Abandoning the classical route with all its conventions, prejudices, and pasted cookbook recipes for success, she dropped out of Juilliard to go to London be with her love: music, and her boyfriend (who became her husband).  She returned to the Juilliard and went on to play publicly at small venues while working as a piano teacher. 

There was no record label.  So do you know what she did?  She scrapped $15,000 together to record Bach’s Goldberg Variations on her own.

There was no Carnegie Hall invitations and no market.  So you know what she did?  She rented out Carnegie Hall on her own.  And, she invited a house full of music critics. 

But it wasn’t just puffing business bravado.  It was accompanied by a strong unwavering faith in her artistic abilities, in that something was left to be said.  

The Carnegie Hall concert turned out to be a smashing success.  From there on her recordings shot up to the top of the chart.  In 2011, she signed an exclusive agreement with Sony Classical.

Her record, Bach: Strange Beauty, received a 4.5 star rating from over 7000+ reviews on Amazon.  The title of the album comes from a quote from an essay (No. 43. Of Beauty) by Sir Francis Bacon – essentially, anything truly beautiful is not perfect.

“There is no excellent beauty, that hath not some strangeness in the proportion.”

Who in the world can make people listen to old German music from the 17 century?  Defying the stereotype of a classic musician she dresses in black in non-revealing clothes.  When she plays, she doesn’t swarm and sway all over the place.  When she talks, she refrains from hand gestures and body language, not aiming to please or tease, as an actress might.  She is absolutely truthful, honest, almost calmly striving as she tries to explain her musical sensibilities.   

The beauty in her music is impossible to describe.  She says that when she hears Bach’s music she feels clean.  Ms. Dinnerstein’s story makes me feel ‘clean.’  At 4’05″ just before the moment the key is struck: you feel like, oh yes!  That’s exactly the way it should be. 

“I have a certain type of sound which I consider to be me.” 

Simone Dinnerstein, piano

Sunday January 29, 2012 at 7PM The Music Center at Strathmore

http://www.wpas.org/calendar/view.aspx?id=1714

Tango Night.  The space is wonderful.  Low lights, romantic, mysterious, chandeliers, disorganized cool.  Low couches, secret corners, staircases.   It’s a very intimate space to get close to someone that you really like.

We were there early…the lesson had just begun.  There were not enough men, too many women.  So I had to dance with the teacher. 

Well.  I almost had a heart attack.

The teacher was a 24 year old blond woman from an eastern European country, who held my hands, and clasped my back.  Because she was taller, about 5’6”, and 120 lbs, she was the ‘male’ dancer, and I was the female dancer. 

Unfortunately, being 5’2” and 108 lb, I came up to her breast level.  She held me closer and closer, and looked at me smiling all the time.  Because I’m petite, so straight looking, she had absolutely no inhibitions.  She was EXCEPTIONALLY beautiful.  Beautiful green eyes, auburn hair, and wore a lace-trimmed camisole and a flowing skirt, with a pair of dancing shoes.  She exuded innocence and trust.  Her big doleful, girl-next-door eyes looked at me the whole time, smiling.  It would have been really rude not to pay attention to her instructions!

But no, dear readers, unfortunately, the whole time, I had my head almost buried in her chest, and I tried SOOOOOOO hard not to stare at her cleavage, or to bump into her breasts.  The more I tried to slip away, the more she held me in her arms.  It was farce!  I thought, boy, what straight guy wouldn’t like to be in this position that I’m unfortunately in.  But I’m a 100% straight woman who is marveled, seduced, and excited by men, especially middle aged, outwardly boring, stodgy, glasses wearing men with salt and pepper hair.  Still, you know when your nose is about 2 inches away from a beautiful woman’s chest, fair bosom, to be sure, you see what you see, and you feel what you feel, which is astounded and embarrassed.  Because it’s such a rare and unusual experience – with whatever I did I felt and impolite and inappropriate.  She kept smiling very innocently at me.  The more she smiled, the more I was not sure what to do, say, or smile.  To look at her - would have been impolite.  Not to look at her - even more impolite.  See?  Because I was too close to her chest!!!   

I CAN’T EVEN IMAGINE WHAT MEN FEEL LIKE WHEN THEY’RE PUT INTO THAT SITUATION. 

IT IS VERY NERVE WRECKING!!!!!!!!!!!!

The teacher asked me, if I was coming back next week?  

Oh, that would be no.  Not before I have a date!  A little bit later in the night, the floor gradually filled with beautiful dancers in colorful dresses.  The intensity of the stares, the twirling, the music…it was a very dreamy experience – but I think I might murder my friend who introduced me to this beautiful shenanigans.

Happy new years everyone! 

Tattoo by: Tattoo Brighton http://www.tattoobrighton.co.uk/

Picture copied from:  http://gopantone.com/

It’s…chicken fat.

