We all have our favorite magical venues. On the other hand, there are the nightmare venues only offering memories of terrible nights and bad energy experiences. The Hollywood Palladium holds the prize for worst venue in LA. After two tries, both rendering it Sketchville, USA, I swore I’d never go back.
In 1999, my dear friend Alex and I ventured out to try to go see an unannounced Prince show there. Tickets were $75 for face and they were never on sale to the public. We found a guy selling them for $100 outside the venue and went to stand in line to enter. The whole scene was shady but we felt like we had to try it. The usher took one look at our tickets and deemed them fakes. There was no way I was about to leave after coughing up a Franklin for these. Alex was so pissed off she just wanted to split. But I stood ground, and apparently was in the way of the VIP line. I told the guy working VIP the situation and he literally laughed in our faces. (He ultimately wound us letting us in and Alex and I fed parking meters and paid back whatever good karma we could think of for months. But still, it was an unsettling experience at first.)
The second time was for an Oysterhead Halloween show. It was just 6 weeks after 9/11 and when security was starting to go into agro overdrive. And it was unusually heightened at this place. I was in a Wonder Woman costume which basically meant I was in a one piece bathing suit and boots. Now everyone think back to pre 9/11 when our purses were sacred privacy. So I, of course, was walking around with a bag of bud, a glass pipe, and a bag of boomers in my purse. People were being strip searched and having innocuous belongings like their lip liners confiscated because “You could stab someone with them,” and hence they were considered weapons. Really, people?!?! I could do more damage with my fist and I have zero upper body strength. I did manage to get in, mostly because I’m talented, and also because I sacrificed my old camera to the bushes. People were abandoning their belt buckles, throwing them and hundreds of other “hazardous materials” behind the building shrubbery. It was like Christmas that day for the homeless of Hollywood. Needless to say the entire audience was frazzled and violated upon entry to the poorly laid out establishment. I’ll put money that anyone who was there would list it in their five worst show experiences, (except for this guy…).
Cut to nearly 9 years later, (that’s today). Blame it on Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip (shot there and I loved that show), blame it on the renovations (didn’t do anything for the layout, but the sound and paint job showed small signs of improvement, at least), or blame it on me going softer with age, I returned last night for The Black Keys. And I’ve lived to tell the tale.
Month: September 2010
The Story of Mr. Weemit
Since the TV fall premieres are taking over my social life, I’m adding a post from the past.
Here’s a story I had sent my girlfriends this past March.
Friday night I wound up at Brooklyn Bowl for the Derek/Susan Bowlive sit-in.
As one would expect, mama was accompanied by an icy cold glass of tequila rocks.
I rested said glass on a case of bowling balls, only to turn around two seconds later to find a gentleman sitting right where the beloved tequila had been residing.
“Excuse me, I think you’re sitting on my tequila,” said I.
The gentleman stood up, revealing my toppled, spilled glass wedged in the crack against the cushy lane seats.
“Let me replace that for you,” said the dark gentleman.
“No,” said I, quickly grabbing the glass and throwing the dripping remains down my throat, “That’s OK, I’m already drunk enough.”
“Well, then let me replace it for you another time,” pleaded the gentleman.
Apparently I gave him my number because he called me the next day. Not recognizing the number, I let the call go to voicemail.
We spoke on Sunday and made plans for Monday evening to go see The Allman Bros at The United Palace Theatre. He called himself Robert.
Sunday evening I was out having a few glasses of the brown stuff (after all, it was rainy) with my friend Tiffany. Surveying the circumstances of my next evening activity, dear Tiff inquired, “What’s this Robert’s last name?”
“An excellent question!” I retorted, “I couldn’t make out what he said on my machine, (a term I still use to refer to my voicemail). Here, you listen and tell me what you think he’s saying.”
I played back his message and handed her the phone.
“HA!” she said, “He didn’t say his last name, Jordan! He said, ‘Hi, it’s Robert, WE MET at the Brooklyn Bowl last night.’!!!”
So from here on out, we will be calling him Mr. Robert Weemit. Admittedly, my vision is far superior to my hearing.
