Ode to L.A.: Spoiled and Stuffed

Maybe it has to do with getting older. Maybe it's about the location. Maybe it's about why I am where I physically am and what drives me. Maybe it's a combination of all these things. It probably is...

When I lived in Boulder I had the eating habits of a typical college student: I occassionally cooked, sometimes had pizza, sometimes went out for sandwiches or burritos, and most days lived on whatever I could quick grab in between classes.

In Sydney food was the last thing on my mind. There was a whole country to explore. Beer to drink. Trips to take. Fascinating people to meet. Absolutely impossible classes to struggle through with a packed Nutella sandwich to tide me over in between - along with a flat white from the beach side cafe to wake me up. I lived a block from the beach... 75% of the time I could not have cared less about whatever I ate to sustain me through the day.

Very different was my summer in Boston, where I was just so broke that my meal budget was about $2. The roommates all contributed to the communal pot of what could be salvaged from our miserly jobs - leftover fake Italian and Starbucks pastries. I remember eating at maybe a handful of proper restaurants and not once making a meal that involved multiple dishes or fresh vegetables. That was the summer I learned to combine rice, a can or corn and a can of tuna - dry, unflavorful and nicknamed "cat food" by Joyce. It got me through... and since she lived off Easy Mac I didn't really take her critiques to heart.

San Diego taught me to appreciate the small places that are off the beaten track... The bizarre burrito place in the strip mall, where the tablecloths are bolted to the tables. The hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant that lets you linger at your table for hours. The breakfast place on the main drag surrounded by surfboards and run down apartment buildings, with the sounds of the waves crashing from a block away providing just enough distraction to keep the tourists from swarming the place. Still, every time I take a mini-break in San Diego, I make sure to eat at all of these little gems.

But L.A. has maybe surprised me the most, because this city has managed to bring out the food snob in me. These days all I ask is for a free night, an engaging dinner companion, a coveted reservation and a few glasses of wine. Oh... and bites of food that habitually make me pause before murmuring OhMyGodYum under my breath. That, my friends, is my perfect L.A. evening as of late.

It took my parents coming into town for me to realize how much of a food brat I had become. Everywhere Teen and I wanted to take them they saw as either extravagant or a huge inconvenience. Teen and I simply saw it as, "if we're going to eat, we're going to eat something good." To them, the drives were long, the parking impossible, the waiting time totally ridiculous, the crush of people insufferable, the noise level obnoxious and the prices completely outrageous. To me and Teen?...just another Saturday. Naturally.

It all got me thinking about how incredibly spoiled I had become in the restaurant department. And also, how incredibly tollerant. Let's examine the recent evidence, shall we?

Dolce: Maybe slightly past its prime, but still delicious, still fun and still one of the best places in town to spend a Monday night, thanks to their 50% off food special. Teen and I have both spent a birthday here, and Mom and Dad were treated to the full-blown Monday night madness.

Dolce: the Monday night favorite

Pizzeria Mozza: Currently so very, very popular that a table is still impossible to be had even when you call a few weeks ahead of time. But on a very, very good Saturday recently, Teen and I went to LACMA to see the Vanity Fair exhibit and later found ourselves on two bar stools at Mozza. There was delicious wine, drool-worthy pizza and the most divine caprese salad ever created. I kid you not. I'm a caprese maniac and this was like no other.

Caprese has never had it this good. I'm not kidding. Not even in the slightest.

Melrose Bar & Grill: Cozy, great wine, friendly staff, with homemade pita and mussels that are worth the work, this place is my idea of casual-devine. Sometimes Teen going on dates with wonky weirdos has a total silver lining...like discovering this little beauty for us to return to.

Melrose Bar & Grill: Grab some friends and let the good times roll

Duke's: I don't know where you head for a drink on a gorgeous day, but I'm curious if it can top Duke's in Malibu. More than once I've sat back, enjoyed a cold Mexican beer or chilled glass of white wine and watched the dolphins arc across the water's surface. Sundays in my life have never before been so lovely.

Seriously? Malibu earned its reputation. Nevermind...you can't top it.

