Two Broads and a Blog.

Brunch at Norma's

2010-01-06T14:54:00.000-08:00

French Toast and Salmon Benedict from Norma's at the Parker Palm Springs.

New Year's Eve Dinner

2010-01-06T14:42:00.000-08:00

Short ribs, brussels sprouts, lobster mac n' cheese and potatoes lyonnaise courtesy of Josh Grant.

Viv's Pumpkin Cheesecake

2009-11-27T23:12:00.000-08:00

This year I opted to make a Pumpkin Cheesecake in lieu of the traditional, ubiquitous, and (some would say) boring pumpkin pie. Inspired by several fantastic recipes, including Smitten Kitchen’s sour cream topped bourbon masterpiece, Pioneer Woman’s caramel-covered extravaganza, and Paula Deen’s tried and true approach, I created my own version of pumpkin cheesecake and oh boy was it delicious.

Cheesecake can’t be rushed. I had the bright (and possibly wine-fueled) idea of starting mine at about 10 pm, so my sleep that night was interrupted by cheesecake alarms – the “turn off the oven alarm”, the “take the cheesecake out of the oven alarm” and the “put the cheesecake in the fridge alarm”. Of course, if I had stopped at turning off the oven, and let the cheesecake cool in the partially open oven overnight, I would have gotten more sleep and my cheesecake (very likely) would not have cracked. Unfortunately, I did not take a picture when I took it out of the oven in all of its smooth-topped glory, but the post-cooling cracked version still looked pretty delectable. The crack gave it “character”.

I had myself all in a tizzy about this cheesecake – I was worried that the layer of caramel I added to the crust would make it too hard to cut, that the crack made it ugly, and a whole host of other things that I completely forgot about as soon as I tasted it. The cheesecake was light, fluffy and not too sweet, the crust tasted like caramelly pecan pie, and the gingersnaps added a hint of heat that lingered after each bite. Stuffed as we were from an absolutely gorgeous Thanksgiving dinner, four of us nonetheless demolished half of the cheesecake in minutes. Even the self-professed cheesecake and/or pumpkin haters ate two slices. I'm pretty sure I won't be invited back to my family's Thanksgiving dinner next year unless I promise to bring this.

I also made this pear tarte tatin with red wine caramel from Food & Wine.

It looked and tasted wonderful, but was completely overshadowed by the cheesecake. I ate a slice for breakfast this morning to ensure it got equal love.

Viv’s Pumpkin Cheesecake Recipe

Crust
10 – 12 oz of store bought gingersnaps
½ cup chopped pecans
¼ cup packed light brown sugar
2 to 3 tablespoons granulated sugar (optional, depending on the sweetness of your gingersnaps)
6 to 8 tablespoons melted salted butter
Caramel (homemade or store bought)

Filling
3 8oz packages of cream cheese, at room temperature
1 15 oz can packed pumpkin puree (pure pumpkin, not pumpkin pie filling)
¼ cup sour cream
3 eggs + 1 egg yolk
1 ½ cups granulated sugar
1 ½ teaspoons cinnamon
½ teaspoon nutmeg
½ teaspoon ground ginger
½ teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 tsp vanilla extract

Prep
Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Grease a 9 or 10 inch springform pan. If you want to remove the bottom of your springform pan before serving, place a round of parchment paper slightly larger than the pan on the bottom of the pan before locking on the sides.

Make the crust
Pulse gingersnaps in a food processor (in batches, if needed) until crushed to fine crumbs. Place 1 ½ cups gingersnap crumbs in a medium bowl. Combine crumbs with pecans, brown sugar, granulated sugar (if using), and 6 tablespoons of the melted butter. Add additional butter, 1 tablespoon at a time, if needed to moisten crust. Press crust onto bottom and sides of prepared springform pan. Spread a layer of caramel over the crust. Chill crust in refrigerator for at least 30 minutes before baking.

Make the filling
Beat the cream cheese with an electric mixer on medium speed until smooth. Add the pumpkin, sour cream, eggs, sugar, spices and salt and beat on low speed until well-combined. Add the flour and vanilla and beat just until incorporated. Pour filling into prepared crust.

Bake and Cool
Place the cheesecake on a foil-lined baking sheet on a rack in the upper half of the preheated oven. To prevent cracking, place a water bath (a large pan filled with boiling water) directly below the rack the cheesecake is on. Bake for 90 minutes or until filling is set but still jiggly in the center. Turn off the oven and open door halfway. Let cheesecake cool in oven for about an hour. Transfer cheesecake to a rack and cool in pan until room temperature. Then cover cheesecake and cool in the refrigerator at least four hours. Carefully remove sides of springform pan before cutting and serving.

Make ahead
The cheesecake can be made up to two days in advance and stored in the refrigerator. Freeze cheesecake if storing longer than two or three days.

A Seriously Sweet Saturday in Venice

2009-11-27T10:58:00.000-08:00

A couple of Saturdays ago (yeah yeah I'm behind on this post) Babs, Jordan and I hit Abbot Kinney Blvd. in Venice for a late brunch/lunch at Gjelina, so we could take advantage of the patio and the sunny, 72 degree November weather. Our plans changed, however, when we passed the impossible-to-resist duo of the Kogi BBQ and Flying Pig food trucks during our search for parking. All thoughts of a civilized, seated meal went out the window, and after a quick trip to the ATM and a run in with one of the best (albiet confusing) t-shirts ever seen, we got in line for some grub.

If you don't know about the Kogi BBQ truck by now, then you've been living in a convent or under a rock. The Kogi truck started roaming Los Angeles about a year ago, and its following is now so huge it can't be called cult anymore. Serving Korean-Mexican fare, such as tacos and burritos made with spicy pork, short ribs, or BBQ chicken and kimchee quesadillas, lines at the Kogi truck can run 45 minutes to an hour. Luckily for us, there wasn't too much of a crowd at 2:30 on a Saturday afternoon, and we had our food in about 15 minutes.

The Flying Pig truck is a relatively new addition to the ever-growing gourmet food truck scene in LA, and features what I call "Asian Fusion Street Food" -- Asian and Pacific Rim flavors and classic French techniques used to create a menu of creative street food. Choices include tamarind duck tacos with almonds and beet salad, smoked chicken tacos with green curry and napa slaw, grilled beef short rib tacos with oyster mushrooms and spicy "death sauce", and pork belly sliders with red onion escabeche and sesame cucumber.

Both trucks delivered some seriously delicious vittles. Using the indiscriminate sampling approach, we ordered short rib tacos, a spicy pork "blackjack" quesadilla with caramelized onions and jack and cheddar cheese, and the "Kogi dog" (a Kobe beef hot dog with kimchee) from the Kogi truck,

and duck, short rib and spicy pork tacos and pork belly sliders from the Flying Pig truck.

The two standouts were Kogi's short rib tacos and the Flying Pig's duck tacos, followed closely by the quesadilla and the sliders. The Kogi dog was excellent, but felt a tad mundane in comparison to the adventurous tacos. All of our food was flavorful, delicious, and pleasingly portable. For less than $10 per person, we ate like royalty (at least as close to royalty as you can get on a concrete bench in parking lot) and got to check a food truck meal off our LA to-do list.

We finished the afternoon off with a few cocktails (Makers & Ginger Ale) at the Brig, a once-divey bar whose metrosexual makeover is surprisingly pleasing.

That night, I went to a beer and cheese party in Silverlake. And that is about as much good food, drink and exposure to seriously hip people as any gal should have in one day.

I love LA.

Blue Plate Oysterette

2009-10-12T19:48:00.000-07:00

Blue Plate Oysterette is a casual “east coast seafood shack” situated on a prime stretch of Ocean Avenue in Santa Monica – a welcome addition to a seaside neighborhood filled with tourist traps and chain restaurants, but sorely lacking in good seafood joints.

Due in part to a great social media campaign (Daily Candy, twitter, etc.) and favorable advance reviews from area food bloggers, BP Oysterette has been packed since the day it opened. We went there on a Thursday about a week and a half after the launch (yes, this post is long overdue) and were told it would be an hour wait. Determined to eat a blogworthy meal, we gave our cell number to the hostess and set off in search of libations. Luckily for our rumbling tummies and tenuous sobriety, we received our ~~golden ticket~~ phone call from the hostess only a half hour into our wait.

The service was friendly and attentive – the manager stopped by a few times to chat and check in – and the server helped steer our indecisive group towards a well-priced white wine that drank easily and complemented, rather than overpowered, our food.

The menu is divided into four sections “raw bar” (oysters, crudo, ceviche), “soups and salads” (clam chowder, fisherman’s stew, and um, salads), “small plates” (grilled oysters, mussels, fried calamari) and “large plates” (fish tacos, catch of the day, grilled hangar steak). We went for the sharing approach to ensure maximum sampling ability: oysters on the half shell (ceviche style), a grilled artichoke, steamers, the butter lettuce salad, mac n’ cheese, and a lobster roll. Unfortunately we didn’t have room for everything, resulting in a serious case of food envy when a plate of fish and chips arrived at the table next to us.

Babs and I love slurping raw oysters (although we once encountered an uncomfortably gargantuan specimen at the Wilshire that gave us pause), and the “ceviche style” topping of red onion, lime and cilantro on these bivalves made em’ slide down even easier than usual. The artichoke was served cold, which threw us for a loop. I’d skip it next time I go. The steamers, however, were fantastic. It is rare to get authentic steamers this far south, but BP Oysterette’s were true to form: large succulent clams in buttery broth served with chewy grilled bread.

If presentation is your thing, then order the butter lettuce salad. A mound of bright green lettuce topped with gorgonzola and crispy shallot vinaigrette, it tasted as good as it looked. I thought the mac n’ cheese was delicious – the love child of traditional baked mac and velveeta shells and cheese served fresh out of the oven in a ramekin. I almost singlehandedly demolished it, so I can’t really speak to whether anyone else liked it. Last but not least was the lobster roll. Chock-full of tender chunks of lobster, this was a fairly faithful rendition of the classic New England roadside favorite, updated for Santa Monica with a brioche bun and a side of homemade sweet potato chips. We didn’t have room for dessert, but the menu had some great options like blackberry cobbler and ice cream sundaes.

The verdict: Go eat here already. If I lived closer (and didn’t spend so much time in Detroit) I would be a regular!

BP Oysterette
1355 Ocean Ave.
Santa Monica, CA 90401
310-576-3474

Broads On Vacation! Grand Wailea Resort, Maui.

2009-10-02T17:02:00.001-07:00

Window Shopping on La Cienega

2009-09-16T15:15:00.001-07:00

Hollywood Forever Cemetery, Hollywood, CA.

2009-09-06T18:55:00.001-07:00

Top 10 Things I Love About Grocery Shopping With A Hangover

2009-09-01T00:11:00.000-07:00

(alternatively titled “Drunken Supermarket Sweep”)

10. Samples.

Good Lord above, do I love samples. So few grocery stores hit you with 'em anymore, and it's a crying shame if you ask me. I mean, you don't even have to eat on a day that involves a Costco run. Just keep circling the frozen food areas until you've stuffed yourself senseless with French Bread Pizza, Swedish Meatballs and Pigs In A Blanket.

