Word: andreae
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...STINKING ROSE ANDREA FRONCILLO The original Stinking Rose in San Francisco is renowned for its use of garlic, even in cocktails. This book presents simple but sublime recipes for pungent pastas, garlic-encrusted baby back ribs, creamy garlic-spinach fondue, chicken with 40 cloves of garlic and, right, pizzas. The faint of heart or palate, however, may want to skip the garlic ice cream...
...Miranda slowly recedes from the movie's gaze. It wants to concentrate on the politically (and. more important, demographically) correct Andrea. Its prime audience is young women in the early stages of their career facing hard choices - glam jobs vs. meaningful work, nice dull guys vs. gorgeous, morally slippery hunks - getting seriously tempted, but eventually choosing the right path. Worse, the screenwriter (Aline Brosh McKenna) and the director (David Frankel) decide to show us Miranda's human side. She hates her "dragon lady" reputation, feels guilty over her several divorces and is eventually reduced to telling Andrea that she doesn...
...decided to take a chance," Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep) muses aloud, "and hire the smart, fat girl." Said smart, fat girl, otherwise known as Andrea Sachs (Anne Hathaway), is, naturally, present to hear this rumination on the hiring practices of the haughty editor of the haute fashion magazine Runway. She has just made some forgivable beginner's mistake in her new job as Miranda's second assistant - the one who brings in the coffee and picks up the dry cleaning - and she is, incidentally, not fat by any standards other than those that pertain in the skin-and-bones world...
...Streep for letting Miranda's mask (white blonde mane, white-on-white makeup) slip from time to time - especially since she so quickly recovers from these shows of vulnerability; you have to wonder, in these moments, if they are part of a game she's playing, trying to seduce Andrea over to the dark side...
...everyone a little happier. This struck me as a pretty desperate rationalization. But then I glanced around the theater where I happened to be catching an early morning show of The Devil Wears Prada. It was full of large women in blue jeans who were not present to enjoy Andrea's moral triumph over the temptations of La Dolce Vita. They were there for the clothes, the bright chatter, the pretty people, the handsome arrangement of every shot in the picture. Who can blame them? I liked all that stuff myself. It is wonderful to see New York (or Paris...