3 best al fresco weekend dining spots at Marina Bay Sands for views & vibes
Weekends are all about unwinding and recharging before embarking on a new workweek. If soaking up some vitamin D, enjoying picturesque views, and breathing in fresh air sounds like your kind of vibe, The Shoppes at Marina Bay Sands has a lineup of al fresco dining spots perfect for a laid-back day out.
Whether you're bringing family, friends, your significant other, or even your four-legged companion, this is the perfect place to kick back and let the weekend roll by.
Craving a laid-back American brunch, planning a family-friendly feast for a big group, or looking to impress on a romantic date with oysters and champagne? We've got you covered! Read on as we dive into 3 must-try weekend dining spots at Marina Bay Sands.
Yardbird Southern Table & Bar transports the bold, comforting flavours of the American South right to Singapore's shores. And with a title like Best American Restaurant voted by Time Out Miami, get set for a delicious Southern indulgence!
Kicking things off with a strong presentation is the Chicken & Waffles (S$48++). It features 4 pieces of fried chicken stuffed in a quirky rooster-shaped basket, accompanied by 3 slabs of cheddar waffle, and chilled spiced watermelon cubes.
With its golden-brown, crispy skin and juicy, tender meat, each piece of fried chicken was pure finger-lickin' goodness — a one-way ticket to flavour heaven!
I love watermelon as a fruit, but spiced watermelon? That's a first! Each juicy cube had hints of minty basil, and the gentle heat that kicked in after a while was an unexpected twist.
Macaroni and cheese fans will swoon over the Lobster Mac & Cheese (S$79++). Served with an entire Boston lobster, the unctuous macaroni is slathered in a heavenly marriage of 5 artisanal cheeses — one of the best I've had!
The Crab Cake Benedict (S$30++) came in 2 stacks consisting of fried green tomatoes, crab cake, and a poached egg, with a crispy, long piece of grilled bacon on top.
I drizzled the rich Hollandaise sauce generously and then proceeded to obliterate the flawlessly poached egg with a little assistance from my fork and knife.
The chef behind this dish deserves an award. Who would've thought swapping the usual muffin bottom for breaded green tomato would make such a game-changing difference? Paired with the fresh, sweet crab cake, the oozy poached egg, and the other elements, each bite was pure bliss.
The Donut Tree (S$18++) arrived on an attention-grabbing bare jet-black tree, with 6 crispy, sun-kissed donuts in 3 varieties hanging like peculiar 'ornaments'.
The Oreo one was satisfying, while the pistachio had an earthy, addictively-chunky bite. But what really took the spotlight was the bacon-glazed donut, topped with crispy, salty bacon chunks and a sweet icing finish.
The Bourbon Bacon Chocolate Cake (S$28++) stood tall with 4 layers of rich chocolate sponge. The cake was infused with a light bourbon chocolate cream, crowned with crackling bacon and a drizzle of caramel. It was paired with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.
Once again, the savoury-sweet combo totally charmed me. Never in a million years would I have imagined chocolate, crispy bacon, and bourbon in a cake could taste that amazing!
To book yourselves a table to enjoy a Southern feast, click here.
Just over a year old, Maison Boulud is a romantic, French restaurant by celebrity chef, Daniel Boulud, that stretches over 2 levels The decor is glamourous and perfect for date night at the basement, while the first floor exudes a resort-like charm overlooking the Singapore waterfront.
Swing by with your other half or friends and indulge in the Brunch Set Menu (S$68++) — a fantastic choice if you're hankering for French brunch classics over the weekend.
It includes the Lobster Eggs Benedict, a beautifully crafted masterpiece so stunning that I almost couldn't bring myself to dig in. With luscious spinach, fresh lobster, luxurious poached egg, calamansi Hollandaise, and micro greens on top, it was an exceptional brunch food to revel in.
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For the Eggs Any Style, take your pick between sunny side-up and scrambled eggs, that comes complete with charred grilled farmers bread, Toulouse Sausage, haricot beans in tomato sauce, bacon, and creamy spinach.
The French Toast was a buttery, sweet respite from the two savoury dishes we had earlier. Its partners in crime? A vibrant berry compote and a tangy, airy yogurt espuma.
