Milk and Honey Distillery

Israel now has its own whiskey distillery, Milk and Honey Distillery, located between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv with Glasgow native Dr. James Swanson as its Master Distiller. The distillery uses copper pot stills for the production of its single-malt, and since much of a fine whiskey's flavor profile comes from the water quality and barrels in which it is aged, Dr. Swanson is confident the warm weather of the region will not negatively affect the performance in the glass. In fact, he says, Israel's weather provides many natural advantages. To be sure, this ain't no block and tackle.

Charlotte Brontë's L'Ingratitude

What follows is Charlotte Brontë's French homework for 16 March 1842 as it was given to her teacher, translation below by Sue Lonoff.

Un Rat, las de la vie des villes, et des cours; (car il avait joué son rôle aux palais des rois et aux salons des grand seigneurs) un rat, que l’expérience avait rendu sage, enfin, un rat qui de courtisan était devenu philosophe, s’était retiré à sa maison de campagne (un trou dans le tronc d’un grand ormeau) où il vivait en ermite et dévouait tout son temps et tous ses soins à l’éducation de son fils unique.

Le jeune rat qui n’avait pas encore reçu de ces leçons sévères mais salutaires que donne l’expérience, était un peu étourdi; les sages conseils de son père lui semblaient ennuyeux; l’ombre et la tranquillité des bois, au lieu de calmer son esprit, le fatiguaient. Il s’impatientait de voyager et de voir le monde.

Un beau matin, il se levait de bonne heure, il fit un petit paquet de fromage et de grain, et sans mot dire à personne l’ingrat abandonna son père et le logis paternel et partit pour des pays inconnus.

D’abord tout lui parut charmant; les fleurs étaient d’une fraîcheur, les arbres d’une verdure qu’il n’avait jamais vues chez lui – et puis, il vit tant de merveilles; un animal avec une queue plus grande que son corps (c’était un écureuil) une petite bête qui portait sa maison sur son dos, (c’était un limaçon). Au bout de quelques heures il approcha une ferme, un odeur de cuisine l’attira, il entra dans la basse cour – là il vit une espèce d’oiseau gigantesque qui faisait un horrible bruit en marchant d’un air fier et orgueilleux. Or, cet oiseau était un dindon, mais notre rat le prit pour un monstre, et effrayé de son aspect, il s’enfuyait sur le champ.

Vers le soir il entra dans un bois, lassé et fatigué il s’assit au pied d’un arbre, il ouvrait son petit paquet, mangeait son souper, et se couchait.

S’éveillant avec l’alouette – il sentit ses membres engourdis de froid, son lit dur le faisait mal; alors il se souvenait de son père, l’ingrat rappellait les soins, et la tendresse du bon vieux rat, il formait des vaines résolutions pour l’avenir, mais c’était trop tard, le froid avait gelé son sang. L’Expérience fut pour lui une maîtresse austère, elle ne lui donna qu’une leçon et qu’une punition, c’étaient la mort.

Le lendemain un bucheron trouva le cadavre, il ne le regarda que comme un objet dégoutant et le poussa de son pied en passant, sans penser que là gisait le fils ingrat d’un tendre père.

...

A rat, weary of the life of cities, and of courts (for he had played his part in the palaces of kings and in the salons of great lords), a rat whom experience had made wise, in short, a rat who from a courtier had become a philosopher, had withdrawn to his country house (a hole in the trunk of a large young elm), where he lived as a hermit devoting all his time and care to the education of his only son.

The young rat, who had not yet received those severe but salutary lessons that experience gives, was a bit thoughtless; the wise counsels of his father seemed boring to him; the shade and tranquillity of the woods, instead of calming his mind, tired him. He grew impatient to travel and see the world.

One fine morning, he arose early, he made up a little packet of cheese and grains, and without saying a word to anyone, the ingrate abandoned his father and his paternal abode and departed for lands unknown.

At first all seemed charming to him; the flowers were of a freshness, the trees of a greenness that he had never seen at home – and then, he saw so many wonders: an animal with a tail larger than its body (it was a squirrel), a little creature that carried its house on its back (it was a snail). After several hours he approached a farm, the smell of cooking attracted him, he entered the farmyard – there he saw a kind of gigantic bird who was making a horrible noise as he marched with an air fierce and proud. Now, this bird was a turkey, but our rat took him for a monster, and frightened by his aspect, he immediately fled.

Towards evening, he entered a wood, weary and tired he sat down at the foot of a tree, he opened his little packet, ate his supper, and went to bed.

Waking with the lark he felt his limbs numbed by the cold, his hard bed hurt him; then he remembered his father, the ingrate recalled the care and tenderness of the good old rat, he formed vain resolutions for the future, but it was too late, the cold had frozen his blood. Experience was for him an austere mistress, she gave him but one lesson and one punishment; it was death.

The next day a woodcutter found the corpse, he saw it only as something disgusting – and pushed it with his foot in passing, without thinking that there lay the ungrateful son of a tender father.