The date was OK. He’s attractive (but I didn’t find myself resisting urge to rip off his clothes, or even throw him against the wall and kiss him like he’d never been kissed before), generous (those Allman tix don’t grow on trees), polite (but almost too much, I felt like I shouldn’t be cursing around him… which is limiting as certain colored words in my vocabulary make for such excellent emphasis), smart (he programs digital mapping, like google maps, but for the police dept.), and likes music (this helps). However, there was no spark, and the conversation was so canned, I felt like he had recently read an article in guy cosmo on “what to say on a date.” He kept hounding me with questions, firing them off one after the other before I’d even had the chance to finish the first one, and without having any of my responses lead to further discussion or sharing his answer to the topic.
I think the poor guy thought he had scored first row tix (they were avail that day actually) as he wanted our seats to be a surprise, and then hesitated a little when he saw the first 15 rows were double letters. We were in row A. “Row A!” I exclaimed, “This is the best sound in the house! Look, we’re dead center and right next to the soundboard!”
The Allmans rocked it. Mama got her “The Weight” (that Warren sure can sing ANYTHING!!), “Jessica” (best driving song evs), and “You Don’t Love Me” (in my top five for sure!)
After the show, we tumbled out onto 175th St and headed to the subway (passing the Jesus Deli, Jesus Hardware, Jesus Bar, and We love Jesus Rite-Aid.)
I gave him a peck on the cheek and thanked him as the A train rolled into the 96th st. stop before darting out to catch a cab across the park. He was continuing on to Penn Station to catch LIRR to Mineola, the Nassau county seat.
I also sent him a thank you text later that week after the Bijou* craziness had subsided a bit. (*My dog had died suddenly the next day.)
Since then I’ve gotten random “Hi, Jordan, how are you?” texts. But predictably, none of my responses have triggered anything more than small talk (if it could even qualify as that…).
And that brings us current with the story of Mr. Weemit.
Muah,
Moi
Discussing Mr. Weemit at Girls Night at Salt
Motorino – East Village
Gnarly Dudes in Flip Flops
On to the dinner portion of the evening… When we went to try Momofuku Noodle Bar and faced an hour and a half wait, I wished I hadn’t canceled our late resie at Peasant. But it turned out OK as Motorino was right around the corner, on my list to try, and could seat us in 10 minutes.
While we were waiting, a girl sitting at the open window table, turned to face the street and puked all over the side walk. Twice. The party then got up and left. The restaurant cleared the table and welcomed us to it. I explained what had happened and requested a hose down of the adjacent street. Apparently she had just done a number on the bathroom as well. Once they finished cleaning that, the sidewalk was next.
Yes I Can Get a Hose Down!
The pizza was awesome. Doughy but thin crust with a little char. The octopus app was delish, the meatball was OK. I got the Brussels Sprouts Pizza. MMm MMMm MMMm. And our bottle of red was packed with nice fruit and a few questionable decisions. Thanks Motorino!
The Joe Tacco Bar – Ravens/Jets MNF Match Up Menu
Every week for Girls Guide, I am putting together a meal based on the teams in the Monday Night Football game. Here is the Week 1 Menu!
Monday Match-Up Menu
The Joe Tacco Bar
Ray Rice and Beans
Joe Guacco-mole
Mark Sancheese Dip
Pronn Green Chile
MNF Ravens/Jets Meal
Ray Rice and Beans
Ingredients:
1 T olive oil
1 onion, finely chopped
1 cloves garlic, large, minced
1 c uncooked white rice
1 1/2 c chicken broth
1 bay leaf
2 cans canned black beans, drained
2 tomatoes, diced, salted (always)
salt
pepper
Procedure:
In a stockpot heat the oil over medium-high heat. Add the onion and saute until translucent, about 4 minutes. Add the garlic and cook for another minute. Add the rice and cook for about 2 minutes more. Add the broth and bay leaf and bring to a boil. Cover, lower the heat to low, and simmer for 20 minutes. Add seasoning, black beans, and tomatoes. Stir.
Ray Rice and Beans
Prawn Greene Chile
Ingredients:
1 lb shrimp, peeled and cleaned
1 T olive oil
1/2 c half and half
2 poblano pepper, roasted, peeled, seeded, and chopped
2 limes, juice and zest
2 oz. tequila, silver
salt
pepper
Procedure:
Heat the oil in a pan over medium high. Add the chopped peppers. Stir in the tequila, lime juice, zest, and cream. Stir until the sauce thickens. SWOOPS the shrimp and add to pan. Cook for a few minutes and flip. Do not over cook the shrimp. Do not fumble the shrimp. Do not look at your opponent who owns Ray Rice.
