la cienega farmers' market.

currently my favourite farmers' market is the one at la cienega and 18th street, held on thursday afternoons from 3pm until 7pm. it's not very big, but it manages to have whatever i need, from organic produce to beautiful flowers, along with jars of local honey, freshly baked breads and pastries, handmade tamales, even locally made peruvian food. i am mostly curious over the kiosks with giant grills featuring louisiana-style cajun hot links, tacos al carbon, and my new guilty pleasure...



...the bacon-wrapped hot dog. it is as the name states, a hot dog wrapped in salty, fatty bacon, then grilled until well-browned and almost crispy, then served on a sesame bun with grilled onions and green peppers, along with tomato ketchup, yellow mustard, mayonnaise, and grilled fresh jalapeño peppers.



there's no point in trying to be a purist about this--wherever you may get it, some 'dogs may be better than others, but they are truly just hot dogs, wrapped in the fattiest, saltiest bacon possible, and the ketchup, mustard and mayonnaise actually improve the flavour of the whole debacle. cuts through the fat and grease. this one was particularly good because the onions were grilled to sweetness, and the jalapeño peppers still had a bit of crunch along with the spicy bite. the bun held together well, and there was at least half an onion and half a green bell pepper atop the porky log. mmmmmmm. i wonder how many of these i can eat without giving myself a coronary. i wonder if i can find one in tomorrow's marketing expedition....

white fuzzy flowers can be nice.

gypsophila from the la cienega farmers' market, on la cienega and 18th street, los angeles. thursdays from 3pm until 7pm.

more for the lemonheads.

yet another harvest--this time meyer lemons, which are a cross between lemons and mandarin oranges. these were some of the most orangey ones i've ever had, which makes them so very refreshing in my summer quenchers.

i was pfaffing about in the kitchen this afternoon, and found that a mix of meyer lemon juice, fresh crushed strawberries and ginger ale make a particularly enjoyable repast; an ounce or so of pimms in the glass makes it even moreso. i do have some ketel one vodka and hendrick's gin in the cupboards, though. might have to do a little more experimentation.

every day is (not) like sunday.

sunday was eh on the warm front, but undelightfully muggy and gray. by the time midday had reached it was nothing short of oppressive--the sort of summer sky i associate with the midwest and midatlantic--browny gray sky, humidity hanging heavy in the air, and a listlessness that is infectious.



still didn't stop me nor my friends bekki and dave from venturing downtown to the warehouse space of little radio, where eskimo hunters, the tyde, and dios were set to play (as were the willowz but they pulled out, due to every rumour in the universe including someone quit the band, someone walked out of the band, they all walked out of the band, they're all in a new band).



in between sets there were several inflatable wading pools, a slip 'n' slide, and bouncy castle set up in the parking lot, along with a dj booth, barbecue pit and bar. it was sort of amusing watching all the hipsters (or hippies?) lounging around the astroturf thrown on the pavement that was probably giving them nasty rug burns; everything and everyone was far less glamourous than one imagines the In The Know to be and had that stinky, sinister edge that american apparel adverts have that turns me off, but others on. still, no one called me out for being Unlike Them, so props to you, my chilled out hippysters. or maybe i look unwashed.



the music was good--i especially enjoyed the tyde as they sound much like one of my all time favourites, felt, by way of oxnard, that sort of summery jangle pop with a noodly organ and bit of pathos thrown in via the lyrics. but dios was interesting, especially the drummer; he was Dramatic with a capital 'Melodrama' and powerful (dios, btw, is being sued by ronnie james dio for so-called copyright infringement on dio's name; such a crock of poo paté i tell you, but i think the band now may be called dios malos because of it). can't explain the music, i was too busy watching the drummer. however, the most interesting thing about the shindig was the strange bouncy jousting platform where people hit each other with giant padded q-tips in order to win a pair of radiohead tickets. or maybe they did it because the heat, sweat, and alcohol just really made them a little loco.


why do you come here? and why-huh-hi-huh-hi-hi-hyy why do you hang around?

