Notes From All Over Feathers

dispatches NOTES FROM ALL OVER

Prague

Feather

Knows Best THE ONLY THING missing from the Old Town Square’s picture-perfect Christmas markets just before 8 p.m. on Czechs demonstrate the unbearable December 17 is a fl urry of white stuff drifting gently to lightness of goose down. the ground. That is about to change, however. ILLUSTRATIONS BY GRAHAM ROUMIEU Amid the throngs of tourists and locals perusing the stalls selling mulled wine and handicrafts below the square’s astronomical clock are several hundred people hiding feather pillows. And they aren’t planning on napping. Five minutes before the hour, a whistle sounds, and the square explodes into a massive pillow-fi ghting free-for-all. What astonished onlookers may not have realized is that they’d stumbled into a so-called “fl ash mob” event organized through Facebook. In its second successful year, the fi ght had seen nearly 3,000 sign up via the social networking site. The biting temperatures deterred all but the most dedicated, but the 60-second event still succeeded in taking over the square, however briefl y. Some pillow-toting bandits were so enthusiastic—and had come suffi ciently wellarmed—that the eiderdown continued to fl y half an hour later. “It’s a brilliant idea: You can beat so many people with pillows!” participant Zdenek Hrebejk told local reporters, as surprised passersby watched with amusement, many documenting the event on their cameras and phones. “It’s the most original concept possible.” As the mob dispersed, Old Town Square took on a lovely holiday appearance—providing no one looked too closely. “It’s a really nice atmosphere,” said student Blanka Havlickova. Of course, for the city workers left with the task of sweeping the square, the spectacle might have seemed somewhat less than magical. —FIONA GAZE

dispatches

Pleven, Bulgaria

SLOW FOOD “You cannot tell that there is a farm here,” says Krasimir Kostov, a top Bulgarian snail breeder, as he walks the length of his large free-range snail farm in the northern Bulgarian village of Pleven. “Snails do not moo.”

Like many of his countrymen, 45-year-old Kostov has no gastronomic interest in escargot—if you mention it he makes a face like he’s swallowed a lemon. But inquire about the economic prospects of his booming farm, and his expression instantly brightens. For him, and the rest of the snail breeders in this modest Balkan nation, the burgeoning escargot industry is all about maximum output. One nation’s critters are another’s gourmet treasure.

In 2009, Kostov exported upward of a half million of his Helix aspersa—one of three common edible species—to afi cionados throughout Western Europe. Some 300 new farms are reportedly set to open in Bulgaria in 2010, which is good news for the country (Bulgaria is the poorest nation in the European Union), and also for French and Italian snail lovers, who’ve developed a taste for the Bulgarian imports.

Bulgaria’s success is also good news for the snail population, which has been declining steadily for the past decade as other industries (most notably pharmaceuticals and cosmetics) have found uses for the mollusk meat. Despite a predilection for more unpretentious cuisine— think cabbage, pork and tripe soup—Bulgarians such as Kostov are happy as clams with their new partners in slime.

“I love the snail,” says Kostov. “It makes me money, and it never complains.”

—JORDAN HELLER

Parrot Cay, Turks & Caicos

Idol Chatter Just before dinner at the Lotus Restaurant bar, a cozy openair pagoda at the exquisite retreat on Parrot Cay, in Turks & Caicos, three thirtysomething doctors are discussing insurance coverage of MRIs versus CAT scans. Then a much older man with salty, matted gray hair, his tanned skin as beaten up and lined as an old saddle, enters, accompanied by a stunning blonde. The doctors stop talking. One whispers, “Is that Keith Richards?”

Indeed it is. The grizzled guitarist from the Rolling Stones is here with his wife of 27 years, Patti Hansen. This languorous and luxurious cay is Richards’ winter redoubt, and his villa shares beachfront with Christie Brinkley, Bruce Willis and Donna Karan. And he can be found at this bar on any given night chatting amiably over drinks with visitors.

“Oh, he’s very kind and very funny, and he thinks he’s a pirate,” says a resort employee recently arrived from Malaysia, who had never heard of him before she got to Parrot Cay. “I was at his villa and I heard him playing guitar and said to him, ‘You play guitar very beautifully, Mister Richards.’ He said thank you. As I later learned, evidently he is a very legendary musician.”

