Citizen of the Month

the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Category: Food (Page 5 of 6)

Perfect Post to Be Syndicated by the Washington Post

June 13, 2006 / / 23 Comments

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Sophia called me up and said she was hungry. I suggested our usual lunch place in Redono Beach.

“Not that place again,” she said. “Can’t we ever do anything different?”

I’ve heard this said to me many times in the bedroom, but never about my choices of where to eat lunch.

But then inspiration hit me.

“Oh, I know where I’ll take you. I found a place where they have really good gyros!”

“Great” said Sophia, turned-on by my surprising show of spontaneity. 

But things quickly changed as we pulled into the parking lot of Dave’s Burgers. I could see Sophia was incredulous.

“We’re going here?” she said, emphasis on HERE.

I reminded Sophia that some of the best hot dogs, burgers, sandwiches, even GYROS are created like masterpieces in the dumpiest of take-out joints.

Inside Dave’s Burgers, it was like Formica Heaven. The Menu board was as long as “A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius” (pretentious literary reference to impress). There was Mexican food, Italian food, Greek food, and an assortment of burgers, with or without chili on top.

“This Gyro is like a sandwich with shaved meat in a pita, right” asked Sophia.

“Absolutely!”

“You know I don’t like sandwiches too much.”

Before I could spell “high maintenance,” I found a solution.

“Look,” I said, pointing towards the vast menu board, “They have a gyro platter for two dollars more. And it comes with a salad and a drink.”

Ten minutes later, we were sitting at at an uncomfortable plastic table while Sophia stared down at her plate glistening with fat, reconstituted meat slices.

“Aren’t they supposed to use real meat?” she asked.

Maybe I was so deluded by WANTING to find a good gyro sandwich in Redondo Beach, that I imagined it as tasty the first time. Or maybe when you order a sandwich rather than the platter, and you get it wrapped up in paper, you just don’t see what the meat actually looks like (or see it dripping with oil).

The “salad” was 1/6 lettuce, 1/6 french fries, and 2/3 greasy onion rings. We ended up tossing our food away.

“I hope the guys who work here don’t eat this crap every day,” said Sophia. “They’re gonna drop dead.”

Note to Editors of the Washington Post:

OK, let me take a little pause in this story for some literary self-criticism.

I understand that if I want my posts to be picked up by your illustrious newspaper, I must start telling “true” stories. That means no fudging the facts or using exaggeration. After all, imagine what would happen to my budding career if I start making up the story like Jayson Blair did with the Times.

The problem I have with most true life stories is that the endings are usually lame. Most real-life incidents don’t come with a ready punch-line. That said — THIS true-life “gyro” story does have a good ending. But the final twist is so forced and obvious that you are not going to believe that this really happened. It just seems like hack work. But it did happen. I swear. I swear on the names of your gods, Woodward and Bernstein.

BACK TO STORY:

Quick recap:

Sophia says, “I hope the guys who work here don’t eat this crap every day. They’re gonna drop dead.”

As we leave Dave’s Burgers, three fire engines, an ambulance, and two paramedics zoom into the parking lot. One of the chefs collapsed in the kitchen after eating his own lunch, and is carried out on a stretcher.

Easter vs. Passover 2006: The Grudge Match

April 10, 2006 /

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(Easter eggs vs. Passover matzoh balls)

Yes, it’s that time of the year again as Jews and Christians battle it out for Spring Holiday of the Year.

Let the Games Begin!

1)  HOLIDAY CANDY  — EASTER VS. PASSOVER

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Marshmellow Peeps  (-10)
Cadbury Mini Eggs  (+12)

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Fruit slices (+5)
Barton’s Kosher for Passover Chocolates  (-15)

HOLIDAY CANDY WINNER:  EASTER!

2)  HOLIDAY CAKE  — EASTER VS. PASSOVER

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Hot Cross Buns  (+25)
Assorted Easter Cakes  (+50)

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Streit’s Macaroons  (-150)
Passover Cakes (-100)

HOLIDAY CAKE WINNER:  EASTER!

3)  HOLIDAY MEAL  — EASTER VS. PASSOVER

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Glazed Ham  (-150)
Leg of Lamb  (-50)
Vegetables   (+50)

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Brisket (+150)
Matzo Kugel  (+75)
Gefilte Fish (-25)
Matzo Ball Soup (+350)

HOLIDAY MEAL WINNER: PASSOVER!

4)  HOLIDAY FUN  — EASTER VS. PASSOVER

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Making Easter Eggs (+30)
Rolling Easter Eggs  (+3)

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Finding the Afikomen [hidden matzo] and making money (+100)

HOLIDAY FUN WINNER: PASSOVER!

5)  HOLIDAY “SURPRISE” GUEST  — EASTER VS. PASSOVER

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The Easter Rabbit (+20)

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Elijah showing up to the seder to drink his “glass of wine.” (-1)

HOLIDAY “SURPRISE GUEST” WINNER: EASTER!

