Journal of No. 118

"If a gay couple was to come in and they wanted us to provide pizzas for their wedding, we would have to say no... We are a Christian establishment... We're not discriminating against anyone, that's just our belief and anyone has the right to believe in anything. We definitely agree with the bill. I do not think it's targeting gays. I don't think it's discrimination. It's supposed to help people that have a religious belief."

No, that's what the word 'discriminating' means. Differentiating between different types of people and treating them differently. You do want to discriminate. You just want to legally discriminate. And you're happy this law will give you some cover.

"Why should I be beat over the head because they choose that lifestyle?"

Beat over the head? Beat over the head? Making fucking pizzas for paying customers?

This touches me deeply since we served pizza at our wedding.

PS "anyone has the right to believe in anything"? Such a trenchant rallying cry for the Hoosier booboisie. Put that on some protest signs and march.

Today is bacon-making day. Calloo Callay.

Our pork belly has been curing for a week, and now's the day of truth. I will attempt to smoke the bacon in the grill, something I've never tried. First, the belly gets his little pop-out bellybutton.



Wait, is that a curl of smoke from under the lid, coming from those hickory chips?



( Why yes it is. )

LACMA has a fine exhibit on German Expressionist film, with lots of behind the scenes production art, stills, posters, and other material. Loops of several films also play in inviting walkthrough areas of the exhibit. You don't feel like you have to stay for the whole show, or that you will annoy anyone by staying a moment and passing on.

Lots of good material on the Cabinet of Dr. Caligari.



Die Nibelungen



M



Metropolis



The Golem, The Blue Angel, Faust, Waxworks, the Testament of Dr. Mabuse...

After the art, a fine meal at Ray's, although the server and the chef paid a lot more attention to a few wealthy donor types. I'm sure it's wishful thinking that the chef would deign to speak with the likes of us, but at least I know what 'sous-vide' means, unlike the wealthy twat you're fawning over. They had a nice menu of drinks inspired by (not German expressionist) films. My Evil Flying Monkey was based on an aviation, natch. The charcuterie plate is just as good as I remember it. And the lamb sausage pizza was fantastic stuff.

Our house continues to slowly creep toward the state of being someone else's house.

Tomorrow will begin the great adventure of tenting & fumigation. Also known as the adventure of living with two cats in a hotel room.

We've made offers here and there, and have a couple out at the moment, but so far nothing definite. Got outbid again on the hipster palace, which popped briefly back onto the market.

Two weekends back, Jackie&Andy invited us over for some brats & games with some other good folks. Got another chance at Risk Legacy, but since I got to place my HQ last, I was in a tight spot from the start. I convinced people to attack Dr. Pookie, so at least I caused connubial strife. I survived, but was never much of a threat to anyone.

One weekend back, we got visited by Dr. Pookie's friend from high school, and her three kids. We grilled up teriyaki chicken and (mostly) kept the wee ones entertained. Good times.

For the past few days, I've been living about 2.5 lives, and not had time to catch up on it. Until now (?) We'll see how far I get.

( click at your own risk )

My crossed fingers may have worked. Although, being skeptical, I never actually crossed any digits.

Monday was a holiday, and I went TWT unscathed, but naturally they called be in on Friday. Once again, it was DTLA.

They called a couple panels in the morning, but I was unscathed. Almost, anyway. The exciting moment of the morning was when the chippy next to me pulled an apple from her purse and started munching away. One wide jawed crunch sent a spray of apple juice onto my leg and my Kindle screen. She was appropriately apologetic.

At lunch, I semirandomly chose Lazy Ox for lunch. It was good, but the price/performance ratio was not that good. Also, though I asked for fries, I wound up with salad on the side. Considering how long it took, I didn't kick, but I think someone else got my fries. It was good, but the best part of it was the whole grain mustard. The sangria was exemplary.

Back in the afternoon, and you are ultrasensitive to any further calls. A roomful of Roderick Ushers, we were demoralized when at 3 pm there was another call. And this was no usual call, but the judge had issued some stipulations to be read to us.

90 days. NINETY DAYS. We were told this trial would last 90 days. We were offered the unusual liberty of answering "No" when our names were called, if we met the stipulations for excuse the judge set forth. I felt sure they would call all our names to get a solid number, but it was not so. And my name was not called at all. Another hour, and they set us free. Buoyed, I placed a take-out order to Cole's. It may not have been as warm as one would've liked, after I fought the 10 and La Brea home, but it was still purty good.

Yes, I survived the Snowpocalypse, and made it back to the best place lack-of-gods made.

But rather than slump into a puddle -- that's what Sunday's for! -- Saturday was pretty full. We started off with an estate sale, where the decedent was a bit of a hoarder, but had a particular fondness and knowledge of glass. I spotted a uranium glass juicer in one of the photos from the estate agent, and since Dr. Pookie is an aficionado of uranium glass (aka vaseline glass), we went down there. We found quite a trove of uranium glass pieces, and walked away with quite a haul.



