better bitter blonde

Sorta-Kinda-Almost Good for You Banana Bread

2011-10-05T19:56:00.000-07:00

I've spent a lot of time with people in the food biz. Some are all about the fat and sugar - like those crazy Frenchies who developed my culinary school courseload. Others are holier-than-thou, healthy-eating zealots whose single focus hurts my head a little. I've met lots of misfits and ne'er-do-wells for whom the corporate world is just not an option. And luckily, I've met some people who walk the line straight down the middle.

I myself have wavered back and forth for years - one year buying my beloved spouse a membership to the Bacon of the Month club, and the next signing us up for gym memberships and waxing poetic about kale and cherry smoothies. I don't know quite where I am right now, which is exactly how I ended up right here, with this banana bread.

I had black bananas and no white sugar. I had brown sugar, brown rice syrup, corn syrup - just about every other kind of sugar you could imagine from my run-ins with with the healthy eating bunch, but no regular old plain white sugar. So we got to looking around on the Internet, and one of my favorite blogs - Orangette - had something I thought we could work with. Except for the white sugar bit. So I kept playing - liquid sugar here meant more dry stuff there, and we went with a vanilla bean instead of extract. No white sugar means that it's kind of healthy, right? Trace minerals found in the brown sugar and all that? Yes? No?

Whatever. At least I got to use the hammer. Every good recipe should start with a hammer.

For your information, whole nutmegs are found inside of a thin shell (mace) which is also frequently ground up and used as a spice. Here in the States you'll frequently find de-shelled nutmeg, but this fancy stuff came from my darling baby sister, a former resident of the Spice Isle - Grenada.

Banana Bread

3 large bananas, mashed

2 eggs

1 3/4 cup all purpose flour

1/2 cup brown sugar

1/2 cup brown rice syrup

1 1/2 tsp baking soda

1 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon

1/8 tsp ground nutmeg

1 vanilla bean, scraped of seeds

1 1/2 cups chopped toasted walnuts

Banana Bread Topping

2 Tbsp brown sugar

1/8 tsp ground cinnamon

pinch of nutmeg

1/3 cup chopped toasted walnuts

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease an 8"x8" square baking dish and then line with parchment. I usually make myself some handles to lift the whole loaf out with.

In the bowl of a stand mixer (or a large bowl), combine bananas, sugars and eggs until well mixed. Add in spices and vanilla bean seeds. I add in the entire bean as well because more seeds inevitably fall out as it gets whipped around by the mixer. Add the flour and mix just until combined. Add walnuts, remove bean and pour into prepared pan.

In a separate small bowl, combine topping ingredients. Sprinkle over the bread evenly and then put the bread in the preheated oven. Bake for 45 minutes or so, until toothpick inserted comes out (mostly) clean. Let it cool if you want. I'm not bossy. Eat it straight from the pan if you like. This is a dense, chewy bread that will last in the freezer for weeks, and toasts up nicely if it lasts that long.

Ours made it till morning - and my husband is allergic to bananas.

Massaged Kale Salad

2011-10-04T12:07:00.000-07:00

Do you need a massage? I (probably) do. I used to like getting them, until an overzealous physical therapist once sat on me. With his knees.

I'm forever scarred.

So I'll do the massaging from this point forward, starting with this salad. I find that pairing sweet fruit offsets the bitterness of the kale, and makes it a little more palatable for the uninitiated. Massaging the kale helps break down some of those super-stiff fibers making it both easier to chew and digest. If you can't find lacinato kale, you could easily substitute curly green, but it doesn't chiffonade (slice into pretty strips) as easily. Depends on how important presentation is to you.

As an FYI - I have absolutely no qualms whatsoever about neglecting to mention that this salad is made with kale. At a recent gettogether, a friend's husband recently went on a long-winded diatribe about how much he hates kale. His wife reminded him that not only had he enjoyed this kale salad at our home, he'd asked for seconds. His response? "That was kale?"

Massaged Kale Salad

1 bunch of lacinato kale

juice of 1 lemon (about 2 tablespoons)

2 1/2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

salt and pepper to taste

1/2 pint raspberries

1/2 pint blackberries

1/4 cup crumbled feta cheese (optional)

Wash and dry lacinato kale. Remove leaves from the stem - I like to hold onto the base of the stem with my left hand and rip the leaf off in one motion with my right. Pile up the leaves, roll them up and slice into 1/4" - 1/2" slices. Put aside.

In a small bowl (or your serving bowl), whisk together lemon juice and oil. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Add the greens to your bowl and using your hands, toss to coat. Then begin to massage the greens, gently rolling them between your fingers. Do this for 2-3 minutes, then top with berries and feta, if using.

Make-ahead notes: The dressing can be made 2 days ahead of time, and the salad assembled1-2 hours prior to serving.

Party Food: Gougeres

2011-10-03T12:44:00.000-07:00

It's birthday season. More importantly - it's my birthday season.

Usually, I try to ignore my birthday. Most years, I tell everyone who asks that I want for nothing and it's just another day. Until about 48 hours before my birthday when I start to feel bad about myself and decide that I do want to have a party, or at least a get-together of some sort, and my poor husband tries to scrounge up some dinner reservations and nail down RSVPs. This year, he said he'll have none of it. I'm having a birthday party whether I want it or not.

So, I'm having a party, and I'm going to make all the food myself - because that's not stressful at all - and along the way we're going to take some pictures and document it. Because as a birthday gift to myself, I'm going to re-launch the blog. I'd imagined 31 days worth of posts, but October 1 fell on a Saturday this year and I feel like everything brave and bold should start on a Monday. So maybe we'll get 31 posts, maybe we won't. That's not priority one right now - party food is, and in this case, the magic that is pate a choux. It's both appetizer nibble and when filled with ice cream or pastry cream, a decadent dessert.

Let's Party.

the crazy piper strikes ... why no straight lines?

Pate a Choux
Yield: 2 pounds

16 oz (2 cups) water
5.25 oz (1 stick + 1 1/2 teaspoons) unsalted butter
1 1/2 teaspoons granulated sugar
3/4 teaspoon kosher salt
8 ½ oz. (2 scant cups) AP flour
6 large eggs + 1 egg for wash
small bowl of water, to pat down dough.

For the gougeres (if doing half batch):
2 tablespoons chopped fresh thyme
1 cup Parmesan cheese, shredded or grated + more for sprinkling on top

Equipment: large pot, whisk, spatula, parchment/silpat, baking sheet
Optional Equipment: stand mixer, piping bag and tips

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. In a large pot, bring water, butter, sugar and salt to a boil. Once the butter is melted, sugar and salt dissolved and the water boiling, add all the bread flour at once. Turn the heat to medium-low and whisk quickly to incorporate all the flour. Once the whisk is all "gunked up" - switch to a large spatula or spoon and continue stirring to remove all of the lumps of flour. The goal in this step is to cook out the starchy flavor, and you'll know it's done when a light film covers the bottom of the pot.

Remove dough to bowl of stand mixer. Turn on low to aerate the dough and release most of the steam. Meanwhile, crack 6 eggs in a separate bowl. Once the dough has released the majority of its steam (the amount of steam will have dramatically decreased), add the eggs one at a time, waiting till the previous egg is fully incorporated before adding another. Once all eggs are incorporated, the dough is ready to use. This step can also be done by hand, or used to punish an unruly child.

For profiteroles, or cream puff shells: Take half of the dough and put it in a large piping bag fitted with a large tip. (It's best not to fill piping bags more than half-way, regardless of their size. So much easier to handle) Pipe onto a parchment-lined baking tray in 2 inch circles, lifting the piping bag straight up at the end. This will help you get really round, circular shells. Dip fingers in water and tap down any wayward edges or peaks (they'll burn). Brush with beaten egg.

For Parmesan-Thyme gougeres: Add cheese and chopped thyme to remaining dough in the mixer. Mix together on low until combined and then scoop into piping bag. Pipe onto a parchment-lined baking tray in 2 inch circles, lifting the piping bag straight up at the end. Dip fingers in water and tap down any wayward edges or peaks (they'll burn). Brush with beaten egg and sprinkle with extra cheese.

much prettier piping

At this stage, either bake at 375 dgrees untill puffed, dry on the inside (you'll have to sacrifice one) and deep golden brown - about 30 minutes. Or you can freeze for a later date. To flash-freeze the piped dough, just put the entire sheet tray in the freezer until the dough is rock hard - around 4 hours. Remove and put frozen shells in freezer bag and use within 3 months. Bake from frozen, adding another 10-15 minutes to total time.

...and we're back.

2011-08-10T12:21:00.000-07:00

Hi there. In case you don't remember, it's me, Chris.

I know its been awhile. I'm sorry, I was busy.

I got a promotion. I dyed my hair red. I got engaged (you knew that) and dyed my hair blonde again. I lost ten pounds, and then gained fifteen back. (If you want to talk about bitterness...) Then, I quit my corporate job, went to culinary school, was published in The Los Angeles Times, got married, moved 25 miles away and embarked on a whole new food-related career as a writer/caterer/culinary instructor.

Even got myself a fancy new logo:

That's all. I told you, I was busy.

blonde quote of the day

2009-08-13T14:15:00.000-07:00

"There's a couple of ways that you make someone happy by putting something inside of them, and that's food and that's sex."

- Mario Batali

Resolutions are for suckers

2009-01-07T12:51:00.000-08:00

I'm not making any resolutions this year. I break them every year and having a blog only serves as proof of my shortcomings. So you'll see no grandiose statements. This year, we're trying something old, something new...

There's nothing more motivating than the image of yourself walking down the aisle in a white dress to make you put down the wine bottle and step away from the buffet. Except...the idea of spending countless hours with my mother and an exorbitant amount of money planning a wedding reception.

Pass the Chardonnay.

Cheers to 2009! Best wishes for a year of clean(er) living, love and the quest for The Dress.

herby, mustardy potato goodness

2008-03-04T10:52:00.000-08:00

Yesterday's Food Whore blog entry described her obsession with potatoes - she likes them any way she can get them. I feel a bit like a copycat saying I feel exactly the same way, but I do. And as she described her favorite potato dish that she used to make with her grandfather, I knew I had to have exactly that with dinner.

I tried to take photos, but...well, it was gone. Really really quickly. You'll have to take my word for it that these potatoes are divine.

Herby, Mustardy Potatoes

Serves 2

1 lb baby red potatoes

1 tsp grain mustard

1 tsp dijon mustard

2 tbp olive oil

1/4 cup chopped fresh herbs (basil, parsley, dill, etc.)

salt and pepper to taste

After scrubbing the potatoes, place in a pot and cover with cold water. Bring the pot to a boil and cook potatoes till tender. Drain into a colander and then return the potatoes to the pot. Add all remaining ingredients and stir to combine. (Putting the top on the pot and shaking it also works well!) Serve warm.

Photo by avlxyz via Flickr

What you been up to, woman?

2008-02-25T10:32:00.000-08:00

Eating cupcakes....

in Brentwood at SusieCakes...

in Studio City at My Little Cupcake...

and you know...chillin'

Cupcakes....coming out my ears!

2008-02-01T19:26:00.000-08:00

The latest in the cupcake craze: Dainties Cupcakes

OK, these are reeeeeeaaal good. Virtually impossible to find behind a scuzzy Century City Winchell's, the shop is only open to the public for retail sales on Saturdays. But it's worth the trek. I mean, look at these things:
Next week we're reviewing Yummy Cupcakes. They have two stores - one in Santa Monica and another in Burbank. You'll have to read the article for my thoughts on the place, but if you're deciding between there and Vanilla Bake Shop this weekend - definitely swing by Vanilla.

Photo by pudgeefeet via Flickr

V-Day Countdown

2008-01-30T10:09:00.000-08:00

I like to think that I attempt romance most every day of the year.

Oh, who am I kidding? That is a blatant lie. Liar, liar, pants on fire!

I may serve my caviar on roasted fingerling potatoes with French champagne, follow it up with a filet that melts in your mouth and end it with sweet homemade cupcakes, but I'll do it wearing sweatpants and shuffling around in fuzzy slippers. Cut me some slack - my apartment has hardwood floors! It's cold!

If you're also more comfortable in sneakers than heels, you may be interested in my low-cost V-Day day-date, which can be read over on La.Cityzine.com.

La.Cityzine.com - recent posts

2008-01-29T09:34:00.001-08:00

Since I'm feeling a little torn between my new commitment to La.Cityzine.com and my old love, the Better Bitter Blonde, I'm going to have to try and accomodate them both by linking to some of my most recent posts. It's a sad compromise, but I promise that I'll get back to my cooking misadventures very soon.

Where to shop for cooking supplies in LA: Surfas Restaurant Supply

I'm all about the cupcakes these days: Best Cupcake in LA: Leda's Bake Shop?

La.Cityzine.com

2008-01-18T11:27:00.000-08:00

Hey there boys & girls!

I've recently started writing for La.Cityzine.com and would love to have come on over and join me. I'll be writing a weekly feature entitled "Best Cupcake in LA" for the next month or two (or three?) so stop on by.

In the meantime, I'll be on vacation in the West Indies, saying hello to my baby sister.

Love ya' long time

- c

Bacon of the Month!

2007-12-09T15:23:00.000-08:00

Today’s trip to the mailbox delivered something special: The Grateful Palate’s 2008 Gift Handbook.

Oh, my.

Last year, in an attempt at The Best Girlfriend Ever title, I bought my beau a year-long membership to the Bacon of the Month club and a six-month membership to Amazing Clubs’ Beer of the Month. My thought behind these gifts was twofold. On one hand, neither one of us needs any more clutter in our lives and the “disposability” of edible gifts was really appealing to me. It also crossed my mind that if our relationship went belly-up in the next year, every month he would get a tasty reminder of what a great girlfriend I was - and that satisfied my bitter, vindictive side.

It’s December again, and we’re still together only 10 pounds heavier with a freezer full of artisanal bacon. One would think that a pound of bacon could be easily consumed over the course of a month by two culinary-inclined adults. We’ve had bacon fried in the pan, baked in the oven, wrapped around filets and scattered over stew. We’ve had it for breakfast, lunch, brunch, snack-time and dinner. The freezer is stocked, we have a bacon surplus and still I’m tempted once again to order.

The “Field Guide to Bacon” includes roughly 45 different varieties of bacon, all with tasting notes and a 1 through 5 rating system. Some bacons are good for kids, others are best for breakfast and sandwiches. (I’m partial to jowl & shoulder bacon, myself.) The selection and variety of bacon is amazing. But I can’t have any more bacon in the house. I just can’t do it.

Though what I find especially enticing is this:

Pies! Delivered to your door! Every month! With cocktail recipes!

Oh, my. My, my, my.

Phoebe Lawless will make 75 pies a month for The Grateful Palate – which means only 75 members may join the club. At $66.00 a month (not including shipping) it certainly isn’t the cheapest way to get your pie fix, but if you order it for your sweetie and the relationship goes sour…

its not blonde...

2007-12-06T13:16:00.001-08:00

but this quote of the day certainly made me laugh:

Happiness is like peeing your pants. Everyone can see it, but only you can feel its warmth.

The latest disaster: Coq Au Vin

2007-11-30T15:14:00.000-08:00

I’ll spare you the gory details, but hope that you’ll laugh WITH me when I tell you that my latest culinary adventure was inspired by the following:

But did not result in Coq Au Vin. Instead, the resulting catastrophe could best be described as a pot of blackened bacon fat and a pile of stringy purple chicken with perfectly purple petite pearl onions.

So after several attempts at chewing, we decided to cut our losses. A liquid dinner never killed anyone, did it?

blonde quote of the day

2007-11-11T16:32:00.000-08:00

"I am a marvelous housekeeper. Every time I leave a man I keep his house.”

~ Zsa Zsa Gabor, cop-slapper and actress, b. February 6, 1917

Oh my, Omaha!

2007-11-01T17:20:00.000-07:00

We're on a mission, and today the adventure began. It started in Los Angeles, and will end in LA - but what happens along the way will truly test the wills and relationships of three sisters. Along the way, we also hope to debunk myths about middle America and their eating habits.

Since arriving in Omaha this afternoon, I've been nothing but surprised. My sister craved a snack and we ended up at the Urban Wine Company. Fine Omaha dining...

at fine Omaha prices.
3 wine flights
3 mini hamburgers
1 cheese "flight"
1 artichoke dip
... $50.

Happy Halloween!

2007-10-31T11:23:00.001-07:00

My sister's spooky cupcakes.

Who Will Make It?

2007-10-29T16:31:00.000-07:00

My sisters and I are going on a road trip - Omaha to Los Angeles. Three Days, 26 hours of drive time, 1 puppy. The question is simple: Who Will Make It?

Homework Assignment #2

2007-10-28T15:45:00.000-07:00

My first assignment was a bit of a bust. As happy as I was with my description of tuna casserole, my instructor was not impressed with my use of the work "slicing" - nor did he like my timing. Fair criticism, and obviously that what I signed up for. Homework assignment number two was to write the header for a favorite recipe. I'm hoping this one goes over better, but...well...who knows at this point.

Fall is the superior season. Not too hot and not too cold, fall is a welcomed respite from the scorching heat of summer. Children are in school, television shows debut and pro sports ticket boxes re-open. It is also the only season to host two food-focused holidays: Halloween and Thanksgiving. It is no coincidence - with so much going on, sustenance is essential.