6)  HOLIDAY MOVIE  — EASTER VS. PASSOVER

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“The Passion of the Christ” — a violent and depressing movie (-25)

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“The Ten Commandments” — old-school epic with lots of action and sex. (+140)

HOLIDAY MOVIE WINNER:  PASSOVER!

7)  HOLIDAY “HOT DATE”  — EASTER VS. PASSOVER

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Bringing Heidi Klum to your Easter Dinner.   (+100)

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Bringing Barbra Streisand to you Passover Seder. (+550)

HOLIDAY “HOT DATE” WINNER: PASSOVER!

I Love You, Sun-Maid Raisin Girl

April 3, 2006 /

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Much like Betty Crocker and the Brawny Man recently “updated” their product’s icon, the Sun-Maid company wrongly thinks that the 21st Century requires a 21st Century Sun-Maid girl.  When I heard about this change, I was extremely upset.  As a lover of raisins, I’m fond of the old icon — the kind-hearted, but lusty farm girl, always with a smile on her face, the perfect hostess who never fails to offer me some of her fresh-picked, juicy California grapes.  What full-blooded American teen male hasn’t spent countless hours staring at his box of raisins, fantasizing about this beautiful raisin girl with the tight peasant blouse and mysterious red bonnet, her long, dark hair flowing down?

The Sun-Maid girl has an actual history:

“Unlike the Pillsbury Doughboy or even Betty Crocker, the Sun Maid image is based on a real person – Lorraine Collett Petersen, a California girl who volunteered to hand out boxes of raisins at the 1915 Panama Pacific International Exposition in San Francisco.”

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“Petersen was asked to pose with a tray of grapes for a painting that became the company’s logo in 1916.”

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“The image was updated in 1970, when the Sun Maid’s decidedly ethnic features were smoothed out and her torso was slenderized.”

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Thirty-six years later, and it’s time for some more Botox — especially if you’re going to be on television.  So, since it’s time for some Sun-Maid commercials, it’s time for the raisin girl to get a makeover.

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“But now, for the first time in her very long life, the beauty on the box has been granted a Pilates body, an aerobics instructor’s voice, and a 30-second television spot to launch her new career as a company spokescharacter.

Introduced last week, the 21st-century version of the raisin queen is a true digital dollface, tanned and toned and unmistakably going for the big-eyed Barbie, Shrek-girl, Disney-princess look. Think Sandra Bullock made of pixels, and you get the picture.”

You can see the final commercial here.

TV has always been obsessed with good looks, but never as much so as today.  Could a Walter Cronkite exist today?  While watching reruns of “Match Game” this weekend, Sophia and I wondered if a dorky guy like Gene Rayburn could ever host a game show nowadays?  Even on “reality” shows, everyone is unrealistically good-looking.   I’m not going to even get into the weight issues that television promotes.  Which Teri Hatcher, Marcia Cross, etc. — the show should be called “Desperately Anorexic Housewives.”

Call me a traditionalist, but I like the old raisin girl better.  But I guess I understand the company’s need to “sex her up.”  In fact, as a top blogger, I was able to get access to the secret plans for Raisin Girl 2007 [codename Angela the Stripper] , as the company raises the “edgy” level in order to increase the demographic of younger men age 18-25, who have been opting out of raisins for “hipper” snacks like Doritos.

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Sno-Balling

February 28, 2006 / / 65 Comments

Dear Sophia,

Tonight around eleven p.m.  I was hungry for something — I didn’t know what.  So, I took a drive — not really knowing where I was going. 

It was pouring outside, so I drove one block to my local 7-Eleven.  Once inside, I walked up and down the aisles, trying to figure out what junk food to buy. 

And then I saw it — Hostess Sno Balls.

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I know that you probably don’t even know what Hostess Sno Balls are, but I have fond memories of eating them as a child.  I never had much of a sweet tooth, but I always had a fondness for Hostess Sno Balls. 

"Sno Balls were invented in 1947," says Mike Redd, vice-president of cake marketing at Interstate Bakeries, the company that bought Hostess in 1995. Accustomed to rationing flour and sugar during World World War II, Americans were now devouring manufactured sweets, and the Sno Ball was an instant hit. Even though there never has been a TV ad budget for Sno Balls, Redd says they continue to sell, though not quite as well as their heavily advertised siblings, Hostess Twinkies and Hostess Cupcakes.

It took some tinkering, though, before these perfect domes of fuzzy Day-Glo pinkness became the Marilyn Monroe of the snack rack. Sno Balls originally were chocolate cupcakes covered with ho-hum white marshmallow and shredded coconut, hence the name. Not long after, Hostess decided to jazz them up by using tinted pink coconut and, for added effect, using one white and one pink Sno Ball in each package. Later, for efficiency’s sake, two of the same color were coupled. And it wasn’t until 1950 that the icing on the cake, so to speak—the cream filling—was added.

