Winter Olympics III: L'Oignon D'Or

Two French rivers, the Saone (above) and the Rhone, conspire to create the city of Lyons. Like Geneva, Lyons' waterways and bridges separate the nouveau from the vieux. But, it is Lyons' food that separates it from just about anyplace else in the world.

There are many ways to know a city; I have found hunger to be the best guide. By hunger, I do not mean famished: that will get you into trouble and guarantee indigestion, especially in a city you are just beginning to know. Instead, I am talking about the kind of hunger that develops after a hard day's work: having your hotel lose all your laundry, guiding Olympic guests through a crowded French airport, finding their lost luggage, or not, and hauling them up and down steep mountain roads.

That kind of well-earned hunger.

Late in the afternoon on such a day in February 1992, I asked my friend, the manager of Lyons' Saint Exupery airport, for a restaurant recommendation. Without hesitation, he directed me to his favorite spot, run by his friend in Vieux Lyons. By a miracle I was able to guide my Espace through an unusually cold night, decipher which river was which, find a legal parking spot, and go to the food equivalent of heaven.

I will leave detailed recipes and reviews to Julia and Michelin. I simply walked out of that cold night and into the proverbial warm well-lighted place and was greeted as family by the owner, a short exuberant femme Lyonnaise.

A saintly waiter made telemark turns around crowded tables and brought me a glass of local beaujolais , the kind that never reaches our shores. Slowly the gamay warmed me. I began to forget that the clothes I wore were now my only set. The wine replaced the whine of Gatorade Guy, The World's Most Ungrateful Guest, and his babyish pleas about his lost luggage. 

 I am fairly certain that I had a delicious salade verte to begin, but, honestly I cannot remember precisely. The reason for that is that I very distinctly do remember having that night perhaps the best single thing I have ever eaten. 

Une tarte a l'oignon.

Perfectly round, steaming in its hot shallow tin, just-browned cheese, then sweet l'oignon and more cheese in the center. Strike up an anthem!

Once more, I had earned Olympic Gold.

Before you say, "Oh, I've had that a million times, big deal," let me just say arreter! 

As Gisele is to Brazil to you, this tarte is France to me. And, when you are speaking of France and food, you are getting mighty close to the core of human experience in my estimation, my Friends. The French may not understand Americans, but they very definitely understand food and more than one way to get warm and stay that way on a frigid February night.

Note: we highly recommend Waverly Root's Food Of France, if you have to settle for reading about food. Otherwise, you'll have to go to Lyons. No, we won't tell you the name of that restaurant; best to discover your own.

Winter Olympics II: La Fille En Or

1.

On the evening of February 8, 1992, I was racing my Renault Espace van up the mountain expressway from Lyons in order to make Opening Ceremonies. I had four nervous VIP magazine advertising clients in the back seats. I thought that they were nervous about the possibility of missing the ceremony, but later they confessed to have been nervous over the ride, steep road, and my speed.

The young ad execs, who had landed with the clients and who were supposed to accompany us, had abandoned us in favor of their own taxi for the 2-3 hour ride. They weren't going to miss anything, even if it meant losing a client or two. I'm betting they were a whole lot more scared by that ride than my passengers.

As we approached Albertville at dusk, I could see the new stadium on my left. We were running late, but we were going to be okay. As we approached the exit ramp, the road began to shake, the van seemed to let out a tremendous roar. We all held on tightly thinking that perhaps we were going to break down within sight of the event.

As I began to pull over, five French Air Force jets emerged overhead and  to our left, heading full blast  into the stadium. They had just passed directly over our van by a couple of hundred feet, shaking it and us to the core. 

2.

The opening celebration was staged as if it were a medieval circus: the kind that may have visited Albertville annually hundreds of years before. Nobody can celebrate themselves like the French, and who has more gifts to celebrate?

Just after President Mitterrand's arrival, the celebrants cleared the middle of the icy stadium. Slowly, a small high-pitched voice could be heard, as if out of nowhere. The ice opened up, and, rising ever so slowly up from it came a small girl. She rode her pedestal singing La Marseillaise all the while. She kept rising, all alone up into the cold night high above everyone. Even Rumsfeld would have shed a tear at that sight.

3.

