The Hollywood Reservoir

Would you believe this is Los Angeles?

This isn't about food.  But, it's so beautiful I had to share.  Did you know that up in the hills above the most cloyingly Hollywoodish part of Hollywood, right in the shadow of the Hollywood sign, there is a huge and beautiful reservoir?  You drive up from Gower, then let yourself get totally turned around as you wind through tiny residential streets (lined with an amazingly eclectic set of houses). The city slowly fades away, and you end up in this lush green oasis with very little foot traffic (and an odd tendency towards Europeans among the small crowd who was there).  The Hollywood Reservoir is beautiful.

There's a dam with weird little bear's heads sticking out below its walkway.  There's a wide path, perfect for walking or biking, and the air smells cleanly of evergreens.  The path doesn't go all the way around: it ends where it meets residential Tahoe Street.  You could keep going on Tahoe at this point; you'd end up near Universal City (yes, the reservoir is that big).

Here's a Google Map of the reservoir.  We drove to Weidlake Drive, and parked where it meets Montlake Drive and Lake Hollywood.  You enter the premises there, and are met first with the dam.  You should go; it's lovely.

my sister's house

There is always a basket filled with a variety of teabags in my sister's kitchen.

My brother-in-law Ray doesn't mind that I use his "Ray" mug, even though it says "Ray" on it.  It's from Hawaii.  It's my favorite. 

There is a giant glass apothecary jar in the cabinet filled with Cheerios, are there are situations like this happening on the wall.

These are good things when you have jetlag and are up at 5 o'clock in the morning.

When the kids finally wake up, they snuggle with you and let you hang out with their toes.

It's a cozy kind of place.

i will be taking the tube to barcelona, thank you

This is the best thing I've ever seen.  If only it were real.

Huge heaving sigh...

I will take the blue line to Mexico City, from there to Barcelona, and then to Athens.  Aaaah!

--
from the amazing Colossal blog

Tannaz Sassooni is...

- moving to los feliz
- moving to the cutest apartment in the history of life
- listening to move shake drop (the flo rida mix) over and over and over again.
- actually had to go into the bathroom at work to dance more than one time this week. seriously!
- wanna come to Little Dom's for brunch?
- distractingly obsessed with apartmenttherapy (from whom i stole the photo above. hello, dream kitchen)
- maybe i should go on who wants to be a millionaire? (ooh.. or don't forget the lyrics!)
- Can Not Wait for beatles rock band. ohmygod.
- will happily take any extra le creuset kitchenware off your hands
- kind of wishes she could have kevin's kitchen table from panama
- going to miss her bethie
- unable to fathom how she used to post on this thing every day
- smeg. smeg. smeg.

the blues, unleavened

i don't want to be here right now. i want to be home, with ample time to pore over recipe after flourless recipe, using the excuse of restriction to let my imagination, and my appetite for dessert, go wild. i mean, it's the tradition of my people, right? tomorrow night is the first night of passover, and i've promised my mom i'll bring a dessert to her house. thursday, we have our second seder at my aunt's house, and i can't show up empty-handed. i'm also in charge of dessert at friday night's surprisingly thoughtful and tradition-filled "rock and roll seder" at my friends' home. i'd really love to be writing out shopping lists for brown butter hazelnut cakes (a religious experience if i've ever heard of one), and pondering over what fruit would make the best filling for meringue sandwich cookies (leaning towards raspberry...then again, chocolate is one of my favorite fruits). i feel like this is what i should be doing. i can already taste the caramel matzoh crunch. instead, i have to test the new features in our shot tagging tool, figure out why the goose's model seems to be missing a wing and why the pigs' ears have no controls. all in a day's work, but then there's the fact that my car is broken, i'll probably spend the better part of tomorrow morning at the dealer, and i'm not even sure how i'm getting to my mom's house for seder tomorrow night. big heaving sigh woe is me waa waa waa.

[thanks paurian for the photo]

A Little Film: Oktapodi

I'm just going to take a minute to mention a little animated short that I'm really excited about. I work at Dreamworks Animation, and last year, they brought in ten or so guys from France to be trained for several months before moving to India to head up Dreamworks' studio there as animation supervisors. These little guys (little in age, as well as stature: they were just out of school, having graduated from Gobelins, a very prestigious animation school in Paris) with their backpacks, frequent cigarette breaks, and kisses on both cheeks, were an adorable addition to our campus.