What made Sno Balls so unique was that Hostess changed the color of them throughout the year, most notably on St. Patrick’s Day, when they turned green – and they tasted especially tasty from the green chemicals.  Hostess Sno Balls also had a sexy shape to them, much like the luscious curves of a woman.  What man, on seeing his first pair of woman’s breasts, hasn’t said to himself, "They look just like Sno Balls!  I hope they taste as good?"

As you know, my birthday is next Tuesday.  Yesterday, you asked me what I wanted for my birthday. 

Well, now I know.   Hostess Sno Balls. 

Easy, right?  Just go to Ralphs and buy them. 

No.  I want you to make them.

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Clone of Hostess Snoballs

Butter and flour, for tins
4 egg whites
1/2 cup butter
1 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
Rind of 1 lemon, finely grated
2 cups sifted cake flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
2/3 cup milk
Frosting, recipe follows
2 to 3 cups sweetened shredded coconut
Red or green food coloring (optional)

Frosting:
2 egg whites, unbeaten
6 tablespoons cold water
1 1/2 cups sugar
1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar
1 teaspoon vanilla
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Butter and flour muffin tins or dome shaped baking molds and set aside. Whip the egg whites in a clean bowl until stiff but not dry and place in the refrigerator while you make the rest of the batter. Cream the butter and add the sugar. Continue mixing to blend well. Add the vanilla, almond and lemon rind and mix well. Sift the flour 3 times with the baking powder then add it to the butter mixture alternately with the milk in 3 additions. Fold in the whites and pour the batter into the molds, filling about 3/4 of the way up. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes until batter is firm to the touch in the center. Let cool in the pans then turn out so the top becomes the bottom (you may need to trim them a bit so they sit flat).

Frosting: Place all of the ingredients except the vanilla in the top of a double boiler (not over the heat yet). Beat with a mixer thoroughly. Place over boiling water and beat continuously until the frosting is stiff and holds peaks. Take off the boiling water and add the vanilla, then continue to beat until cool.

Place the coconut in a bowl and add 1 drop of red or green food coloring for a pale color. Toss until food coloring is well mixed in and the coconut is the desired color. Frost the top and sides of the cakes and dip/roll in coconut to make them look like snowballs.

Yield: 12 to 24 snoballs
Prep Time: 1 hour
Cook Time: 2 hours

The Truth About Olive Garden

December 12, 2005 / / 240 Comments

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Last night, Sophia and I attended a blogger-meetup, greeting Psychotoddler and Mrs. Balabusta, who were visiting L.A. from snowy Milwaukee. Since the Psychotoddler family is kosher, we met at a kosher Chinese restaurant on Pico Blvd. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be (although note to restaurant: please hire someone who knows how to make sushi. That was NOT sushi, kosher or not). Also attending the event were Dr. Bean, ball-and-chain, Brett of DadTalk, and Anne of Inland Empress.

There were spirited conversations about many things, including integrity and truth-telling when writing blog posts. The group was extremely intelligent, which, of course, made me think about my blog post for that day, which was about a “Cock Shaker.” So, I’m glad to be back here with so many of my other blogger friends who are as dumb and unsophisticated as I am.

Despite my lack of sophistication, the issue of “integrity in blogging” has been weighing on my mind today. You see, in my last post, there were quite a few joking comments about the Olive Garden chain. Although I didn’t say so directly, I insinuated in my post that I didn’t like Olive Garden. The truth is : I’ve never been to Olive Garden. I’m like the movie reviewer who gives the film “three thumbs up,” but never bothered to see the flick.

In all honesty, I just don’t like those chain restaurants — at least the ones that I have actually gone to. To give you a better understanding of my feelings, I’ve created a list of chain restaurants, in order of my hatred of the chain, from least to greatest:

The Cheesecake Factory
Denny’s
Coco’s
El Torito
TGI Friday’s
Chili’s
Souplantation
Bennigan’s
Outback Steakhouse
Fuddrucker’s
Benihana
Applebee’s
Red Lobster
Pizza Hut

Today, I called Sophia.

“Sophia, I’m taking you to lunch.”

“OK, where to?”

“Olive Garden.”

Silence.

I explained how I owed it to my readers to learn the truth about the Olive Garden, especially if I’m ever going to mention it again. So, I picked Sophia up and we drove to Olive Garden near the Del Amo Mall.

We were surprised to find such a long line for such an uninspiring place. Why were so many people here? Los Angeles has tons of excellent REAL restaurants. Maybe we were missing out on something. Maybe people were just suckers for those stupid commercials where the guy brings his authentic Italian mama to Olive Garden, and she loves it. Loves it!

Inside the restaurant, the decor was anything but “authentic.” There were some badly drawn paintings of the Italian countryside on the wall, and few bottles of Chianti were propped up here and there. “Benvenuto!” was written on the wall in the waiting area. The restaurant staff was not very authentic either, more Redondo Beach High School than Tuscany High School.

We were told that there would be a ten minute wait. This seemed a little bull-shitty, since there were seven other families waiting in front of us. Afterwards, another couple was also told that their wait would be “ten minutes.”

