Ritz Bites

Looking forward to June

Though it's obvious to anyone who glances at me that I'm not in it for the wine, yesterday I took up space at Silverlake Wine's Sunday tasting to try a preview of June Restaurant.  Let's just say that I'm P-S-Y-C-H-E-D.  The talents of Roxana, Dan and Elizabeth are never in question.  But the steamed mussels with sofrito, prosciutto topped with rich stewed cherries and roasted almonds, unbelievable shredded rabbit, and walnut bread with honey and a pungent Alsatian cheese (pasteurized, lucky for me), hugely turned up the level of anticipation for the restaurant's opening sometime this fall.  If you haven't yet been to the store on a Sunday this month, go before July is here.

But we actually did go for the wines, too, and grabbed the recent releases of Sea Smoke Southing and Ten pinots the second we walked in the door.  (Only six bottles of Ten were for sale.)  Since experiencing Ten at Sona we've never been able to find it locally because this winemaker pretty much exclusively sells to its list, and average joes are hard-pressed to find bottles available in regular retail locations.  The other attraction of the day: we're big fans of Samsara syrah; while their pinot packs a bit more of a punch than I like, we've now got one stashed anyway. 

Yes, I did take teeny tiny sips, aided by the super sense of Pregnancy Smell.  And even more emphatic yes, I'm eager for the day when I can partake in cracking open some of these bottles and start getting my palate used to wine again. 

Regarding June, I at least have the frozen remainders of our brown butter hazelnut gianduia wedding cake, which Roxana made, to look forward to eating for our anniversary in July.  A small consolation that should barely tide me over until June's doors on Hillhurst open.

Hollywood eats itself

No wonder it's easy to playa hate on the local restaurant scene. It's crawling with actors- and agents-cum-restaurateurs!

Yeah I know it's silly to complain when you live here. If you get seasick, don't join the navy.

But what about us "Non Pro" nobodies (and OK, our industry S.O.'s) who don't wanna live the "Entourage" lifestyle?

According to this article, we're shit outta luck:

The revival of Hollywood itself as a restaurant destination has come about largely because the young entertainment professionals and stars who live near the once seedy strip need restaurants such as Geisha House and Bella Cucina. Like everyone else, they love to have dinner in their own neighborhood.

Stop the presses. You mean to tell me that the longtime historic preservation consultants who work in this community didn't provide the impetus for this new wave of restaurant openings?!?!? (At least we're very good at complaining about the physical treatment of certain historic properties around here.)

True, myself and the "young entertainment professional" in the household are loathe to spend more than 15 minutes in the car for a weeknight dinner. Thus Zankou and Hungry Cat are regular stops.

Although this article reflects a small – albeit very visible – restaurant niche, it's a reminder to keep cooking and scratching the surface of what
L.A. has to offer.

That being said, I hope it's kept away from the hordes of anti-West Coasters.

Wilshire Boulevard = Memory Lane

I gotta go off topic for a bit here.

I like to think of myself as the kind of preservationist who's not overly burdened by the weight of nostalgia. Well, tonight Eric Lynxwiler's presentation at LACMA proved otherwise.

Warm fuzzies assaulted me as I watched the fabulous slide presentation, and as I now flip through my hot-off-the-presses copy of Wilshire Boulevard: Grand Concourse of Los Angeles. Fresh memories of some recent treasured projects (Immanuel Presbyterian and Security-First National Bank) are fondly considered, too. I guess I never stepped back to realize how instrumental Wilshire has been in my life and our experiences as a family living just off of this major street.

So, here we go.

Paddle boating on MacArthur Park Lake. Yes, MacArthur Park.

First "real" haircut performed not by a parent but instead this was Big Time: the salon on the top floor of Saks Fifth Avenue. (It sounds a lot fancier and more glam than it actually was.) We were already 6 or 7 years old, and the cut was done by a lady who wore blue mascara. We have the pics of our new do's.

Experiencing extreme mortification when a stranger politely said "Hi, Jessica!" in the I. Magnin elevators because, as I soon realized, my name was emblazoned on my sweater. (When you're a twin you tend to wear more than average personalized clothing; or maybe that was just the early 80s.)

