VISIT ME AT Eat The Paper!
Hello Everyone!
I quickly left Found In L.A. after my first month when my sister and mom both suffered strokes.
Since then, I’ve picked up the pace at my home site, Eat The Paper.
I hope you’ll visit me there as I restart my Found in L.A. Journey!
I’m keeping this site open for those three fabulous readers who posted comments–especially for those who knew Randy at Chili My Soul and might be able to contact eachother.
Los Angeles Marathon? You betcha.
I am 5’4″ and weigh over 200 pounds, and I’m in my 30′s. In college I used to play Volleyball, and in high school I played Volleyball and was on the gymnastics team. I was a cheerleader in middle school and I was always an active kid when I grew up in Hawaii. I surfed, I was on the swim team, and basically, when mom said “go play” I did. I went and played outside, running up and down the streets and doing all kinds of crazy stuff.
When we moved from Hawaii to San Francisco, I put on a lot of weight that year and became a pretty tubby, chubby kid. I’ll admit it–I ate my loneliness. It was tough moving from the islands to a brick and blacktop city like San Francisco, and there was no Ocean, and not a lot of green places to play–and I spoke Pidgin and everyone thought I was a freak.
Flashforward to the 80′s. Oh yes, I started breakdancing. When Flashdance came out, I cut all of my t-shirts and I spent hours in front of my floor-to-ceiling closet-door mirrors and danced. My next-door neighbor, “ro-ro” and I would use wax to polish up a 8-foot piece of tile and we’d breakdance. That year I grew a few inches and lost all the weight. In pictures, I look pretty good! It wasn’t until I stopped playing sports that my bad eating habits caught up with me. (I didn’t and don’t exactly have bad eating habits; it’s more of a volume issue, as in “are you gonna have any of this large tub of popcorn with me? Cause if you are, maybe we should get two.”
Writing it out–
In the blogosphere, Heidi Klum’s “you’re in/you’re out” doesn’t only apply to the fashion industry. Everyone and their grandmother has a blog these days; and now Twitter has been taken over by the babyboomers looking for grocery coupons, and Facebook has been invaded by Generation X (is that me?) and all of our old high school crushes are looking us up. What does that mean for a blog like mine? Is anybody reading it? Is anybody out there? Why do we blog? That’s a whole ‘nother blog, right? I mean, do we really feel more connected? (Oh no, I’m channeling CONTACT starring Jodie Foster!).
Hold on a sec–gotta go get my coffee.
Starbucks on Ventura (which one? Choose one of the 50-bazillion). I actually found a nice, smiling girl at a Starbucks recently. She’d just moved to L.A. And there you go. Also, a mean, old, guy rammed his chair into me and then looked at me like I was encroaching on HIS space. And also, somebody spilled their freakin’ whimpy vanilla Latte dangerously close to my laptop, splattering coffee all over the floor and onto my table. But I digress.
So, I’m still gonna get to know my city–and myself–why? Because I WANT to love Los Angeles–and I want to love myself, too, and frankly, I’m having a little bit of trouble. I feel like I just woke up one day and I was in my thirties. I didn’t have those “partying 20′s” that I imagine all of my friends had when they went off to college and stuff; I was living on my own within a month or so after high school (not out of choice, of course) and took out way too many student loans and was so busy waiting tables in San Francisco and sleeping through my college classes that I didn’t know what the heck was going on. Now, I’ve woken up and I’m in my thirties and I’m pissed wondering where I went–I had dreams. I hate to be bitter, so I won’t be–because I don’t want to give up on those dreams, you know?
What is it about some people and their lack of knowledge about SHARED SPACE? I’m just complaining about the mom and her kid and her baby and her incredibly LARGE stroller in this tiny, cramped place–and her 5 year old who is incapable of speaking at a normal volume; What a jerk I am. Sheesh.
