Tragic Times

Much to devour in today's New York Times. From Frank Rich, who likens Katrina to the sinking of the Titanic ("New Orleans's first-class passengers made it safely into lifeboats; for those in steerage, it was a horrifying spectacle of every man, woman and child for himself"):
Thanks to Mr. Bush's variously incompetent, diffident and hubristic mismanagement of the attack by Katrina, he has sent the entire world a simple and unambiguous message: whatever the explanation, the United States is unable to fight its current war and protect homeland security at the same time.

And novelist Anne Rice, whose mansion in the Big Easy's Garden District is a stop on every walking tour of the sublime suburb:
During this crisis you failed us. You looked down on us; you dismissed our victims; you dismissed us. You want our Jazz Fest, you want our Mardi Gras, you want our cooking and our music. Then when you saw us in real trouble, when you saw a tiny minority preying on the weak among us, you called us "Sin City," and turned your backs.
Well, we are a lot more than all that. And though we may seem the most exotic, the most atmospheric and, at times, the most downtrodden part of this land, we are still part of it. We are Americans. We are you.

And a delightful "Kitchen Voyeur" column in the magazine on Jean Halberstam (spouse of David) and her culinary creations, which include deep-fried peaches. No, I haven't been in the US for too long, but I am intrigued! (They look a bit like the Krispy Kremes which are for sale in bulk in the Kroger's supermarket opposite our apartment, yet sell like the proverbial hotcakes as luxury food items in Sydney, go figure). Halberstam says of their lovely life: "every morning [her husband] wakes up and says, first thing, 'What's for dinner?' It's his reward. And mine."

Yummy late summer Sunday roast this evening: a buttery Amish chicken with garlicky potatoes and plum relish out of gorgeous Italian black plums with a silvery bloom. Made a vinaigrette out of an impulse-buy bottle of 'orange muscat champagne vinegar' and bought an oozy wedge of French brie. Pity the wine didn't hold up it's end, but we should have known better than to buy Napa chardonnay. All overblown oak, from a region far too warm for that grape.