1 Bossa Nova isn't going to be a staple. In spite of high hopes for this place, it didn't really live up to the excitement we felt about Brazilian food in walking distance. Maybe only idiots order the Stroganoff in a Brazilian restaurant but even the more traditional dish we had wasn't great.
2) My neighbor (not one of the Girls Gone Wild) is a genius with the brows. While bonding over our flooded bathrooms at 1am last week, I discovered that she works at Melrose Place Aesthetics. Okay, the place is expensive, but I was frantic and now I think I'm hooked. Not only was she a whiz with the color ( I needed tinting too), but she shaped them perfectly. (I'm still walking around with hair that's about 2 inches past its prime, but I'm going to wait until I feel like heading out to The Valley to try Superjux's salon suggestion.)
3) Our apartment looks about 10 x better now that the tree-beast is tamed! At long last, our landlord sent the trimmers to contain our jungle. I was expecting them to bring machetes, but it wasn't necessary. Now we get the best lazy afternoon sun. There are some good naps coming up once I am done with this freelance project.
4) The Target parking lot has got to be the worst in Los Angeles. The store itself is actually a far more positive toiletry and cleaning supply re-stocking experience than the one offered by my former Target in Colma, California but the parking situation is going to make me avoid future trips like the plague.
5) There really is such a thing as a 30 minute meal (that doesn't come from Trader Joe's). I love Rachael Ray and all, but her 30 minute meals are not things I've ever been able to make in 30 minutes. And I'm not suggesting the problem lies with her. It lies entirely with me. I tend to move a little slower than she does when I'm cooking. It could be the wine. Anyway, my "30 minute meals" are always 45-50 minute meals. No matter what. But tonight I made Tyler Florence's spaghetti with peas, onions, goat cheese, parmesan and basil. And it really did take less than 30 minutes. It was also good later than night when I pulled a Nigella and ate out of the fridge.
6) The unbridled wave of homesickness for San Franciso that hadn't hit yet was inevitable. It was just a matter of time. And it happened when I least expected it. On Saturday night we went to a birthday party of a work acquaintance of David's, and this turned out to be the catalyst . Maybe it was the crowd, or the fact that we didn't really know anyone in it, but we felt like fish out of water. Both of us. Now I can be shy at times, but David? When you look up "shy" or "retiring" in the dictionary, you won't find his name. So the fact that he thought it was a weird night too was validating. Anyway, there's really no reason to dwell on it. Not every crowd is going to be like this one. But San Francisco friends, know that I miss you so!
7) If you hit the Hollywood Farmer's Market at around lunchtime, you will not be able to decide what to eat because the choices are all so good. You will wander up and down, gaping with wide-eyed wonderment at all the stalls, annoying all the decisive people who know what they want. Yesterday I went for Caribbean. Next time it's a toss up between Korean and Thai.
8) Kettle Corn is Farmer's Market crack. I probably didn't need the bag that is the same size as a small child, but I couldn't help myself. I'm still working on it.
9) Rachel Bilson shops at my Gelsons. I didn't see her. But as I perused the latest copy of either In Touch Weekly, or Life and Style (both jostling for the bottom-feeder position in the gossip rag food chain) while waiting to be rung up Sunday evening, there was a photo of her, and there was no mistaking that it was taken at my Gelsons, and "near her West Hollywood home" . Yes, I'm embarrassed to admit that I still get mildly excited by this kind of thing. But she is in the OC, after all.
10) Pot roast is a pain in the ass. Really. That hunk of beef needed so much basting, turning, checking, prodding and temperature-taking, by the time I got to hold a carving knife over the damn thing, I felt a twinge of remorse. It would have been worth it if it was the tasty thing I imagined while my head was in the oven babysitting it, but it was just kind of blah. I'm not sure what the secret is to a good pot-roast but I wasn't around when it was circulating. Next time I want to cook a slab of meat, I'm making Jamie's brisket with the bottle of beer, once and for all.
Anyway, it's Halloween, and it looks like I might be a Hallo-weenie after all. Both me and the other DoubleD are swamped with deadlines. He is working late, and I have something to finish by tomorrow morning first thing. Maybe we'll wander up to the party later on. Or if I'm lucky, I'll get some trick-or-treaters for the first time in 10 years!