Serendipity is my middle name.
All right, not legally. I don’t have a middle name. My parents were too lazy to give me one. But I do have many serendipitous moments. I had a big one a few weeks ago. Huge. I’m sitting at my favorite restaurant — at least it’s my favorite when they keep balsamic glazed ribs on the menu.
Digression. This happens to me a lot, so I’m pretty certain it’s a plot: when I love something on a menu, the restaurant invariably removes it. Tar & Roses in Santa Monica will usually have the ribs, but then they won’t. Once, when they took it off the menu, I freaked out. They put it back — briefly -– then scratched it one more time — and now it’s back. Finally, I can safely order my favorite dish whenever I want. I probably just jinxed it.
So… I sit down at the bar one night -– not a table — because I was being spontaneous and forgot to book a proper reservation. I ordered another favorite there, grilled bread with BUTTER. Most people enjoy this without butter because it’s already been saturated in oil before being grilled. But I’m a butter freak. I tell my cute waiter, slash charcuterie preparer, slash bartender that I can’t wait to eat the bread and butter. Then we start to chat with Abe, the oh-so-cute young man who is serving me. More talking, bantering. And I discover one of the new best kept secrets in Los Angeles. A monthly supper club! Sign me up, I thought. Later that same night, I did. (more…)