Mindy’s Recipe For Disaster

So after I posted yesterday about my super healthy egg white-only breakfast with John Voight (ok, so it wasn’t with him, but he was in the diner), I immediately destroyed any chance of making yesterday a healthy eating day.  I met a friend for lunch at a place called Pann’s.  Ever heard of it?  Turns out it’s been in a few movies like Pulp Fiction and Little Miss Sunshine.  Cool, had no idea.  The only thing I knew is that my friend’s friend is a screenwriter, currently working on a screenplay, and wanted to meet at Pann’s for lunch.  Whoa – that’s so LA.

More importantly, this was the SECOND diner that I went to in under 3 hours.  That’s a record, even for a Jersey girl.  I took it as a sign that the Diner Fates were trying to give me a do-over, a chance to correct the diner wrong that I had committed earlier that day by not putting good old yolks and saturated fats into my body.  All it took was my friend’s screenwriter buddy to mention, “This place is known for it’s fried chicken and waffles,” and pointed out a nice combo platter that included a biscuit smothered in country sausage gravy on the menu.  And as it was written, so it was done.

oh, and that onion ring didn't come with my order, i stole it off someone else's plate

A delicious, crispy Belgian-style waffle came out with fried chicken wings and a side of grits.  The grits were OK, but the crispy fried chicken was delicious dipped in tangy vinegar hot sauce.  A warm, syrupy bite of waffle is best enjoyed followed by spicy, salty fried chicken.  Throw in that delicious, dense, 2″ in height biscuit smothered in country gravy (you know how I love biscuits), and I was instantly transported back to the east coast… even if I was listening to someone discuss their screenplay while I had a mouthful of fried chicken.  You can take the girl out of Jersey…

Believe it or not, this is my first time in LA since I was a child, and it looks nothing like I remember… probably because the only thing I remember about my first trip was going to Disneyland, which I remember thinking sucked compared to Disneyworld.  It’s so funny – the people I’ve met here are shocked when I tell them that this is my first time to LA.  I keep asking, “well have you ever been to New Jersey?”  They don’t seem to think it’s a valid parallel for some reason.

Jersey girl that I am, I had breakfast at a diner this morning.  It looked just like the diners in New Jersey, except that my waiter looked like a model.  Not that I’m putting down the fine diner folk of New Jersey, but let’s be frank… they’re not models.  Something about being in an LA diner made me feel differently about what I wanted to eat, too.  Instead of my normal extra bacon and cheese omelette with a side of gravy-cheese fries, I felt the urge to order an egg white omelette.  Pick up your jaws, you read me correctly: an egg white omelette… with spinach and mushrooms… And instead of home fries, I decided to get cottage cheese with my omelette.  Damnit, pick up your jaws again!  I know, I know…  Oh, and instead of a bagel or toast, I got fruit.

If you’re still reading instead of closing your browser window in horror of my breakfast, I’m going to stun you again and tell you how much I enjoyed it.  I kid you not – the omelette was awesome.  It wasn’t greasy or swimming in oil the way so many diner omelettes can be.  I usually don’t like cantaloupe or honeydew, but for some reason, I kind of enjoyed pieces of them slathered in cottage cheese.  I didn’t even need my second cup of coffee…

Oh, and I ate 2 tables away from John Voight… that’s right, Mom, I ate 2 tables away from Angelina Jolie’s dad.  So surreal.  That has never happened to me in a Jersey diner.

Ok, I’m at a crossroads trying to figure out what to do with my culinary life. One road leads to potential disaster, and the other road leads to even greater potential disaster… So typical. I know what you’re thinking: “Mindy, just see what your gut tells you to do and then do the opposite.” I’ve tried that, but then I second guess myself and think, wait, is that what my gut is actually telling me? Or is doing the opposite of what my gut is telling me what my gut is telling me, thereby making the second gut choice the wrong one?

Whenever I’m faced with tough choices, I turn to my friends, family, and a good cocktail for counseling.  Normally I enjoy something with whiskey or bourbon in it.  However, with my friend, Angie, in town, I started reminiscing about my trip to see her in San Diego – land of sun, tacos, more sun, and a little (mega) place called Extraordinary Desserts (and reminiscing about food always helps distract me from important decisions, allowing me to partake in my second-favorite past time: procrastination through tangents). This place is genius – giant, whimsical desserts that bring ALL of San Diego running to try their salted-caramel ice cream and Angie’s favorite, chocolate croissant bread pudding.  At Extraordinary Desserts, the smallest portion served is the size of my giant, doughy face.  Yeah, extraordinary.

You’re instantly transported into childhood, specifically girlhood inside this upscale, Oompa Loompa-free Wonkaville.  So as Angie and I sat at the bar and watched as the all-girl gaggle down the row ordered a round of sparkly, bubbly rose-tinted cocktails with something slightly gilded bobbing around inside the bottom of the champagne flute, our inner Marie Antoinettes forced us to order a pair for ourselves.  Sparkling white wine was popped just for our beverages and two, Candied Hibiscus Kir Royales were delicately placed in front of us.  Hibiscus syrup gently rested at the bottom of our flutes, delicately supporting candied and gold-leafed dried hibiscus flowers, while sparkling white wine floated on top.

These cocktails were desserts in themselves.  At something like $14, they should have been.  Some of that $14 cocktail, of course, ended up on my shirt as I tried to shimmy the yummy, mildly sweet, chewy hibiscus out of the glass and into my mouth…  It was like the most expensive gummy candy that I’ve ever had.

