to pass on Shimano's crankset? As anyone who has recently spec'd a mountain bike will tell you, Shimano doesn't make their XTR crankset with a true PF30 spindle. You can get an adapter for the Hollowtech II spindle, but if you truly want to take advantage of the increased stiffness afforded to you by the SLM's PF30 bottom bracket, a crankset like the Oval M600 is going to deliver.
The next area that the Fuji SLM 29er 1.1 excels in is the frame. Rather than trying to pass off some lesser carbon fiber as the next big thing, Fuji actually uses the next big thing. C15 super-light high-modulus carbon outfitted with internal shift cable routing, the aforementioned PF30 bottom bracket, a tapered headtube and wide 142x12mm dropouts. This makes for one of the lightest hardtail frames available while also providing stiffness to spare. The bike darts uphill so fast you will leave your friends in the dust.
Fuji also offers Fuji SLM 29er 1.3, 2.1, and 2.3 to make it easy for riders to find the 29″ hardtail to fit their needs and skill levels
The Ride:
Enough about the components, let's get to the riding! The very first experience we had on board the Fuji SLM 29er 1.1 was one that would be repeated with nearly every ride: the tester riding the SLM 1.1 had to wait at the top of the climb for everyone else to catch up. The 29" wheels and knobby tires gave confidence to spare on the descents and it even held its own through moderate rock sections. Where this bike truly excels, however, is the climbing. You'll float uphill as though the tires are filled with helium.
Another thing that became clear in the ride quality is that this bike was spec'd by someone who really rides and understands mountain bikes. A perfect example is the handlebar. Sure, it was probably picked out of Oval's lineup for being the lightest bar they make at an amazing 185g. But that's not all a bar is about. This bar is 710mm wide and has a 9 degree sweep giving the rider confident handling and a comfortable hand position.
The Verdict:
Thoughtful component choices and a finely tuned ride quality make this one of the finest hardtails we've ever ridden. This bike is for the rider who wants to squeeze every ounce of performance from his machine, who wants to win races, and who will settle for nothing but the best. The XC racing bike snob will be as happy as the everyday trail warrior. They are all sweet perfection in mountain biking, balancing weight, comfort, and performance. If you're thinking about buying a hardtail that you'll never want to part with, look no further than the Fuji SLM 29er 1.1. The bike was so fast, that we all started arguing about who would get to use our demo model for the upcoming race season. Sitting atop the Fuji, our coworker Eddie rocketed straight to the top of the podium.


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Surveyor 2
Goals: Like other spacecraft in the Surveyor program, Surveyor 2 was designed to develop and validate technologies for soft landings on the Moon and gather information about the lunar surface.
Accomplishments: None. One of the three thrusters failed to ignite for a midcourse correction, putting the spacecraft into an unwanted spin. It crashed on the Moon just south of Copernicus crater.


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Use our interactive water solutions guide to find products for all your home waterflow needs. Take the tour to see how our products work throughout your home.
Learn helpful tips to keep your pump performing properly throughout the winter months
Call or write to us! We'd love to hear from you.
This product is no longer in production.


text:
Proceedings of the Nuclear Physics and Solid State Physics Symposium, Volume 3
Department of Atomic Energy, Government of India., 1982 - Nuclear physics
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Superconducting Properties of Tii_xsbx system
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activation energy alloys annealing antiferromagnetic atoms band band gap barrier behaviour Bombay calculated cell compounds concentration constant correlation Curie temperature curve decrease density Department of Physics Devare dielectric dipole doped effect electric field electrical resistivity electron equation experimental ferroelectric ferromagnetic Fig.l films frequency function Green's function hyperfine fields impurity increase intensity interaction ions lattice lattice constants liquid magnetic field matrix measured Mossbauer Mossbauer spectroscopy observed obtained optical paramagnetic parameters peak phase transition phonon Phys plot positron present pressure probe quadrupole range region reported resistivity room temperature sample scattering semiconductor shown shows single crystal Solid spectra spectrum spin glass structure substrate superconducting symmetry Table TDPAC technique temperature dependence theoretical thermal thickness tion transition metal valence values variation voltage X-ray


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Howdy All,
Hiked up Falling Rock Canyon to Ontario and Big Horn Peaks yesterday. Thanks to the cooler weather, I was able to wear pants and a long sleeved Icebreaker top. As I was ascending, I could see the Baldy Bowl snow melting off.
