Count Eugène de Panthémont of Belgium discusses art and food, and women

Raising my glass, I looked across the table and grinned: “Welcome back! Here’s to another adventure with Count Eugène de Panthémont!

The Count winced. “You Americans don’t know the first thing about pronunciation.”

We were sitting at the back of RA Sushi at Del Amo Mall in Torrance. They’d recently added some menu items and wanted the Count’s opinion. The manager, Tracy Cruz, was kind enough to see to our every need.

“Well, not every need,” said the Count with a sly wink. I picked up my drink, sipped it a little more, and thought back to earlier in the evening.

A grand entrance

The limousine had rolled to a stop in front of PS Zask Gallery in Rancho Palos Verdes. “Craft is a Verb” was having its opening reception. The curator, Tracey Weiss, a ceramicist of note who lives in Redondo Beach, had rounded up some thought-provoking work, all of it in ceramic. It featured area artists Tetsuji Aono, Randall Bruce, Janet Neuwalder, Steve Portigal, Molly Schulps, and Jenchi Wu. The Count, as you have probably read elsewhere, has one of the finest private art collections in the world. Before the night was through he’d buy everything on display for three million dollars.

As the Count walked up to the gallery entrance I noticed several women – old, young, single, married, widowed or divorced; these things don’t matter – who pulled out their compacts with their little mirrors and hastily applied makeup. Eugène de Panthémont has that effect, and if you put down this newspaper you’ll never find out why.

A few months ago, when he was in town from Brussels on one of his business trips, we’d had a few margaritas at Mucho Ultima Mexicana in Manhattan Beach. He’d sighed, in his jaded, world-weary manner, and said: “Women are like ships. They take you to destinations you never dreamed of.” And here he was, inside of an art gallery but also in the middle of a harbor, with all those ports of call girls edging closer to him, hanging on his every word as he carefully examined each piece of sculpture.

His attention riveted by the work of Steve Portigal, the Count pulled up a chair to have a conversation with it. “When we are quiet inside,” he said, “things come to tell us of themselves.” Nobody knew what he meant, but suddenly you could hear a pin drop. The women gathered around him as if magnetized. I thought to myself: Who’ll believe that this actually happened? It’s too bad no one has a camera.

“This world demands a sense of wonder,” the Count said, to no one in particular, “not a deep-seated cynicism. Everything in life should be seen as preparation for the understanding and enjoyment of art. We prepare ourselves for the encounter, because revelation and insight never bloom in an unreceptive, untilled field.”

And yet, it wasn’t so much what the Count said as how he looked at the art. How can I explain this? He undresses it with his dark, soulful eyes; he sees the way the hands of the artist approached and shaped the material. Somehow, the work speaks to him of its origins and discloses the heart of its mystery.

Each of the women noticed this, and I’m willing to bet that every one of them wished he’d have used his eyes on them the same way. The Count understands art, and the Count understands women. For reasons he’ll divulge later in the evening, women and art have always found their way to his door.

Food for thought

“We consider ourselves a Japanese fusion restaurant,” said Tracy Cruz, “but it’s not Japanese infused with American; it’s Japanese infused with Latin, Korean… we have a short rib which is more of a Korean-style beef…”

“That’s why we’re here,” said the Count, “to try your novelty items.”

RA Sushi recently introduced a few trendy cocktails and signature drinks to their menu, and Cruz raved about their latest martini, the Shiso Naughty ($8), which he claims is the most popular new drink outside of happy hour. It combines the flavors of pineapple vodka, yuzu, and the mint-like shiso. The Bangin’ Blueberry Mojito ($7) is made with rum, fresh mint, lime juice, and blueberry puree.

They are what they are, which is different. The Count stifled a yawn and said, “What I’d really like right now is an aperitif flavored with birdseed.”

“If you’d told me earlier,” I replied, “I would have stopped by Petsmart.”

For an appetizer, Cruz suggested the RA Chips & Salsa ($8.25), which made me wonder if we hadn’t stepped into El Torrito by mistake.

Our culinary guide was quick to explain: “We take a ceviche salsa, mix it with our spicy tuna, cilantro, jalapeno, avocado; we mix all that up and drizzle it with red and green peppers as well as our black pepper sauce. And then, instead of regular tortilla chips, we take our wontons, we fry those just as you would a tortilla chip – which actually makes them lighter – and stick them in there.” Voila! “It’s by far the most popular thing that the new menu has to offer.”

