The Paid Companion
Amanda Quick

I have consumed an embarassing number of romance novels, and I would say a good third of them feature a certain tired plot cliche in which the plucky heroine, unwittingly thrown into the midst of dangerous circumstances, sets out in an attempt to singlehandedly solve the mystery/capture the criminal/rescue the kidnapped child or whatever, in an attempt to prove her mettle to the overprotective hero. She invariably ends up in some sort of mortal peril, and has to be rescued by said hero, who only realizes how much he loves her only after seeing her in danger.

It's an irritating cliche, but The Paid Companion, in which the hero and heroine cordially cooperate to catch a murderer and then get married, demonstrates why it should perhaps remain a cliche. Conflict and rivalry certainly isn't my ideal in a relationship, but it's a whole lot more fun to read than four hundred pages of uninterrupted mutual admiration.

And in light of this, along with this and this perhaps people will be less willing to argue that Crescat Sententia is hopelessly pretentious?

I actually read Jane Jacobs's The Death and Life of Great American Cities a few weeks ago after picking up a cheap copy in the Strand, but it was not until today that I remembered to chase down the last few pages. It really is a good book, and Jacobs's fame is well-deserved.

To be sure, much of the book is dated-- not all of the neighborhoods that Jacobs complained about when she wroter her book are still so vile today-- and some of her biggest foes in the book are now straw men. Still, one can never have too many arguments about the folly of the public housing project, the perils of too much city-planning, the need for urban traffic control, etc. Anyway, if the readings in Professor Ellickson's class are any guide, land use has advanced a lot since Jacobs wrote her book, but I think that would make her happy.

[50 Book Challenge]

Jacob Levy can be found crotocozmg criticizing both Barnes and Noble and Ben Affleck in Matthew Yglesias's comments [Thanks to Brock Sides]. For what it is worth, I note that the Barnes and Noble near Yale seems to be the best bookstore in walking distance of downtown New Haven. The B&N in Hyde Park was also the official university bookstore, but it was almost laughably awful.

These thoughts aren't original with me, but why do people like the Cheesecake Factory chain restaurant?

I was out with friends on Friday night, and we ended up there - the plain food was bad (French fries are not meant to be made in advance), the attempts at originality incredibly mediocre (I'm still not sure what was Hawaiian about the grilled fish sandwich, but it wasn't the freshness of the fish), the portions so large as to be completely indigestible, and the menu far too extensive to promise broad competence.

In my ideal world, CF would only get the few customers it could glean from the population of hungry but gluten intolerant people who - finding themselves too far from home or a better restaurant - couldn't make do with a loaf of bread from the local supermarket. In the real world, there's a two hour wait. Can someone, anyone, explain this to me? Two hours??

UPDATE: It turns out that the fish sandwich was topped with "island slaw". It just tasted like really bad but standard slaw to me, but what do I know?

UPDATE II: I should say that my question isn't rhetorical. That is to say, my attitude is not "why are all these people so stupid?" but "what am I, being stupid, missing?". Just to be clear. Also, Hei Lun Chan asks, in the comments, "Since they do have such a big menu, isn't it premature to dismiss the quality of their food based on one meal?". I have two responses. First, speaking for myself, this is a third meal there over two years, and I always taste everyone's dish, if they're willing. Second, you don't get to have a huge menu, serve crappy food, and then claim that if the customer had only chosen right, they would have liked their dinner. Everything on a menu should be good.

Comments

On the Gilmore Girls last night (I only caught the last ten minutes), Rory referred to the enticing sweater she wore to a party as her "20 minute sweater". This is a term with which I am not familiar-- what does it mean? Both Google and a search of the TWOP archives were unhelpful. The only plausible explanation I can think of doesn't quite seem appropriate for prime time television.

UPDATE: Aha. A reader writes:

Earlier in the episode while Lorelai and Rory were shopping, Rory had referred to a sweater that she wasn't sure about buying, but would come back in twenty minutes to reconsider. Apparently she bought the sweater, and it works on boys.

I saw The Pedant in the Kitchen by Julian Barnes in the bookstore during my ill-fated tenure in England, and read the first few pages in the bookstore before moving on to other works. (I spent many evenings reading the Borders' overpriced stock.) It finally occurred to me to see if Yale had a copy, and lo, they did. The book is basically a collection of Barnes's cooking columns, which focus on his own pet neuroses-- Barnes can't stand imprecise recipes (a handful? whose hand?) and believes that pictures in cookbooks are misleading but are mostly a showcase for his wit. This is good.

However, Barnes's taste in food is positively disturbing. He stuffs salmon with currants, almonds, ginger, and other flotsam; he makes far too much pudding; he also attempts to create "hare in chocolate sauce" although a chemical accident thankfully stops him. It is good to be reminded how much I don't miss English food. (One exception, the Wednesday/Saturday cheesemonger who hung out in the Cambridge market and had the most delicious young goat cheese buttons...)


[50 Book Challenge]