I completely lose the ability to discriminate between good and bad food when its being presented to me at the corner of an aisle, cut up into bite-sized pieces by a granny in a hairnet.

9. Enormous hunks of cured meat.

There are very few things I could live comfortably inside and eat my way out of. This sweet baby's one of 'em. A beached whale might be another.

8. Guacamole with no avocado in it.

What kind of namby-pamby eats guacamole with actual AVOCADO in it? Pshhh. That's not gonna put hair on your chest. Be a real man and step up to the plate with some partially hydrogenated oils, corn syrup, food starch, yellow dye and blue dye.

I enjoy stirring mine with a Camel no-filter, pouring in a little Drano when I'm feeling sassy, and scooping it into my mouth with sheets of lead.

7. Ready-made meals for lazy people.

Personally, I'm the kind of "keeper" that only knows how to make meals with three ingredients in it. Once a year or so, when I've gotta "cook" for the Ol' Man, I just nuke one of these suckers for 5 minutes, slip it onto a platter, throw the packaging in a dumpster, and turn the oven on like this hot mess just came out of it.

6. Easy-Mac.

When I'm "cooking" for myself, three ingredients is two ingredients too many. The only thing separating me from this cheezy bliss is a cup of hot water. CHECK.

5. Carbonated color therapy.

How can you NOT buy something when you walk down an aisle like this? This aisle is to your supermarket as Disneyland is to Anaheim. It's the shining beacon of fantasy glimmering in an otherwise cruel reality. Not a single one of these carburetor cleaners is remotely ingestible, but who cares? There's a sudden spring in your step, a soft glaze of the eyes and WHAM! Pineapple Fanta in your cart.

4. Nutty knockoffs.

There are three things I love about this particular faux-brand:

A. The brazen shamelessness of the identical packaging (see prominently featured wheat stalks and logo placement)

B. I'm sincerely baffled by the fact that there's room on this planet for TWO types of breakfast gravel.

C. Doesn't the name make you giggle like a stoner? I mean, just say it to yourself. Nutty Nuggets. Huheh.

3. Childhood Obeseables.

Now with 20% flavoring solution!

2. Big-lady clothing with regional identifiers.

When the items in your cart don't tell the world that you've given up on life, your wardrobe can!

1. Recession-Themed Special Edition Ice Cream.

Because nothing tastes better after you lose your job, your home, your 401(k), your health-care and your will to live than a scoop of ice cream that tastes like its laughing at you.

Pompano Beach Coastline, FL.

2009-08-29T14:08:00.001-07:00

Pompano Beach Coastline, FL.

2009-08-29T08:48:00.000-07:00

Peach And Pecan Upside-Down Cake

2009-08-12T23:56:00.000-07:00

Because it was Wednesday, and because I was cooking dinner for Katrina Lynn (who I had not seen since June!), I made a peach and pecan upside-down cake using this recipe from the August issue of Bon Appetit. It sure was purty, and didn't taste half bad either. I'd never made this recipe before, so I followed the instructions to the letter. Next time I will add chopped dried peaches or some crystallized ginger to the cake batter to give it some extra ooomph. The next recipe from the magazine I intend to tackle: top crust peach and cardamom pie.

Ondal 2: Spicy Crab Goodness

2009-08-06T08:39:00.000-07:00

Babs and I hit Ondal 2 for a spicy crab extravaganza a few weeks ago and left so stuffed we could barely choke down a few margaritas at the Elbow concert afterwards. Ondal 2 is a family-run restaurant on Washington and Crenshaw, in a neighborhood a bit south of the usual K-town haunts. The restaurant is clean and bright, and though the waitstaff for the most part has perfected the art of avoiding eye contact and ignoring tables, we got a fine education on the contents of our crab soup from the friendly chap that served it.

What We Ate

Banchan: a variety of appetizers, including a Korean pancake with leeks and carrots, grilled pike fish, salad with ginger dressing and spicy raw crab.

Spicy crab soup: while we were finishing the appetizers, a server brought out a pot packed with 5 beautiful she-crabs, bean sprouts, mushrooms and greens. After it simmered for a while on our table, he came back and spooned individual servings of spicy broth, crab meat (in shell), rice and bean shoots into small bowls for us.

Spicy noodle soup: Once the bulk of our crab was gone, a server brought "dough paste" to our table and dropped hand-pulled pieces into the still simmering broth along with some additional vegetables. In just a few minutes our spicy crab soup was converted into spicy noodle soup

Fried rice: our remaining spicy broth was used to make tableside crab fried rice. More sauteed than fried, but the (at this point) signficantly reduced broth gave it all the crustacean goodness of the original crab soup.

Last, there was cold slightly sweet rice beverage served as a palate-cleansing dessert called Sikhye. My traditional American palate wanted a sweeter, richer dessert but I was so full at that point that the debate was merely academic.

Our 5-course feast came to about $30/person, including tax and several (okay more like 10) tall boy OB beers. I'm officially obsessed.

Ondal 2

4566 W Washington Blvd

Los Angeles, CA 90016

(323) 933-3288

Burger & Beer at Red Coat Tavern

2009-07-15T14:39:00.001-07:00

Red Coat Tavern
31542 Woodward Avenue
Royal Oak, Michigan 48073
248-549-0300

Five Guys Burgers and Fries

2009-07-09T06:54:00.000-07:00

At least in my neck of the woods, In N' Out is generally revered as the "King" (competitor names notwithstanding) of fast food burger chains. Southern California residents are smugly gleeful about their unfettered access to animal style double doubles, and In N' Out probably gets as many tourists each year as Disneyland and the Santa Monica pier.

I used to be one of the self-righteous In N' Out disciples, but my first bite of a burger from Five Guys Burgers and Fries cured me of that misguided monotheism.

Five Guys is a Virginia-based franchise chain hell-bent on expansion, which is a very very good thing for those of you (okay me) that believe cheeseburgers are one of life's great food pleasures. Put simply, their burgers put In N' Out to shame.

The Five Guys concept is simple: juicy burgers made right in front of you (in about 5 to 7 minutes), unlimited toppings, fresh hot fries (regular or Cajun) cooked in peanut oil, and for those of you who can skip the burger (or have room for some extras), hot dogs and grilled sandwiches. And did I mention there are big bins of bulk peanuts for snacking while you wait?!?

The default Five Guys burger (available as hamburger, cheeseburger, or bacon cheeseburger + toppings) is a two-patty monster. So if you're like me and only need one patty at noontime, go for the not-so-small "Little" burger. Available toppings include mayo, relish, onions, lettuce, pickles, tomatoes, grilled onions, grilled mushrooms, ketchup, mustard, jalapeno peppers, green peppers, A-1 Sauce, BBQ Sauce and Hot Sauce.

My go-to burger has been a Little Bacon Cheeseburger with jalapenos and BBQ sauce. Spicy deliciousness, and they get the bacon perfectly crispy every time. The Bacon Cheeseburger with grilled mushrooms, mustard and grilled onions is also good, but I'm such a fiend for jalapenos that I only got that combo one time.

I am surprised at how much I like the Five Guys fries. Unlike some people I know (cough - Babs - cough) I am not a huge potato person. If I'm going for fries, I want skinny, crispy McDonald's-esque fries (Campanile's are pretty damn good too). Five Guys' are of the slightly thicker variety, but both the Cajun and regular are quite tasty. If you are someone that is concerned about the origins of your food (even the fried), there is a sign on the wall that tells you where the day's potatoes are from.

I'd never heard of Five Guys before my stint in Warren, but research has revealed a fact somewhat alarming for my waistline: there are two Five Guys locations in Southern California (Carson and Cerritos). Looks like I will be making a Five Guys pilgrimage next time I go to IKEA . . .

Chameau: Morrocan Eats and Modern Digs on Fairfax

2009-07-06T14:19:00.000-07:00

Among the many restaurants I can walk to from my humble abode (where I generally consume so much ice cream and bacon that the walking part is irrelevant) is Chameau, a funky modern French-Morrocan restaurant on Fairfax just south of Oakwood. I've been meaning to check Chameau out since I moved into the neighborhood, but I am generally powerless to resist the siren's call of pork belly sliders and vino at Animal, and scoops gelato and Jason's stellar beer advice at Golden State. Babs, Jordan and I finally made the pilgrimage to Chameau a few weeks ago, and most thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

Chameau started as a tiny BYOB spot in Silverlake open three nights a week, but now serves dinner six nights a week in a cozy space on Fairfax. The BYOB has been replaced with a tightly edited wine list that performs the admirable feat of standing up to a cuisine that isn't always wine friendly. The decor is funky and eccentric – Phillipe Starck meets Marrakesh –and a backlit camel on the outer facade stands guard over its namesake. All meat is certified organic and the seafood is wild caught.

I'll get my one gripe about Chameau out of the way up front: the booth we sat in was horribly uncomfortable. The place looks great, but it was hard to linger over our meal. The booth seemed completely devoid of padding, and its hard straight back prohibited any form of slouching/reclining. That may be the main reason I was able to stay awake for the entire meal (I was practically sleepwalking after a hellish week in Detroit), but I like modern restaurant decor to be comfortable, not just visually pleasing. Next time I go, I will try sitting at one of the tables instead.

Seating issues aside, the meal was absolutely delicious. A miniature tagine of addictive, spicy marinated olives and a plate of warm, traditional flattened bread were delivered to our table before we even ordered our wine. We ate family style, sharing perfectly grilled spicy merguez sausage with couscous and market vegetables, savory-sweet duck bastilla (layers of homemade flaky pastry encasing moist shredded duck and toasted almonds, topped off with a dusting of cinnamon and powdered sugar) and fall-apart tender braised lamb tagine with artichokes that we spiked with a generous dose of Chameau's harissa. We drank a well-priced bottle of tempranillo that played nicely off the spices in the food, and our server was more than happy to pack a container of the homemade harissa for us to take with our leftovers. We were too stuffed to even consider dessert, but the menu had some intriguing choices, including a "bastilla au lait" and cinnamon creme caramel. Chameau is definitely vegetarian-friendly, with a variety of vegetable studded couscous dishes and seasonal produce that stand in stark contrast to the uninspired meatless choices offered by most restaurants.

After several sub-par and overpriced meals at Little Door (which will never have enough ambiance to make up for the bank account drain of dinner there, especially now that its reasonably priced and exponentially more appetizing younger sibling Little Next Door is serving such impeccable French fare), and the obligatory belly dancing filled birthday dinners at Dar Maghreb, I'm glad to have found a Morrocan restaurant in LA worth its harissa. Chameau is the kind of place you want to eat again and again, to try the seasonal twists on traditional Morrocan cooking the chef concocts and I intend to do so, even if I have to bring my own seat cushion.

Chameau
339 N. Fairfax Ave.
Los Angeles, CA 90036
323-951-0039

What I saw on my way home from the airport . . .

