Was walking outside our hallowed place of employment to grab what was literally my first actual meal of the week when I happened upon this lovely vision:

Yes, sports fans, that is none other than MMX LA's own Ward-on-the-Street, literally on the street, keeping her ear to the latest news coming through her very pink cell phone. Note the professional crook of her arm and ever-so-subtle tilt of the head as she ponders some super secret, naked, hipster art exhibit or other that decided to move up its showing that night across town. That moniker that looms over her shoulder was unintentional but strikes a fitting tableau of how we feel on a daily basis.

And lest any of you doubted, she does indeed pound the streets in striped knee-highs at a slight pigeon-toed gait.

 

Take a comparative gander:

 

What does this have to do with food? Nothing really. Unless any of you would like to leave a comment about how scrumptious or delicious Miss Alie Ward is. 

But I do realize—at the risk of totally freaking out my unwitting colleague—that I have yet again resorted to pimping her out for the benefit of the restaurant page. Something that has happened over and over, yet over, yep once more, and most recently over again. 

A.Ward, I'm your number one fan...

Look how generous Gelato Bar is! This Monday the 17th, on its first birthday ever, the Studio City gelateria is giving us the gift of free homemade ice cream and coffee. It's an all day affair: the caffeine buzz for the morning and frozen treats in the evening. Plus, there's a grand prize drawing for a one week stay in Umbria, Italy. Which means eating more authentic gelato. 

Here are the deets:

 

All who stop by can enter the Gelato Bar Grand Prize drawing to win a memorable one week stay in a furnished 2 bedroom apartment in the charming hilltop village of Panicale in Umbria, Italy.  No purchase necessary; prize valued at $1000.

WHEN: Monday, September 17, 2007
8 a.m. – 12 noon: free coffee
3 p.m. – 9 p.m.: free bambini sized gelato

WHERE: Gelato Bar
4342 1/2 Tujunga Boulevard, Studio City, CA 91604
818.487.1717

 

I did it. I finally, finally did it. I got effin' reservations at effin' French Laundry. This is hardly braggadocious. In fact, it's a sad display of the obsessive steps that must be taken to play the part of a "foodie." (Did I ever mention how much that term makes my skin crawl? No? Well, don't get me started).

I won't assume you know: French Laundry is the creme-de-la-creme of fine dining in America, and its owner/chef Thomas Keller is a culinary auteur in his own right.

It's a tiny, tiny, mouse of a restaurant (only 16 tables) in Yountville which is a tiny, tiny, mouse of a town in Napa Valley. Getting reservations has grown to mythic proportions, so much so that disproportionate cyber-ink has been spilled writing about the strategies of calling and weaseling your way in. 

In a nutshell, it is recommended that you call exactly two months to the date in which you would like to visit said French Laundry (they will not take a reservations for two months + one day prior). The phone line opens at 10 a.m. I was told that I should call starting at 10 a.m. on the dot. You’d get a sense of the tribulation that is the French Laundry phone line here:

I did not believe them. Such ridiculous requirements could not still be valid. Not with so many new and excellent restaurants that continue to pop up on a daily basis in the Bay Area. I'm the type to show up about an hour after the sale begins, about two after the party hors d'oeuvres are passed. It feels shamefully eager to be there before the doors open, right? 

Who was the one to be shame-faced as I got busy signal after ear-splitting busy signal during three different attempts? That October trip to Napa? Postponed. Again and again. So, last week I finally hunkered down with my calendar, set a requested date, devised a plan, scheduled a reminder in bold red marker, and called on a Sunday morning. I even set the phone number on speed dial on my cell phone. Yeah. It was that bad.

At dial #17, six minutes after 10 in the morning, I finally got a ring tone only to be put on hold. That's okay. I was here before. I knew that in less than ten minutes time, I would actually speak to a real life person and that I would take whatever time slot was left open. 

And I did. So come November 9, I am making my way up to fork over $240 a person (yes, you heard that right and no, it's not a company expense), spend four hours over a daytime meal and rub elbows with the great Keller-ini.

Now to find reservations at the Motel 6 Vacaville.  

Did you see the spanking that the Colts gave my sentimental favorite New Orleans Saints? Yeah, I missed it too...'cuz of a little thing called work. So instead of hanging over a bar with hot wings and a pint from the tap at Busby's or Ye Rustic Inn or even stinkin' TGIF, I stole a Luna bar (peanut butter flavored, at least) from my colleague and ate that in front of my computer.