At the plateau where the ridge meets the Ontario backbone. I first encountered snow where the route gains the ridge, switching back and forth.
Ontario peak -- a bit of rime ice on the landmark dead tree.
View towards Cucamonga from Ontario peak. Hiking from Ontario to Big Horn took longer than usual due to the new snow. Walking through the snow was slower and route finding was difficult. I lost the trail between Ontario and the Bighorn/Kelly junction. I kept traversing until I could see the junction and get back on the trail.
My next objective -- Big Horn peak.
Views from the summit of Big Horn peak.
Heading down XC to Icehouse Saddle. I brought microspikes and could have used them on parts of this section. The hike back to my car on Icehouse Canyon trail was uneventful and no traction was needed.
Miles of smiles,


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Honeyville's Flavored Textured Vegetable Protein (TVP) Combo is actually a meat analogue product made through a special extrusion process which provides a 100% vegetable product that approaches the taste and texture of meat. This highly nutritious vegetarian meat substitute is processed from defatted soy flour which contains more than 52% protein and 18% total dietary fiber. TVP has been used for many years in U.S. Food Nutritional Service programs and has been an integral part of the School Lunch program. Because of the recognized health and nutritional benefit of soy protein in the diet and the added benefit of low moisture and low fat content, Honeyville Flavored TVP Combo is an ideal product for long term food storage and emergency preparedness.
Each of Honeyville's Flavored TVP Combo contains the following:
2 #10 cans of Honeyville Flavored-like Beef TVP
each can has 40 ¼ cup servings with 80 calories per serving - 5 pounds
2 #10 cans of Honeyville Flavored-like Chicken TVP
each can has 49 ¼ cup servings with 80 calories per serving - 5 pounds
2 #10 cans of Honeyville Unflavored TVP Granules
each can has 40 ¼ cup servings with 70 calories per serving - 4.5 pounds
Shelf-Life: Flavored TVP Combo will store for 10 to 20 years in 6 sealed #10 cans (oxygen absorbers included) under ideal storage conditions (cool, dry place).
Instructions: Add one part textured vegetable protein to one part hot water. Allow TVP to hydrate for about 15 minutes. Adding ½ cup textured vegetable protein to ½ cup of water will yield about 1 cup of cooked meat substitute.
Uses: Flavored TVP can be used separately or in combination with meat as an effective meat extender in casseroles, soups, meat sauces, pastas and more.
Visit our Cooking Cousins Blog to find delicious recipes for Flavored TVP and more!
Packaging: Flavored TVP Combo is sealed air tight in 6 #10 cans and weighs approximately 14.5 pounds.
Allergen information: Contains soy. This product is produced on equipment that processes products containing soy, wheat, egg, peanut, and tree nuts.
United States
I wonder why the flavored TVP Combo costs more to buy than buying the same cans individually? I'm sure I'm missing something but here's how I see it: TVP Combo case $75.99. Same #10 cans TVP $71.34. Difference: $4.65. Beef TVP @ $25.58/2 cans Chicken TVP @ $26.38/2 cans Unflavored TVP $19.38/2 cans How can the Combo case suggests I'm saving $0.51 cents when its costing an additional $4.65? 1449 17091 2 Dino Washington DC Freeze Dried Zucchini LARGE CAN 901 007-360-0640 The Incredible Disappearing Zucchini! I received two cans of Zucchini during a recent 20 percent sale. But I guess I'll never know how the freeze dried Zucchini tastes because I'm sending both cans back asap. I can't get over how little product there is in each of the cans. I guess product is priced by weight regardless of what volume the package. I'll steer clear of this product in the future.Review by Dino (Posted on 3/24/2014)
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Smith County Man Sentenced For Drug Trafficking In East Texas
Department of Justice
Office of Public Affairs
TYLER, Texas – A 41-year-old Tyler, Texas man was sentenced to federal prison for drug trafficking violations in the Eastern District of Texas, announced U.S. Attorney John M. Bales today.