Stews make for a hearty one-pot meal when busy days do not allow much time for doing dishes. It’s versatile enough to satisfy any picky eater since most root vegetables can easily be traded in and out. This modern take on the classic French Bœuf bourguignon provides the warmth and comfort of a slow-simmered beef stew with an abbreviated preparation and largely-unattended cooking time. It is best made a day ahead, allowing for the flavors to develop between football practice and season premieres. Serve it with a wedge of crusty bread, over rice or heaped on top of a pile of mashed potatoes. Leftovers, if there are any, can easily be repurposed. Poured into a baking dish, covered in potato mash and baked at 350 until bubbly, this stew makes an elegant shepherd’s pie. It can also be sealed between two pastry layers for a tasty pot pie, leaving you plenty of time to get out of the kitchen and enjoy the season.

Recipe posted here

Homework & Tuna Casserole

2007-10-22T10:00:00.000-07:00

I'm currently taking a class at UCLA Extension on Food Writing. It's been interesting, disheartening and frustrating all at the same time. We've had visits from some accomplished and well-known food writers and editors and the question always arises, "So, does your (insert publication name here) accept freelance?" and the invariable answer is a solid NO. Or, in some cases, NO - unless you're really well-known.

See what I mean about disheartening? Frustrating? But its not every day that you get to listen to Russ Parsons of the LA Times talk about how he develops recipes and conducts interviews, so it is interesting. And if it forces me to post more often, then it can't be all bad. Here it is - my first homework assignment: Describe a food memory in 250 words.

I’ve always loved to eat, though not necessarily to cook. There were times during my childhood in which I considered changing my last name to Stouffer’s, if only to make me closer to my then-favorite frozen lasagna. As a child, I didn’t realize there was cooking involved because I was more concerned with the end product. There wasn’t a meatloaf I didn’t like or a dinner I wouldn’t eat except for one: Tuna Casserole.

I curse the individual who first ruined a perfectly good noodle with the addition of canned fish, cheese and condensed cream of mushroom soup. How my mother found the inspiration to combine this foul concoction from the contents of our well-stocked, walk-in pantry eludes me, and how any of us survived the fishy stench emanating from the oven boggles the mind. It looked like a baking dish of gray baby spittle, the texture and color of freshly-mixed wet cement. Spooned out onto my plate, it lost its shape and oozed into my iceberg wedge and dared to mix with the Ranch dressing. The first bite -my only bite- revealed a dozen slimy mushroom pellets that slipped between my teeth when I tried to bite down. The potato chip topping sliced the roof of my delicate 7 year old mouth and as I swallowed, I remembered where I had tasted this once before. Tuna casserole tastes like Kindergarten paste. There would be no second bite. Not today, not ever - because I would learn to cook.

Almost trendsetting...

2007-10-17T10:08:00.000-07:00

Because I am a complete Philistine who gets her news and cultural findings from watching CNN while on the treadmill, listening to KROQ on my commute and reading ApartmentTherapy at work, I'm normally a bit behind the times. Not to mention the fact that I work at the mall - which isn't exactly a hotbed of intellectual discourse. But not this time. Oh, no...I am on the cutting edge.

Check out last week's article on jellied cocktails as featured in the LA Times here.

And hopefully, you'll remember that the better bitter blonde posted a recipe for gin & tonic jellies on July 18th!

We're practically trendsetters!

blonde news of the day

2007-10-09T16:59:00.000-07:00

I remember hearing about this when the report first came out, and recently came across the article again: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/2284783.stm

Blondes 'to die out in 200 years'! A study by experts in Germany suggests people with blonde hair are an endangered species and will become extinct by 2202.

Seriously? Seriously.

2007-10-08T15:57:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, a girl and her boyfriend were driving down Sepulveda Blvd. They stopped at a red light, behind a big tow truck. Another girl, not paying too much attention, neglected to see the red light and rear-ended the first girl and her boyfriend, sending them forward into the tow truck’s hitch – punching a long, narrow dent into her front bumper and practically removing the back bumper.

But the girl and her boyfriend were OK, and – these things happen. There was a little hiccup with the insurance company, and the first girl decided to use her own company instead. It took her some time to get it straightened out, but eventually she got her car into the shop and 7 days later it came back – good as new! Shiny and clean with brand new bumpers!

One week later, as the girl was fighting traffic so she could meet her friend’s house so they could attend a Pat Benatar concert, she heard a crunch and felt the car move forward – even though her foot was on the brake. The girl’s car had been rear-ended again! A week! One, single week with her shiny and clean car with brand new bumpers!

I’m calling this little recipe the “I-Can’t-@#$%ing-Believe-She-Hit-Me-Right-After-I-Got-My-Car-Outta-The-Shop” – tini.

1. Locate bottle of vodka.
2. Pull glass from cabinet. (Option A: pour directly in mouth)
3. Insert ice in glass, cover with vodka.
4. Add tonic and lime to taste. (Option B: soda and lemon)

Welcome to Greneda

2007-09-12T17:52:00.000-07:00

My baby sister is in town.

When CeCe’s in town, you can smell it in the air – and it smells like a vodka cranberry.

My sister CeCe is a potent woman. She barges into Los Angeles every few months and she’s a hurricane of brightly colored high heels and fluorescent cocktails. Instead of lounging with the family watching a movie, CeCe demands that we all play “Drink while you think: Celebrity version” until we’re bent over, cramped, in laughter and my brother is doing his best Michael Jackson Thriller video impression.

CeCe starts veterinary school in the Caribbean in January; so obviously, every drink concoction up until her departure can be viewed as “research.” She and my other sister Kimmy came up with this little doozy just the other night, and needless to say, it got silly.

Welcome to Greneda

Crushed ice
A jigger (or two) of Malibu rum
Pineapple juice to taste
Tiny umbrella (required)

Pour all ingredients in glass. Stir to combine.

Bridesmaid Sweatshop Tuna Ceviche

2007-08-28T15:34:00.000-07:00

I’m a terrible, horrible blogger.

I don’t call, I don’t write and I hardly ever cook at home – just ask Citibank, they’ll tell you all about my take-out and restaurant charges. I read magazines on airplanes instead of “books of literary merit” and if attending weddings could be considered a significant creative achievement, I’d be a MacArthur Fellow. (How I’m going to pay my next credit card bill is really going to be a significant creative achievement.)

Since May 2007, I’ve survived the following:
4 weddings & receptions
2 rehearsal dinners
2 bachelorette parties
2 post-wedding brunches
1 pre-wedding BBQ
1 bridal shower
1 couples shower

I still have to go to:
3 more weddings
2 more rehearsal dinners
1 engagement party

As they say, ‘tis the season. In honor of the season, (and some hard-fought, freshly-caught yellowtail tuna), I present you with an insanely easy to make modified tuna ceviche. My married friend Cayley served a similar version of this recipe to us bridesmaids during a “crafting weekend” prior to her July 2006 wedding – a weekend that later came to be known as “Bridesmaid Sweatshop.” While the photo may not do it justice, hopefully reading the ingredients list will inspire my last, faithful reader to give it a spin.

Bridesmaid Sweatshop Tuna Ceviche
approx. ¾ lb sushi-grade tuna, cut in bite-sized chunks
½ cup chopped cilantro
½ cup light coconut milk
½ diced jalapeno pepper, seeds and membrane removed
¼ of a red onion, diced
1 small ripe avocado, diced
1 thumb-length piece of ginger, peeled and grated
zest from one lime
juice from 1-1 ½ limes
1 tbsp soy sauce
1 tbsp toasted sesame oil
1 tbsp toasted sesame seeds

Combine all ingredients in bowl and then refrigerate for no less than 30 minutes. Serve with endive spears as an appetizer, or on top of mixed greens for a salad.

Makes 4 appetizer portions, or 2 main courses.

blonde quote of the day

2007-08-15T17:14:00.000-07:00

I do a great deal of research - particularly in the apartments of tall blondes.

~ Raymond Chandler

Home Cooking

2007-07-18T17:19:00.000-07:00

My late grandmother was an accomplished home gourmet and was once featured in a 1960s Better Home and Gardens article about outstanding homemakers. For reasons I know longer remember, my mother and I were discussing her mother-in-law when Mom said to me, “she used to make things like lobster bisque and bouillabaisse at home, and I always thought if you eat that at home, what’s the point of going out?”

I’m sure Mom doesn’t remember the conversation, but it’s stuck with me and since that time, mentally I’ve always made a differentiation between “home food” and “going out food.” Maybe it was my traditional American childhood diet of mac & cheese and meatloaf, but when I’m at home I crave simple foods with minimal preparation – food you can eat sitting on the couch in sweatpants watching re-runs without feeling guilty. When I’m out – really out, eyeliner-high heels-push-up bra-out - I want the most complicated item on the menu. I want to know that as much thought and preparation went into my food as I put into my outfit.

But as I’ve said before, we all do crazy things for love. So for my sweetheart’s birthday dinner, I broke all of my own home-cooking rules:

Champagne & Caviar
(served with crème fraiche, chives & roasted fingerling potatoes)

Mixed Green Salad
(with cucumbers, edible flowers & a Dijon vinaigrette)

Gin & Tonic gelatin palate cleansers

Filet Mignon aux fines herbs

Birthday Cupcakes
(with vanilla whipped cream & raspberries)

Yes, you read that correctly, I made a palate cleanser. You can too:

Gin & Tonic Jellies
From Food Network Kitchens

1 teaspoon gelatin

5 ounces tonic water

1 1/2 ounces gin

2 teaspoons lime juice

lime wedges, sliced thin

Pour about half the tonic into a bowl. Scatter the gelatin over the surface, do not stir, set aside until the gelatin blooms/softens/starts to look like gelatin. Meanwhile, warm the rest of the tonic over very low heat until just simmering. Whisk hot tonic, then gin into the gelatin. Pour jelly into glasses (I used margarita glasses, but anything will work) and garnish with lime wedges. Place in the refrigerator for 2-3 hours until set.

Road Food

2007-06-29T17:37:00.000-07:00

You can eat on the road, or you can eat Road Food. The same thing? Hardly.

“Eating on the road” is a focus on the road and the desired destination – food is an afterthought. Eating can be viewed as a time-wasting necessity, and half the time eating on the road actually means eating while driving. Eating on the road reminds me of my college commute from Los Angeles to Davis, a torturous 6-8 hour drive along the 5 freeway. With nothing to do except count the cows and sing along to the CD player, the Buttonwillow, CA In-N-Out was not only my chosen stop, but the symbolic half-way point. Because no matter how many times I did that drive, I never cared enough to stop at any of the shady looking restaurants along the way. At one end were my friends and my new-found freedom, and the other home. The destination was always the focus.

On a recent trip up to Lake Tahoe, we took the long way out of Los Angeles, driving on the 14 through Mojave and merging onto the 395 to Bishop and all the way up north. Although a lifetime California resident, I’d never been through this part of the state before. Once out of the desert, we drove through adorable little towns nestled at the base of the forested areas: Lone Pine, Independence, Big Pine, Bishop. Pine furniture could be purchased every half-mile and my boyfriend/navigator pointed out the Inyo County Courthouse where we’d end up if we didn’t obey the traffic signs while driving through these quaint little towns.

As we got closer to Tahoe, we drove through a town named Lee Vining. (Sounds like it should be someone’s name, doesn’t it?) We turned off the highway and up a large hill to the prettiest little Mobil station and rest stop you ever did see.

With sweeping views of Mono Lake, this Mobil station is anything but ordinary. The attached building also houses a liquor store, gift shop and The Whoa Nellie Deli. Probably the only gas station in California where you can fill up and get a lobster dinner, this oddity has redefined Road Food.

We had the fish tacos – huge slabs of lightly fried whitefish, one with wasabi coleslaw and the other with mango salsa and a side of beans – and the cowboy steak sandwich. More of a steak than sandwich, it was also enormous and dripping with seasoned butter, even two very hungry travelers could barely manage it all. The Whoa Nellie Deli also has Mammoth Ale on tap, and even though we still had another 115 miles to go, figured one each wouldn’t hurt.

Although you'd probably never see it if you weren't looking for it, and if you're crunched for time you won't want to get out of your car and wait in line for made-to-order food, but the next time you're at the intersection of the 120 West and highway 395, swing by the Tioga Gas Mart, have a beer, forget about the destination and focus on the food.

Tioga Gas Mart
22 Vista Point Road
Lee Vining, CA 93541
P: 760-647-1088
F: 760-647-6019
www.thesierraweb.com/tiogagasmart/deli.html

blonde quote of the day

2007-06-28T09:05:00.000-07:00

"It is possible that blondes also prefer gentlemen."

~Mamie Van Doren

Restaurant Review: 3 Square Café & Bakery

2007-06-02T10:21:00.000-07:00

Due to the nature of my job and the frequency with which I work weekends and holidays, I occasionally have the random weekday off. I typically spend my day off accomplishing the things everyone else uses the weekend for: trying new restaurants, sleeping in, laundry. On one particular day, a Thursday, I went to try the new 3 Square Café on Abbot Kinney with my friend the self-employed art dealer. And you know what? It was pretty busy. Not so busy that we couldn’t sit down, but, you know – busy.

I can’t help but wonder who these people are or what they do for a living that allows them to casually have a relaxing lunch at 1pm on a Thursday. There are very few offices on Abbot Kinney, and it was readily apparent that none of these individuals were taking a lunch break or business-related meeting. Now, I knew why I was there. I knew why my friend the art dealer was there. Elisabeth Shue was there too – so it was pretty easy for me to figure out how she had the free time to try Röckenwagner’s newest venture. But everyone else? They can’t all be actors and/or independently wealthy….can they? Can they?

Who are these people and why don’t I do what they do?

As you can tell, 3 Square is currently a bit of a scene. However it’s a scene worth checking out. We both had the Niçoise salad with Italian tuna and were impressed with the quality of the individual ingredients and the overall presentation. The poached egg was perfectly runny, the green beans blanched but still firm and the tuna tasty without even a hint of fishiness. We followed it with the prettiest little lemon meringue tart you could imagine. Besides being deliciously tart (pun intended) the meringue peaks were beautifully formed and rested on the lemon curd like a little crown.

My next visit will definitely include the sandwich sampler that I saw many patrons eating, and probably a glass of wine off the chalkboard menu board. And then some pastries from the bakery next door. And hopefully, as happened to my friend on another visit, a Jake Gyllenhaal sighting.

3 Square Café & Bakery
1121 Abbot Kinney

Venice, CA 90291

310-399-6504 (P)

310-399-6518 (F)

www.rockenwagner.com

blonde quote of the day

2007-05-02T12:59:00.000-07:00

"After all the trouble you go to, you get about as much actual "food" out of eating an artichoke as you would from licking 30 or 40 postage stamps."

~ Miss Piggy

The Best Breakfast Sandwich - Ever

2007-04-23T16:55:00.000-07:00

I’ve never been one for breakfast. I’ll have a tub of yogurt once I get into the office most days, but I view that as the kind of eating that is purely to provide me with enough energy to get through the morning, not for any real gastronomic delight. Some days require breakfast, though. For instance, mornings after discovering that you’ve been “overserved” yet again at the local watering hole practically require that breakfast consist of more than 3 Advil and a pint of tap water. And now that I have my new toy, there seems to be no obstacle it cannot overcome. Hence, the best breakfast sandwich – ever.

The Best Breakfast Sandwich – Ever
For two sandwiches, you’ll need:

½ large red onion, sliced
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
4 eggs
2 tablespoons milk or water
4 slices bacon
4 slices whole wheat bread
4 slices tomato
3-4 ounces swiss cheese, sliced thinly
olive oil
butter
salt & pepper

Heat olive oil in a nonstick skillet and add sliced red onion. Cook over medium-low flame for 5 minutes. Add a hefty splash (approximately 1 tablespoon) of balsamic vinegar. Go back to bed. Get up at commercial breaks to stir the onions.
Let the onions cook until caramelized – sweet and sticky – which can take up to 40 minutes.

Scramble four eggs with milk or water, salt and pepper in a bowl. Once the onions are done to your liking, pour in the eggs. Proceed as you would for a frittata or omelet, pulling the egg away from the sides and allowing the raw egg underneath the cooked. Once cooked, remove from the skillet, set aside and wipe out the pan. Toss in bacon slices and fry ‘em up.

While the bacon is frying, turn on the panini press, slice up the cheese and tomatoes and butter the bread. After the bacon is suitably drained and crisp, it’s time to assemble:

Bread – butter side down
Cheese
Tomato
Bacon
Egg
Bread – butter side up

Toss these monstrously large sandwiches onto the press and suffer through the wait.

It’s totally worth it.

If you’d like to challenge my assertion that this is the best breakfast sandwich ever with your own creation – I’d love to hear about it!

blonde quote of the day

2007-04-18T14:34:00.000-07:00

“My weaknesses have always been food and men - in that order.”

- Dolly Parton (January 19, 1946 - present)

New Toy! New Toy! New Toy!

2007-04-11T17:32:00.000-07:00

As I may or may not have mentioned earlier, I abandoned the better bitter blonde due to elevated stress levels that included a little family strife and a change in where I lay my head at night. The change in locales was supposed to make all my troubles melt away…only it didn’t.