Ali getting her ears pierced at May Co. when we were in second grade by a very overweight woman wearing a nurse's uniform. I was too scared to follow suit.

Fashion show at the "Ladies Tea Room" at the top of Bullock's Wilshire. I can hardly believe that happened during my lifetime. I got reprimanded for using the word "hell." OK, so I had a little bit of a potty mouth for a small kid.

Shopping at May Co., Orbach's, and at the Broadway (former Coulter's by Stiles Clements, 1938). I remember Mamma took black and white photos of us that day, some by the store. With all those glorious glass blocks, my love of Streamline Moderne must've blossomed that day. Must find photos.

With all the time I spent along Wilshire growing up, it's no fucking wonder I love department stores as much as I do. These were the best of the bunch, no doubt. I can remember almost every item of girlhood clothing I had, and which Wilshire Blvd. department store it came from.

Walking through the Ambassador Hotel. Deciding, sadly, that it smelled too old and musty, and grandparents wouldn't enjoy staying there much despite good location.

Bat Mitzvah. Where else? Wilshire Blvd. Temple. Not my congregation of choice today, but you can't beat that building for some soaring inspiration, man.

Out of town bat mitzvah guests staying at the hotel on Wilshire and Normandie (now a Radisson) where in our pre-adolescent super-metabolism machine days would go for Sunday buffet brunch to stuff our faces silly after Hebrew school. And the plumbing so impressed my great great Aunt Rae Feuerstein from Jackson Heights, Queens, she announced to everyone that the toilets sounded "like Niagara Falls," the water pressure was that good.

Favorite first Indian restaurant: Punjabi something-or-other Sheree Punjab, located within erstwhile camera store along the Miracle Mile called The Darkroom. Stephanie and Alec turned us onto this place in high school, and despite numerous bug sightings – both in the food and on the walls – we kept going there.

Daddy's Spanish teacher, Seora Mendoza (if I recall that name correctly, I'll be simultaneously amazed and terrified by the randomness of my memory) and her office suite high above Wilshire in the Silverwood's building (likely now to be converted to residential use).

And then he witnessed the most exciting episode probably ever in the history of that building: a guy was ready to leap to his death, and who else but the King of the World just happened to be in the building at that very moment.

Mr. Ali talked dude off the ledge, and saved the day. No fucking joke.

Spotting Muhammed Ali again for real at Carnation ice cream counter on a weeknight with his daughters. Twin girls, just like us. (But definitely not Laila; funny how things cycle).

Staring at Mr. Ali's house through the very formidable and very off-limits Fremont Place gates.

Folding lots and lots of Carnation's kid menus along the perforated guidelines into the olde timey milk truck while eagerly waiting for servings of fried chicken strips to arrive.

Many doctors and medical professionals visited along Wilshire. Not quite as happy memories associated with this topic.

My mom's offices at the corner of our street and Wilshire, followed by a move two blocks to the typical Claud Beelman-designed Harbor building at Crenshaw, with its lovely lobby and views of the Hills.

Grandma's short walk from Park La Brea to her senior activity group at the top floor of the May Co. building.

First dedicated activity and actual interest in regular exercise at the gym in the Courtyard Club, also the location of H's first network writing job.

Ah, and to think there was actually a Ritz Theatre within a mile of our house!

And now that I'm an architecture dork, I think about all the buildings by my man, Stiles Clements, gone.

Whew, nostalgia wipes me out.

There Goes the Neighborhood

Just got back from driving through Hollywood after stopping in at a friend's farewell party at Tokio. Oh. My. God. Ten dollar valet parking, bumper to bumper traffic, Paris Hilton imitators (presumably without the trust funds) barely managing to walk upright in perilously high heels, lines of human beings and cars snaking around the corners along Wilcox, Ivar, Cahuenga, Yucca.

