The Table

I went to Ikea to get a table, but the cheapest thing around was 250 dollars. The 250 dollar table was made for dwarfs because it was really small. To those 250 dollars I would have to add 99 dollars which Ikea charges for the transport and also the time I would need to take to figure how to put the damn thing together because I was not born a pragmatic instruction reading Swede.
I didn't say "Fuck off!" because of my good manners but I did say a heart felt "Fan ta dig, Ikea!" and went to the church thrift shop near my old place around USC. My expectations, were low but when I got there I saw a gorgeous table for 20 dollars. It seemed to good to be true, but they had no space for it at the shop so they lowered the price from 100 (which would still be a bargain) to 20. They gave me the number of a guy called Adolfo (no anti-Semitic reasons for the name hopefully) a Mexican ex-marine dude to help me carry the table home. I called Adolfo he got to the shop in 20 minutes and for 50 bucks this huge man who looked like he could kill me with a punch helped me carry the table to the first floor where I live.  The table is solid wood and it was really hard to carry it but now in the wise words of Jeffrey Lebowski "it really ties the room together."

Great 20 dollar table!

The Coen Brothers

Two years ago while visiting my friend Guy Eddon in Brooklyn, New York, I decided to go to Manhattan for a walk. I went to the Hoyt - Schermerhorn Station (love this name) to catch a subway train and when I was about to slide my card to pass the iron gate into the station I spotted a familiar face.  A long haired man making a film on the other side of the fence with his iPhone. I thought, "I know that guy. Who is he? Where do I know him from?".  I passed the iron gate and I remembered "Of course! It's a Coen brother!" but I immediately asked myself "Which Coen brother is this one?" because it would be so much stronger if I could address him by his first name and there was no way I was going to let one of my idols pass by me without a word. I put my hand out and said "Ethan Coen, I'm a big fan." He smiled shook the hand and answered "Thank you." Later when I got home I googled Coen brothers and realized I had just shaken Joel Coen's hand and he was politely laughing at the fact I switched his name with Ethan's.
Serves this small anecdote, dear reader, to introduce my latest West Hollywood adventure. Last week I went to Beverly Boulevard looking for the children's garment shop, Gymboree. I have a friend going to Japan and I want her to take something for the daughter of my friend Kiyoko. I got lost because apparently North Beverly and Beverly are different streets. Anyway I passed on Wilshire at around 5ish and saw four executives walking up the street in work casual clothing. One of them looked just like Ethan Coen. No, not like the guy I met in New York but like the other one, the one I confused with the long haired Joel. These four guys got into a building. I took a mental note of where the building was and continued to walk. I didn't find Gymboree (found their Palms store the morning after) I made the mistake of eating dinner and walked back. On my way back to my voiture I saw a group of Australians (wouldn't miss that accent if I tried) go into the same building where Ethan had entered. No one asked them shit at the entrance and the valets outside couldn't give a bigger fuck about who went in or out of the party. I got to the end of the block and turned back thinking "This will be the day I meet the second Coen brother." I got in the building, inside a fancy reception with waiters serving food to well dressed guests. I ordered a beer in the counter knowing fully well it might be 10 bucks or more, but it was worth it, I would soon meet a Coen brother. I tried to pay but the bartender said it was on the house because he thought I was part of the little gathering. I looked for Ethan, and realized the guy I had seen before was not him. Now I found myself in dire straights standing with a beer in a room full of fancy people whom I didn't know. I tried to walk around but I was isolated. I ate some hors d'oeuvres cursing the fact I had had dinner before and on the way out I took a slice of pizza.
In the end I had a second dinner but didn't find the second Coen brother. One day I hope to find the Coen brothers not accidentally, but professionally. Till then I anticipate more free food in the attempt.  

Pacific French Bakery

Today I went to buy bread in the intersection of Bronson Avenue and Washington Boulevard in a place called Pacific French Bakery. Now the name is very important because it not only sums up the place it also explains a bit of LA and the way things work and are perceived around here. The bread I go there to buy is this magnificent French bread - a mini baguette of sorts- that the costumers call "bolillos" - the Spanish word for French bread. So the "French" in the title is accounted for. The owners are Korean, since the place is near Korea Town, and in my opinion that accounts for the "Pacific" in the title. What's not in the title of the place and probably should be is that the costumers are all (with my honorable exception) Mexican salt of the Earth people.
So in the Pacific French Bakery you have a very LA situation, in which Korean people sell French bread to Mexicans. And who finds the tasty warm mini baguettes they serve there really good to eat with goat cheese and wine?  Yes, your very own Portuguese  man in "Havana". It's this diversity (and this bread) that I love in LA.
I found this place when I was studying at USC and lived near by. The place still maintains the charm. There is a couple outside the bakery that sells fruit on the weekends at great prices, so you can also stack up your vitamins for the week there. The prices at the bakery are also competitive, one dollar for five pieces of bread. The pastry is not bad either.  The clientele of the place though leads me to believe that American angelinos either don't appreciate fresh baked bread or don't know where to find it. More for me! Today I bought 30 bolillos! May the wine, cheese, bread games begin! 

Great pastry.

Quality, good prices and the occasional line at Pacific French Bakery.

