Ritz Bites

The best kind of vacation

My favorite type of travel -- and way of living, really -- is hanging out with good peeps and spending days going from one eating and drinking establishment to the next.

San Francisco makes doing that very easy. Even in a mere 48 hours you can get a lot accomplished.

Blue Bottle was ground zero for all social and caffeine-oriented activity. We didn't try their siphon brew because it's hard to wean us off the cappuccio, and apples vs. apples makes for better taste testing. But the apparatus is quite a thing to behold, as is the clean interior tucked inside an historic building at the edge of newly redesigned Mint Plaza. Limited seating means a focus on the coffee and friends (or strangers sitting next to you given the forced-friendly arrangement), not spending $3 to fritter hours away on the laptop. I also like the name of the intersection.

No trip to SF is complete without a visit to the Ferry Building. Check. Purchases at the Ferry Plaza Wine Merchant (Tintilla de Rota and Malvasia from Lipari), then a carafe of rose with charcuterie plate. Done and done.

Judging by the line spilling out the door at Tartine on a late Sunday afternoon, you'd never know that a major chunk of the Mission's residents have decamped for Burning Man. I get it. Pressed cheese sandwiches and perfect desserts are always in demand.

I never ever thought in a million billion years that there could be such a thing as too much insanely creamy smooth meringue. Tartine's blow torches are getting put to very good use for this noble cause. Yet as much as it hurt to leave some over on the plate, I couldn't finish all of the miraculous meringue frosting that encased the layers of cake and mild lemon curd. Truly a top 10 dessert for this citrus lover.

Now I can't think past the cake. Will cover dinners later.

   

In defense of dress codes

I grew up in what can easily be described as a stereotypically California casual environment. Dress codes were non-existent, uniforms were totally alien, and I never called anyone by their last name until I got to college.  When I had to address someone as "professor-or-mister so-and-so," it felt awkward and weird. My dad once bought ugly top-siders to begrudgingly  visit the Harvard Club with a cousin, only to never touch them again.

But because of this lack of formality I love to dress up when given the rare chance. I'm not suggesting we return to the era of putting on suits and pillbox hats for air travel (though that would be sort of awesome), but I'm 100% with Frank Bruni on the issue of respecting restaurants' dress codes.

For younger diners and jacket-adverse diners to ask the Le Bernardins of the world to ditch their dress codes strikes me not as egalitarian but as slightly selfish, even solipsistic. It disregards the many diners whose preferred fancy-restaurant experience is one in which the people around them are at least somewhat dressed up; in which the beauty of the room and the elegance of the service are matched by a certain sartorial polish; in which torn jeans aren’t in view and flip-flops aren’t even imaginable.

Places that fit this description are few in New York, and are practically non-existent in Los Angeles. Does anyone here have a dress code? Maybe Melisse, Bastide, or La Cachette?  I hope someone does, for chrissake. Dude, I'm getting old.

FLLW To-Go and other post-weekend questions

What kind of shitty hostess am I?  We invite people over for dinner at our house and then they bring the main dish.  Because our friends Andy and Jennifer worked so hard to make this incredible "blog worthy" dinner for us, I must sing their praises.  Andy too follows the good book of Steve Raichlen in all matters grill-related, and this tandoori chicken is no exception.  I learned the red which we generally associate with the dish often comes from food coloring; it's definitely not a naturally occurring result of the spices in the recipe.  Plus the spicy coriander walnut sauce kicked ass.  Anyone who uses Raichlen's books should take note: the sauce and lamb make a fantastic pair, too.  I also used it to spice up steamed carrots a couple nights later.

But even if I felt guilty, I admit it's pretty sweet to not to sweat the big stuff and just take care of the wines, soup, dessert, cleaning up, and miscellaneous tidbits.   

Is it just me, or does anyone else find it both strange and cool that designers of take-out containers seem to be inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright? 