There is one loud, clunky, clutzy, chubby, nocturnal cow living on top of me, and I haven’t slept more than 5 hours at a time since moving in.

I really truly believed that a new apartment (with hardwood floors, no less!) in a great location was going to help me get myself in order and perk up my mood. Unfortunately, it hasn’t worked out that way. So…I went shopping. And while some may feel blue, I feel bleu. (Wow that was cheesy. Oh, God – I can’t stop myself!)

The supermarket is my refuge, and the cheese counter the end of my pilgrimage. I looked in my new (and still mostly empty refrigerator) last night, and counted 5 different types of sparkling water, 2 bottles of white wine and 4 blocks of imported cheese. While water, wine and cheese will normally get me through the most difficult of situations, my current predicament required something a little more substantial: a new toy.

The Cuisinart Griddler™ Panini & Sandwish Press makes everthing from popular panini to great grilled cheese. Designed like professional units, our floating hinge adjusts to sandwich thickness to perfectly grill thin or thick panini and sandwiches. A preset temperature ensures restaurant-quality results -- always crisp and golden brown.

(And yes, the Cuisinart website really does say “Sandwish”!)

We used the press for the first time last night, blending cheeses and meats into a sandwich that was crisp and satisfying. It may not necessarily qualify as a “recipe” persay, but it certainly was tasty and has cemented my press’s role as new favorite toy.

Mozzarella, Prosciutto and Basil Panini

½ ball fresh mozzarella, sliced
3-4 pieces thinly sliced Prosciutto
½ bunch fresh basil, leaves pulled off of stems
1 sliced tomato
1-2 tablespoons prepared pesto
2 5-6” long pieces of Baguette

Heat the panini press. The grill is ready when the light changes from red to green.

To assemble the sandwiches, slice the baguette into 5-6 inch long portions, then in half lengthwise. Spread both sides with pesto and then layer on the remaining ingredients: mozzarella, prosciutto, basil and tomato. Top with the other bread half and place on the grill. Lower the top onto the sandwiches (the light will turn red) and grill until crisp.

Makes two tasty sandwiches, just perfect for dipping in a creamy tomato bisque soup!

Now that I’ve got my brand new toy, I’m very excited to use it. If you have any sandwich combinations that you think I should try, please let me know! Would love to hear your suggestions.

blonde movie quote of the day

2007-04-06T10:23:00.000-07:00

"Don't you know that a man being rich is like a girl being pretty? You wouldn't marry a girl just because she's pretty, but my goodness, doesn't it help?"

~ Marilyn Monroe (as Lorelei Lee) in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

Peas forgive me

2007-03-28T14:18:00.000-07:00

It’s been awhile, a long, long while. I don’t even look at this blog anymore, so I don’t know how or why I expect my friends, let along people I don’t even know, to do so. The reasons why I abandoned the better bitter blonde for a time aren’t nearly good enough, so I won’t waste your time listing them. Instead, I’m asking for a favor: Peas forgive me.

Baby Pea & Pesto Ravioli

½ bag frozen baby peas, thawed
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 bunch scallions, chopped
1 wineglass dry white wine
½ tub of ricotta cheese (approx. 4 oz)
1 handful fresh parsley, chopped
1 handful pinenuts, toasted and chopped
2 heaping tablespoons prepared pesto, plus more for sauce
1 handful Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
Olive oil
Salt & pepper to taste
Wonton wrappers

Put a large pot of water on to boil.

Sauté the garlic and green onion in olive oil until soft. Add the peas and roll them around in the garlicky goodness for a moment, before adding the wine. Simmer, and season with salt and pepper. The goal is to have tender peas that hold their shape, but “mush” when pressed upon.

Meanwhile, mix ricotta, parsley, parmesan, pesto, half the pinenuts, salt & pepper in a bowl. Once the right consistency, fish the peas out of the skillet, add to the bowl and combine gently.

Next, begin the ravioli assembly line! Lay the wonton wrappers out, making sure to have a small bowl of water nearby to help “seal” them closed. Place a small spoonful of filling into the center of the wrapper, dip your finger into the bowl and run it along two adjacent sides of the wrapper. Fold the wrapper over to form a triangle and then smooth it out, being sure to squeeze out any air bubbles. (I like to cup my hand around the filling on both sides and then gently drag my hands out towards the edges.) You can use a pasta cutter along the edges if you like a more decorative look.

Once assembled, toss the ravioli into your boiling water – the pasta is done when it floats to the top, about 3 minutes. To serve, mix leftover pesto with a ladle full of reserved pasta water, remaining pinenuts and another handful of thawed peas if you have any left over. Serve with Parmesan and black pepper.

Serves two really hungry souls, with just enough left over to freeze for a snack at a later date.

better bitter blonde is one!

2007-02-04T14:09:00.000-08:00

I didn't realize it till yesterday, but the Better Bitter Blonde is one year old today...

What-Went-Wrong-And-What-Would-You-Do?

2007-01-30T16:32:00.000-08:00

52 recipes in 2007!

52 recipes in 2007??

Yikes.

The original plan was going to be a series of phenomenal culinary achievements. I was going to test recipes, then tinker with them and present my own artful, tasty creations – accompanied by witty commentary to both dazzle and entertain! But…oh, how does the old Top Gun saying go?

“[Girl], your ego is writing checks your body can't cash”

So, we’re embarking upon a new chapter here at Ye Old Better Bitter Blonde. Its called, “What-went-wrong-and-what-would-you-do?”

Here’s how it works: I attempt to make a new recipe. I tell you how I made it and more than likely – what went wrong. Afterwards, you tell me what you would do differently. Sounds like fun, right?

Here goes!

Recipe 1 of 52: Savory Caramelized Onion Tart

I’ve attempted savory tarts before, with some success. I’ve wanted to try it out again for some time, but just haven’t had a chance.

olive oil
1 large red onion, sliced thinly
1 heaped tablespoon sugar
1 big splash balsamic vinegar
1 defrosted ready-made pie crust
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
2 tablespoons sour cream
2 tablespoons Parmesan cheese, grated
1 egg, beaten
salt & pepper

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Sauté the red onion in olive oil until just barely beginning to soften, about 3-4 minutes. Add the sugar and stir for another few minutes, then the balsamic vinegar. Stir and cover. The onions will cook down and take on a dark, caramel color after approximately 30 minutes. Turn off the heat and let cool.

In the meantime, mix the Dijon mustard and sour cream together and season with salt and pepper. Roll out the dough onto a parchment or Silpat-lined baking sheet and spread the mustard-sour cream mixture onto the center in a circle approximately 5 inches in diameter. Top with the cooled onions and fold the edges of the dough over, pinching it together towards the middle.

Brush the outer edge of the dough with an egg wash, top with the grated Parmesan cheese, salt and pepper. Bake until firm and light golden brown. Serve warm or at room temperature.

The verdict: OK, but a bit on the bland side. I realize now that I forgot to salt the onions, and I probably would have added fresh thyme had I not killed off the plant over the holidays. The ready-made dough leaves much to be desired as well. I’ve never attempted crust before and I’m slightly (as in, majorly) intimidated.

So… What would you do differently?

2007

2007-01-18T11:29:00.000-08:00

“They” say that the way you wake up on New Year’s Day is indicative of how the whole year will go. For every January 1 of my adult life that I can remember (and every New Year’s Eve that I can’t) I’ve awoken with a hangover tantamount to a pile-driver boring a hole in my skull. Every year I’ve swallowed my own personal Breakfast of Champions – three candy-coated Advil and a glass of water and walked into that year with my hopes high and the sour taste of bile lapping at the back of my throat.

But this year…this year… This year I woke up well-rested after a lengthy, romantic meal in front of the fire with the man I love.

No Jell-O shots.

No mysterious phone calls in (or out) of my cell phone.

No sequins, sparkly eyeshadow nor fake eyelashes.

And you know what? I am sooooo over 2007.

I had big plans when originally composing my 2007 blog manifesto. I was going to jovially count up my 2006 accomplishments in a manner not unlike Bridget Jones. Optimism, enthusiasm and excitement were going to jump off the screen and smack you readers right upside the head. Oh, it was going to be inspiring! You were going to love it!

A lot of things went right in 2006: I proved myself professionally, saw cities I’d never seen before and met a great guy. It was all sunshine and puppies for awhile, but after a holiday season full of cranky customers, long hours and chapped lips I would have kicked any puppy that crossed my path. Compiled with just a few short weeks of visiting family members brimming with snarky comments and poof! Like ex-lovers, bad shrimp and cropped leggings – the bitterness is back.

So, what’s a gal to do? Here’s my plan:

1) I will make, and document, 52 recipes in 2007. (Who do you think I am, Julie Powell?)
2) I will read the 5 ½ books I didn’t read in 2006.
3) I will take a class of some sort that is purely for my own personal benefit, and is not work-related in any way.

And I will, once again, try to be a better, bitter blonde.

2006 Re-Cap

2007-01-09T16:32:00.000-08:00

Total number of "new-to-me" restaurants visited: 40 (approximately)

Total number of new recipes tried: 14

Total number of “culturally enriching events” attended: 12

Total number of movies seen (in a theater): 7

Total number of books read: 6 ½

Total number of men dated: 4

Total number of times I’ve joined (and quit) Weight Watchers: 3

Total number of gyms joined: 3

Total number of foreign countries visited: 2

Total number of visits to Tennesee: 2

Total number of airport Chili’s To-Go restaurants visited: 2

Total number of men still dating: 1

Ode to Lawry's Beef Marinade*

2006-12-19T18:30:00.000-08:00

As a general rule, I try to avoid convenience foods. You know...the increasingly dangerous American obesity epidemic and all. That whole thing.

But I, like most young single professionals that I know, do not have time on my side. I work a 50-60 hour workweek, and at least one weekend a month. So for those very reasons, I like pre-chopped veggies and bagged salad. I'm thankful for the companies out there that make fresh pasta and put it in the refrigerator section at my local supermarket so that I don't have to make it myself. But in my defense, I do think Cool Whip is an abomination.

Normally, I don't like pre-packaged marinades. I know there are people out there that swear by Lipton's Onion Soup Mix. (I also know that my mother has always and will always have at least two boxes of the stuff in her pantry, but will mysteriously be out every time she actually needs it.) But not me, and not until I found this stuff: Lawry's Beef Marinade.

It's so tasty. It takes less than 15 minutes. It's great on the BBQ, and in the broiler. I love it. And, it costs $1.44. That's practically free. There's no reason for anyone not to keep it around the house!

*I have absolutely no idea why I felt it necessary to write a rave review for Lawry's Beef Marinade!

Everyone is doing it

2006-12-15T21:10:00.000-08:00

Everyone is talking about it, blogging about it, reading about it, writing about it.

It is Pizzeria Mozza, and it is good.

I’m not going to even discuss the comparisons to NY style pizza, and whether or not it’s the best pizza you’ll find short of a vacation in Napoli. In this carb-conscious town, there is a shortage of good pizzerias, and when you find one, it’s my firm belief that any smart Angeleno should appreciate it and tell no one. But its too late for that, so I’m amending my statement. Any smart Angeleno will leave the CPK vs. Chicago-style vs. NY-style argument to the snobbish foodies and start crank-calling the restaurant and name-dropping with gusto to get their next reservation.

As everyone already knows, Pizzeria Mozza is the brainchild of Mario Batali (Food Network supa-stah) and Nancy Silverton, the lady of Campanile/La Brea Bakery and my own personal goddess of cheese. They took their love of rustic Italian blah blab blah and were looking for a location with a wood-burning oven blah blab blah to create a casual blah blab blah dining experience. On to the food!

We ordered everything we were supposed to, and then some. We started with one (which rapidly became two) orders of the fried squash blossoms. They were stuffed with ricotta and what I believed to be burrata mozzarella, then deep-fried in a light, tempura-like batter. The stuffing wasn’t overwhelmingly flavorful, but it was tasty. We also had the white bean bruschetta, which oddly came with just three toasts. I think it odd because in my experience, people tend to dine in pairs. It ended up being fine, but it was a touch odd and barely worth mentioning. The four of us ordered four different pizzas, and then swapped a slice of each with one another so everyone tasted all four pizzas. While we may not have been the first person to think of this, at the time the idea felt like we were teetering on the edge of brilliance.

Pizza 1: goat cheese, bacon, leeks and caramelized garlic
Pizza 2: Fennel Sausage, Panna, & Red Onion
Pizza 3: arugula & speck
Pizza 4: burrata mozzarella (and probably some other stuff, too)

Guess which one was mine? I’m a bacon lover to the bitter core. And although no one was playing “who ordered the best dish” except me, I totally won. I actually had a serious case of “food envy” as I saw my dining companions devour my pizza.

My favorite part of the night came when I realized that I’d eaten two fried squash blossoms, half a bruschetta, four pieces of pizza and drunk 1 ½ glasses of wine and still had room for dessert. So we did what anyone would do – ordered two orders of the notorious butterscotch pudding, a fig crostata and the yogurt gelato soffiata. The fig crostata was, in Bri’s words, “the best Fig Newton you’ve ever had,” but a Fig Newton nonetheless. The yogurt gelato was tart and creamy, but I could have done without the soggy profiteroles. And the butterscotch pudding…with just a slight sprinkling of salt…. Uh, yeah. Wow.

It is Pizzeria Mozza, and it is good. Go, if you can.

Pizzeria Mozza
641 N. Highland Ave.
Los Angeles, CA 90036
323.297.0101

blonde quote of the day

2006-12-08T09:53:00.000-08:00

"She was what we used to call a suicide blond - dyed by her own hand."

- Saul Bellow (June 11, 1915 - April 5, 2005)

Nook Bistro

2006-11-26T18:11:00.000-08:00

Who doesn't like a restaurant with a sense of humor?

Nook Bistro in West LA redefines "hole-in-the-wall." Like Lou on Vine, Nook is virtually impossible to find. I always think I know exactly where it is, but as I drive east on Santa Monica Blvd, I always find myself slowing at each strip center I pass, craning my neck to see if this one or that one is the right one.

While I've only been there twice, both visits have justified a return trip. I believe the menu changes fairly regularly, but the chicken paillard and the Nook burger seem to remain popular items. I've never had the burger, but I did salivate like Pavlov's dog every time one exited the kitchen. (Curse you, Weight Watchers!)

To quickly summarize Nook Bistro: the food is well-prepared, the portions generous and the price reasonable. That's reason enough to go back to a restaurant or to recommend it to a friend. However, I'll go back to Nook Bistro because on both visits I've gotten great service.

I cannot stress enough how rare it is to get good service in Los Angeles. Blame it on the overabundance of actors/comedians/dancers/writers/mimes all trying to make it big in Hollyweird. Blame it on the heat, blame it on the rain. Just whatever you do, don't put the blame on you.

I'm sorry, I got distracted for a moment.

Back to eating at Nook Bistro. On my first visit, the place was packed and my friend and I could barely get in the door. After forcing our way in, we were standing somewhat near the wee little bar, which was 5 people deep with diners and drinkers waiting for tables. The bartender grabbed two wine lists and found us, and spent just a few minutes going over the list with us before making a couple of suggestions and taking our order. Is that remarkable service? Not really. But it is good service to ensure that customers that are waiting an indefinite period of time are at least happy. My second visit was similar. No long lines this time, but still the same cheerful, friendly waitstaff that took the time to go over the menu with us, make suggestions and not hurry us along. It makes for an altogether enjoyable dining experience.

But then again, what else would you expect from a guy who's "stage name" is Red Fang?

blonde fact of the day

2006-11-13T16:25:00.000-08:00

Facts about being blonde taken from wikipedia.org:

The word blond was first attested in English in 1481 and derives from Old French blont and meant "a colour midway between golden and light chestnut".

The French (and thus also the the English word) has 2 possible origins. Some linguists say it comes from Middle Latin Blundus, meaning yellow, others say it comes from Old Frankish *blund which would relate it to Old English blonden-feax meaning grey-haired, from blondan/blandan meaning to mix. Also, Old English beblonden meant dyed as ancient Germanic warriors were noted for dying their hair. The linguists who support the Latin origins however say that Middle Latin blundus was a vulgar pronunciation of Latin flavus, also meaning yellow, the word was reintroduced into English in the 17th century from French and was until recently still felt as French, hence blonde for females and blond for males.

Roasted Spiced Cauliflower

2006-11-09T10:41:00.000-08:00

I, like a lot of young, employed singles who enjoy cooking but frequently lack the time, have a refrigerator full of rotting food.

Oh, that is so gross. No, I don’t! (It’s only half-full.)

Deny it if you want, but if you’re a single soul shopping in a world designed for 4 person families, you occasionally end up overbuying. 5 lb of zucchini for $5? I’ll make a tart! Buy two get one free? This week only? Who wants chocolate cake?!

And then there are the pantry items. The hollow Greek noodles that you saw at Surfas and swore you’d find something to make with, spices that you needed for a recipe that you only made once. The list of less used, but not useless, pantry items continues to lengthen and the shelves clutter up with tiny bottles and decorative jars.

And that’s how recipes like this come about. The cauliflower was on sale, and the turmeric left over from an old recipe that I made once and never again. There have recently been several studies stating that turmeric is a wonder-spice in regards to preventing Alzheimer’s. I just like the color. And once again, please excuse the miserable camera phone photos. This one makes the whole dish (which really is delicious!) look like monkey brains.

