Goose Bumps

I am not a food connoisseur, I am a gourmand.

I am no food expert, I just love good food and when it comes to food sensations there is one that excites me like no other. Foie gras. The very mention of it sends my tastebuds into overdrive. I adore its soft, succulent, buttery texture, its curious fragrance. Yes, it is a food that courts controversy. But while some turn away with loathing, I quiver with excitement at the very mention of fattened goose livers. I will only eat in French restaurants if they promise a gout-inducing portion of foie gras on their menu.

So it was with huge anticipation that I headed down to the Orrery on Marylebone High Street. And I was not to be disappointed. My friend and I arrived almost simultaneously – I disguised as a Lady Gaga backing singer (don’t ask). When I gave my name, I was greeted with a knowing smile “ah yes, the lady who absolutely must have foie gras”. Yes, that’s me. At time of booking, the restaurant had asked me whether I had any special requests and had noted my impassioned response.

Comfortably seated, aperitifs ordered, tasting menu dismissed, we scanned the à la carte menu. To our delight there were three starters in which foie gras played a central role. We were grinning broadly now. And, yet, could it be? Surely not! But, yes, there was more joy to be had. Our plump little friend was to take a starring role in one of the main courses too. When the waiter glided over to our table to take our order he was amused by our excitement and nearly applauded our decision to choose all three foie gras starters (Foie gras parfait, pain Poilâne, apricot chutney; Pineau des Charantes poached foie gras en jelly, pears, brioche and Beef consommé en croute, seared foie gras), accompanied by a sauternes, of course. For our main courses we opted for Tournedos à la Rossini, celeriac purée, sauce Périgourdine (which included seared fois gras) and Braised shin of beef à la Bordelaise (the only dish without a trace of foie gras).

Every mouthful of the three first courses was heavenly. My friend and I like a chat, yet we were respectfully silent at the serving of our dishes. Forks grasped tightly between thumb and forefinger we swooped on the perfectly balanced dishes and devoured each and every one of them. When food is this good, refinement and table manners are vanquished and replaced by the animal instinct to trough. We stopped short of licking our plates. Just.

If I do have to express a little disappointment it was with the desserts. However, I think my objectivity had left me at this stage. I had been seduced by those gloriously gorgeous geese livers and the desserts just couldn’t captivate me.

Conversations with my friend became more coherent during dessert. The babblings of the foie gras-intoxicated subsided. Our bellies full, conversation shifted from food and returned to my dramatic makeover (prior to the dinner I’d been to the MAC counter in Selfridges and asked for some eye drama, the makeup artists delivered with fabulously theatrical results) and my latest (bonkers) business idea.

We paid and drifted out onto the High Street. We agreed that the staff were charming and suitably attentive. We silently thanked head chef Igor Tymchyshyn. We also silently thanked each other. After all, a fine dining experience is complete only if it is in the company of a bosom buddy and amusing friend.

One final comment: residents of the enchanting Marylebone, in case you hadn’t noticed, you are living in central London, not a bleeding “village”. Get over it.

India's historic vote approves parliamentary seats for women

History in the making: India's upper house of parliament has taken a crucial step to reserving a third of all legislative national and state assembly seats to women. The house voted 186-1 in favour of the Women's Reservation Bill, which Prime Minister Manmohan Singh described as a "historic step forward toward emancipation of Indian womanhood".

Currently only around 9% of upper house (Rajya Sabha) seats and 11% of lower house (Lok Sabha) seats are occupied by women.

Sonia Gandhi, current Congress Party leader, said the " first step has been taken … the next step will also have to be taken". It has taken 14 years of campaigning to drive the bill this far and must now pass to the lower house, where it is expected to pass without difficulty.

Before passing to law, the bill will also have to be approved by 15 of India's 28 states.

See The Guardian, The Times and The Independent for the full story.

Oscar gives a nod to International Women's Day

Music to my feminist ears: Kathryn Bigelow has smashed her way through the glass ceiling to take the best director Oscar for The Hurt Locker. Not only did this low-budget picture reign supreme over the highest grossing film of all time – Avatar’s box-office takings exceed US$2.6 billion compared with The Hurt Locker’s at just over US$21 million – but it was also the first time that a woman snared the statuette for best director. Being producer, Bigelow also picked up the gong for best picture. In all, The Hurt Locker claimed six Oscars to Avatar’s three. A good day for Bigelow.

