Diary 8|31|2014: A Crazy Day In L.A.

[title type="h5"]Sunday, August 31, 2018. No Free Coffee. No Hike In The Palisades. Free Water But No Appealing Food In Venice. Sausage Sandwiches For Lunch. A Quaint Diner. The Great Greek.[/title] Why is it that the higher a hotel's room rate, the more add-ons are charged to the bill? The three most irksome examples are local phone calls, coffee, and internet. In the kind of hotels I patronized when I was a single guy (I thought I was rolling high by staying at Best Westerns), you could call a local number or a toll-free for nothing. In-room phones are getting dusty these days of universal cellphones. But I still use desk phones to connect my radio show with the studio back in New Orleans. The last time I did this, it was in a member of Mary Ann's Preferred Luxury Brand-New Hotels With Marriott Or Hilton Points. The call, if I had made it, would have cost several hundred dollars per show. The coffee thing is even harder to figure out. Everywhere we stayed until Mary Ann got the five-star hotel bug, coffee was free. Here in the Beverly Hilton, I think I see free coffee in the lobby lounge. But it's a movable Starbucks that's only there in the morning. This is where I decamp to have a minimal breakfast: a little juice and java, a chunk of bread. Twelve dollars. I never did get online, because I either had to pay fifteen dollars a day, or show my Hilton Honors credentials. I couldn't do the latter, because a complex deal Mary Ann worked out for this vacation went awry. Originally, we were supposed to go to Las Vegas too on this trip. And the double reservations in L.A. are still in play. The cancellations for these plans are dubious, and result in the dishonoring of our Honors. I know better than to attempt to understand Mary Ann's reservations machinations, much less to meddle with them. During our four nights, I never was able to get online. Where's the nearest Best Western? Jude and Suzanne collect us for a hike on one of the many walking trails in the Los Angeles area. First, though, we have to stop at Teavana again. I had already charged myself up with Starbucks, but I saw something interesting on sale here. It's a ceramic mug with a stainless-steel strainer set into it. The pores in the strainer look as if they might block heavy water. This might be the perfect utensil for making a small, espresso-like cup of coffee to perk me up in the afternoons when I work in my office at the radio station. Jude drives us and Suzanne's two small dogs to a place where he thought good hiking trails would be found. We head to the Pacific Ocean and its wide beach. Jude thinks I'd like to see the spot where a memorable chase scene takes place in the movie "It's A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World." That was prophetic. First, one of the dogs--the one with a record of car sickness--hualped up a good one all over the console of Jude's new Bimmer. While Jude--parked in a bus zone--cleans that up, I hold the pooch on a leash as dozens of people walk or run by, many with their own dogs. Then my canine charge demonstrates what he could do with the other end of his alimentary canal. We are there for about a half-hour before moving on to Malibu. We never make it. Traffic up and down the beach is backed up for miles. Didn't anyone else know this was Labor Day weekend? We wind up in Venice, where we walk up Abbott Kinney Boulevard, the main street of a bohemian part of town. It reminds me of the lower end of Magazine Street, but more casual and crowded. Our goal is to get food from one of the many establishments, most of which were busy with brunch. Too busy, in fact, for us to get anything beyond a slice of pizza without a long wait. I do give the neighborhood credit for having a free bottled water service, courtesy of Evian. [caption id="attachment_43718" align="alignnone" width="480"] Nesbitt's and sarsaparilla.[/caption] We abandon Venice and head to Wurstkuche, a place Jude knows about that makes dozens of different sausages, and serves them on large hot dog buns. The place is interesting and the sausages widely varied (rattlesnake?) and good. A full range of flavors under the Nesbitt's and Nehi bottled brands is available. It's decades since I saw either of those two brands active. Also here: bottles of sarsaparilla, labeled as such. The place has a small patio where our dogs could watch us eat our dogs. [caption id="attachment_43717" align="alignnone" width="480"] Hot Italian sausage from Wirstkuche.[/caption] It is well into afternoon, and an aggressive dry heat takes the hike off the table. We spend an hour or so driving around. MA is still thinking about buying a house here. Although Jude's impending marriage has obviated any practical reason for that (Suzanne owns a house), MA still likes to check the market, as if we actually have the capital to make a move. During a grocery stop in the Farmer's Market neighborhood, I see an interesting restaurant called Du-Par's. Something about it intrigues me, so we walk over to take a look. It's a big diner,one of five open 24 hours since 1938. It has the look and feel of a cross between the Camellia Grill and McKenzie's, with a major baked-goods operation near the front. Lots of pies. They proudly claim to serve comfort food. It seems incongruous that such an old-style, traditional establishment would fit into the relentless hipness of L.A. Next time we're here, I want to try this place for breakfast. Our original plans were to have dinner at The Red O, Mexican master chef Rick Bayless's outpost in L.A. But Suzanne's parents join us, and the drive to the Red O is daunting. (Driving time is among the top two or three issues that determine the lives of Angelenos.) How about the much more convenient Great Greek? they suggest. Sounds good to me. Suzanne's parents took care of Mary Ann in their home for five days after she injured a vertebra last year, so we owe them at least one. The two pairs of parents of the future bride and groom have already bonded. [caption id="attachment_43716" align="alignnone" width="480"] Taramasalata at The Great Greek.[/caption] The Great Greek lives up to its name. It's very busy all the time, except on the night before Labor Day. Nevertheless, a live Greek band plays and the kitchen cooks a large menu. We begin with taramasalata (creamy carp roe dip, much better than it sounds), hummus, melitzanosalate (eggplant salad), and keftethes (Greek lamb-beef meatballs). Then big salads and bowls of avgolemono soup. [caption id="attachment_43714" align="alignnone" width="480"] Chicken Athenian at The Great Greek.[/caption] Entrees include pastitsio (the Greek answer to lasagna), and shish kebabs. I order a dish I have missed for thirty years. Chicken Athenian is breast meat rolled with a stuffing of feta and spinach, with a flow of avgolemono. It's the sauce that makes the dish, a lighter form of bearnaise ("avgolemono" means "egg and lemon"). Like everything else on the table, the plate with its load of accompaniments (rice, green beans, and potatoes) is so hearty that we get by with just three entrees for six people. We wind up with Suzanne's mom's suggestion of a dessert, ice cream mixed with brandy. It reminds me of brandy milk punch back at home. I see the Great Greek has galaktoboureko, the fluffy custard in phyllo. My standard for this is the version made decades ago by Julia Newsham at her brilliant Greek restaurant of the 1970s, the Royal Oak in Gretna. Nobody has ever topped that, but the Great Greek's attempt is like bread pudding. Not a bad thing. Suzanne's father and I hit it off. We have several eclectic interests in common. Antique radios, to pick one.