My onion rings from Birds came packaged in a Styrofoam (boo) box that reminded me of the iconic Coonley Playhouse art glass window designs.  I'm sure the great man would be, um, honored to see his influence manifested in such humble of places. Damn, I just met E.L. Wright; I should've asked him. 

Wright gear is merchandised up the yin yang, but this I haven't seen in any gift shops yet. 

And on a sassier and more annoying note, what's up with this sample of "group of global style setters [for whom] ordering ros is a sign of being in the know"?  These enology enthusiasts are clutching glasses of must-serve-super-chilled wine by the bowl as if they're about to shatter the stemware into 1,000 pieces. 

At the risk of sounding like an asshole snobby anti-snob who maintains a strong love/hate relationship with the Sunday Styles section (ahem), I ask: was the wine served to them frozen?  Or do they like bringing it to room temp?  I wonder what Kermit Lynch makes of the young and beautiful sophisticates downing the wonderful Domaine Tempier Bandol he distributes.  Eh, business is business I suppose.  And I better drink my bottle of 2004 sooner-ish than later, trend or no trend.

You lose some, you win some

How am I supposed to keep track of all the foods I'm supposed to avoid?  I didn't know soft cheeses like feta and the queso fresco served with the Andean mega corn at Los Balcones del Peru are off limits.  And I thought I was being responsible by ordering the choclo and boiled sweet potato on the side so as to avoid the ceviche juice.  But I ate the cheese.  I am already proving to be a terrible mother.

My doctor also gently suggested I put away the heels I was caught wearing on my last visit, even if they were my comfy old lady Ferragamos.  There's no denying that it's time to enter the flats-only shoe phase, so I waved a sad temporary goodbye to the many boxes in my closet.  Now the cruel irony is that my favorite flats feel a tad too snug.   

To my credit, I managed to baby sit my friends' 16-month-old without incident (she's happens to be a joy and an early-to-bed, deep sleeper), eat balanced meals and snacks, and make sure to touch only the super well-cooked pieces at Soot Bull Jeep.

Which leads to some exciting news.  SBJ is back up to an A!  No more facing that fat red C in the window that we sorrowfully avoided.  I'm so happy to have their charcoal grilled meats again -- the cooked stuff over gas at other BBQ restaurants doesn't compare.  All they gotta do next is fix the overhead hoods, since the intense smoke might be not so great for Baby or for any of our lungs.  (OK, enough already.)  When we got home our clothes went straight into the hamper.

Soot Bull Jeep
3136 West 8th Street (at Catalina)
Los Angeles 90005
213.387.3865

The Four Things Meme

Thanks to the delightful, ebullient Sarah at the Delicious Life, I've been tagged with this simple meme. It's fun and fairly painless, so here goes.

Four Jobs I've Had in My Life:

1. Record label intern, receptionist, sales and publicity assistant
2. Flower salesperson (for more years than I really even know)

3. Non-profit His Girl Friday, now a Board President (does that count?)
4. Architectural Historic Preservation consultant

Four Movies I Could Watch Over and Over:

1. Rear Window

2. Manhattan (close tie with Annie Hall)
3. 8 1/2
4. Les Parapluies de Cherbourg

Four Places I've Lived other than L.A. (with food memories from each)

1. Dallas: Chicken fried steak, my childhood favorite. But I won't touch the stuff now.
2. Middletown, CT: Giuseppe's Pizza (also briefly my place of employment), Wesleyan U institutional food

3. NYC: Zabar's, Fairway, Citarella, Columbia Hot Bagels
4. Rome: Where to begin? How about Trionfale Market, and Fratelli Paladini/Lo Zozzone sandwiches before they moved off Governo Vecchio and started to suck.