2009-07-06T13:30:00.000-07:00

If you look closely, you can see a glimpse of the driver's gold sparkle hat. A mission from God indeed . . . Unfortunately I didn't capture the spinning rims in action, but it was pretty sweet to watch those babies go 'round.

Livin' the High Life. Huntington Beach, CA.

2009-07-03T16:27:00.001-07:00

Grace Restaurant: Mmmmmmmmmmm Doughnuts

2009-06-07T17:46:00.000-07:00

June 5 was "National Doughnut Day". I'm not sure exactly who designated it as such, but Grace Restaurant - the original Beverly Blvd. dining destination - got into the spirit with a special "Doughnut Tasting Menu" for $18 with a $15 wine pairing in which I of course partook.

Every meal I've ever had at Grace has been fantastic, and the Doughnut Tasting Menu was no exception. Pastry chef Mariah Swan has quite the affinity for the oft-humble cop staple -- every Wednesday night at Grace is "Doughnut night" -- and the doughnuts she made for the tasting menu were unbelievably delicious. To quote one of my dining companions, they were "shut your eyes good."

The first course was the hands-down favorite: Salted Caramel Doughnuts with Bourbon Pecan ice cream and strawberries paired with a glass of Moscato d'Asti. I thought about licking my plate to ensure that none of the Salted Carmel went to waste, but I settled for scraping it into my mouth with a fork. That's right folks. My impeccable manners were on full display.

The second course was a Pistachio Doughnut with Chocolate Buttermilk marble ice cream and Dried Cherries paired with a seriously good a Croft 10 year tawny port. This was the Grace version of a jelly doughnut -- a round sugared pillow of dough housing creamy pistachio filling. The dried cherries put it over the top, and even the pistachio-hater at the table ate his share.

For the finale, we had Buttermilk Brown Butter Glazed Doughnuts and warm rum-spiced milk, paired with a 1998 Chateau La Grave Sainte Croix du Mont from Bordeaux. These doughnuts were a close second to the Salted Carmel doughnuts (and one person's favorite), and I'm sure I would sleep a lot better if I drank a mug of the rum-spiced milk every night before bed.

And in case you were interested in what we ate before the doughnuts, here are some pics:

The Spread

Ricotta and Fresh Mozzarella-Stuffed Squash Blossoms

Grilled Calamari with Pickled Watermelon and Mint

Roasted Beet Salad with Humboldt Fog Goat Cheese, Pistachios and Grilled Radicchio

Butter Lettuce Salad with Buttermilk Blue Cheese,

Cherry Tomatoes, Smoked Bacon and Blue Cheese Vinaigrette

The Indiscreet Harlequin enjoying his dinner with 5 skirts

Territory BBQ & Records

2009-06-07T00:13:00.000-07:00

Territory BBQ + Records is an only-in-Silverlake (adjacent) spot serving up BBQ and rare vinyl. The owners (pictured below) should be on lookatthisfuckinghipster.com (or a PSA for chewing tobacco), but they serve up a decent plate of 'Q.

The menu is straightforward. Sandwiches + 1 side for $8, entrees + 2 sides for $11, and ribs + 2 sides (dinner only) for $15.

Things were a little hectic when we arrived. Some sort of leak had occurred, and they were out of biscuits and mac n' cheese. However, they made more mac after we arrived, and although they said it would take an extra 15 minutes to make it, the mac came at the same time as the rest of the food.

Territory is BYOB, in the strictest sense. No bottle openers and no cups. Clearly the place to bring a 6-pack of beer, but I was determined to have some vino on my Friday night so we grabbed a few wine glasses from my friend's place to use. There are serve-yourself sodas for $1.50, and a refrigerator on the patio advertised free freezer pops.

The pulled pork is North Carolina style -- cooked in a smoker and served dry (i.e. sans sauce). Fairly nondescript, but tasty doused in some of the table-side BBQ sauce. The fried catfish sandwich, however, was spot on. A nice crispy cornmeal crust, with some extra snap from the coleslaw on the bun. Given the biscuit shortage, we only had two sides: mac n' cheese and collard greens. The collard greens were done right. Very savory, but not boiled into oblivion. The mac n' cheese was of the velveeta variety, but that didn't stop me from eating it. Processed cheese + pasta = what's not to like.

The verdict: Territory certinaly isn't a BBQ destination, but it is a cool spot to walk to if you live in the neighborhood and want to dig through some rare funk on vinyl after eating a plate of ribs. Male skinny jeans and black frame glasses are optional, but highly recommended.

The Quintessential American Dinner. Santa Monica, CA.

2009-05-31T22:30:00.001-07:00

Windmill Farm, I-10E, Palm Springs.

2009-05-23T10:30:00.001-07:00

Jones & Formosa Cafe: Viv And Betty Boom Boom Hit The Town.

2009-05-16T12:58:00.000-07:00

I had originally planned to take it easy Friday night, but when I learned of my impending banishment to that outer level of hell also known as Detroit, I convinced our roving reporter Betty Boom Boom to rally for a night on the town. In typical Vivian and Betty fashion, we wanted Italian food. Of course it was Friday night, and we didn't have a reservation, so no Pizzeria Mozza for us. We finally decided on Jones (a place where I've done more drinking than eating), because (1) neither of us remembered there being anything offensive about the food, (2) we got a 9:30 rezzy, no problem, and (3) if the scene wasn't good at Jones, we could always head across the street to Formosa for a drink.

JONES

I'll admit that last time I ate at Jones, I was a tad too intoxicated to render any opinion about the food. And when I say intoxicated, I mean drunk enough to fling a meatball at a particularly douchey guy Betty and I had acquired earlier in the evening at El Guapo (soon to be the subject of a RIP post, so stay tuned).

I was pleasantly surprised by my more sober dining experience Friday. Betty and I shared the proscuitto and melon, a caprese salad, and the penne pasta with turkey sausage and rapini in a spicy tomato sauce. The proscuitto and melon were elevated above the usual by a generous hit of fresh black pepper. The caprese salad was on the salty side -- a good thing in my opinion, since I pour salt on everything, but maybe not for everyone. The pasta was simple, spicy and good, with a surprisingly high ratio of goodies (i.e. sausage & rapini) to penne.

The price point worked too. We each had a glass of wine with dinner, and our bill was still about $40. Add to that the good music, interesting crowd, judicious use of subway tile, and door guy that gave compliments instead of attitude, and you've got a good start to a Friday evening.

FORMOSA CAFE

After dinner Betty and I went over to Formosa Cafe for a drink. A friend of ours (male) is always touting the virtues of the Formosa Mai Tai, and another friend (also male) recently ~~blacked out~~ lost part of his evening after sampling three of these famed creations, Never broads to shy away from a challenge, we decided to make it a Mai Tai night. As soon as we walked in, we ran into the Mai Tai lover and two of his friends, one of whom had recently deemed this Mai Tai trend distincly un-macho, but who had one in hand himself. They called it the "gay Friday Mai Tai club," and based on the presence of maraschino cherries in the drink I'd say the moniker is appropo.

After all the hype, I was expecting a fishbowl-style monster, but the real deal was much more innocuous and came in a regular highball glass. A little sweet for my taste, but somehow the right drink for the dim lighting, leather booths and old Hollywood feel of Formosa. I went home reasonably sober, and did not black out or discover takeout of mysterious origins the next morning, but then again I stopped at two Mai Tais. Maybe three is the ~~drunken hook-up~~ magic number.

* Disclaimer: the drink in the picture is not an actual Formosa mai tai, just a mait tai pic I found on the internet. The Formosa version is heavier on the pineapple juice and much lighter in color.

Notes From A Drunkard: Avett Brothers @ the Music Box at the Fonda 5/9/09

2009-05-11T21:48:00.001-07:00

I had sincere journalistic intentions when I set out to review this show. I really did. I planned to stake out a good spot by the stage, snap a bunch of live action shots, and scribe to-the-minute notes of witty inspirations, peppered with thoughtful alliterations. It was to be like a song.

That was, of course, until I hoovered a deadly pre-show dinner combo of Prosecco & Pork Confit (thanks, Bowery), followed by multiple Jack & Diet digestifs at the venue. After that, all I could squeeze out was this picture and the following notes, copied verbatim from my phone (Hag, don't judge me!):

avett
rousing, stomping sing-along
cheery crowd
busted strings

headbanging asian with no voice
just screaming to be heard

old school instruments
bushy beard spoken word

third song slow song lost edge
unless you imagined they were
singing right to you.

were you ever really listening
blonde with the black frame glasses
triumphantly claiming shame
as if it were her own

studio translation conundrum
more rain dance stomping
call and response

bass guy
SO pumped he picked the right instrument
in band class

gratitude

piano cello solo
out of place but
compassionately received

kickdrum silliness

magnolia tree
bass guy has pipes
surprise twist!

The end! I certainly meant to pretty it up, but I'll bet that even those fun little folky bastards themselves wouldn't want it that way. Good show, gentlemen. The streak has ended.

Potato Chips Sandwich Shop

2009-05-11T14:29:00.001-07:00

Today, during a break between conference calls, I decided hit the newly-opened Potato Chips for a look-see and a sandwich.

Occupying the former Bicentennial 13 space on Beverly Blvd. next to the Cobras & Matadors, Potato Chips is the latest venture from LA restaurant impresario Steven Arroyo. He happened to be working the cash register when I went in today, and was rather amused when I asked if I could take some pictures. Apparently bloggers have been making the rounds . . .

While Cobras & Matadors (both east and west) are perennial favorites, Arroyo has had mixed results with his other ventures. The tiny French wine bar Sgt. Recruiter, annexed to Cobras east, is packed every evening, and after a rocky start, Church & State (located in the Biscuit Company lofts in downtown) has found its stride with a minimalist bistro menu created by chef Walter Manzke. On the other hand, Arroyo was never able to make a go of it in the restaurant space attached to Rita Flora -- the asian izakaya Happi Songs, short-lived Goat, and a third Cobras all fizzled out.

I'm hopeful that Potato Chips will be an Arroyo restaurant with staying power -- it is a great addition to the neighborhood. The space is old-fashioned and charming, with antique refrigerator cabinets, white subway tiles, and a little red and blue paint to brighten things up.

As of now, there are only 6 sandwiches on the menu: The Italian (sopressata, capicola, salami, mortadella, provolone, shredded iceberg, tomatoes, pickles, hots, vinegar, and olive oil); Rosemary ham (Plugra butter, cornichons, and Dijon spread); Roasted Turkey; Sopressata (provolone, tapenade, vinegar & olive oil); Prosciutto (buffalo mozzarella, tomatoes, basil, and olive oil); Tuna & Havarti; and the Classic BLT.

The refrigerator cabinets and display shelves house a selection of red and white wine (there was a great bottle of '05 Pago de los Cappellanes), beer (Bohemia, Budweiser, and Hoegaarten to name a few), sodas (including Mexican Coke and Orangina) and bottled water. There are of course potato chips -- I saw three or four kinds in a basket near the register and clipped to the display shelves.