as it did to me, as i agreed to go to hollywood to the smiths/morrissey convention at the music box. maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the jousting, maybe it's because i still have a greek-issue 12" of "bigmouth strikes again" autographed by the mozzer himself, but i was rather excited to go. maybe i just wanted to be taken out that night, where there's music and there's people who are young and alive....i was slightly bemused that i got the equivalent of an all-access/backstage pass to this thing (courtesy of bekki, dave, the lovely sarah and the very cool lawrence), but somewhat relieved as i didn't want to seem like the oldest, most tragic person there--if i was backstage i could pass for a roadie or something. shyness is nice, but shyness can stop you from doing all the things in life you'd like to. (it's starting already)

i'd never been to the music box theatre (i think it's known officially as the henry fonda theater now), which was once a movie house, then in my day was mostly a venue for dramatic plays, but has hosted music gigs and special events lately. it's a fantastic building, a sort of ornate spanish colonial style that was prevalent in the late 'twenties. it's relatively small, they've ripped out all the seats, but kept the elaborate facade around the stage which makes it a good-sized, good-looking venue for gigs. the thing i like the most is the patio directedly behind the marquee, and overlooks hollywood boulevard.



however, the absolute best thing about the gig was that besides a small handful of people, the entire audience was latino. i know the whole mexican-morrissey thing is a well documented phenomenon, but having never actually seen it before, i was well and truly agog. the entire audience was made up of latinos of every age, social background, and belonging to every group--i saw well-turned out black coiffed rockabilly boys and 'forties era turned-out girls, gangsters, emo boys, mothers with their mozzer-dressed babies (!), whole families together in their support for All Things Morrissey. fan-bloody-tastic, or should i say ¡que maravilloso! i didn't feel the least bit out of place, even though by rights the only person who truly belonged was the young boy crouched by the garbage can, alone and uncomfortable. morrissey himself would have approved of such isolation and antisocial behaviour.



i wouldn't exactly call it a convention, as there were just a few tables with smiths/morrissey related merchandise, and another selling merchandise for red lightning, a band fronted by alain whyte, guitarist for morrissey's current band; red lightning also performed, along with the ever so fantastic mexican-fronted smiths cover band, sweet and tender hooligans. which i would love to talk more about but i may have had a trancendental experience at that point, i don't know. if a double decker bus crashes into both of us to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die. or maybe not. still, the light never goes out.



also, there was a morrissey lookalike contest, which i didn't watch, but perhaps this guy should've won. i'm not sure what they were looking for--mozzer then or mozzer now? because frankly, he looks like a gentleman irish farmer these days. as does fake morrissey above, come to think of it.


¡oye, esteban!

ah, mister stephen patrick morrissey, never fear--you will always be loved. at least in southern california. as for me, nothing's changed, i still love you, oh, i still love you...only slightly, only slightly less than i used to, my love.

¡viva la moz!

supreme at night.

skate shop supreme on fairfax avenue, los angeles.

lemony goodness.

two successful by-products from the first lemon harvest: a super lemon zesty curd and a basil-lemon peel sugar crusted french lemon pound cake. the lemon curd recipe is very basic, just egg yolks, lemon juice, butter, sugar and zest, and the pound cake recipe based on the french "quatre quarts" (four fours--equal measures of flour, sugar, eggs, and fat), with a generous addition of lemon zest, then glazed with a lemon juice sugar glaze and topped with the crazy lemon basil sugar.

i did in fact use martha stewart recipes for both the curd and cake, despite my documented disdain for her recipes; i did encounter problems with the cooking times for both (less for the curd, more of the cake), but otherwise they seemed to work out fine. i can't say i love the curd, but a little time in the fridge seems to have improved the flavour dramatically by intensifying the lemon flavour and mellowing out the egginess. the cake i like more, but i let it sit for 24 hours before trying it. i substituted lemon zest for the prescribed orange zest in the recipe, and i think the lemon sugar glaze compliments the intense butteriness of it. i also love the gorgeous sunny colour of it, and the lemon basil sugar adds an unusual touch.

