By Bo Bun sur Grenoble

31/08/2024: It's a very small fast food restaurant with only 2 tables outside. The food is very good, the spring rolls cost €2.50 and are huge. We ordered two: pork with caramel, beef with 5 spices, 3 spring rolls, 3 spring rolls, all for €28 (and we had some for the next day). Missing a little smile from the waitress though ^^

18/08/2024: Rolls: very delicate, the mere pressure of the fingers exerted in order to trace an itinerary starting from the plate to reach the mouth proves sufficient to ensure that these release liters of the re-frying oil of which they are sensationally full. Sautéed spaghetti: in defiance of the baroque opulence of Nouvelle cuisine, the chef surprises us with a minimalism of expertly chosen ingredients: literally tagliatelle with carrots and glutamate. Caramelized pork: oh well, meat in broth. The real note of excellence, however, concerns the diligence of the staff: non-existent. You couldn't imagine a couple more pissed off from work, practically than the revived Marx and Engels: the dishes rigorously already ready and displayed on the counter for I don't know how many days are heated in the microwave oven if necessary and slapped onto the plate by them total contempt for the vile journalistic veneer of that intrinsically liberal practice otherwise known as "plating". emblematic in this are the spaghetti, served in a round bowl still all piled up in a rectangular-shaped glue, a cast of the tray in which they were previously placed. How can we not read this as propaganda carried out with facts? The refusal of formal adherence to the ideology of the end of history. After all, doesn't the mass of spaghetti symbolize another "mass", namely the proletarian one? Doesn't the starchy compactness of these perhaps recall that unity and strength possible in the collective unveiling of class consciousness in Lukacsian memory? And finally, what can we say about these Bonnie and Clydes of socialism, who as soon as we have finished consuming our food firmly order us to clear the table ourselves? Here is the Zietgaist of the time: the subordinate classes, now intolerant of bosses' interference, are no longer willing to submit to any form of servility. Finally, a note of color inherent to the location: an anonymous little street in a good neighborhood, quite close to the center, of an insipid and gray city in Savoy. And yet, I witness it, right here, right today, between the chamber of commerce and a historically Italian restaurant, a man, in a time set aside in the secular liturgy of consumption for the aperitif of his own death, perhaps inspired by his proximity to the Vietnamese avant-garde , made those bureaucratic urban planners who were followers of Le Corbusier tremble, who so intensely dream of urban spaces that can be crossed without leaving a trace. And it is in this way, because of them, that today a man reminded us that it is with spontaneity that situations and revolutions take shape: autonomously, through parthenogenesis and poetry, escaping preconceptions and planning of any kind. And it is in this way that today a Napoleon who crowned himself his own emperor, in that ten minute interlude that we dedicated to our dinner, completely destroyed the glass of our car window in an inspired attempt at theft. Hope is bright and remains: have we witnessed the beginning of the end of this dying society? That one day the history books will talk about this August 17th in Grenoble as the epicenter of the revolution to come? When in doubt, run Maranza don't turn around, the new world is already behind you.