This is particularly welcome news. According to Sarah Seltzer’s blog A feminist guide to the 2010 Oscars “only 7 percent of the top 250 films [in the period leading up to the Academy Awards] were directed by women” making this achievement, on the one hand, all the more impressive but, on the other, highlighting the startling absence of female talent in the industry. Sara Freeman, who has written a piece in the feministreview, says only “three other women have been nominated previously: Lina Wertmüller for Seven Beauties, Jane Campion for The Piano, and Sofia Coppola for Lost in Translation.” Perhaps Bigelow's Oscar success could be the spur to bring about change in a male-dominated industry.

Interestingly, the win coincides with International Women’s Day – 8 March 2010. However, I am extremely disappointed to see that Google - which often celebrates an important occasion by tailoring its masthead - was either completely oblivious to this event this time around or did not deem it “special” enough to create a doodle to raise its profile. In 2005, Google marked the event by altering the second “o” to “♀”, the symbol for female organism. Would it be asking too much for this change to be a regular feature? Google knows the power of its brand, to have transformed its logo for the event would have helped to raise the profile of this day.

So, thank you Bigelow for being a very gracious role-model for women. Thank you too Oscar, for acknowledging her talent. As for Google? Thanks for nothing.

What's a girl to Badoo?

I’m irate. The source if my ire is Badoo, that tasteless dating-and-picture-rating site masquerading as a social networking site. It claims to be “the best place for meeting new people nearby [sic] you”. It encourages you to “chat, flirt, socialize and have fun!” Photos of (attractive) members grace the landing page. Go on, take a look, I know you are curious. Hover over an image at random and you will be delighted to learn that “WetScream*, 23, London, United Kingdom, Wants to sing with somebody” (and has 5 new photos to boot). Oh Joy!

Another interesting fact, gleaned from the landing page, is that its members (“people already here”) number almost 58 million, at time of writing. Another three million and the population of Badoo will equal that of the UK.

There is nothing about the appearance of the site that would entice me to be a member (no, not even their battle cry to “meet new people”). So, how is it that I found myself signing up?

Let me explain:

I was at work, clearing out my work email inbox - filing here, deleting there - when I came across an email from Badoo, kindly notifying me that a good friend of mine had left a message for me on the site. It was an abnormally quiet day in the office, so I thought I’ll check it out there and then. I clicked on the link and was informed that I needed to create a profile to see the message.

***

(Now, I’d just like to make something clear, I am a confirmed luddite. My computer skills are basic; they stretch as far as using word and spreadsheet applications to create documents. I do not have a facebook account. I’m still clawing my way out of the 20^th century.)

***

I threw caution to the wind, after all the message was from a pal, a close friend of 15 years. I created that damned profile. And what did I discover for my efforts? There was no message. It was a lie. I had been duped. I, cynic extraordinaire, had been fooled into signing on to Badoo, a social network that would alert all Londoners that I was on-line and available for fun – while at the same time reminding me that no-one would want to take the plunge and get chatty with me if I didn’t upload a photo of myself. While I stared glassy eyed at the screen, trying to make sense of how I could have fallen into this rather crude trap, I was completely ignorant to the fact that Badoo had kindly dispatched an email shot to my entire contact base (my friends, my acquaintances, John Lewis, Netmums, even my nephew’s headmistress) telling each and every one of them that a message from me awaited them. I had committed the ultimate crime against my own privacy, I had forgotten to read the small-print. Had I been more vigilant I would have spotted Badoo’s egregious offer to pimp my entire address book.

So, my profile had been cast and my contacts pinged. I darted desperately around the site looking for resolution and all the while was receiving instant messages from potential flirtees. I sent Badoo two shirty messages via their questions link, accusing them of using improper methods and invading my privacy in order to appropriate confidential information.

As I emerged from that red fog of rage and I regained my composure, I located the exit door and deleted that damned profile (the site’s parting shot was “has it really come to this?”). I had waved goodbye to the possibility of chatting, flirting, socialising and having fun. I had dumped my virtual loves, flicking the finger at the chance to have my attractiveness rated on a scale of one to ten. Willingly, I returned to the real world. While my profile has been deleted it will take a full seven days for my membership to work its way fully out of the system.

If there is a lesson to be learned from all this, it is to be suspicious of such emails claiming to be from friends. Check with them first. If you don’t, at best you may naively wander into that circle of hell that is the website dating game, while notifying friends and acquaintances of your new status. In a worst case scenario, you could fall foul of identity theft.
* This is not the member’s real profile name.