Of course, who wouldn't say yes to croissants? The Viennoiserie consists of a croissant and pain au chocolate, paired with classic butter and a duo of jams — enjoy them just the way you like!
What better way to kickstart your lovely brunch affair than to take advantage of their weekend Oysters & Bottomless Champagne promotion? The Set for one (S$98++) includes 2 hours of free-flow Duval-Leroy Champagne, half a dozen French oysters, and 3 kinds of tartare.
We tried the Set for two (S$196++), which has an extra 10g of N25 Caviar and 6 more oysters. We turned our attention to the centrepiece of the table, a 2-tier metal bowl display filled with ice. The bottom layer featured a dozen freshly-shucked oysters while the top showcased the opulent caviar with a trio of tartares.
Enjoy the briny pops of caviar that burst with divine oceanic essence. Have them on their own, pair them with blinis or potato chips, or alongside the crab, salmon, or tuna tartare.
Slurp on oysters imported from France such as fine de claire and speciale. Feast on them with some punchy shallot mignonette or the good ol' spritz of lemon.
To experience Maison Boulud's delightful French fare, click here.
Those words sound familiar, don't they? 'It's RAAAAAAW!' — famous from none other than Gordon Ramsay of Hell's Kitchen, the mastermind behind Bread Street Kitchen. This decade-old waterfront restaurant continues to charm diners with its industrial decor and signature checkerboard floor tiles.
You can also head outside with your family in tow as you relish in a variety of elevated yet comforting British European specialities.
Available only on Sundays, the BSK Roast (S$45) features 4 succulent slices of USDA prime striploin, Yorkshire pudding, roasted potatoes, carrots and seasonal vegetables.
The beef slices were a carnivore's dream — tender, rich in taste, and matched wonderfully with the velvety brown jus. Be sure to save some of that sauce to dunk the crispy, fluffy Yorkshire pudding.
Those seeking something healthy and authentically British can go for the Avocado Croast (S$28). A luscious blend of buttery guacamole and earthy mushy peas fill the flaky croissant, adorned with 2 perfectly jiggly poached eggs, peppery arugula, and parmesan shavings.
Nothing says 'weekend' quite like a generous slab of Lobster Roll (S$45). Experience the taste of the sea with succulent lobster chunks tossed in a zesty fennel and apple salad, all finished with a velvety Maria rose sauce.
Click here to book yourself a table at Bread Street Kitchen.
* This post is brought to you in partnership with Marina Bay Sands.
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Atlantic
2 hours ago
- Atlantic
How I Accidentally Inspired a Major Chinese Motion Picture
In December, a friend sent me the trailer for a new Chinese movie called Clash. It's a sports comedy about a ragtag group of Chinese men who start an American-football team in the southwestern city of Chongqing. With the help of a foreign coach, the Chongqing Dockers learn to block and tackle, build camaraderie, and face off in the league championship against the evil Shanghai team. Funny, I thought. In 2014, I wrote an article for The New Republic about a ragtag group of Chinese men who'd started an American football team in the southwestern city of Chongqing. With the help of a foreign coach, the Chongqing Dockers learned to block and tackle, built camaraderie, and—yes—faced off in the league championship against the evil Shanghai team. The Chinese studio behind Clash, iQIYI, is not the first to take an interest in the Dockers' story. My article, titled 'Year of the Pigskin,' was natural Hollywood bait: a tale of cross-cultural teamwork featuring a fish-out-of-water American protagonist, published at a moment when Hollywood and China were in full-on courtship and the future of U.S.-China relations looked bright. It didn't take much imagination to see Ryan Reynolds or Michael B. Jordan playing the coach—a former University of Michigan tight end who'd missed his shot at a pro career because of a shoulder injury—with Chinese stars filling the supporting roles. Sony bought the option to the article, as well as the coach's life rights. When that project fizzled a few years later, Paramount scooped up the rights but never made anything. Now a Chinese studio appeared to have simply lifted the idea. I texted Chris McLaurin, the former Dockers coach who now works at a fancy law firm in London. (Since my original article published, we have become good friends.) Should we say something? Should we sue? At the very least, one of us had to see the movie. Fortunately, it was premiering