It became the centerpiece of our meal, something we went back to in between the conversation and the other items which were soon to make an appearance.

“What I’m interested in,” said the Count, “is how RA Sushi comes up with its new menu items.”

Personally, I was waiting for Cruz to leave us alone for a few minutes so I could ask the Count to share some of his secrets about the art of seduction, for which he was notorious. Compared to that, what did I care about some old cook slaving away behind a hot stove? But my friend, who’d noticed my impatience, beckoned for me to restrain myself. He was a man of great curiosity, a Richard Foss of the aristocracy, who wished to know as much about the world of gourmet cuisine as possible.

There are 25 RA Sushis around the country, Cruz was explaining, the original one having opened in Scottsdale back in 1997. Apparently, the company’s executive chef, Tai Obata, was among the founding fathers, so to speak, and he tweaks the menu once a year. Let’s say he’s worked up 15 new items. He’ll then pitch them to his colleagues and maybe 10 of those 15 will make the final cut.

Or, as Obata himself says, “While we have kept our guests’ favorite dishes on the menu, we have made room for some exciting new creations.”

Tai Obata then puts on his backpack and heads out to all 25 locations so that he can meet with their chefs and make sure that every one of them is properly trained. Later, when the new menu rolls out he goes back to ensure that everything’s being done properly, that the food is fresh and the presentation superb. That, at least, is how Cruz is describing it to the Count.

In the meantime, to advertise them, the new items are perhaps offered as specials, e-mails are sent out, and the servers talk them up. Before you know it, each new item has become an old friend.

As soon as Cruz excused himself to attend to some other business, I began pressing the Count to tell me how he meets and seduces the world’s most attractive women. “Look,” I said, holding out paper and pen, “I’m even taking notes.”

The Count shook his head no. “Perhaps instead of talking about how I attract women we should be talking about what it is in me that appeals to them. Why do you think they crowded around me at the art gallery?”

I frowned; this wasn’t exactly how I’d wanted the conversation to proceed.

I know that it wasn’t because of the family fortune – the Panthémonts have holdings in countries that even the United Nations isn’t aware of – but I decided to tease him nonetheless: “Is it because you’re a trillionaire? No, heavens no; girls wouldn’t give that a second thought, would they?” I paused. “After all, if you’ve got enough money, everything’s free – and what fun is that?”

“Money neither adds nor subtracts from a man’s true worth,” the Count replied with a yawn. “You can buy people with a few gold coins, everyone knows that, but money bites as much as money talks. That’s why kings of old would dress in pauper’s rags and mingle among their subjects in order to learn what the common people really thought of them. I think it’s called a reality check, and wealthy people should do this more often. Why? Because too much money is like too much champagne. It goes straight to the head, but most rich people don’t know when they’re tipsy. They think that, having expensive tastes, they have more wisdom or insight.”

The Count yawned again and remarked that the music was a little loud. “Did you know that in Belgium a sign of a man’s wealth is not the size of his home, but the size and quality of his gardens? There’s something about spending all day among the flowerbeds, trowel and clippers in hand, that can’t be explained. Sort of Zen-like, I imagine. And so, when I step into the world without the accoutrement of wealth, and yet still draw admiring glances, then I realize it’s not just my bank account but some sort of charisma and charm that I’m endowed with; don’t you agree?”

“Well, it wasn’t me who dated that Playboy centerfold.”

Perhaps sensing that an ordinary waitress just wouldn’t do, Cruz had assigned Katherine Caballero to our table. Caballero, who currently resides in Redondo Beach, had been a beauty queen overseas before immigrating to America. However, until this evening, she’d never been known to smile or to publicly show affection towards any member of the opposite sex. At first she was her usual gruff self, but that was before her eyes met the eyes of the Count.

Cruz explained that the older, Asian-American clientele tended to stick with traditional faire. However, he said, “The younger Asian population comes in, and they love the fusion.” They were, in fact, already taking to the Spicy Crispy Treats ($7) and the RA’llipop ($14.50), which Cruz had just ordered for us to try.

“My absolute favorite here, and it’s big with the younger Asian crowd, is the Gojira roll.”

Gojira is what the Japanese call Godzilla and baseball player Hideki Matsui, so one assumes it carries a big stick and has the impact of a flamethrower. Cruz describes what’s in it – spicy tuna, fresh shrimp, spicy mayo and sriracha, etc, and cream cheese – and then admits that it didn’t sound good to him (Cream cheese?! No way!) until he actually tried one. Now he’s a convert.