Cecconi's: Well, I saved my favorite for last. This super new hot-spot I discovered during its first week of being open to the public (the one and only time I have accomplished something so monumental and simultaneously insignificant). Teen and I scored a reservation for a Friday night at 10:00 - the last night of their 50% off food opening celebration. And let me tell you, at 10:00 I had to wait in a massive line just to check-in, only to find that our table of course wasn't ready yet...so we happily bellied up to the gorgeous bar for a glass of wine. (Those blue chairs are HEAVY, so bellying required a bit of muscle...meaning that dragging my chair closer to the bar counted as my daily workout. And yes, I realize it's a very good life when this is your workout.) Anyway, the Scallops, Pancetta & Rosemary and a glass of wine is something I plan to return for again...and again...and again... Imgaine the arm muscles I'm going to have after dragging those blue bar chairs around so much?!

L.A.'s most beautiful restaurant...

...and our favorite table in the city

But, hey, when I need to be brought back to reality, you need not worry, I'm totally capable of doing it myself. Afterall, my other favorite and often-frequented establishment is 100% delicious-kitsch...

In Studio City, Hugo's Tacos is home to my "Burrito Bowl with Chicken & Honey Chipotle salsa"

L.A. has the oddest things in the weirdest places - and Hugo's Tacos is one of these: An organic-friendly fast food place in the middle of the valley near the on-ramp to the 101 freeway. Or, as it is known to me, "Burrito Bowl Heaven that Makes My Head Sweat. Every. Single. Time."

And herein lies one of the many ways that life in L.A. has changed me forevermore. Dining out will never be the same ho-hum experience it was before. Food will never be hoped to be anything short of gorgeous. Setting, decor and scenery will from now on always weigh-in. An expectation has been set. A standard to be met.

Dear L.A., you culinary cornucopia, you... you have spoiled me, stuffed me and quite possibly made me a bit of a snob. And I absolutely adore you for it.

Hugs and kisses,

Me

Ode to L.A.: The Cool Girls

I read once that wherever you may be, it is your friends that make your world. And that means that Larry, Curly and Moe here make my world in L.A. Actually, their names are LO, WetHead and Blondie…or Adriann, Stacy and Ashley. And even though Ashley now calls Chicago home, she’s still my L.A. lady.

This city of celebutantes gets a bad rap for being the holding pen of the world’s most shallow. I won’t refute that completely, I’ll just say that you have to weed your way through the muck to find the good ones. And they’re so worth it.

Day trips to Santa Barbara. A whole vineyard of wine drunk happily. First dates, blind dates, breakups, makeups and breakups again. Packing up, moving, unpacking and decorating. Horrendous roommates. Great birthday celebrations. Entire conversations spoken in code. Fights, pouting, huffing, pointing and laughing. Shopping. Cursing like drunken sailors on leave. Tequilla shots. Grocery store runs. Long dinners at the taco stand near the freeway. New jobs. Sharing hair appointments. Dancing. And always - always - laughing.

You have to love a city that gives you such loveable friends. I love you, L.A. (when I’m not loathing you, that is.)

Ode to L.A.: Star Sightings

It’s been brought to my attention that I have again neglected my blog and all 4 of its loyal readers. I’ve also started receiving emails asking if I am, in fact, still among the living. I am.

Keeping in touch? Yeah, not one of my strong points. I come to terms with it slightly more with each passing year and each frustrated voicemail by those I love most.

It is Monday and I have a plan. I’m thinking that maybe if I have a theme for this week, I’ll post more. And maybe – just maybe! – I’ll post every day for a whole stinking week! Half the trouble with posting to this thing on a regular basis, is that at the end of the day, when I theoretically should write, if I’m even home, my brain has turned to mush. I’ll sit down and think, “What to say? What to say? Hmmmm…. Budgets. Referral program. Loyalty program. Purchase orders. Invoices. …. Crap, look at all that laundry! Did I pay that bill? Screw this, I’m getting a glass of wine.” That’s how it goes. And then I ignore the blog until my brother-in-law drops it into conversation on a regular basis that I happen to be the worst blogger ever. *Sigh*

Not this week though! Because this week, which is extra lovely with breezes carrying the scent of flowers and sunshine lingering into the early evening, is my love note to my city. My ode to L.A.

And because L.A. often means celebrities to those that live here – and especially to those who don’t – here is my list of celebrity sightings as best I can remember. And I’m not including any cheats of those that I’ve met or seen through any kind of “industry” connections. These are simply what the city has offered up to me (plus one San Diego sighting, because it was my favorite). If you know someone I've left off, go ahead and remind me. I'm happy to make this an ongoing list.