“How could this be?” I asked Sophia. “This made no sense. Do they just tell everyone that the wait is ten minutes? And if our wait is ten minutes, and they came after us, shouldn’t their wait be at least eleven minutes?”

Sophia and I were given this large black beeper contraption that was supposed to go crazy with lights and special effects when our table was ready.

Time passed. Twenty minutes. Sophia and I revealed to each other that we spent the morning snacking and neither of us were too hungry. But it was too late to turn back. I had to learn the truth about the elusive Olive Garden.

BRRRINGBRRRRING!

My hand vibrated as if I had just pulled the trigger of a 45 caliber pistol. The beeper was sending us a message: It was TIME for our reconnaissance meal.

Some girl in the Olive Garden uniform, but wearing USC socks (!) took us to our cozy table, nestled comfortably next to a large obnoxious family celebrating some bratty boy’s birthday. Before we even had a chance to open a menu, Miss USC wanted to know if we wanted anything to drink.

“We serve real Italian wine.”

We said we just wanted water. She looked disappointed, as if we had just rejected her from admittance to our sorority.

Sophia and I looked over to the birthday table to check out the food they were eating. Bland pastas, boring pizzas. Nothing looked very exciting. We were also surprised that the menu was more expensive than we expected, considering it was a “family” restaurant.

“It’s cheaper to just go to the real Italian restaurant on Torrance Boulevard.”

“I guess we’re paying for the ambiance.”

We laughed as the family started singing “Happy Birthday” to the bratty boy.

“Since we’re not too hungry, maybe we can share something.”

As I perused the attractive, flowery-designed menu, I noticed something interesting. For six bucks, you can have as much soup as you want, with three different choices of soup. For another six bucks, you can get an unlimited amount of Olive Garden’s special salad.

“Sounds good,” said Sophia. We can get one unlimited soup and one unlimited salad, and we can share it. They even give you unlimited breadsticks. I think I’m beginning to like this place.”

“Sophia, I don’t think you understand. Each unlimited soup and each unlimited salad is for one person only.”

“What do they care if we share it?”

“Because then what’s to stop ten people from coming in here and ordering one unlimited soup and one unlimited salad and just sharing it all together.”

“That’s ridiculous. Besides, it doesn’t say anywhere, “no sharing.””

“Olive Garden cannot stay in business if everyone shares the same unlimited soup.”

“The place is jammed. They’re making a fortune. No one cares if we share the soup. We’re only two people. How much soup and salad can we eat?”

“It’s stealing. It’s like downloading illegal music.”

“You download illegal music all the time.”

“That’s different. “They see you here doing it. No one sees you at home downloading music.”

“Oh, so if they don’t see you stealing it’s not a crime. You’re some “citizen” of the month!”

“I won’t download anymore music. Is that better?”

“I don’t care. Look, if you’re going to be such a stick in the mud, we’ll each get our own unlimited soup.”

“Fine, that’s best.

“But I don’t care what you say. We’re just getting one salad, I can never finish half of it.”

We ordered our meal. The waitress seemed pissed that we were such cheapo customers, and assumed she was going to get a small tip. We each ate three bowls of soup. But I wouldn’t touch the salad, which only made Sophia act like more of a temptress.

“Try it. Just take a bite.”

“No”

“Stop being such a wimp.”

Which was the exact same thing Eve told Adam.

“OK, I’ll try it. Just a second. Wait…. OK..”

I tried the salad. Sophia shook her head in disbelief.

“Did you just wait until the waitress walked away before you ate one tiny piece of lettuce, so she wouldn’t see you eating it?”

“No.”

“Yes you did!”

“Fine. I don’t like to be humiliated. What if she said something. What if a spotlight went on us and voice came on saying: “Look over here everyone. This couple is stealing an unlimited salad because they were too cheap to order two unlimited salads like they were supposed to.””

“You need help. Serious help. Why don’t you blog about THIS tonight?”

“About what?”

“About how you were afraid of eating the salad because the nineteeen year old waitress might see you and look down at you?”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Wimp.”

HAPPY NOW, SOPHIA?

By the way, the soup and salad (we never finished out first bowl of salad) at Olive Garden were pretty good.

So, here’s my revised list:

The Cheesecake Factory
Olive Garden
Denny’s
Coco’s
El Torito
TGI Friday’s
Chili’s
Souplantation
Bennigan’s
Outback Steakhouse
Fuddrucker’s
Benihana
Applebee’s
Red Lobster
Pizza Hut

Today on Blogebrity: As the Blog Turns

Dear Chinese People,

November 14, 2005 / / 64 Comments

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Dear Chinese People,

For most of my life, your fine Chinese cuisine has been there for me.   No matter where I went, I always found the comfort of your Kung Pao chicken and Hunan Beef.   I’ve feasted in some of your fancier establishments.  I’ve slurped down your food in your cheaper ones.  I’ve enjoyed your $4.99 lunch specials that come with wonton soup and eggroll.   I’ve frequently answered my door to find your smiling delivery man standing there with outstretched arms.

