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Theater Food
Dreams
and Decay It's been said that it's never too late to follow your dreams. But, what happens if the dreams are completely at odds with the reality of your life? That is the conundrum facing Artie Shaughnessy, the central character of John Guare's critically acclaimed "tragi-drama" The House of Blue Leaves, the second production in VLT's "Hollywood Connection" series.
Using Pope Paul VI's October 1965 historic visit to New York City as a backdrop, the action takes place in a cold apartment in Sunnyside, Queens, where Artie, a middle-aged zookeeper, lives with his suicidal housewife, Bananas (who thinks she's a dog and once attempted to slit her wrists with a spoon). Defeated and dissatisfied with his life and dreaming of fame and escape, Artie spends his evenings performing his sad repertoire of neither good nor original songs on amateur night at the El Dorado Bar & Grill. He has also taken a mistress, Bunny Flingus, whom he met in a steam bath and who also happens to live downstairs. The dizzyingly ruthless and ambitious Bunny goads Artie to pursue a contemptible plan to have Bananas institutionalized so that they can run off to Hollywood together and peddle Artie's songs to Billy Einhorn, a childhood friend turned Hollywood producer. But despite his callous attitude toward his wife in the presence of his mistress, Artie is a man clearly torn. While Bananas endlessly spins in and out of reality, there are times still when Artie yearns for the once sane woman that he married. Meanwhile, Artie's drafted son, Ronnie has some issues as well. He's gone AWOL from Fort Dix and is hiding out in his former bedroom hatching a deranged plot of his own — to blow up the Pope. Things quickly spiral out of control when Billy Einhorn's fiancé, a deaf Hollywood starlet shows up, followed by three beer-guzzling nuns, an MP searching for Ronnie, and a white-coated attendant from the asylum. In the end, Artie's hope of escape is literally blown to pieces, leaving him alone to face the reality of his shattered dreams. Combining farce with high drama is no easy task, but director Karen Scheeland has assembled a terrific cast for this challenging play. Chris Hansen successfully conveys Artie's erratic shifts between self-confidence and self-loathing and his intense disdain, sadness, and anger toward his wife; although at the beginning of the play it was somewhat difficult to understand what he was saying because of his rapid delivery. But, as the play progressed, he seemed to slow down and grow more comfortable in the role; and his solo monologues to the audience were both candid and compelling. Emily Gilbert deserves high praise as Artie's cartoonish and over-ambitious muse, Bunny Fingus. Kim Donahey is a standout as the mentally challenged Bananas. Donahey, who played a similar role in Lord Leebrick's production of Escape From Happiness, has a real flare for playing slightly deranged characters. With her natty bathrobe, droopy socks, and hair akimbo, Donahey enthralls a sympathetic audience. Another Escape from Happiness alumnus; Katie McClatchey, shines as the Little Nun, who breaks her habit. Nick Poublon, while not on stage long, makes every minute count in his very funny role as the volatile son, Ronnie. Maria Gerlinda Zink is pretty and pert as the young starlet Corrinna, and Mark D. Loigman puts in a tight performance as hip Hollywood producer, Billy Einhorn. Kudos to set designer J. Thibeau and crew for the fabulously detailed set. From the authentic looking radiators and outside pipes running up the walls to the barred windows and fire escape, the setting ideally conceptualizes the image of a run-down New York City apartment. Most impressive though, are the little touches — the conspicuous placement of religious icons on the walls, dishes stacked in the cupboards, and actual running water from the kitchen sink's tap. Posing more questions than it answers, The House of Blue Leaves is akin to an emotional roller coaster, inviting the audience along for a bumpy, unsettling, topsy-turvy ride. It continues through Jan. 25.
Vivir,
que son Dos Días If Hilda Ward Utreras were a coffee mug, she'd be filled to overflowing with unsweetened espresso. Sharp, liquid energy. Her colors would be bright — fuchsia, cobalt blue, terracotta — with veins of white running through. A crack or two would mar her otherwise solid shape, testament to 60 years of hard work and harsh beginnings. And she would be a mug of her own design. Because designing things — plates of food, restaurants, even her own life — is what Hilda is all about. And the more eclectic the things she brings together to create her designs, the better.