“I tell people,” Cruz says, “you’ll see something [on the specialty items list] that you’re going to think doesn’t go well together, but I promise you it does!”

Naturally, we tried this delicacy for ourselves. It’s not one of those foods that sears the palate, leaving you unable to appreciate anything else. Instead, there was the warm glow of spiciness. The Gojira roll runs $12 and the Count said he was pleased with the taste.

He then repeated that we wanted to try all of the fusion dishes, which I imagine is his approach to new girlfriends, but I’ll let him explain that for himself on another occasion.

Cruz tells us that while RA Sushi carries all of the traditional Japanese menu items, it’s their fusion offerings that sets them apart. And he doesn’t neglect the presentation, either. “I give Tai credit for playing with all this and for creating it. But then I give my chefs and my staff all the credit for having it come out looking beautiful every time.”

“Presentation,” the Count said, after Cruz excused himself for a few minutes, “that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Making an impression

Count Eugène de Panthémont surveyed our surroundings.

“In Japanese culture, the focus is on restraint and contemplation, with an emphasis on subtlety. The lighting here is perfect for dining, but for people of our generation the volume of the music is the one ingredient that overwhelms all of the others. That’s why, if you want to run into Michael York or Dustin Hoffman, as we have at the Getty, you have to take your meals elsewhere. But if we were still in our terrible twos or our turbulent twenties then perhaps we’d eat here every week.”

“So what do you mean by presentation?”

“Well, just as Tai Obata can prepare a tasty new dish, he’s fully aware that the customers’ eyes have to light up when it’s placed on the table in front of them. It’s the same thing when a man, like myself, of course, steps into a room. The first thing a woman notices is your stride: How we walk towards something says one thing about us, just as how we walk away from it says something else. With their feline instincts, they know right off the bat if a man is confident or a con artist, if he’s imposing or if he’s simply pushy.

“After that,” the Count continued, “they’ll dart a glance towards your face. It’ll be a quick glance, and the average man may not even notice it. But in that brief moment you’ll want them to perceive something that they’ll remember forever.”

“If you’re including American women in all this,” I said, “I fear that you may be giving them way too much credit.”

“Women are women,” the Count said, “at least in that regard. When I was younger, people often mistook me for Paul McCartney, so their glances perhaps lingered a little longer, but the secret is to sing through your eyes the song she wants to hear. You see, a loud face is one that’s overly expressive while a quiet face is one that’s fast asleep. Your face not only needs to radiate the inner flame that’s within you, it needs to telegraph – or text, let’s be modern – the fact that you are a man of probity and passion. In this world, when it comes to men and women, it’s all about dynamics. And after that? Rejuvenation. Furthermore, I’ve learned the art of smiling with different parts of my face, not just with my mouth or my eyes. Anybody can do that. But when I smile with my chin or my ears or my nose, women are intrigued, and they respond. As you saw earlier this evening.”

“You can smile with your nose? Give me a break!”

“Suit yourself. But I didn’t see any women gathering around you.”

“Listen, don’t rub it in. Now tell me a little more.”

“Okay. Now, looks are important, but knowing how to wear the look you have, that’s important too.”

“I know that it disgusts you when you travel by plane and everyone at the airport is dressed as if they’re on their way to watch their kids lose at soccer.”

The Count sighed. “Fortunately I have my own fleet, but even on my own planes – three of them Concordes from when the company folded – I’m surrounded by men who wear business suits and women in long dresses and white gloves. It’s not snobbery, Wyszpolski, it’s etiquette – but more on that later.”

Katherine brought the RA’llipop to our table and set it down. The Count looked her in the eye and thanked her in a voice that suggested a $500 gift certificate in a fabrics store. The waitress seemed startled, and averted her gaze. The RA’llipop has all of the presentation that Tracey Cruz implied. There are several skewers, arranged in a big circle like spokes radiating from a hub, and the ingredients include tuna, salmon, yellowtail, a spicy tuna mix, and lettuce, as well as asparagus and cucumber, all of it wrapped in lobok. A garlic ponzu sauce completes this gustatory delight.

The Count sampled the RA’llipop with the same attention as he’d given Steve Portigal’s ceramic art. Clearly, his palate was sorting through each item and decoding how, as a chorus, they all performed together, and in harmony. Then he returned to our conversation.