Towards the end of their stint in LA, Dreamworks screened all of these kids' final project films from Gobelins. All of them were impressive, but one stood out. Oktapodi is a madcap 3-minute story about what happens when you separate two octopi in love on a Greek island. It's really wonderful: from the Greek music, to the lovable octopi themselves, the dreamy Mediterranean architecture, to the clever, fast-paced story. It was clear that it was well beyond a simple student film, and now it's nominated for an Oscar! How cool is that?!

Now, it probably won't win. Pixar has a contender in the Best Animated Short Film category, Presto, so there goes that. But, I think it's good to point out: while Presto had all the resources of the most renowned animation studio in the world behind it, Oktapodi was made by just six students. Pretty awesome.

I really liked Presto and a couple of the other nominees as well, but tomorrow I'll be rooting for our boy Julien and the other five, and their two lovelorn octopi.

You can watch the entire film (that's right, all three minutes of it), here.

a beautiful day in the neighborhood

what's more gorgeous than los angeles the day after it rains? nothing.

even billboards look amazing.

lucky there's no laws against taking pictures while driving. yet.

Items of Note

More real stuff coming, but this is real stuff too.

1. These are two trees on my street. Aren't they pretty?

2. This is an Ascaso espresso machine. I am desperately in love with it. Anyone have 700 dollars burning a hole in his or her pocket?

Shoot, didn't think so. (PS, this model is called The Dream. Fitting.)


3. This is 2 photos of The Golden State, taken by Tasha of Blackburn and Sweetzer. Almost ready for prime time, this hub of beer and sausage and Scoops is. She chatted a bit with Jason and Jim, the owners, last week. Check it out, along with more pictures, here.


4. This is another pair of photos taken by Tasha. She's good, isn't she? This time, it's of the Norm Maxwell Gallery, which is also on Fairfax, next door to the Golden State. She talked with Norm, the owner of the gallery, presumably around the same time she talked to Jason and Jim. He features urban art: some local, some international, some affordable, some pricey. I'm really excited about what he's bringing to Fairfax. Check out Tasha's post, with lots more photos and lots more from Norm, here.


5. This was the spread at Din Tai Fung (the new space, which is quite bright and modern and pretty!), last Sunday morning. Lots of amazing dumplings obviously, but see that near-empty plate of fried rice in the corner? Yeah, the reason it's empty? Because that humble mix of rice, scallions, and egg is magically delicious.

Dumplings are tasty, but they can be deadly. Thank goodness they come with instructions!

6. This was a wonderful winter night. Local friends and visiting friends, drinks in the lounge at Casa Del Mar (which is to say couches, fireplace, cozy), and a heated game of Apples to Apples. When it's cold outside, laughing keeps you warm.

7. This is a painting by Ryan Callis. You can find it right now at Taylor De Cordoba gallery on La Cienega. Inside the slit, it says "It's OK". Which, in fact, is true.


Okay, I think that's enough items for today.

Oh wait, one more! Check out the timestamp on this post. Friends, it's 1234-time! Go on, sing the song!

--

The Golden State is at 426 N. Fairfax Blvd., between Oakwood and Rosewood, and might be open by mid-February?
Norm Maxwell Gallery is at 430 N. Fairfax, just north of Golden State.
Din Tai Fung is at 1108 S. Baldwin Ave. in Arcadia. Note that this address is for the original restaurant. The new space is just around the corner, behind the original. If you're going for weekend dumplings, get there before they open: a line forms.
Hotel Casa Del Mar is at 1910 Ocean Way in Santa Monica.
Taylor De Cordoba is at 2660 S. La Cienega in Culver City. Ryan Callis' works are on display there until February 14, but pretty much all of their artists are great.

maybe if i put it here, i'll actually read them

books to read:

about alice -- you read calvin trillin and you think to yourself, man, this guy is just so lovable. his love affair with his wife alice is legendary.
bowl of cherries -- mcsweeneys. the first novel of a ninety-year-old man. supposed to be awesome
consider the lobster -- i never read anything by david foster wallace. this one has an essay about a grammar dictionary. clearly he was a man after my own heart.
temple grandin -- she's the foremost expert on humane slaughter, and she has autism. i want more information.
the new pinker one -- a new language one!
the new oliver sacks book -- 'tales of music and the brain'. um, hello?

Sunday is made for genmai-cha

Today I got an email from the editor of the Shofar, an Iranian Jewish quarterly that my dad has a hand in publishing. She wants me to contribute something to their winter issue, which is very exciting. I started to reply, but quickly realized it's not going to be a one-liner. I put on some hot water, and pulled out a couple cookbooks. It was time to do some research.