in February at the International Film Festival Rotterdam. I booked a flight to the Netherlands. The movie I saw, which came out in Chinese theaters last month, did not alleviate my concerns. But the film, along with the conversations I had with its producer and director, provided a glimpse into the cultural and political forces that led to Clash 's creation. Indeed, the trajectory of the IP itself—from the original article to the Hollywood screenplays to the final Chinese production—says a lot about how the relationship between the United States and China has evolved, or devolved, over the past decade. What began as a story about transcending cultural boundaries through sports has turned into a symbol of just how little China and the U.S. understand each other—and how little interest they have in trying. I went to China in 2011 because I had a vague sense that something important was happening there. I moved to Beijing, with funding from a Luce scholarship, and started looking for stories. They weren't hard to find. The years after the 2008 Beijing Olympics turned out to be a remarkable era of relative openness. Many international observers saw Xi Jinping's rise in 2012 as the beginning of a period of liberalization, the inevitable political outcome of the country's growing prosperity. For journalists, China was a playground and a gold mine at once. We could travel (mostly) freely and talk to (almost) anyone. Along with the wealth of narrative material came a sense of purpose: We felt as though we were writing the story of the New China—a country opening up to the rest of the world, trying on identities, experimenting with new ways of thinking and living. The story that captivated me most was that of the Chongqing Dockers. It was one of those article ideas that miraculously fall in your lap, and in retrospect feel like fate. I'd heard that McLaurin, another Luce Scholar, had started coaching a football team in Chongqing, so I flew down to visit him. The first practice I attended was barely controlled chaos: The team didn't have proper equipment, no one wanted to hit one another, and they kept taking cigarette breaks. 'It was like 'Little Giants,' except with adult Chinese men,' I wrote to my editor at The New Republic. He green-lighted the story, and I spent the next year following the team, as well as McLaurin's efforts to create a nationwide league. The movie analogy was fortuitous. Just before the article was published, Sony bought the IP rights, as well as the rights to McLaurin's life story. The project would be developed by Escape Artists, the production company co-founded by Steve Tisch, a co-owner of the New York Giants. Maybe the NFL, struggling to break into the Chinese market, would even get involved. The deal changed McLaurin's life. Sony flew him and his mom out to Los Angeles, where a limo picked them up at the airport. He met with Tisch and the other producers. They floated Chris Pratt for the role of the coach. One executive asked McLaurin if he'd considered acting. McLaurin also met with high-level executives at the NFL interested in helping establish American football in China. He'd been planning to apply to law school, but now he decided to stay in Chongqing and keep developing the league. In retrospect, the China-Hollywood love affair was at that point in its wildest throes. As the reporter Erich Schwartzel recounts in his 2022 book, Red Carpet: Hollywood, China, and the Global Battle for Cultural Supremacy, China spent the late 2000s and 2010s learning the craft of blockbusting by partnering with Hollywood filmmakers and executives. Hollywood studios, meanwhile, got access to the growing market of Chinese moviegoers. (In 2012, then–Vice President Joe Biden negotiated an agreement to raise the quota of U.S. films allowed to screen in China.) It was, in effect, a classic technology transfer, much like General Motors setting up factories in China in exchange for teaching Chinese workers how to build cars. Erich Schwartzel: How China captured Hollywood With a potential audience of 1.4 billion, every U.S. studio was trying to make movies that would appeal to the Chinese market. This led to some ham-fisted creative choices. The filmmakers behind Iron Man 3 added a scene in which a Chinese doctor saves Tony Stark's life, though it wasn't included in the U.S. cut. The Chinese release of Rian Johnson's time-travel thriller, Looper, contained a gratuitous sequence in which Bruce Willis and Xu Qing gallivant around Shanghai. In the same film, Jeff Daniels's character tells Joseph Gordon-Levitt's, 'I'm from the future—you should go to China.' The threat of being