Angie eyes the decadence

Yesterday, my husband and I celebrated our 3rd anniversary of wedded bliss.  In a surprise move of overt romanticism, my husband made a reservation for dinner at Anthos to help recreate our Greek honeymoon.  I promise that I am not being mean at all when I say a “surprise move of overt romanticism.”  My husband is many things: brilliant, sweet, kind, loving, funny.  He is NOT romantic.  Just doesn’t get it.  Our engagement was… well, it happened and I said yes, which basically sums up the story.  The fact that he actually called and MADE a reservation ANYWHERE is extremely romantic for him, and then when he explained that he picked Anthos because of our honeymoon AND the fact that he remembered how much I love Michael Psilakis’s Kefi – I just about swooned.

I decided to wear “heels” yesterday – 1.5″ heels to be exact.  Once upon a time, I used to wear dress pants, skirts, dresses, cashmere sweaters, etc. and at least a 3″ heel to go to work.  Lately, skinny jeans and whatever top is clean makes the cut.  Footwear consists of old kitchen clogs that I retired when I was forced to buy a cleaner, more supportive pair.  So when I threw on a slightly dressy, drapey cowl neck top, skinny jeans (I debated a skirt, but just couldn’t do it) and nude kitten heels, it felt like “killing it” Rachel Zoe style.  Unfortunately, it’s been a while since I’ve worn feminine footwear.  I’ve gone from a girl who 3 years ago changed out of her 4″ satin stilettos to throw on another pair of 4″ sparkly stilettos to dance at her wedding reception to a nightmare that fell no less than 6 times yesterday because of 1.5″ of extra height.  In fact, I fell at least 3 times during wine class – basically every time I stood up during that class I fell… and LOUDLY.  The other students in the class thought I was drunk from wine tasting…  Nope, just a giant klutz.  I also made a little bit of a extra commotion when I had to take a picture of lucky little “wine diamonds” – little tartaric acid crystals – in my glass of Gewürztraminer. Look! Diamonds on my anniversary! And they’re the only diamonds that I want – the kind that you find at the bottom of a glass of wine!

"wine diamonds"

Oh, and apparently I didn’t pull myself together so well, either.  A friend at work who basically wears a black cardigan over a black shirt, black ankle trousers, and black loafers every single day wished me a happy anniversary and then asked, “Are you going to change before dinner?”  When I told her I wasn’t, she then said, “Oh… well maybe throw on a little makeup?”  Nope, I don’t wear makeup if I can help it.  “No?  Not even some lipstick?”  Nope.  How about chapstick?  “Oh, ok…  maybe just do something with your hair?”  Uh, maybe I’ll unclip it?  “Sure… maybe some perfume, too?”  What the hell, lady???  How bad do I look and smell???  I wish this were a joke, but I kid you not, I actually got this little talking to.  Next time you see me, please tell me if I actually do look that bad?

Luckily, my husband may not be overtly romantic, but he thought I looked just fine over a candlelit dinner at Anthos.  We did the mini-tasting for $65, which is a damn good deal for a tasting menu.  There’s also a Chef’s Tasting for $95, but sadly my budget just doesn’t allow for those types of splurges.  Who cares, I had wine dripping with diamonds!  Not to mention that our mini-tasting was absolutely a dream.  If you don’t get the tasting, you don’t get the Sheep’s Milk Dumplings…  trust me, you WANT the Sheep’s Milk Dumplings.  I’ve had the Kefi ones in a spicy tomato and lamb sausage sauce that’s incredible, but it doesn’t highlight the sheep’s milk ricotta just bound together into delicate, tender little puffs as well as Anthos’s simple, lightly-tossed-with-cream sauce dish does.  Heaven.  What absolutely knocked me over (and almost knocked my glass of wine over, too, when I grabbed for my boss’s camera that I’d borrowed) was the Roasted Lamb Loin.  Holy Cheez Its.  I feel like I didn’t know what medium-rare was until I saw this lamb.  Did I understand how well simple salt and freshly ground black pepper complimented lamb before this?  I don’t remember.  There was a paper-thin crust of seasoned-deliciousness that cracked when eaten the way that bruléed sugar does on top of crème brulée.  I felt like the Greek Amélie.  Heck, I felt like Mindy!  Desserts are great, but DAMN!  Give me that lamb ANY DAY OF THE WEEK.

lamb loin on top of sauteed green beans and a just-enough-spice leek puree

Cruel trick at dessert time, though – I asked what was on the Artisanal Cheese Plate and was told that there would be Constant Bliss!!!  What luck!!!  I should have known better.  When the cheese plate came out, the one cheese that they’d run out of was of course, my Constant Bliss.  Fine, fine, fine…  No worries.  No Constant Bliss, but no worries, either.  Besides, I had ordered Mastic ice cream, too!  If you’ve never tried Mastic or Mastiha before, you’re missing out!  It’s a resin that’s used a lot in Greek and Turkish cooking, and I’d fallen in love with it while in Greece on our honeymoon.  Yay!  It actually tastes the way resin smells – very faintly piney with hints of cedar.  Blended with cream (or Greek yogurt – hollaaaa!), those potentially overwhelming flavors are perfectly complimented and balanced.  True to form though, after I took a picture of a spoonful that my husband very willingly held up for me and took another minute to put away the camera, I returned to an empty plate.  Where was that perfect quenelle of mastic ice cream???  Gone.  My husband thought I was done after I tasted the “model” spoon.  He claimed it was melting… in an air conditioned room… in under a minute…  I just stared at him.  Then he said, “Happy Anniversary, my little sheep’s milk dumpling.”  How can you be angry after that?  Nicest compliment I’ve ever gotten.  And I didn’t even have to put any lipstick on.

the only taste of mastic ice cream that I got