Let's face it: this isn't a coffee home. The coffee I make in my little French press never comes out as good as I'd like, and the stupid Senseo I got for 'free' is a swill-machine that ust takes up precious counter space. We do tea really well though. Today was the day for genmai-cha: a nutty-tasting Japanese blend of green tea and toasted brown rice. I have a fancy tin of the stuff I was given as a gift -- really great tea from an Australian company called Tease. Perfect after a night of over-imbibing, I boiled some water and poured it directly over the leaves. I'm always skeptical that the leaves, toasted rice grains, and twiggy bits will actually settle to the bottom and let me drink in peace, but they always do.

Then began the 'quick reply', which was in fact a deliciously satisfying archaeological dig through many topics and many media, just what I love. Pore through old interviews from the cookbook, looking for Hanukkah-related recipes. There are none. Find an old sufganiyot recipe, get reminded of its symbolism -- doughnuts fried in oil to symbolize the ancient miracle of one day's oil lasting eight days. Take a couple sips, burn tongue, call Violet and Saeed to ask if there are any Persian fritters that would be suitable for Hanukkah. Settle into bed a little deeper. Find the recipe for zoloubia -- fried funnel-cake-like sweets doused generously in a honey syrup, in Najmieh Batmanglij's New Food of Life. Hmm. Kind of a stretch though. Ooh, there's a page on the winter solstice feast. Carrot brownies? Fascinating. Whoa, carrot pudding. Saffron pudding. Crap, I digress.

Pour more hot water over the now-soggy leaves. Pull out my beloved Book of Jewish Food; consult. Claudia Roden has never let me down, and once again, she holds the answer: apparently Egyptian Jews eat fritters called 'zalabia' at Hanukkah time. Zoloubia is not a stretch at all. (And for Russian Hanukkah, you douse a sugarcube with brandy, set it on fire, and throw it in your tea. Not even remotely relevant, but rad!).

It comes to this: All I want to do is sit on my bed and read Claudia Roden and write and pour glass after glass over my soggy tea leaves, but alas, errands call. All I did was answer one email. How is it already noon?!

Two Photos

"Au café, il y a toujours une chance de parler, d'écouter, d'émouvoir, d'être ému."

(At the cafe, there is always the chance to talk, to listen, to move, to be moved.)
(Indulge me, I'm taking a French class...)
(These photos are by Pierrick Bourgault. Aren't they lovely?)

4 non-food-related things that are really cool

Oh, Los Angeles, you never fail me.

• The Silent Movie Theater. I mean, they show a documentary about tea, complete with an intermission tea party -- a generous serving of rare oolong and home-made potstickers -- on their lovely Spanish patio. They screen Jim Henson rarities, and when the 8pm and 10pm screenings sell out, they add another screening at midnight. There are couches. What's not to love?
  

• Taking the subway to Staples Center. Faster than traffic, easy peasy, drops you off across the street, and if you're lucky, the whole train will break into Bon Jovi's "Wanted, Dead or Alive" mid-commute.

• Tuesday nights at Heartbeat House, an awesome dance studio in Atwater Village. First, JP will whip you into gear with his Latin/hip-hop stylings and sweaty, high-energy beats in his Zumba class. Then Heather gets you to work muscles you didn't know you had, all in the most feminine way, in her Bellydance class. Might be my favorite two hours of the whole week. (They also have an 80s dance party class, people!)
  

• Thai massage. Is the best thing ever. For one, it's cheap ($45 for an hour!). For another, along with all the regular massage stuff, they yoga you. So, not only are you kneaded and smushed, but your sore, stagnant, muscles are stretched in just the right ways. Quite possibly the best, and most effective, massage I've ever had.

[Thanks to KarenLeah for the Silent Movie Theater photo.]

Did someone say...

caption contest?


come on people, i'll even throw in a prize...

Coast Highway Holiday

There are a million places this post could begin. The trip to Paris that didn't happen. The appeal to friends that reminded me, yet again, what a wide range of truly interesting people I'm lucky to know. Then again, it could just as well start in a dorm room on the sixth floor of Dykstra Hall on an otherwise uneventful night in 1996, when, from the room next door, an unfamiliar voice authoritatively yelled out the answer to my question of how many cups is a stick of butter. It's not unusual for me to get mired in options (maybe this is why it's taken me so long to post this damn thing!).