denied a Chinese release also resulted in countless acts of self-censorship by Hollywood studios. Sony changed the villains of its Red Dawn remake from Chinese to North Korean in postproduction, and removed a scene showing the destruction of the Great Wall of China from the Adam Sandler film Pixels. In this environment, Hollywood put a premium on stories that could appeal equally to American and Chinese audiences. That usually meant going as broad as possible and leaning away from cultural specifics, as in the Transformers and Marvel movies. But in theory, another, more difficult path existed, the Hollywood equivalent of the Northwest Passage: a movie that incorporated Chinese and American cultures equally. This could be a breakthrough not only in the box office but also in storytelling. It could even map a future for the two countries, offering proof that we have more in common than we might think. The producers at Sony apparently hoped that a 'Year of the Pigskin' adaptation could pull off that trick. 'The movie we want to develop is JERRY MAGUIRE meets THE BAD NEWS BEARS set in China,' Tisch wrote in an email to Sony's then-chairman and CEO, Michael Lynton. 'This is the perfect movie to film in China.' But there was a puzzle built into the project. 'The struggle for me was trying to figure out who the movie was for,' Ian Helfer, who was hired to write the screenplay, told me recently. His task was to create a comedy that would be a vehicle for a big American star while appealing to Chinese audiences. But nobody in Hollywood really knew what Chinese audiences wanted, aside from tentpole action movies. They seemed happy to watch Tom Cruise save the world, but would they pay to see Chris Pratt teach them how to play an obscure foreign sport? Helfer's vision mostly tracked the original article: An American former college-football star goes to China and teaches the locals to play football. Everyone learns some important lessons about teamwork, brotherhood, and cultural differences along the way. He turned in a draft and hoped for the best. Most Hollywood projects die in development, and the autopsy is rarely conclusive. Exactly why the Sony project fizzled is not clear. Helfer said he'd heard that Sony's China office had objected to the project because it didn't feature a Chinese protagonist. Whatever the reason, when the 'Pigskin' option came up for renewal in 2017, Sony passed. By then, the China-Hollywood wave was cresting. The Zhang Yimou–directed co-production The Great Wall, released in 2017 and starring Matt Damon, flopped in the United States. That same year, the agreement that had raised the quota of U.S. films in China expired. Xi Jinping, who was turning out not to be the liberal reformer many Westerners had hoped for, railed against foreign cultural influence and encouraged homegrown art. His plan worked: Although China had depended on the U.S. for both entertainment and training earlier in the decade, it was now producing its own big-budget triumphs. In 2017, the jingoistic action flick Wolf Warrior 2 broke Chinese box-office records and ushered in a new era of nationalist blockbusters. At the same time, however, U.S. box-office revenues had plateaued, making the Chinese market even more important for Hollywood profits. After Sony declined to renew, Paramount optioned the rights to 'Year of the Pigskin,' and the development gears ground back into motion. This time, there was apparent interest from John Cena, who was in the midst of a full-on pivot to China, which included studying Mandarin. (He hadn't yet torpedoed his career there by referring to Taiwan as a 'country' in an interview, after which he apologized profusely in a much-mocked video.) The Paramount version of 'Pigskin' died when the studio discovered belatedly that football wasn't big in China, according to Toby Jaffe, the producer who'd arranged the deal. 'They realized that it wasn't well-suited for the Chinese market,' he told me recently. 'So the reason they bought it for maybe wasn't the most logical analysis.' The option expired once again in 2019. The coronavirus pandemic snuffed out whatever flame still burned in the China-Hollywood romance. McLaurin's China dreams were fading too. His hopes for a broad expansion of American football in China—he had started working for the NFL in Shanghai—seemed out of reach. He left China and went to law school. I figured we'd never hear about a 'Pigskin' adaptation again. When I met the Clash producer and screenwriter Wu Tao outside a hotel in Rotterdam in February, he greeted me with a hug. He told me he couldn't believe we were finally meeting after all these years, given how our lives were both intertwined with the Dockers. 