Pronn Greene Chile
Mark Sancheese Dip
Bobby Flay taught me how to make this when I was his guest last year on Grill It! (But I’m using poblanos and he used Anaheims)
Ingredients:
3 T butter
3 T flour
1 c milk
1 1/2 c monterey jack cheese, shredded
1 c goat cheese, soft
2 poblano peppers, roasted, peeled, seeded, and chopped
2 scallions, chopped
Procedure:
In a cast iron skillet, make a roux by melting the butter and stirring in the flour. Then add the milk and whisk until smooth. Remove from heat and mix in the jack cheese. Then mix in the goat cheese, peppers and scallions. Return to the stove to heat up again and whisk a little more. You’re done. Dive in!
Mark Sancheese Dip (Queso Fundito)
Joe Guaccomole
Ingredients
3 avocados (pick a nice one, not to firm, not too mushy)
3 roma tomatoes, diced and salted
1 jalapeno, minced
1 garlic clove, minced
1 lime, juiced
salt
pepper
Procedure
Add the chopped, salted tomatoes to a bowl. Add the garlic and jalapeno and mix together. Dice up the avocado and add it to the bowl in 1/2 inch chunk. Mix together with a fork but don’t mash. Add the lime juice, salt and pepper. Mix again so the avocado starts to mush a bit but still has some chunkiness to it. Let sit for at least a half hour to allow the flavors to get to know each other. Easy, right? Guac was my first attempt at cooking ten years ago. Home run at first bat!
Joe Guaccomole
Katie, Melissa, Jordan, and Louie at MNF
North Fork Bachelorette
For the life of me, I couldn’t fall asleep last Friday night. I had just rocked out to the Sister Sparrow and Orgone sets at Sullivan Hall and decided to head home at around 1:30am to make sure I got a decent amount of sleep. There was not an available taxi in sight in the area and after waiting over 30 minutes and wandering around with my arm in the air trying different corners (what?), I stumbled upon the 6 train and decided to go the subway route. By 3am I had made it to the Upper East Side, only for my body to fight in protest that we had flown 3,000 miles west, not east, and refuse slumber. So when my alarm went off at 8:00am granting me enough time to take care of Louie’s 14 year old puppy routine and pack for the weekend, I had to mind alpha my body and take charge of this east coast time zone.
Only five minutes late, but still the last one there, (sometimes I like arriving alphabetically), I met up with the girls at our mid town limo pick up location. Mike, chauffeur extraordinaire, from Crossroads Limousine was about to take seven sassy women on a Long Island Vineyard Tour for a bachelorette. So we cruised across Long Island, blasting Billy Joel, and venturing to explore the grape world of the North Fork.
It was a glorious day, weather wise, company wise, activity wise, etc. But to be honest, none of the wines were that memorable or dazzling. The whites definitely outshone the reds, but nothing I wanted to take home with me (and I’m usually so much easier with wine than with men, wait… I’m not.)
Jason's
Macari
At one point I turned to Lauren and said, “Look at that cute old man with his pants up to his boobs.”
Lauren (who’s possibly my funniest friend) responds, “That guy has proprietor written all over him.”
Mr. Macari sure does keep his ribs warm.
Laurel
They also had a musician doing a little acoustic set.
“Hey Liza! Play something that doesn’t have lyrics involving someone wanting to die,” we requested.
“Oh, you girls just missed the happy set.”
Osprey's Dominion
Pindar for Magic Hour
Our accommodations for the evening were at The Hotel Indigo, a cute boutique hotel with pretty nice rooms, comfy beds, a pool, and a painfully slow restaurant. I seriously wound up having to eat my eggs benedict (which wasn’t even what I ordered) out of a to go box at the Jitney bus stop Sunday morning on my way to make it back to the city for first football Sunday kickoff.
After a dip in the pool and a shower, we pulled it together and got in a $10/pp (what is this, New Orleans during jazzfest!?!?) cab ride to Amarelle in Wading River.
Great choice. Dinner was lovely. My fresh strawberry cosmo made me forget I don’t go for girly drinks. And the Pinot Noir was the best red we’d had all day (2008 Fin, Finnegan’s Lake, CA). Lauren and I split the lobster crepe (Mmmm) and seared scallops with crispy leeks (good). She didn’t touch my clams because of the bacon sprinkle (best part!), and I wasn’t the hugest fan of her fluke (insert your own “kitchen fluke” joke here). All in all, the perfect end to a perfect day.
