by jemma margaret
My friend Jesse sent me an article about a secret supper club in Manhattan founded in the glorious heyday of the well-heeled nineteenth century by the one and only Edward Elmer Potter. It is called the Zodiac Club, and none of us will ever belong.
In transcribing an 1887 menu, the article’s author points out that up through the 1960s Italian foods were translated into French to seem fancier. Hence, ravioli became ravioles.
The series of holidays that close down libraries and universities in France throughout the month of May are finally over. This also means a return to construction in my apartment building.
Thump! thump! thump! goes the ceiling.
Since I spend my research hours in the early nineteenth century, I think it’s only prudent to cover up the background noises with period music. I should probably consult some historians of music on this point, but assuming fads were not so quick to change I imagine Mozart was still a popular choice by 1817 (but maybe I should really be checking out this new kid on the block called Beethoven…). They also say that Mozart helps with learning math–a gamble I am certainly willing to take.
Pardon? you say in your best French accent (so many of my pardon?s receive a response en anglais), but what do ravioli and Mozart have to do with one another?
This is exactly what I thought this afternoon when I saw an advertisement on a billboard that read something like, If Mozart made ravioli, we would make them better.
I can’t tell if this is a brilliant use of logic (all my children are sleeping) or a terrible one (if the global temperature is rising how come it’s so cold in Paris).
To which Mozart replied, if ravioli played wrote symphonies, I would eat them.