After a very linear lunch, I was in the mood for something a little less carnivorous for dinner. The answer: a few slices of half-stale soda bread sauteed in olive oil and paprika, and half a red cabbage sliced up, sprinkled with salt, pepper and olive oil, and broiled until crispy. The problem-- when I forgot about the last couple slices of bread they blackened and then began spewing black smoke which quickly alerted my trusty smoke detector.

I'm grateful to have a working smoke detector, I really am; after destroying an over-sensitive one in my dorm and then having a series of mechanical failures its nice to finally feel secure from raging flames. But it would really be nice if there were some button or key-code with which one could assure one's security system that no, no, nobody is in danger, I'm just an overtaxed cook.

As last time, these movie-reviews will be rather brief.

High Noon: Good film; are all westerns this good? Gary Cooper is a charming hero, though Grace Kelly is a dubious quaker. Oddly enough, the best part is the addictively recurrent theme song-- *Do not forsake me, oh my darling...*

Chinatown: Ted Cohen says that this movie-- not the unbearable Apocalypse Now-- is the true move version of Heart of Darkness. I can believe it. Jack Nicholson is at his seedy best, the fedoras are convincing, the ties are appropriately short, and the key mantra-- "as little as possible" is repeated with perfect time and timbre. Bogart is dead, but his truth is marching on.

The Two Jakes: I am a sucker for sequels. I liked Hannibal. I liked Men in Black II! All the same, The Two Jakes falls flat-- yes, it gives us a chance to watch Jake Gittes wandering aimlessly through California again, and yes it deals with the unbeatable power of nostalgia, but it has no subtlety, no style, and no punch. My imagination could do better than this.

High Society: When I suggested that the musical remake was better than the original Philadelphia Story, Volokher Jim Lindgren wrote in to politely suggest that I was out of my mind. The ensuing e-dialogue was useful and I have many new films on my netflix cue, but I thought that first I should check my premises. Yes, High Society is better than the Philadelphia Story. Grace Kelly is less grating than Katherine Hepburn and Frank Sinatra is less implausible than Jimmy Stewart. Granted, Cary Grant blows away Bing Crosby, but the crucial, crucial point is the presence of Louis Armstrong in High Society, whose performance is a tour-de-force, while also adding a very intriguing and subtle critique of the racial attitudes of New England.

I really do enjoy Pejman Yousefzadeh's blog. But it's a blog-friend's job to tell a blog-friend that he's gone completely, insanely, off-base.

At his new sub-blog, Pejman semi-endorses the Chicago abomination Heaven on Seven.

[Incidentally, I had doubts about Pejman's positive review of Maggiano's. I've only been there twice-- once for co-blogger Amy's 20th birthday, once because Amber Taylor and I were on our way out of the district and famished. Both times decidedly and pleasantly mediocre.]

Anyway, back to Heaven on Seven, the overpriced and inferior stopping grounds for indiscriminate yuppies too drunk to know any better. It's true that Heaven on Seven offers hot sauce, a substance of which I highly approve. Also true that Heaven on Seven offers some vague approximation of soul food, albeit overpriced. But no matter how hung over one is, how hard is it to throw some rice, some bits of meat, some spices, and some shallots into a pan to simmer (Mmm. Lunch today)? Or to walk or drive to Hyde Park's Dixie Kitchen or Rajun Cajun to get real food?

Basically, there is no excuse other than a complete lack of taste to come to this restaurant. I am thus totally confounded that among its many failings the one that Pejman singles out is its refusal to take anything but cash. (A trait that some fabulous enterprises have).

I understand. You're hungover and looking for a sociable brunch in Chicago. Go to Orange. Life is too short to pay too much money for bad food.

Having dispatched the ever-lovely girlfriend onto her bus and devoured dinner, I am prepared to catch up on my blogging. Normally I save all of these as drafts and sprinkle them throughout the weeks, but tonight I'm not in the mood. Random, possibly untemporal, blogging to ensue.