Los Angeles

Suzanne Goin, the uber-talented celebrity chef of Lucques and A.O.C. Wine Bar fame, was rumored to be the front runner for the 2005 James Beard Chef-of-the-Year award, and as far as I was concerned, she could just skip the swim suit competition and pick up her gold toque and tongs. Because praise the lord and pass the friggin’ salt cod, if food could cure cancer, it would be this food. May The God of Good Eatin’ please keep Suzanne Goin’s hands hale, hearty, and forever heating up the small plates. 
   
Having earlier experienced both the exquisite pleasure and excruciating pain that comes from washing down four or five pounds of Chicken Liver pate with fifteen dollar glasses of 2001 Chateauneuf du Pape, I was careful to prepare my sensitive digestive tract by fasting for practically an entire half-day on Fiji Natural Artisan water, plus a supplemental half-inch rind of smoked salami that I discovered under a plastic tankard of Barefoot Contessa Moussaka that I accidentally made five weeks ago in a bizarre attack of culinary industry. As a note, I have a firm policy of never throwing away any left-over that originally took more than sixty minutes to prepare,  unless it starts to stink worse than my daughter’s feet did after two weeks at Catalina Camp, where filth is a fashion statement. 

The Kogi Taco Truck made me miss being in my twenties. Especially over the last couple of months, since I started following their Twitter updates on my cell phone. Late at night I’d be in bed reading a book, and have to stop so I could see the incoming Twitter text: “10PM-2AM@The Brig – Abbot Kinney and Palm in Venice”. I couldn’t stop wondering, “Who ARE these people partying EVERY night of the week, chasing down the Kogi taco truck at 2AM?

Food in New York.  I used to know it so well.  When I lived there during the ’80s and ’90s, and worked in the food business I knew every place there was to know, and I went to most all of them.  It’s been a very long spell since I lived there, and too long since I’ve been able to really visit.  A big void has been left in my New York City food knowledge.  So when I first heard about Magnolia Bakery and how everyone was raving about it, I had no frame of reference.  It was just food-iverse white noise.  (I apparently missed its appearance in both ‘Sex and the City’ and in an SNL sketch.)  I quickly got up to speed when they announced they were opening a shop in Los Angeles on one of the busiest streets in L.A.: West 3rd Street.  With everything that had been written I understood that this was a very popular place.  I wanted to go check it out.  Some of the stories (in the L.A. Times and on the Internet) were about how owner, Steve Abrams, was met with complaints from the neighborhood and other businesses about how his business would impact parking.  The area was already saturated.  Parking places were impossible to find.  I knew this to be very true.  So instead of driving, and battling parking: let’s take the bus!

I’ve always loved a good field trip.  Like most Angelenos I live in my car.  This is not a good thing.  Planning and taking the bus was fun, educational and in a small way helped the environment.  We jumped onto the #201 at Brunswick and Los Feliz Blvd., changed to the #316 at 3rd St. and Vermont, and arrived at Magnolia a little over an hour later.

I recently joined Facebook and that is another story for another time, but its relevant to what I’m telling you because I’ve never made a friend this way until recently.

I was reading my favorite magazine, The Believer. I always turn to Sedaratives when I first get it and this month it was written by a girl named Julie Klausner.  It was very funny and caused me to look up her web site where I read some of her other material. Even funnier. I wrote on her “wall” telling her how much I liked her writing. One thing led to another and I was taking her out to lunch because she was here from New York on a book tour. Her book, I Don’t Care About Your Band, had some of the funniest things I’d ever read about relationships. 

When trying to figure out where to eat, she assumed that I might have that “California” thing and be all ‘food restriction-y”. I told her I was a native and that kind of crap was usually behavior adopted by people who move here. One thing we got out of the way right immediately was that neither of us was a vegan or vegetarian. We had some really arch things to say about people who are, but I’m not going to repeat them because you never know, right?

So, I thought, “Burgers!”