The redemption of Nixon

There are many reasons to admire America, and also a few reasons to disapprove. On the plus side there is free speech, the right to protect oneself, a relatively dynamic economy and 198 versions of beef jerky. On the downside, an inconsistent attitude to turning right at lights, too much fructose and the possibility of a civil war on the way. However, on a recent long trip up the American West Coast, from palm to pine, I came away realizing that America has one great advantage over Europeans: a serious understanding of the concept of eating at bars in restaurants. By which I don’t mean nibbling nuts and necking a cocktail while waiting for a table. I mean actual eating, of a proper meal, while seated on a barstool.

Comb through Jeffrey Epstein’s emails and you find frequent correspondence with his private chef Francis Derby about “beef jerky.” Online sleuths have speculated that it is a code word for something more sinister. We know Epstein was a sexual predator, but what if he literally preyed on human flesh? After all, Derby cooked at a restaurant called the Cannibal. Make of that what you will. I can’t quite bring myself to believe Epstein was devouring the teenagers he trafficked, but he did seem to have the eating habits of one. He was picky, entitled and equally fond of fad diets and junk food. He substituted Sweet’N Low for sugar in his morning coffee, while eating takeout pasta from Caravaggio and burgers from J.G. Melon for dinner.