A Night Out
About a week ago I got email from Cirque du Soleil pimping one of their protégé groups. The fabulous muffyjo had been begging for a playdate with daily-alice and was free for the evening, so I went ahead and made a plan.
We drove into Boston, despite the off-ramp from Storrow being blocked by a truck towing someone out of a No Parking snowbank, and despite Boylston Street being narrowed--not by snow!--by three semis full of Jersey Boys gear waiting to be loaded in. I had printed out a discount coupon for the lot on LaGrange Street, right across from the theatre, so we dropped the car there and walked down to the corner for dinner at Market by Jean-Georges Vongerichten in the W Hotel, where we had a dinner that was both delicious and very interesting.
For starters we chose from the "Raw" section of the menu--a generous pile of tuna tartare with avocado and radishes in a ginger-soy dressing for me and beautiful ribbons of salmon sashimi with golden garlic with a lemon-soy sauce for Jason. Sticking to fish made ordering wine easier, so Jason chose the crispy red snapper in a chili & sesam broth served over spaghetti squash, while I had the slow-cooked salmon over potato puree covered with shredded brussels sprouts and surrounded by a truffle vinaigrette. The salmon was a little undercooked for my taste, but the dish was so well balanced that I can't complain--so many chefs overdo the truffles, but this was perfect. Our wine was a particular delicious New Zealand sauvignon blanc, the Yealands ‘Seaview Vineyard’ 2008. And for dessert we shared the salted caramel ice cream sundae with peanuts, caramel corn and chocolate sauce that was even better than it sounded. The one sour--or rather, bitter--note was the coffee, which was just too bitter for either of us, but we set it aside and finished our wine instead.
Back up the block, we took our seats in the gorgeous Cutler Majestic. Every time I walk in there I am stunned by the beautiful restoration they did on that space. As we settled in our seats right in the center of the orchestra, I commented that I was surprised by how incurious Jason had been about our plans for the evening. With a sheepish grin he admitted that he had thought I'd already told him what we were doing and he'd forgotten.
The show was Psy, by Les 7 Doigts de la Main. They describe themselves a circus troupe, but the show is a confluence of theatre, circus and dance. I've seen better in each genre, but the melding was something really fresh and exciting. This show is an exploration of mental illness in the everyday world, by turns funny, poignant, and exciting. Our favorite ensemble number was a street scene in which the featured performer is jostled by passersby in a repeated series of motions that are eventually taken up by the whole company and become a dance of being jerked around by the world surrounding us. My favorite solo performer was Guillame Biron, whose astonishing balon gave his static trapeze act the impression of effortlessness.
Leaving the theatre, we threaded our ways through the forklifts already starting their own load-in ballet, in order to cross the street and reclaim our car. Traffic was light and we were home within twenty minutes of the applause, just as muffyjo was getting Alice to bed.
We drove into Boston, despite the off-ramp from Storrow being blocked by a truck towing someone out of a No Parking snowbank, and despite Boylston Street being narrowed--not by snow!--by three semis full of Jersey Boys gear waiting to be loaded in. I had printed out a discount coupon for the lot on LaGrange Street, right across from the theatre, so we dropped the car there and walked down to the corner for dinner at Market by Jean-Georges Vongerichten in the W Hotel, where we had a dinner that was both delicious and very interesting.
For starters we chose from the "Raw" section of the menu--a generous pile of tuna tartare with avocado and radishes in a ginger-soy dressing for me and beautiful ribbons of salmon sashimi with golden garlic with a lemon-soy sauce for Jason. Sticking to fish made ordering wine easier, so Jason chose the crispy red snapper in a chili & sesam broth served over spaghetti squash, while I had the slow-cooked salmon over potato puree covered with shredded brussels sprouts and surrounded by a truffle vinaigrette. The salmon was a little undercooked for my taste, but the dish was so well balanced that I can't complain--so many chefs overdo the truffles, but this was perfect. Our wine was a particular delicious New Zealand sauvignon blanc, the Yealands ‘Seaview Vineyard’ 2008. And for dessert we shared the salted caramel ice cream sundae with peanuts, caramel corn and chocolate sauce that was even better than it sounded. The one sour--or rather, bitter--note was the coffee, which was just too bitter for either of us, but we set it aside and finished our wine instead.
Back up the block, we took our seats in the gorgeous Cutler Majestic. Every time I walk in there I am stunned by the beautiful restoration they did on that space. As we settled in our seats right in the center of the orchestra, I commented that I was surprised by how incurious Jason had been about our plans for the evening. With a sheepish grin he admitted that he had thought I'd already told him what we were doing and he'd forgotten.
The show was Psy, by Les 7 Doigts de la Main. They describe themselves a circus troupe, but the show is a confluence of theatre, circus and dance. I've seen better in each genre, but the melding was something really fresh and exciting. This show is an exploration of mental illness in the everyday world, by turns funny, poignant, and exciting. Our favorite ensemble number was a street scene in which the featured performer is jostled by passersby in a repeated series of motions that are eventually taken up by the whole company and become a dance of being jerked around by the world surrounding us. My favorite solo performer was Guillame Biron, whose astonishing balon gave his static trapeze act the impression of effortlessness.
Leaving the theatre, we threaded our ways through the forklifts already starting their own load-in ballet, in order to cross the street and reclaim our car. Traffic was light and we were home within twenty minutes of the applause, just as muffyjo was getting Alice to bed.