pan et vin, avec tapenade

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One thing about escalating build-up is the inevitable tumble into disappointment thereafter. Case in point: the film Juno. OK, so acerbic wit and the great use of the word “vag” aside, it was too feel goody-goody. Yes, life begs the question can two people ever stay together forever – well yes, maybe, but with great difficulty and life is never so sweet and smug and properly fitted with a young mother-to-be beaming with awe, wonder and disbelief at her newly born son, not biologically hers, while two high schoolers get off the hook so easily from becoming “ill-equipped” yet in love with each other teenage parents. Bah. I’m just a pessimist. So call me Cassandra.

Another case in point: Payard Pâtisserie and Bistro at Caesar’s Palace. After months of work staring at layout placement images of Hazelnut Succès, proofreading menus and considering price points of entrées (average, 20-some odd dollars), I had to go and taste the Frenchly-concocted descriptions of amuse bouches and then some. So I admit it really wasn’t much of a sampling being a non-meat eater and having to turn down the filet mignon special of the day, but still – dessert should have been heaven doused in melt-in-your-mouth hazelnut ganache under a chocolate dome of paradise. All I could think of, as the stuff slowly disintegrated on my tongue, was “damn, that is sweet”. And not sweet as in dude, sweet, but more like “omfg, this stuff tastes like I just quaffed a bag of sugar” sweet. The green tea lychee yuzu concoction tart thing was only just a tad better, but in all nothing spectacular – with scones and madeleine on the menu, I expected to be taken right back to Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past, but instead I can’t seem to get past the $5 cappuccino.

Things have really taken a turn in Kenya. It’s descent into maddening turmoil leaves me saddened that the once upon a time model of economic success and political stability has deteriorated into civil strife not unlike many of its neighbors. This was my childhood home and it’s hard to believe that the peaceful place that I used to inhabit has become the stereotypical image of Africa – genocide, graft and corruption, civil unrest and a malady that clearly comes from the growing gap in disparate classes. Where did all that aid money go? Clearly, not to those who protest for change. Change they need, but must so many die for it?