I tried the two sandwiches: the Tuna and the Prosciutto (I've got a leftover half of each for dinner if I somehow manage to muster up an appetite again today). In order to make my 2:00 call, I had to take the sandwiches to go. Each sandwich was wrapped in paper and then placed in a "submarine" bag. Cute.

The bread is just perfect. Chewy inside, some snap to the outer layer, and hearty enough to stand up to the other ingredients but not overpoweringly thick. The tuna was definitely my favorite -- creamy cheese, lemon rosemary tuna (none of the typical over-mayonnaised tuna salad at Potato Chips) and a nice kick from the hit of balsamic on the bread. The prosciutto was very good too, but not as inventive as the tuna. I will definitely be going back soon to see how a beer and BLT at Potato Chips competes with a glass of vino and the BLTA at Golden State.

I love my neighborhood!

A few of Viv's favorite NYC things

2009-05-03T22:32:00.000-07:00

Frequent travel is one of the perks and downsides of my new job. Downside = Detroit and San Diego in the same week. Perk = a week in NYC with visits to some of my favorite restaurants, unseasonably warm weather, and a Sunday evening BBQ at Kim and Josh's impossibly large and gorgeous Washington Square apartment.

The Shake Shack

My first few days in NYC were spent working, but I got done early on Friday and decided to start my weekend festivities with a late (4 p.m.) lunch at the Shake Shack.

I had a Shack-cago dog (Vienna all-beef dog on a poppy seed bun "Drag it through the Garden," i.e. topped with mustard, relish, onion, cucumber, pickle, tomato, sport pepper and celery salt), a black & white milkshake and fries. I even managed to exercise some restraint -- I abstained from half of my milkshake and most of the fries so I would still have an appetite for dinner.

Blue Ribbon Brasserie

Saturday night, we hit Blue Ribbon in Soho (Sullivan between Prince & Spring), one of my all-time favorite NYC restos. Known as a late-night chef hang-out (it is open until 4 am daily), Blue Ribbon is a noisy, no-reservations (except for parties of 5 or more) spot with an eclectic and well-executed menu that includes, among other things, fried chicken, caviar, paella and a pupu platter. The food is without fail delicious (I'm a big fan of haute comfort food), the staff is friendly, and the atmosphere is completely lacking in pretension.

By far my favorite thing on the menu is the beef marrow with oxtail marmalade, which we all shared for an appetizer. Sounds weird I know, but it tastes like the love child of olive oil and butter, with a little meaty kick from the oxtail marmalade, that you can eat as-is or spread over warm toasty slices of baguette. Unfortunately, I was so busy hoovering my share of marrow that I forgot to take a picture.

We also had a seafood platter, with oysters, scallops and clams; fried chicken, with mashed potatoes and collard greens (with a little honey on the side to sweeten things up); the "cheeseburger deluxe"; salmon with asparagus, mashed potatoes and mustard sauce; and the pigeon with toasted barley, sweet potatoes and apples (which I wasn't brave enough to try but everyone else seemed to enjoy).

We left around midnight. In true Blue Ribbon fashion, the place was still packed.

Murray's Bagels

Sunday morning, we had bagels from Murray's on 6th Avenue. Murray's has the quintessential NY bagel -- boiled, chewy perfection. Also enormous -- Kim & I couldn't quite finish our lox sandwiches. I had mine on pumpernickel, she had hers on an everything bagel.

The End.

Broads Book Club, Viv's Joint, West Hollywood, CA.

2009-05-03T15:09:00.001-07:00

Cinco De Mayo Car Show, Virginia Avenue Park. Santa Monica, CA.

2009-05-03T12:53:00.000-07:00

George's at the Cove, La Jolla CA.

2009-04-30T18:53:00.001-07:00

Queen Wilhelmina Tulip Garden. Golden Gate Park, SF.

2009-04-25T12:15:00.001-07:00

Adventures in NYC: Calexico Carne Asada

2009-04-21T21:29:00.000-07:00

I was traipsing around Soho today during meetings in a fit of nostalgia for my NYU days (i.e. snacking and shopping) when I stumbled upon Calexico Carne Asada on the corner of Wooster & Prince. While vendors selling candied nuts, hot dogs and/or pretzels are everywhere in NYC, a carne asada cart is quite rare. This may seem odd to us Los Angelenos, living as we do in the land of the taco truck and Kogi-mania, but tacos and Soho don't normally mix outside of Dos Caminos and La Esquina (which is arguably in Little Italy).

According to the website, Calexico "is owned and operated by three brothers from Southern California who are obsessed with bringing high quality Cal-Mex cuisine to the streets of New York." The cart has received a lot of press, and recently won "The Top Street Cart Award" at the 2008 Vendy Awards. How do you become a judge for an event like that?!? Yum!

The cart only serves lunch from 11 am to the earlier of 4 pm, or when it runs out of food. Luckily I happened by around 3:30 and was able to sample the wares.

There were a bunch of guys in line when I came, salivating as they waited for what looked like some seriously overstuffed burritos to come off the grill. However, I eat burritos at Poquito Mas, not taco trucks, and I couldn't bring myself to deviate from that habit for a Soho food cart.

I tried a carne asada taco ($4), served with pico de gallo and avacado crema (Calexico's purported specialty), and a chipoltle pork taco ($3) served with pickled onions and Mexican crema. Both were excellent, and in a rare victory for beef, I preferred the carne asada to the chipoltle pork. It was lean, sliced thin, and seasoned perfectly. The portion was just right too. With dinner only a few hours away, I didn't have enough room to try to the chipoltle "crack" sauce or a rolled quesadilla, but the week isn't over yet. And I wonder why I'm having a hard time buttoning my pants . . .

Hammock. Sunset. Summer.

2009-04-20T18:58:00.001-07:00

Cut Copy w/Matt & Kim @ the Music Box at the Fonda 3/10/09

2009-03-22T13:43:00.000-07:00

The days of live musical performances giving me a good aural rogering appear to be over. I can't discern the precise reason for this. I refuse to accept that it's because I'm an aging cynical asshole. Instead, I choose to believe that this last handful of shows has simply failed to wow me.

Cut Copy produces danceable, accessible, 80s throwback electropop goodness. Its members are easy on the eyes. The musical performance was superficially satisfactory at minimum. So why the hell would I rather crap glass shards than write a review on this show (3 weeks late)? Here are the only reasons I thought of so far:

1. The set was uninspired. Nothing was particularly wrong, I guess, but something just wasn't right. The crowd was there because it was trendy to know who Cut Copy was, and trendier to like 'em. Even if the band delivered some transcendent performance, it would have been totally lost on the whacked-out-on-ecstasy couple dry-humping next to me-- and I'm fairly confident that they were a microcosmic example of the audience at large.

2. There's just too many bands doing this thing, whatever it is. Nothing's standing out! I mean, come on. Really mushroom-stamp me with something. Set the drummer on fire! Throw ninja stars into the audience! I don't know. I guess I feel like I've seen this exact show a dozen times before.

3. The best 80s music is, was and will always be from the 80s. Everything else is just reinvented at best, and plagiarism at worst.

4. The frontman looked so smug that I wanted to cock punch him. You're not the Second Coming, dude. Keep that chin down, give Bono his Rock God stage stance back and connect with something bigger than your ego-- namely, the people who paid good money to have you show them a good time.

Enough. Now I'm just getting nasty. But what the hell else can I do? I had to punch it up. I was putting myself to sleep.

I will say that opener Matt & Kim were quite delightful.

They nailed the cardinal rule of Effective Stage Presence: Have. A. Good. Time. Matt delivered the goods, bouncing effusively on the equipment and gushing sincere gratitude on the doting crowd. The set was surprisingly uncomplicated, but with that kind of energy and enthusiasm, they could have been playing Richard Marx Dance Remixes for all I knew and I still would have enjoyed myself.

Good God, I finally did it. This must be what passing a stone is like.

Chicks with Knives January 09 Dinner

2009-01-25T22:19:00.000-08:00

Chicks with Knives ("CWK") is a sustainable, organic, local and ethical ("S.O.L.E.") roving supper club run by R & P, two rockin' chefs who shall remain nameless in furtherance of their awesome yet illegal endeavor. The dinner is held at a differnt locale each time. This month it was at a now-defunct cooking school in WeHo, and February's dinner is apparently going to be held at a downtown art gallery. I'm hoping there will be knife-throwing, or some other culinary/performance art hybrid to round out the festivities. . . R is a gardner who (according to her) has too much time on her hands. She grew a number of the ingredients used in the dinner, concoted a few of the recipes, and seems to be brimming with guerilla supper-club inspiration. P was more reserved -- she seems to more of a behind-the-scenes kind of gal -- but her sure technique was evident in everything we ate. The tables were strewn with meyer lemons donated by a CWK patron and fan, and we were advised pre-dinner that our assistance in bussing the tables would be appreicated.

I wish I had discovered CWK before it hit the Daily Candy wire, but it still was a fantastic experience. I got the invite from my friend G, who took a class assisted by P at the New School of Cooking. As a white person (my obssession with the hilarious blog Stuff White People Like noted in this post continues), the idea of a S.O.L.E. underground supper club of course appeals to me immensely; it incorporates a number of things white people like including organic food, dinner parties, and as a BYOB event, wine. Moreover, it was fun to be a table with both good friends and complete strangers. There was plenty of wine to share, and although I lost a corkscrew to the experience I gained a few glasses of Prosecco and (hopefully) some new friends.

The menu for the January 09 CWK event consisted of the following, and as you can tell from the pictures, the presentation was fantastic:

Wild mushroom salad with red mustard greens, carrots, and a mustard-seed vinaigrette

Carrot and orange soup with homemade crostini and black olive tapenade

Beef short ribs with root vegetable puree; and

Lemon cake (made with potato starch) served with meyer lemon and orange syrup, goat cheese frosting, and meyer lemon sugar glass.

The roasted wild mushrooms in the salad were lovely, and we all appreciated the effort involved in creating a salad that was sophisticated yet approachable, and S.O.L.E.

The soup was a standout. The texture and taste were both fantastic, and the sweet carrot base blended seamlessly with the tart citrus flavor of the orange. The tapenade was just perfect; I want the recipe so I can eat it with EVERYTHING.

While the soup was delish, it was the short ribs that really stole the show. They were marinated in sassafras (grown in R's garden), cider vinegar and spices, roasted for 6 hours, and then served on the bone over a root vegetable puree (potato, celery root, parsnips, etc.). R told me that this preparation was modeled on a recipe in Grant Achatz's Alinea cookbook, and while I'm sure his chemistry-laden recipe would produce a fantastic result, I can't imagine anything that would top the CWK short ribs. The meat was cooked perfectly -- fork-tender and succulent -- and was accompanied by an intense, flavorful reduction. The root vegetable puree was like mashed potatoes times 10, but with none of the artery-clogging dairy additions generally necessary to achieving noteworthy potatoes. In a word: yum.