You notice it immediately upon stepping into her restaurant, Hilda's at Hilyard. Deep red walls, the color of pomegranate juice, are touched with the golden light of lamps. Rhythms from the southern parts of many continents — Cuban drums, Spanish guitar — play in the background. It's a world of Hilda's creation, a fascinating mixture of the comforting and the stimulating. The food is also an eclectic mix. At Hilda's Latin American Restaurant, her previous venture, Eugeneans sampled flavors from port towns of the Southern seas: Bahia, Santiago de Chile, Veracruz. At her new restaurant, the Mediterranean has also come into play: Spanish tapas, or "little dishes," are offered alongside Latin American dishes at Hilda's at Hilyard. Their origins are humble. Tapas were originally plain slices of bread placed atop glasses of wine to keep out flies (tapa literally means "lid"). Over the centuries, hundreds of varieties of tapas have evolved, from the Spanish omelette (tortilla española) to the most elaborate concoctions. These days, an evening with a group of good friends, a bottle of wine, and a table covered with several varieties of tapas is all the entertainment many Spaniards need. Tapas are food as entertainment. They allow Hilda to mix colors, textures and spices from many continents. And — perhaps most important of all — they allow her to express the distinct flavors of her own personality. "Hilda is a table overflowing with tapas," says Mark Zolun, who started cooking and waiting tables for Hilda in 1999. "She has many, many aspects that individually look really disparate, with wild flavors that wouldn't come together until you start eating them at one time. And then they blend." Guiso If Hilda is a table overflowing with tapas, then her mother's simple Chilean guiso (stew) stands proudly at the center of that table. It was the root of all the tapas to come, and it clearly makes Hilda's mouth water to remember it. "My mom is a great cook. She's not a fancy cook, but everything she does tastes wonderful. She cuts garlic and puts in string beans and corn and it just makes this wonderful guiso," says Hilda. Hilda grew up, along with ten brothers and sisters, in a small house in southern Chile. It was a land of rolling green fields where poor families like Hilda's could aspire to small patches of land to grow vegetables if they worked hard enough. Anything beyond that would have been hard to imagine. In Chile in those days, being poor was considered a guaranteed ticket to continued poverty. And Hilda was painfully aware of how limited her options were. "Deep in my heart I felt like I had something to offer. But I didn't know what it was. And in Chile only the elite get to go to the university and study." Flautas de Pollo At the age of 20, Hilda met UO professor Dan Goldrich and his wife Hannah, who were spending three months in Santiago, Chile. "We had two kids and needed someone to help us," remembers Hannah Goldrich. Hilda was recommended to the Goldrichs as a nanny by "a friend of a friend" of Hilda's, who had been hired to pick Dan Goldrich up from the airport. "I liked Hilda from the very beginning," says Goldrich. "She was full of energy, full of life. She's had very little education, and she's as smart as anyone I've ever known. It was just good to be around her. The kids loved her and we loved her." The family also loved Hilda's cooking. Flautas de pollo — a Mexican dish of crisp tortilla "flutes" filled with spicy chicken — were the kids' favorite. When it came time for the Goldrichs to return to Eugene, they asked Hilda to go with them. She agreed, arriving in Eugene in 1965. Hilda continued to live with the Goldrichs, who are good friends to this day, for the first year of her time in Eugene. "They, for me, are the people that I could have never found in Chile. They saw in me at that time what I didn't know about myself. That's where the confidence came from," she says. Hilda got a job at the now-closed New World Coffee House soon after arriving in Eugene, and later moved on to the Excelsior, where she worked for 14 years. Though her cooking skills were excellent by that time, it was only upon meeting Ron Ward, who is now her husband, that she considered opening a restaurant of her own. "Ron said to me, 'Someday we should do this.' And when people tell you that for the first time you think that it's impossible," she says. Papas a la Huancaína Hilda's papas a la huancaína (potatoes in a feta cheese-ancho chile sauce) were one of the star dishes at her first restaurant, which opened 17 years ago. Hilda's Latin American Restaurant was "an instant success," says Hilda, and papas a la huancaina, a dish several times more sophisticated than her mother's guiso, are emblematic of that time. Hilda was immensely grateful for her success. "There are only a few people in the world who have been able to follow their dreams, and I am one of them," she says. But it was also hard. "I didn't know how to deal with success," she says. "Coming from where I came from, it was a struggle for me. And I realized how people who get famous just flip out. Because at one point I felt like I could flip out. I felt suffocated." Once Hilda learned to deal with success, she was able to create a home for herself at the restaurant. That home lasted 16 years — until the day she closed Hilda's Latin American Restaurant in 2001, with plans to retire. Though she enjoyed her free time during what turned out to be a very short period of "retirement," Hilda almost immediately noticed that something was lacking. "One of the things I missed the most when I was closed was that sense of home," says Hilda. "The restaurant gives me a lot: The people coming to me, the love." Apparently the feeling was mutual. During her attempt at retirement, Hilda was frequently stopped on the street by customers who missed her and her restaurant. Nipping retirement in the bud and returning to what she loves most — entertaining — she opened Hilda's at Hilyard just over a year after closing her first restaurant. Vivir, que son Dos Días "Vivir, que son dos días," goes an old Spanish saying. Live life, for it is short. To see Hilda at her new restaurant is a lesson in living life. A row of silver bracelets jangling on her left wrist, dark hair pulled back from her face, Hilda moves in a calm sashay from table to table. She has a word for everyone, and her laugh, deep and unforgettable as mole sauce, punctuates each conversation. She is clearly enjoying every minute. Right now, Hilda transmits a peaceful earthiness. Yet back in the kitchen, word is that those bangles on her wrist are "to keep her weighted down so she doesn't just cyclone away. She's a ball of energy." In this, as in all things, Hilda is a mixture of many different worlds. One part guiso, one part flautas de pollo. One part papas a la huancaína. And one part sheer enjoyment of life.
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