Bonifacio Nunez-Romero was found guilty by a jury on Aug. 15, 2012, of conspiracy to possess with intent to distribute and distribution of methamphetamine and was sentenced to 240 months in federal prison today by U.S. District Judge Michael H. Schneider.
According to information presented in court, up until September 2011, Nunez-Romero conspired with another person to acquire and distribute methamphetamine in the Tyler, Texas area. Evidence presented at trial showed Nunez-Romero was distributing methamphetamine manufactured in Mexico and also selling heroin. He was also found in possession of firearms, a military flak jacket and body armor. Nunez-Romero was indicted by a federal grand jury on Aug. 1, 2012 and charged with drug trafficking violations.
This case is the result of an ongoing Organized Crime Drug Enforcement Task Force (OCDETF) joint investigation. The principal mission of the OCDETF program is to identify, disrupt and dismantle the most serious drug trafficking, weapons trafficking and money laundering organizations, and those primarily responsible for the nation's illegal drug supply.
This case was investigated by the Drug Enforcement Administration and the Smith County Sheriff's Office and prosecuted by Assistant U.S. Attorney Bill Baldwin.####


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Ole and Mari Finnestad's great grandson, William Roosevelt Olson was born on February 10, 1901 in Cylinder, Palo Alto county, Iowa to Mary (Knutson) and Stephen Olson.
William married Dorothea C Lagerquist on June 28, 1937.
William died on October 25, 1960 in Rockford, Winnebago county, Illinois and was buried at the Arlington Memorial Park Cemetery in Rockford.
Here is a photo of Dorothy (Lagerquist) Olson's headstone.
Here is a photo of the Lagerquist/Olson family plot.
Here is a photo of the entrance to Arlington Memorial Park Cemetery.
Here is a map of the Lagerquist/Olson plot.
William was the grandson of Elizabeth (Finnestad) and Ole Andreas 'Andrew' Knutson.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
William Roosevelt Olson - burial
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4:00 am
Sesame Street "Firefly Show" Baby Bear and Telly have trouble trying to catch a firefly and must problem solve to figure it out. Educational Objectives: Cognitive Reasoning. D
5:00 am
Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood "Daniel's New Friend/Same and Different" Daniel's New Friend: Daniel and Miss Elaina meet Prince Wednesday's cousin Chrissie during a playdate at the castle. As they play "knights," they discover that, although Chrissie needs some help walking, they are the same in many ways. Same and Different: While Daniel is playing dress up with his friends at school, he feels different when he realizes that not everyone has a tail like him. D
5:30 am
Martha Speaks "My Mother The Dog/Martha's Must-Have" My Mother the Dog - Inspired by Ronald's parrot, Martha starts doing impersonations. It turns out her imitation of Helen's mom is spot-on. But when she starts answering phone calls in Mariella's voice, she gets a bit more than she bargained for. D
6:00 am
Austin City Limits "Emeli Sande/Michael Kiwanuka" Scotswoman Sande performs hits from her album Our Version of Events, while Kiwanuka plays tunes from his debut recording Home Again.G
7:00 am
Rick Steves' Europe "Highlights of Paris: Eiffel and Monet to Creme Brulee" Rick scales the Eiffel Tower, then savors classic treats - from steak tartare to creme brulee. He marvels at Monet, Manet and company in the Orsay Gallery, and traces French history in the footsteps of Marie Antoinette.G
7:30 am
Smart Travels - Europe with Rudy Maxa "Athens and Delphi" Rudy climbs the Acropolis, prowls the Plaka and cheers Greece's best folk dancers. On the Peloponnesian Peninsula, he scopes out a charming port and visits epic ruins of King Agamemnon.G
