Right now, the egg to me is not unlike the number 23 to Robert Anton Wilson: a clustering illusion. It would seem that, in my sphere, most incidents and events are directly connected to eggs. They are everywhere. And much like Wilson’s number 23, I continue to try to explore the rationalization behind this omnipresent egg.
I don’t get to travel much. The last vacation I had was over two and a half years ago. So I think occasionally I create my own versions of vacations without actually going anywhere. More often than not these trips happen in late Summer. I think it’s because it recalls a time of sweltering heat, cicadas, fireflies, thunderstorms… The South. Tennessee Wiliams, sexy heat and malaise, secrets and debauchery. You know?
Meat their balls.
My word. It has been a while, yes? Well, for your (and my own) food truck pleasure, I'm back with another rousing truckventure for you...
My buddy, Doug, lives across the street from the Frosted Cupcakery where, every Thursday, they host a food truck in their parking lot. D Smoov (he will be so happy I wrote that) emailed me this morning to let me know that a newbie, Great Balls on Tires, would be the truck du jour. Well, I do love me some word play. And balls. Of meat.
My friend, Brandon, recently told me that when we are born we have smooth brains. As we get older, acquire knowledge, information and experiences, our brains become wrinkly. I guess as we get older everything gets wrinkly and crevice-y. Not unlike rivers, valleys, and land in general. The Grand Canyon is a very good example of this. Here we have nearly two billion years of the Earth's geological history exposed as a result of the Colorado River and its tributaries cutting their channels through layer after layer of rock.
I’ve been sick. I never get sick and I’ve been sick. I have a cold. I guess I’m getting over it now. But what misery; a Summer cold.
In the late 1940s and early 1950s the French were watching a lot of the popular films coming out of this country. After a little while they stopped to pause and wondered what in God’s teeth was going on over here?! In these films there were men coming home from the war to find the women had taken their jobs, their wives cheating on them or leaving them for the men who weren’t even “manly” enough to go to war, and their children were completely alienated from them. We were full of cynical attitudes and sexual motivation. Absolute disillusionment. We were broken people. A broken country.
I am getting nervous. I am nervous.
In just one short week the second Dinner at Eight will be upon us. But this one won’t consist of six of my friends. This guest list includes six of my fellow food bloggers – only some of whom I have met personally. My peeps, yes, but these are also critical minds and educated palates.
Last week I finally made it to Sushi Park for dinner. It was fantastic, fresh and inspired. The only drawback for me is its price tag is a bit prohibitive to be a place I could frequent.
You know it was a party when, the next morning, your guests send pictures as evidence and call with stories of their maladies that occurred in the aftermath of the evening. That reminds me, someone promised a picture that I have not yet received...
Occasionally, if it’s a clear day or during a sunset, while I’m driving along Mulholland, I almost drive off the road. Even after eight years of living in Los Angeles, she still takes my breath away. It’s easy to forget, sometimes, what a beautiful city this is when the blinders of traffic, smog and sheer population bombard our daily life. But when you have a moment to breathe, to change perspective, to look down at this sprawling metropolis from up above, you only see the landscape, the colors and shapes. The honking, tedium and wheeling and dealing going on in small nooks and crannies throughout the city become invisible.
