The Quintessential American Dinner. Santa Monica, CA.

Windmill Farm, I-10E, Palm Springs.

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

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

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

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

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.

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