And Ended Here...

Osteria Mozza, somewhere in front of a Verdicchio, Pinot Nero, Montepulciano. I remember the order, but it's not important. At some point, I was driving around town, looking for a place to pop in on, somewhere to take care of me for dinner. Honestly, It's been a long day. I taught 3 classes and shot a fitness video and I'm tired -- somehow because they were pairing wines with everything I ordered. Everything. I'm wiped...so wiped, there's a lot of editing happening in this typing behind the scenes. LA in the last bits before the holidays is like this floating ghost town - so beautiful and empty, and I guess that's what brought me to my wandering, my need to find something grounding at the finest restaurant in town...somewhere where they knew my name. Sad but true. Amazing, amazing.

So They Think I'm A Prostitute...

I never thought myself to be the enigmatic vibe type. I feel like I'm working a lot of jobs these days, floating around town doing what I can to make a buck...and maybe I've said stuff like that out loud or give the impression that I'll do whatever it takes to get by. Maybe...

I still work in a restaurant, I think I've stated this before. But, I cut my shifts back to 3 lunches per week in an effort to be barely there...to go unnoticed in a sense, passing without trouble. Days are short and sweet and I go about my business and get out. I'm sort of the new guy amongst a tight group, all have been there for a long time -- at least longer than me. So there was some down time yesterday when one of the servers -- my confidant -- comes up to say he heard something about me that made him laugh...that 3 members of the staff were convinced, convinced that I spent my nights moonlighting as a hooker. They had proceeded to build a case of proof against me. I laughed, quickly realizing that the case was about to be laid out and then it was. He hit bullet points, one after the other that were both precisely hilarious and precisely true. Wait. Shit. They were actually onto something...I thought, and if something like accusatory court existed and I was placed on the stand, I realized I'd actually be in some trouble. I laughed with him but quickly checked myself...trying hard to not laugh so hard that I would create even more unnecessary suspicion. The points were so convincing, in fact, that I started to believe that maybe I was...or that maybe I should be doing exactly what they claimed I was doing. He walked away and I started to wonder if he was still wondering. Had I been convincing in the least in my dispute of their claims? Did I even care? Then suddenly, I got pissed off, insulted even. Who did these people think I was? Didn't they see me 3 days a week? Couldn't they formulate enough opinion on me to know that if I were hooking on the side, my quote would be high enough where I wouldn't be wasting 3 days a week slinging pizzas and Italian wines to locals. Honestly...

Unless he forgot to include bullet point #5 -- Pizzeria Mozza is the perfect cover...

CASA...

I just got back from downtown, from this restaurant named after the title of this post. The exec chef Kris and I used to work together back at Tower Bar on Sunset. It's where we met. He was a sous chef and I was the Expo and man, that man filled my head with food knowledge like I'd never knew existed. We hit it off right away. When I got back from sowing the oats (is that what they call it?) of my quarter life crisis, he made sure I was hired to hit tables at his first exec chef job at Blue Velvet. We had a great time, he made some great and bold and talented food and picked up a scorchingly good two and a half star review in the LA Times. Eventually I left...then he left and we both kept in touch through marriages and pig roasts and BBQ's...but in restaurant terms, we both went our separate ways. I went where the money was for a while, places where the food suffered...so below my snobbish foodie expectations that were heavily influenced by chefs like Kris. He's got it, man...fire, passion -- I've always had a great respect for him.

So anyway, he just opened up this new place downtown on Grand Street close to Pershing Square. It's Mexican, but throw down Mexican, like fucking amazing Mexican because he's the kind of guy that really isn't capable of much else. This great thing happens when you work in restaurants and your friends start getting their own kitchens and restaurants and you know people everywhere -- tasting menus. I showed up with three dear friends -- all of them worked at Blue Velvet at some point with Kris. Three of us work at Mozza and another at the Dining Room in Pasadena -- who was also recently a sommalier at Mozza.

So I guess we had clout because I felt the room tense when we showed up...as we sat down...as nearly everything on this giant menu was paraded out before us. Literally, everything. Oh baby...amazing. But they were so afraid of us. So afraid...

I started to think back to my days at Blue Velvet. Mind you, the place I work now is as good as it gets in this town. My bosses, essentially, are Nancy Silverton and Mario Batali -- royalty in the food kingdom. And Mozza is something as close to fable as restaurants get in this town. I remember back when I first started at Blue Velvet and Mozza was just opening up - and I had a table of 6, a table of the brass behind it. I was so scared, so scared I was being judged, watched, inspected, tested. I mean, in restaurants, they were titans...and I was wandering in their area of expertise. Later, I waited on Ms. Silverton and handfuls of other titans and then changed gigs and there were more titans and I switched gigs and now I'm at the top and if I told you the people I had at my bar just in the last day you'd think I was lying for dramatic affect. Eventually, you just get slick...

There must have been notes peppered all through the computer...manager, sommalier, Mozza, be afraid, VIP, fuck this up and you're all fucking dead. I found myself constantly trying to play the "cool guy who tried so hard to convince his waitress and the floor managers and bussers and whoever else was around that we don't give a shit and that we were just there to kick it and eat like kings or idiots." I don't know why I quoted that. It all made me stop for a second and realize that I've been in this for...well it's been a few years now and I know my shit and in spite of my contrary claims, maybe I was kinda judging...and maybe deep down I have turned into such a fucking foodie and service snob that I can't help it.

Anyway, the whole experience made me look back and smile and you know me...sucker for shit like that.

The food was amazing. Like I said, we had everything and then some. And the place is gonna blow up - you should see it, nestled in downtown under the buildings and stars. Come summer, me and daytime drunks are gonna hang on the front patio, talk about how downtown is trying so hard to be amazing -- and that finally, finally, maybe it actually is.

We threw down a monster tip for our gal, who was great and sweet and genuine and in this game or any other, honestly, what more can you ask? We staggered out around midnight and I wasn't really thinking anything. Then I kinda wanted to see if ice skating would have me in Pershing Square, alone. Then I kinda wanted to go home so I did. And I drove back on Olympic and yeah...I wasn't thinking anything...and I think I just held onto that.

Great night.