lemon basil sugar

1 cup of sugar
1 large strip of lemon peel, without the white pith
a few leaves of fresh basil or a scant 1/4 teaspoon of dried basil

chop the lemon peel into tiny pieces, and tear up basil leaves, if you are using fresh herbs. add to the sugar in a small food processor and pulse until the basil and lemon peel has been chopped finely and incorporated into the sugar.

bring 1/2 cup of sugar and the juice of one lemon to a simmer in a small saucepan; take off from heat, allow to cool a bit. glaze pound cake with this while the cake is still warm, then sprinkle the herby sugar on top.

coasting

didn't go to vegas, ended up just doing a leisurely drive along pacific coast highway from playa del rey (near LAX) north to ventura, which is only about 80 miles, but in a meandering non-freeway -like, highly scenic way.

as the name suggests, the highway runs along the coast, sometimes along inland surface streets, and for a large part, alongside the pacific ocean. you can actually take PCH along most of the coast of california, which one day, week, month i intend to do. (anybody up for a road trip?)



our first stop was for a late breakfast/early lunch on the venice boardwalk. the boardwalk is, as jeanne had earlier commented, a bit of a public carnival sideshow, where everyone and his nudist rollerskating mother comes out to play. there are shops, restaurants and residences that line the boardwalk on one side, with the beach on the other. buskers, leaflet whores, homeless people and tourists hang out almost comfortably together along the walkway, either oblivious or observing each other with that i-am-so-checking-you-out-but-if-you-see-me-
i'll-pretend-you're-not-all-that way that almost everyone in los angeles seems to have mastered. the standard dress code seems to be whatever shows the most amount of flesh you are comfortable with showing to the public ever, even if it's foggy and chilly outside when the rest of los angeles is burning up like the hades that it is. blame the marine layer. and that trinnie+susanna aren't required viewing. shame.

the boardwalk isn't particularly known for its food, but i've always had a fondness for fig tree's cafe. it's right on the boardwalk, with a nice view of the hoi-polloi and the beach beyond from the (almost) wrap-around patio/outdoor dining area. it's relaxed, with plastic furniture and chipped paint, the silverware doesn't match, the dress code is almost as lax as its surroundings, but the food is healthy and tasty. it's a bit hippy to me, but i used to love it for its tofu reuben and one fabulous waiter who was totally unsmiling and unspeaking, but still was always there when i needed him, and he totally coordinated my cappuccino cup and saucer with what i was wearing every time. that is true attention to detail, folks.

we sat outside and had a good view of the sand but not the water (foggy), throngs in thongs, police patrol, and a group of buskers freeform noodling a crazy sitar meditative interspersed with light jazz guitar and surprisingly pleasant west coast sound instrumentals. i was rather dismayed to be met by the host who was wearing--rather strangely considering his surroundings--a suit and tie. what happened to the hippy-dippy blonde bombshells i was used to? also, the waiters were now in uniform (albeit just black tee-shirts) instead of the rather informal i-slept-in-this look previously kept. had fig tree's changed?



maybe so, as the menu was definitely pared down--i don't remember the menu verbatim, but i recall it used to be much longer, with more crunchy granola hippy healthy type offerings. the mushroom nut burger-type food seems to have been replaced with a blanket "we use organic products when possible"-type of healthy, and my beloved tofu reuben--grilled rye bread, saurkraut, russian dressing on a slab of grilled tofu--was gone. crap. somehow the turkey melt really didn't make up for it, neither did the still-on-the-menu cornmeal pancakes, although they did have almost a basketful of fresh blueberries added into them, along with butter and maple syrup.



the sandwich and corncakes were good, but not spectacular, and somehow the charm has gone out of it for me. i don't think healthy food has to mean it all looks like poo on a plate, but sometimes it's nice to know the wheat germ brigade is slinging its soy hash out to the public; apparently they've moved on from fig tree's.

