Fork Quest: Los Angeles

Searching for the Epitome of Los Angeles Eating

We are expecting out of town guests who will be visiting Los Angeles for the very first time. In addition to the usual trips to Disneyland, Hollywood Boulevard, and Universal Studios, there is a certain culinary expectation most of our visitors have, given my occupation. I want to give them the quintessential LA experience, but what is that? Is there a quintessential Los Angeles food? This is my conundrum.

Let me start with a disclaimer. I am not an LA native. I am a San Franciscan. The fact that I, of all people, should be championing LA food is, in itself, a little weird. But I have lived and worked in the food business here, my kids were born here, and I do (sort of) like it. So I feel a twinge of maternal duty, and a responsibility to the craft, to find the ideal food that best represents Los Angeles. 

This is not a job I could do on my own. My idea of typical LA food is anything you eat while wearing sunglasses. So I recruited my Angeleno friends, who, as it turned out, were no help at all. Their answers were all different. There was no consensus. It seems that LA isn't known for anything. We all have our favorites, and expatriates will tell you what it is they miss most. But these places are unheard of once you leave LA county. Unless you live in LA, there is no famous food from LA. Philly has the cheesesteak, Memphis has Barbeque, Chicago has Brats and Deep Dish. We have bubkis.    

Of the people surveyed (in a very unscientific way…I went to culinary school, not Cal Tech), burgers were the number one choice as the typical Los Angeles food. Most responded with Tommy Burgers, Fatburgers, or In-N-Out.  These joints are good, as are any number of burger joints sprinkled around the city. But quintessentially LA? I think not. The burger was not invented here, and the first hamburger chain was not opened here. That distinction goes to White Castle, which has been hawk'n patties since it opened in 1921 in Wichita, Kansas. That same year The Pig Stand opened in Dallas Fort Worth, and was the first to forgo tables and bring the food right to people's cars. In 1923 A&W opened their first drive-in a Sacramento, and began America's first franchised restaurant chain. Los Angeles cannot even claim the McDaddy of them all, which, as we all know, hails from San Bernardino (not even the right county). So we can cross burgers, drive-ins, and fast food off the list of archetypal Los Angelean food.   

More than a few Southlanders thought our famous food should be the fish taco. I love tacos, and I am as fond of a good roach-coach as the next guy. But it is a well-documented fact that fish tacos come from Baja. There can be no dispute.  Just because there is a lot of something in a place doesn't make it THE thing. If that were the rule, we would have to claim Starbuck's as the typical Los Angeles eatery. Do we really want to go down that road? I think not. 

Many want Pink's to represent LA in the food hall of fame (no there isn’t a food hall of fame, but I am thinking of starting one), but I am sure we can all agree that the hot dog is not a Los Angeles food. And if we were to suggest that Pink's makes the best hot dog we would launch ourselves into a Battle Royal, pitting brother against brother, east against west, Dodger against Yankee. The only red badge of courage I want is a dribble of ketchup on my shirt. Pink's is a landmark, for sure, but I think it is something only Angelenos hold near and dear. The tourists just wonder why. No outsider ever thought it was worth the wait (unless they saw a movie star in line.)

Then there is the Great French Dip Debate. This sandwich actually was invented here, but no one outside of LA knows or cares. The rest of the world thinks the French dip is a French recipe (causing Escoffier to spin like a Lawry's salad in his grave). Philippe's claims it, (pronounced fill-EEps, not fill-eep-AYs. The originator was French immigrant Philippe Mathiew. Someone please tell this to the current owners.) as does Coles P.E. Buffet (P.E. stands for Pacific Electric, the name of the building which houses it, which was the former main terminal of the Pacific Electric Railway). Stories abound about the origin of the French Dip, including numerous tales of the accidental dropping of roast beef sandwich in au jus. I particularly like the one about the guy that needed a softer sandwich because his mouth hurt from recent dental work. I dare you to find a restaurant today that provides that kind of service.