I love you, Chinese food.   You have been my favorite for as long as I remember.  I used to dream about you and your lo mein.

But lately, I feel as if we’ve grown apart.   Although I still enjoy our dates, I feel unfulfilled with your sauces.   Your old standards seem a bit boring.  I’ve tried every dish on your menu.  Every combination platter.   And my eyes have begun to wander.  

Last night, I was hungry, so I drove to my local restaurant, "Hunan Cafe."  But as I was about to pull into the parking lot, I could smell something sensual drawing me elsewhere — to "Chili Thai House" across the street.

I know this is hard to hear, but over the past year,  I’ve found myself thinking more and more about your two beautiful cousins — Japanese food and Thai food.   While I love your  Chinese "earthiness," there is a certain elegance to these other cuisines that you seem to lack.  I ‘m not sure I even think of you as my "favorite" anymore.  At night, rather than dream about lo mein, I dream about the slender curves of the sashimi at "Tokyo Fish."

I’ve tried to keep our relationship going.   My Jewish family is much more comfortable with me going out to be with you than with these more "exotic" Asians.    I’ve tried to add spice to our relationship by doing it in different ways — Cantonese, Hunan, and Szechuan.  I’ve even gone to Chinatown to eat in restaurants that cater to real Chinese customers, but some of those weird-looking dishes were just too kinky for me.

Sometimes, we need to —

"Let go of the past and be grateful for what we had." 

I read that on a fortune cookie from a Chinese Restaurant in Sacramento.    And the cookie is very wise.   We both need to learn from our experiences and move on.

You will never be lonely.  Everyone loves you.   And so do I — just not the same way as I used to.    I wish you all the happiness in the world.  In fact, Double Happiness.   Although I am currently very attracted to the gentle allure of sushi and the complexity of Tum Kha Gai,  I will always remember you as my first love.

Forever yours,

Neil

My Mother is a Giving Person

November 2, 2005 / / 51 Comments

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Nick Douglas of Blogebrity’s kind mention of my mother made me think about how wonderful my mother is as a person.  She is probably the most giving person I know.

Maybe too giving. 

Mom, this is for you.

 

My Mother is a Giving Person
A Post in Three Chapters
by Neil Kramer

Chapter 1

My Mother Gives Away a Sweater

My mother owns an ugly plaid sweater.   When Sophia and I were in New York last month, Sophia politely told my mother that the sweater was nice.  When we returned back to Los Angeles, we discovered the god-awful sweater sitting in Sophia’s suitcase.  Sophia called my mother and asked why.

My mother answered, “Because you liked it so much.”

Chapter 2

My Mother Gives Away a Noodle Kugel

When we were sitting shiva for my father, people were supposed to follow the tradition of bringing food to the mourners.  Instead, we had constant guests and my mother was serving them.

The very sweet Adele Horowiz from Apartment 4D brought down some cookies for the guests and a “special” noodle kugel for us.   Sophia and I each had a piece and it was the best thing we ever ate.  We went downstairs to pick up some more soda for the visitors.  We then returned, eager for another piece of the kugel.  But when we walked in, we saw five new visitors, and my mother was serving them all OUR KUGEL.

Sophia and I surrounded my mother in the kitchen.  .

“What are you doing?” asked Sophia.  “That noodle kugel was for us, not them!”

“It was so good,” answered my mother.   “I wanted them to try it.”

I pointed to a huge pile of cakes, cookies, and candy sitting on the kitchen counter.

“Give them some of this crap!” I said.  “Not Adele Horowitz’s homemade noodle kugel!”

“That’s right,” added Sophia.  “We’re the mourners.  We deserve the kugel!”

I sniffed the air.  It smelled like kugel.

“I can still smell how good it is.”

Sophia peeked into the living room.

“You better keep on smelling.  Because I think your guests are finishing the last piece.”

Chapter 3

My Mother Gives Away My House in Malibu

A funeral, like a wedding, is a place to you see relatives you never see otherwise.  When we were sitting shiva, my cousin, Brian, came to visit.  He is twelve years younger than me.  He lives in upstate New York and I’ve seen him twice in my life.

While my mother talked with some visitors, Brian and I went into my room to talk and get to know each other better.  I  was flattered when I learned that I was a major influence on his life. 

“When I was little, you and your parents took me to my first Star Wars movie.  Remember?  You had these little R2D2 wind-up toys.  And your mother gave me one.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah.” I said, not really remembering these toys at all.  “That’s great, just great.”

He told me that after the movie, Star Wars became the center of his life.  He saw every movie and became a major collector of Star Wars memorabilia.  He said he made a good amount of money buying and selling these collectibles on Ebay. 

“I’m glad I got you started!” I said, laughing.

“Oh, I’ve had even better luck with your comic books and baseball cards,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked, suddenly confused.

“Didn’t you know?  I once came visiting when you were in college.  Your mother gave me all of your comic books and baseball cards.”

“She did?”