8:00 am
The Desert Speaks "Into The Swell: Utah's High Desert" Utah's San Rafael Swell is one of the most remote and least-visited wonders of the desert southwest. Host David Yetman and his brother, Geologist Dick Yetman, camp out and explore the geology and vegetation of this intimidating stretch of desert. They also trek through Utah's Little Grand Canyon to see the pictographs and petroglyphs that were created thousands of years ago. D
8:30 am
Chef John Besh's Family Table Sugar Snap Pea Salad with Pecans; Poached Eggs & Satsuma; Hollandaise over Crab Cakes; Fruit Salad with Champagne and Mint. D
9:00 am
America's Heartland Discover how wooly sheep provide materials for unique art pieces. Meet a Wisconsin dairy farmer carving one of a kind figurines. Try your hand at music making with a Tennessee dulcimer maker. D
9:30 am
New Scandinavian Cooking "Winning Game" Andreas makes a variety of venison dishes against the backdrop of snow-capped mountains of the west coast, where the deer run free and the mountain farms cling intrepidly to sheer slopes. He prepares a millefeuille (puff pastry layered with a filling) of venison fillet with prune; venison liver with caramelized tangerine; smoked trout; a traditional hunter's stew with sour cream and goat cheese; and finally, the ultimate venison steak. D
10:00 am
America's Test Kitchen from Cook's Illustrated "Meat and Potatoes A La Francaise" Host Christopher Kimball goes into the test kitchen to update a classic recipe for French-Style Pot-Roasted Pork Loin with test cook Bridget Lancaster. Next, equipment expert Adam Ried reviews knife sets in the Equipment Corner, and test cook Becky Hays shows Chris how to make Potato Casserole with Bacon and Caramelized Onion. And finally, gadget guru Lisa McManus reveals her top pick among mandolines. D
10:30 am
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Flying a Gomberg inflatable Manta with a pilot kite
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Topic: Flying a Gomberg inflatable Manta with a pilot kite (Read 6141 times)
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Posts: 62
Flying a Gomberg inflatable Manta with a pilot kite
May 02, 2010, 06:21 PM »
I though I knew what I was doing, but was clearly proved wrong in my attempt to fly my Gomberg Manta using my Skyform 60 as a pilot. To get things started, I launched my Skyform with its matching 50' banner tail. It was bumpy wind kind of day, but after letting out 150' of line or so, I was into some slightly smoother air. The wind was in the range of a 4 or 5 on the trusty Beaufort scale, which I thought should be more than enough, even given its bumpy nature. My Skyform tends to fly at a surprisingly low angle of attack. I'm not sure if maybe there wasn't enough wind for the kite and all that tail, or if maybe there is something wrong with the bridle. I'm actually confused about that anyway since all the bridle lines attach to fabric keels, seemingly eliminating anyway to tune it?
Anyway, once I had the Skyform up, I figured launching the Manta would be a snap. I'd made a yoke that attached to the two forward most bridle points on the Manta, (the two points right at the top of its mouth). This is the general setup suggested on Gomberg's site for flying a medium-sized kite on its own line using the pilot kite's line as a separate guide. The yoke is about 3' long on each leg, and using a carabiner, I clipped the middle of the yoke onto the line of the Skyform. I inflated the Manta, and started letting its own, separate line out. At first it seemed OK, but maybe 20' into the air, the Manta started trying to fly at a higher angle of attack than the Skyform, wrapped around the line of the Skyform, and promptly twisted itself into a giant mess! I pulled it back down, untangled it, and tried again with pretty much the exact same results...