Wood-fired pizza's have been mentioned as a possible LA-esque food. Not your standard pepperoni, mind you, but those offered first at Spago 25 years ago, with topping only a Californian would love. Of course, now everyone dining at the California Pizza Kitchen (operating in 33 states and 10 other countries), or taking home Puck's frozen pizza, has had this style pizza, which means the wood-fired pizza is no longer unique or special. We might be able to categorize it as the quintessential airport terminal food, though.

If we are looking for classic Los Angeles food, we really have to look to the great dining rooms of the past. Sadly, the only people that remember these joints are the elderly, and fanatics of I Love Lucy. The Brown Derby was the birth place of the Cobb Salad and Chiffon Cake, but that fact has been lost in the culinary annals. There were several Derby locations, but the one shaped like a hat was on Wilshire. The skeleton of this iconic building is still there, stripped of its dignity, and its leather booths, sitting atop the Brown Derby Plaza, a pitiful but proud sentinel of the strip mall. Chasen's is another lost Hollywood landmark. There, you were sure to see Alfred Hitchcock or Jackie Gleason or Liz Taylor slurping chili (although, again, not an original Los Angeles food). Now, you can see soccer moms, as it is currently a Bristol Farms. (Thumbs up to Bristol for furnishing their café with some original booths and paneling from Chasen's.)

It's not just the old places that are gone. Pivotal modern restaurants have been lost as well. L'Orangerie was the last outpost of classic fine French dining in town. The 8-course tasting menu was something to be saved up for. And while Alice Waters was getting all the press in Berkeley, chefs in Los Angeles were also adding fresh, local flavor to classic fare. Of these innovative kitchens, Michaels in Santa Monica is the last bastion. Ma Maison,  La Toque,  Trumps, and Citrus each had their say, and irreversibly changed the way LA eats. And from those kitchens sprung the young culinarians that would change the direction of California Cuisine. But still, none are what we would call the archetypal LA eatery.     

There are some places that still serve up a bit of history. Musso and Frank can't be beat for old-time charm and flannel cakes. Everyone loves a donut from Randy's, the Toad in the Hole at the Tam O 'Shanter, or a burger at the Apple Pan. And there are countless other places that are still hanging on, probably in your neighborhood, serving up a slice of Los Angeles history along with their pie.   

In the end, I decided that there is no typical LA food. We do food like we do everything else in LA. We glam it up. Like a screen writer jazz'n up the latest best seller. Like plain-jane Lana Turner at the counter of Schwab's Drugstore. Like basketball. We take what we can get, we improve it, and we make it our own. Hot dogs, burgers, chili, tacos, pizza, donuts, sushi, Korean barbeque, Ethiopian, Indian, Thai, Chinese, Armenian: you name it. If you find it here, it will certainly be great, and uniquely Angeleno. That's our culinary legacy.

If you haven't already, please make a point to visit the following locations:

The Apple Pan, 10801 W, Pico Blvd, Los Angeles

Brown Derby Plaza, 3377 Wilshire Blvd (near Vermont), Los Angeles

Chasen's (Bristol Farms), 9039 Beverly Blvd, Beverly Hills

Cole's, 118 E. Sixth Street (at Main), Los Angeles

Fatburger, (original stand, now closed) 3023 Western Ave (at 31st Street), Los Angeles

Lawry's, 100 N. La Cienega Blvd, Beverly Hills

Michael's, 1147 3rd Street, Santa Monica

Musso and Frank, 66667 Hollywood Blvd, Los Angeles

Original Tommy's Hamburgers, 2575 W Beverly Blvd (at Rampart), Los Angeles

Philippe's, 1001 N. Alameda St, Los Angeles

Pink's, 709 N La Brea (at Melrose), Los Angeles

Randy's Donuts, 805 W. Manchester, Inglewood

Tam O'Shanter, 2980 Los Feliz Blvd, Los Angeles

Welcome summer!  The kids are out of school, the homework has mercifully stopped, and baseball is back.  Oh yeah!  Glorious baseball!  I welcome you with open glove.