Later, gathered with the guests at the Hotel du Golf in Courchevel, I was amazed to hear the American reaction to the same ceremony. They all hated it. Their companies had paid big bucks for the ads in the magazine. Then the same companies had to pay extra for these Olympic packages. Then the same  people who had committed to the ads thought it was completely ethical to attend the Games as "guests." For people like that, trashing what the French had spent years producing was all in a day's work.

I have seen several Opening Ceremonies in person since that night, but never saw a more beautiful spectacle that that jeune fille rising in the night. She gets the gold.

Next up in the Olympic Series: Gatorade Guy, the best meal I ever had alone, Henri's hotel loses my laundry, and the Famous Editor's ski accident, and more, if I can remember.

Winter Olympics I: Gold At Albertville, '92

Thankfully, I have only taken one police-administered breath-a-lizer test in my life. This happened in France in January 1992. I had driven up to Courcheval 1650 from Albertville, and toured what would become our group's Olympic home one month later, the Hotel du Golf. Naturellement, I lunched outside in the sun with Henri, the hotel's owner. It is my recollection that we sampled some local beaujulais, which Henri cooled in the snow.  The yellow scarf pictured above witnessed the whole thing.

I wanted to return to Albertville before dark, because I was inexperienced at driving those vertical roads with their constant twists and turns. I had only begun to learn the art of alpine driving, having negotiated sleet and fog coming up to Albertville from Lyons.

I remember little about that first descent, except that it was wonderful to come down through the pretty towns, like Moutiers, below Courcheval. But, exiting one of the the last sharp turns I ran into du lineup gendarmes: a surprise alcohol level test.  This is great, I remember thinking: big time corporate events leader arrested in France on a DWI. That would make a nice pre-Olympic headline.

But, Friends, this was pre- Olympic France. I do not know what my score was that day, but they did not retain me or even scold me. I had a gold in my first Albertville event.

Later, my Olympic job became Chief Driver, since all of the Renault Espace vans had standard shifts located on the column. I was one of very few who could drive them, making many trips to and from the airport in Lyons and the train station in Moutiers, not to mention Albertville itself.

One sunny afternoon, my colleague John and I watched hockey in Meribel. Afterwards, we stationed ourselves at a bistro, where we could watch the ski-jumpers high above us across the road and sip our wine. 

When we got back up to Courcheval, I realized that I had left my yellow scarf in the bistro, and John wanted me to go right back and retrieve it. Instead, I said we'd try the next day. This was typical of our respective working styles. John, a former army Colonel and MP never left anything undone or unplanned. My somewhat looser system could annoy him, but he had slowly come to trust me anyway.

Late the next day, on our way to watch the ski-jump finals in Meribel, I stopped by the bistro, made my way through the crowded tables filled with attractive brightly-clad skiers and spectators. There, hanging on its peg, exactly where I had left it, was my scarf.

As we crossed the road, John just gave me one of his looks and a slight shake of his head, amazed that  nobody had walked off with the scarf.

I had learned not to say anything to him at times like these, but to just enjoy the moment.

 I had won my second gold at Albertville.

Note: for a look at the trois valees area above Albertville, please go to:  http://www.courchevel.com/img/plans/plan_pistes3v.pdf

This piece is running concurrently on our style blog:

http://rareburghers.blogspot.com/

Odds and Ends, Mostly Odds

This is Wednesday, which means it's time for some odds and ends: mostly odds.

Now that's a paddy-wagon!....Iran's Islamic government has decided that its occasional crackdowns on the opposition have been ineffective and inefficient. Consequently, they have decided to arrest the entire population of the country.

Arrested Development.... China has vetoed a UN resolution condemning Iran's national arrest. In its statement, China said that it had been able to make huge economic leaps after arresting its entire population twice: in 1949 and 1989. China sees no reason why Iran could not make similar post-arrest leaps, especially if it continues buying arms and nuclear equipment from China.

You may need it!....Nigeria's new Acting President's name? Goodluck Jonathan. True.

Qat got his tongue....Thomas L. Friedman reports from Yemen in the Times that he "took part in a qat chew" with Yemeni officials, referring to a mild halucinogenic. The resulting qat column proposes that the US " build 50 modern schools" for Yemeni boys and girls for every Predator missile we fire at Al Qaeda targets in Yemen. Perhaps this strange man could also chew some qat with some Wash. D.C. officials and get the Pentagon to build 50 modern schools for DC boys and girls. Did Yemenis spike that qat? Calling Dr. Leary!

