In many places in the world a bakery is often the nexus of a neighborhood. A place where the locals meet to buy baked goods and bread. Bread, the so-called ’staff of life,’ is inexpensive
nourishment to many people. Slowly but surely The Village Bakery and
Cafe has become the nexus of our Atwater Village neighborhood. Much
like their sisters in Europe, it has a walk up counter with a shelf of
various types of bread behind.
When I go in and see the stacks of
freshly baked baguettes it feels a bit like it did when I bought the
daily loaf while living in France. The difference here is you can also
order coffee, a house-made pastry, breakfast or lunch, then sit and
WiFi it up for as long as you want. Since it’s located very close to
the horse stables and riding schools along the Los Angeles River, I’ve
seen more than a patron or two wearing English riding boots and
jodphurs as well as the occasional cowboy boots. A bit of local
neighborhood color.
Breakfast this weekend was punctuated with a pronouncement from The Mom. “The best fish I ever ate”, this from a women who has been eating cured, smoked, salted, baked salmon for 94 years. I may be a native Los Angelena, but you can’t deny eastern European roots when it comes to a love of cured fish.
Longtime Santa Monica Pier staple, SM Pier Seafood, has officially re-launched as The Albright. After 35 years, the family-owned and operated restaurant has passed down from mother to daughter and has undergone a complete revamp - including an updated menu that reflects the new owner's commitment to using fresh, locally sourced food - and the addition of an extensive craft beer & California wine program. The restaurant is now run by Yunnie Kim Morena, whose parents opened the original location in 1977 upon emigrating to the U.S. from Korea.
Certain foods cause people to become rhapsodic. Proust had his madeleines. I have pho ga. At Pho Vinh Ky, the large bowl of chicken soup and rice noodles arrives with a plate of fresh herbs and vegetables and a small bowl of dipping sauce.
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.