Later, we went to the Day on Broadway (having been tipped off by colleency). The idea was that several old movie palaces were open to the public, and we went to gawk at them (and a few other things in the neighborhood). All photos here

Hard to ignore the Eastern Columbia Building, which was close to the registration desk.



After registering, we headed off to Cole's for a French Dip and a drink. We poked our nose into the Bradbury Building, and then on to the theaters.

It's hard (in the photo) to appreciate how huge the ceiling of the Million Dollar Theater (1918!) is:



And what can one say about its strange tutelary spirit?



The Los Angeles Theater was a real revelation, with its crystal 'fountain'



and ridiculous foyer



The mostly gutted Globe provided contrast with the others, which were generally much more restored.



The Orpheum is pretty amazing, and the duffer at the organ was showing off its capabilities



The place is huuuuuuuuge



Later, Dr. Pookie took me out to Pizzeria Mozza. The fried cauliflower was much browner than at Bucato, but still good. The dipping sauce was good, but not as amazing as the fresh dressing and herbs of Bucato. Some fine bread and prosciutto as well, before the main course -- The pizza with "Bacon, Salami, Fennel Sausage, Guanciale [aka pork cheek 'bacon'], Tomato & Mozzarella". Yes, it was meat heavy, but it was glorious. We pride ourselves on our homemade pizza, but this was even better. By a lot. For dessert, some little scoops of blood orange sorbet (extremely yum), chocolate rum gelato (gorgeous, but possibly(?) too rich) and 'olive oil' gelato: mild olive oil gelato coated in olive oil and salt. A very neat taste, but not as engrossing as the other two.

Knocked off another calendar year of grilling at least once per calendar month. Our streak goes back to at least December 2007. It was very difficult this year, as December came in with a frigid high of 79 degrees here in Inglewood.

Dr. Pookie took me to Cut at the Beverly Wilshire for my birthday (a week early, since Wyrdcon coincides with the actual day).

It was pretty splendid. Because they are punks, Michelin hasn't given stars in LA for a few years, but once upon a time, Cut was a one-star restaurant. For better or worse, visiting Luce in San Francisco has only reinforced Dr. Pookie's desire to visit Michelin restaurants as and when appropriate.

I will start with the negatives. The plates had a raised lip that made it impossible to rest your steak knife on it, without the knife slipping down into the plate. Ok, all done. Oh wait. The wine list is for Rockefellers. Dr. Pookie's injunction to keep it under $100 made my selection much easier. $1,000 would have still narrowed your choices a bit. Choosing Sonoma rather than Napa made the $100 limit easier to handle, and we weren't disappointed.

The service was great. An army of different individuals from sommelier to mustard dude attended to our every desire.

For all the high-powered cuisine on display, Cut is a somewhat casual place, and the classic/alternative rock mix was much appreciated.

But the food, you ask. The food.

We started with the American wagyu sashimi. I have to agree with Dr. Pookie: although it was fine and nicely dressed with a vinaigrette, greens, and sliced radish, the beef itself had, it seemed, very little taste of its own. I think it's a testament to how much the Maillard reaction adds to what you think is the taste of meat.

Dr. Pookie had tipped them off that it was a birthday meal, and maybe also since it was our first time, 'the chef' was kind enough to send a tuna tartare our way. It reminded me a bit of Withnail & I, where it is said that some things are 'unattainable for those who can't afford it, but for those that can afford it, it's free.' They shoved a free $25 appetizer at us.

My aversion to fish and seafood is not quite as extreme as HPL's, and tuna is hardly the fishiest of fish, so even I could appreciate it, along with the avocado, and waffer-thin toasts and wasabi aioli. The tuna had more taste to it than the beef sashimi, but not unpleasant to my landlubber's palate.

I liked also the little cheesy poofs they brought, and the parmesan breadsticks.

But soon it was time for the main event.

Dr. Pookie opted for a Cornhusker NY strip, while I opted for the same cut of American wagyu from Idaho.

Sides of fingerling potatoes with bacon and onions, and several different forms of haricot vert with tomato. Both pretty tremendous.

Becca's cornfed cow was a magnificent hearty steak, but the quasi-wagyu was pretty amazing in every bite. Crispy moo-bacon edges, and lovely pink innards.

Here I should also mention that, as a sprightly jest, I said, some weeks ago, I wonder if, at Cut, they honor birthday celebrations by sticking a candle in a filet mignon. Dr. Pookie, perhaps remembering the 3 years I took off her life at a surprise birthday party in her honor, made this a reality. They brought me my steak with a lit candle in it. I doff my theoretical hat to Cut; they did not blink or shirk. The received a request from a customer and fulfilled it. Yes, singing would be beyond the pale, but they did all we required.

As I say, the steak was magnificent. It compared with the steak in Mexico City, the steak in Las Vegas, and that random well-marbled steak I grilled up myself. Very likely the best of them all, but nostalgia adds value to past steaks.

For afters, I had a lovely Tariquet armagnac. The little cookies and petit-fours they brought us as incidentals were more than enough dessert for us.

Fantastic.