So now I'm wondering what is the problem. My first guess is that maybe for the given wind, the banner-tail was too much for the SKyform, dragging the angle of attack way down so the Manta would always over-fly the pilot line. Also, maybe the bumpy wind was just killing the normal flight for a foil. My next guess would be some problem with where I attached the yoke to the Manta, or that I made the yoke line to short. My last guess would be some kind of problem with the Skyform that is causing it to fly at too low of angle for it to make an effective pilot.
Any thoughts or suggestions?
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Posts: 513
Steamboat Springs, CO
Re: Flying a Gomberg inflatable Manta with a pilot kite
Reply #1 on:
May 02, 2010, 07:49 PM »
Hi Josiah,
It seems you've read the FAQs on DG's site. That's good. Great info!
First, a couple of clarifying questions...
Which Manta Ray do you have, the 20' or 48'?
I presume you're talking about the 50' Streamer
Do you really mean you were flying in 13-24 mph (4-5 bft)?
Assuming... mid-sized Ray (48') "medium-sized" as you put it; that's the streamer you're flying; the wind was the upper teens.
IMHO that's too much tail for that kite if you're using it as a pilot. Use a smaller tail with less drag to try to increase the flight angle, or a real Pilot 50 that you can adjust and that doesn't need a tail.
That may be too small a flowform to act as a pilot for that size inflatable. Flowforms do need some drag. Pilots are designed for that purpose. Depends on a lot of variables but that sounds like the FF's on the edge. I have that particular FF, too. I prefer a Pilot as a pilot.
The high teens are about the high end in which to fly the inflatables anyway. Try some better winds if you can.
If the Ray is flying so well on its own, don't bother with a pilot kite.
I've had an mid-octo overfly a Pilot 50 before, but it also wasn't adjusted correctly at the time and flew at too low an angle. Unless you have a lot of time with inflatables like DG and others, it's just intelligent trial and error until you find that sweet combination. Then you can start it all over again for a different wind and turbulence scenario.
Hope that helps.
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Willunga, South Australia
Re: Flying a Gomberg inflatable Manta with a pilot kite
Reply #2 on:
May 02, 2010, 08:28 PM »
I had exactly the same problem with my Manta when I first flew it under a pilot. You have two choices
1. Don't clip the manta onto the pilot line, instead fly the pilot from the top of the manta on a shorter line. Trouble with this, you have the pull of both kites on your manta line, and you need to make sure where the lifter loop attaches onto the manta is well reinforced.
2. Anchor your manta further forward i.e. separately from the pilot anchor, and under the pilot line. Trouble with this, if the wind changes direction the anchors don't line up and you can still have difficulties with tangling. The angle of flight changes with wind speed, so you can still get the manta overflying if the wind speed picks up
I reinforced the lifter loop attachment points on my manta and use the first method. It works fine!
Kevin Sanders
Willunga, South Australia
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Re: Flying a Gomberg inflatable Manta with a pilot kite
Reply #3 on:
May 02, 2010, 09:24 PM »
Bob: I've got the 20' Manta, just picked it up from the swap meet a couple weeks ago. Yes, it is the 50' "Giant Streamer. Really it was gusting into the upper teens, and had lulls easily down to maybe 5mph. If I had to venture a guess, I'd say it was averaging 8-10. Sort of shifty in direction too...
The field I was at leaves a lot to be desired. It is small, narrow, and edged by houses on one side and a little league field (that keeps the gates chained shut) on the other. The winds were too shifty for the Manta to stay up on its own. It tended to get blown to one edge of the window, then have a gust make it overfly the edge and aim for the ground. With the giant tail, the skyform was a lot more resistant to that which is why I wanted to use it as a pilot for the Manta.
It sounds like too much tail and crappy wind is the real problem here. How little tail can I use on the Skyform 60 and still have it stay put? I realize that stable wind would help a lot, so assuming I make the drive out to the beach for some smooth wind, how little tail could I get away with then?
