2002-12-14

Last night I graced the Black Cat Caf� on the Byward Market with my effervescent presence in honour of a friend�s birthday. The Black Cat is one of those places where the food is priced not according to quantity, but according to height. You can pay ten dollars for a single fucking canap� piled ten inches high with figs and braised salmon and fucking truffles or something, with weird sprouts and things jutting out of the teetering ensemble at artistic angles. It must be good! Look how TALL it is!

And of course �drizzling� is very de rigeur at Le Chat Noir, because apparently sauces and demi-glaces and elderberry caper vinaigrettes and so forth taste EVER so much better when they�re applied FROM a great height in clever little squiggles. But of course.

Anyway, my aragula and fennel salad was well worth the price I paid for it, which was more than the assembled GNP of a small handful of African countries, because it came on a SQUARE PLATE! Does it get more edge-cuttingly modern than that, my friends? I think not! Also, whilst eating, I got to gaze upon minimalist art cunningly assembled out of translucent fabric pinned to canvas stretchers. Honestly, the culture in there was so thick I had to step outside to clear my head.