Thursday, April 14, 2016.
To LA On Spirit.
Out of bed early, I get the better part of a newsletter done, plus a CityBusiness column. I have been less than rigorous in my filing of columns for that newspaper, where my restaurant reviews have appeared since 1980. Something about the paper's coming out every two weeks sets me off kilter. I have the same problem in writing for the several monthly magazines that carry my stuff.
A lunch meeting next with Mary Ann's sister Sylvia. She gives me a gift for Jackson, my son Jude's five-month-old son, and a family heirloom. Members of Mary Ann's family going back ninety-eight years have been baptized while wearing a little lace cap. Some of these--including Mary Ann, Sylvia, Jude and his sister Mary Leigh--have also worn a lacy white gown passed down through the last sixty years. Jackson will keep this tradition going when he is christened this Saturday. Which is why I am headed that way.
Our lunch is as good as usual at the Peppermill, where I have the soup du jour--a creamy spinach potage--and redfish amandine. Sylvia has chicken parmigiana. She says it's good but that there is too much of it. That is typical of the Peppermill.
Dessert is caramel custard. This is something the Peppermill has always done as well as any other restaurant in these parts. Yes, including Galatoire's, too. It is silky and perfectly light, and the sugar and caramel components are just right. As I ask Sylvia if she'd like to try it, I remember that this is another one of those dishes that are disdained on textural grounds. None of Mary Ann's brothers and sisters will touch the stuff. They don't like bread pudding, either. I love it.
Sylvia tells me I have plenty of time to catch my plane, and I needn't be anxious. Everyone always ells me that, and they are usually wrong. It's always something. This time, it's an enormous number of people going through security. When I get to the gate, they are already boarding.
The airline is the new Spirit, whose copy line is that it cuts fares to the bone. They do this by taking out space between the rows of seats, by installing seats narrower front to back than standard. They don't recline even little bit (unless you get one of "the big front seats," as they refer to first class; they need a name for it, because there is nothing classy here). You are bolt upright all the time.
The fare for my non-stop flights to and from Los Angeles is $254. However, that doesn't cover 1) water or any other beverage; b) magazines or catalogs); iii) movies or music; D) WiFi and just about anything else electronic; and 5) anything but the smallest carry-on bag.
I need an aisle seat ($19), because I know that if don't have one, I will be seated with two other large men. And I am. (I am next to two small Asian men on the way back.) I also need to carry on board a standard briefcase. That's $45. I have a checked bag, too: $40. If I had not printed my own boarding pass, they would have charged extra for that. (I am not kidding.) I am relieved to know that there are no charges for the bathrooms. Total charges for my Spirit extras: $218.
The apology for all this spartan accommodations comes from Mary Ann, who ,ade the reservations for me. "This is perfect for young people who want to travel but don't have any money and don't care what seat they're in or drinks," she says. She's right, of course. But why am I in this? She knows I am a comfort junkie.
On the plus side, the plane is nearly new. We arrive a little early. The attendants are helpful and have a sense of humor. But I don't think this is the airline for me. And they openly admit to--in fact, they brag about--all the extra charges.
I arrive in L.A. at around six Pacific. Mary Ann picks me up in her rental car and drives us to the home of Jude and Suzanne in Studio City. The construction going on there on my last several visits is all done. Looks great.
And here is Jackson William Fitzmorris, my first grandson. He is bigger than he was last time (in February), but although I have a photo of him smiling ear to ear, he is not yet smiling routinely. On the other hand, he only cries now and then, and only for a scheduled feed. The rest of the time, he is engaged with nwhomever is holding him, especially if that person keeps the whole world boucing most of the time. He has eyes the color of a blacklight, and indeed he seems to be shooting rays from them.
Mary Ann has been sleeping in a guest room in Jude and Suzanne's place, but with Mary Leigh here and fiance Dave coming in tomorrow, we need a hotel. Mary Ann swears to me that the only hotel with an acceptable room (only about two percent of Los Angeles hotels meet MA's standards) is the Beverly Hilton, an historic, swank hostelry. We have stayed here before, and I can't understand what it is about this place she likes so much.
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Friday, April 15, 2016.
Shake Shack. In-N-Out Burger.
My thought was to get little writing done and to check my mail in the morning, when everything is in flux. But Mary Ann has a full day planned. My laptop will not so much as be turned on during the entire trip. Jude, on the other hand, has work to do on a website so complex that I can't begin to relate what it does, why, and how.