Another piece of chicken fat. 

A third piece of chicken fat.

A fourth piece, a fifth piece, and a sixth piece.  Just to prove that I wasn’t showing the same piece of chicken fat, the picture below shows that the entire entrée was made of mostly pieces of teriyucky chicken fat. 

Still hungry?  There’s buttermilk fat. 

There’s sugar vegetable oil fat, in the form of a brownie. 

And of course, there’s butter fat.  

So there you have it – cuisine a la coach class, served in one of the premier American airlines.     

After the unbelievable experience of eating United Fat, I almost cried at the sight of the ANA meal – literally the best Japanese meal I’ve ever had in my life, and to think this was a modest meal served in coach.  By the way, you might be wondering why I had so much time to take pictures of fat? 

The screen monitor did not work, during this 12 hour flight.  My fellow passengers in the “extra leg-room, economy plus” section also had non-functioning TV monitors.  We all entertained ourselves one way or another.  We laughed when United gave us a coupon of compensation.  We joked: it’s probably a $20 discount towards the next flight.  The photos were taken over the time when we were flying over Siberia, where the outside temperature was -67 c. 

Now the ANA meal.  First, we got chopsticks, and real silverware.  Plus a tooth pick.  A hand towel.  A napkin.  A twin pack of salt and pepper.  It’s important that a diner be prepped into a proper frame of mind to dine.

Then, you have this gorgeously wrapped around twirl of soba noodles, with shiso flavoring and plum coloring.  When you bite into it, you think, wow!  The angels are singing.  There’s a packet of seaweed and a packet of light soba dipping sauce to ensure that presentation, flavoring, culinary novelty, and texture are in balance. 

And, of course, even the appetizers are like little jewels. 

The main course was 3 pieces of tender white fish, over miso rice, with little flower cut pieces of carrots and peas.  And, then for dessert:  jasmine infused mango.  Afterwards, there’s a choice of hot and cold green tea, and a bevy of other beverages.

NO ONE in Japan (or France, or any other developed country) would dare to think of serving pieces of chicken fat, buttermilk, butter, and more fat (plus a rock of a dinner roll, and some wilted iceburg lettuce) and call it a meal.        

Political correctness set aside, the Japanese stewardesses on the Japanese airlines were all gorgeous and captivating.  Their hair coiffed back, skirts fitted, figures slim, scarfs tied into beautiful arrangements, they had a beautiful smile to match and pleasant personality to boot.  They were not subservient - they were more pleasant and attentive in a sweet and unobtrusive way, and they carried themselves with pride, in a way that showed that they were proud of doing their job.  When I asked one of them where they buy their facial products, she came back with a helpful note: Kose, Sekkisei series. 

Politically correct, the Japanese American stewardesses on the United flight were, well, complementary to the meal served on the plane, both in looks and feel.  They were even yelling at some passengers (including me):  “No!  That’s not what I asked.  It’s a yes-or-no question!”  It was so terrible!        

HOWEVER.  When I was stranded in a foreign country in the midst of running a fever, and then at the airport, I couldn’t reach ANA.  Their website didn’t work.  Good old United came through, with efficiency, efficacy, and resolve.  I was never so glad to hear from an American personnel; her name was “Candace.”  Thank goodness for corporate America, and thank goodness for the way Americans do things.  Things. Just. Work.  24/7, 365 days a year, 1 800 toll-free.  You could reach someone at customer service using your American invented smart phone.  And that’s a miracle that we take for granted.  And really, the rest of the world still thinks America is #1, and so do I – because we got the bravest, smartest, most risk tolerant people from all around the world congregating here for a big party.

1.  Have fresh flowers by the guest’s bed. 

2.  Casually ask them some time during the weekend, what’s your favorite meal?  Then produced it!

My friend asked her mother to make fried chicken and biscuits made from scratch for us as breakfast on Sunday morning, just before church.

Spoiled rotten, I’ll tell you!  Our connection, my deep admiration for her, her words of encouragements, and our having gone through some really harrowing times together but have through it to tell it with humor.  On Sunday morning we ate the fried chicken and biscuit breakfast sitting together in the sunny family dining room, and talked about really deep and serious stuff, but it felt light.  I love my friend so much!!!

Stranded in a hotel by herself.  Her husband’s college friend’s wife, a family friend, found out.  (Their husbands were college friends 60 years ago; one has passed away, the other is living with dementia.)  She made some homecooking comfort food, the kind that you’d feed your own family when they are sick.  Fruits and vegetables, bentos of congee and side dishes.  Everything was selected and packed with care, thought, and harmony.     

The traveler finally has something to eat.  She ate everything in the bento containers.   The family friend’s daughter calls from Germany.  The long distance conversation lasted about 30 minutes, but only 3 sentences came out of the traveler because she had lost her voice from laryngitis.