I always wondered what happened to my comics and baseball cards.  Unlike my father, who kept every receipt since 1950, my mother threw out everything.  I always assumed my mother tossed out my childhood stuff when she cleaned out my closet.

“You had this one Archie comic…” Brian said, taking out an imaginary comic book and lovingly opening a page, “…that was in such excellent condition — I was able to sell it for $75!”

“$75?”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve sold quite a few of the comic books and some of the baseball cards.  But I’m definitely holding on to that Roberto Clemente.”

“I had a Roberto Clemente?!”

“Oh, yeah.  Mint condition.”

“What else did my mother give you?”

“Well, I’ve added a lot to my Matchbox car collection…”

“I thought they were still in the closet.”

“No, I combined our collections and won some contest for ‘America’s Best Matchbox Car Collection.’  I got $5000 from the Mattel Company.”

“I loved my Matchbox collection.”

“They’re fun.  But they’re not worth as much as that Lionel train set you had.”

“My train set?”

“Your mother said you only used it once.  It wasn’t easy getting it into my Honda Civic”

“I completely forgot I had a train set.”

“That’s what your mother said.  She said you called it “boring'”

“It was boring.  Who wants to watch a train go round and round?”

“I think it’s boring also, but trust me, there are A LOT of collectors out there who don’t.  It did really well on Ebay when I sold it for… well, let’s just say it did VERY VERY well…”

“What do you do for a living?  I mean, besides selling my old stuff on Ebay?”

“I used to do sales for a lighting company, but I quit because I was making so much money with…”

“MOM!” 

I yelled it like I did when I was ten years old and wanted to rat on someone.

“MOM!”

“What?”  she called out from the kitchen.

“Mom, come here!”

I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to my my grieving mother.   All I could think about was the house in Malibu I could have bought with the money from my old baseball cards.

My mother entered.

“Did you call?”

She was carrying a plate of food, wrapped in aluminum foil.

“Oh,  hi, Brian.   There you are.  I was just saving you a piece of this delicious noodle kugel to take home.”

The Amazing Race 9: Albuquerque

October 9, 2005 / / 33 Comments

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Proposal:  a new fish-out-of-water reality TV show. 

Backstory:  Separated couple Neil and Sophia go to the famous Balloon Fiesta in Albuquerque.  It is a once in a lifetime experience as hundreds of multi-colored balloons take off into the sky.   The only problem is that you have to be there at 5:45 A.M.  and it is 30 degrees freezing, and all they have are clothes from Los Angeles.  Afterwards, Neil takes Sophia for lunch to a local "institution" that he read about online on a site dedicated to locals voting on the "Best of Albuquerque."  The food is awful.  Sophia says that every restaurant he found online has ended up being bad.  Neil wonders if perhaps he should have been more suspicious of a site on which locals voted "Domino’s" as the best pizza in town. 

Added twist:  By nightfall, Sophia is sick with a really bad cold from being outside watching the balloons.  She is upset about being sick while away.  She shivers, sneezes and is a little cranky. 

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She asks Neil to bring her some chicken soup. 

Tonight’s episode:  Neil does not know Albuquerque.  Where will he buy Sophia chicken soup?  Can Neil make up for his bad New Mexico culinary choices with the best soup that Albuquerque has to offer?  Is any restaurant open in town past 8 o’clock?  Can he find it quickly?  Can he make Sophia less grouchy?

Opening credits roll for the show.

The clock is ticking.  Neil goes to the front desk clerk at the hotel and asks her if she knows where to get some good chicken soup.  The bleach-blond University of New Mexico student stares at him blankly.

"Huh?"

"Chicken soup."

"Oh.  I don’t live around here.  But sometimes I go to Tia Maria’s for lunch.  You can try there."

The hotel is in a "hotel circle" and there aren’t too many restaurant choices.  Neil drives down the block to Tia Maria. 

To the girl behind Tia Maria’s counter:

"Do you have any soups?"

"We have tortilla soup."

"OK…"

"Let me see if we still have any…"

She leaves for what seems like five minutes.  Neil sees her flirting with some waiter, a dumb-looking college student who Neil thinks looks like the brother of the girl at the hotel’s front desk.  "Tia Maria Girl" finally returns.

"Sorry, no more tortilla soup."

"Can you recommend a place to get some chicken soup.   My wife caught a cold from standing outside at the Balloon festival."

"It sure was awful cold today."

"So, do you know any places for chicken soup?"

"Hmm… if you want chicken, we have a chicken burrito."

"No, thank you.  Soup."

"Oh.  Maybe you should try Applebee’s a mile down.  I think they have soup."

Neil goes to Applebee’s.  Neil meets Laquisha at the front counter, the only black person he will meet in New Mexico. 

"Can I help you?"

"I’d like to order some soup to go."

"You should have driven through our drive-through window."

"Oh, sorry.  Didn’t see it."

"Fine.  Just for next time."

"OK, next time."

"Now walk towards the back near the restroom and you’ll see a sign that says ‘Take-Out.’  Andrea will help you there."