'It's fate,' he said. Wu has spiky hair, a goatee, and an energy that belies his 51 years. He was wearing a bright-green sweater covered with black hearts with the words THANKYOUIDON'TCARE spelled backwards. We sat down at a coffee table in the hotel lobby alongside the director of Clash, Jiang Jiachen. Jiang was wearing computer-teacher glasses and a ribbed gray sweater. Wu, who'd produced and written the script for Clash, right away called out the elephant in the room with a joke. He had stolen one line from my article, he said with a chuckle—a character saying, 'Welcome to Chongqing'—but hadn't paid me for the IP. (This line does not actually appear in the article.) 'Next time,' I said. Wu said he'd been working as a producer at the Chinese media giant Wanda in Beijing when, in 2018, he came across an old article in the Chinese magazine Sanlian Lifeweek about the Dockers. He'd already produced a couple of modest hits, including the superhero satire Jian Bing Man, but he wanted to write his own feature. He was immediately taken with the Dockers' story, and a few days later, he flew to Chongqing to meet the players. They mentioned that Paramount was already working on a movie about the team, but Wu told them that an American filmmaker wouldn't do their story justice. 'In the end, Hollywood cares about the Chinese market,' Wu told me. 'They don't understand China's culture and its people.' He paid a handful of the players about $2,750 each for their life rights, and bought the rights to the team's name for about $16,500. Wu also met up with McLaurin in Shanghai, but they didn't ultimately sign an agreement. 'I understood that, in his head, this was his movie,' Wu said. But Wu had his own vision. Shirley Li: How Hollywood sold out to China Wu got to work writing a script. By 2022, he'd persuaded iQIYI to make the movie and gotten his script past the government censorship bureau with minimal changes. In summer 2023, they began shooting in Chongqing. Wu told me that he'd set out to tell the Dockers' story from a Chinese perspective. 'It's easy to imagine the Hollywood version, like Lawrence of Arabia,' he said. 'A white Westerner saves a group of uncivilized Chinese people.' Even if he'd wanted to tell that kind of story, Wu knew it wouldn't fly in the domestic market. 'We're not even talking about politics; that's just reality,' Wu said. Jiang added, 'It's a postcolonial context.' This argument made sense to me in theory, but I was curious to see what it meant in practice. That evening, I sat in a packed theater and took in the film. Clash opens with a flashback of Yonggan, the hero, running away from a bully as a kid—behavior that gets him mocked as a coward. (His name translates to 'brave.') It then cuts to adult Yonggan, who works as a deliveryman for his family's tofu shop, sprinting and careening his scooter through Chongqing's windy roads, bridges, and back alleys. When Yonggan gets an urgent delivery order from an athletic field where a football team happens to be practicing, the team captain watches in awe as Yonggan sprints down the sideline, takeout bag in hand, faster than the football players. He gets recruited on the spot. Although Clash has the same basic framing as the American film treatments—an underdog team struggling against the odds—the details are original, and telling. Instead of focusing on the coach, the story centers on Yonggan and his teammates, each of whom is dealing with his own middle-class problems: Yonggan's father wants him to give up his football dreams and work at the tofu shop; the war veteran Rock struggles to connect with his daughter; the model office-worker Wang Peixun can't satisfy his wife. The coach, meanwhile, is not an American former college-football star, but rather a Mexican former water boy named Sanchez. He wanted to play in the NFL, he tells the players, but in the U.S., they let Mexicans have only subordinate jobs. The sole American character is, naturally, the captain of the evil Shanghai team. Notably, there's no mention of 'American football' at all; they simply call the sport 'football,' which in Mandarin is the same as the word for 'rugby.' As for the tone, it's hyperlocal in a way that feels authentic to the material. Characters trade quips in rat-a-tat Chongqing dialect. Jokes and references are not overexplained. The film has a catchy hip-hop soundtrack featuring local artists. It also embraces tropes of Chinese comedy that might feel cringey to American audiences: abrupt tonal shifts, fourth-wall breaks, and flashes of the surreal, including