In the late 70's when I first started venturing from New York City to Los Angeles for screen tests and my sorry ass attempt at stand up, it was difficult to find community outside the wacky nightlife of the Improv Club. My appearances there, under Budd Friedman's generous aegis, were an evening out and conversation piece for my agents at William Morris, who were trying desperately to get me off that stage and into a nice little sitcom. Meantime, they used my appearances to lure Norman Wexler, the gifted screenwriter of "Saturday Night Fever" fame, severely manic-depressive, into signing with them. When he wasn't locked up, Norman was my biggest fan.
I tried hard to fit into this world, but as the only ingenue comedienne in a world of compulsive male comics, or female comics who delivered jokes like compulsive male comics, I was a she-maverick by design. When I wasn't onstage struggling not to slip in Robin Williams' sweat, or straining to milk laughs from Gary Shandling's exhausted audience, I'd be in the bar either waiting to go on, or to wind down and assess the disaster of my newest bits. After debuts of such material as my exposure of work abuses in a laughter cannery, or my coloratura version of James Browns' "I Feel Good," I'd feel especially vulnerable. Sure, lots of the other comics would rush over, but most often to ask: "Didja like my jacuzzi bit?? Should I stick my butt out again? That killed!" We shared that frothing, whites-of-the-eyes desperation that only bombing comics know. Milling about it that morose milieu was the only West Coast World I knew.
Imagine my delight when I was invited by Henry Gibson – who'd recently kidnapped me away from Rick Springfield til I was rescued by "Wonder Woman" (so tall she could rest her breasts on my head) – to be part of the pilot program for Wolfgang Puck's "Ma Cuisine," a cooking school offshoot of his flagship Ma Maison on Melrose. What a fine restaurant that was in its day. This is back when Wolfgang was a truly Puck'ish hot little number, with his slender, elfin body in the midst of a torrid extra marital affair with the woman who he subsequently married and made him the five star star and empire we know and love today. But back then, his true devotion was to cooking, his spirit infectious, his food innovatively nouvelle, and seats at his eaterie relatively easy to come by.
There is nothing that bonds across social barriers more than food preparation. We were a motley crew of unemployed comedians, screenwriters, and actors, embarrassed by having countless hours available to spend in the middle of ten consecutive Mondays. For several of the first weeks, Wolfgang would instruct us in a complex French dish du jour, utilizing the latest in tools and kitchen machinery and we clutzes would be his sous chefs, mincing, mixing, noshing, mouthing off, and cleaning up after Wolfgang's whirling dervish of messes. In later weeks of the course, owner/chefs of other fine Southern California restaurants, like Peppone of Ristorante Peppone's, and Ed Hooks of the organic Ranch House in Ojai, would guest star and prepare with us their pieces de resistance. But, Wolfgang's creations were my favorite for eating high on the ol' haute hog.
Our hours spent creating then overeating great meals til we were sick, as starving artists tend to do, made me finally feel I belonged in the vastness of Los Angeles, and those dicing, cutting up bon vivants became my first real West Coast friends. We braised and grazed and raised the laugh decibels higher each week. You can imagine the "Basso-matic" jokes (Danny Ackroyd's bit on SNL, in which he threw a fish into a blender) from our gang that greeted the announcement and preparation of this particular dish, but it remains one of my mainstays for high impact guest impressing to this day.
FISH MOUSSE
1/2 lb. sturgeon
1/2 lb. smoked salmon
Caviar, red or black
2 cups whipping cream, whipped
Salt and freshly ground pepper
Juice of half lemon
1. Using steel blade of the Cuisinart (if you've still got one handy), puree sturgeon. Remove to bowl
2. Using steel blade, puree salmon. Remove to bowl.
3. Season sturgeon and salmon with salt, pepper and lemon juice.
4. Divide cream in half and add each half to sturgeon and salmon. Fold through until combined.
5. In mold of your choice (a fish shape is my favorite), spread a layer of sturgeon. Top with caviar, then spread a layer of salmon. Sprinkle caviar over all. Chill overnight.