Kaos: I really like the basic idea of the messenger arrangement, that is running a kite up a separate guide line instead of stacking them off the same line. Unfortunately I see exactly what you mean about the anchor points not being lined up when the wind shifts if I move it far enough forward too keep it from over flying the pilot line.
Thanks to both of your for the good advice and help! I'm only getting into flying bigger kites this year, and am of course learning about all the new, interesting challenges these kites create.
Last Edit: May 02, 2010, 09:26 PM by Josiah
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Willunga, South Australia
Re: Flying a Gomberg inflatable Manta with a pilot kite
Reply #4 on:
May 02, 2010, 11:42 PM »
Hi Josiah
A Skyform 60 is a HUGE pilot for a 20' Ray. That sized Ray will fly really well with a 6' delta as it's pilot (that's how I fly mine). That size Ray doesn't need to be lifted it just needs to be protected from collapsing in turbulent winds.
I don't have a photo of mine right now, I'll see if I can get it out in the next couple of days
Kevin Sanders
Willunga, South Australia
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Posts: 513
Steamboat Springs, CO
Re: Flying a Gomberg inflatable Manta with a pilot kite
Reply #5 on:
May 03, 2010, 08:12 AM »
Hi Josiah,
KaoS is right, the SkyForm 60 is huge for the 20' Ray, and a delta or rok, with it's higher flight angle, would be a much better choice.
Also and according to DG, the mini- and mid-size inflatables are not built to serve as the anchor point for the pilot. The lifter loop is for guiding only. If you use it as the anchor point, reinforce it into the structure (not just the fabric) very well as KaoS did, or to the top center bridle lines.
I can't tell you what size tail to use on the FF. It really depends on the wind and what you're trying to do/lift with it. Just big enough to do the job, unless you want a good show from it.
Winds can create havoc. Saturday I was flying a Pilot 90 150' above a maxi-octo (that is designed to directly anchor the pilot kite) on a split bridle. The octo would sometimes shift left and the Pilot to the right! Wind shears and turbulence, but you get what you get.
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Posts: 62
Re: Flying a Gomberg inflatable Manta with a pilot kite
Reply #6 on:
May 03, 2010, 09:45 AM »
Thanks again for the advice guys. I realize the Skyform is a bit out of scale to the Manta, but that is all I have. The only other choice for a pilot would have been my 11' Ghost, or 5' DC, neither of which seemed appropriate, but maybe the Ghost would have worked after all. It certainly has a steeper angle of attack than my Skyform.
No worries about ripping my Manta apart! I read more than enough to know not to tie a lifter or pilot off the top of the little Manta.
Looks like I just need to get out there and fly more to build up a certain level of experience with these kites to know what winds/tails/combinations work and which won't... Also looks like a should start watching the swap meet for a big sparred kite.
Trade Count:
Posts: 785
Willunga, South Australia
Re: Flying a Gomberg inflatable Manta with a pilot kite
Reply #7 on:
May 03, 2010, 10:40 PM »
Quote from: Josiah on May 03, 2010, 09:45 AM
...The only other choice for a pilot would have been my 11' Ghost, or 5' DC, neither of which seemed appropriate...
Actually, the delta I use for mine is a 6' conyne derivative. You might find your 5' one is ideal.
Quote from: Josiah on May 03, 2010, 09:45 AM
No worries about ripping my Manta apart! I read more than enough to know not to tie a lifter or pilot off the top of the little Manta.
I'm not sure how the Gomberg rays are made these days. My ray is a Peter Lynn original from about 12 years ago, and I had to fit my own lifter loop. In order to fly it with the pilot directly from the lifter loop I replaced the two innermost bridle lines with 150 lb line, then attached a lifter loop on the top of the kite directly behind the replaced bridle lines (at the other end of the internal through cords). This effectively transfers the pull of the lifter kite directly to the ray's bridle tow point.