Roasted Spiced Cauliflower

1 head cauliflower, broken into small florets
2-3 cloves garlic, chopped
1 ½ teaspoon turmeric
1 ½ teaspoon curry powder
1 teaspoon cumin
large pinch of cayenne
Salt and pepper
¼ - ½ cup olive oil

Note: As always, these amounts are mostly guesstimated and depend upon your own personal tastes. This is especially true with curry powder. Curry powders all differ in flavor and the brand that I use has a lot of cinnamon in it, which is why I add the cayenne.

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Place the cauliflower and olive oil in a re-sealable plastic bag and shake. Add a good amount of salt and black pepper, then the spices and shake again. Pour the contents of the plastic bag into a baking dish and cover. Roast in the oven for approximately 45 minutes or until tender.

blonde quote of the day

2006-11-03T18:40:00.000-08:00

"It isn't that gentlemen really prefer blondes, it's just that we look dumber."

- Anita Loos, American screenwriter, playwright and author (1888 - 1981)

Boeuf Bourguignon

2006-10-31T15:17:00.000-08:00

You know those chain emails that people send out entitled “all about me”? You know – the ones that are much too long and for people who need a more challenging job? Well, I received one not too long ago, and the question was, “Spring or Fall”? My friend reply was very succinct. She said, “Fall – the clothes are better.”

The clothes are better in the fall. Hidden beneath thick, woolen sweaters, layered tops, and high heeled boots its much easier to look attractive than when you’re letting every spare, sunburned ounce of flesh hang out of a tank top and flimsy cotton skirt. Maybe it’s the dark colors that flatter most skin tones, or maybe it’s the cool winter air that causes flushed cheeks and pink noses. There’s just no contest – fall is the superior season.

I have just one problem with fall. It doesn’t seem to exist in Southern California.

Today is Halloween, and it’s a balmy 75 degrees. I don’t even flinch when I see people wearing linen in this kind of weather. If you didn’t own a calendar, by looking outside you’d have no idea that Labor Day was practically two months ago.

But weather be damned, I’m tired of salads and seared ahi. I wanted a hearty, flavorful meal, the kind I always dreamed my mother would someday learn to make. I wanted the kind of meal that I’ve seen people who are both blessed and cursed to live in cold climates eat on TV.

Boeuf Bourguignon
Only slightly adapted from Ina Garten

Ingredients:
olive oil
6-8 ounces pancetta, diced
2 1/2 pounds beef chuck cut into 1-inch cubes
salt & pepper
1 pound carrots, sliced into 1-inch chunks
1 ½ yellow onions, sliced
2-3 large cloves garlic, chopped
1/2 cup brandy
1 (750-ml) bottle cabernet sauvignon
1 can beef broth
2 ½ tablespoons tomato paste
1 teaspoon Herbs de Provence
2 tablespoons butter, at room temperature
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 pound frozen small whole onions
1 package mushrooms, sliced
½ package frozen peas
Crusty bread, like ciabatta
chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley (optional)

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 250 degrees.

Heat a splash of olive oil in a large Dutch oven. Add the diced pancetta and cook until the browned and the fat rendered. Remove to a large plate, but do not drain on a paper towel. Season the beef cubes with salt & pepper, or if you’re lazy like me, use a pre-made steak seasoning blend. Then sear the beef for a few minutes on all sides. You may need to do this in several batches, and be sure to add more olive oil if needed. As each batch browns, remove the seared beef to the plate with the pancetta.Toss the carrots and sliced onions in the pot and cook until the onions are lightly browned. Add the garlic and cook for another minute.

Now this is the scary part: add the brandy and then stand back. Light a match and carefully bring it to the pot, keeping your fingers as far away from the flame as possible. Keep the pot top nearby! Ignite the alcohol fumes to burn off the alcohol. (When I did this, the flames did not immediately flame out as I’ve seen on TV. It actually kept burning, and I had to put the flame out with the top.) Put the plate of meat back into the pot and follow with the entire bottle of wine and can of broth. Add the tomato paste and dried herbs. Bring to a boil, cover the pot, and place it in the oven for about 1 hour and 20 minutes.

Combine the butter and flour with a fork and stir into the stew to thicken. Add the frozen onions. In a separate pan, sauté the mushrooms in olive oil until lightly browned, and then add to the stew. Bring the stew to a boil, add the frozen peas, then lower the heat and simmer uncovered for 25 minutes, or until the gravy is the thickness you like. Season to taste.

To serve, cut the bread into large chunks and then cover with stew and chopped parsley.

Leftovers Suggestion: spoon the stew into a baking dish and cover with mashed potatoes to make a fancy Shepard’s Pie. Just bake at 350 degrees until potatoes are browned and stew is hot and bubbly.

blonde quote of the day

2006-10-20T14:11:00.000-07:00

"Blondes make the best victims. They're like virgin snow that shows up the bloody footprints."

- Alfred Hitchcock (1899 - 1980)

Restaurant Review: Beech Street Cafe

2006-10-13T10:04:00.000-07:00

I've been to Beech Street twice in the past month. The first visit was while my grandparents were in town, and they wanted a restaurant close to church for an after-mass meal with their Los Angeles-based kin. I thought the menu was limited but adequate, and the food edible. It inspired neither cravings nor nausea and after that meal, I didn't think of it again.

When my sister suggested that I join her and her friend Erica at Beech Street for a meal prior to our weekly "Project Runway" viewing, I first declined. Beech Street serves Italian food (in the most Californian of styles) and eating melted cheese for dinner was not going to help me with my diet. But she badgered me into submission and the next thing I knew we were ordering baked goat cheese, a chopped vegetable salad and a large 1/2 cheese, 1/2 pepperoni pizza.

To share, of course. I'm on a diet.

We ordered a bottle of wine and teased Erica about the cost of text messaging her ex-boyfriend in Australia. The salad came at the same time as the appetizer, and we were barely done with either when the pizza arrived. The restaurant wasn't particularly busy, so I don't think they were trying to rush us; I think their timing was just off.

Its important to note that Beech Street is a sit-down restaurant, complete with cloth napkins and white tableclothes. Granted, this is Los Angeles so jeans, sweatshirts and other workout wear are almost guaranteed to make an appearance. Not long after we sat down, a couple who must have recently completed a very strenuous workout sat down at the table behind us. The woman's hair was dirty and pulled away from her face, and her partner was wearing a bright yellow sweatshirt. Bright, Charlie Brown yellow sweatshirt. In a restaurant. At night.

We didn't really notice them till the woman started to describe how she would like her dish prepared. It went something like this:

Woman: "I'd like it without extra garlic, please."
Waiter: "OK, no garlic."
Woman: "No, I know it comes with garlic in the dish. I just don't want extra garlic."

(She makes a hand gesture to suggest that the chef previously placed a side bowl of chopped fresh garlic on her plate.)

Waiter: "So, you do want garlic?"
Woman: "Just what already comes in it. I don't want extra garlic."

At this juncture, you might want to note that English is not this waiter's native language. He looks strangely at this wannabe Sally Albright and retreats to the kitchen to place the order. Of course, my sister and I motion with our eyes toward the woman to silently ask if we'd both heard the same exchange. We had.

My sister, Erica and I chomped on some breadsticks, giggled about boys and slurped our mediocre bottle of cabernet. The waiter was servicing the other tables when the Woman with Dirty Hair flagged him down again.

Woman: "Can we get some different bread please?"

(The waiter looks quizzically at the full bread basket on the table.)

Woman: "Do you have any soft, doughy bread?"

(The woman brings both of her hands up and begins to rub them together, as if she was kneading bread, taking one palm over the top of the other. She did this repeatedly as she spoke to the waiter.)

Waiter: "You want dough?"
Woman: "Soft, doughy bread. Like this --" (grabs piece of bread from basket) "But without the crust. More of the inside."
Waiter: "The inside?"
Woman: "Yes, doughy. Not this crusty stuff."

Again, my sister and I made eye contact and smiled. I know I should have been paying attention to the conversation going on at my table, but I was just too preoccupied with Dirty Hair Woman and Yellow Sweatshirt Man. She was leaning way over in her seat, henpecking the poor man as he stared mutely in her direction, and shoveling food off of his plate and into her mouth as if it were her own.

The waiter came out a few minutes later, plate in hand. He put it in front of Dirty Hair Woman and I couldn't help but watch in awe. She touched the doughy mass on the plate. "Its cold," she said. The waiter stood silently. "Is this cooked? Its...its dough!"

Yes, yes it was. It was uncooked pizza dough. Luckily the check had arrived and we were able to pay the bill and walk out before my sister and I erupted in laughter.

The lesson? If you want to get exactly what you want -- try Beech Street.

Beech Street Cafe and Pizzeria
863 Swarthmore Ave
Pacific Palisades, CA 90272

Iron Chef: Lake Arrowhead Edition

2006-10-09T17:20:00.000-07:00

When making purchases of any kind, I divide items into two categories: Want vs. Need. For example: I want to get more exercise, but I need more sleep. Or perhaps: I want Steak Béarnaise for dinner, but I need that jadeite green balloon hem dress from Dame.

After a few weeks of desperately, feverishly wanting to quit my job and fighting the urge to actually do so, I needed a vacation.

We went to Lake Arrowhead, (because taking a speedboat to the supermarket is way more fun than driving) with plans to do little more than watch movies and lounge about.

Because my favorite leisure activity is eating, obviously food was a high priority. The original plan was to duel it out Iron Chef-style. However, common sense kicked in and we realized that as hungry as we were, we really couldn’t eat as much food as we thought we could. Appetizer vs. Entrée isn’t very exciting, but neither is obesity. Adapted from Ina Garten’s Salad with Warm Goat Cheese, this starter really is delicious, fast and super-easy.

Pan-Fried Goat Cheese and Roasted Vegetable Salad

1 large red onion, chopped into chunks
3 carrots, peeled and chopped into chunks
2 bell peppers, any color, chopped into chunks
2 yellow squash, chopped into chunks
2 teaspoon dried rosemary
4 oz. herbed goat cheese, sliced into ¾” pieces
1 cup fresh bread crumbs
1 egg, beaten
mixed salad greens
olive oil
butter
salt & pepper

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Place the chopped vegetables in a gallon-sized re-sealable plastic bag and sprinkle with salt, pepper, dried rosemary and approximately ½ cup of olive oil. Close the bag and shake until covered. Empty the bag of vegetables onto a baking sheet and roast in the preheated oven until the edges are browned and the inside is tender, around 45 minutes.

After the vegetables have been roasting for about 35 minutes, start on the goat cheese. Take one slice of goat cheese, and drop it in the beaten egg, making sure it’s well-coated. Put the fresh bread crumbs in a plate and add salt and pepper to taste. Take the cheese slice from the egg and drop it in the bread crumbs. Repeat with all of the remaining cheese slices.

In a medium size non-stick pan, heat a teaspoon of butter and approximately a tablespoon of olive oil. Once the butter is melted and bubbling, add a cheese slice to the pan (it should sizzle). Add the remaining cheese slices, being careful not to crowd the pan. You may need to do this in two batches, depending on the size of your pan. Fry the cheese until golden brown, roughly 3 minutes on each side.

To assemble the salad, place the mixed greens on a plate and top with the roasted vegetables. Place the goat cheese on top and drizzle with a little lemon juice and olive oil, or your favorite vinaigrette. Add cracked black pepper to taste, and enjoy.

blonde quote of the day

2006-09-29T17:13:00.000-07:00

"It is great to be a blonde. With low expectations it's very easy to surprise people."

- Pamela Anderson

August Re-cap

2006-09-24T12:05:00.000-07:00

I’m a basket case. It’s practically October and I’m just now getting around to my August re-cap. And can we please not address the fact that I went on a gorgeous, decadent trip to Europe and didn’t even bother to write one, single short little blog entry about it? I’ve got stacks of notes all over my desk at work, and a disposable camera still waiting to be developed, and I just can’t seem to get it together.

New Restaurants:

Cute little French places:

Cute little Italian places: (yes, that is a cat!)

Not so cute American airport places:
Chili’s To-Go – JFK International Airport
Chili’s To-Go – Atlanta International Airport

Cultural Event:

Nice, France!

Sori, Italy!

Knoxville, Tennessee! (emergency re-fueling, we weren't allowed off the plane!)

Movie:
I think I saw something on the plane…but the sleeping pills I took may not have helped me remember it.

Book:
Uh, yeah…. No. But I did pick up a lot of Italian cooking magazines.

Recipe:
Cook? Who has time?

This is pitiful….August was quite possibly the best month of 2006 to date and this is the worst re-cap imaginable! But at least it has pictures…

blonde quote of the day

2006-09-15T20:31:00.000-07:00

"I was in love with a beautiful blonde once, dear. She drove me to drink. That's the one thing I'm indebted to her for."

- W.C. Fields (1880-1946)

Crazy Things We Do for Love...

2006-09-08T15:07:00.000-07:00

Love makes you do crazy things.

I’ve highlighted my hair, poured hot wax on my nether regions and tinted by eyebrows – all in the pursuit of love.

I’ve written short stories, the better part of a trashy novel and even a one-act play – all inspired by love.

I’ve teetered around in too-high heels, stuffed myself into “suck ‘em” and “tuck ‘em” contraptions of every size, shape and color and doused myself in costly colognes reeking of exotic fruits and flowers – again, for love.

But never, never have I made a savory tart on a weeknight for the man that I love. Till now.

Inspired by a recipe I found on Orangette, I’ve made some adaptations that have resulted in two very tasty tarts (if you can find it in your heart to forgive the camera phone photos!).

Roasted Tomato Tart with Crème Fraîche and Thyme
Inspired by Orangette, which was inspired by Food & Wine, June 2003

4 lbs ripe heirloom tomatoes, halved
½ - ¾ cup olive oil
1 bunch lemon thyme, leaves plucked off
salt and black pepper to taste
½ package refrigerated pie crust dough (you could make your own, I suppose, but it’s a weeknight!)
2 Tbs crème fraîche
2 Tbs dijon mustard
Zest from half a lemon
1 Tbs lemon juice
½ cup shredded cheese, one that melts well (I used the Quattro Formaggio blend from Trader Joe’s)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

Toss the halved tomatoes with the lemon thyme leaves, olive oil, a healthy pinch of salt and a couple grinds of black pepper. Place on baking sheet, cut side down, and roast for 30 minutes. Flip the tomatoes so they are cut side up and roast for another 25-30 minutes.

Meanwhile, place the pie crust dough into a greased and floured 8 or 9” tart pan with removable bottom. Cover loosely with tin foil. Use pie weights or beans if you have them to help the crust maintain its shape. (I never bother – I live on the culinary edge and take my chances.) If you have room, put the crust in the oven with the tomatoes for the final 15-20 minutes. The crust should be just barely golden, and the bottom firm.

As the tomatoes and crust cool to room temperature, in a small bowl combine the crème fraîche, dijon mustard, lemon juice, zest, a small pinch of salt and a few grinds of black pepper. Pour this into the cooled crust and top with the shredded cheese. Arrange the roasted tomatoes on top of the cheese decoratively and then put back in the oven for a final 15-20 minutes. The cheese should be melted and the crust golden brown.

Serve warm or at room temperature.

Variation: Roasted Zucchini

Instead of the tomatoes, slice zucchini lengthwise into ¼” strips and roast in the same manner for 15 minutes on each side. Assemble as directed above and enjoy!

Although I haven’t tried it yet, I believe that this tart base would be delicious with any number of different roasted vegetables, or perhaps some caramelized onions. It’s very easy to modify and with a little practice, very easy to whip-up on a weeknight!

California Burritos

2006-08-31T14:38:00.000-07:00

Several months ago, I was introduced to a little blog called The Great Taco Hunt. The taco “Bandini” (as he refers to himself) is on a hunt for the most flavorful taco in all of Los Angeles. He clearly has an iron stomach, as he’s eaten off of dozens of taco trucks all over the city, and from little shack-like restaurants that don’t necessarily have “A” ratings in the window. He’s an inspiration to all taco lovers, and his pilgrimage has inspired me to eat off more than one roach coach in the past few months.

I consider myself a (mostly) fearless eater, so as my friend Lindsay described the “California Burrito” on our way down from LA to San Diego, I was both fascinated and horrified. Apparently, the California Burrito is a San Diego specialty available at many taco stands and the occasional drive-thru burrito joint. The contents? Carne Asada, French Fries, cheese, sour cream and guacamole.

My boyfriend and I were intrigued as we pulled up to Roberto’s drive-thru on Garnet in Pacific Beach, CA. We were considering ordering the dubious-sounding “cheese enchilada fries” but with Lindsay hanging out the rear window hollering into the tin-can/microphone asking detailed questions about Roberto’s California Burrito recipe, we knew we had no choice but to go along with her suggestion.

Lindsay has steered me right before, and she’s dragged me along with her on some pretty oddball adventures, but nothing compares to this glorious combination of seasoned skirt steak, greasy fries and fatty sauces wrapped up in a flour tortilla made the right way – with lard. There are no words to describe how tasty it was, other than those uttered by my boyfriend:

“I wish we’d gotten another one.”

blonde quote of the day

2006-08-20T15:57:00.000-07:00

"There's only one sort of natural blonde on earth - albinos."

- Marilyn Monroe

July Re-cap

2006-08-17T14:35:00.000-07:00

Whoops! I totally forgot my July re-cap.