When did the Boulevard turn into the latest version of that other Boulevard? News flash to me: Hollywood is the new Sunset Strip! How naive are we who reside north of Franklin Ave. Yet to us Central Hollywood daytime workers, things look pretty much the same. (And I mean that without irony; as for the neighborhood's most notorious industries, I cannot say.) I'm willing to hope this new flurry of activity is a plus for attracting dollars to Hollywood and changing its image -- albeit within reason, no one wants to see it become Times Square -- but I can't hide my bitter disappointment at the fact that all these goings-on after dark mean bupkis when it comes to better lunch options.

Hollywood used to be more sinister when the sun went down, and it definitely remains so in parts. Still, local miscreants are no longer exclusively pimps, dealers and associated clientele. Be on the lookout for a sloshed white baseball capped frat boy or drunken bachelorette who's knocked back a few too many "Shampoo" cocktails at Beauty Bar, publicly urinating or vomiting on a street corner near you.

Come the farmers' market tomorrow morning tonight's doings will feel like ancient history. Or so I hope.

Local Grocery Store Sushi Counter Crosses National Cuisine Borders

The product planners over at Gelson's corporate have taken notice of the growing Vietnamese food trend. So why not pilot some products in the…take-out sushi section of the Franklin Ave. Mayfair!

The tofu rolls cost more than beautifully translucent goi cuon at any reputable Vietnamese place. This veggie version of rice paper wraps stuffed with rice noodles, tofu, shredded carrots and lettuce must rank second only to cucumber rolls in the contest for best profit margin on perishable goods.

However, I predict a quick demise for two reasons: 1) the icky peanut sauce made from what must be peanut butter mixed with sesame oil and corn syrup; and 2) short shelf life due to quickly-hardening rice paper. A few hours sitting in the fridge and it's like chewing a food-stuffed condom. But dicey grocery store sushi seems to have taken the nation by storm, so we shall see.

A Safe Haven for Aging Hipsters

A snidely ageist Defamer Privacy Watch entrant dares to ridicule our Cheers equivalent:

At the Edendale Grill on Sat. night, my friend and i were breaking the age barrier by 40 years. We felt as if this Silverlake hot spot had turned into a scene from Cocoon. But low and behold Rachel Blanchard of 7th Heaven/Clueless the
t.v show fame was soon seated at the table next to us. We quickly forgot about her when we spotted hipster darlings Jason Schwartzman and Zooey Deschanel at the outside tables. We suddenly felt cool again, grabbed our scarves, and hit the road.

The last sarcastic comment suggests that whoever wrote this is clearly mocking stereotypical expectations of L.A. bars. However, he/she is also blinded by the snark and doesn't recognize that the scarcity of very early 20-somethings is one of Edendale's most attractive qualities for many of its regular patrons. (In addition to the awesome bartenders George & Wes, attractive historic setting, and great atmosphere.)

So, please feel free to return to Miyagi's, Sky Bar, Tokio or some other age-appropriate establishment. Or if you choose to hang around Edendale, respect us "older" folks lest we talk some smack about you Kids.

We like the grown-up drinks, such as yummy Mixville Margaritas and Stella on tap. The key lime martini is pretty girly but it's tasty after you get over the initial cream frothy/tart weirdness, and it's a good dessert substitute. But food is still not the highlight. Edendale's caramelized onion and gruyere tart I snacked on Tuesday night wasn't much to write home about. It was like the puff pastry counterpart to an add-your-own-toppings Boboli shell.

The best offerings continue to be the molten chocolate cake, and blue cheese and tarragon fries (a good use of tarragon, that ever-elusive herb). As I've said before, the kitchen is inconsistent, which can be a pleasant surprise if you adjust expectations. Henry's plain thick pork chops were actually quite juicy and flavorful.

Until they really get their shit together, however, I recommend either snacks and cocktails at Edendale (fries, salad and shrimp cocktail make a decent meal), or dinner at Blair's on Rowena followed by drinks across the street. In the final analysis, what's served from the kitchen isn't top priority as long as Edendale stays in business. Otherwise many of our friends will be bereft left trying to find a replacement.

Hang out spots with a sophisticated, unpretentious vibe where we can participate in adult conversation and not struggle with shockingly high decibel levels are precious. If it feels like the Cocoon crowd, then "tough noogies," as my grandparents would say.