Cheers, Lauren!
Cheers, North Fork!
Bay Cities, Longboard Red, and Dr. John at the Pier
My favorite time of day is called “The Magic Hour,” (aka The Golden Hour for its photographic offerings). It’s the hour right before sunset (so about the last hour of daylight.) The sun is low and lights up the air with warm orange tones. I originally thought of calling it “The Laughternoon” because it was the late-afternoon (well, in January at least), but it seemed like a misnomer to me. For although it brings on a natural high, it’s not really a giddy high. It’s more peaceful and beautiful. I think I’m going to take a picture for a photo journal every day during this time. (We’ll see how I do with that one…)
Yesterday I wound up on the beach just south of the Santa Monica Pier during The Magic Hour. We were setting up for this season’s final Thursday Night Twilight Dance Series with New Orleans legend Dr. John headlining. A few tapestries, sheets, and blankets spread out on the beach, plus a bunch of surrounding votive candles in sand filled paper bags created our little lantern village.
Setting up "Lantern Village" at the pier.
Large Godmother. Works. No pickles.
I had made a stop at Bay Cities Italian Deli, a Los Angeles landmark. I had a friend in from NY that was joining us. Any time I have an out of towner visiting I usually insist that they don’t leave with out having a Bay Cities sammie (or In N Out, but who’s still late for the train on that one?) The go-to order is The Godmother. If I’m “watching my figure” I’ll go with a turkey. But as my friend Mike’s declared, “I’d eat a turd sandwich on THAT bread!” You really can’t go wrong. As a pseudo bi-coastal girl, I often am faced with the “Which city do you like better?” question (NY vs. LA), which I staunchly refuse to answer. But I’m compiling a list of assets for each. It’s a pretty well balanced list. Bay Cities = Advantage LA.
I was not the only one to try this!
While I was browsing the deli aisles, I also grabbed a bottle of the Point Break red blend from Longboard Vineyards. This was our one stop the last time I was up in Sonoma for my friend Megan’s 30th bday dinner at Cyrus. The winery is owned by surfers and their tastings are a blast. A fellow taster was a man donned in polka dot trousers. One Cabernet in and I, of course, was asking if I could play Twister on his pants. We also were making friends with the staff, naming the Syrah “The Jewish” one… because it had a big nose, etc. Not surprisingly, our whole party didn’t even make it through the caviar course at dinner. We thankfully had the rental van parked right outside on North St. for him to snooze in. Clearly, this was the bottle I was choosing from the Bay Cities selection.
Langer's first Godmother experience
Whit's Bahn Mi Sammie (SANS CILANTRO for mama!)
Whit also brought fixings for Vietnamese Bahn Mi Sandwiches. I went to visit some other friends and hang with their kids when he broke out the cilantro.
Whit’s Bahn Mi:
Meatballs:
– 1/2 lb ground pork
– 2 t garlic, chopped
– 2 t green onion, chopped
– 1 T chinese 5 spice
– salt/pepper to taste
– Mix everything together. Form into little 1-2″ balls. Bake for 8 min. in a 400 deg oven. Turn. Bake another 7-8 min. until brown. Remove, cool, and slice in half.
Sandwich:
– 1 french bagutte
– roman lettuce
– kimchi
– sliced/diced carrots
– chopped green onion
– spicy mayo (2 parts mayo, 1 part sriracha)
– chopped cilantro (optional) (NOOOOOOO!!!!!)
– assemble as desired.
Onigiri from Sunny Blue
My mother is a breast cancer survivor. She was diagnosed in Summer 2003 and finished chemo in Summer 2004. We planned a big trip for the three of us (Betti, Jim, and Jordan) to go on a safari in Africa in the fall of 2004 so she would have something to look forward to through her treatment. With her new lease of life and up close encounters with Botswana‘s wild life, she decided that she wanted to go on a trip every year! Who were we to argue.
The 2005 trip was to Japan. We brought along my dear friend Deb as Zucker child #2. It’s always best to have a buffer. And I limit my portion of the trip to 10-14 days. The folks can go for as long as they want, but any more daily family time with me is ill-advised.
There’s an entire novel’s worth of stories to write about this trip. But the topic I’m going to discuss here is our favorite snack discovery, Onigiri. They are little triangular pockets of rice stuffed with various fillings and wrapped in nori seaweed. You can find them anywhere there, from gas station convenience stores to high end markets.