But I'll get to the point. My winter holiday was everything a vacation should be: a restful break enjoying perfect California Christmastime weather with best friends, close family (peppered with a few choice solo moments), and what seems like an unfair amount of laughter. And through all this, I somehow managed to trace the contour of the California coast: the 'big trip' consisted of four days in sweet, cozy Cambria, including a drive up Highway 1 through Big Sur to Monterey, then back through Salinas, home of both John Steinbeck and the best cornbread I've ever had (Seriously amazing stuff. I got a full order for dessert). I came home just in time to drive down to Laguna Beach (delicious dinner party that culminated with the whole house crammed in one room dancing to their own karaoke-ing voices, then beach walk, art gallery, and Zinc Cafe -- really, doesn't suck), then a few days later piled into the car with the parents, the sister, the brother-in-law, and three kiddies, for a day at the Santa Barbara Zoo. It was like a week-and-a-half-long game of peek-a-boo with the Pacific ocean!

But, let's focus on the Cambria part, shall we? So, for as long as I've known my friend Brad (eleven years and counting...aww), I've heard stories about his idyllic youth in the small coastal town. Thanks to his generous invitation, and his darling mom's kind hospitality, Rachel -- another close college friend -- and I spent a few days in his childhood home, hanging out with his mom and sister and having a grand old time. It turns out that Brad's family is a self-contained comedy act: whether we were taking walks through the bluffs overlooking the beach, rolling from winery to winery , opening 'presents' on Christmas morning (Which lucky one did Santa leave a stick of gum for? Who got the bottle of Excedrin?!), or just lounging on the couch, indulgently poring through back issues of Sunset Magazine, we were cracking up the whole time. Who needs expensive spas and retreats? For true relaxation, all you need is a laughing vacation.

We also learned that Brad and his family know every single person in Cambria. From every waiter at cozy Robin's restaurant, to the mailman at the Cambria Pines Lodge -- home of the town's only bar -- everyone is on a first-name, how's-the-family, basis. In fact, when we visited Main Street Grill, the setting of many of Brad's stories of his formative first job (for which I am personally thankful: after all, it is here that he learned the skills that led to my first, glorious encounter with barbecued beef ribs, on the rickety balcony of a dingy college apartment so many summers ago), Brad was so busy schmoozing we hardly saw him at the table.

It was fun to learn a bit about Brad's history: his mom told us stories of her youth in Illinois (how's this math: 2 parents + 6 kids + 2 pies = 1/4 pie per person), and how the family made its way to the west coast. She must have been tickled to be spending her Christmas vacation wowing two Jewish girls from the city with tales from the hog farm -- 4-H and all. And Brad was more than happy to share his more recent past with us -- by way of walking around in his Letterman jacket, along with the biggest grin I've ever seen.

We even managed to fit in some excursions: an afternoon in downtown San Luis Obispo offered a trip to the city's eponymous mission and to the local art gallery, with its awesome exhibit of photos of California's migrant workers. We even made it to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. Good lord those otters are cute! One was obsessed with grooming her face and kept smooshing it into adorable expressions.

It's kind of a unique phenomenon: you've heard so much about a place, and the people in it over so many years that it nearly becomes part of your own story. Cambria has long been a member of our circle of friends. Nice to finally spend some quality time.

Happiness is...

... being on vacation.

Baby Chucks!!

i don't know why i'm on a photo-posting kick right now, but these shoes, belonging to my nephew, are ridiculously adorable.

Fact:

Going to the Hollywood Farmers' Market on a Sunday morning guarantees a sunny day.

Scientific testing proves it. I have a 100% success rate.

Ahh, fall in Los Angeles...

Top Chef Finale Tonight! Holy Crap!

UPDATE: Ok, so it didn't turn out the way America (or at least I) wanted it to. Tom was surely disappointed with his 'Case', but, hopefully their love affair will remain intact. But, what was the deal with everyone wearing the same clothes as they did the last day in Aspen? Weird, right? And, if they were going to do that, could they at least have chosen something pretty for gorgeous Padma to wear? That dress was so medium. Anyway. More to the point, what am I going to do with my time now?
-------------------------

Friends. The moment of truth looms. Will it be Dale, his mohawk, and his mischievous little-boy face? Will cheeky Hung show the judges that behind that cocky grin and robot-perfect technique lies some hot immigrant soul? Or will it be poised and composed Casey, quietly busting out dishes that make the judges purr, looking all the while like she has a hair and make-up entourage primping consantly her behind the scenes? Honestly, at this point, I'd be happy with whoever won.