Surprise Molding Source

More reasons to love the historic Paramount lot, and the real motive to visit the Charmed set: the Paramount Wood Moulding shop that's open to the public at 555 Melrose. The
L.A. Times Home section article today looks at the goings-on within this little-known resource for high-quality materials, which happens to be located near the aforementioned show's Eastlake-style set.

We might just have to replace some moldings in the house. What an unexpected way for Henry to kill two birds with one stone (er, or plant two trees with one seed).

Cole's

Cole's P.E. Buffet served as an effective balm for my Hampton's-related bitterness. (Another confession: this was my first visit to the 1908 landmark.)

It was a work visit that did not include lunch. But honestly, I don't feel like I missed out by passing on the boiled veggies and French dips. The fine fare can be appreciated without being fully experienced (
i.e. ingested). The proprietors are lovely folks from Iran with whom it was a pleasure to chat. They take so much pride in the place, and their enthusiasm for the Pacific Electric history is touching.

Best to head over to 6th between Main and Los Angeles to enjoy an evening live event and Chimay Ale on tap.

What an Insult

I was deeply enjoying this glorious sunny afternoon while cruising Highland Avenue on a work-related assignment. Few streets make Los Angeles look more resplendent on a lovely post-rain storm day than northbound Highland between Melrose and Hollywood.

And then I noticed this thing again.

For those of us who were introduced to the concept of fancy custom, interesting burgers or even plain old thick ones at Hampton's, this is a fucking insult. I have nothing but contempt for projects named for their former historically significant site occupants, such as the "Brown Derby" strip mall on Alexandria and Wilshire. And that one's across from the Ambassador and its future pseudo historic faade, no less. Talk about rubbing salt into multiple wounds.

Hampton's was such an oddly distinctive place. I remember the dark woodiness of the interior and 70s amber glass and brick decorating motif. It's definitely the first place I experienced that type of hybrid take-out counter/table service, where you ordered at the front counter then food was brought to you at the table. The salad and trimmings bar was special, along with the blue cheese burgers (quite a radical concept in the 70s and 80s) and potato salad. Those wood cane chairs were really uncomfortable and sometimes the atmosphere teetered on depressing, but we always went back.

Thank goodness developers with an atypical respect for Hollywood history came along to raze the building and put up these stunningly gorgeous, Craftsman "inspired" apartments on the site.

The additionally weird factor is that while I know the place is missed, the historic import of Hampton's is not exactly on par with that of a Brown Derby. So why name the apartment complex for Hampton's? And who on God's green Earth thinks that Highland Avenue and De Longpre is a desirable place to live? They better have those windows double or triple-paned and every opening seriously sound-proofed.

I shudder to think of the "Pink's Luxury Condos." I imagine, however, a few folks would be willing to put themselves between the building and the wrecking ball should that chilling prospect come to pass.

P.S. On second thought, I shouldn't assume the significance of the "Hampton" name is entirely derived from the restaurant. Not having completed research on that section of Hollywood, it could have something to do with a Fred Hampton or Lionel Hampton or some Hampton who subdivided that specific area.

If this is the case and the new housing complex is named in honor of a "Hampton Tract" or legitimate aspect of Hollywood history I'm unaware of, then I'm willing to back off.

Ciao, Perino's

Perino's restaurant, the Paul Williams designed Hancock Park area hangout of the swinging continental Hollywood set, finally closed last week in preparation for a condo development. If I had been better apprised of news about Perino's that morning I would've known why the doors were open when I drove by on Friday. Stupidly I didn't follow my impulse to go in, thereby missing my last chance to check the place out. Adding insult to injury, I grew up a few blocks away and remember it when it was at the tail end of its operation. Enthusiasm about the plan to incorporate the original foyer and awning into the new condo development is tough to gather when one considers how cool it might've been to add a new lounge/restaurant to the 'hood. Alas, community opposition and condo fever along that stretch of Wilshire sealed its fate.

Thanks to the newly revamped Preserve L.A. website for being a fantastic source for important Los Angeles preservation and related real estate development news.