Neil goes to meet Andrea.  She is very cheery.

"Hello there!"

"I’d like to order some soup."

"Excellent.  Which soup?"

"What do you have?"

"Today we have cream of broccoli and French onion."

"Ugh.  That’s not exactly what I was looking for.  Do you have any chicken soup?"

"No.  But everyone loves our cream of broccoli!  It’s one of my favorites."

Neil begins to wonder if the concept of "chicken soup" has ever reached New Mexico.

"Maybe you should try Subway."

"Subway?"

Neil remembers that Subway actually does sell soup.  He remembers he once brought Sophia to Subway and she actually liked her turkey sandwich. 

Neil heads for Subway.  Behind the counter is a high school art-rock dude with Buddy Holly glasses.  He checks out my glasses as I approach.

"Hey, dude, nice glasses."

"Yours too."

"What’cha gonna have?"

"You have soup?"

"Oh, man, you don’t want our soup.  It tastes like shit today.  Can I make you a sandwich?"

"I actually came for the soup."

"Shit, man.  Who comes to Subway for their soup?  Even Jared doesn’t eat our soup."

He guffaws at his own joke.

"Go to David’s Restaurant on Central.  They have good soup."

Neil quickly drives to David’s Restaurant.  He wonders if it is a Jewish deli.   David sounds Jewish, right?

Neil enters David’s Restaurant.  It looks like a broken down shack.  A painting of Jesus is on the wall.  A song plays with the refrain "Jesus is the Reason."  David looks like a Hell’s Angel.

"Uh, you wouldn’t have chicken soup, would you?"

"Yes, we do!"

"Alright!"

Neil gives a secret thumbs up sign towards the painting of Jesus.

"My wife got a cold at the Balloon Fiesta."

"That’s too bad.  I’ll put in some green chile peppers.  That always helps when my wife has a cold."

"Interesting."

"Green chile peppers have a lot of Vitamin C."

"Hey, thanks a lot!  My wife… well, actually, we’re separated…

Neil likes this guy so much that he feels like opening up to him.

"… and I’m not sure what’s going on.  We have a good time, but we still fight a lot, but she’s… she’s… my father just… well…anyway, she’s going to love this soup."

"She sure will.  Maybe it’ll even save your marriage."

Neil rushes back to the hotel, making it back in the Amazing Race’s allotted time.  Sophia is in bed, sniffling, moaning, watching the even-worse-than-LA local Albuquerque news.  Neil flies through the door.

"Here I am — with some great chicken soup!"

Sophia takes a sip of the soup.

"Yuch!  What’s in this soup — chile peppers?"

Neil tastes the soup.  It’s awful.  Neil remembers that painting of Jesus and how he was smiling.  Has Neil just been "Punk’d" by Jesus?

"Thanks a lot, Jesus!"

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Ode to the Coffee Shop

September 18, 2005 / / 62 Comments

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(photo by Ronald C Saari)

I was driving down La Cienega Blvd. when I noticed that they finally took down the "Ships Coffee Shop" sign.  Of course, Ships closed years ago, but they kept the sign up even after they threw down the restaurant to build a used car lot.   I figured they were going to always keep the sign up as a historic marker, much like they left up a piece of the Berlin Wall.

Ships holds a special place for me because when I moved to LA, I had my first Thanksgiving in Los Angeles there.  I sat by myself, along with some other lonely guys eating their "Thanksgiving Day Specials."   The waitress that night wasn’t especially friendly, but she was our "Mom" for the night.  Although I don’t remember her smiling, she did bring me an extra dish of cranberry sauce.

I’ve had a lifelong attraction to coffee shops (or diners on the East Coast), but Ships was unique for one big reason:  there was a toaster on every table.  You toasted your own bread!   When I saw that, I thought it was the cleverest gimmick I had ever seen.  I used to come in just for coffee and toast, just for the pleasure of making my own toast!   My toast always came out burnt, but hey, making it was exciting!  

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Ships was a prime example of the "Googie" 50’s-60’s style of architecture.  Designed by Martin Stern Jr., Ships was famous for its Coffee Shop Modern style, from the restaurant itself to the spellbinding "space-age" marquee in front.  There may be pseudo-50’s diners popping up all over the place nowadays, like Mel’s Diner, but they are nothing like the real thing.  Sadly, there are only a few authentic ones left, including Pann’s near LAX.  I bring my parents there whenever they fly in from NY.  It’s one of my favorite places in Los Angeles, especially on a Sunday when people show up after church.

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I’m not sure why I like coffee shops and diners so much.  Maybe because they are simple places where the rich and poor, black and white, sit right next to each other.   My father is a big coffee drinker and I started drinking coffee at an early age, despite my mother telling me that it would "stunt my growth."

In high school, I wasn’t much of a drinker or party guy.  I actually never enjoyed the taste of beer.  My typical Saturday night would be going to the movies with a friend or friends, and then heading for either the Hilltop Diner or the Palace Diner near Queens College.  For the price of some fries and a coffee, you could sit there for three hours bullshitting about nothing, much like I do today with my blog.  This is my new diner, only now I drink instant coffee.