Did I write about my niece, already? My niece visited me last summer (summer of 08) and we walked across the street to Vivien’s cafe (World Famous Vivien’s Cafe) and we were sitting together there reading the paper and waiting for our breakfast. The food at that place is ok, although I wish they’d use less canned and powdered crap and more fresh ingredients; but the location is great, and the patio is great for sitting, reading the paper, and having an ok breakfast, and there’s a parade of Hollywood character actors in and out of that place, along with some of the “beautiful people.” My niece looked up from her section of the paper and said “Wow, Auntie, the people here are beautiful.” I keep thinking about that–as in, what does it mean for those of us who live in this city but don’t look the part?
Ah, well, I’ll figure that out as I go along. Right now I’m the Los Angeles cliche; I’m sitting in a Starbucks with a laptop and I’m drinking coffee and I’m writing. But what else am I going to do? It’s the only thing I know how to do–write it out. You know how your coach used to say “shake it off”? Well, write it out. Here we go.
Rest in Peace, Chili My Soul
One of the saddest things I must report as my first outing into my Found In L.A. project is the death of Randy Hoffman, Owner and Chef of Chili My Soul in Encino. I only got to go there a handful of times over a period of a few months this past year–and every visit was a personal one into Randy’s “home.” Randy had been featured on Food Network, and was a true chili connoisseur. The restaurant was an outgrowth of his booming business as THE gourmet chili wholesaler to L.A-area and beyond restaurants–and the inevitible question from guests was always “when’s the next store opening?” But Randy confided that it was HIS chili; that he wanted to maintain quality-control, and if he couldn’t oversee each restaurant, hire the cooks he wanted to hire, and get the best ingredients, well–it just wasn’t worth it.
On our first visit to the restaurant, it was kind of a fluke. Mathew and I had always wanted to stop by and try it–and finally did. Isn’t that how you find everything in L.A.? Someone tells you about it and urges you to go? We walked in and tried every single chili for the day except that DEMON chili. They were all delicious–from the Durango to the Poblano Turkey (Mathew’s favorite!) to the Soul Fries covered in Special Beef or Zydeco Chicken (my favorites!). Randy was working the counter that day and talked us into two split bowls (to taste 4 delicious chili’s) and a soul fries. Randy was a big guy with a serious affection for chili. He was so intent on making each dining experience personal and wonderful, that he took the time to get to know your tastes and make suggestions; he’d move you away from a chili you might not like and onto something a little more to your taste; and he’d always stop by your table just to chat about the chili and any upcoming new flavors he was going to try.
He had great stories about his appearances on various Food Network TV shows, and his decor was a mash of tex-mex chili peppers and laminated and framed reviews of the chili. We never left without a couple of quarts to take home, full tummies, and a “can’t wait to come back” attitude. Twice we ate there 3 days in a row; and I was always begging him to add a Chili Omelet to his menu, but he’d just sell me a quart and tell me to make it at home. He was a great guy.
A couple of months ago, I pulled up with Mathew to have some lunch and to buy some gift certificates as a gift for a friend, but there was a sign on the door saying that the restaurant would be closed for a bit. Someone inside let us in and notified us that Randy had passed away just a few days earlier on June 18, and that the family was still deciding what they would do with everything. We kept checking every once in a while, and then I headed out of state for a few weeks. Last week, I drove by (after being in Ohio for 6 weeks) and the place was empty–gutted out–and a notice posted for a funeral service for Randy that had passed by a few weeks.
This is sad–not just for Los Angeles–because we’ve lost a true culinary genius (I don’t say this lightly), but in the larger scope of things, sad that someone can spend his entire life loving something and perfecting something, and then die and it is lost forever.
My father died on June 18 about 4 years ago; he had a small barbecue restaurant and a series of award-winning sauces. It had always been his dream to open his own restaurant, and he and his wife tested numerous barbecue sauce recipes on family and friends for a couple of years before they finally opened their own little place. It was barely open a year, and then he was ill for about 4 months before he died of Pancreatic Cancer. His wife moved back to Kentucky, and the restaurant filed for bankruptcy. I mention this because I think a lot about small dreams inside of each person–isn’t that why a lot of people come to L.A. in the first place? But you never know how things will turn out–you can have a good run of something and then its gone.