Being from the Bay Area originally (where, unbeknownst to most Angelenos, we are bred to hate everything to do with L.A.), I should be a loyal Giants fan like my husband, true to his team regardless of personal longitude and latitude.   But I blow with the wind, and since the kids were born here, and we've lived here for 15 years, I'm a Dodger.  Also, I look better in blue.

He is such a Giants fan that he roots for any Dodger opponent.  He wears his Giants gear proudly, and as you might imagine, three girls in blue sitting with the Orange and Black Monster is fodder for ever wisenheimer in Chavez Ravine.  People hurl peanuts, and insults.  But he takes them in stride.  Truth be told, we are secretly proud of him.  He is a pinnacle of loyalty.  It is only occasionally that the ride home must include discussions about why, despite what that mean man said,w daddy doesn't really "suck", and regardless of what adults do, never ever extend certain fingers in public.    

Regardless of our team preferences, we all agree that the ballpark is the place to be, especially for a food-loving American family like ours.  Yes, we bring in our own sodas, because there is nothing fun about a $5.00 Coke.  But I will not be denied my Dodger Dog (grilled please).  You can argue about the quality of the Dodger Dog until you are BLUE in the face, but I will not listen.  I know it is not Nathan's, or Pink's, or any of the other currently hot dog-spots.  I know the snap of the Dodger Dog is not the greatest, the condiment assortment is sub-par, and the price is outrageous.  But when you are at the ballpark it is not about quality.  It's about baseball.  It's about tradition.  It's about America, dammit.

I am not alone in my opinion.  Did you know that the Dodgers sell more hot dogs than any other ball park in America?   We out-dog Wriggly field and even Yankee stadium, which sits in America's top dog-eating city.  I guess New Yorkers prefer their dogs on the curb, not in the bleachers.  Lagging behind in ball park dog sales are Coors Field and Minute Maid Park, which I had to look up (home of the Rockies and Astros), because no one names stadiums after teams anymore.  (Beverages yes.  Teams, no.)

The Dodger Dog was created by the late Mr. Thomas Arthur, who started running Dodger concessions at the Coliseum in 1961 until 1991.  Originally called "foot-longs", a smart-alecky fan with a ruler called him out.  The 10-inch dogs were renamed, and the rest is history.  Despite the size issues, Arthur consistently sold about 50,000 dogs per game.  

Over the years, menu diversity has complicated the ballpark experience.  I do not go to the ballpark for pizza, or Chinese food.  I go to watch the game, have a hot dog, and maybe a chocolate malted.  Oh yeah!  Frozen chocolaty goodness you eat with wood.

Sadly, I cannot make every game.  I do have a television though, and I can successfully approximate the ball park experience in the comfort of my own home.  In fact, I can improve on it.  I make wicked-good dogs, and have even been known to stuff my own sausages with exquisite results. (That was not a euphemism.) 

Here is a hoity-toity recipe for a somewhat pedestrian condiment.  Once you unlock the flavor potential of homemade mustard, you'll discover that the variations are endless. Try making it with different spices and herbs, or add some horseradish or honey.   Then slather your creation liberally onto your favorite hot dog.  If you really want the ballpark experience, let your floors get sticky, purchase a beach ball at the 99-cent store, and do the wave from time to time. 

Homemade Herb Mustard

3 TB. yellow mustard seeds

3 TB. brown mustard seeds

[1/2] tsp. caraway seeds

1 whole allspice berry

[1/4] tsp white peppercorns

[1/4] tsp. salt

1 shallot, minced

[1/2] tsp fresh thyme, chopped

[1/4] cup white wine

[1/4] cup white wine vinegar

1.   In a small coffee grinder, grind yellow mustard, brown mustard, caraway, allspice, and peppercorns to a fine powder. Transfer to a blender, and add salt, shallot, and thyme. Blend.

2.   In a small bowl, combine wine and vinegar, and add to the running blender very slowly. Continue to purée until the mixture is a smooth paste. Store in a glass or plastic airtight container in the refrigerator.

Heads Up!