as did we. we went further north past santa (har)monica, beyond the newly renovated getty villa, and into the 'hood of malibu. coastal town. lots of fresh air, sunshine, mountains for hiking and horseback riding, beaches for surfing and sunning, and throngs of celebrities buying up multimillion dollar shacks on the beach. weirdly, one of the least populated beaches in the 'bu is home to one of the most exclusive enclaves of celebrities and hollywood power players: broad beach. well, maybe not so weird, as the public access walks to the beach itself are well hidden amongst the houses on a narrow side road, and the property owners are doing everything they can to keep the riff-raff (eg, ie, aka me) out.



there are two access points, one in the 31000 block of broadbeach road, and another on the 32000 block, about a quarter mile away. just drive slowly and look for small chain link fences with the signs above (although, the gates are almost always propped open so the "welcome to the beach" signs are hidden--sneaky!). parking is free across the street, and the gates should be open from sunrise to sunset.



i imagine the main appeal of broad beach (besides it being uncrowded) is that it doesn't really look like a southern california beach. it looks more like what i imagine martha's vineyard to look like--shingled houses, adirondack loungers, sandy bluffs, dunes, sea grass and tidepools. it always seems to be 10 degrees cooler and breezier there as well, which makes it ideal for walking or running along the shore, rather than sunning and beaching oneself like a whale. also, the water drops off rather dramatically not too far from shore, and the water seems rougher, so perhaps swimming is best left to experts; however, it is rather nice for body boarding and easy surfing on the northern end.



i imagine if you had more nefarious reasons for being there you can probably figure out which celeb lives where with the help of the internets and those maps to the stars' homes they sell on hollywood blvd (snort. good luck.), but although the stars may live there, they don't actually like getting wet or being exposed to the sun. no ozone layer. some of them might melt. however, having said that, we managed to score an environmental extravanganza with a triple sighting of ed begley jr, al gore, and a pod of dolphins about 50 feet from shore (the dolphins, not ed nor al). of course, we were most excited about the dolphins, although the sight of al gore in orange swim shorts and anorak is something i'm not likely to forget anytime soon.


the big rock on the way to ventura, often known as "the big rock on the way to ventura"

having been thus refreshed by a rather brisk walk, we went on our merry little way up further to ventura county, following more lovely beachiness and later into farmland and military installations of oxnard and whatever else is inland. at that point, we decided it was time to head back, but there was literally something in the air that made us make one last stop. ventura is home to driscoll farms and others whose main crop is berries; the air was heavy with the smell of ripe strawberries from the fields that surrounded us.



along the road were numerous roadside stands selling produce and flowers from the farms where they were grown, but we only wanted one thing, but wanted a lot of it. luckily, the first stand we came to had it: strawberries, one flat of 12 baskets for a mere ten bucks. scored and secured, we made our way back into town, and enjoyed the not-so-perfect looking, but very perfect tasting fruit as our evening's reward.





figtrees cafe
429 ocean front walk,
venice.
310.392.4937

broad beach
31346 broad beach road
malibu.

lemony thicket.

spent the day picking lemons and pruning back the lone lemon tree in my friend cyrano's backyard. we picked over 500 lemons--something like 8 milk crates of citrus.



i'm trying to work up the energy to start sqveezing these suckers, or maybe stocking up on some grain alcohol to make the first batch of limoncello, or perhaps get a gross of eggs to make a gigantor batch of lemon curd.



anybody want some? i'll throw in a batch of some of the homemade lemon goodies.

f*cking clown.

©2006 julius fernando

the jonathan borofsky statue, ballerina clown, which sits on a mixed use building in venice is a 30- foot aluminum wonder of pure effing terror. nightmare city, baby.

the witch's house of beverly hills.

no, not where joan and melissa rivers live. the spadena house--known as "the witch's house"-- sits not on a movie lot, but smack in the heart of beverly hills, at the corner of walden and carmelita.

i had heard various rumours and stories about the origins of this house, everything from it being built for a movie version of "hansel and gretel" to it being the creation of a devout snow white and the seven dwarves fan. it turn out that it was built by harry oliver, an art director and set designer for a silent movie studio in the 1920s; they were used as offices and dressing rooms for the lot, then later moved from its original site in culver city to its current lot in beverly hills.