“All right, so the woman’s attention has been secured. Then what? Well, clothes don’t make the man, but they do make a first – or in this case, a third – impression, and better still they’ll make her look at you yet again – if what you’re wearing truly merits an encore. That is why you’ll always see me in serious colors and in innovative, never trendy outfits. Men can’t get away with wearing much jewelry, but hats, ties, rings, glazed shoe tops – these things can help. And remember, clothes should resonate rather than simply match.”

“Don’t you run the risk of looking ridiculous?”

“Don’t ever worry about losing face,” the Count said; “worry only about losing your soul.”

“What else?”

“The voice. Did you notice how, just a moment ago, my voice evoked a fabric store? Don’t laugh. When you talk to a desirable woman you have to become a ventriloquist, but not the kind who conjures up clowns or Sinatra wannabes, but of rare, precious items. In my case, my voice can evoke silk, cashmere, suede, velvet. Sure, it confuses a woman, but it goes straight to the unconscious and then blossoms. And besides, they love the dancing sound of my gentle laughter.”

“Jesus! Did they teach you all this in Count school?”

“Speaking of Jesus,” the Count said, “weren’t you the one who insulted those two children at American Martyrs? It was in all the European papers. Even the Pope weighed in.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammered. “It must have been in the Breeze.”

“Well, I sure hope it wasn’t you. That one child cried for 40 days and 40 nights. Poor thing.”

“I hope that somebody had the foresight to build an Ark, you know, just in case.”

The Count scrutinized me from over the rims of his glasses. “Are you trying to be funny?”

“No, I’m not, sorry. Now what about when you’re melancholy, which seems to be about three times a week; do the girls still find you as riveting?”

“When I’m sad,” the Count replied, “it’s a handsome sadness; so the answer is yes.”

Katherine then showed up with an order of Spicy Rice Crispy Treats, the third of four items on the “What’s New” menu, as well as the Garlic Citrus Yellowtail ($7.25), a sashimi plate that is served with organic micro greens. The Count looked up at Katherine and smiled – maybe with his cheeks this time, I’m not sure – still trying to break the ice. “No, not yet,” he said to me as she walked away, “but just wait and see; I’m getting there.”

The garlic citrus yellowtail is a dish for thoughtful eating, and we both mulled over the evening thus far. The women who’d surrounded him at the gallery were gorgeous, I thought. If only I’d been brave enough to ask for their names…

Katherine brought over yet another item, the Spicy Lobster Roll ($9.50), which, in addition to the unlucky crustacean, contains cilantro, jalapeno, lettuce, avocado and cucumber, all of it expertly wrapped in soy paper.

The Count maneuvered his chopsticks and examined it carefully. “That Tai Obata is some connoisseur… the way that Mike Bouchard, the bartender at Gasser Lounge, is a connoisseur of spirits.”

“Mike knows how to take care of his clientele,” I said. “It’s the only bar where I feel comfortable.”

Katherine looked at the Count, and for a moment I thought she was going to smile at him.

“The spicy lobster’s been on the menu a long time,” said Tracy Cruz, walking over to check in on us, “but it’s still a popular dish. So, how hungry are you? We’ve got a lot more you could try, but there’s the law of diminishing returns.”

We assured him that we were waiting to sample the Hot Mess, the last of the new items.

“Tell me a little more about your restaurants,” the Count said. “Are they all similar?”

“Every single one is unique,” Cruz replied. “Each location – and there are five others in California alone – works with the space it has. The sushi bar may be towards the front in one place, hustled off to the side or towards the back in another. And while the décor may be different, as well as the artwork, what seems to unify one RA Sushi with another are the red balls suspended from the ceiling and the subdued lighting.

Also, because many of the restaurants are in or near shopping centers, they become part of the evening’s larger agenda – perhaps a movie first or a trip to the bowling alley after dessert. Cruz is quick to point out that many people come in just for dinner. They drive up and park, eat their favorite fusion sushi, and go home.

Most local restaurants seem to start closing up around nine or ten p.m., but not this one.

“A lot of people come in after 11 o’clock,” Cruz says. “We try to pick the music based on the crowd. If we’ve got a particular crowd in here, we make sure we’ve got a particular kind of music playing. It’s still generally upbeat, high-energy type music. If you were to go to Huntington Beach or Tustin, even back to South Miami and up into Atlanta, you’re going to find the same general atmosphere.”

