The perils of laziness
On Friday I wrote about a new Israeli publication called Eretz Acheret (A Different Country) and mistakenly added that it does not have a Web site. In fact, as a reader named Eyal kindly posted in the comments, it does. This is something I would have known if I'd taken the trouble to do a search on Google: Eretz Acheret is the first result. Embarrassing! I don't know why the site isn't listed on the contents page of the periodical, but there you are - it isn't. So go ahead and have a read - nine of the 15 articles from "A Letter to Europe" have been posted. If you like what you see, then I really recommend you take out a subscription - for this and the future editions that will be published every three months.

Good karma
The chef and part-owner of Pastis, the restaurant at which I ate dinner on Friday night, is also named Eyal. I discovered his Provencal fish soup and goat cheese salad almost as soon as I moved to Tel Aviv, but our friendship began about two years ago - over morning coffee at Gili's kiosk on the boulevard across from the restaurant. A few months ago Eyal asked for my help in translating his new menu into English, and later with some English-language correspondence. Since then I've stopped by the restaurant several times for coffee (or lately, herbal tea - sigh) and a chat during his down-time, or for a lunch-time salad eaten at the bar, but until this past Friday night I hadn't eaten dinner there for a long time 'cause I've been - er, cutting back on expenses (shall we say).
Friday night, however, my date wanted to treat me and he asked me to choose the restaurant.
We had a lovely meal - lightly fried calamari rings with with a homemade red-pepper flavoured mayonnaise for a starter, entrecote steak with pepper sauce (him), grilled perch on a bed of creamy mashed potatoes (me), a bottle of shiraz, Eyal's unmatched creme brulee for dessert and espresso to finish. But when we asked for the bill, the waitress told us, "Eyal said you don't get a bill."
My date was confused (I hadn't explained my connection with the chef), but recovered gracefully and left an enormous tip that no doubt made the waitress very happy indeed.

A compliment
Adi Nes called Saturday afternoon to thank me for the article I wrote about him (it was published on Friday). He said he'd received five phone calls about the piece on the day it appeared in the paper, and claimed that he didn't usually get so many responses, so quickly. I was really touched that he took the trouble to call - and that he asked for permission to post the article on his Web site.

I feel a little guilty about boasting (I'm Jewish, guilt comes with the territory; and I'm Canadian, so modesty is supposed to be part of my character) - but I also can't resist; it was so great to get nice feedback after all that work. Forgive me?