(But what I really want is for Hung to mess up. Again. To be so sure of himself, so busy grandstanding and basking in his own glory that he forgets the sauce, or the meat, or something French-sounding. Sweet justice for a salty, salty man.)

Thoughts? Predictions? Bets?

Cozying Up to Not-My-Type

I love when this happens. You define yourself in a certain way -- you have your likes, your dislikes, and the things that just don't interest you. But then, thanks to circumstances, and the interests of those around you, you grow, and your definition of yourself changes.

One example for me is the entire continent of Asia (well, actually, not the entire continent. Far East, really, for the sake of this example). Never felt the need to get into Asian culture. I mean, I could see the merits -- obviously a strong, deep-rooted culinary history, great youth culture coming from the more metropolitan cities, and of course centuries of history and art and ninjas and all that stuff. And of course I dabbled in sushi and orange chicken and the like. But I'm a Middle-East-Mediterranean-Latin-America girl. The Far East just isn't my type. But, fortunately, I have friends who hail from this part of the world; and others who don't, but manage to be incredibly well-versed anyway. then, wouldn't you know it, I'm now fascinated with every fun Japanese phenomenon I find, I have cravings for soup dumplings and house special noodles from Mei Long Village regularly, and I've mastered much of the menu at Koreatown's less gringo-friendly pubs. Would I ever have visited Tokyo were it not for friends opening me up to the possibility? Doubtful. I even can handle spicy now, despite being a self-professed wimp when it comes to chilis. Who would've thought?

Same goes for beer. I really never liked it. (Well, not never. Between the ages of three and five, my uncle helped me acquire a taste by sneaking me little sips while he played rummy -- I became such a fan that I would later drink water out of my dad's empty beer cans just to get a taste. And no, I was not raised by a bunch of drunks. No, really.) As an adult, given the choice, I choose wine. If I go to a barbecue, I take cider. Beer really just is not my type. But then comes Library Bar. Then comes Christina Perrozzi, and all her utterly palatable beer tutelage (particularly the Blanche de Chambly, which might just be the illicit love child of beer and Champagne -- mmm). Then comes all kinds of yum contributor Jason Bernstein and his brainy passion for the details of the craft. And, what just tipped it? This interview with Mark Jilg, the brewmaster of LA's own Craftsman Brewing Company.

Friends, after reading this interview, I want to become a connoisseur of Craftsman's beers. A teeny tiny local brewery, a mere three employees strong, that hand delivers its wares in a beat-up/totally rad Studebaker? Who every summer brings back the Triple White Sage, a seasonal brew with the scent of of one of my favorite herbs? That puts out a new specialty beer every month? Truly a civic treasure! (Yes, I know Pasadena is technically not Los Angeles, but humor me here, it's as close as we're gonna get.)

I want to be a Craftsman groupie. I want to have an informed opinion of each of these flavors of the month, so I can spread the gospel of this fine organization. As it stands, they don't sell their beer in bottles, so I'd have to get myself to one of LA's more beer-centric bars to get a taste. But, oh how fun to do so! A new treat every month, fresh from the source, and a barstaff who, on the insistence of the brewery, is educated on the story behind every lovingly crafted brew. This is all right up my alley. Maybe I am a beer person after all.

[thanks dogfaceboy for the photo!]

Late to the Party

I know, the blog thing is supposed to be about catching the story the nanosecond it happens. I'm a little slow, it turns out. But two very worthy men had some very noteworthy news -- very happy for one, and very sad for the other -- in the last couple weeks, and I wanted to mention them both here:

- Jonathan Gold, the food writer for the LA Weekly, won a Pulitzer prize. He's the first food writer to do so, and I can think of few others so deserving. I once called him the mayor of my tummy, and I think many Angelenos would agree. He elevates food journalism with every review: from the eateries he chooses to highlight -- be they grimy taquerias or haute cuisine establishments, to the way his reviews are about everything -- current events, every fascinating meal he's ever had, the very latest pop culture -- and to how he puts it all together -- his articles glide seamlessly from description to analogy to editorial.

- Kurt Vonnegut, everyone's favorite wacky, political, satirical, wonderful American novelist, died. If you've read Cat's Cradle or Breakfast of Champions, or if even they just made you read Harrison Bergeron back in junior high, you get it. If not, get your hands on one of his books and catch up.