the house is one of the premier examples of what is known as the storybook style of architecture, which not surprisingly, took its inspiration from hollywood sets of the twenties and thirties. defining characteristics seem to be bent and burned cedar shake roofs, small windows, rough hewn beams, dark rooms, and quirkiness coming out of every stuccoed pore. i think you really need to be some sort of fairy tale fetishist to live in one of these houses.



for years the house was occupied, and sat on the corner lot amidst a rambling english cottage-style garden with a crazy wishing well in the front, but now it sits behind a tarped chain link fence, undergoing reconstruction. the new owner seems to be adding some odd gaudí-esque touches to it, along with a tiny bit of art nouveau-ish flare, which only seems to add to its creepiness oddness "charm." although it's not really my cup of tea, i'm rather glad that someone has taken enough interest in the spadena house to restore it rather than tear it down, and so keeping another bit of happy madness alive in the city.

a few more photos on flickr.

volver de méxico.

wow, my spanish sucks. just returned from a great wedding celebration in puerto vallarta, where i so uncharacteristically left my camera charging on the kitchen counter in los angeles. ¡ay caramba! but thanks to some helpful friends, i was allowed to use their cameras, so hopefully i'll soon have something to show for the past few days away.

thuglife

venice beach, ca.

late night at lucky devils.

i find it's always a little bit of a struggle to find good late night food options in los angeles; they definitely exist, and there's an interesting variety available--tofu house for korean on wilshire, the original pantry downtown, daikokuya in little tokyo, to name a few--but i am such a night owl that i feel like i run through my options with alarming speed.

that's why i was happy find a new late night joint: lucky devils. i had just heard about it for the first time on my flight over, on a podcast of "good food", during a segment about great burgers in los angeles (okay, just a quick aside--i really didn't expect jonathan gold's voice to sound like it does). mr. gold recommended lucky devils' kobe beef burger and described it as being in the vein of the much-hyped father's office burger--quality beef, bleu cheese, applewood smoked bacon, onion confit, and arugula on a french roll. mr. gold also amusingly noted that the restaurant is owned by lucky vanous, one of those multi-hyphenated people running about hollywood (actor-model-restauranteur), who is best known as being the hott construction guy in a diet coke advert; vanous, gold said wryly (and still not in the voice i expected), has apparently created a menu that ensures that no one's body will ever look as good as his does.

and that he has. i felt it was only being charitable to check out the burger for burgerhounds reid and pieman's sake, so having found myself meandering through the streets of hollywood late one night, i was rather pleased to find that lucky devils is open until midnight on weekdays (3am on fridays and saturdays; note: the website says it's only open until 10 weekdays, but i'm pretty sure i came in around 11).



the space is modest and modern--concrete and chrome, red walls, and random plasma screens showing random extreme sports images. there's maybe 20 tables indoors, a few outside on the slightly dubious stretch of hollywood boulevard it's on, a refrigerated case filled with various desserts (mostly cupcakes), and what looks to be a dozen microbrewery beer/ale (and one root beer) taps behind a counter. a large blackboard above lists various specials, but the wordy one-page menu throws a few recommendations up on the very top. the menu is solid american fare--salads, burgers, sandwiches, mac and cheese, shakes, beers. shakes with beer (no really--there's a black and tan made with frozen custard and a porter ale that sounds delicious).



one of my companions ordered the chili dog (chili cheese dogs also available), a hefty foot-long beef frankfurter slathered with a slow-cooked non-bean, ground beef based chili, and served with a choice of french fries or green mesclun mix. i was told that the hot dog itself had a good snap and was juicy, but the chili was the star--only very mildly spiced and mildly tomatoey, solidly beefy and hearty.



someone else had the veggie burger, which quite curiously resembled a rare meat burger as it was made from rice, beets, roasted peppers and paprika, then grilled. the result is a rather mildly spicy patty with an almost rare-cooked burger texture. it was served with several slices of avocado and a mild white (cheddar?) cheese, on a butter grilled brioche bun. while the diner enjoyed the unique burger, it was a carb monster, especially when paired with the rather excellent french fries, which were nicely crispy on the outside and fluffy tender within.

