The Last Ditch

Doctors out of their boxes

Velvet Glove, Iron Fist: The dictatorship of public health.

I am not quite sure how I missed the linked article back in September but I am glad I found it via Chris Snowdon's review of the year at his excellent blog, Velvet Glove, Iron Fist. The authoritarians of the medical establishment are in many ways our best hope for liberty. This may seem paradoxical, but bear with me.

The greater the State becomes, the more authoritarians it attracts. Wormtongue types are drawn, as so many of them already have been, by the chance to subvert legitimate authority to their own ends while living on the state's plunder. The more they succeed, the more arrogant they become. They see no legitimate boundaries to their control of their fellow men. Our corrupt political class will offer no defence against these parasites unless and until popular resistance threatens their own power. We cannot count on their principles, if indeed they have any. We can rely entirely, however, on their self-interest.

 Where, however, is this resistance to come from? State education, state broadcasting and the generally emasculating effect of the Welfare State have much weakened the yeoman spirit that made England, for most of its history, delightfully ungovernable. The unthinking majority of voters will never rebel - until it's far too late - against threats to freedom of thought. Attacks on their lifestyle however are another matter. Cromwell fell not because the Monarchy won a rematch of its debate with republicanism, but because, having weakened his appeal by forbidding dancing, aleing and Christmas, his hypocrisy in having his son succeed him (just like a King) tipped the scales of popular feeling.

The state can beat up as many anti-statist intellectuals as it likes and no-one will protest. Let it beat up the smokers, drinkers and pie-fans however and popular resistance can be expected - even from those usually too idle to move further than to the nearest Greggs. Doctors with God complexes may therefore be our best hope. Perhaps as we enter the final phase of end-of-year excess, we should be campaigning for votes to be proportionate to BMI, units of alcohol per week or fags per day?

The Free Society: Punishing the poor, the moderate and the sensible

The Free Society: Punishing the poor, the moderate and the sensible.

Over at the Free Society blog, economist Eamonn Butler states what used to be the bleeding obvious before welfarism rotted the national brain. As to his immediate point, he is quite right that the only people whose behaviour will be affected by minimum prices are those whose behaviour is not a problem. Drunks will prioritise alcohol purchases over more important ones, just as drug addicts do. And we all know what happens when you price their preferred purchase at a level that leaves them without other choices; crime. 

What struck me most strongly was his headline. Isn't "Punishing the poor, the moderate and the sensible" the true, if undeclared, manifesto of all the UK's mainstream, statist parties?

OTT or what?

The Last Ditch is not going to become a food blog. You should still look to Sicily Scene and others for your culinary fix. However, I thought this photo of a few spoonfuls of granita served in a tower of ice might amuse you. Bruno Oger's presentation of food is certainly imaginative. The tower is hollow, about the size of a piece of drainpipe and is illuminated by an LED standing on the plate beneath it. It looked impressive when eight of them were carried in procession to our table last night. If you get the chance to sample M. Oger's food, I recommend you seize it.

How real Leftists approach alcohol

Mrs P. and I ventured out for an afternoon stroll and ended up at a bar. Sitting under a canopy outside on a warm, rainy evening, we did some people-watching here in the Peoples' Republic. It was all very enjoyable, despite being surrounded by (gasp!) smokers. Picking up the drinks menu (accustomed as we are to the conflation of leftism and puritanism back home in Guardian-land) how we laughed to read the following on the cocktails menu.

Quite different from all that miserable drinkaware.co.uk stuff, eh? I realise you must all be very worried about us, so let me hasten to report that Mrs P and I managed to "consommér avec moderation" despite the bar owner's wicked and self-interested recommendation. As far as we could see (as there was none of the behaviour that keeps middle-aged couples out of city centres on weekend evenings back home) so did everyone else.

And all without any advice from a government. Remarkable.

Any ideas?

Don't worry. I am not becoming a food blogger. However there was some confusion over a (very pleasant) lunch in Shanghai today as to what exactly this - the dessert included in our set meal - was. There were excellent Chinese speakers there, but the giggling waitress was rather testing their vocabulary with an account of it being made (so they understood) from the generative organs of a frog. It actually looks more like frogspawn, which may well have been what she meant.

I was not up for trying it myself but it smelled quite pleasant. The idea was to pour syrup and milk on it and then scrape it, along with the fruit, onto a spoon and eat it. We were told it's good for longevity (though it doesn't seem to have helped its original owners in that respect).

Can any knowledgeable reader tell me what my braver friends were really eating?

There is no scope for public spending cuts

Welcome to Love Chips!.

Of course there isn't. Not when the state provides such essential services as this. 

h/t Old Holborn.

A sketchy celebration

 Sketch Gallery Restaurant London (Mayfair).

Blogging has been light because the Paines have had a tense few days. As previously mentioned, Mrs P. had a nine-hour operation last week. Today her test results confirmed, after a nail-biting wait, that it had been successful. She has a long convalescence ahead, but the news is as good as it could have been.

We and Miss P. the Younger celebrated with a bottle of Krug on our return from the hospital, followed by a very jolly dinner at the Sketch "Gallery" restaurant in Mayfair. Frankly our mood was so good that no problems with the food, drink, surroundings or service could have spoiled it. However, to round off one of the best days of my life, the meal was very good indeed. The interior of the restaurant is splendid.