I prefer to use a coffee grinder to grind my spices.  It is small, which forces the spices through the blade more often than a larger food processor or blender does, producing a finer, more even grind.  I recommend you get a separate grinder just for spices.  I have had some mighty weird coffee after a particularly spicy kitchen escapade.  When I am feeling historic, I enjoy grinding in a mortar.  The result is rougher, but more satisfying. 

Sitting in the Norfolk International airport, where I have 7 hours to kill.  My flight was messed up, and I am lucky to get another one today at all, because the majority of sailors that got off the USS George Washington with me are also flying out on liberty.  They get one more visit home before they deploy to their new home port in Japan.

Thanks to my patient family, and the Adopt-a-Chef program, I volunteer about once a year to join the Navy and see the world.  This last trip was my third, and it was my first aircraft carrier.  My objective is to train sailors in the finer points of culinary arts, as time allows, while feeding a crew of 5000.  I lucked into this program while researching military food service for a book.  There are hundreds of chefs across the country that participate in the program, visiting ships and bases world-wide, and hosting Navy cooks (called CS’s – Culinary Specialists) in their restaurants.

Initially, I couldn’t imagine I would possibly impact a vessel of this magnitude.  With 18,000 meals served daily, they clearly already know what they are doing.  My own culinary style and sensibilities could never be reflected in an operation so big.  But I have learned that my presence on board a ship does have an impact on those in the galley with an interest in culinary arts, and sometimes on the crew as a whole.  They appreciate that someone has taken an interest in the quality of the food they are served. 

Cooks in the Navy vary in skill and commitment.  There are a handful that choose to be a CS because they have an interest in the culinary arts, and some have culinary plans when their service expires.  But the majority of sailors in the galley found it to be their least awful option, based on their test scores and skill levels.  Of those best-choice cooks, there are some that take a shine to food service and excel at it.   Unfortunately, as in any restaurant, there are some that don’t care about the food, or the people they are serving, and are just working to get through the day.  It is in these cases when, as in the civilian kitchens, good management is key. 

My goal is to help all these sailors find some fun in their job, at least for a while.  Their work is not always appreciated, and is often ridiculed.  Having the attention of a professional chef, even if it is only to hang out and share the work load, at the very least breaks the monotony, and at most assures them that other people care about the work they are doing.  I like to think that my own love of cooking rubs off a little, too.  I really do have fun in the kitchen.  Any kitchen.

On my first cruise, I was super intimidated.  I sailed for 3 weeks on a salvage ship from Pearl Harbor to Guam.  The crew was small, and set in their ways.  But as soon I rolled up my sleeves and got to work, we were all fine.  Kitchens are all the same, and I am always at home in one, whether it be a 3 star Michelin, or the galley of a Destroyer. 

My M.O. is to jump right in and work alongside them.  I don’t want to get in the way, or show off, or presume what they may or may not know.  I pick up some slack, and in the process get to know them.  Tips and tricks show themselves as the hours pass.  Little things, like putting a wet towel under a cutting board to keep it from sliding, or a better slicing techniques to help them get through a case of onions, can make a hateful daily task more bearable.  I always learn from them too.  They have their own tips, tricks, and recipes to share.  I am the first to admit I don’t know it all. 

Sometimes I hold classes, or provide specialized training, but only when requested.  The sailors that are interested in cooking usually find me, and inevitably much time is spent discussing the pros and cons of culinary school, expectations in the civilian food service, and recipes and techniques that they may have found challenging or mysterious. 

They are always surprised to hear my thoughts on their Navy training.  I can see that they have a leg up on most culinary school students.  They may not yet possess the skill to make sauce espagnol or blanquette du veau, but those are only recipes.  What they do have is impossible to teach; work ethic and kitchen culture.  They can find their way around a kitchen, think on their feet, trouble shoot, and complete with ease the standard Navy 14-hour shift in a hot sweaty environment that few civilian chefs or culinary student would tolerate.  Any employer would be lucky to have them. 