New Restaurants:
Woody’s Boathouse (Lake Arrowhead, CA)
Papagayos Mexican Restaurant (Lake Arrowhead, CA)
Monty’s (Pasadena, CA)
The Rose Café (Venice, CA)
Table 13 (Ventura, CA)
Leaf (Culver City, CA)
Three on Fourth (Santa Monica, CA)

Cultural Event:
The Los Angeles Philharmonic at the Hollywood Bowl
(Talk about a fiasco: went to my local Whole Foods, spent 45 minutes picking out delicious finger food from the deli case only to have the whole market go dark right as I’m heading to the cashier. We waited another 30 minutes waiting for the electricity to come back on. When it hadn’t turned back on after 45 minutes, the checkers instructed us to abandon our carts in the aisles. It was very sad.)

Movie:
Woody Allen’s Manhattan
So maybe I fell asleep and missed the ending…happens to the best of us after a couple of bottles of wine.

Book:
Uh, yeah…. No.

Recipe: Should Jell-O shots be considered a recipe? Because I’m sure I made something last month, but my mind is too cloudy with memories of the Ligurian coastline to remember. I definitely remember making my always-popular peach schnapps Jell-O shots. These are the best Jell-O shots you will ever have. People look at me like I’m a lunatic when I tell them they’re chock-full of peach schnapps, but taste and see!

Peach-on-Peach

1 - 4 oz box peach-flavored Jell-O
2 cups boiling water
½ cup cold water
1 ½ cup peach schnapps

The Woo Woo

While flipping through a tacky '70s bartending guide, my sisters and I discovered the “Woo Woo.” It’s just a Cape Cod, but the splash of peach schnapps makes it so much better. Recently, I've taken those same flavors and introduced them to the wonderfully wiggly world of Jell-O. A word of caution: if you’re not careful that little extra kick will have you dancing on tabletops and singing the shot’s name as loudly as you can.

1 – 4 oz box cranberry-flavored Jell-O
2 cups boiling water
½ cup cold water
½ cup peach schnapps
1 cup vodka (preferably from the freezer)

Follow the directions on the back of the box, substituting the booze for the cold water. As tempted as you may be to maximize the Jell-O shot impact by increasing the amount of booze to two full cups -- don't. You'll only be sacrificing texture. You really do need at least a half cup of water to get that true Jell-O consistency.

Once dissolved, divide the mixture between between the vessels you plan to serve your Jell-O in using a measuring cup. Dixie cups are inexpensive and easy to find at any supermarket or drugstore, but if you're feeling fancy, you can also find 2 oz. plastic containers with lids at most restaurant supply stores.

Place in the refrigerator until firm, at least 4-6 hours, and enjoy!

Champagne Tuesdays

2006-08-16T21:22:00.000-07:00

I know, I know, I’ve been very lax in my posting. But I do have an excuse: I’ve been gallivanting across the French and Italian Riviera with a gorgeous man, drinking pink wine in the afternoon and pretending I’m the spawn of Brigitte Bardot and Sophia Loren.

However, instead of rattling off the pleasures I experienced on this dream-like vacation, I’m going to collect myself, settle back into my semi-normal routine and formulate the best essays about this trip that I possibly can.

Oh, and I also have yet to get my photos digitized…

So, to keep my faithful four readers satiated, I’m going to post about the genius of Champagne Tuesdays.

My little sister and I were chatting a few months ago about how we wanted to start drinking more sparkling wine. (I don’t think we were drunk when we decided this, but it’s entirely possible that we were.) And so we created Champagne Tuesdays. The rules are pretty simple: we bring out the Riedel glasses, which are usually still drying on the counter from the week before, and then choose a bottle. Recently, we’ve shared a bottle of Laetitia, a great little winery specializing in sparkling wine just outside of San Luis Obispo. Sometimes its Veuve Cliquot or Laurent Perrier. (Most of the time its not.)

Last night was a great edition in the Champagne Tuesdays series. Since my sister is training for her new gig out in Pennsylvania this week and next, the afore-mentioned gorgeous man graciously offered to fill her space.

I’m a notorious Kitchen Nazi, and my sister is only allowed in the kitchen because she pays half the rent. Allowing my boyfriend into my 45 square foot queendom truly tested my ability to "let go and let God" -- not to mention our own compatibility. The end result?

The wine: Paul Cheneau Brut Blanc de Blancs
Appetizer: cold ginger carrot soup
Entrée: roasted chicken and proscuitto borsetti with spinach

Fancy for a Tuesday after the gym, no?

We borrowed the carrot soup recipe from Orangette, but found it bland. We fiddled around with some of the ingredients and measurements and added 1 seeded jalapeno, an additional quarter teaspoon of salt and a few grinds of black pepper from the mill. The resulting soup was cold and creamy as described by Orangette, but with the slightest bit of heat touching the back of your tongue. It was especially good with a massive dollop of lime, curry and salted diced avocado.

I have to be honest -- we didn't make our own borsetti. In fact, I didn't know what borsetti was until I bought it from the deli section of my local market, and then rediscovered this frozen fresh pasta hidden within the depths of my freezer. Since the little plastic box hadn't yet succumbed to the freezerburn fungus that plagues most of my frozen foods, I figured it was safe enough to eat. That's when my boyfriend stepped in. While I was fiddling around with the soup, trying to make it palatable for a couple of pepperheads, he went on his own mini freezer dumpster dive. He found spinach and frozen basil squares, sauteed it up in a little olive oil and butter, tossed in the borsetti, topped it with parmesan and then we had a multi-course meal.

Clearly, the man is a keeper. Don't you just love Champagne Tuesdays?

Three on Fourth

2006-07-26T17:21:00.000-07:00

In thanksgiving for enduring the hippies, the heat and the dirt that made up Bonnaroo 2006, Lindsay took me to dinner at this adorable new restaurant in Santa Monica, Three on Fourth. The restaurant’s theme is “international tapas” or, more specifically, small plates featuring Western-European, American and Asian cuisines. They also serve beer, wine and sake.

When we arrived, the restaurant was virtually empty. I have mixed feelings about empty restaurants – part of me likes it when I can sit wherever I want and have the full attention of the waitstaff, and the other half of me wonders, what does everyone else know that I don’t?

We ordered the mussels, grilled pear salad and the open-faced sandwich trio. We sopped up the garlicky mussel sauce with toasted baguette and sipped happily on a bottle of pinot noir. We chatted with the hostess, who wore a gorgeous red rose print Dolce & Gabbana dress, met the restaurant manager/sommelier and hardly thought twice when our waiter brought us the wrong sandwiches. Normally, I’d be a little surprised that our order would be incorrect in an empty restaurant, but everyone was so friendly that I didn’t care. And the food was delicious! I was already imagining my triumphant return to this restaurant, where I would air kiss my new best friend the manager hello as the hostess seated me and my companion at the best table in the house.

At least that was the plan.

About two weeks after my first visit to Three on Fourth, I returned with boyfriend in tow. I was feeling fussy and indecisive at the time, and instructed him to do the ordering. He’s aware of my devotion to Tony Bourdain’s theory on “specials” but likes to listen to them just the same. After the waiter spouts the specials, we usually smile in gratitude and then wait for him/her to walk away before we agree to not order a single one. And then we giggle. Actually, I giggle and he guffaws – it’s far manlier.

However, the specials are definitely worth noting. Instead of the NY strip steak, they had ribeye. OK, no big deal. Oh, and the mussels that Lindsay and I enjoyed last time? They were marked down. Marked down to $12.

WTF? Who does that? I mean, if you’re going to serve rotting seafood, why advertise the fact in your evening specials?

Needless to say, we didn’t order the mussels. We ordered tuna tataki, macaroni & cheese with pancetta, crab cakes, ginger-cilantro shrimp and a half-bottle of pinot grigio. That’s part of the fun of this restaurant – you really can mix and match with different flavors. It’s like playtime for the palate.

The tuna portion was far larger than we’d anticipated, which was a nice surprise, but I found the macaroni & cheese to be a bit grainy and the pancetta too much like deli-sliced ham. I like my crab cakes to be lightly browned, and the color of these were just a bit too dark for me, so visually I was unimpressed. The real star of this meal was the shrimp. The tempura-esque coating was light and flavorful, and with the accompanying chili paste it really was fun to eat. We even had to split the last shrimp in half, so we each got our fair share.

So, what’s the consensus? It was a great outing the first time, but only mediocre the second. Will I go back? Probably. It’s a moderately-priced restaurant in a great location with a cute theme. I’d go back at least one more time just to make my final judgment. But to be honest, if you want to try it, go sooner rather than later. With the way restaurants turn over in this city, it may not be there long.

Three on Fourth
1432-A Fourth St.
Santa Monica, 90401
(310) 395-6765

I'm going here:

2006-07-24T14:46:00.000-07:00

and I couldn't be happier about it.

blonde quote of the day

2006-07-14T15:41:00.000-07:00

It was a blonde. A blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained-glass window.

- Raymond Chandler (July 23, 1888 – March 26, 1959)

June re-cap

2006-07-13T09:01:00.000-07:00

Sorry this is so late in coming, it already being mid-July, but I’ve been running around like a crazy woman. Here’s the low-down:

New Restaurants:
Brent’s (Northridge, CA)
Cracker Barrel (Murfeesboro, TN)
Waffle House (Nashville, TN)
Koberl @ Blue (San Luis Obispo, CA)

Recipe:
I made Bri's phenomenal Morrocan chicken with lentils and apricots. (Except I used currants and golden raisins, and then flavored the yogurt with garlic and parsley.)

Cultural Events:
Robert Earl Keen at the House of Blues
KCRW Angel Party at MoCA
Wal-Mart (Murfeesboro, TN)

Movie:
Who’s got time for movies when you’re in Tennessee one week, Orange County the next, and San Luis Obispo the weekend after?

Book:
So, I’m back where I started – books on CD. Even though I spent plenty of time on planes, in airports and sleeping in hotels this month, I really didn’t feel like I had time to read a book. So I didn’t. I listened to Jill Conner Browne’s The Sweet Potato Queen’s Big Ass Cookbook and Financial Planner. Why? Because I really have jumped off the deep end and after five days in Tennessee think I'm a Southern diva.

Restaurant Review: Waffle House

2006-07-12T09:20:00.000-07:00

If there was a Cracker Barrel at every truck stop between Nashville and Manchester, then there were two Waffle Houses for every one Cracker Barrel. Those yellow block letters on the horizon called out to us, and at 6:30am before our 9am flight back to civilization, Lindsay and I stopped for breakfast.

We quickly learned that Waffle House restaurants (“Awful Waffle” to the locals) are open 24 hours, and offer both smoking and non-smoking sections in about 500 square feet of space. When we walked in, our waiter, Clarence, was finishing up his graveyard shift. Though the restaurant was empty except for the two waiters/cooks/bussers on duty, we sat at the counter next to a jug of bleach. Clarence promptly removed this bottle and cleaned off the counter. He handed us our menus, and the two of us ordered the following:

1 egg and cheese sandwich on white bread
1 egg, cheese and bacon sandwich on Texas Toast
1 coffee
1 large orange juice
1 order hash browns, with chopped onions mixed in
1 waffle with syrup and butter

Clarence was great. I’m not quite sure what he said, but he sure was friendly. He chatted to us the whole time as he made our egg sandwiches – neither washing his hands nor wearing gloves after cleaning up after the jug of bleach. And we even got pickles with our breakfasts, an accouterment to eggs I’m sure the chefs at the Ivy haven’t even considered.

As we ate we discovered that Clarence and his co-worker were finishing up the graveyard shift. The morning workers started trickling in one by one, with the shift supervisor, a scrawny woman in her late-50s wearing her gray hair in a bun and smoking a Virginia Slim with an inch of ash, coming in last. It was a sight to behold.

Yet again, I’d like to reiterate how much I enjoy it when stereotypes come to life.

With both egg sandwiches, a quarter of the waffle, and nearly half of the potatoes gone, Lindsay and I were nearing the end of our meal. But it was hard to leave. The staff was buzzing, talking back and forth about how busy it was going to be today now that all the out-of-towners were flying back home after Bonnaroo.

A group of 6 youngsters were stumbling up the walkway into the restaurant, and the wait staff was eyeing them as they walked in, each one fantasizing about the tip six out-of-towners were going to leave. As soon as they walked in, a sassy waitress pounced on them with the one question we heard at every restaurant in Tennessee: “Smokin’ or Non-smokin’?”

The kid at the front of the pack said, “Non, please.”

Her response? “Well, there ain’t nobody smoking over here!”

I nearly choked on my Texas toast I was laughing so hard.

Now, you might be wondering how much this fine Nashville meal cost us. This mammoth breakfast of eggs, potatoes, waffles, bacon, pickles and endless cup of coffee set Lindsay back a whopping thirteen dollars. Thirteen dollars for both of us. I don’t think you can get a single vodka gimlet at the Ivy for $13. And when Lindsay handed the cashier a twenty to pay for our $13 meal, she received $13 in change.

Lindsay smiled, handed the cashier $6 for the register and left the rest on the counter for Clarence.

Maybe he’ll buy some hand soap.

Bonnaroo, Part II

2006-07-04T13:28:00.000-07:00

What would you do to see Radiohead? Would you lie? Cheat? Steal? Because apparently, I would do all of that, and then top it off with a little “contribution to the delinquency of a minor.” Actually, I think he was well on his way to delinquency; I may have just helped him along.

On night three of Bonnaroo 2006, after sweating in the broiling sun for 12 hours and talking to way too many drunk/high/hopeless hippies, Linds and I were very excited to use our backstage passes to get prime seats to the Radiohead concert. Free beers in hand, we proceeded to the VIP bleachers, only to be told to keep walking – the stands were full. We took one look into the sea of people – 90,000 hippies that hadn’t bathed in three days – and started to panic.

Earlier that day, while I was taking a break and straining my neck to catch a little of the Beck show, I’d sent Lindsay a text message, jokingly suggesting that we could get into the disabled section for the Radiohead concert if she could find me a crutch to lean on.

I am a genius.

But if I’m a genius, then Lindsay is an eagle-eye mastermind, because she spotted them first: a pair of chrome crutches propped up against the railing that divided the VIP bleachers from the disabled section. The exchange went something like this:

“Hey – can we borrow a crutch real quick?”
“Wha?”
“Can we borrow a crutch? Just for a second?”
“MOVE IT ALONG! NO BLOCKING THE AISLES!”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Take it around and come and sit right next to you. We’ll get you beers.”
“Uh, OK.”

The kid passed his crutch to me through the bars. It wasn’t until I held it upright that I realized it was the same size as me. I couldn’t even reach high enough to try and get it under my arm. I started hollering to Linds, who had already taken off. I grabbed her bags and shoved it under her arm. As she shuffled along (the crutch was too big for her as well), a security guard saw her and started shining a flashlight and shooing people to the sides, shouting for them to make way for the girl on crutches. I was scrambling along behind her, weighed down with both her bags and mine, insisting to security that I was the companion for my handicapped friend.

We made it into the disabled section with no problem. We handed the kid his crutches and leaned up against the railing, absolutely ecstatic that we weren't drowning in the heaving blob of people before us. We were pretty proud of ourselves, until another security guard came into the disabled section checking "access bracelets."

She asked for mine, and I showed her my backstage pass. She pointed at the blue wristband the kid next to us was wearing. Lindsay just looked at me, silent. The words just kept coming...

"Oh! I'm sorry. My friend just sprained her ankle yesterday and I'm her companion. We didn't know that we needed access bracelets. Where can we get those tomorrow?"

I may be a genius, but I'm definitely going to hell. I don't know why she believed me. How would we have gotten a crutch in Manchester, TN without even knowing about the First Aid tent that handed out disabled access bracelets?

It was a dramatic, morally-compromising evening up until the point when I remembered that I owed the kid and his friend beer. I was now going to have to exit the safety of the disabled section, force my way through the mob of people, snag more free beers from the backstage bar and then make it back before Radiohead started. It was the Bonnaroo Physical Challenge. And of course, Lindsay couldn't come with me to help -- she was disabled.

It was a perilous journey that included waiting for security guards to look away before dashing into the bleachers, and shouting "I'm in the disabled section! I'm the companion!" to more one security guard. My personal favorite was handing the kid's beers over the railing to Lindsay, as a security guard came after me in the aisle shouting ahead to his co-worker, "Watch her! Make sure she goes into disabled!"

She may not have known it at the time, but the look Lindsay gave me seemed to say, "What the hell have you done?"

But I made it back to the safety of the disabled section without (much) incident, we toasted the kid on crutches and leaned against the railing again, marveling over what we would do to see Radiohead.

It was right at that time that a woman appeared virtually out of nowhere next to me.

"Uhhh..." I said, wondering if I really had gotten a contact high.
"I was under the bleachers!" she said, "I've been there for two hours!"

Apparently, I'm not the only one to do something extreme to see Radiohead.

Please excuse...

2006-06-29T15:14:00.000-07:00

...the delay in posting. I'm recovering from six days in Tennessee, followed by three days at a regional meeting in Newport Beach and then another three days in San Luis Obispo for wine-tasting and a bachelorette party. I don't even know what my bedroom looks like, and I'm afraid my credit card company thinks I'm a hooker with all of these hotel stays.

