Crème Brûlée

I like culture as well as the next person (actually, probably alotalotalot more than the next person), but I'd be lying if I said the highlight of my recent night at the opera was anything other than the dessert I had at O'Neals' before the performance.

O'Neals' has come by its good reputation honestly. It's been a fixture in the Lincoln Center neighborhood since 1964--almost as long as Lincoln Center itself. Michael O'Neal's motto is "good food at a fair price," and that is indeed what he serves. Yummy stuff like French toast stuffed with brie for brunch, steamed dumplings late at night, or a grilled Black Angus sirloin with Maytag blue cheese mashed potatoes for dinner. (Well, okay, as a vegetarian I'm not drooling over the sirloin, but most people would be.) Last, but certainly not least, the service is good, and the staff can get you in and out in time for your show, no problem.

I had the all-too-infrequent opportunity to choose from among several non-meat dishes: interesting salads, a curry, an unboring pasta. Sometimes I make a meal from three sides; O'Neals' not only sounded delicious, but "Combination of three as entrée" was actually listed as a menu item. Eeny, meeny, miney, mo...which to choose? Dessert, though, was a no-brainer.

Crème brûlée has been my favorite dessert for as long as I can remember. Rich, smooth custard...brittle sugar crust: an inspired combination. O'Neals' was no disappointment when it came. Just as I was savoring a spoonful, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the lady at the next table, back-to-back with me. I noticed you ordered the crème brûlée, she said. How is it?

Scrumptious, I was able to reply. And I'm somewhat of an expert on the subject, I told her. Before I was done with my portion, she was enjoying hers.

I wonder where my next crème brûlée will be? If I'm still blogging, I'll honor it with its own entry, too.

Gorgeous Crystal Chandeliers

Opera is all about spectacle. Listening to a recording, or even a live concert of the music, can never convey the whole multimedia experience of attending an opera. Part of what you're watching is occurring on stage, while another big part is happening all around you.

When you go to the Met, one of the things you see is the hall itself, jewel in the Lincoln Center crown, splendid in its own modern way. Built in the 1960's in the International style, it's all travertine and glass, the largest building in the complex, with seats for almost 4,000 and cavernous storage spaces. The first thing you see as you approach the building, even before you enter, is the glittering expanse of Austrian crystal dripping from the ceilings, mammoth futuristic chandeliers built like Tinkertoys with nickeled brass rods, twinkling lights, and gobs of faceted crystal and crystal pearls.

The opera house chandeliers were designed by Hans Harald Rath and made by Lobmeyr of Austria. The largest one measures over 20 feet across, is lit with 260 bulbs, and weighs one and a half tons. Over three hundred others are scattered throughout the Met. Satellites orbit around the big guy, more large and small chandeliers hang over the orchestra, under a ceiling of gold leaf. Crystal sconces ring the balconies and light you up the curving staircases.

The carpets are crimson. The walls are crimson velvet. The banisters are crimson velvet. The ceilings are gold; the mosaic murals are Chagall. The literati, the glitterati, and lots of poor students from Columbia lounge in the lobbies. Just before the curtain rises, the lower tier of chandeliers in the orchestra rises slowly to the ceiling as the lights dim and finally extinguish. Before the opera even begins, you've gotten your money's worth.

That Vast Louisiana Desert

Last year was the year of jazz for me. This year is the year of opera. I've been listening to recordings, watching televised productions, reading librettos. Tonight I went to New York City to see Manon Lescaut at the Met.

Puccini's opera is taken from a novel by l'Abbé Prévost, volume seven of Mémoires et aventures d’un homme de qualité. It's a popular story which, before Puccini, had been made into an opera by Jules Massenet, and which, after Puccini, had several more incarnations. What's basic to all the versions is the flighty Manon herself, an innocent young girl on her way to a convent when she meets and falls in love with the chevalier des Grieux. The whole story, in its various permutations, results from the tension between her love for the chevalier and her love for all the things money can buy.

In the Puccini libretto, as in the original novel, Manon ends up in New Orleans with her lover, and is eventually banished from the city. This is a French story, remember, originally published in 1731, so New Orleans is where people ended up when they fled or were exiled. The librettist apparently didn't know much about the brave new world and, after all, it's a great love story, so who cares about the geographical details? All the same, it's hard not to laugh when Manon, thrown out of the settlement at New Orleans for reasons unclear, ends up in the "desert" of Louisiana. She sings the magnificent Sola, perduta, abbandonata while her lover throws handfuls of sand around and curses the lack of water for his thirsting, dying love. In this post-Katrina world, a little ironic!