Which brings us to ‘80s night, which takes place from 8 o’clock until close on Thursdays. Cruz says that a large contingency of people begins to arrive between nine and ten specifically for this, and presumably a 35-year-old can float back in time to when he or she was still 20. Ah, youth! How quickly you pass! Cruz points out that a lot of board games are kept at the bar, some of which he found at Toys-R-Us, and some of which he picked up on e-Bay.

“If I came in here during ‘80s night,” the Count whispered to me, “I’d be making out in a dark corner, not playing Battleship or Monotony. But then, that’s just me.”

“Some of the RA’s you’ll go to, the music is really, really loud, and that’s kind of a turn-off. Our goal is to make sure we sit down at a table and just listen – to see if you can still have a conversation without having to yell across the table. But, again, we want the high energy. So, people that get RA, that’s not an issue. We’ve got regulars that you would think wouldn’t like it because of the loud music.”

The Count was diplomatic. “It’s totally understandable; you have to pick your demographics. You stick with your plan, that makes sense.”

To me he said, “Someone like me, with my melancholy tendencies, who seems at times to be the embodiment of a Bryan Ferry song, or maybe an album side by Tim Hardin or Nick Drake, would more likely favor an outdoor patio at a table for two on the island of Capri, overlooking the Bay of Naples at twilight. The only time I enjoy loud music is after a day of gambling at Monte Carlo and some young sweetheart pulls me to the dance floor.”

“Ah! The Hot Mess!” Cruz said.

Katherine placed Tai Obata’s stunning creation on the table between us, and didn’t immediately avert her gaze when the Count looked her in the eye and smiled – with his eyebrows, forehead and chin.

The Hot Mess ($13.50) is a couple of feet long and crunchy. “It’s a mixture between the sushi side and what we call the hot side,” Cruz says. You’ll have to imagine crispy rice balls that have been topped with spicy king crab, and doused with jalapeno and cilantro. “It’s very much a crossover between sushi and our kitchen side.”

The Count readied his chopsticks.

“It’s baked,” Cruz warned him, “so be careful on that first bite.”

The jalapeno pepper didn’t pose a problem.

“If you like spicy it won’t really affect you at all,” Cruz said, eager to ensure our satisfaction. “People that think it is spicy are the people who don’t ever eat spicy.”

“Don’t worry about him,” I said, “he’s eaten things you’ve never dreamed of.”

I didn’t tell Cruz what these items were, but the Count had once said to me, “In Belgium, we like our sushi named after the precious metals – goldfish, silverfish, and David Copperfish.”

“Yes, it’s delicious,” the Count said; “thank you for recommending it. Now we’re tasted all of RA Sushi’s new menu items and we think that Master Chef Obata is doing a fine job.”

No ringtones for him

The Count’s chauffeur walked across the room and whispered something into my friend’s ear. Then he turned around, walked out, and returned to the limousine.

“Too bad you don’t carry a cell phone,” I said; “that would save the two of you a lot of trouble.”

The Count didn’t reply for a few moments, but the muscles in his jaw noticeably tightened.

“I guess you don’t believe in cell phones,” I said at last.

“I’ve not yet seen that this new technology is sensitive to etiquette. I hope I do not insult you if I speak of moral illiteracy and atrocious manners, but I do not wish to hear the pathetic conservations of others when I’m standing in line at a bank or waiting to use the restroom at the opera. I once reprimanded a parent for chatting away on her mobile – that’s what we call them in Europe – while she was pushing her perambulator. Shame on you! I said, You owe your child your undivided attention.”

“Well, I guess that’s an Old World hang-up. If you don’t have a cell phone in this country you’re no better off than Robinson Crusoe.”

But the Count wasn’t done yet. “Everyone speaks of increasing technology, but no one talks of increasing culture. As far as I’m concerned, this so-called Information Age doesn’t mean we’re safer from misinformation, just that we’re more vulnerable to it.”

“A little while ago, when we were talking about looks, about ventriloquism and smiling with your nostrils and all that, you said you’d tell me about how etiquette makes you more attractive to women. How so?”

“First, let me tell you a little trade secret. Hygiene.” I turned around, but there was no one there. “Hygiene,” the Count repeated. “I can’t describe to you the pleasure of washing my hands with fine soap. It’s the first thing I do in the morning. Anyway, to answer your question, women can sense that I’m the product of a long line of tradition and social grace. Did you know that it takes four generations of nobility to breed a gentleman? And I’ve got 17 generations behind me.”