The cake didn't fare as well as the other items on the menu. The premise was admirable -- a gluten-free concoction capitalizing on flavorful (and in-season) meyer lemons -- but the cake itself was a little dry. As a Jew that is forced to make flour-free desserts every year for Passover, I'm probably being overly critical, but I like my cake to have a lighter texture. Nonetheless, I'm sure my friends with Celiac's would love any attempt on my part to recreate this dessert. In any event, the syrup and the meyer lemon candy were both fantastic, and I finished every last bite, the texture of the cake notwithstanding.

The verdict: if you can get yourself on the mailing list for this fun, exclusive (in a good way) supper club, do it! In a city like a LA, the chance to dine with a roomful of like-minded strangers is a rare one indeed, and the added bonus of supporting chefs who are dedicated to serving a gourmet meal created with S.O.L.E. ingredients will certainly make me an attendee at their next event.

Top 10 Forms of Procrastination for January 2009

2009-01-25T17:48:00.000-08:00

1. Ascertain your daily level of whiteness at http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.com/full-list-of-stuff-white-people-like/

2. Watch this video by Mike O'Connell and Dr. Ken for the umpteenth time: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B2v-AkSj260

3. Practice your Danzig imitation http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-f5Hqy9lMiU

4. Search for your significant other/ex/dad/brother/future husband on: http://www.hotchickswithdouchebags.com/

5. Search for your signficant other/ex/mom/sister/future wife on: http://www.hotchickswithdouchebags.com/

6. Google stalk anyone and everyone.

7. Trim individual split ends with desk scissors.

8. Contemplate the Teaches of Peaches: http://www.pitchforkmedia.com/article/record_review/20781

9. F*ck the pain away.

10. Look at Food Porn.

8 oz. Burger Bar

2009-01-24T18:24:00.000-08:00

Occupying the former Table 8 space on Melrose, 8 oz Burger Bar is a is a fun, casual neighborhood burger joint from chef Govind Armstrong. I had a chance to look at 8 oz. before construction was completed, and I think the owners have done a fantastic job of realizing their vision of a low-key, friendly restaurant with simple, delicious food and a welcoming vibe. The space has been completely revamped, with serious attention to detail. The dark walls and goth feel of Table 8 have been replaced with gleaming subway tiles, concrete floors, leather banquettes, wood wainscoting and mirror-accented walls. There are few flat screen TVs placed strategically over the bar, and the drink menu is listed bistro-style on a large chalk board. Come summer, I’m looking forward to checking out the indoor patio that opens onto Melrose for some sure-to-be stellar people-watching accompanied by a frosty beverage or two.

The cocktail list at 8 oz is geared towards “classically inspired cocktails.” We tried two -- the Moscow Mule (vodka, ginger puree, fresh lime juice, and ginger ale) and the Blackberry Collins (choice of vodka or gin, muddled blackberries, fresh lemon juice, soda water). Both were excellent. The Moscow Mule was crisp and not-too-sweet, just the way I like it. The spicy kick from the ginger puree was tempered by the tang of the lime juice and the smoothness of the ginger ale, and the liberal amount of vodka was not apparent until I became tipsy during round two. The Blackberry Collins had a lush berry flavor, and benefitted from the use of homemade Collins mix. There was none of that artificial sour taste that store-bought Collins mix tends to impart.

8 oz. has a short, well-edited list of wines available by the glass ($8), the carafe ($16), and by the bottle ($32). The beer list, from “beer chick” Christina Perillo covers everything from $3 PBR to a $22 750 ml of Russian River Damnation.

The menu is quite large considering the specificity of the concept. There are several types of burgers, ranging from veggie and fish to Estancia grass-fed beef and the house burger blend, all priced between $8 and $10. Cheese and specialty condiments can be added for $1 each, and various other additions, such as bacon, roasted mushrooms, and fried green tomatoes, can be added for $2 each. The starters, sides and salads are inventive, and include fried olives, mini-Kobe corn dogs, and a green bean salad with duck prosciutto, hazelnuts, tangerines, frisee and a truffle honey vinaigrette.

I was dying to try the mini Kobe corn dogs, but in recognition of the meaty goodness to come, we started with the grilled artichoke, served with a house-made herb aioli.

For the main event, we had the Melrose Burger, the short rib grilled cheese, an order of fried pickles, and the truffled potato skins.

The Melrose burger is made with the house-blend patty (sirloin, tri-tip, short rib and chuck cured in 8oz.’s himalayan salt-tiled locker), wild baby arugula, garlic-roasted tomatoes, and red onion marmalade. My friend, who shares my belief that burgers can’t be eaten without cheese, added bel paese cheese. Definitely a lot going on, but it worked. The toppings didn’t obscure the taste of the terrific meat, and the onion marmalade was a nice counterpoint to the garlicky tomatoes.

The short rib grilled cheese approaches sandwich nirvana. It starts with short ribs, braised until tender and succulent, and then shredded, placed on bread and topped with onion marmalade and bel paese cheese. Next, the sandwich is pressed until the bread is browned and the cheese melted. A simple concept, executed flawlessly. The richness of the short ribs, creaminess of the cheese, and hint of sweetness from the marmalade combined to make a perfect sandwich. The burgers may the main draw at 8oz., but the short rib grilled cheese should not be missed.

The truffled potato skins were also a standout. Thin, with a generous does of truffle oil, I could have made a meal out of these. Nothing like the dense, mealy potato skins served at sports bars everywhere.

The pickles, while slightly overshadowed by the deliciousness of the potato skins, were really great. They were fried in a light cornmeal crust (usually found on po-boy bound oysters) that provided a satisfying crunch but didn’t overwhelm the pickles.

We had grandiose visions of a banana split (the people next to us had one and it looked delish!), but ultimately decided to finish things off with a carrot cupcake, topped with cream cheese frosting (I won't even discuss the possibility of carrot cake with any other kind of frosting -- that would just be unnatural).

The verdict: burgers, beers, and sandwich nirvana. What’s not to like? If you’re fed up with the wait and strict rules at Father’s Office (a burger I love, but not everyday), give 8 oz a try.

Jenga: Talk Dirty to Me.

2008-12-28T11:59:00.000-08:00

A retrospective on the profane Jenga game at the Daily Pint:

Kinky isn't really what comes to mind when I think of stacking blocks, but then again, the object of Jenga is sticking the right piece in the right hole, and then pulling it out with (hopefully) no consequences. Sound familiar?

I'm pretty sure this isn't a reference to a rooster.

Eyeballs? Concentric circles? Mammaries? You be the judge.

The hazards of hooking up with a gargoyle.

I've never had one of these . . . Dear readers, if you have experienced a Thai Ladyboy Surprise, please share your story.

A sampling of sentiments.

Babs and I have mad Jenga skills. 'Nuff said.

The end.

Animal Restaurant

2008-12-26T13:15:00.000-08:00

I've officially fallen in love. Its been a few years since I've said that about anyone or anything, but I am head over heels for Animal. Owned by Jon Shook and Vinny Dotolo, formerly of "2 Dudes Catering" on the Food Network, Animal is a funky little restaurant on Fairfax & Rosewood, near Canter's. The space is small -- 45 seats -- with warm wood accents and simple cream walls. The focus is definitely on the food, and with good reason. Animal, as the name implies, is not meant for dainty eating. Although there were some seafood options (we tried the halibut crudo) the action really lies with the inventive (and often pork-centric) meat dishes. Definitely a splurge meal, at least in terms of calories, but worth it. The menu is divided into small plates (18 choices the night we went), large plates (7 items), and dessert (2 options). My friend and I decided to make a meal out of the small plates, and everything we had was absolutely delicious.

We started with the six hour bolognese served over warm parmesan polenta. The picture doesn't really do it justice. This elicited excited "wows" from my dining companion, who was worried that rest of the meal would not live up to this dish. Fortunately (although perhaps unfortunately for my tummy, since I stuffed myself) it did.

Next we had the crostini with burrata, olive oil and sea salt. Mmmmmmm burrata.

The baby halibut crudo, with radish, pickled beets, tangerine and tarragon followed as a "palate cleanser." The tarragon was subtle, and the tangerine and pickled beets were a really great combo. A little out of place with the rest of our heavy food, but we were the ones who chose to order only meat, cheese and carbs.

This brings me to the Poutine. Poutine is a Quebecian/Candian comfort food, consisting of french fries topped with cheese curds and brown gravy. Canadians are often subject to mockery for being peaceful, having funny accents, etc. but they are onto something with Poutine. More refined than chili cheese fries, yet still plenty low brow, Poutine is my new favorite nosh. The version at Animal had oxtail gravy and vermont cheddar, and it did not disappoint.

At this point we probably should have stopped eating, but we chose to charge bravely ahead into two final dishes: smoked pork belly with lentil and butterbean salad and a banyuls vinaigrette, and the foie gras "biscuit and gravy."

The pork belly was literally melt in your mouth. There was another version of pork belly on the menu, with kimchi, peanuts and chili soy, that I definitely want to try when on my next visit to Animal. The foie gras, with a biscuit and maple sausage gravy, was completely over the top. Each component on its own would have been decadent, but the combination of the two was just outrageous. It took all of our combined eating power to finish off the foie gras decadence, but we rose to the challenge. Needless to say, we did not have room for dessert

Not to worry though. In the immortal words of our Governator, I'll be back.

Two Broad Salute: Facial Hair

2008-12-21T19:29:00.000-08:00

Welcome, friends, to the first of what I hope will be many Two Broad Salutes. There's a lot out there a broad can tip her hat to in this wretched (yet somehow irresistible) city, and I intend to do justice to the whopping lot of them.

I am a sucker for facial hair. Dirty, filthy, prickly, bushy, unkempt, hell, even Amish, just let me nuzzle it. Every Christmas season, I fully expect to be arrested for mauling the Salvation Army Santa, but he always turns out to kinda like it (in a way that inevitably makes me run off crying in horror, but still, win-win, I say!).

Turns out Santa came a wee bit early this year to yer ol' Babs. While enjoying a ritual glass (or two) of Chimay at the Pint with Betty Boom Boom (one of our roving reporters), we made a delightful observation-- well over 85% of the brothers in the building were sporting some form of glorious facial hair!

Once we noticed this growing LA trend, we couldn't stop. Everywhere we looked, we saw face muff. Not a smooth visage in the house! We were smart enough to have a camera on hand, and were able to capture some of these Metro-roughnecks in the wild, which I'll provide at the end for your viewing enjoyment (you'll see we also stumbled on another growing trend, the Ugly Sweater Party, which will be featured in tandem). Thankfully, Betty's got a sunny disposition (and by "sunny disposition," I mean a sweet set of cans) and our subjects seem more than happy to oblige.

There seemed to be a real art form to the style and presentation of this facial hair, and we managed to identify some key categories:

The Cloak of Darkness

There's a guy I dated briefly a few years back who never took his hat off. Ever. I mean, it was some Leif Garrett kind of shit.

Wanna watch some TV at home? Ballcap. Wanna go on a date to an expensive restaurant? Beanie. Didn't matter if it was a black-tie event, he'd just get some kind of matching doo-rag made. It just screamed I'm BALD as a bagel and I just can't let it go. Sure enough, I saw him two weeks ago for the first time in years, sans head gear, finally embracing his hairless destiny.