Adrian Grenier – being his totally laid back self at my favorite San Diego breakfast spot, The Mission
Robert Downey Jr. – skipping (I swear) into Toscana to pick up a takeout order
Kevin Bacon & Kyra Sedgewick, Marcia Cross – perusing veggies at the Brentwood Farmers Market
Tony Danza – chilling at the bar in Drago
Milo Ventimiglia – lifting weights at the gym (thereby explaining to me why girls ever wear makeup to the gym)
Whoopi Goldberg – sitting on a bench waiting for a bus in the valley (Ashley can back me up here)
Fergi & Josh Duhamel – on a flight from Minnesota to L.A.
Seth Green – flying Southwest from Phoenix to L.A.
Kevin Dillon – stomping around a Starbucks parking lot in Malibu
David Hasselhoff – giving the “peace” sign to Pinkberry employees
Luke Wilson – driving a snazzy car too fast in Brentwood
Natalie Portman – looking like a lost 12 year-old while checking in to the Palihouse in West Hollywood
Justin Chambers – buying the most hideous Christmas ornaments The Grove could provide
Henry Winkler – chatting with diners as he left Pizzicotto
Donald Faison & CaCee Cobb – getting in my way at The Grove
Isla Fisher – uber pregnant and buying ingredients for spaghetti bolognese at Trader Joe’s
Victoria Beckham – leaving Cecconi’s with her entourage
Fisher Stevens – going through security at LAX (I’m a big fan of the movie Only You and I bit back the urge to beg him to say, “Ittly!”)
Scott Adsit – dining at Swingers

Updates:
Christina Applegate - buying books at a West Hollywood Borders
Hayden Panettiere (with Milo Ventimiglia - again) - pushing food around at Cheesecake Factory in Brentwood

What's a dollar really worth?

I have 2 soft spots that go hand-in-hand here in L.A.: Starbucks and the homeless. At a couple different locations I even have some "buddies." The Starbucks I stop at before getting on the 405 comes complete a pal who upon seeing my car approaching waves maniacally and then stands in a spot in the street to save it for me. As I park he jams change into the meter, buying me enough time to drink a landslide of lattes. My other favorite one walks miles around Brentwood and in our exchanges we've high-fived, made small talk and he once asked if he could stand at the street corner with Teen and me as we waited for the light to change. These men I will give money to without hesitation. I believe that they're good people who have stumbled into a hard life. (I guess it could just be a minor case of yuppie angst, but I don't think my lifestyle quite qualifies me to be a bonafide yuppie.)

Most who are with me as I hand my hard-earned and meager money over to the homeless on occasion usually just shake their heads quietly, signaling that my behaviour isn't exactly the norm. I've never minded. I've always understood that maybe they've chosen to believe the stories about the "fake" homeless people who at the end of the day jump in their SUV, or believe that everything you give is just spent on alcohol. I don't deny that those things may happen... I just don't let it deter me.

And then Friday happened.

I decided that because dreaming of work woke me up in a cold sweat at 5 a.m. I deserved a latte before heading into the office extra early. I saw a homeless man as I was parking and he looked extra sad and dirty, squinting in the bright morning sun. As I walked toward him I was fidgeting with my wallet and realized that I was fresh out of any change other than stupid pennies. I dug out a dollar and folded it up, passing it off with a, "Good morning!" before he could finish asking.

Ten minutes later as I was trying to drink latte, walk and put on sunglasses at the same time I saw something that startled me enough to make me stumble slightly. No, no, no. That can't be the same man I just gave my last dollar bill to... talking on a cell phone!

How do you have a wireless plan? Where did you charge that thing? Who are you calling that is not willing to help you out or take you in? I realize I shouldn't judge because I know absolutely nothing about this person and I won't let it stop me the next time I meet someone who makes my heart hurt... but he, in particular, won't be getting anymore from me should I ever see him again.

While I did spend the rest of that day wanting my dollar back, I'm mostly annoyed at him now for making me just a little more suspicious... a little more cynical. Goodness knows, I'm plenty cynical as is.

Hungry Cat

Hanging out with a bunch of men who are all prettier than me is no new experience. I'm just trying to remember which one of these evil geniuses had the idea to take the group shot when only I had been served dinner. Yes, yes... there's the one who's just letting herself go as the rest of them gingerly sip cocktails while dreams of dramatic cheekbones cloud their vision.

Hungry Cat in Hollywood... where the boys really did eat eventually. And it was delicious.

