I’ve been in Los Angeles for four days and no one has offered me an avocado. Isn’t this place supposed to be lousy with alligator pears? And yet the only avocado I’ve seen was the guacamole in a Mexican restaurant.
(I politely declined the guac, having changed too many diapers in my time ever to want squishy green stuff on my plate. In fact, my private name for the stuff is caca-mole.)
But it’s definitely southern California: Oranges growing in the back yard of the place I’m house-sitting, lemons and grapefruit growing in the front yards of homes past which I walk my friend’s dog. Pastels everywhere, too.
George Wendt is reported to live a stone’s throw away, and one of George Clooney’s homes (one of them?) is apparently close as well.
The other day I walked the dog past a distinguished-looking older man. “Good afternoon,” I said. The man flinched a little and said, “Hello” in a guarded way that makes me think he’s accustomed to being recognized, and tormented, by fans.
I have no idea who he was. Maybe he wasn’t famous. Maybe he was simply trying to duck a process server.
And when a friend from Savings.com took me to the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica, I saw families wading and at least one child swimming. The ocean is almost cold enough to chill champagne, but the sun was out and she was, after all, a California girl.
Edamame and bondage
I haven’t done any other sightseeing, just a few business-type meetings at a New York-style deli, a coffeehouse and a sushi parlor. I opted for sesame fried chicken at that last, since my private name for sushi is “bait.”
Enjoying some incongruities and shop names, though. In the block where I’m writing are, among other things:
- Ever After Teahouse
- Disney Memorabilia (as if we could forget!)
- Hoity Toity (I bet I can’t afford to shop there)
While eating at the sushi place on Saturday I nearly choked on my garlic edamame: A furniture store across the street was offering “pervential furniture.” Does that mean comes with brackets for handcuffs? And just think of all the Scotchguard you’d need to guard against blood and other body fluids.
Eeewww. Makes “provincial” furniture sound even more civilized than it already is.
A place near my house-sitting gig offers clothing worn by actual TV actors on actual TV shows, “up to 90% off!” Speaking of body fluids: I hope they laundered the stuff first, ’cause those lights make actors awfully sweaty.
The café at which I have two appointments today is called Aroma, a nice name for a lovely little place with outdoor seating and potted plants taller than most basketball stars. What it doesn’t have is wi-fi, which surprises me. Perhaps they fear customers would camp there indefinitely if it were possible to update one’s Facebook status.
I’ll have an hour or more between appointments, but I noticed that a nearby coffee-and-dessert place does have wi-fi. I’ll go in after lunch, order a little dessert and check my e-mail. Wonder if they have guacamole gelato?
Donna, you don’t know what you’re missing by not eating guacamole!
There are still a lot of avocado trees in San Diego County, but I don’t think so in LA. Too bad you’re here during a cold spell. I can’t wait for us to be to seasonably normal weather.
@Kay Lynn: I’ve tasted guacamole. I know exactly what I’m missing. 😛
If hit Santa Monica again and you get a chance, get yourself something at Tacos Por Favor. I miss it. Or hit up one of the movable food stands for fish tacos (not food trucks… they are yummy but expensive– the food stands are generally in parking lots and oh so good… they have twitter feeds).
Which NY style deli in LA was it? I find that LA doesn’t really “get” NY style delicatessens. My family in LA/OC likes Jerry’s Famous, but it doesn’t seem quite right to me.
@Flexo: Yep, it was Jerry’s. I expect that any deli outside of NYC proper can only be considered “New York STYLE.” I feel the same way about hoagies: I can’t get a good one outside the tri-state area. 😛