Do kids today still hang out at diners?  I know they go to Starbucks and coffee bars, but it just ain’t the same experience, especially if everyone at your Starbucks is the same age as you.  It’s good education to rub shoulders with families, cops, workers, and drunkards, all sitting booth to booth.  And half the fun of eating out is messing around with the waitress.  Does anyone remember the unscrewing the top of the salt trick?  Flipping off the Starbucks "barrista" just doesn’t give you the same thrill.

In college, I wrote half of my term papers at Tom’s Diner, made famous by Suzanne Vega and as a backdrop for Seinfeld’s diner (although the real place wasn’t half as interesting). 

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I would hang out there with friends, just like I did in Queens.  The conversation may have been more cultural — arguing about Plato’s Republic, for instance, but basically it was the same bullshitting as it was in high school.

I added a whole new vocabulary when I came to Los Angeles:  Norm’s, Du-par’s, Jan’s, and Canter’s (although that is technically a deli).  Once I started dating, my coffee-shop outings lessened.   What woman wants to be taken out to Norm’s?   A couple of "hip" coffee shops opened in town, like "Swingers" on Beverly,  but the hip concept sort of ruined it for me.  You don’t really go to a coffee shop to be "seen."

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When I was little, I used to love going with my mother to work because her office was in Union Square — right next door to Jason’s Coffee Shop, a really cool old-fashioned place. 

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In the late 80’s, as the area got more trendy, they gutted the place and renamed it "Coffee Shop."  The waitresses were all model types.  The customers were all twenty-three years old and my mother didn’t feel comfortable going there anymore.   It may have been a cool place for awhile, but it never had the spirit of a real "coffee shop" — even if they did keep the old sign. 

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LadyMathematician recently sent me a NY Times article about life in the trendy Lower West Side, where some coffee shops are getting so hip that they are employing bouncers and using velvet ropes.

Debbie Harry frequents the Empire Diner, a Deco-era stalwart on 10th Avenue and 22nd Street, said Donovan Low, the night manager there, while Mike Tyson was a regular at Chelsea Square. The Star on 18 Diner Café, on 10th Avenue between 17th and 18th Streets, draws a young crowd of mixed gay and straight groups; Cafeteria, Pop Burger, and Diner 24, on Eighth Avenue and 15th Street, attract a more self-consciously stylish crowd.

Sophia wasn’t a big fan of many coffee shops.  She much preferred the Coffee Bean and classier joints or ethnic hole-in-the-walls.  But now that I’m sort of a single man, I’ve started revisiting some of my old haunts.  There’s no better place for a single guy to go for a cheap meal and friendly smile from a waitress.

Oh, by the way, I’m writing this at IHOP.

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Stretching the Jamba Juice

July 22, 2005 / / 27 Comments

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The following is taken verbatim from the Jamba Juice newsletter "Jamba Whirl" that I picked up at my local Jamba Juice (true!):

When Shellie Wilkinson first walked into Jamba Juice in October 2003, she wasn’t thinking about losing weight or changing lifestyle.  She was simply hungry — and wanted something to boost her energy level. 

But it wasn’t long before Shellie realized that drinking down a delicious smoothie (with a shot of wheatgrass on the side) was the perfect alternative to a fatty, fast food lunch.  It tasted great, filled her up, and even better, it let her feel energized.  After about a month, she was already a few pounds lighter.

"I started going every day, and pretty soon everyone at Jamba knew me," says Shellie, 37, an entrepreneur and mother of two who lives in Santa Barbara, CA.  "I would get in line, and by the time it was my turn to pay, my smoothie would be ready!"

Her newly found energy also inspired her to purse a new passion:  karate.  She and a friend signed up for lessons, and she began going three hours a week.  Other changes followed:  she gave up alcohol, stopped eating after 6 p.m. and prepared lighter, healthier dinners. 

The result?  In one year, Shellie lost 60 pounds and dropped from a size 16 to a size 8.  She’s now a fit 146 pounds and has earned a purple belt in karate.

"I had tried every diet out there," she explains.  "Nothing worked.  I realized Jamba smoothies offered good carbs, nutrition and energy and when combined with my other lifestyle changes, the weight just started coming off.  Thank you, Jamba!"

I like Jamba Juice smoothies, but do you really think Shellie lost all that weight by drinking the almost 400 caloried Jamba Juice smoothies every day — and not from the other things she did?

If I wake up every morning and play with myself for an hour, then jog for ten miles, then give up alcohol, and then eat a salad every day for lunch — can I really say that playing with myself every morning made me lose 60 pounds? 

Jared and Subway.  Shellie and Jamba Juice.   The "Citizen of the Month"’s revolutionary new diet plan. 

Could I write a book, "Playing With Yourself —  Into Thinness!"?   Would Oprah take me as a guest?

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