Verbier Mountain Climbers

Swiss charity project Verbier Mountain Climbers comprises old gondolas taken from the Valais ski resort Verbier and refashioned by Swiss designers into stunning works of art.

The image above, taken by Annik Wetter, is Adrien Rovero's "Rock". The elegant télécabine is transformed into a rocking chair displaying stylish constraint. The image below, also by Annik Wetter, is "Vending Machine" by ECAL/Baker Wardlaw. Here proportion is warped to give a sense of history and humor.

This autumn the exhibition will be hosted by Genève Aéroport, after which Christie’s will auction the works for the benefit of the Make-A-Wish Foundation of Switzerland.

Proper Cloth

Other than the fact that Proper Cloth offers clients custom-made dress shirts, I love the details they provide for available fabrics: thread count, thickness, origin, mill. It's a good place to shop but also a fine place to gather basic information before learning more. Pity I don't live closer to SoHo.

High streets

Every year the Academy of Urbanism selects finalists in the categories of Best European City, Great Town, Great Neighborhood, Great Street and Great Place. The list of past winners is worth browsing, especially if you're planning a trip to Great Britain, which holds a dominant presence in the lists.

Looking at the criterion used to assess high streets is a fascinating way of understanding not only what constitutes a great high street (e.g. cooperative leadership, pedestrian friendly design, versatility of form) but how lesser high streets fail, how they can be improved and how high streets in general breathe and function as living aspects of an urban center.

Music in the blood

According to the Zhuang people of southern China there once was a girl from the village of Yizhou named Liu Shanhua who began singing even as an infant. Being the third child in her family, the people of Yizhou nicknamed her Sanjie or 'Third Sister'. When she was older, a local tyrant tried to force Liu Sanjie to marry him. One version of the story claims she fled with her lover. Another, that she sang to the villain literally breaking his heart and killing him.

A different tyrant later hired three scholars to outsing this poor country girl. The scholars arrived by river, their boat choked full with books of song, and all the villagers lined the banks to watch Liu Sanjie wade into the current and defend herself in a battle of improvised singing. She begins:

However much you have read,

If you can glide then I can wing.

A wasp above a turtle's head,

If you stick it out then I will sting.

After several rounds, she effortlessly defeats the scholars but ultimately decides to continue on her way, singing wherever she goes. The songs she imrpovises on her travels are taken up by locals and repeated, like vocal footprints, until all the lands of the Zhuang are saturated with the poetry of Liu Sanjie's singing.

There are roughly 18 million Zhuang today, making Zhuang the second-largest ethnic group in China after the Han. It is said that in the countryside there are Zhuang villages where the people live in song, singing their way through daily conversations or during work, as if life were one extended musical, and that when two lovers meet at first they introduce themselves in song and sing duets until the sun comes up.

I live in southern China now and so far I have not met any Zhuang who were not heartbreakingly beautiful singers.

Breakfast by Hunter S. Thompson

"I like to eat breakfast alone, and almost never before noon; anybody with a terminally jangled lifestyle needs at least one psychic anchor every twenty-four hours, and mine is breakfast. In Hong Kong, Dallas, or at home—and regardless of whether or not I have been to bed—breakfast is a personal ritual that can only be properly observed alone, and in a spirit of genuine excess. The food factor should always be massive: four Bloody Marys, two grapefruits, a pot of coffee, Rangoon crêpes, a half-pound of either sausage, bacon, or corned-beef hash with diced chilies, a Spanish omelette or eggs Benedict, a quart of milk, a chopped lemon for random seasoning, and something like a slice of key lime pie, two margaritas and six lines of the best cocaine for dessert…Right, and there should also be two or three newspapers, all mail and messages, a telephone, a notebook for planning the next twenty-four hours, and at least one source of good music…all of which should be dealt with outside, in the warmth of a hot sun, and preferably stone naked."

Hamlet's home

A view of Elsinore Castle from the ferry into Helsingør from Sweden.

Swedish meatballs

I'd had the Danish frikadeller and even cooked a batch one afternoon stuffed with Danablu. They were glorious. But Swedish köttbullar are something else entirely. Carrots, potatoes, pickled cucumbers and lingonberry jam on the side. Such rustic stuff, but exquisitely satisfying. The brunsås, or brown sauce, makes the dish. I had mine at a hotel cafe in Helsingborg by the bay, with a view across the Øresund at Helsingør/Elsinore and the castle on the coast where Hamlet used to brood.

Copenhagen Fashion Week

The Monocle's Tom Morris and Dan Hill think Copenhagen is becoming the world's "green laboratory", and here's a pedestrian street smack in the center of town with grass instead of asphalt. How cool would a neighborhood of streets like that be? I especially dig the outdoor cafe seating. Later that night, a DJ booth was set up at one of the intersections as part of Fashion Week and the street was filled with chic barefooted party-goers bopping their heads and swigging Carlsbergs.