Executive Privilege, Pizza and Beer

I intuitively abhor the Bush-Cheney agenda of unlimited expansion of presidential power, not because I am a tree-hugging pinko commie, but because the balance of powers is a pillar of our democracy. If that's compromised, what's left? Is it also not true, however, that decision making by committee is the most inefficient and ineffective way to make decisions? And what is the US Congress, if not the most extreme expression of just such a form of decision making? So should I not therefore cheer any movement towards curtailing the insanity that is the US Congress's day to day operations, with its oversight hearings, filibustering and back-room dealing? No, of course not -- it all gets back to Winston Churchill in the end.

All this was discussed with C.S. last night over some beer and pizza at Rustico. He pointed out that the extreme form of decision making by committee practiced by the US Congress actually causes some decisions not to be made, and some laws not to be passed, thus helping our entire system to be less unwieldy than it otherwise might, or at least helping it grow more unwieldy at a slightly slower rate. Perhaps.

The beer raised fewer questions -- it was Rustico's bi-monthly glass giveaway, a double feature this time -- Otter Creek and Wolaver's, which have apparently merged. Wolaver's brought a Farmhouse Ale as well as a pale ale supposedly on cask (we didn't try it). Otter Creek had something they called an Australian-style Sparkling Ale, an Oktoberfest and, I think, a brown ale that we didn't try. Of the ones we tried, the Farmhouse was probably the best of the bunch -- fairly funky and barnyard-y, it interpreted its name literally. I expected something along the lines of the Smuttynose Farmhouse (warning: serious beer geek info) which is a Belgian saison-style beer, but this was all good old American micro -- hoppy and dry. Still, distinctive and enjoyable. The Oktoberfest was good as well -- a bit lighter in color and less malty than a typical German Oktoberfest, but definitely a well-crafted brew. Mysteriously, it showed up somewhat warm and flat, English-style. I didn't order the Australian-style stuff (unfortunate name -- I instantly though of the Foster's oil can), but C.S. did, and I tasted a bit. A noble effort, but not my style -- dry, but not particularly hoppy. Kind of creamy and smooth on the palate. And it didn't strike me as any more sparkling than anything else.

The pizza, for once, was almost a complete miss. The combination of ingredients was worthy of California in the early days of Wolfgang Puck: duck confit, cracklins and brie, and in retrospect, there is a good reason why this sort of "experimentation for its own sake" cuisine didn't last. But this is C.S. we're talking about, and if I didn't try this with him, I certainly wouldn't with anyone else. So we ordered it. What showed up was a thick layer of uniform off-white cheese, already rubberizing in the now-cool evening air, sprinkled with an equally uniform layer of crispy brown crumbs. Which was the confit and which were the cracklins,
there was no telling, either by color, texture or flavor. Perhaps a blender was involved. The real offender, however, was the brie -- apparently the kitchen melted it complete, with rind, and while there are very few foods that I truly dislike, brie rind is one of them. The pizza tasted musty and off-putting. Thank goodness for the abundant beer.