Four TV Shows I Love to Watch:

1. The Wire
2. Rescue Me
3. Molto Mario

4. Veronica Mars

Four Places I Have Been on Vacation:

1. Peru/Buenos Aires/Rio (most recent)
2. Big Sur
3. Turkey
4. Western Europe (except for Ireland, Greece, Portugal, Scandinavia), parts of Eastern

Four Websites I Visit Daily:

1. NYTimes.com
2. LAObserved.com

3. Gmail
4. Defamer

Four of My Favorite Foods:

Whaa? No fair! Four faves almost at random.
1. Gelato
2. Spaghetti carbonara
3. Goi Cuon
4. Salade Lyonnaise

Four Places I Would Rather Be Right Now:

1. Home, cooking soon-to-be-bad veggies
2. Hiking by my house in Griffith Park, and around the 'hood peering into windows
3. In NY area seeing friends and relatives with whom I'm waaay overdue for a visit

4. With my niece and nephew in the DC area

Four Tags:

1. My dear friend, relatively new blogger Molly
2. Personally unknown to me but also semi-new, charming blogger Erin

3. Adrienne of L.A. Brain Terrain, who's an interesting person
4. Marissa, 'cause she knows places and stuff

Holiday cheer in the mail

Just back from the insane Wilcox Station Post Office. Thumbs up for stamp vending machines.

And yay holiday cookie stamps!!! Good ideas for next year's cookie decorating party...

Work. No Blog.

I don't like the apology-for-negligent-blogging-type posts but I also hate abandoned blogs. Perhaps the previous post is more evidence of my overly contrite nature. Anyway, just a heads up that I'm mad busy until end of the month. If the weekend allows I'll tell more about the shocking sight of seeing a 20-something blonde hop into a Jetta on the 700 South block of Mariposa in K-Town, homemade ice cream that's appearing at an alarming rate in my home freezer (I can only eat so much whole cream, really), what happens when you make a triple batch of Bolognese over the course of two days-plus, and a burrata comparison. I also hope to re-visit the Cornfield soon after having gone Friday night with Ben, Shosho and Marissa. I heartily recommend folks check it out.

Not much else to say

Sadness and outrage. Not much hunger.

Props to the L.A. Times for some fantastic, moving, right-on pieces by S. Gold, C. Hawthorne, T. Rutten, and post-Blair scandal rage by H. Raines. Krugman again kicks ass in NYT, and Wonkette comes up with a terrific slogan...From my professional p.o.v. so much history contained within the built environment is lost, but now preservationists better damn well care about people before buildings. Thank goodness Allen Toussaint and others got out, and my dad's trying to help out his friend Willie Tee. But in general I've been reading too much media coverage...Can't stop won't stop.

Rubbing un sacco di sale into the wound of Friday ennui

Check out Josh at the Food Section's selected pictures of his recent trip to Liguria. The vivid images virtually leap off the screen. I can so clearly imagine the flavors, smells, and textures.

What a drag being American come August. I wish I were at the Barbieri's house in Pugliola now, spending days in the warm waters of Forte dei Marmi, eating amazing pizza and watching the super tanned borghesi stroll by in oversized Dolce diva specs. A scene also bittersweet because of the many immigrants, mostly West Africans, trudging along the sand struggling to sell random trinkets and goods to Italian vacationers who are often bewildered by outsiders. (Despite my longing for the beach, the cities aren't always so bad either. My friend Rosanna emailed me this week saying, "i love rome in august, especially around ferragosto time when half the city has gone on vacation.") I'm also suddenly saddened by the death of my honorary grandfather Alberto earlier this year that we found out about not long ago.

Painful when I feel so desk chair-bound, stuffed with the somewhat overly gooey but pretty good bread pudding I made for the office today. TGIF. And for the Internet, AIM, and my iPod.

Holy Ritz

Clearly not all Ritzes are Members of the Tribe. (Including some members of my own family.)

Once again, the Internets prove to be a weird weird thing. Some stranger's Ofoto album containing photos of an ordination

was mistakenly sent to me. This pic is too precious not to share.

Mazel tov to Reverend Ritz! The name sounds almost as good as Reverend Run.