Oh, and I also found out that I have "atypical necrosis of the fibular sesamoid" in my right foot. In layman's terms, that means I broke a teeny-tiny bone in my foot, didn't take care of it, and now the bone is dead and will continue to cause me pain until I have it surgically removed.

This blonde's bitterness is making a rapid comeback. Actually, don't call it a comeback. I've been here for years.

Restaurant Review: Cracker Barrel

2006-06-29T15:08:00.000-07:00

Oh,

My,

Lord.

I had no idea a place such as this even existed. Part of me wants to applaud the brilliant restaurateur that masterminded this behemoth Southern chain and the other part wants to give him a good swift kick to the bowels – just like his food did to me.

After seeing a Cracker Barrel restaurant at every truck stop between Nashville and Manchester, Linds informed me that I could not leave Tennessee without experience the trashy country-themed delight that is Cracker Barrel. They sell rocking chairs on the front porch! They have an entire country store fronting every restaurant! I bought a John Deere thermal shirt in a children’s small – and it fit! The glory! The horror!

Our waitress was an absolute delight. She guided me through the menu like an old pro, laughing when I said I’d never had chicken and dumplings or deep-fried okra before. When I requested cornbread instead of biscuits, she giggled and asked, "Have ya evah had cornbread before?" I should have said no, because I've never had cornbread that tasted like bacon before. Nor have I ever had green beans, macaroni and cheese or fried okra that tasted like bacon before.

I used to say "everything is better with bacon." I'm a changed woman.

The highlight of the meal came soon after I received my "Country Sampler" (aka "Country Salt Lick") consisting of chicken n' dumplings, meatloaf, country ham, macaroni and cheese, fried okra and cooked carrots. Linds and I were dying of thirst, having consumed massive amounts of sodium, and were keeping an eye out for our waitress. She arrived a few minutes later, a little flustered, but just as bubbly as before. "I'm sorry," she said, "but one of the girls just had a seizure in the kitchen!"

I imagined a woman flopping about the kitchen, knocking out her remaining three teeth and flipping over a vat of grits. Why? Because I think stereotypes are funny. And, I'm really not that nice of a person. Luckily, Lindsay is. She said, "Is she alright?"

"Oh, she's fine. The paramedics are here. "

"Is she a diabetic?" Maybe Lindsay isn't that nice either. Not all seizuring fat people are diabetics, you know.

"No. She just has seizures."

Lindsay looked confused. Our waitress nodded knowingly. It was my turn. "You mean, she has epilepsy?"

The lightbulb went off above our waitress's head. "Yep! That's why she has seizures!"

It was a brilliant moment. Our sweet, flustered waitress was doing everything she could to give us top-notch customer service while in the kitchen her epileptic co-worker was being wheeled away by paramedics after a grand mal. So we did what any good Southern diner would do.

"Glad to hear she's OK. Can we get the strawberry shortcake too?"

Bonnaroo: Part I

2006-06-18T07:14:00.000-07:00

Heard around the festival/campsite/dirty hippie playground...

"We have got to find out what kind of flat iron Tom Petty uses!" - cw

"Holy shit, Tom Petty looks just like Martina Navratilova!" - lg

"My stylist was running bad like a drunk gambler." - john of the disco biscuits

"You've got the prettiest smile I've ever seen!" (drunk man to Lindsay)
"Does she have all of her teeth?!" (drunk man's friend)

Weight Watchers

2006-06-11T12:55:00.000-07:00

I’m on Weight Watchers. Honestly, I really don’t need to be. But the idea of teetering down an aisle in strappy silver sandals wearing a sage green bridesmaid dress (with an asymmetrical watermelon sash) and then giving a maid-of-honor speech in front of 150 people doesn’t seem like something I should do as a size 6. It will all go much smoother if I’m a size 4. I’m also the only “single” bridesmaid in the group, with an overactive imagination that is currently envisioning the following conversation taking place:

Old Biddy at the Wedding #1: “Look at this garden, isn’t it lovely?”
Old Biddy at the Wedding #2: “And the bridesmaids...just gorgeous.”

They look on in silent content. Christianne comes barreling down the aisle.

Old Biddy #1: “Sweet Jesus, who is that?”
Old Biddy #2: “She must be the single one. I heard about her.”
Old Biddy #1: “Isn’t she the reason they had to have dresses to the knee?”
Old Biddy #2: “I heard that the bride wanted shorter dresses...
Old Biddy #1: "Didn't want to to embarrass her friend?”
Old Biddy #2: “Cellulite thighs! At her age! She’ll never find a husband.”
Old Biddy #1: “Let alone have children…Isn’t she near the bride’s age?"
Old Biddies (in unison): "Tick tock, Tick tock!”
Old Biddy #2: “It’s probably better that way. Not everyone should procreate.”
Old Biddy #1: “The good Lord works in mysterious ways.”

I’m not the better BITTER blonde, for nothing.

So as the saying goes, the best revenge is looking good. And I have exactly one month and eleven days to lose 5 pounds. For those of you familiar with the Weight Watchers plan, I’m allowed 20 points a day, with 35 Flex points to use as I wish throughout the week. Below, please find an “example” 20 point day:

Breakfast: 6 oz. nonfat skim milk (1 pt), 6 oz. vanilla flavor soy yogurt (3 pts), ½ cup raspberries (0 pts)

Lunch: 6-inch Subway turkey sub on wheat bread with mustard, spinach, tomatoes, pickles, olives, bell peppers, cucumber, salt and pepper (5 pts)

Snack: carrots & celery slices (0 pts)

Dinner: ½ cup edamame in pods (0.5 pts), 1 cup miso soup (2 pts), 6 large pieces California roll sushi (4.5 pts), 4 oz glass white wine (2 pts), ¼ cup lemon sorbet with ¼ cup mixed berries (2 pts)

TOTAL: 20 pts

Now, here’s what I ate on June 1st, 2006:

Breakfast: ¾ cup papaya (0.5 pts), ¾ cup strawberries (0 pts)

Lunch: 1 serving Tofu and Roasted Vegetable Napoleon (Weight Watchers recipe – 5 pts), 1 Tb store-bought pesto (1.5 pts – it WAS a WW recipe, after all), 1 serving Fat Free Jell-O Chocolate Vanilla Swirl Pudding (2 pts)

Dinner: 1 fillet cooked salmon (7 pts), 3 cups Caesar salad (7 pts), 2 bottles light beer (4 pts), ½ cup fried calamari (11 pts), 4 bottles regular beer (11 pts)

TOTAL: 49 pts

I can’t seem to figure out what’s wrong. Can you?

Patron of the Arts

2006-06-09T13:49:00.000-07:00

My sister and I frequently joke that I’m her “patron of the arts.” We both dream up what we feel are exciting and worthwhile home décor projects, and then I pay for her to execute them. She has a lot more spare time, and I have a lot (well, some) more spare money. As an added bonus, I get to wield my financial power like a 17th century Pope and can deliver my opinion to the artist whether its wanted or not. It works out, (when she’s not telling me to suck it) for the most part.

In the process of becoming a better bitter blonde, I’ve landed some great dates, filled a Rolodex with new restaurants and remembered why I love books so much that as a child I’d stay up till the wee hours reading in a closet with a flashlight. And somehow along the way I’ve managed to acquire my own Patrons of the Arts: Lindsay and Bri. And to be honest, I don’t know what I did to deserve friends like these. But I sincerely hope they know what talented, amazing women they are, how fortunate I feel to have them as friends, and how much I truly appreciate what they do for me.

Lindsay is the ecologically aware one, and next week she’s taking me to Manchester, Tennessee for the Bonnaroo Music and Arts Festival to help encourage attendees to join the virtual march on Washington currently underway on StopGlobalWarming.org. (There will be more on that later.) Bri, on the other hand, has taken it upon herself to act as my fairy godmother of all things art-related.

On Wednesday night, my darling Bri took me to the KCRW Angel Party at MoCA in downtown LA. I, a native Angeleno who has spent all but my four years of college in this city, had never been there before. I have no excuse, other than my own ignorance and laziness. That’s where my fairy godmother steps in. After taking me to a Patina-catered shindig downtown with plenty of free vodka (who knew that grapefruit Absolut was actually drinkable?), I received a private guided tour of MoCA’s Robert Rauschenberg Combines exhibit.

I don’t know anything about Rauschenberg. When it comes to fine art – oil paintings, sculpture, watercolor – I’m positively ignorant. I know what I like, I know what I don’t like, I’m fairly aware of most art movements over the past few decades (courtesy of two artsy college roommates), but overall I’m uninformed. That’s why I have a Patron. As we toured the collection, Bri gave me a brief history of the artist, and related his work to things I do know a little something about: Beat poets, Dadaism and performance art.

I highly recommend getting a Patron. Unlike a Sugar Daddy/Momma, you don’t have to put out for your Patron. Instead, you hear things like, “Hey, want to check out Lorna Simpson since we’re here?” And you follow dumbly along. And then, in addition to free food and booze, you get to see fascinating photographs printed on felt.

Robert Rauschenberg Combines
5/21/06 – 9/4/06

Lorna Simpson
4/16/06 – 7/10/06

MoCA
250 South Grand Avenue
Los Angeles, CA 90012
http://www.moca.org/

May re-cap

2006-06-08T10:04:00.000-07:00

Already 5 months in and the better bitter blonde project continues to thrive! I'm pretty proud of myself, to be honest.

Restaurants:

Hennessey’s in Manhattan Beach (Irish Bar on Cinco de Mayo?)

La Sostra in Hermosa Beach (gnocchi heaven)

Harvest Café in Brentwood (#1 reason to eat all the old people)

Ford’s Filling Station in Culver City (blech)

Culturally-Enriching Event(s):

Ashes & Snow (who knew orangutans had game?)

KROQ Weenie Roast (scamming for underage ass has never been so much fun!)

Movie:

An Inconvenient Truth (A must-must-must see!)

Recipe:

I made an extremely tasty vegetarian pesto lasagna with marinated artichoke hearts and fresh tomatoes.

Book(s):

Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain

Angles & Demons by Dan Brown

so maybe Angels & Demons shouldn't really count as a work of literary merit, but...I had to get caught up somehow! Now I'm now at 5 books in 5 months, and I'm feeling much better about myself as a person.

As usual, now accepting suggestions and dates(!!!) for the summer....

Touched by Tipper

2006-06-02T16:34:00.000-07:00

On Tuesday, May 16 my darling, eco-conscious friend Linds took me to yet another phenomenal event. We attended the premiere of An Inconvenient Truth, the Al Gore documentary on our world’s current climate crisis.

Like the Shakespeare fundraiser, it was another dazzling, celebrity-studded event. There were several food stations serving up all kinds of healthy eats, an open bar (always a joy!) and the dessert stations had not one, not two, but three chocolate fountains for dipping!

But, as they say, “the real star of the show” was truly the show itself. An Inconvenient Truth follows Gore around the globe as he gives presentation after presentation about the effects of greenhouse gases on Earth. In doing so, you also see the presentation itself, which is chock-full of information about global warming and what individuals can do to increase their energy efficiency. This is not a someday problem, but a today problem. Key points of interest:

The United States, with only four percent of the world’s population, is responsible for 22% of the world’s greenhouse gas emissions.
The number of Category 4 and 5 hurricanes has almost doubled in the last 30 years.
Deaths from global warming (heat waves, hurricanes, etc.) will double in just 25 years -- to 300,000 people a year.
More than a million species worldwide could be driven to extinction by 2050.

The information presented in this documentary is astounding, shocking, horrifying. Everyone should see it.

I was impressed with this film. I found it to be informative, entertaining and all-together inspirational. It is the second Laurie David-produced film I’ve seen this year, and to be honest, I really wanted to meet the woman herself. I was probably bordering on pesky the way I was harassing Linds, but this premiere was my opportunity and I was excited.

Lindsay approached Laurie, waited for an opening and introduced me. I told LD how much I enjoyed both films and she asked that I get others to see An Inconvenient Truth. And then she was pulled away into another conversation. Lindsay and I stood there for a moment, marveling over how dynamic a woman Laurie is, when I got a good thump to the back. So much so, that I was actually forced forward and had to take a step to catch myself from falling. Now, this was a bustling premiere, and I was standing next to an executive producer, so of course it was crowded. I looked behind me, and the woman who had bumped into me took a few steps before turning around. She raised her arm towards me and said, “Oh, I’m sorry.” And because I’m really pretty mellow, I replied in kind. The woman turned back around and went on her way. I looked to Lindsay.

“Was that --?”
“Tipper Gore?”
“I think so!”
“Ohmigod! You just got body-checked by Tipper Gore!”

And then I did what any normal, well-adjusted mature individual would do. I called every single person I know to tell them that I've been touched by Tipper Gore. Good thing I didn't curse her out, huh?

An Inconvenient Truth

StopGlobalWarming.org

blonde quote of the day

2006-05-30T09:08:00.000-07:00

Having money is rather like being a blond. It is more fun but not vital.

- Mary Quant (b. 1936), British fashion designer. Quoted in Observer (London, Nov. 2, 1986).

Ford's Filling Station

2006-05-23T08:28:00.000-07:00

I’m never going back to Ford’s Filling Station ever again.

I’d made dinner reservations at Cobras & Matadors in addition to Ford’s Filling Station because I couldn’t make up my mind on where I wanted to go. I decided to let my dining partner, who’d never heard of either, choose. Unfortunately, he chose wrong.

I was running late, and knew we were going to miss our 9:30pm reservations. I called C&M to cancel and got voicemail. Of course I did, it’s a decent restaurant and they were busy on a Friday night. FFS picked up on the first ring. They were more than happy to move our reservation back. After hanging up, I commented upon this and my dining partner said, “Maybe we shouldn’t have called the other restaurant first?” I laughed, sure that it would be fine. I was wrong.

FFS is in downtown Culver City, a formerly shady part of town that in the past several years has undergone a Renaissance of sorts and is now well-lit and mostly clean. When we arrived, I’d expected to see a gastropub of NYC's The Spotted Pig variety, and was surprised to see that it is an unremarkable in-line space between an alley and some sort of take-out joint.

We were seated quickly. The waitress rattled off the specials in the usual fashion, but I didn’t pay much attention because I’ve read Kitchen Confidential and now know better than to pay top-dollar for rotting leftovers. (And she was really pushing the Kansas City steak special, which proved to me that Bourdain is right.) After I told the waitress three times that I couldn’t eat a whole steak, I went with the lamb dish because it sounded complicated. My friend ordered scallops. We ordered a few cheeses to start with, and a bottle of wine off of the severely lacking wine list.

The cheeses were dropped off by another member of the wait staff as he was walking by. I thought it was customary for the waiter to point out which cheese was which. Apparently not. We simply played a guessing game. Not much later, our dinners arrived: my lamb, white beans and escarole and my friend’s….Kansas City steak special.

When we protested they took it away, leaving my dinner to cool as I waited for his. I may know nothing about wine, and only little more than that about food, but I do know customer service – and this place isn’t cutting it. Between the mediocre-to-poor service, lamb that resembled rope and wine that my dining partner described as “barely passable” we were far from impressed.

Total Price: $120 for two, exclusive of tip. This included 1 bottle of blah wine, 3 ounces of cheese, 1 mediocre and 1 barely edible entree. Needless to say, it’s overpriced as well.

Book Review: Kitchen Confidential

2006-05-21T14:32:00.000-07:00

A good friend of mine, one whom I frequently quote, once sent me an email about a food writer she’d recently discovered. After she (verbosely) proclaimed her love of his writing style, she concluded her email with the statement, “I don’t know if I want to sleep with him or be him.”

That’s an interesting observation.

Do we as women actively chase after unattractive men, only to later discover that they’re well-spoken, well-traveled and well-versed in Italian wines? Doubtful. Or, and much more likely, do we meet that same man and slowly start to find him attractive as we learn more about the quality of his character? While I’m sure many women would disagree with me, those true to themselves will acknowledge that they have dated a man (or ten) that mentally stimulated them even if he didn’t quite ignite the fires within her loin.

That’s kind of the case here. I just finished (2 weeks ahead of schedule!) Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential. And while I am fairly certain that I don’t want to sleep with a married man twenty-five years my senior with a history of promiscuity and drug abuse, Bourdain’s single-minded pursuit of pleasure is deliciously sexy. I am, officially, his food whore.

The book is really an insider’s guide to the restaurant scene, with a horrifying look into NYC kitchen and waitstaff antics. Already, you have my interest. Nasty knife wounds, food mishandling, sex in the pantry – I’m turned on, and I’m not kidding. It’s a cross between conventional one hand reading and the type bookish foodies are more likely to partake of.

His approach is brash, superior. His analysis of Central American line cooks is particularly offensive. He’s well-traveled, speaks French and Spanish and hideously arrogant. It’s unbelievably attractive. Maybe good girls will always like bad boys. Regardless, read this book and you’ll never order “tonight’s special” again.

READ A BOOK, DAMMIT!

2006-05-16T14:06:00.000-07:00

And read a good one -- preferably one written by my wickedly funny, brilliant friend, Rob Roberge.

Rob's first novel Drive is back in print. Out on Hollyridge Press:

http://members.aol.com/hollyridgepress/drive1.htm

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/097722984X/002-2171199-7093623?n=283155

Find it. Read it. Love it. And when you're done, read his second book, More Than They Could Chew.

blonde quote of the day

2006-05-11T12:22:00.000-07:00

A chaste woman ought not to die her hair yellow.

