Winter in America

As the economy crumbles, I'm reminded of a passage from Pater's Marius the Epicurean:

The discourse ended almost in darkness, the evening having set in somewhat suddenly, with a heavy fall of snow. The torches, made ready to do him a useless honour, were of real service now, as the emperor was solemnly conducted home; one man rapidly catching light from another--a long stream of moving lights across the white Forum, up the great stairs, to the palace. And, in effect, that night winter began, the hardest that had been known for a lifetime. The wolves came from the mountains; and, led by the carrion scent, devoured the dead bodies which had been hastily buried during the plague, and, emboldened by their meal, crept, before the short day was well past, over the walls of the farmyards of the Campagna. The eagles were seen driving the flocks of smaller birds across the dusky sky. Only, in the city itself the winter was all the brighter for the contrast, among those who could pay for light and warmth. The habit-makers made a great sale of the spoil of all such furry creatures as had escaped wolves and eagles, for presents at the Saturnalia; and at no time had the winter roses from Carthage seemed more lustrously yellow and red.

— Chapter XXII: "The Divinity That Doth Hedge a King

I find this to be a magnificently solemn passage.

Funny to look at the title and think how perfectly it captures the contrast between Marcus Aurelius and that dolt who would be our king. Ah, ye Romans.

Seared Ahi

Chatting with a couple of my office mates this morning, the subject of the seared ahi at Roy's came up. One of my colleagues thought the term seared, as applied to the piece of fish he ordered when last there, was an overstatement. With good ahi, the rawer the better in my opinion.

The topic put me in mind of one of my favorite passages from Moby-Dick, some advice second-mate Stubb gives to the Pequod's cook:

"Well then, cook; you see this whale-steak of yours was so very bad, that I have put it out of sight as soon as possible; you see that, don't you? Well, for the future, when you cook another whale- steak for my private table here, the capstan, I'll tell you what to do so as not to spoil it by overdoing. Hold the steak in one hand, and show a live coal to it with the other; that done, dish it; d'ye hear?" (Chapter 64, "Stubb's Dinner")