That's okay. I'm not bitter or anything.

To remind me that I missed a kickin' kick-off, I got this in the mail:

 

Despite the totally misogynistic display, the Beach Blanket Buffet sounds kinda delicious...or at least, breakfasty. You can't really mess up the awesomeness of eggs and hash brown with a Sunday morning football game. (Well, unless you totally suck.)

The LA Times family was even game for a new football year. The cafeteria downstairs has been promoting a tailgate "party" all week:

But when Alie and I actually went downstairs during our "lunch" hour (which is like at 4pm) and were faced with this:

we opted for salad and some cold pasta instead. Actually the chicken or hot dog option (or even burgers and pizza) didn't look bad at all. I think I was really just craving the hot wings with a brewski...from a keg...not that we had one yesterday during a meet-and-greet with the rest of Times Interactive, or anything.

Where has the year gone? It's already that time of the year when I think the temperatures should cool off, and L.A. would have some notion of a season other than summer and smog. How foolish of me.

On top of that, I completely forgot that the L.A. County Fair starts up tomorrow. And, it's still out in Pomona! It's going to be a scorcher with...you guessed it, lots of smog.

But this year's theme is "deep-fried-anything-on-a stick"! That in and of itself is enough to tempt me away from my spot by the beach. The piece de resistance will be (in honor of the 30th anniversary of his death) an Elvis commemorative deep-fried peanut butter-banana sandwich by the master fry guy himself, Charlie Boghosian. If you haven't heard of him, let me just tell you that he had the balls to sell the Krispy Kreme Chicken Sandwich at last year's fair without getting the hazmat team on his boo-tay.

If you still think Elvis is alive and out there, I'm telling you these deep fried heart attack specials pretty much did him in. 

 

It's a little late to the party (paying serious bucks to have a sitdown meal of cereal was a brain-lapse of a trend that came and went a couple years back), but Juju Cereal Bar is looking to lay claim to the UCLA domain.

Juju will set up shop just outside of Westwood Village, so it remains to be seen whether students who could otherwise have their cereal of choice in the dining hall (and you know the grain won't sit stale and fallow from the quick turnover) would cross the Wilshire Blvd border for their Fruit Loops and Apple Jacks.

But Juju isn't without enthusiasm or sense of grandeur as they are hosting a job fair today! Come join the Juju family, y'all.

New Yorkers won’t like this, but it turns out some of the best bagels anywhere come from Beverly Blvd. If it makes them feel better, the place is called Brooklyn Bagel Bakery.

I checked them out yesterday during “Bagel Happy Hour” (3 to 5, Mon. through Fri.) and acquired eight chewy delights for a grand total of three dollars. Their multitudinous varieties include New York-style, which are extra dense and baked in an hearth, rather than in a pan in the oven. The other, nouveau bagels are softer and just as delicious, like the everything bagel that really had everything and the sharp, perfect pumpernickel. We took those bad boys to Echo Park for a picnic, an outing I highly recommend.

 

Yes, it's late on the Friday before Labor Day and to no one's surprise, Alie and I are once again still in the building. But before you start feeling all sorry for our pitiful souls, just witness what hilarity ensues when no ones around.

The largest lobster festival in the land may be two weeks away (and sure, who can think of anything past the long weekend?), but we've got major lobster on the brain—for Alie, quite literally. Even the lobster gallery is joining in with applause.

Yeah, we know you want in on this late night workahol-party—if you can get past the big, buff bouncer we got downstairs.

G'night party people! Enjoy a labor-free weekend. 

Look at Seattle getting in on the frozen yogurt action. Obviously the design is a blatant rip-off, but we do like the title, as these things go. We can’t wait until Wackyberry shows up in Portland.

 

Oh, Trader Joe’s avocados. How we yearn for the old days when you were consistent and delicious. We felt we could count on you any time of year.

But lately, you’re moody. It’s only extremes with you: hard as a rock, or moldy, mushy, and fetid. Where did it all go wrong? Oh well, perhaps this is for the best. This may be our chance to start buying avocados at the farmer’s market. They’re so much more expensive than you, but we know we’re getting quality. Trader Joe’s avocados, you have toyed with our emotions for the last time.