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Jan. 21st, 2007 12:35 am
Family visit
So far, so good. I finally got a call around 1:30 telling me to be ready for pickup at 4:30. After some confusion (honestly, Dad, how hard is it to learn, if not the full address of the house where you've stayed a half-dozen times before, at least the frickin' NAME OF THE STREET IT'S ON???), we got to my stepsister's, herded the cats, and made our way to Las Tablas--not the one near ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bunj, but its more centrally-located sister.
I've got lots of praise for my steak and the ají and chimichurri that accompanied it. The only really misstep was the arepas, which were certified auténtico by my stepmother but desperately needed something to relieve their dryness. ("In Venezuela, these would come slathered in butter," she explained.) But I really can't say a bad thing about a restaurant that would let us tie up a table for over two hours during the pre-theatre dinner rush as we leisurely sipped the wine we'd brought along.
Oh, did I mention the obstensible purpose of the trip was to support my stepbrother's current play? I'd like to recommend it, but I can't. The production--set, lighting, sound--is all very good; there's some well-done fight choreography and a few powerful moments, but overall it's a vicar's egg. (Though I wouldn't say "excellent" so much as "above average".) His character is particularly ill-written: A divorced wife-beater with supposedly nothing more than a high-school education who nevertheless has a penchant for bons mots and surprisingly poetic turns of phrase. (There's one monologue in particular that I found myself rewriting in my head in order to make it sound like something that actually sounded convincing in his mouth.) But he does have an extremely effective crying scene--pathetic and chillingly manipulative at the same time.
But, outside of that and the clichéd Grand Guignol climax, I found myself unengaged to the point that I'd've been checking my watch if I wore one. My stepsister even napped a bit, but this is already her third performance. I was worried about being pressed for an honest opinion, but fortunately conversation over drinks soon veered into familial territory. The wine bar down the street was packed, so we found an Italian restaurant that didn't mind five diners ordering only drinks and splitting two desserts.
Leave 'em laughing: After SBIL hurried off to prepare for his role, my stepsister and I traded mondegreens. The best was probably her "Super Salad Bar" for INXS' "Suicide Blonde". I'll never be able to forget that one again ever.
bunj, but its more centrally-located sister.I've got lots of praise for my steak and the ají and chimichurri that accompanied it. The only really misstep was the arepas, which were certified auténtico by my stepmother but desperately needed something to relieve their dryness. ("In Venezuela, these would come slathered in butter," she explained.) But I really can't say a bad thing about a restaurant that would let us tie up a table for over two hours during the pre-theatre dinner rush as we leisurely sipped the wine we'd brought along.
Oh, did I mention the obstensible purpose of the trip was to support my stepbrother's current play? I'd like to recommend it, but I can't. The production--set, lighting, sound--is all very good; there's some well-done fight choreography and a few powerful moments, but overall it's a vicar's egg. (Though I wouldn't say "excellent" so much as "above average".) His character is particularly ill-written: A divorced wife-beater with supposedly nothing more than a high-school education who nevertheless has a penchant for bons mots and surprisingly poetic turns of phrase. (There's one monologue in particular that I found myself rewriting in my head in order to make it sound like something that actually sounded convincing in his mouth.) But he does have an extremely effective crying scene--pathetic and chillingly manipulative at the same time.
But, outside of that and the clichéd Grand Guignol climax, I found myself unengaged to the point that I'd've been checking my watch if I wore one. My stepsister even napped a bit, but this is already her third performance. I was worried about being pressed for an honest opinion, but fortunately conversation over drinks soon veered into familial territory. The wine bar down the street was packed, so we found an Italian restaurant that didn't mind five diners ordering only drinks and splitting two desserts.
Leave 'em laughing: After SBIL hurried off to prepare for his role, my stepsister and I traded mondegreens. The best was probably her "Super Salad Bar" for INXS' "Suicide Blonde". I'll never be able to forget that one again ever.