Sunny Blue has recently opened on Main St. in Santa Monica, bringing these treasures right to my back door! (well, across town, but still…)
They call them omusubi, or onigiri (pronounced with a hard “g”).
I tried the beef miso, spicy salmon, and tuna mayo. (Which I’d rank in that order). They didn’t have a wide variety of flavors (or my favorite – ikura!) but the ones they had they made well. The rice was warm and the nori was nice and salty and crispy as it should be. At less than $3 a pop there’s not much better in the afternoon pick me up department.
Onigiri to go from Santa Monica's Sunny Blue
Herbie Hancock 70th Birthday Celebration at the Hollywood Bowl 9/1/10
Tonight was Herbie Hancock‘s 70th bday. Minutes before hearing this news I had turned to Beansie and said, “Man, Herbie’s looking good!”
“How old is he?” asked Beansie.
“I don’t know, but he’s basically looked the same for the past thirty years.”
“I want a sip of whatever water he’s drinking!” soon became my facebook status.
The show was great. His first set was more acoustic, straight up jazz, with an all-star line-up: Wayne Shorter on sax, Terence Blanchard on trumpet, Esperanza Spalding on bass, and Jack DeJohnette on drums. (And Nathan East on bass for a hot minute).
The second set was his funkier, electric stuff mixed with “The Imagine Project” (Band members: Vinnie Colaiuta – drums, Lionel Loueke – guitar, Pino Palladino – bass, Greg Phillinganes – vocals/keys, and Kristina Train – vocals).
Kristina Train, (aka “Chihuahua Hands” because it looked like she was petting a small dog with her left while she sung… distracting, but if you looked elsewhere she sounded pretty good. Just grab the mic with your left, K. Train!), belted through renditions of John Lennon’s Imagine, Peter Gabriel’s Don’t Give Up (which I sang all the way home), and Bob Dylan’s Times Are a Changin (with Lisa Hannigan on vocals – sounds Irish, looks Asian).
Other guests included India.Arie on vocals for “Imagine,”
Zakir Hussain on tabla and Niladri Kumar on sitar on “The Song Goes On,” (apparently with a pre-recorded vocal track by K.S. Chithra. We were wondering who else was singing…),
Juanes on vocals for “La Tierra” (Laney’s dad’s favorite Columbian),
Susan Tedeschi on vocals (can we say “girl crush”!?!?) and Derek Trucks on slide guitar on “Space Captain.”
And little Paulinho da Costa on percussion trading licks with Herbie during “Watermelon Man” (my mother’s personal fave of Herbie’s). He’s adorable. We must rival each other in height. Though the perspective up in our section is skewed. “Please tell me that’s a child,” I asked of the center dancer in the Debbie Allen Dance Academy “Tatamant/Tilay/Exodus” number. (Yes, yes it is, Jordan.)
The dirtiest piece was the second song of the second set (right after “Imagine”) but for the life of me I can’t get a song title. What good am I?
Now, three out of four times at the Bowl this summer I wound up in hysterics (and the show that didn’t get me was the night before I woke up with a man-down for four days cold). None of them are P.C.; I’m a terrible person.
At the BBKing/Buddy Guy show there was an African American lady, drunken stuporly screaming her conversation through out the show. At one point she turned around and yelled, “Anyone want some BLACK EYED PEAS?!?!” I lost it.
At the Nevilles, I commented Aaron’s chorizo on his forehead and Laners nearly choked on her own oxygen.
Tonight, we wanted to commemorate the final Jazz Wednesday Bowl evening with a group shot and Laners picked the only breathing man in the city who has never operated a camera to take on the task. He tried taking the picture twice, FAIL on both. We found another girl to try; she turned to him and said, “Ya, you’re holding the camera upside-down, dude.” I have little self-control when it comes to the giggles. Laughed right in his face.
(Similar to the time I took a pic for the lovely gay couple coming out of Alice Water’s Chez Pannise in Berkeley and we went to look to see how it came out, and one of the guys accidentally pressed “back,” and up pops a fully frontal, FULLY nude, sprawled out on the bed, picture of him. DIED! Embarrassed Showmance Will.)
Thank you Hollywood Bowl for our Summer Wednesdays!!!
Herbie Hancock's Seven Decades Bday Celebration at the Hollywood Bowl
Oxtails, Cocktails, and Rock Tales 