I suspect that facial hair serves the same purpose for a lot of hideously ugly guys who can't get laid. Broads, be careful out there when you're zeroing in on one of these subjects. It's the modern-day version of kissing a bunch of frogs to find a prince, except that by the time you realized you kissed a bad one, he has all of your phone numbers, e-mail address and knows where you live.

The Jeremiah Johnson

This guy is the polar opposite of The Cloak Of Darkness. He is literally so hot that he's willing to grow a wild vagina on his face to conceal his bronzed, perfectly chiseled features. It's like a sick joke he likes to play on the world.

This guy is so gorgeous that he has to devise a test in order to find true love or some shit. Will she still love me if I look like a transient, and my face has greasy bits of fried chicken stuck to it from the meal I got out of a dumpster 4 days ago? Who cares, I'm fucking awesome under here.

The Overgroomer

As a general rule of thumb, the only grooming that good facial hair should require is some basic neck maintenance, to keep your face hair from blending into your carpet chest or back. This simple task is impossible to fuck up, takes no more than 30 seconds and simply prevents you from being mistaken for a Wookie or a Yeti.

But that is IT, folks. I'm serious. No chinstraps, soul patches, goatees, mutton chops, Fu Manchus, NONE OF IT.

You might as well just carve lightning-bolts into your fade for all I care. You're just trying too hard, and there's something very fussy and effete about it. I was surprised to see quite a few of these specimens at the Pint. I was not surprised, though, to find that they weren't getting laid.

If facial hair grooming takes you longer than it takes me to put on some lip gloss, give your face a Brazilian and move on.

The Non-Committal

There seemed to be a lot of specimens in this category. These guys have skipped the shave for a minimum of three days or so, but they never seem to really move beyond a week of growth-- some mysterious force snaps them back to the Bic.

This type of facial hair requires very little effort or commitment. It's almost not even worth categorizing. It's like these guys tipped their toe in the Trend Pool and then went back to the clubhouse to get their floaties. Meanwhile, all of these burly bears got to splashing around in their kiddie pool, getting the drains all clogged up with their majestic matted hair.

These Non-Committals could be moved by any combination of these inspirations:

I'm lazy and I want chicks to think I don't give a shit.

It's my little "fuck you" to Corporate America.

I've been on a junk binge for four days and shaving isn't top of mind.

I look really good with a 5 0'clock shadow, but after a week I look like I have Mange.

I don't want to be the first guy my age with a beard so I'm gonna sit here with these skinny jeans on and see what everyone else does.

My ex-girlfriend told me I look really sexy this way.

Chris Martin looks really sexy this way.

It's an effective prop to illustrate how long I've been cooped up in my editing bay working on the most recent M. Night Shayamlan project.

The list is not exhaustive, my friends, and the categories are endless, but my Spiked Egg Nog is getting warm, and I don't know how I feel about room-temperature dairy products. Decide for yourselves which categories we discovered below, and be sure to hug a loved one this holiday season.

Top 10 Things To Do While Listening To: Certified Air Raid Material by edIT

2008-11-28T17:20:00.000-08:00

10. Hunt Sea Donkeys with latex bait.

9. Clean the house in your chonies (not that I have. I'm just saying).

8. Cry tears of inferiority that you are not, and never will be, as awesome as this music.

7. Practice pole dancing (not that I have. I'm just saying).

6. Shuck corn.

5. Stand your dog up on his hind legs and make him dance with you (not that I have. I'm just saying).

4. Impress your friends by remarking on the wonders of "glitch-hop" and IDM and reference this wizardry as a fine example.

3. Hop in your sweet Prius and hit the open road with the windows down, pretending you're in a futuristic Asian-inspired music video (not that I have. I'm just saying).

2. Rock out with your cock out.

1. Jam out with your clam out (I have. I'm just saying).

Fudge & Sea Salt Brownies

2008-11-19T13:47:00.000-08:00

I brought these into work the other day and they were a huge hit. Everyone in the office was clamoring for more. The salt makes the brownies taste extra chocolaty and fudgy. The recipe is very easy to follow. Just be sure to use good chocolate -- I use Scharffen Berger unsweetened baking chocolate and Valhrona cocoa powder -- and don't overbake the brownies. These look really pretty if you sprinkle them with a bit of flaky sea salt like Maldon just before they finish baking or right as you take them out of the oven. After baking and cooling as directed in the recipe, the brownies can be refrigerated for three days or frozen up to one month.

Ingredients

1 1/2 sticks unsalted butter
2 ounces unsweetened chocolate, finely chopped (it helps if chocolate has been refrigerated or if knife is cold)
1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa
2 cups sugar
3 large eggs
1 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon Maldon sea salt

Directions

Preheat the oven to 350°.
Line a 9-inch square metal cake pan with foil, draping the foil over the edges. Lightly butter the foil.
In a large saucepan, melt the butter with the unsweetened chocolate over very low heat, stirring occasionally. Remove from the heat. Whisking them in one at a time until thoroughly incorporated, add the cocoa, sugar, eggs, vanilla and flour. Pour the batter into the prepared pan and smooth the surface. Sprinkle the salt evenly over the batter. Using a butter knife, swirl the salt into the batter.
Bake the brownies in the center of the oven for about 35 minutes, until the edge is set but the center is still a bit soft and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out coated with a little of the batter. Let the brownies cool at room temperature in the pan for 1 hour, then refrigerate just until they are firm, about 1 hour. Lift the brownies from the pan and peel off the foil.
Cut the brownies into 16 squares. Serve at room temperature.

Note: This recipe is from Food & Wine magazine.

Hungry Cat

2008-11-17T21:34:00.000-08:00

What can I say . . . I love Hungry Cat. Indeed, some might say my love of Hungry Cat borders on obsession, and maybe it does. But if I am obsessed, it is completely justified. The food at Hungry Cat is amazing, and truly seasonal. I've eaten at Hungry Cat three times in the six weeks, and the menu has been slightly different each visit. The Pug Burger (with bacon, avocado, blue cheese and an optional fried egg) is always on the menu, but don't get too attached to anything else. Despite the kitchen's penchant for mixing it up, though, everything is always incredibly well executed and just plain delicious. Here are the details on my last visit:

The drinks:

I went with my standby cocktail at Hungry Cat: the Greyhound Proper. Hungry Cat does the greyhound better than anyone else in LA, with Plymouth Gin, fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice (squeezed in an old-fashioned citrus press) and a piece of candied grapefruit. Yum! Everyone else tried the persimmon margarita. Mellow yet tart, with a cinnamon salt rim. It tasted like a margarita, not a syrupy fruit bomb. Two people in our party wanted something a little sweeter, and two of us liked it as is. Thus, the persimmon margarita isn't for everyone, but I thought it was a great use of an underrated seasonal fruit. In any event, they ran out of persimmons after our first round, and the non-greyhound drinkers made the switch to tangerine margaritas.

The food:

We started with a half-dozen oysters (self-explanatory) and the marinated diver scallops, served with asian pear, green curry vinaigrette and peanut brittle. Sounds odd I know, but everything worked. There was just a hint of spice, and the natural sweetness of the scallops paired really well with the small morsels of peanut brittle. We were really really hungry and I forgot to take a picture of this course, so you'll just have to take my word for it.

We tried four mains (rather unsurprising since there were four of us):

(1) Grilled arctic char with sunchoke puree, roasted carrots, mustard greens, beets and hazlenuts.

(2) Black grouper with braised octopus & fregola sarda stew, almond gremolata and romesco.

(3) Chorizo stuffed squid, grits, slow cooked peppers, basil and saffron aioli.

(4) Monkish stew with coconut milk.

The artic char was the hands down favorite. Despite the varied ingredients, the differing flavors and textures meshed beautifully. The mild fish paired fantastically with the creamy sunchoke puree, bitter mustard greens, crunchy hazlenuts and sweet beets. The squid and the monkfish stew were the two runners up. The squid was savory and tender, and the creamy grits were a nice counterpoint to the bite of the spicy chorizo-stuffed squid. There were two people in our group who had never eaten squid before; once they got past the ick factor (one woman thought there would be suction cups and tentacles) they really enjoyed it but still found it to be a tad adventurous. The monkfish stew was light yet creamy, and the sweetness of the coconut milk was tempered by a hint of curry spice. It was more of an appetizer than an entree, but given all of the other food we ordered, I suppose it was good that the monkfish stew was on the "lighter side." The grouper rated last only because we were divided on whether the octopus was on the right side of charred. One person in our group found the charred flavor overwhelming, although she found it less so as the meal went on . . . perhaps the flavors just needed more time to meld. The romesco sauce and gremolata, however, were bright and flavorful, and the grouper was cooked perfectly.

For dessert we shared the apple fritters with caramel and sea salt. Little warm bites of deliciousness, and perfect for sharing if you're already stuffed full of well, everything else. A nice alternative to the over-the-top (but utterly wonderful) chocolate bread pudding.

The verdict: MEOW!!!

(Sorry -- couldn't resist the bad pun!)

R.I.P: Sharkeez

2008-11-14T11:56:00.000-08:00

In my continuing efforts to rid my life of all things asinine, I present to you the next installment of R.I.P:

Behold, Sharkeez-- a Tijuana knock-off bar that has actually become so popular for perennial frat boys and party tramps that they actually keep making more of them.

I'm not the only one who's tried to lay Sharkeez to rest for the critical survival of the human race. You know who else gave it a shot? God. God actually tried to smite Sharkeez.

One of these Whorehouse Training Camps spontaneously combusted in the middle of the night a couple of years back, which seemed to me a divine foreshadowing. And God said, "it is good."

Unfortunately, God didn't factor in that Sharkeez must've fucked a Gremlin sometime in the late 80s-- nowadays, you pour water on one and *poof!* another dreadful little nightmare pops up. And the fate of mankind rests once again in the hands of neanderthals who like to drink shots from a plastic syringe and head-butt each other.

I was lured into one of these for the LAST TIME yesterday, you hear me? Last. Time. I walked in there for Happy Hour and walked out with a missing dignity and a full 17 minutes closer to my expiration date.

To illustrate my outrage, here's a quick hit list of reasons I'd like to give the owners a swift slap in the mouth after my horrendous trip to Sharkeez:

1. It's called Sharkeez.

I mean, really? Something about that "eez" really punching up the profit marginz? Waz "Sharkey's" or even "Sharkees'" just too classy for you? Nothing sayz passing fad like a bar with a lame name and an even lamer intentional misspelling. But you post-undergrad Peter Panz just keep showing up in drovez, proving me wrong. And it makez me just want to euthanize you all.

2. They sell a drink called a Donkey Punch.

Do you people even know what a Donkey Punch is? I mean, really visualize a Donkey Punch for a couple of seconds (that is, what you think a DP is, since you all know Goddamned well no one you know has ever done it) and then look down at your drink. Do you want to drink a whole bucket of liquid named after a brain contusion and a contracted sphincter? Whatever, have fun.

