Three on Fourth

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:

and I couldn't be happier about it.

blonde quote of the day

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

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

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

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...

...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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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

A chaste woman ought not to die her hair yellow.

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

April re-cap ADDENDUM

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

When confronted with two evils; Choose the Blonde.

- Jacob Bradt