Musso & Frank

I went to meet my friend Jonathan at the Musso & Frank Grill. We were looking for the most famous dry martini in Los Angeles. Musso & Frank has been open since 1919 in the heart of Hollywood, a block away from the Egyptian theater and two from the Chinese theater (and 7 from my place). The place looks like it hasn't been decorated in 90 years.  Everyone who's anyone in Hollywood has passed through the distinct oak room, the Chaplin booth is still there near the window and the bartender who serves you the dry martini can tell you anything about any celebrity's drinking habits. Today he told us how Orson Wells was a bit out when he met him in the 70's.
There is this old world touch to Musso & Frank, this old Hollywood flair that makes you think you are in a Stroheim bourgeois extravaganza or in a Chaplin skit in an expensive restaurant. The chef is French (like in the day of the opening) and when I've eaten there I've noticed the salads are acceptable. Nothing has changed, the register machine seems to be the same as in the opening day and there are still wooden phone booths. You can sometimes find an agent or a familiar celebrity walking around especially at happy hour. Shit, whenever I'm there I always feel like Douglas Fairbanks can walk in at any moment and sit next to me.

Restaurant

Bar

Late Night Surprise

Last Saturday night I went to a party in Santa Monica, Liami Lawrence's 50th birthday. I didn't know anyone in the room, I just went to be nice and give Liami a hug. At one point I decided to go for a quick walk around the neighborhood. I found this beautiful music shop still open at 11 pm. It's called Mccabe's (very interesting punt on the Jewish rebel army of the second century BCE). It's amazing! It has instruments of all shapes and forms and 2 thousand dollar classical guitars and sitars on the walls.
A few minutes after I got in I realized why this vintage jewel was open till so late. There was a concert going on in the back room and the music the electrifying music they had playing in the shop was from that concert. I still caught the end of the concert. Apparently they organize concerts with guitars every weekend.  The funny thing about LA, in this case Santa Monica is that wherever you are you are always next door to something amazing.

Beautiful classical guitars.

A sitar and a Chinese ehru to show a certain eclecticism.

The crowd after the concert in the back.

Beautiful but expensive. 2000 bucks a piece.

They even had washboards. A typical jazz instrument that is very hard to come by in Europe.

Anatomy of the Wet Burrito

I met my friend Benjamin Weiss at his Glassel Park maison and we went out with the loose plan of drinking a beer, grabbing dinner and catching the latest Wong Kar Wai movie at the local theater. We started with the York Bar on York Street.
Benjamin was telling me how he is growing a bit tired of America and the Americans and he gave the bar around us as the example of the "same old". I understood his point but I thought how we always speak with a "full belly" about these things. York bar is just like any other bar in LA but bars in LA are great, service is fast, variety is great and decoration and environment are top. I was last year in Europe and to get into a bar like that I would need to pay 12  euros (14 bucks) for a crappy beer I could get anywhere else. When you spend a lot of time in LA you start to take these things for granted.
Then we went to this really small Mexican restaurant still in Glassell Park that had both hipsters and Mexican families for clients. "Always eat where the locals eat" goes the saying and this restaurant was great in that sense. It was small, not fancy and service was not the best, but it was cheap and the food was great. Me and Ben got the burrito mojado, literally the "wet burrito" and we asked for both salsas (sauces). The burrito is the Mexican answer to the hot dog, easy to prepare and with the typical ingredients of Spanish America and Brazil - beans and rice. The wet burrito works on top of this tradition, it is a Mexican francezinha of sorts. The salsas have two colors red and green which I took as an homage to the Portuguese flag.  The burrito itself is rich and spicy.  I drank water to take the hotness away but Benjamin drank this great lime and cucumber juice.
 In the end we were so satisfied we couldn't get to the theater for the Wong Kar Wai movie so we dragged our overfed butts back to Benji's where we watched the horrible World War Z. Goes to show you can't have everything.
Benjamin is living in Carmel till January so I won't be seeing him any time soon. Safe trips my friend!   

York bar at Glassell Park

Small but cozy Mexican restaurant at Glassell Park

Sorry for the bad quality of the pic but here is the big star "burrito mojado"

Transvesty, transsexual, transylvanian night!

Yesterday I participated in a genuinely unique American tradition.  In this country there are multiple ways to watch a movie, and unlike Europe, being passive is not the only one. There are the sing along viewings in which you sing along the movie's soundtrack - I went to a sing along of Glee in a multiplex, two years ago, that was really funny. Then there are the act along in which the audience acts the film out.
The Nuart movie theater in Santa Monica boulevard organizes every Saturday night an act along of the 1976 release The Horror Picture Show. I had never seen The Horror Picture Show and I had never been to a sing along, but it was great. It makes the European cinematheque experience as exciting as watching paint dry.
The environment in the room is crazy, the film starts at midnight and the audience comes dressed like the characters of the film (lots of girls with nothing but their underwear on) and props are sold to the audience so that they can act out the film (in this case a rubber glove, a balloon, a newspaper, some playing cards and some toilette paper all wrapped up in paper bag). A troupe of actors warms you up, there is an oath of allegiance and if it's your first night and you are a virgin you are called up on stage to be symbolically fucked (and I was!).
Then the movie starts. The Horror Picture Show is a insane musical that only makes sense when you act it out with a hundred people next to you.  It was one of Susan Sarandon's first movies (where she was already showing off her boobs!) and a tour de force by Tim Curry, an actor I gave nothing for since he played Richelieu in the Disney debacle The Three Musketeers, but that shows up here as a magnificent "transvesty, transsexual, transylvanian from another planet". The film is a gay extravaganza that makes any Broadway show look macho.  The story is insane but in the context of  an act along it couldn't have been better. 
I know, there is in the American culture of the last 10 years a certain tendency to glorify mediocrity, picking up crap art from the 70's and 80's and say it's great because it's bad, and I admit there is a bit of that going on in this "sing along, act along culture" but one thing's for sure you have a great time when you are there! I advise it!

There is dancing on stage before the film begins.

A host warms you up, you swear the oath of allegiance, you get "fucked", a stripper does her stick and the cabaret begins!