- Menander (c. 342–291 B.C.), Greek playwright

April re-cap ADDENDUM

2006-05-09T13:03:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning and realized that Yes, it really is May. I don’t know where the first third of the year went, since its all been such a whirlwind, but clearly its affecting my mind and I can’t seem to remember all of the fantastic opportunities that have crossed my path. Luckily, I had Lindsay G. to remind me.

I must admit, I’m horrified that I neglected to mention this on my first re-cap. I attended the premiere of Laurie David’s film, “Too Hot Not to Handle” and the subsequent after-party hosted by Elle magazine courtesy of my darling, eco-conscious friend Linds. Held at the Pacific Design center, catered by Wolfgang Puck, DJ’d by Rosanna Arquette and featuring a live performance by John Mayer – it was an awesome night out. In thanksgiving, I replaced the most commonly used light bulbs in my house with compact bulbs. (Just don’t buy them at Rite-Aid, those bastards charge double what Target does!)

And when she’s not stopping global warming, my darling, eco-conscious friend Linds is letting me tag-along with her to Simply Shakespeare, a fundraising event benefiting Shakespeare Festival Los Angeles. Held at UCLA’s Freud Theater, this was no ordinary “Midsummer Night’s Dream” reading. I could regale you with every little detail of the private performance Natalie Cole gave, or Christina Applegate’s crazy dance moves, but instead, I’ll awe you with the amazing cast.

Rita Wilson
Tom Hanks
Natalie Cole
Jack Sheldon
Drew Carey
Tracy Ullman
Zach Braff
Rob Lowe
Sean McGuire
Ray Romano
Christina Applegate

And while I may have gotten a kiss on the cheek from this guy:

Drew Carey touched my arm not once, but twice!!

blonde quote of the day

2006-05-07T14:37:00.000-07:00

When confronted with two evils; Choose the Blonde.

- Jacob Bradt

April Re-cap

2006-05-05T11:38:00.000-07:00

Restaurant(s): Lilly’s, Lou, Malo

Book: The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd. I know I said I’d read two books this month, but I got busy!

Culturally-Enriching Event(s): Although I bailed on Create:Fixate and slept through the Brewery Artwalk, I did manage to make it to the Brentwood Artwalk and the LA Times Festival of Books. And I’ve got the gnarly sunburn to prove it!

Recipe: A simple act of culinary MacGyver-ism, not once by twice. I made beet-stuffed ravioli with sage brown butter sauce. My newest food obsession? The wondrous wonton wrapper. It’s amazing what they can do. I also really enjoyed this braised cabbage recipe from Orangette. While more time-consuming than I normally have the patience for, it lasted the whole week in the fridge and really rounded out some nutritionally-pathetic dinners.

NEW CATEGORY: My sister informed me that we’re behind the pop culture times and the fact that we haven’t seen a movie in a theater in months is entirely unacceptable. So we’re going to attempt to see a movie a month. We started with a good one, an especially good one if you dislike Katie Holmes and enjoy watching people treate her like a slut: "Thank You for Smoking."

Now accepting any and all suggestions for May…

blonde quote of the day

2006-04-25T13:35:00.000-07:00

Only God, my dear,
Could love you for yourself alone
And not your yellow hair.

~W.B. Yeats

Olympic Spa

2006-04-21T22:40:00.000-07:00

I’ve been having a rough go of it recently. Someone stole the dill plant off of my front porch. A woman called me the “c-word” over a parking spot. I had to give a vendor a verbal beat-down, follow it up with an ultimatum and then threaten his job. After that, a suspected murderer was tackled and handcuffed by a dozen armed police officers at my place of business during opening hours. There’s more, but reliving those events in words is almost as stressful as doing it all over again.

It’s my belief that when disappointment, frustration and exhaustion all make play-dates for the same day/same week/same month, its time to take action. The human spirit can only take so much before collapsing in on top of itself.

So last Saturday I went to Olympic Spa in Koreatown, where I (quite literally) washed that job/that mess in the kitchen/that man, right out of my hair.

I always get the traditional Akasuri scrub ($35) and 30 minute mini-massage ($35) when I visit this spa. A friend turned me on to it, and although I’ve had other treatments, nothing else provides the same value for the price. And as I’m sure you can imagine, for that price, Olympic Spa is what you might call “no frills.”

It’s also no clothes.

So there I was: tired, frustrated, exhausted and naked at the Korean spa, surrounded by dozens of other tired, frustrated, naked women, waiting to be scrubbed and beaten. Beaten.

After sweating in both the jade-lined sauna and the Finnish dry sauna, soaking in the mugwort tea and a brief stint in the (very!) cold pool, I was called for my treatment. The Akasuri scrub is a vigorous rub-down with silk mitts. The silk sounds nice, but it’s more akin to a Brillo pad than soft sheets. And the massage isn't one of those "little to the left - right there - no there! - ahhh, yeahhhh" kind of places. You get what you get, and its good. And I'm not about to argue with a woman who wears a black bra and panty for a uniform.

I thoroughly enjoyed it – especially since the woman only broke the skin once, reinforcing my belief that this is truly the only place in LA where you can really be clean.

Olympic Spa
Koreatown
3915 W. Olympic Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90019
Phone 323.857.0666
Fax 323.857.0535
www.olympicspala.com

I'm not moving to New York

2006-04-17T10:54:00.000-07:00

I’ve been telling everyone I know for the past several months that I’m moving, and I planned and rescheduled my last trip to the Big Apple numerous times. I called headhunters and corporations asking for interviews. I got few replies, but I went to New York anyway, intent upon proving to myself that a move is what I need.

However, this last trip was different. This move was supposed to be the final installment of my “better bitter blonde” self-improvement plan; a new city would force me out of my comfort zone and into the life I’ve always wanted for myself. So on this trip, instead of wandering the city and imagining myself shopping in Soho or dining in chic establishments, I walked into bars and restaurants and thought to myself, “If I lived here, this is where I would go. These people would be my friends. It really would be that $#%@ing cold outside.” And for the very first time, I started to doubt my decision.

At first I thought it was PMS. And then I thought it was the miserable weather. And after that, I thought it was the not-entirely-successful-yet-not-unsuccessful interviews that were clouding my views of a city that I absolutely adore. And then a friend (whom I dearly love and still do!) said, “LA is so fake.”

And I was honestly offended. People are fake, dammit. Not cities.

So I thought about what the City of Angels has to offer and shifted the focus from why I didn’t want to move to New York to why I did want to stay in Los Angeles. And even though Lady Luck seems to have stood me up this month, I was still able to come up with a couple (well, 93) reasons why I love LA.

1. seat covers in public restrooms
2. 36 days of rain (on average). A year.
3. At least when you’re trapped in traffic, no one is touching you
4. $2 freeway off-ramp oranges
5. Only an idiot would take a $20K paycut to move to a city that costs twice as much
6. Track homes make me laugh
7. Everyone is good-looking. Everyone.
8. Blondes really do have more fun
9. Don Antonio’s dollar taco Wednesdays
10. Nancy Silverton and her crazy love of cheese nights at both Campanile and Jar
11. right turn on red (stolen from Woody Allen, I know)
12. You can grow (or kill) most anything in Plant Hardiness Zone 9
13. It's extremely difficult to "accidentally" run into someone in this city. Which is good when you don't want to ever see your ex again.
14. A parade doesn’t shut down the city. A 26 mile marathon doesn’t even inconvenience my commute.
15. Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. And I don’t even drink coffee anymore
16. In-N-Out
17. Wilshire Blvd. takes you everywhere worth going
18. Ports O’Call live lobsters and crabs
19. Celebrity-stalking is way more fun in this city. And easier.
20. Recycling
21. Smog = Beautiful sunsets
22. Sweatpants ARE stylish
23. Sunglasses prevent crow’s feet
24. “Tacos el Jerezano” on Hazeltine & Burbank in Van Nuys
25. $15 mani-pedis
26. Trader Joe’s
27. The abundance of cheap wine that doesn’t taste cheap
28. Long (is there any other kind?) walks on the beach
29. the Pacific Palisades Sunday farmer’s market
30. shopping outdoors, year-round
31. Venice canals
32. Friends in “the biz” means never paying to rent a movie again. (Take THAT Blockbuster!)
33. Catalina. (I’ve never been, but I think I should)
34. Spanglish spoken here
35. Dodger baseball (Gagne kicks ass, or so my brothers tell me)
36. Dodger dogs
37. Public tennis courts
38. movies in the Hollywood Forever Cemetery
39. Nordstrom
40. Even better: Nordstrom Rack
41. Montana Avenue Holiday Open House each December
42. supermarkets that sell booze
43. Father’s Office burgers, medium rare
44. Wearing heels without ever worrying how far I’ll have to walk. Because nobody walks in L.A.
45. Olympic Spa in K-town
46. Al Fresco dining in January
47. Polite homeless people (at least in Santa Monica)
48. Picnics & Parties & Piñatas at Rustic Canyon Park
49. Sunday jazz brunch at the Beverly Hills Hotel
50. If tourists bother me, I need only to roll up the window.
51. The Hollywood sign on a clear day
52. Picnicking at the Hollywood Bowl and not getting stuck in stacked parking
53. Being mistaken for someone famous (OK, it happened once)
54. Judging potential dates strictly based on their area code.
55. Karaoke at the Gaslite
56. Toi Thai on Wilshire – open till 4am
57. Taste of Santa Monica food festival
58. Taste of Santa Monica all-you-can-drink $15 pass into the wine garden
59. UCLA Extension courses
60. Walking to the Promenade
61. Easy access to Home Depot
62. Rent control
63. 3 hospitals in a 10 mile radius. You never know…
64. Hairdressers that pluck your eyebrows free of charge
65. Inexpensive bikini waxes
66. Wasting a beautiful day indoors, knowing that tomorrow will be just as nice
67. Palm trees with Christmas lights
68. Random celebrity sightings
69. Bike riding down the boardwalk
70. Staying in because you don’t want to “deal with” Hollywood
71. Getting good deals on furniture from people moving to NYC
72. Driving through Beverly Hills at Christmas just to see the lights along Sunset Blvd
73. Apartments big enough to have parties in
74. Bay Cities deli sandwiches
75. Enjoying the rare rainy day
76. 99 cent daffodil days
77. I’ll admit it. I like my car.
78. Pico Bowl birthday parties
79. Getting silly drunk in Manhattan Beach and pretending we’re still in college
80. People always want to visit you in the winter
81. Vegas is only an hour flight, and costs just $100 (well, getting there at least)
82. Driving on the PCH at sunset
83. Fireworks at Pali High on the 4th of July
84. Camarillo Premium Outlets
85. Cabazon is just two hours away
86. See’s Candy is so much better than Godiva
87. Dame on Broadway and Lincoln
88. $1.99 corkage fee at Fritto Misto
89. the chicken car on Lincoln Blvd
90. beach picnics at sunset
91. “Car-flirting” in traffic
92. Earthquakes really aren’t that scary.
93. Seasons are for suckers.

I know I didn’t list my family or my friends, and that was on purpose. This decision is my own and I don’t think I’d be content with it if I chose a city based upon the people in it. That’s what planes are for. Besides, Los Angeles would win every time and we’re trying to make this a fair fight.

Just because I don’t want to move right now doesn’t mean that I heart NY any less. I love it. And I may still move there some day. But for right now, you may call it “Hollyweird” or “LA-LA land,” but I’m going to keep on calling Los Angeles my home.

(now playing in your head: Randy Newman's “I Love LA”)

blonde quote of the day

2006-04-09T11:58:00.000-07:00

I'm not offended by all the dumb blonde jokes because I know I'm not dumb... and I also know that I'm not blonde.

-Dolly Parton

Have you met Lou?

2006-04-06T16:58:00.000-07:00

Tucked in the corner of a strip center between a Laundromat and what is (most likely) a “den of sin” advertising Thai Massage for $35, is Lou. It took me 15 minutes and three laps around the block to find it, but once I did I definitely felt as if I’d stumbled upon something extraordinary. Lou feels like a secret club for people who like wine, cheese and salami.

Lou’s website claims that they have 25 wines by the glass, but I only counted 24. I’ll forgive them, because every wine they offer by the glass, they also offer by the bottle. (And vice versa.) In addition, they have $12 flights and an almond and olives appetizer that rendered my gastronomically-minded dining partner speechless.

We ordered most everything available and were mostly pleased with both the well-edited menu and the quality of the items. In addition to the almonds and olives, we also had a selection of crostini, the mixed cheese and salami plate, macaroni and cheese and the newest sensation in gluttony: pig candy.

Pig candy is amazing. I don’t understand why no one ever thought of maple-glazing bacon before. It’s like candy…but made from pigs…its pig candy.

Our only disappointment was the macaroni and cheese. It was dry, flavorless and an utter waste of elbow pasta. However, the staff was very accommodating and sent it back for us without even attempting to defend the kitchen. The replacement mac & cheese was not much better, but I do appreciate the effort.

Grand Total: $90.93 for two, but that included SIX glasses of wine.

In summary, if you can find it, you’re more than welcome to have dinner with Lou.

Lou
724 N. Vine St. (one block north of Melrose)
Los Angeles, CA 90038

Money? What money?

2006-04-05T15:04:00.000-07:00

Every once in awhile, mostly when I’m stressed out at work (or at home, or on the freeway, or really anywhere other than the farmer’s market) I have this very bizarre moment in which my world stops, and a Talking Heads song starts playing, like background music to the movie that is my life.

And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack

And you may find yourself in another part of the world

And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile

And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife

And you may ask yourself-well...how did I get here?

Today is one of those days. I received a call at 10:30am from some colleagues in another office across town. They’re checking up on me, since I’m operating a 32 acre property that does over $300M a year with a skeleton crew. The exchange went something like this:

Them: $1.6 million
Me: $1.6 million what?
Them: You have $1.6 million in outstanding AR.

(I think to myself…I’m missing $1.6 million? I probably should have known that.)

Me: Oh, it’s all in unapplied cash. I have it – it’s just not in the correct accounts.

(I’m a liar. I have no idea where it is. They laugh.)

Me: Besides, who cares? We don’t have an accountant, so there’s no one to bonus anyways!

(They laugh again. I am soooo funny.)

Them: Don’t you remember? They changed the bonus structure to include us.

(The laughing continues)

Them: I guess you’ll just take the free donuts.

March Re-cap

2006-04-02T18:17:00.000-07:00

Traveling makes resolution-keeping so easy! When you’re in a different city it’s impossible not to go to go to new restaurants or take in culturally-enriching events. I’ll have to keep that in mind for future months…

Restaurant(s): Piccolo, Pastis, Pipa, Babbo, Waverly Restaurant…among many other NYC dining establishments

Culturally-Enriching Event: NYC! More specifically, the Museum of Natural History. (where, incidentally, I was lost for several hours. All I wanted to see was the stegosaurus…but it was a long trek through the Mollusks of New York State exhibit…)

Recipe: uhhh… I forgot.

Book: Lonely Planet’s guide to New York City? I did read it several, several times.

I know that doesn’t count. In fact, I’ve been carrying “The Alchemist” in my briefcase for the past few weeks now – it’s even been back and forth to New York. But for some reason, I get anywhere from 60-80 pages into it and I stop. I’ve tried reading it from the beginning twice now. I just can’t finish it. I don’t know…maybe I’m not ready for inner peace. Maybe I’m not ready to admit to myself that I’m leading a life that isn’t (or at least doesn’t feel like) my own. But then again, that’s a lot to project onto a book. Maybe I shouldn’t think about it as hard as I do? Maybe it’s not even that good of a book and my subconscious is telling me to quit reading? Maybe self-realization is for suckers?

Or maybe I’m just making excuses. My punishment (which really isn’t punishment at all): two books in April.

Babbo

2006-03-23T11:19:00.001-08:00

Our dinner at Babbo was probably the most highly-anticipated meal of the trip. My love for the Food Network is only surpassed by my adoration of eating thick, hearty food in cold weather. And New York in March is frosty cold. Frigid, in fact.

When Nicole and I arrived for our 9:15pm dinner reservation, we were hungry. I’d only had a bowl of soup and some water that day, and she’d had little more. We were cold and hungry, and when we still hadn’t been seated by 9:40pm, we became cranky. Luckily they were able to stop us from sending diners still savoring their desserts dirty looks by seating us.

Upon sitting, we were promptly brought a garbanzo bean and balsamic vinegar bruschetta starter. I don’t know what it tasted like, and at the time, I didn’t care. It was just enough nourishment to allow my eyes to refocus so I could read the menu and order some real food.

We decided to skip the antipasti course, in order to share one of the larger first-course plates. We briefly considered both the pasta and the more traditional (pasta & meat) tasting menus, but Nicole didn’t want dessert and I couldn’t eat any of the three desserts due to the presence of chocolate. (Days left in Lent: 19) Instead, we started with pappardelle in a wild boar ragu.

The pasta was perfectly al dente, and even divided in half the portion was more than I could eat as a starter. The sauce was also tasty, though the diced boar chunks were slightly bland. As Nicole and I were discussing the starter and commenting on the lack of seasoning, I noticed the background music for the first time that evening.