3. They hold shouting contests for free booze.

4. There are more flat screens per capita than a ~~Circuit City~~ Best Buy.

5. They host regular Flip Cup Tournaments. Seriously.

6. Their Shark Attack requires a minimum of three drinkers and very closely resembles Jungle Juice (refer to inaugural R.I.P post)

7. The place is crammed with the best our gene pool has to offer (see above and below) relentlessly and shamelessly propositioning each other:

7. They have breathalyzers in the bathroom.

8. The bartenders and wait staff wear sports jerseys.

9. Every item on the food menu was fried in the same vat.

10. Perfect strangers play grab-ass to and from the coed bathrooms and proceed to text each other about this very meaningful experience on their iPhones for the next 30 minutes.

(11. Because ours go to eleven.)

G'bye, Sharkeez. I'd like to say I'll miss you, but clearly I won't. Call me when you decide to host a Donkey Punch tournament, and you just might see me around.

TV On The Radio at the Wiltern 11/6/08: A Haiku Review

2008-11-07T09:09:00.000-08:00

T.V.O.T.R.
I don't know your music well
But your set was cool.

I got free tickets!
Thanks, K.C.R.W.
Vivian came, too.

I love the Wiltern.
Art Deco and trendy kids--
Who could ask for more?

I could ask for less:
Vests, Plaid, Skinny Jeans on guys.
Maybe I'm just old.

Maybe you're just lame
If you're a guy, and were there
Wearing skinny jeans.

Sorry, I digress.
I didn't see the Dirtbombs,
Who opened the show.

I needed to eat,
So I hoovered some nachos
in the lobby first.

Then we were ready,
Nourished by chips and vodka,
To see the main act.

They were good, I guess.
Big hype's tough to live up to,
But they held their own.

Thank God for earplugs,
Or feedback and distortion
Is all I would have heard.

I'm apeshit for horns,
And they had four horn players
As guest musicians!

So that part was fun.
The energy started low,
But swelled quite nicely.

Songs were inventive,
The band was technically sound,
But overall? Meh.

Am I just un-hip?
You know who seemed to like it?
Jonas Brothers clones.

Maybe it would help
If I got more familiar
With some of their tunes.

I won't give up yet
On you, T.V.O.T.R.
We will meet again.

R.I.P: Jungle Juice

2008-11-02T16:54:00.000-08:00

Jungle Juice? Hey, it's me.

How are you? Good, that's good. Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm cool. No, I was just-- no, were you gonna say something? Uh, no. *** sigh ***

*** awkward silence ***

I was just going to say it was really good to see you on Friday. It's-- yeah, it's been a while. What, God, my 21st birthday? Whoo! Yeah, I know, right? Man, we had some good times that night. And that one St. Patrick's Day party a couple years back, when we ran out of Bailey's for the Car Bombs? I know, God. Neither one of us were expecting what happened after that.

It's just, uhm. Like, Halloween on Friday was really awesome, but I don't want you to think that it's back on or anything. No! I'm sure you didn't think it was, it's just-- it's really painful to run into you like that, Jungle Juice. I mean, it's really painful. I've been in pain all weekend, and I just-- I don't think I can see you anymore.

Clearly I can't control myself when I'm around you, and you completely take advantage of me. At first I think I can play it cool with you, you know? Stay in control? Well you and I both know I'm never strong enough. By the time I realize you've crept back into my life, it's too late. The next thing I know I'm trying to find Dignity, who totally takes off with Morals and Moderation every time you're around, and then WHAM! I wake up five hours later on the freezing bathroom floor tile, curled up in the fetal position in my Blade Runner costume, shivering in my own sweat, wondering how I could have let you leave me cold and alone, like you always do.

Well, I'm calling to tell you I can't do it anymore, JJ. Listen, you're really sweet. You make me feel so good sometimes but I just can't trust myself to resist you. When you leave me, it hits me hard, and I just can't handle the pain anymore. I need you out of my life for good. So this is goodbye. Goodbye forever, JJ.

Anisette: WTF?

2008-10-29T13:42:00.000-07:00

The food blogs and message boards have been abuzz about Anisette since it opened – unsurprising since the restaurant marks the return of Alain Giraud, one of LA’s foremost chefs. Reviews have been mixed, especially among the Chows and the Yelpers, but I was still very excited to try it. I tend not to have specific expectations about how food should be prepared; if there is good food and good wine, then I’m happy.

Our reservation was for 8:30 on Friday night. When we arrived (to a packed house) the hostess told us it would be a few minutes before our table was ready, and to have a seat at the bar. The space is lovely, albeit loud, and we were duly impressed by the wall of bottles. After squeezing ourselves in near the end of the bar, we bought a round of cocktails to pass the time. All of us tried an elderflower/cucumber cocktail. Very au courant and well made, but I’d go with something more basic next time.

At around 8:45 we went to check on our table. It still was not ready, but we were told the table was finishing dessert and that it would be ready soon. As the driver, I decided to skip the next round of cocktails, but one of my dining companions opted to try the absinthe. The preparation was traditional, yet impressive. The bartender placed a sugar cube on a slotted spoon on top of the glass of absinthe, lit the cube on fire so it would melt into the drink, and then poured cold water into the drink to put out the fire and dilute it slightly. The absinthe was very alcoholic, with a strong medicinal aftertaste, but definitely a fun diversion.

However, at this point it was 9 p.m. and there was still no word on our table. For the next half hour we sat dejectedly at the bar waiting for our table to be ready. The bartender gave us each a gratis glass of bubbly as an apology (not what we would have ordered, but a nice gesture), and after several more inquiries as to our table, we were finally seated around 9:35. That’s right folks. Over an hour wait for our table, and we had a reservation!

The manager gave us a basket of gougeres for the table in apology for the wait, and the sommelier took our wine order immediately. We wolfed down for the gougeres (which were lovely) and then waited for our server to take our order. And waited. And waited. Did I mention there was a lot of waiting? Our server finally came to take our order around 10:05 p.m. – about the time I’m used to finishing dinner – and didn’t seem too concerned that we had been at the restaurant for an hour and a half already. After a comment to the manager about the further wait, however, our starters came out rapidly. We had a Frisee au Lardon salad, a smoked salmon plate with brioche, and a cheese plate. The egg on the Frisee au Lardon was overcooked, such that the yolk was completely solid and did not run at all. Still tasty, but a restaurant helmed by someone with Alain Giraud’s pedigree should be able to execute a traditional dish like this better. The smoked salmon was good but nothing special. We really enjoyed the cheese plate, although I have no idea what was on it – our server did not know and never came back with the info even though we asked him to.

Things really fell apart with our main courses. We ordered the Beef Daube Provencal, the Gnocchi, and the Black Cod with Chorizo and Clams. Of the three, only the Beef Daube was standout. Really delicious, with melt in your mouth beef, and an almost carmelized reduction. The Black Cod was cold and bland. Only the chorizo had any flavor. I’m not sure how long it had been sitting, but the wait didn’t do it any favors. Next to the Gnocchi, though, the cod was delicious. The Gnocchi – purportedly made with black truffle and parmesan – were mealy, devoid of any flavor, and slightly undercooked.

While halfheartedly eating dessert around 11:15, we marveled at just how mediocre the food was. Only the cheese plate, the Beef Daube and the chocolate ice cream (part of a trio we ordered) could be classified as flavorful and satisfying; the rest of our food ranged from pedestrian (the Frisee Salad, and the Salmon) to downright offensive (the Gnocchi). Bottom line – for a top chef, about $100 per person and an hour + wait for our table, I expected a lot more.

If I’m on that side of town again I might go to Anisette for a drink at the bar and maybe a cheese plate, but with so many other delicious French options available in LA these days (Little Next Door, Comme Ca and Café Stella to name a few) I won’t be eating dinner at Anisette again anytime soon.

Real Life: I Was Seduced By KCRW's Tom Schnabel

2008-10-24T17:03:00.000-07:00

Like many LA music nerds, I'm a whore for KCRW's music programming. Not a single day goes by that I don't tune in and burn with envy (at least I hope it's envy. Otherwise, I probably should see a doctor) at the latest musical discovery.

Normally, I'm a hussy for Nic Harcourt, Jason Bentley, Raul Campos, Garth Trinidad-- hell, I'd even let Chris Douridas roofie me. But last Sunday afternoon, I was lured into the babe lair of one silver fox by the name of Thomas Daniel Schnabel. Observe:

Now, admittedly, Cafe LA is a little too World Music for my taste. I am one of those shameful creatures whose musical interests aren't sophisticated enough to endure more than a song or two of Brazilian lounge music or some obscure European import without shaking it up with a little something I can sing to-- like the entire discography of Hall & Oates, for example.

Let's cut now to my Sunday afternoon. I'm finishing up my LA Times Sunday crossword puzzle, quietly praising the good Lord above to be listening to anything but Le Show, which I openly despise (sorry, Harry, but this one does NOT go to eleven), and I hear it: a little bit of magic that made me tickle in my funny parts:

I know, you guys! I know. It kind of just crept up on me. It's like one of those guys that's been friends with you for like 10 years, and he's giving you what appears to be a harmless platonic massage on the shoulders, let's say-- which you willfully accept just to ease the ol' girl's tension from the day, and who wouldn't?-- when suddenly you feel a stiff poke on the lower back, and then it gets awkward because it's like, do I ask this guy if it's something in his pocket? I mean, besides his erect penis? And now do I have to have this weird conversation with my old friend, that I never thought I'd have to have, because I always kind of thought we were on the same page? You know, that page about being totally out of his league and him never having a snowball's chance in hell?

I mean, I'm not saying that happened. But if it did, my creepy friend's boner would be like my realization about one minute into this sweet little ditty that maybe, just maybe, I kinda like it.

I gotta go call my friend. My neck is stiff and I don't wanna watch Project Runway on DVR alone.

Sincerely,

Babs

Update: I just watched Diner for the first time (Good thing I'm not a movie critic. I know this is supposed to be some timeless classic, but Jesus. What a snoozefest.) and was pleasantly surprised to hear this panty-dropper featured in the soundtrack! What can I say, I'm an old soul.

Kiss my Bundt Bakery

2008-10-19T16:10:00.000-07:00

After brunch at Little Next Door this morning, I decided to check out Kiss My Bundt Bakery http://www.kissmybundt.net/. Kiss My Bundt is devoted almost entirely to (you guessed it) bundt cakes. The bakery offers three sizes of bundt cake -- Mini Bundt, Baby Bundts, and Big Ol' Bundts. Big Ol' Bundts are available only by special order, and I didn't see too many Baby Bundts in the case, but not to worry -- the Mini Bundts are the perfect size for these moist yummy cakes! There are 32 flavors of bundt, and various frostings to choose from. The 8 most popular flavors are offered every day:

1. Callebaut® Chocolate Cake with Chocolate Glaze
2. Callebaut® Chocolate Cake with Vanilla Buttercream and Belgian Chocolate sprinkles
3. Callebaut® Chocolate Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting
4. Vanilla Cake with Chocolate Buttercream
5. Vanilla Cake with Vanilla Buttercream and white chocolate shavings
6. Red Velvet Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting
7. Luscious Lemon Drop Cake, featuring a house-made lemon syrup and lemon glaze
8. Carrot Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting

The other flavors offered vary daily, with as many as 15 flavors available some days. Kiss my Bundt also serves brownies, fair trade coffee and tea, and now that the weather has sorta cooled off, homemade hot chocolate.