Why do I do it?  As a former culinary instructor, I am a teacher at heart.  As a mom, I have a nurturing instinct, and I love to make people happy with food.  As a chef, I have an interest in perpetuating this industry, and proper training is vital, both in terms of culinary skills and attitude.  As an American, I want to support our troops, but not with a stupid bumper sticker.  I want to support the actual kids out there doing the thing.  I like to think that I can boost their morale, at least a little.  I know that food is a classic motivator, and in some jobs, meals are the only thing to look forward to. 

As a super-cool bonus, I always learn Navy stuff on board, like how to fire a 50-caliber machine gun, don a fire fighters suit to put out chemical fires, and fish for marlin off the fantail.  I have also been known to use scratch-baked goods to get rides on cool vehicles, like helicopters, turbo props, LCAC’s and AAV’s.  A good cookie is worth its weight in gold.

I love being on board a ship, and for a week or so after I return, I am sure my kids find me unbearable.  Locking the door becomes "dogging the hatch", exercise is "PT", cleaning your room is a "field day", and at 20:30 its lights out and hit the rack.  No, I am not real Navy, but I like to pretend.

In recent years the Navy has moved from scratch cooking to pre-manufactured foods and standardized menus in an effort, I presume, to save dollars on training and manpower, and to ease production and storage.  This, I fear, also means a phasing out of the CS class.  If that should happen food will likely be prepared by engineers, boatswain, and firefighters stuck on a 90 day rotation through the galley.  Will they do the job with any sense of pride? 

Time will tell.  

In the meantime, I’ll keep my fingers crossed for my dream assignment.  I’ve always heard that subs have the best food in the Navy, but I will have to wait until they commission an all-female crew, as there are currently no girls allowed. 

If you came here via Culinarymasterclass.com, you are probably looking for food talk.  Sorry to dissapoint today, but I have been struggling all week to describe my experience last Sunday at the Grammy's.  Yes, I was there.

I've come to the conclusion that it was like really good sex.  It was the culmination of a lifetime of rock-lust which exploded in a rhythmic thrust of pleasure.  It was short, but sweet. 

Oh so sweet.

You might think that the tension began to build when the show was announced, and I felt a glimmer of hope that somehow I might get a pass.  But really, it began decades ago, when I first stood in front of the mirror singing into my hairbrush.
 

After thousands of albums, hundreds of concerts, attempts at performance, and finally, simple fandom, my Rock lust grew.  Sure, my idols have changed over the years, but the real superstar, Rock itself, remained constant.

As I waited in the sun for the show on Sunday to begin, I felt the tension grow.  My heart was pumping from the time I got in the car to drive downtown.  I was actually going see the Foo at the Grammy's!  The Grammy's! 

But it wasn't just Dave and Foo Fighters.  I have seen them live before, and while I am indeed a super-fan, it was more than that. 

It was the time and the place, and the consummation of Rock intimacy spanning multiple generations.

The air was electric, and as the hour drew near, that energy was coursing through my body, sending impulses through nerve pathways I never knew existed.  I felt ready to blow, like the speakers in my car when I know the stereo is too loud, but I crank it up just a little bit more anyway.        

Although the crowd was tame, I could feel that we were all on the verge of climax; every audience member, every camera man and roadie, all the kids in the orchestra, Jason Bateman, Dave and Taylor and Chris and Nate (maybe not Nate), and even John Paul Jones. (Jesus Christ! It was really John Paul Jones!)  We were amassing our collective Rock resumes, and together, as the band was introduced, and they started to play, we discharged in a shower of Rock devotion.  

And now, the afterglow.

I ran the City of Angels half marathon yesterday.  I ran my personal best time, which makes me quickie-Mcfastfeet today.  I am not that fast, but considering my age, and that I have only been racing a year, I am pretty psyched. 

The race began at the zoo, ran over Silverlake and Echo Park, and ended downtown at the Civic Center.  It was 43 degrees at the start, which is pretty cold for LA. 

Marathons are weird, but half marathons are weirder.    With all the hub-bub you'd think it was a full marathon.  There were bands playing, cheerleader cheering, costumes, banners, and people stretching in all sorts of strange and alarming positions.  And there are as many port-a-potties as the big races.  Anyone new to running races will giggle at the port-a-potties.  There are dozens, with mile-long lines of people desperate to "off-load" before the gun.  I plan carefully in an effort to avoid them.   