an impromptu musical number and a surprisingly moving moment of fantasy at the end. (There are also the predictable gay-panic jokes.) I had been dreading a lazy rip-off, but this felt like its own thing. To my surprise, the audience—which was primarily European, not Chinese—loved it. At both screenings I attended, it got big cheers. When festival attendees voted on their favorite films, Clash ranked 37th out of 188 titles. (The Brutalist came in 50th.) After watching the film, my griping about the IP rights felt petty. Sure, Wu had blatantly lifted the premise of my article. (I looked up the Chinese article that Wu claimed first inspired him and saw that it explicitly mentioned my New Republic article, and the Sony movie deal, in the first paragraph.) But he'd done something original with it. It occurred to me that even if Wu had taken the story and reframed it to please a domestic audience, I was arguably guilty of the same crime. Just like Wu, I had been writing for a market, namely the American magazine reader of 2014. American narratives about China tend to be simplistic and self-serving. During the Cold War, China was foreign and scary. In the 1980s, as it began to reform its economy, American reporters focused on the green shoots of capitalism and the budding pro-democracy movement. In the post-Olympics glow of the 2010s, American readers were interested in stories about how the Chinese aren't all that different from us: See, they play football too! Or go on cruises, or follow motivational speakers, or do stand-up comedy. I was writing at a cultural and political moment when American audiences—and I myself—felt a self-satisfied comfort in the idea that China might follow in our footsteps. What Hollywood didn't realize is that Chinese viewers weren't interested in that kind of story—not then, and certainly not now. Part of me still wishes that a filmmaker had managed to tell the Dockers story in a way that emphasized international cooperation, especially now that our countries feel further apart than ever. But the liberal-fantasy version was probably never going to work. I'm glad someone made a version that does.
Atlantic
2 hours ago
- Atlantic
Paris Can Be Intimidating—But It Has Great Butter
This is an edition of The Atlantic Daily, a newsletter that guides you through the biggest stories of the day, helps you discover new ideas, and recommends the best in culture. Sign up for it here. The Innocents Abroad, Mark Twain's account of his international adventures, made him famous—and cemented the stereotype of the Ugly American. One hundred and fifty-eight years later, Caity Weaver followed him to Paris. Caity and I chatted about her hilarious recounting of her trip in The Atlantic, why Paris can feel so intimidating, and the only food she ate there that she actually liked. Isabel Fattal: If you could go back in time and travel to Paris with Mark Twain, would you? Caity Weaver: Could I be assured of a safe return? Isabel: Yes, for imagination's sake. Caity: Absolutely. I would go anywhere with him. One of the things I was struck by when I reread this book before my trip was how unbelievably funny it is. Of course I knew that Mark Twain was 'a humorist,' but there were sections where I was laughing out loud. I think a lot of times when people think of old books, they get an idea in their head of a book that's really stuffy or boring. But this was cracklingly interesting. As a reader, it's rewarding to come across prose like that. As a writer, it's extremely irritating and intimidating. This man was funnier than I'll ever be, and he did it in 1869. Isabel: Do you have a favorite line or passage from the book? Caity: There was a section where he wrote about what he calls 'the Old Travelers'—well-traveled know-it-alls you sometimes encounter abroad: 'They will not let you know anything. They sneer at your most inoffensive suggestions; they laugh unfeelingly at your treasured dreams of foreign lands; they brand the statements of your traveled aunts and uncles as the stupidest absurdities.' Isabel: If you could ask Twain one question about his trip, what would it be? Caity: I would say: 'Sam, Mr. Clemens, did you go to the Louvre? Did you set foot inside the Louvre, really?' I can't prove that he didn't, but I strongly suspect that he didn't. And I feel like he would tell me. Can't kid a kidder. Isabel: You write in your story about the possibility that Twain was ashamed about not understanding the art at the Louvre. Does visiting Paris make a person feel like they need to have a certain level of cultural knowledge? Did you feel intimidated at any point? Caity: I feel like