Hope this helps
Kevin Sanders
Willunga, South Australia
Trade Count:
Posts: 62
Re: Flying a Gomberg inflatable Manta with a pilot kite
Reply #8 on:
May 04, 2010, 12:31 PM »
Thanks again to both of you! Kevin, your picture is very helpful. I think I'll make that modification to mine too, since it won't interfere if I want to fly it by itself or even in the "2-line, messenger configuration."
Trade Count:
Posts: 28
Re: Flying a Gomberg inflatable Manta with a pilot kite
Reply #9 on:
May 05, 2010, 06:21 AM »
This is a common problem. The Ray can fly at a much steeper angle than the Pilot/lifter.
The ray will actually try to fly around the main flying line, resulting in the wreak.
I tried several things in years past.
1. Put a separate line thru the Ray to the bridle point of the kite. Fly off to the side.
you can put several in a stack this way. Tension just snug. Let the main kite line have
the most load. Stake out the Ray far enough away to not tangle into the mainline.
Note: Robert DeWeers flies huge numbers of his beautiful fish off of 3-4 lines this way.
2. You can flatten out the Rays bridles to depower him. Thus stopping the overfly.
Shorten up the front bridle lines, the middle ones half as much, and leave the back
3.Add a fish drogue or some other drogue to his tail. This works really well, as the Ray
is a little light on tail pull as it is. The 2 ft Gomberg fish drogue is about right.
I have done all of the above over the years. Just depends on what YOU want
to do.
Best Regards
BIG KITES, the Bigger, the Better!
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Tesla marked the beginning of Model S deliveries to customers on Friday at its assembly plant in Fremont, Calif., and offered media a chance to drive the car.
These units were the first retail-ready vehicles off the assembly line that week. The company has received scads of driving requests from thousands of global media representatives -- some from persons large and important, more from those who just think they are. There was no way Tesla could accommodate all those requests.
So Tesla did the best it could. It sent invites out to journalists it felt could best disseminate the Tesla story, acknowledging that the test drive was abbreviated.
Some of those not invited turned it into a screed about how Tesla only invited journalists who would write niceties. Or alleging, without any factual backup, that Tesla was hiding something more sinister -- that its claimed 230-mile battery range was a falsehood.
In reality, there were at least 100 journalists from around the world, along with dozens of camera crews. It was pretty much the A-list. Sure, some have been soft on the startup automaker, but many in attendance have whacked Tesla on the nose with the rolled-up newspaper of integrity.
Did Tesla manipulate the media by limiting seat time? Of course. Conversely, when Fisker Automotive gave the press an entire day in its just-completed Karma hybrid, it opened itself up to more thorough dissection. Things you would never notice in 10 minutes -- the Karma's thrashy driveline, gaping interior panel gaps and claustrophobic back seat -- became readily apparent over the course of a day.
So, as of today, no one outside of Tesla knows if the Model S can actually achieve its vaunted mileage claims that are at least double that of any other electric vehicle. They just know it's pretty damn quick and corners flatter than roadkill.
Tesla's parade of interviews, a brief audience with its charismatic CEO, and a short test drive given to a few select journalists is no different a tactic than what Lamborghini does. It's just smart PR, a company doing its job of getting the best press it can.
To me, it is more galling when publications that attended the introduction do not give full disclosure. Throwing banner headlines proclaiming "Exclusive First Drive!!!" as a manner of self-promotion is garishly inaccurate -- first because dozens of journalists were given first crack at the car on the same day, and second because it carries a promise of analysis that cannot be factually delivered.
When a publication's self promotion falls in line with the publicity effort of a company the publication is supposed to be covering objectively, that's when the integrity of the coverage must be called into question.
A proper review of the Model S likely will come in a few weeks or months when one of the first owners allows a publication access to properly evaluate the vehicle. This was a teaser. It should be reported as such.