[caption id="attachment_51263" align="alignnone" width="480"]
ShakeShack marquee.[/caption]
At around noon we head over to Shake Shack. This is one of a new chain of restaurants created by Danny Meyer, who is the genius behind a number of major restaurants in New York City. (Meyer is also the guy who removed tipping from most of his restaurants, and who made a lot of people in the restaurant business to think about following suit. (I don't think this will happen. Not a single New Orleans eatery has followed Meyer's lead.)
The Shake Shack is known largely for the tremendous investment brought on by its initial public offering on the stock market. Meyer is regarded as a man who can see into the future, and his opening a major restaurant concept generates much excitement.
The customers certainly seem to believe in him. When we arrived at the Los Angeles location, the parking lot was almost full, and thirty-eight people were waiting in line. We joined them, giving me time to figure the place out. The main draw is the ice cream shake part of the menu. The shakes are made with frozen custard--soft-serve ice cream enriched with added eggs--in the style of "concretes." A concrete is so thick in texture that if you turn the cup containing it upside down, the stuff will remain in the cup. Both these are very popular around St. Louis, MO, although we had both frozen custard and concretes a long time ago in New Orleans at a place called Chelsey's, opened in the 1980s by no less than Chef Warren LeRuth.
The rest of the menu consists of burgers (pretty good, not brilliant, say my burger consultants, the Marys). The fries are crinkle-cut, but not fresh cut. The hot dog is alleged to be made in the Chicago style, starting with Vienna Beef sausages. It is a pale version of a Chicago dog.
[caption id="attachment_51264" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Not my idea of a Chicago dog.[/caption]
The Marys and Jude are thrilled by the place. Why? Same reason all those people are in line: Because it's hip and new.
Overwhelming this matter is this: our entire four-top of family is gathered here together, for the first time in awhile.
The afternoon goes toward shopping for the food to be served at the after-christening party tomorrow, moving into a new hotel that MA likes (the Garland, very close to Jude and Suzanne's domicile), and picking up Dave at LAX. While we wait for his plane to land, we penetrate the line of cars for In-N-Out Burger. In-N-Out is an icon in California for decades, serving hamburgers that meet the current standards. Fresh-ground beef, fresh-cut fries, everything cooked to order. There's always a line--one made of cars. We are stuck in it for quite awhile, scoring burgers for MA, ML, and Dave. And one for me, too. It's a good burger, but not a great one.
ShakeShack marquee.[/caption]
At around noon we head over to Shake Shack. This is one of a new chain of restaurants created by Danny Meyer, who is the genius behind a number of major restaurants in New York City. (Meyer is also the guy who removed tipping from most of his restaurants, and who made a lot of people in the restaurant business to think about following suit. (I don't think this will happen. Not a single New Orleans eatery has followed Meyer's lead.)
The Shake Shack is known largely for the tremendous investment brought on by its initial public offering on the stock market. Meyer is regarded as a man who can see into the future, and his opening a major restaurant concept generates much excitement.
The customers certainly seem to believe in him. When we arrived at the Los Angeles location, the parking lot was almost full, and thirty-eight people were waiting in line. We joined them, giving me time to figure the place out. The main draw is the ice cream shake part of the menu. The shakes are made with frozen custard--soft-serve ice cream enriched with added eggs--in the style of "concretes." A concrete is so thick in texture that if you turn the cup containing it upside down, the stuff will remain in the cup. Both these are very popular around St. Louis, MO, although we had both frozen custard and concretes a long time ago in New Orleans at a place called Chelsey's, opened in the 1980s by no less than Chef Warren LeRuth.
The rest of the menu consists of burgers (pretty good, not brilliant, say my burger consultants, the Marys). The fries are crinkle-cut, but not fresh cut. The hot dog is alleged to be made in the Chicago style, starting with Vienna Beef sausages. It is a pale version of a Chicago dog.
[caption id="attachment_51264" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Not my idea of a Chicago dog.[/caption]
The Marys and Jude are thrilled by the place. Why? Same reason all those people are in line: Because it's hip and new.
Overwhelming this matter is this: our entire four-top of family is gathered here together, for the first time in awhile.
The afternoon goes toward shopping for the food to be served at the after-christening party tomorrow, moving into a new hotel that MA likes (the Garland, very close to Jude and Suzanne's domicile), and picking up Dave at LAX. While we wait for his plane to land, we penetrate the line of cars for In-N-Out Burger. In-N-Out is an icon in California for decades, serving hamburgers that meet the current standards. Fresh-ground beef, fresh-cut fries, everything cooked to order. There's always a line--one made of cars. We are stuck in it for quite awhile, scoring burgers for MA, ML, and Dave. And one for me, too. It's a good burger, but not a great one.