a completely idiotic, disorganized, disheveled crumb bum anywhere, but especially in Paris. It's like walking into a very fancy hotel lobby. Some people are going to be really comfortable there, and some people are going to think, Am I gonna be arrested for walking into this hotel lobby? Paris is so just-so. I find it to be an intimidating place. The combination of not really speaking the language and the city being so beautiful … I felt a little bit on edge there. Isabel: I have one bone to pick with you. I think you were eating wrong in Paris. You didn't eat anything yummy! Caity: I sure didn't. (Well, I had great ramen.) Isabel: What went wrong? Caity: I didn't eat anything I absolutely loved except the butter. I had a crêpe suzette—delicious, and thrilling to have a small fire caused in a restaurant at your behest. I had some croissants. I really was hoping to be able to write, 'Oh my God, I found the best croissant in the world,' and I just don't think I did. But the butter: unbelievably good. I took so many notes for myself trying to describe the color and the taste of the butter. [ Reads through her notes.] I suppose I am an Ugly American, because this is my description of butter: 'creamy; has a scent; smells almost like movie theater butter.' The color was such a rich, deep yellow, almost like how an egg yolk can sometimes tip over into orange. My notes say, 'So fatty and rich.' Next bullet point: 'like if the whole room were made out of pillows.' And then: 'Yes, I realize I am describing a padded cell.' But it was an ultimate richness, softness, like, Just let me roll around in a padded cell. That was how I felt eating this butter. I took dozens of photos in my hotel room trying to capture its exact hue, and failed to. I encountered another group of Americans in my hotel lobby who were trying to figure out a way to transport butter home in their luggage. I involved myself in their conversation, as Americans do: What if the hotel was willing to store it in a freezer, in an insulated lunch bag? We devoted quite a bit of time to solving this problem. Caity: Oh, no, I think they're probably enjoying that butter right now. I wanted to bring a bunch of dried sausage back to the U.S. And then, after I purchased it, I realized that I could get in trouble for flying with it. I ate so much saucisson in my hotel room so fast. I worried such a dense concentration of salt might cause my heart to shut down. I Googled something like: How much dried sausage too much. Here are three Sunday reads from The Atlantic: The Week Ahead Essay A High IQ Makes You an Outsider, Not a Genius By Helen Lewis Who has the highest IQ in history? One answer would be: a 10-year-old girl from Missouri. In 1956, according to lore, she took a version of the Stanford-Binet IQ test and recorded a mental age of 22 years and 10 months, equivalent to an IQ north of 220. (The minimum score needed to get into Mensa is 132 or 148, depending on the test, and the average IQ in the general population is 100.) Her result lay unnoticed for decades, until it turned up in The Guinness Book of World Records, which lauded her as having the highest childhood score ever. Her name, appropriately enough, was Marilyn vos Savant. And she was, by the most common yardstick, a genius. I've been thinking about which people attract the genius label for the past few years, because it's so clearly a political judgment. You can tell what a culture values by who it labels a genius—and also what it is prepared to tolerate. The Renaissance had its great artists. The Romantics lionized androgynous, tubercular poets. Today we are in thrall to tech innovators and brilliant jerks in Silicon Valley. Vos Savant hasn't made any scientific breakthroughs or created a masterpiece. She graduated 178th in her high-school class of 613, according to a 1989 profile in New York magazine. She married at 16, had two children by 19, became a stay-at-home mother, and was divorced in her 20s. She tried to study philosophy at Washington University in St. Louis, but did not graduate. More in Culture Catch Up on The Atlantic When Pete Hegseth's Pentagon tenure started going sideways The travel ban shows that Americans have grown numb. The Trump administration is spending $2 million to figure out whether DEI causes plane crashes. Photo Album Spend time with our photos of the week, which include images of monsoon flooding in India, Dragon Boat Festival races in China, a huge tomato fight in Colombia, and more.
San Francisco Chronicle
3 hours ago
- San Francisco Chronicle
How much has World Cup's global party been spoiled already by Trump's tantrums, threats?