Prior to discussing how and why the background music was entirely inappropriate, I think it best that we all be aware of the restaurant’s appearance. Babbo is a small, “white tablecloth” Italian restaurant, in the moderate-to-expensive price range. It’s very cozy, with dark wood paneling encapsulating the bar and bench-seating along both walls. The waiters wear ties and replace your silverware between every course. Babbo is what most of us would call “a nice restaurant.” That’s why I was surprised that Led Zeppelin was the choice of the evening. Not that I don’t like Led Zeppelin, because I do, but I think there is a time and a place for the “Black Dog” album and it wasn’t a Tuesday night at Babbo.

Our main courses came out and they were huge. Nicole ordered the largest pork chop I’ve ever seen in my life – it must have been twice the size of the one I’d had previously at Cookshop. It was enormous, and topped with a small mountain of artichokes, mushrooms and tomatoes. Then the waiter ceremoniously poured an aged balsamic all over it. It was beautiful. Tasted good too. I’d ordered the lamb chops, and was shocked by how many I received. There were seven, three-quarter to half-inch chops. I don’t even purchase that many when I’m cooking for two. They were perfectly prepared, but tasted like lamb chops do. It wasn’t anything I couldn’t have made for myself at home. At least, that’s what I thought until I tried the meat with the accompanying yogurt sauce. It was lemony and minty, creamy without being thick, and completely transformed the lamb into something that I definitely couldn’t have made for myself at home.

Although every portion of the meal up until this point had been tasty, the true star of the meal was the side of fava bean bartolo, which translates into lima bean risotto. It must have had a half pound of parmesan cheese in it, and at least as much butter and cream. It was divine. I would return to the restaurant for that side dish alone.

Total Price? $144, but it left Nicole with enough meat for at least 2 additional meals, so it was worth it.

Pipa: At least what I remember of it

2006-03-23T11:19:00.000-08:00

Not all dining experiences are trips down the highway of gastronomic delight. Sometimes, we eat out of necessity. Such was the case at Pipa.

What we drank:
2 bottles of red wine
1 martini, each

What we ate:
stuffed peppers
shrimp in sauce
fried mushroom thing-ies
apple cobbler
ice cream
other stuff

Let's be realistic: I was drunk, there was food, and I ate it. I think the restaurant was pretty.

Cookshop: Nicole's Redemption

2006-03-20T15:05:00.000-08:00

After the Pastis experience, Nicole felt that she owed me. Honestly, I wasn't holding her personally responsible for the change in kitchen staff, but if she wanted to try again, who was I to stop her? And I wanted to go to Cookshop.

Well, actually I wanted to go to the champagne bar at Country, but we got our proverbial wires crossed and ended up with a reservation for four at Cookshop. Thank God we did, because Cookshop was phenomenal.

Cookshop serves hearty American food that is comforting, if not comfort food in the traditional sense. On the menu, right next to the obligatory half-chicken and salmon dishes are also roast suckling pig and squab. Upon our waiter’s suggestion, I ordered the roast pig only to have to re-order a few minutes later when he came back and told me they were out. Obviously, I was a little disappointed but decided to fulfill my pork fantasy anyway by ordering the pork chop, which came with a sausage link on the side.

Both Becky and Heather (Nicole's friends) ordered the NY strip, and Nicole ordered the short ribs with cheesy grits. We were all extremely satisfied: the short ribs were tender and “falling-off-the-bone” and the steak was well-prepared. The pork was large and moist (wow, that sounds dirty) and I was only mildly annoyed that a piece of gristly fat hadn't been removed prior to serving. I was content. Until I tasted Becky's creamed collard greens.

Nicole has this whole theory of "food envy" that I've come to adopt. When ordering her meal(s), Nicole explains that she wants the absolute best meal on the menu. Some people want what they want, whether it be fish or filet, whether it be the specialty of the house or not, and order accordingly. Nicole wants the best food the kitchen can provide. At no point in the meal does she want to look over at another diner and think, "I wish I'd ordered that."

My pork was good. But it was NOTHING in comparison to Becky's side of creamed collard greens. I had food envy. Besides the fact that it was served in an adorable mini square cast-iron skillet, it tasted like...like...I've almost got it...Velveeta. Green, leafy, creamy, fattening, Velveeta-enhanced well-seasoned mushy vegetation. I know I'm not selling it well, but I don't care, because the less people that order it, the more for me. The waiter had to wait till I turned away to pull the skillet out from under my hovering fork.

To order anything else would be wrong.

Pastis: a sad story of disappointment

2006-03-19T19:10:00.000-08:00

I was so excited. I'd read about Pastis online and in magazines. It was regularly featured as the place to brunch on "Sex and the City." Last time I was in NYC, Nicole had tried to get us reservations but it was booked solid. She was bound and determined that I eat well on this trip, and made sure we got reservations.

My hopes were high. As we walked into Pastis, still bulging with people waiting for breakfast at 1pm, Nicole announced, "This is the best brunch ever." So needless to say, when our pathetic egg dishes appeared, we were less than impressed. We were actually dumbfounded by the meal's mediocrity. Nicole, a woman who prides herself on knowing good food, was mortified.

My Eggs Hussard was bone-dry, and I needed a steak knife and excessive force to cut into the toast. The poached eggs? Overcooked into slimy little frisbees. The proper amount of Hollandaise sauce could have salvaged the meal, but they were stingy. Which is a shame, because my love for Hollandaise is well-documented. Nicole's Eggs Sardu, while pretty enough sitting on a sauteed spinach throne, were equally unacceptable. Her artichoke heart was not properly cleaned out, and was full of those little hairy bits. Her eggs were also overcooked. We were not happy.

And then, they had the nerve to serve us orange juice that may or may not have been from concentrate, but it certainly tasted as if it did.

Total Cost? $46.87. Disappointing.

Off to the Big Apple

2006-03-16T11:25:00.000-08:00

On a red-eye tonight to JFK! Not that I want to be responsible for the extreme jealousy my loyal reader(s) will be forced to endure, but I can't help but gloat. I've already got reservations at:

Mario Batali's Babbo
Cookshop
Pastis

I'm so excited that I'm positively giggling in anticipation. The hell with the mall -- I'm outta here!

Piccolo Ristorante in Venice

2006-03-11T14:35:00.000-08:00

Clearly, I live in a cave and am the only person in Santa Monica who hasn't heard of (let alone visited) Piccolo Ristorante Italiano in Venice. Not only had I not heard of the restaurant, but I couldn't even find the street it was on. How did I find out about it, you ask? A foreigner took me there. Not a non-Angeleno, but a real-life foreigner. The kind with an accent. Of course, I expressed my dismay at having to be introduced to restaurants in my area by a foreigner. I found his response troubling. Actually, I believe his exact words were, "I trump you."

Which he did. So I called him a foreigner. And he called me a xenophobe*. And then I had to ask him what that meant.

The restaurant is located on a short walking street just off of Speedway and a few steps from the beach. It’s small, only 15-20 tables, with an exposed kitchen. The wait staff is extremely friendly and attentive, without being overly so. I don't know much about Italian wines, but my dining partner did something I've heard that people do, but never actually seen done. He ordered a bottle of wine, and when the waitress poured him a taste, he sniffed and nodded. No swirl and sip; just a sniff. As far as I'm concerned, it gave him instant credibility. I'm totally going to start doing it.

Unfortunately, I can’t really say much about the food either because I wasn’t that hungry and didn’t order much. But what I did have (beet-stuffed ravioli) was delicious. Slightly sweet, slightly rich and very, very pretty! Every restaurant should have at least one dish in that same alarming shade of fuchsia.

In summary: I don't know where the restaurant is, I don't know anything about the wine list and I didn't eat much. But go to Piccolo anyways, you'll like it.

*xen-o-phobe : A person unduly fearful or contemptuous of that which is foreign, especially of strangers or foreign peoples.

Ash Wednesday

2006-03-06T15:04:00.000-08:00

March 1 was Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. I'm not normally a very good Catholic, but the guilt-ridden years of Catechism, Confirmation courses and Youth Ministry catch up with me every spring right around Girl Scout Cookie time. (Why? Why?!) All my mother has to do is mention Ash Wednesday and the next thing I know I'm standing inside a half-empty church in Van Nuys getting ashes and soot smeared across my forehead. And for the next forty (40) days, I'll be as good of a non-church-going Catholic as I possibly can be.

This year's Ash Wednesday physical challenge was to get from work (in Sherman Oaks) to church (anywhere with an English language mass) to the Walt Disney concert hall (downtown) by 8pm, without eating or cursing. The fasting portion of Ash Wednesday is always a challenge for me, but the cursing (which I have given up for every Lent since I learned what "C U Next Tuesday" meant) is close to impossible. My friends had gotten tickets to hear Salman Rushdie speak, and I figured that it was probably the only way I was ever going to learn what to do should an Islamic government issue a fatwa against me. Obviously, I had to attend.

I made it, with time to spare and only two funny looks at my forehead. As expected, it was worth it. Rushdie is a great speaker. You wouldn't (well, at least I wouldn't) think that a man who spent nine years in hiding would be funny. But he was. He was poignant and relevant and extremely entertaining. I don't know if I'd have paid $80 to see him, but I'm glad I went.

While he did discuss a myriad of topics, the two that stick out most in my mind are his views on religion, and subsequently that pesky little fatwa. I did (and still do) find it ironic that as the man went on and on about the dangers of organized religion and how it nearly killed him, I'm sitting in the audience with a massive ashen cross on my forehead. I know he was referring to extremist Islamics, but...just the same. It was funny.

Now, I didn't pick up any tips on exactly how to "live on the lam" should an oppressive regime ever make numerous attempts on my life, but I did pick up a little something that will help me get through Lent. When asked about what it was like after finding out that Iranian clerics wanted him dead, Rushdie said, "Or as we say at my house, 'when the excrement hit the ventilation system.'"

Now, to most people, that would just be funny. But to a girl with the mouth of a sailor who can't curse for forty (40) days, that's sheer brilliance. Simple, but to-the-point. Who would have thought that of all people, Salman Rushdie was going to get this little potty-mouth through Lent?

You don't know...

2006-03-06T14:55:00.000-08:00

You don't know drunk until you're holding onto grass to keep from falling off the Edge of the Earth.

or

Until you've spent five (5) hours drinking and singing karaoke at The Gaslite.

Riddle me this: Does making-out with a foreigner count as a "culturally-enriching activity"?

February Re-cap

2006-02-28T09:24:00.000-08:00

Restaurant: Sushi King on Wilshire (not horrendous, but not good enough to write about. On the plus side, at least the sake was inexpensive.)

Recipe: Spaghetti with Neopolitan Ragu (needed more garlic) and Gateau Au Chocolat (never been a fan of bittersweet chocolate)

Book: A Million Little Pieces by James Frey (Viva la Fraud!)

Culturally-Enriching Event(s): The New School of Cooking's Basic Cooking, Week 4 and the Getty Museum's Friday night series: Off the 405.

Not bad, eh? Now accepting suggestions for March 2006. We're already on Month THREE, people! Get excited!

coming soon...

2006-02-21T12:36:00.000-08:00

Dear Blog:

I miss you. We had a great couple of posts together. Unfortunately, the Evil Slaveowners that I toil under are forcing me to work. I'm not at all happy about it. But don't fret -- I'll be back soon. I promise. Until then, here is a list of the items I'd like to discuss with you.

My newest favorite recipe: Macaroni & Cheese with Pancetta,
A Million Little Pieces, by James Frey and why its still a good book, even if it didn't really happen, and
Why is the Gatorade so far away from the sushi at my local Vons?

Looking forward to seeing you again soon.

Best,

hungover

2006-02-16T13:22:00.000-08:00

I can only compare today's quest for food to the challenges faced by the hunters and gatherers of yesteryear. I woke up at 7:30am this morning to the sound of my cell phone ringing. Like Pavlov's dog I respond, but miss the call. I listen to the whispered message: "I'm in the Van Nuys jail. My name is ____ (letters spelled out and unintelligible). I need to get bailed out."

Obviously, my first thought is to whom I'd given my number to the night before. But I'd only given out my card to a budding young congressman and it doesn't have my cell number on it. Since I didn't recognize either the voice or name, I get back in bed, this time with the phone next to me. If he calls back, I want to ask him what he did.

But it's too late for me. I can't fall back asleep. I've had four hours of sleep and now possess a headache that would kill a lesser woman, but I cannot sleep. I have one of those hangovers -- the kind that are so painful that they can only be cured with sleep, only the pain is too severe to sleep. So I turn on the TV and flip back and forth between "Back to the Future" and "30 Minute Meals." This goes on for several hours.

Eventually, it becomes time for my own personal Breakfast of Champions: 3 ibuprofen and a bottle of lukewarm water. I ate some Wheat Thins and warmed a tortilla on the burner. I was in denial of the fact that I lacked the strength to cook and my only other option was to wander out into the world. How does that saying go? Starve a fever and feed a hangover? So I went. Very, very slowly.

My journey ended at the local Vons, where for some reason (that I later regretted) sushi sounded like a good idea. The only problem? It was very, very far away from the cold Gatorade. It was exceedingly painful to have to trek back and forth, but yet, I made it. You might wonder what a description of my gnarly hangover has to do with my personal journey o' self-improvement. Some would probably argue that a hangover is the antithesis of what I'm trying to accomplish, and should go unmentioned. But I disagree. My buddy Rob once said that some famous writer once said, "You should feel a little embarrassed every time you finish writing something." That's a horrible paraphrase, but I remembered it. To be honest, I feel embarrassed most every time I write, but that's mostly a result of inferior skill level and not content or style. Regardless, my hangover ties directly into February's book of the month: James Frey's A Million Little Pieces. (How do you like that "Reading Rainbow"-esque intro?)

Over the past few months, Frey has been ripped apart by the media because his memoir isn't really a memoir. The Smoking Gun was all over him. Oprah told him that he'd lied to thousands of readers. Of course, I had no interest in reading this book prior to hearing that it was chock full of lies. It wasn't until Oprah reamed Frey on national TV and I saw the book on the 20% off table at a Target in Riverside that I wanted to read it. So I did. And I liked it.

Sure, parts of the book are exceedingly melodramatic, and maybe the frequent discussion of bloody stool is a touch overdone, but that doesn't mean it's a "bad" book. Its just flawed, like any other work. Then there's that pesky little problem about calling this book a "memoir." My argument in defense of this novel (because that's really what it is) is that no one's life reads like a book. At least, not an entertaining book. He told a little white lie to get published. Does the fact that he didn't really know that dead teenage girl disqualify his description of addiction? Is his version of addiction any less horrifying because he didn't do jail time? My thoughts are this: if a guys says that he's "an Alcoholic, a drug Addict and a Criminal" -- can you really expect him to tell the truth? Shame on you for thinking he would.

I also have a confession to make. I did listen to my Milli Vanilli tapes after they were proved to be a fraud. Now I'm embarrassed.

I make chocolate cake

2006-02-11T15:52:00.000-08:00

It's the 11th of the month, and I still haven't tried a new recipe that I haven't wanted to fiddle with. But for the first time in close to a year, I made my absolute favorite chocolate cake recipe and it was yummy. I frost it with Nigella Lawson's all-purpose chocolate frosting with a big splash of rum. She recommends dark rum, but I use whatever's on hand, and one of these days I'm going to try the vanilla vodka that's been sitting on my counter since Christmas 2004. But I digress; we were discussing cake. It's very moist, not too sweet and always satisfies my rare cravings for chocolate cake. I found it on the back of a box of Hershey's cocoa several years ago, and then a few weeks afterward saw it featured on "Martha Stewart Living," thereby cementing my belief that this is truly the best chocolate cake recipe out there.

Ingredients:
2 cups sugar
1-3/4 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 cup cocoa
1-1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1-1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
1 cup milk
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 cup boiling water

Directions:
1. Heat oven to 350°F. Grease and flour two 8 or 9-inch round baking pans.
2. Stir together sugar, flour, cocoa, baking powder, baking soda and salt in large bowl. Add eggs, milk, oil and vanilla; beat on medium speed of mixer 2 minutes. Stir in boiling water (batter will be thin). Pour batter into prepared pans.
3. Bake 30 to 35 minutes or until wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool 10 minutes; remove from pans to wire racks. (I don't have wire racks, but I hear they work well)Cool completely.

All-Purpose Chocolate Frosting
(originally from How to be a Domestic Goddess, only slightly modified)
6 T unsalted butter (I use the whole stick, because having 2 T left over is annoying)
4-5 oz chocolate (I like dark, and also I don't have a scale, but it's a little more than a half cup)
2 eggs, beaten
3 1/2 c powdered sugar (sifting is for suckers, but if you're into it...)
little splash of vanilla extract
big splash of booze (rum is good, as is Bailey's or Kahlua)

Melt the butter and chocolate together in the microwave. Stir together to blend, and then add a spoonful to the eggs. (Don't worry, the heat from the chocolate and butter will kill any "bad stuff" that the eggs may have) Slowly add the butter-chocolate mixture to the eggs, stirring all the time. Once combined, add the powdered sugar and then beat for a few minutes with either a hand or stand mixer. Add the vanilla and alcohol and incorporate. Let it stand and cool.

Once cool, this amount will adequately frost the cake above. If you like a lot of frosting on your cake, increase this recipe by one-half.