You can really spot the serious runners, as they are the ones with fewer accessories.  Some runners have fancy clothing and clean shoes.  My shoes are mighty scuffed, but I love them.  They have special inserts because I have special feet.  I have a favorite pair of shorts with a zipper for my key, and a favorite tank top.  On cold mornings like this one, I start running in a thrift shop sweatshirt and 99-Cent Store mittens, which I dump on the side of the road when I heat up.   I am not the only one with this idea, and the race organizers gather and donate the stuff back to the thrift store after the race.  At the LA marathon last year I saw hoards of homeless waiting at the starting line for their new wardrobe.  I would too.  Good idea! Get it before it gets trampled! 

Some racers carry stuff; camelback water systems, groovy belts loaded with ergonomic bottles of  sport drinks,  pockets loaded with power gels, cell phones, and cameras.   I even saw one person with an actual antique walk-man cassette player.  I travel light.  I have a small dried fruit energy bar, in case I feel the bonk coming, and my iPod, which I have on a clip on the front of my shirt.  I wear it there because I am averse to having tan lines on my arm, a fact which has made me the focus of much ridicule in my home.  (I don't care, because I look better in a tank top than all of them!)

The iPod is key for me.  If the rumored ban on MP3's comes to fruition, I will end my racing career.  After all, I really only run for enjoyment.  The music gets my heart and adrenaline pumping.  It makes me feel like a teenager at a school dance.  The music makes me move and move and move until my body gives up.  And certain songs (usually related in some way to Dave Grohl) give an added boost, to sling me over a hill, or battle down a long hot stretch without shade.  It is absolutely necessary.  I have been known to turn around and go home when my battery dies.

So here is the story of my music and this race.  I am on mile 10, coming up a big hill on Sunset Blvd over by dodger stadium.  I have good hill legs, and I was feeling okay, but I was doing my usual calculations of how much distance remains and its relative similarity to my daily neighborhood runs, which is a sign of fatigue for me.  But at the bottom of the hill, a song came on from the new Foo Fighter album that I find particularly motivating, so I took off.  Then, low and behold, at the top of the hill , there he was…DAVE! It was a giant billboard of the Foo Fighters, the ones that say "I am KROQ."  It was some kind of omen.   I am sure the people running near me thought I was a freak, as I shouted "Oh my God!  Dave!" I was laughing and smiling, and watching Dave as I rounded the corner into downtown.  (Next time you see that billboard, look carefully…his eyes follow you!)  I fully kicked into high gear, and finished in 2:04:45, a 9:31 pace.  My last half was at pace over 11 minutes, so again, I am psyched. 

After the race, runners get their medals, which is nice.  But the best thing is the snacks.  After 2 hours of running, there is nothing in the whole world better than an orange.  They have water, lame green bananas, pieces of dry bagel, and even cookies.  But the orange is the best.   Mmmmm…sweet, juicy, carbohydrates.    I would like to suggest that next year the race organizers get Dave to hand out the oranges.  Then my pace will really improve!

I just signed up for the LA marathon again.  I really was on the fence, as I have been enjoying running without pressure to compete.  But I have also been finding it increasingly easy to take an extra day off here and there, so it's probably better that I race.  I also registered for City of Angels half marathon, which is one month.  So today I ate my last gingersnap.

I am seriously going to feed myself to race for the next 18 weeks.  I think I eat pretty well, except for the alone time in the middle of the day.  As I sit here and write about food, the subject inevitably creates a craving.  When I was writing CIG to Spices and Herbs, I couldn't get enough curry.  During CIG to Snack Cakes I was really in trouble.  Luckily, I just finished a Family Nutrition book, so I am in a pretty good spot…except for the ginger snaps.

Cookies are my favorite food.  The gingersnap is on the top 10 list, and I just happened to make a bunch for a church event a couple weeks ago.  There were a lot leftover, and they have been in the freezer, as if being there will keep me away from them.  It did not.   Frozen cookies just have to be held under the milk a little longer, that's all. 