What humiliation I won't put myself through for some rare face time with one of my favorite friends...

After 7 years of friendship, heretofore, our new favorite picture.

Down the street and across the universe

At around 10:15 tonight I wandered out onto the balcony for a bit of fresh air and a little quiet that only comes from sitting in the dark. My laundry was humming along inside, the Oscars had finished a bit ago and the pots and pans from dinner were soaking in the sink. It had been a good day; a slow, peaceful day where I actually took each moment as it came. A welcome change from the days where I'm constantly trying to plot what ideally should come next.

I sat outside sipping on a moderately priced cabernet, observing the apartment building across the street that is practically begging to star in a movie. With its buzzing, rickety gate, decades-old hanging light fixtures and giant, swoopy apartment name on the side, it screams, "I am the home of a struggling L.A. genius! Someone on their way up or on their way down will nurture a brooding, yet often hopeful outlook on life from within my depressing and totally missable, slightly dilapidated walls."

Totally missable, that is, if you're anyone other than the girl who lives directly across the street, who often has nothing better to do than watch the comings and goings of people who buzz themselves in and slam their ways out of "The Saltair."

Tonight my eye was caught by the angel-like lights circling above the neighbors' retro home. It was a signal that just a few miles away, at locations I pass on a regular basis, the city's chosen few - the world's chosen few, really - were out celebrating the night away at lavish parties across town. So close, yet an entire world and reality away.

My mind started drifting, thinking how nice it was that the weather had stayed mild, maybe even warm enough that the actresses in their slinky gowns wouldn't be too cold. Then I realized that they were probably freezing after all, as their body fat was likely around only 20% of my own.

With a grumbling, "Screw them!" I threw back the last sip of wine and marched inside to retrieve the last bits of laundry. Maybe there isn't a snowball's chance in hell of me ever looking like the dowdiest one of them, but I read half a novel today, did 4 loads of laundry and made a fairly tasty dinner in one pot out of the misfit ingredients I could find in a kitchen that hadn't been treated to a grocery run in about 3 weeks. I challenge any one of them to say they've done the same anytime recently. So there.

I come from good stock

I find this picture to be wonderfully telling of my family...
L-R: Sweetheart, Amused, Appears to be making armpit noises.



We're a complex bunch. 'Nuff said.

After 4 years of waiting...

Today is absolutely terrific. Today, January 20th, is so completely wonderful that it didn't even phase me when I tripped running up the office stairs this morning and landed on my blackberry, jamming enough buttons in the process to dial China and check in with those guys. Today, Barack Obama, whom I have been applauding for over 4 years became the 44th president. And because sometimes things happen exactly as they should, it was Barack Obama who escorted W. out to the helicopter that would blessedly remove him from D.C. As it pulled off the ground and the Obamas and Bidens waved, the group I was watching with began to smile and wave as well. Buh bye and good riddance.

We all have different ways of bidding adieu... Stacy was anxiously waiting for live coverage of the helicopter being beamed back up to Bush's home planet... Teen and I will be having celebratory cocktails tonight... and KROQ's Kevin and Bean put together this little farewell to commemorate the end of the road for W.

What a good day.

Most Ridiculous Fortune. Ever.

"Wow! You have a secret message from your teeth!"

It was discovered today at lunch that Stacy has for years carried the above fortune cookie message in her wallet. Apparently she's still waiting for her teeth to divulge their secret.

A cynical kid at heart

There are few advantages to living in L.A. around Christmas time. The palm trees swaying in the background only make a mockery of the front lawn Frostys and if you stare at the Christmas tree at The Grove long enough, you start to wonder where exactly they had to truck it in from, because it surely isn't local. This year has been more festive-feeling due to the "winter" weather we've had the past week or so. Temperatures in L.A. proper have dipped into the 40s and people have totally lost their shit over it.

It's about as plausible for Santa to make his L.A. rounds in the slightly warmed driver's seat of a Lexus SUV, his sack made by Louis Vuitton and his fluffly white eyebrows styled by Anastasia - as it is for him to glide around the solar-panneled roofs in a sled hoisted by flying cousins of the moose.

But then again, there is Disneyland. And a chilly day spent dodging strollers at the happiest place on earth amid the lights and decorations is just what I needed to lift my Christmas spirit.

Truth be told, it was even better than I was hoping for. It's shocking to discover how wonderful it is to feel like a kid again - if only for a day.