“It sounds like you’re describing that horse farm of yours in Andalusia. Was it 50,000 acres?”

“As my friend José Saramago once told me, being a man should never be an impediment to behaving like a gentleman. Did you know that my grandfather, Count Montesquieu de Panthémont, would always pull out his handkerchief and dust off the seat of the streetcar each time a lady boarded and before she sat down?”

“And so all these women we’ve been meeting tonight, especially those really cute-looking ones at PS Zask Gallery, can sense this when they look at you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you have room for dessert?” said Tracy Cruz, walking over to our table.

He proceeded to describe RA Sushi’s most popular offering, the cinnamon tempura ice cream, which seems to be so large that it might easily subdue a family of four, or the Count and three attractive women. However, Cruz wanted us to try something new, the Banana Split Maki ($6.75). “I’ll have Katherine bring one over.”

“Tonight I want to be intellectual about what I’m eating,” the Count said. “We’ll nurse it slowly.”

And when it arrived a few minutes later, I smiled with delight while the Count gave it his usual wan, weary smile.

The Banana Split Maki looks like a sushi roll. “It’s perfect for sharing,” Cruz said. “It’s basically a wonton wrapped around a banana. We split the banana down the middle, put in white and dark chocolate. Then we tempura-fry it, chop it up into six pieces, add whipped cream, kiwis, mangoes, strawberries, and drizzle it with chocolate raspberry sauce.” In other words, it’s as decadent as the Count’s youth in Paris and Berlin.

Chemical reaction

“I’d hoped to hear a little more from you about the art of seduction,” I said, when we were alone again. “You were fairly circumspect this evening. Why is that?”

“The truth is,” the Count said with a sigh, “I’m often a sad, lonely man who’s consumed with running the family business. Only nine countries on this planet have more money than the Panthémont pantheon, so I’m not unlike your Secretary of the Treasury and your President and Vice-President all rolled into one.”

“Well, tell me something about the opposite sex that I should keep in mind. I could use some advice right now.”

The Count yawned. “What a woman looks like is not something that can be known with the eyes alone. Men often forget that, as simple as it is. Be patient, and look past the surface the way you saw me looking at the art in the gallery this evening. I defer to the sculptor Rodin who said, and I quote, only that which has character is beautiful.”

“Yes, but isn’t is also about chemistry? If there’s no chemistry, or little interest – on her part, I mean – is it even worth the pursuit?”

“Sometimes chemistry needs a little push. But you need the chemicals first, you know? That’s what our conversation has been about.”

“Chemicals, and a few billion dollars.”

“Not so,” the Count replied. “Poorer men than me have done as well or even better in the game of love. First lesson: Be a shooter, not a target; and if you have integrity you’ll shoot straight in a trying situation.”

“Well, that’s easy for you to say. I don’t have 17 generations of nobility behind me.”

The Count sighed, and looked at his watch.

“Listen, life has many facets, but the one you better polish and shine every day is hope. W. Somerset Maugham said that the great tragedy of life is not that men perish, but that they cease to love. So don’t give up. Be gently persistent. Miracles do happen.”

I wanted to mark the occasion by taking a photo. Tracy Cruz was amenable, but when I said we wanted Katherine in the picture he repeated what I said earlier – she never smiles and has never shown affection towards any man, young or old.

“But we’ll place her next to the Count,” I said. “Let’s see if he’s the Prince Charming who’ll wake up this Sleeping Beauty.”

“It’ll never happen. Once, when George Clooney came in here we thought…”

I focused the camera and took my picture. I’m not sure, but it looks like Katherine is smiling. And, if I’m not mistaken, she’s leaning just a little towards the Count.

When we were seated in the limousine, Count Eugène de Panthémont tapped his chauffeur on the shoulder and instructed him to return to PS Zask Gallery on the peninsula. “I like the work on display,” he said, “and I see I have an extra three million dollars in my wallet. I hope that’ll be enough.”

The chauffeur started the engine, and we drove off into the night.

Craft is a Verb (with all of its artwork intact for the time being) is on view through June 12 at PS Zask Gallery, 31252 Palos Verdes Dr. West, Rancho Palos Verdes. (310) 429-0973 or go to pszaskgallery.com. RA Sushi is located in the Del Amo Fashion Center, 3525 Carson St., Torrance. (310) 370-6700 or go to rasushi.com.

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