It’s definitely a reminder of the futility of life–and the futility of getting caught up in daily stuff that we don’t really need to worry about; honestly, everything passes–either by death or by a release and letting go. Eventually, we must all get back into our cars and head to the next dream–the next destination.
Rest in peace, Randy. We’ll all miss you.
Found in Los Angeles–the shtick
This past year Mathew (my boyfriend) and I realized that we’d been living in Los Angeles for a decade. You remember that show, It’s Like, You Know? That’s about when I showed up in Los Angeles. In January, when I had time on my hands, I thought about becoming a tourist for a year in my own ‘home town’ and blogging about it, but like everything else in my life, I did it half-assed and dumped it–but I’m starting to realize that the more disconnected I am from where I’m living, the less happy I am. It’s true.
I just spent my sixth summer in Gambier, Ohio, and there was something beautiful about the people who lived there–how they knew each other and knew the streets of Gambier and knew everything about everyone. What was most beautiful was that I knew Gambier. For the first summer of the past six that I’ve been going there, I knew the town, knew where I’d see deer and squirrels, knew the best time of the evening to take a walk along the Kokosing trail–I took a little bit of pride and pleasure in what I knew about my summer community. But Gambier is only a home away from home. Whether I like to admit it or not, and despite growing up in Hawai’i and San Francisco and Baton Rouge, and despite spending some time in Ecuador and Fairbanks and Russia and a few other states and places, I realized that shit–I’ve been living in Los Angeles for ten years, and I can’t even get from Santa Monica back to Studio City without getting lost. (No, I’m not kidding you–although this just could be MY personal failing, but still . . .) LA is so big that sometimes I feel like there’s just no point in getting to know anyone or venturing out to do anything. Plus, HOW do you do that LA “stuff”–you know? I mean, here are the facts, and they’re not pretty:
I’m 37 years old. In October I turn 38–which I think is the official “mid-life crisis” year. I got on Facebook this year and all of my high school friends have husbands and wives and babies and houses they bought and all that stuff. Me? Still dating the guy I met at a restaurant I worked at 18 years ago. (Yes, 18 years, and still no ring. Really? Yes, really.) And you know, if I want to have a baby, well, I better do it this year or next, or else get rich and do the LA “I’m 40 and having a kid” thing–right? I’m also overweight and have no fashion sense. (I like to think that I used to , but it was the 80′s. Fashion sense was a blow-dryer and a can of Aqua Net, or a sweatshirt and a pair of scissors.)
The thing is, that “What the hell am I doing with my life” place is HERE. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with my life. I came out to LA to — I dunno — CHANGE my life. I thought I’d act, or write screenplays, or direct theater. Instead I waited tables, sold crap from a cart at Universal Citywalk, worked as a part-time teacher, and then, you know–the boring, steady jobs came along. 6 years later I turned around and there I was–chunky, wearing the same black and grey ensemble to work everyday with my Dansko Mary Jane’s and staying in most nights to go to bed early so I could get to work in the morning. I’ve always wondered about those people who party in their 20′s. That was not my experience–and so I find myself missing something I never had.
My 9 year old niece was visiting me and my boyfriend this past summer. We were eating at Vivian’s on Ventura, just chillin in the back patio with our pancakes, and she looked around and then said “Auntie, the people in L.A. are so beautiful.” And I looked around and thought, damn! The people in L.A. ARE beautiful! What the fuck am I doing here? I said this to my niece with slightly different words and she smiled and said, “Oh Auntie, you are one of the beautiful people too.”
We shall see. 52 weeks–100 “hot” spots; this is what I’ve come up with. Spend a year getting to know my city, and in the process, maybe getting to know myself. And hey, you tell ME where to go. I mean, hell, I’m the one who still can’t find Roscoe’s on my own!