A few people mingle at the bar, and a friend fi nally arrives. “Hello, love,” Richards says, digging into a hamburger (no bun). The topic of late-night TV comes up. Jay and Conan both have their supporters.

“Now I really liked Johnny,” Hansen says. “Yeah. ‘Heeeeere’s Johnny!’” Richards rasps. “That guy was fl ash. Real class.”—MIKE GUY

dispatches

Stilton, England

CHEESE WHIZ The village of Stilton, in the English countryside, is in a pickle. Though an aromatic British cheese bears the town’s name, a recent European Union ruling determined it can be made only in Derbyshire, Leicestershire and Nottinghamshire—and not in Stilton. Stiltonians, unsurprisingly, think the rule stinks.

The Stilton Cheesemakers Association (SCA)—which is not associated with the village—claims the cheese is named for the town where it was fi rst sold to the public. Richard Landy, a historian and potter who specializes in cheese ceramics, disagrees. “Many objective people have been skeptical about the cheese originating in Leicestershire, as the SCA claims,” says Landy, “because they would not have dragged their cheese over 30 miles of bad roads to Stilton just to sell it. And even if they did, why call it Stilton?” Landy spent 400 hours in libraries and research offi ces and online studying the cheese’s history, and he discovered that Stilton was, in fact, made in Stilton in the 17th century.

Landy’s bombshell rocked the town, which already hosts a “cheese-rolling” championship, a port and cheese festival and various other cheese-based events. “The whole village is excited that we no longer have to put up with caustic comments from the places that currently make the cheese,” says Olive Main, chair of the Stilton Parish Council.

Though the SCA now mentions Landy’s research on its website, the law remains. Pending a new petition of the EU by the association, Stilton still can’t be made in Stilton.

—JEANETTE HURT

Chicago “Every time I’ve done something serious, I’ve gotten laughs,” says funnyman Fred Funny People Willard, strolling the red carpet during the 50th anniversary of famed Chicago comedy cabaret Second City. “So why not try to be funny?” Being funny comes naturally to Willard, as it does to the scores of alumni here to perform classic scenes for a couple hundred lucky ticket holders during a onenight-only show. But the man who ad-libbed his way through movies such as Best in Show and A Mighty Wind is still nervous about returning to the hallowed ground where improvisation-based sketch comedy was essentially invented.

“It’s like walking a tightrope,” Willard says of the freewheeling improv method that’s turned Second City into a de facto farm team for Saturday Night Live (alums include Bill Murray, Chris Farley and Tina Fey). “If you make it across, you’re wonderful. But if you get out there and the wind blows, people will say, ‘He used to be so good.’”

Throughout the weekend festival—which features panels, performances and fi lm screenings, the small Second City theater complex is brimming with boldface-name comedians. There’s ’60s icon David Steinberg lingering in the alumni lounge near a buffet of chilled seafood. And Steve Carell, star of The Offi ce, wearing a puffy ski jacket and kibitzing with talk show host Bonnie Hunt.

The warm and nostalgic mood is not unlike that of a college homecoming—that is, if a single university graduated the funniest people on the planet. Indeed, there’s a reason Second City is called “the Harvard of Comedy.”

Kicking back in the cramped lobby less than an hour before show time, Harold Ramis—the actor/writer/director responsible for such landmark laugh-fests as Stripes and Groundhog Day—appears relaxed. If he’s worried about fi ve decades’ worth of yuk-artists shaking off the dust onstage, he isn’t showing it.

“It’s not without any fear,” says Ramis. “But these are people who are not stopped by their fear. That’s what defi nes the successful Second City actor. Everyone’s afraid to improvise. But we do it

Sail

the Dream

Greece is all about sea…an aquatic heaven, full of life…Bounding the mainland from side to side, Greek seas create an amalgamation of images…interchanging with each other…completing one another…fostering absolute harmony and sheer beauty…

“Bon voyage our fellow sailor, but most importantly Godspeed! ” USEFUL INFORMATION

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