Why don't I just throw them away?  My husband is on Atkins, and the kids are on a sugar-free kick.  Also, they are not big cookie fans.  I guess I think someone may drop by, and I can offer them a plate of cookies.  I should just face facts.  No one drops by, and the cookies are for me.  There, I said it. 

PS.  You can get a link to pre-order those books, and others, at my website

 culinarymasterclass.com

I just signed up for the LA marathon again.  I really was on the fence, as I have been enjoying running without pressure to compete.  But I have also been finding it increasingly easy to take an extra day off here and there, so it's probably better that I race.  I also registered for City of Angels half marathon, which is one month.  So today I ate my last gingersnap.

I am seriously going to feed myself to race for the next 18 weeks.  I think I eat pretty well, except for the alone time in the middle of the day.  As I sit here and write about food, the subject inevitably creates a craving.  When I was writing CIG to Spices and Herbs, I couldn't get enough curry.  During CIG to Snack Cakes I was really in trouble.  Luckily, I just finished a Family Nutrition book, so I am in a pretty good spot…except for the ginger snaps.

Cookies are my favorite food.  The gingersnap is on the top 10 list, and I just happened to make a bunch for a church event a couple weeks ago.  There were a lot leftover, and they have been in the freezer, as if being there will keep me away from them.  It did not.   Frozen cookies just have to be held under the milk a little longer, that's all. 

Why don't I just throw them away?  My husband is on Atkins, and the kids are on a sugar-free kick.  Also, they are not big cookie fans.  I guess I think someone may drop by, and I can offer them a plate of cookies.  I should just face facts.  No one drops by, and the cookies are for me.  There, I said it. 

I just need to publically apologize to Dave and the Foos.  I have changed my mind about their album, and I really love it.  It is very retro, with many songs reminiscent of my youth.  Sorry I jumped the gun.  I should have at least given it a week.

Well, this has been a very disappointing month.  First, my man Floyd was hung out to dry.  I cannot believe that we cheer on Barry Bonds, who is so clearly a cheater, but strip Floyd Landis of his title, a man who is so clearly innocent.  I am so sad, but I still love Floyd.  Go to Switzerland, Floyd. 

Next, the new Foo Fighters album came out, and in all honesty, it's not that great.   There are a couple of song that I really love, but that's it.  It has been touted as a unique evolution into new creative waters, but I think it sounds like the same old Foo.  I am very disappointed.   I still love Dave, though.    

My Comfort Foods book is in the stores, but my publisher has yet to send me copies.  Apparently, they sent my box of books to some other CIG author.  I guess that author liked the book, because he hasn't bothered to return them.  Comfort Foods is selling.  It out sold Success as a Chef last week, (which is still in the top 100 on the professional book list), but I haven't seen it yet.  Regardless, I still love my publisher.

My GS Troop had an overnight in our town's new Youth House.  It is built on the site of a historic Scout House that burned down in the 70's.  There is a cool fire ring, in which we had a fire building race, followed by way too many s'more's.  I should have known better than to get them all hopped up on sugar, then sleep with them in a one-room, brand spank'n new, upholstery-free, echoing shack.   At least when we camp I can escape to my own tent.    The floor inside the house is tile, so we all slept on inflatable mattresses.  All night long I was awakened by "…THUD…OUCH"   …"THUD…OUCH", as they rolled off their mattresses.  In the morning we ate cereal and watermelon.  But I forgot to bring a knife, so we had to cut the melon with our axe.    Perhaps we can earn the Gallagher-Prop-Comedy Badge.  I was wicked tired the next day, but I still love my troop.

On the birght side, next month I am heading to Annapolis to observe the food service at the Naval Academy.  Apparently they are having some volume-related quality issues.  It should be fun.  Maybe I can share my watermelon technique with them.  I heard from my last ship, the Rushmore, and they are on their way home from Iraq with all the marines in tow.   Yippee!  I love the Navy!