The shop is very cheery, with a pink, brown and white decor. There were Halloween decorations up, and a Halloween theme to certain of the cakes (i.e. orange-colored frosting and brown and orange sprinkles on some cakes).

Chrysta Wilson, the proprietress and creator of these yummy confections, was at the register when I came in. She offered me samples of "anything and everything." I opted to sample the day's special offerings -- pumpkin cake with cream cheese frosting, and pumpkin cake with cinnamon glaze. As I can attest from both the samples and and my later consumption of a mini bundt in each flavor, both were fantastic. The pumpkin cake was moist and not-too-sweet, and both the cream cheese frosting and cinnamon glaze were great complements to the cake. Also, each had the perfect amount of icing/frosting. Enough to satisfy a frosting enthusiast, but not so much that the little cakes were overwhelmed.

I bought several flavors of mini-bundt to try -- I knew my colleagues at work would be more than happy to help me taste test. Aside from the aforementioned pumpkin combos, I bought red velvet with cream cheese frosting, dark chocolate with dark chocolate glaze, and the Halloween-themed vanilla with vanilla buttercream . All were fantastic, with the dark chocolate and red velvet voted the favorites by my co-workers. Like me, they appreciated the frosting/icing to cake ratio. I can't wait to go back and try the other flavors, especially the lemon and carrot, and am looking forward to some hot chocolate when it is a tad cooler.

The verdict: I will happily support this neighborhood gem. The mini-bundts are as good if not better than any cupcake in LA. I suggest you check it out next time a cupcake or sweets craving hits.

Kiss My Bundt Bakery, 8104 West 3rd Street, Los Angeles, CA 90048, (323) 655-0559.

Bristol Farms: Fine Food and Fine Men

2008-10-01T18:22:00.000-07:00

I have a love/hate relationship with Bristol Farms. Everything in the store is fantastic. Delicious prepared foods, an astounding array of cheeses and charcuterie, perfect produce, Method cleaning products, AND a miniature wine heaven. I stop in for a block of cheddar and leave with pre-sliced mango, veal stock, rosé champagne and 6 bottles of the boutique Syrah I had at Canteen in San Francisco and was previously unable to find ANYWHERE. However, the mark-up at Bristol Farms borders on the offensive. Whatever the product -- milk, eggs, horseradish, toilet paper -- it costs at least 25% more at Bristol Farms than it does at the Ralphs directly across the street.

But Bristol Farms -- at least the Beverly & Doheny location -- has something Ralphs does not: ridiculously hot men. Whereas Whole Foods is the domain of doe-eyed models, aspiring starlets and (gasp!) even attractive regular gals like me, Bristol Farms is where winners of the male genetic lottery shop for groceries.

I’ve never actually spoken with any of these men, other than the time a gorgeous but clearly taken actor type asked me for wine advice. Part of this stems from the fact that I’m too shy to make eye contact with anyone I think is attractive unless I’ve had a few drinks. The remainder of my reserve is based on the fact that I was approached by a man in the grocery store once, and it was really really creepy. So creepy, in fact, that one of the store employees offered to walk me to my car. Thus, from my perspective, Bristol Farms is merely a place to observe man candy in its natural habitat. But if you are bolder than I, add the Beverly & Doheny Bristol Farms to your to-do list.

I am currently contemplating camping out in front of Bristol Farms in hopes of “running into” the man I saw there last Thursday. The love child of Patrick Dempsey and the brawny man, I almost followed him out of the store and offered to have 10,000 of his babies. Luckily, my path was blocked by an elderly woman contemplating the virtues of black licorice (I prefer RJ’s soft-eating licorice, she is a staunch Panda fan), saving me from humiliation and/or a stalking charge.

Like bigfoot, unicorns, and the Loch Ness Monster, I don’t have any photographs of the Bristol Farms hot man phenomenon. What can I say? I don’t usually bring a camera with me to the grocery store. From here on out though, I will carry one with me, and will post any pictures I am able to obtain. So stay tuned for updates to this post, and keep your fingers crossed that neither the men in question nor Bristol Farms will mind being the subject of an occasional candid photograph. Though a story involving me getting punched in the face by a dude while trying to take his picture at Bristol Farms could make for an interesting post . . .

The Show that Started it All (Viv's Take)

2008-09-26T10:39:00.000-07:00

Babs already told you everything you need to know about the music aspect of Jared Lee at Hotel Café. After all, she's the one with good taste in music. And by good taste I mean she makes all the correct esoteric choices, has a keen sense of what transcends the norm, and possesses an encyclopedic knowledge of music not limited by genre. I on the other hand, am lazy about music. I really like it, and get nervous if I forget to bring my ipod with me to work, but rarely come upon a new find myself. Instead I rely on others to steer me in the right direction, discovering amazing bands far after they've ceased to be news on the scene. I also have a secret love for dirty south rap music that need not be aired in the blog-o-sphere.

So who I am and why am I posting on this blog? Put simply, I'm a foodie and sometime oenophile working a soulless job who could really use a creative outlet. And at the Hotel Cafe Wednesday night, I came upon the idea of blogging about my dining experiences in Los Angeles and beyond. It seems so obvious now. What better to way to utilize my penchant for verbosity, opinionated nature, and constantly rumbly tummy than a blog about my culinary adventures?!? I of course reserve the right to blog about things other than food, including, but not limited to, dating in the Facebook age, why lawyers are assholes (me included) and maybe even the occasional concert review. But for the most part my posts will be about the joys and hazards of being a food-lover in a city that has both vegan cafes and Roscoe's, is known for its sublime strip-mall restaurants, and is currently ground zero for hip French Bistros.

Anyhow, lets talk food at the Hotel Café. Hotel Café’s website promises "grilled European style Panini sandwiches, chicken quesadillas, specialty salads, a full selection of desserts and espresso drinks, as well as many bottled beers, wines, and a full bar." Famished from the after work scramble to ditch my business casual gear for a more concert-appropriate getup, and the subsequent trafficky drive across town, I had secret hopes that "grilled European style Panini sandwiches" meant mozzeralla and tapenade, or perhaps ham and gruyere. Unfortunately, the food is much more pedestrian. The short but serviceable menu featured two paninis (one with veggies, cheese, and choice of ham, turkey or pastrami, and a vegetarian option that has artichoke hearts instead of meat), a quesadilla available with or without chicken, and a salad. There was also a separate small menu touting a single item: french fries. Babs and I opted for a turkey panini, a quesadilla sans chicken, and of course, the fries. The fries come with your choice of two of the following “dipping sauces” -- ketchup, ranch and mayo. I despise mayonnaise, so we went with the ketchup and ranch options. Babs and I both wondered what they would do if we asked for all three. Given that store-bought ketchup, mayo and ranch aren’t exactly on the cutting edge of condiments it would be hard to imagine them denying the request . . .

After ordering, we settled in with a cocktail at a table in the outer room that allowed us to view the crowd queuing up for the show. The bartender indicated that our food would be up in about 10 minutes, but it took at least 30 minutes and a few “just checking-in” inquiries before we saw our food. The panini and quesadilla were both made in a panini press and had lovely charred lines to show for it. The cheese in both was evenly melted and we didn’t mind missing the first five minutes of the show to chow down. After finishing our grilled items, Babs and I grabbed the fries and took them into the “music room” to eat while we watched the show. The fries were good -- crispy, salty, and uber-skinny -- but definite overkill after the quesadilla and Panini.

The verdict: Hotel Café is definitely about the music, not the food. But if you come hungry and like cheese, you certainly won’t starve. For me at least, the most awesome FAQs on the Hotel Café website, great music, and passel of attractive musician-types wandering about the place (think tall with soulful eyes, messy hair, and the drive to pursue their passion despite a day job and you’ll get the picture), more than made up for the limited menu. In fact next time I go to the Hotel Café I’ll eat beforehand and feast on the eye candy instead.

The Show That Started It All.

2008-09-25T18:36:00.000-07:00

I've seen a lot of live shows. I've definitely seen more shows than you. Seriously, I have. I mean, you name it-- everything from Kenny Loggins to the Donkey Shows in TJ, yer ol' Babs has been there. And you know what? Lately I've been thinking: Babs, this isn't fair. It isn't fair to the people to experience the wonderment of these shows and keep them all to yourself. Shine your light on the world.

And by "light," of course, I mean inane banter about shit I do, shows I see, and stuff I like, which includes (but is by no means limited to) music, live performances, and if ever I'm feeling like a real upper, relevant commentary on the economic shithole that our country can't dig its way out of.

Last night, I was at a show your mom would've LOVED.

I mean, just look at this kid! This is the guy my moms always hoped would show up on my doorstep in high school.

Oh, hello, Mrs. Silverwood! I'm here to take your daughter Babs to the Sock Hop. My, you look lovely on this fine evening. I'll be sure to have Babs home at a decent hour, so you tell Mr. Silverwood not to worry. I'll be singing in the church choir this Sunday, so I hope to see you there!

Unbeknownst to Mom, we hightail it outta there in his older brother's El Camino and he devirginizes me (Party in the Back, not to be confused with Business in the Front) in the parking lot behind the Quik-E-Mart. 2 minutes later, I'm curled up in the fetal position, crying in the truck bed, feeling dirty and shameful, yet strangely exhilarated.

That's kind of how I felt after watching Jared Lee's set at Hotel Cafe last night.

So the first few songs I'm thinking, aw. Boy-next-door looks, a menace on the keyboard, great set of pipes, accessible song structure, juuuuuuust the right pinch of sensitive brooder-- true radio-friendly pop goodness. Totally not my style, but I get it. He's the bastard love child of Maroon 5 and Jason Mraz, and what squealing demographic of young teeny-boppers wouldn't mess their panties over a combo like that? Good for him.

Then it dawned on me-- I kinda like it! Wait, what? Why the hell am I enjoying this? There's nothing immediately interesting or innovative going on, nothing I haven't heard before a MILLION times on STAR, KIIS, KOST, KBIG or my mom's American Idol iPod mix... so what is it?

Then I just let the burning shame wrap me up like a warm blanket and succumbed to it. He's good. Alright? I said it. He's a talented guy with a solid vocal range, a working mastery of the keys and some good ol' wholesome baseline stage presence. The songs were well written and well performed. A fair degree of well-executed vocal improv indicated sufficient confidence. He backed himself with a talented group of musicians. What the hell else can you ask for from a quick 45-minute set at an intimidating venue?

If he shakes off a bit of a newbie vibe (my understanding is that he's fairly new to town and has only played a few live sets), stays vulnerable and really lets 'er rip over the next couple of gigs, he should pick up a lot of momentum and gain quite a following.

I didn't go running from the set to pick up the CD and bumper sticker, but I'd check out his next show, for sure. And this time, I'll bring Mom.