i hate to say it, but my photos of the kobe burger didn't turn out. if i return i'll definitely take a photo, but in the meantime, check out kiwichicky's rather excellent review and photos. i wimped out on the bacon cheeseburger, and just got a straightforward burger, which was brought to me somewhere in between medium rare and medium, grilled but not charred, on a bed of a mesclun mix and topped with a nice caramelized onion confit (i think it's described as a chutney on the menu), all on the same butter grilled brioche roll as the veggie burger. i don't eat many burgers, but i rather liked the mild flavour and texture of the kobe beef; in fact, the whole burger, whilst being quite a double-fisted handful, had such a nice balance of sweet onion, peppery greens, butter and beef flavour that i almost inhaled that thing down. i really would have, had i not remembered to stop a bit to really savour the flavour. a very good burger.



we decided to split one of the milkshakes available--sadly, not the black and tan. we ordered the toasted pecan frozen custard shake, which was not so much a shake as a giant blender cup filled with frozen custard and topped with a more than generous amount of choped toasted pecans and whipped cream. it's acknowledged it's not a shake as it came with long metal spoons and not straws. the frozen custard is like a soft-serve ice cream, but with a silky, impossibly light texture that feels like velvet on the tongue and melts almost immediately; that combined with the almost smoky pecans was a simple but truly decadent way to end the meal.

the service was a bit slow, but there was only one waitress with 6 tables to cover, and she was quite efficient (although she seemed more enthusiastic about the beers available than the food). she didn't ask me how i'd like my burger to be cooked, so i assumed it would be medium rare, and was satisfied; the patrons at the table next to me were not, and sent back their meals to be re-cooked. i was rather perplexed by the television screens and the random bits of extreme sports shown, as they seemed completely without a context (maybe vanous is a x-sports enthusiast?) and not particularly conducive towards anything. also, the meal was so enjoyable i think i over-ate, and definitely felt full until mid-afternoon the next day. otherwise, lucky devils was a pleasant surprise in every way. i look forward to another feeding frenzy, although perhaps after a few more laps around the track.


lucky devils
6613 hollywood blvd
hollywood, 90028
323.465.8259.

tallulah tonight!

i'll be back with señor amor and cyrano on the molotov cocktail hour tonight (tuesday) from 11pm to midnight, PST. join us for a unique blend of exotica at KXLU 88.9FM on your los angeles radio dial, or via the web on KXLU online.

a quick revisit to the 101.

not me.

i have a predilection towards the 101 coffee shop, so it's only appropriate that the first restaurant i hit in la would be it (although admittedly not by choice--damn you, hungry cat, for not having a table until 11pm!).

quick recap: a faux been-here-forever feel. i should say, it may be manufactured, but it certainly is genuine. oh, quintessential los angelesness! although you are fake, you are very real to me. i certainly feel like i have been coming here forever, and the menu has a very classic diner theme: burgers, shakes, meatloaf, mac and cheese. for the most part everything is just solidly executed and satisfying, not earthshakingly noteworthy, although such consistency in performance is remarkable in itself.



ordered a tuna melt. just tuna and mayonnaise with cheddar on some sort of white country bread, but the right amount of butter was brushed on and the bread was grilled enough not to be charred, but to keep it crisp until the very last bite--that little give to a tender shatter, into a creamy not-too-molten blend of just-the-right-amount of cheese and tuna mayonnaise. here in la, it seems like everyone gives you the salad instead of fries option, which i heartily appreciate; i appreciate it even more as everyone seems to forgo romaine as the new iceberg, and all salads seem to be a nice, peppery mesclun mix.



the indulgence: the purple haze, a seasonal milkshake of fresh blueberries, honey and vanilla ice cream all whirled into a lavender emulsion whose colour mimics the explosion of lilac blossoms around the city. intensely berry-flavoured and filling.



the sign above, it reads "it's time to stay." *sigh*. perhaps it is.

the 101 coffee shop
6145 franklin ave
los angeles ca 90028
323.467.1175