The restaurant was nearly empty when I showed up at 2:30PM.  Two Korean men were drinking beer and watching Korean game show on the big screen.  The restaurant wasn’t exactly pleasant.  It smelled like wet chlorine, a cross between a slaughter house and a swimming pool.

I ordered something called the pork neck bone soup with vegetable.  I was really famished.  When they brought out the kimchee (marinated cabbage and radish), I ate almost everything before they nearly had a chance to be set on the table. 

The waitress came by and spoke to me in Korean, and I motioned that I didn’t speak the language.  Then a woman appeared.  She appeared to be in her late 50′s.  Before I knew what was going on, she was saying to me, “Slow down!  Slow down!  Don’t eat so fast!  You must be hungry!  We bring you another bowl of rice, okay?”  She looked slightly amused/confused as if she had just sighted a 3 headed animal.  Her accent was thick, but I could understand 90% of her English.

Well, truth be told, I was very hungry and had been thinking about this meal even as the night before.  Outside it was dreadful - wet, windy, cloudy, gray, cold, a little bit like how I was feeling.  On the table was this soup, served in a sizzling clay pot looking devilishly spicy, and exceedingly tasty.   Yum!  (Steam was rising.) I had no idea how to tackle it.  I poked at it and looked at it from the sideways.  A spoon came from the left field; she handed one to me.  Right!  A spoon would be very helpful!  Then the woman asked me how I came to know this restaurant, how I knew to order the best dish on the menu, etc.  Soon after, she was taking my chopsticks to fish out the pieces of meat, and rearranging my tableware.  And now, rice is rice, vegetables are vegetables, broth is broth, condiments are condiments, and voila, there’s even a little plate of pork bones.   

She motioned the waitress to bring a bottle of sesame oil, and suggested that I mix in the radish sauce and the sesame oil with the rice.  Before I knew what was happening, I was giving her the two thumbs up, and trying everything as she dictated.  I was eating the meat on the pork bones with my hands, and eating raw peppers dipped in sweet bean paste. 

Now she sat herself down opposite from me, as if we had made a lunch date.  It seemed odd that someone would take over my eating utensils, and invite themselves to sit down.  All the while, she was watching how much I was eating, how I was eating, taking care to order the waitress to bring more stuff.  “This is my favorite dish!  Do you like it?” Underneath her joking tone was a critical, slightly icy, and bold stare that had the look of someone who’s seen it all.               

That’s when the story telling began.  “I was never a good girl.  Had no education.  But my husband, very good.”  She was burdened with helping to run the family business.  She was sent to high school but couldn’t deal with German, algebra, and European history.  She ended up in a community college for 2 years, and came to the US.  She was going to school but figured that it wouldn’t do her any good so she opened a business.  With $10,000, she succeeded at her first business, which was running a bar with a stage for rock and roll; it was stationed near a military base.  For $10,000, they bought some land as well.  To make a long story short, in 25 years, that piece of land alone is worth an unimaginable amount of money.

I told her nothing about myself, other than my liking for this neck bone soup, and that I felt that the flavors of the soup was sharp, not sweet. 

Last year her husband of 40 years passed away.  She looked at me in the eyes and said emphatically, “When you are young, you must enjoy it, everything, everyday.  Because once the eyes are closed, there isn’t anything anyone can do.  There is nothing, nothing, nothing anyone can do.” 

She must have mentioned the part about “once the eyes are closed, etc.” at least 3 times.

When I got up to leave, she said I’ll walk out with you.  When she got up with all her get up, I did a double take.  This lady was dressed from head to toe like a rapping gangsta - in matching black jump suit with two white stripes, some sick white sneakers and a pair of gold sunglasses!  Her hair was dyed.  Her teeth were veneer perfect.  So we walked out the restaurant together.   A sense of pride welled up in me.  I don’t know why. 

The Korean lady said, “Shit, I had no idea what’s going on in high school.”  I said, What?!?!?!  You’re 73 years old?!?!?!?! 

I’m not sure when I will have the neck bone soup again, even if it is salvaging a part of the animal that would have gone to waste, i.e., gnawing on the bones that no one else wants to eat.  I really loved this soup, but hate everything that has to do with animal husbandry.

Johann Sebastian Bach, Suite for Orchestra No. 3

http://www.thesartorialist.com/photos/prada-springsummer-2012/

Those red flames.  The vintage car motif.  The sound of mysterious, slow foot steps…I signed for 10 sewing classes in a moment of loss of logic/control. 

 http://www.prada.com/en#!/parade

I don’t care!  I’m going!

The finished product scroll down to “Bright Star”

http://www.satnam.de/kundalini-Surjhee-Guru-Ganesha-Singh-CD-p-4138.en.html

But wait a second. 

What is this ‘bright star’ in the morning rising that they’re talking about?  ‘Well…They are on the mountain praying?’  ‘There is a battle raging?’