Speaking about luck....The New York State Senate has expelled Senator Hiram Monserrate of Queens for his domestic assault conviction. Reportedly, the expellee took in all in stride, using his generous severance and pension package to form a new gaming company. Monserrate and his partners will apparently bid on the troubled Aqueduct "video gaming" (wink-wink) center, as a result of questions surrounding the current bid by Gov. Paterson's friend, Floyd Flake.

Gaming Center? What Gaming Center?....Speaking of that $200-300 Million video slot machine center at the site of the former Aqueduct racetrack: does anyone remember who came up with this idea, how it passed in the first place and why we need it?  Were these guys/gals in the Senate and Assembly sitting around with Friedman and Paterson chewing on the qat again! Meanwhile, St Vincent's Hospital has to close and Yemeni boys and girls are sharpening their pencils. Does the concept of a mass arrest in Albany appeal to anyone?

The early worm gets the bird....Finally, on those rumors about Gov. Dave's party habits and pending resignation. The Gov has reminded people that he doesn't need to sneak women into the Governor's Mansion; he's the Governor, for goodness sake, he can invite anyone at anytime he pleases without sneaking. Give the guy a break, have you ever tried to live in Albany? No elected officials actually live in Albany. It's a place you go to pick up a pay check and another and another and one more, until you, your sister and your cousins  get your pensions. Singling out one guy up there for unethical or immoral behavior is like identifying one particular cornstalk in Iowa for having a worm.

Note: please remember our lifestyle/design blog, http://rareburghers.blogspot.com/  and don't forget cousin Adam Haslett's new novel, Union Atlantic (Nan Talese/Doubleday), which is now in stores/online.

A Hire Power

       
          1.

The thing
to remember is:

we’re  at the beginning

of our ropes.

          2.

The early bird

and the late

measure their results

as one more day.

Not so,

the worms.

         3.

Each strategy

holds a trick

within it:

fruit inside

a pit.

        4.

I’d like

to surrender

to a Hire Power

If only.

      

Any Three From Each

                            

                                 A                                        B


                             never  
                                                                       surrender
                            practice
                                                                         perfect
                             Might
                                                                         might
                              right
                                                                       might not
                               rain
                                                                           sun
                               soup
                                                                          salad
                               meet
                                                                         leave
                             pound                            
                                                                          slice
                              lost
                                                                      mod squad
                             beatles
                                                                        stones

                                                                      
                        
                                                          
              

RuiNation Ruminations

• President Harry S. Truman famously had a sign on his desk reading: "The Buck Stops Here." His successors have added an addendum: "....until we can borrow another one."
• In the Fifties, when you said "Red" in Washington, you were speaking about dirty rotten commies. In the Sixties, when you said "Black," you were referring to civil rights. Now, they refer to compulsive spending and constituents' mood back home.
• They used to administer a simple arithmetic test to incoming members of Congress: addition and subtraction. Now, they just do subtraction. Seems to work just as well.
• Washington D.C. is the only place left in the country still talking about "bi-partisanship." Dems think it's a new Gay Marriage Bill and Republicans are opposed despite not knowing its meaning.
• Oh, how quickly we long for the good old days, before BankBash, before NewJobBank, and TeacherPetEd. We already long for those ancient times when Max, Nancy and Harry were putting the finishing touches on the National Health Reform Bill. Was it just a dream?
• Washington's version of the Hatfields and McCoys: the Do Everything Nows and the Never Do Anythings. This is no longer a zero-sum game. Voters have become the Get Rid of 'Em Alls.
• Wouldn't it be funny of we had an election in November and no voters showed up? Well, maybe not. Perhaps we should take a cue from recent advances in education and pay voters like students. Oops, Republicans just shot that one down: too bad. 
• The Peoples' Representative from Hubei Province has suggested that henceforth China celebrate July 4 each year as Cha-Ching Day, in reverence for our country's collective stupidity.

Note: Doubleday/Nan Talese will soon publish cousin Adam Haslett's novel Union Atlantic. Surely Adam is the only U. of Iowa writer with expertise on the Federal Reserve: must have been the Yale Law School training. Sorry to admit that he's the best writer in the family. Read his book; it's going to be huge, as in Oprah-type huge.