Your blogger is cheerily tipsy on alcohol of the finest quality. Britiain's economic misery and rampant political corruption cannot dampen his spirits. Mrs P. is weary and needs her rest now, but I am going to enjoy Question Time. I hope the audience managed to smuggle in the requisite rotten fruit. Tomorrow we drive North from London and at the weekend I shall head back to Moscow, my annual holiday spent in and around hospitals, but more cheerful than for a long time. I apologise for the off-topic rambling, but you may need to discount my comments here to allow for an unusually sunny outlook for some time!

Of Lyon, her most famous son and of excellence in general

  Link: en - Site Officiel de la Ville de Lyon.

We have hurtled through Lyon on our previous trips to the Côte d'Azur but this year we decided to take a couple of days to look around. It's a beautiful city, straddling the rivers Saône and Rhône. It's the third largest in France with a population of 1.78 million. It is the culinary capital of France (and therefore the world) and home to her most famous living chef. This is a pioneer of Nouvelle Cuisine who has held his Michelin stars (currently three) for a staggering 42 consecutive years. Paul Bocuse's genius has - as he claims modestly on his menus - elevated chefs in general from "lackeys" to potential stars. It has also won him membership of the Legion d'honneur.

Last night, Mrs P. and I were lucky enough to dine at his home restaurant, l'Auberge du Pont de Collonges. At the suggestion of our hotel's manager, we hired a motor yacht for an hour to take us there down the Saône. This was a brilliant idea as we had a splendid view of the city en route, and also arrived much cooler than we would in a taxi. The picture of Bocuse with "our" yacht at his pier is from the yacht company's website - the others (click to enlarge) are my own from yesterday.

Mâitre Bocuse's art did not disappoint. Of course, at 82, he is as constrained as an old rocker who must play his hits or disappoint his fans. For a creative genius who won his fame by innovation, it must be hard to cater to those who want to experience the dishes they have read about (and who then must often, as we did, notice that what was revolutionary in 1975 is a little passé now). We were surprised to see many Japanese guests an learned that this was because Bocuse introduced French gastronomy to that country in partnership with his late friend, a renowned Japanese chef.

It was a great experience and as we worked our way chattily through the menu de dégustation in the charming surroundings of L'Auberge - sipping at a delicious Puligny Montrachet - we were quietly conscious of how lucky we are to experience the best of this life. At such moments it is my habit to raise my glass silently to the many ordinary young people, just like Mrs P. and I were, who - thanks to Labour's systematic destruction of British education system - will never have the chance to appreciate the good life, or even to know it is there.

It is a scandal that today's Britons are not more, but less, socially-mobile than they were in our day (when mobility was declining from its peak in the grammar school era). It is a scandal that Mrs Thatcher's Cabinet was more classless than Gordon Brown's. It is a scandal that so many will live their lives unfulfilled, with a vague sense that "there must be something more." There is, guys, there is. The squalid life of the Labour heartlands is not, by any means, "it". Out there, if you will lift your eyes, there is beauty, truth and excellence in all fields of endeavour - whether literature, science, engineering or gastronomy. Paul Bocuse is a rich man who has lived a charmed life, but to the French he is a source of pride. They are right to feel that way. Whether you strive for it yourself, or learn to appreciate it in others, excellence is not to be despised, but embraced. Every man's achievement takes humanity forward and should be a source of pride, not envy, for us all.

3rd Anniversary "celebration"

Link: Moulin de Mougins.

I have just realised that I shall be dining at one of the great restaurants of France on my blog's third anniversary next week. The creations of mâitre-chef Alain Llorca, worthy successor to the legendary Roger Vergé, should make for a suitable celebration.

Sadly I shall be in the company of clients and colleagues who know nothing of "Tom Paine" of the Last Ditch. Nonetheless, I shall raise a glass of Armagnac in a silent toast to my respected readers.

Raedwald on Wine

Link: Raedwald.

The prigs at Alcohol Concern believe (like so many other Statist swine) that they know better than us how to bring up our children. Both my daughters were introduced gradually to alcohol from a young age in the French manner, with a view to their learning to appreciate quality wine in joyful moderation. Understandably, Alcohol Concern's demand to criminalise such an approach, has brought Devil's Kitchen into full, fine, fulminating, foul-mouthed form:

Personally, I shall be sending a letter to Alcohol Concern, expressing my concern at their authoritarian tendencies. Oh, and I'll probably call them a pack of ***** as well.

By comparison, Raedwald - the most articulate boat on the internet (and normally no slouch at invective) - comes over all lyrical on the subject:

When I think back on all the good things in my life - all those brief little scenarios of joy and pleasure, the warm laughter of friends, the passion of lovers, the sudden stunning realisations that you are gazing at a scene of true beauty, the closeness of companions who have shared past danger - always in the scene somewhere is alcohol. The old French vintner who declared "A day without wine is like a day without Sunshine" had it spot on.

Please go read the whole delightful thing. Then bookmark one of the best sites around; my blog of the week.