Le Poulet and Wong Kar Wai

Was listening to Itzhak Perlman noodling up and down show-off Paganini's 24 Caprices while preparing the bird for dinner. Big mistake. So distracted by the incongruity of Perlman's usual tone-colour, Auer-like vibrato and rubato struggling to impart warmth to what were basically violin exercises (think Dinu Lipatti trying to romanticise Hanon's exercises for keyboard), that completely forgot that I was trying out a new roasting technique on Mademoiselle Poulet.

Nevertheless the chicken dinner with button mushrooms, caramelised onions and gravy made from the roasting pan deglazed with half-drunk red wine went really well with the Wong Kar Wai-Su Lizhen marathon in Cantonese. Lost loves, missed chances, unrequited longing, destructive tenacity of memory, transciency of connection, failed synchronicity, inevitable isolation, postmodern urban alienation, beautiful mis-en-scene, sumptuous sets, lush cinematography, rich stylised framing, and vivid colours somehow needed the accompanying non-interference of simple honest food.