Last month, when President Donald Trump was asked about growing tension between the United States and our 2026 World Cup co-hosts, Canada and Mexico, he said with a smile, 'Tensions are a good thing. It'll make it more exciting.' Apparently there is so much tension that it has become plural. Tensions. Hey, the more the merrier. The excitement has ramped up since Trump made that comment. Back then, the tensions involved just those three countries, and just the World Cup. Trump's recently announced travel ban on visitors from 19 countries has added more tensions/excitements. Now we can also tense up excitedly about the Olympics in Los Angeles in 2028 and even the Super Bowl in Santa Clara next year! Events like the Olympics and World Cup are world parties, and what we're doing is rearrange the schedule a bit. We're going to have the hangovers before the parties. Here's an interesting headline from Marca, Spain's daily sports newspaper: 'Trump, FIFA scandals spark movement planning to boycott 2026 World Cup.' Don't mind Spain. They're just cranky because of Trump's 20% tariffs on their exports of olive oil, auto parts and other goods. If only Spain would take a deep breath and remember that Trump's tariff policies change by the hour, so maybe better deals are ahead. Same with the new travel ban. Its effect on fans coming to America for the World Cup and the Olympics, and its implementation, are so vague and unknown that visitors from, say, Spain or Iraq might just have to get on the plane to America and hope for the best. American roulette: Maybe you come and go easily, maybe you accidentally wind up behind bars on Alcatraz. The Marca story says, 'As anger (at Trump and FIFA president Gianni Infantino) mounts, fan groups and some national associations are considering bold measures to demand change — including refusing to play or attend matches hosted in the U.S. unless FIFA addresses governance concerns and Trump's immigration policy is clarified.' Spain might not be the only whiny country. China doesn't seem thrilled with Trump's tariffs. Trump and Russia's Vladimir Putin are slow dancing one day, mud wrestling the next. Canada is steamed about Trump's tariffs and bluster over Canada becoming the 51st state. Will future Olympics and World Cup host countries slap reciprocal travel bans and restrictions on U.S. fans? The tariffs, the travel ban, the broken alliances, the global political and financial chaos, all cast a pall over America's place in global sports. The Super Bowl at Levi's Stadium in February, the World Cup games in California next summer and the L.A. Olympics in 2028 could all be negatively impacted by Trump, who threatens to withhold billions in federal funding, and to levy high fines, because of the state following its own rules to let a high school trans athlete compete in the CIF state track meet. As for the more distant future? The host of the 2038 World Cup likely will be chosen later this year. One actual scenario that has been given credibility is that FIFA could name another set of tri-hosts: New Zealand, Fiji and the U.S. Considering recent developments, what FIFA voter in his/her right mind would send Trump another World Cup? Why would tariff-squeezed New Zealand agree to join hands with America? Crazy stuff, but you have to admit, it's exciting. Tensions up the wazoo. Deeper thoughts and cheaper shots • Rick Carlisle is on his way to NBA sainthood, assuming the requirement is the performance of two miracles. His Pacers' win in the first game of the NBA Finals on Thursday night put Carlisle three wins away from his second miracle. Carlisle coached the Mavericks to a title in 2011 over the heavily favored, LeBron-led Miami Heat superteam, after the Heat took a 2-1 lead. That Mavericks title got Dirk Nowitzki and Jason Kidd their rings. Going into this season, the Pacers had the 15th best odds to win it all (per Basketball Reference). Just saying, maybe the guy's a good coach. • Still the worst idea in basketball since the invention of the Eurostep: The Commissioner's Cup in-season tournament. The WNBA one-ups the NBA by using a different ball for Cup games, a ball with alternating black and white panels instead of the regular fire orange and white. At least they didn't embed blinking lights in the seams. How about: Cut through the gimmicks and make each tournament game win count as 1½ wins? • Let's all thank Brock Purdy for signing that low-ish contract, quickly, thus sparing the San Francisco 49ers the ghastly task of sifting through the pile of discarded quarterbacks, and maybe plucking out Aaron Rodgers. The tinfoil-helmeted veteran agreed to sign with the Pittsburgh Steelers about two weeks after Purdy inked his deal, so it's possible Rodgers was the 49ers' Plan B. But Rodgers is only 41, so maybe he'll stick around the game long enough to get a third shot at a 49ers' job. • Commissioner Adam Silver is starting to talk about NBA expansion. He's not naming names, but others are, and Las Vegas is at the top of most lists. That puts more pressure on A's owner John Fisher to get his ballpark built ASAP, because MLB really wants to beat the NBA to Vegas. The A's say actual construction will begin this month. A's fans in Vegas must be heartened by the fact that the team isn't squandering all its winning luck in West Sacramento.
