miss adventures

Hits and Misses

It was pretty much an ideal weekend, one I had been imagining for a few weeks, at least. The opportunity to shop at my local Saks with discount in hand, a little extra cash, no time restrictions. To go out at an ungodly hour and return home at an even ungodlier one. To eat traditional Tuscan on Beverly Boulveard with your favorite culinarian. To have unplanned-for sleepovers with unplanned-for guests. Then, to sleep in and wake up to brunch.

It all started on Thursday night on Montana Avenue at a jewelry show at Rococo Flowers. They linked the party to the boutique next door, and opened up the garden in the rear. I had a glass of wine with the proprietress, who waxed nostalgic about how unspoiled Montana Avenue was in days gone by. We were between 10th and 11th so a visit to FO was in store, making it my third time in as many weeks. Of course, I had the burger, and the Belgian White. Reyna said there was turtle racing so I stopped by Brennan's. What a shithole. Questionable crowd, but live music, and I had no problem bopping to Def Leppard.

We had proper plans for Friday. A million missed phone calls to j. and Reyna until we were finally mingling together with LA's quasi-bohemia at the TarFest. Vokda sponsored by Pravda, so I took a Pravda-Ton. Browsed through little knick-knacks CAFAM had in gear for Dia de los Muertos, and upstairs, I dwelled a bit at the Christianne Elise work. I had an amusing conversation about the Lionel and Nicole Richie E! THS. Back downstairs, Reyna pointed out that Grant Show was by the bar.

We had a birthday party to attend at Falcon, which was right close by. Nice to be in touch with old friends, but Reyna and I agreed that the Falcon crowd was officially terrible. Aside from the stroganoff, I've never enjoyed anything at Falcon on a straight night. By this point we had many more in tow, and with the setting in of midnight, had to make a critical decision. The Jens B. and L. said St. Nick's on Beverly, the perfect wind-down pub. An assortment of overeager dudes, but I enjoyed my Amstel Light.

Not done yet. The girls were fiending for pancakes and we wound up at Reyna's local IHOP. I got into a little streetside fracas that may have woken up some of the Miracle Mile inhabitants -- who knows. But I really enjoyed those Swedish pancakes.

I overslept the next morning and had to pass over my weekly jaunt to LPQ. Undercaffeinated, Italian class became a sluggish affair. I decided to reenergize with a vigorous stroll through the aisles of Saks Fifth Avenue. A couple of hours later, discount used and shopping bag in hand, I emerged a happy camper.

And then one of my favorite people called, and off we were to Angelini Osteria. Such a divine experience of trippa and branzino, delicacies I had not eaten since 2002. It's not that I'm usually a fan of tripe and Italian sea bass -- I'm just hard-pressed to find it anywhere. You know how certain bites of food take you back. We saw Jimmy Kimmel and Sarah Silverman come in together and slip to the back of the restaurant, which made me wonder... Then, we had to finish our panna cotta quickly because we were already late.

There were a ton of kooks at the poorly named AfTar Party. My date was the hottest-looking guy there -- I'm sure his out-of-town boyfriend would think so, too. I had a Pilsner Urquell, upon a recent recommendation made to me, and Pilsner's sponsorship of the event. I stood around listlessly as indie-cum-diva Sylvie Lewis played her set. When the tortilla chips turned to crumbs and the crudites turned white, we decided to try out Magnolia instead.

Magnolia, the old Route 66, is a breath of fresh air in all that Hollywood haze. I hope it remains the understated gem it currently is, even though tasteful marketing brought us there to begin with. It's a unique hybrid of bistro-bar-lounge-late night eatery, with low, cushy seating, sparkling tea lights, wide and glossy open spaces. We had coconut, peach, berry, and dirty martinis over a very informative game of "I Never."

On Sunday, we tried unsuccessfully for the third or fourth time to brunch at Bread and Porridge. Rejection is always tough. Just northward was Cafe Montana, chicken hash and a bloody Mary.

Ridiculous amount of weekend eats, but the end wasn't quite there. It being my dad's birthday, I headed home for one of our typical Chinese feasts. Cantonese food is his favorite. By the time I had my fifth Peking duck sandwichette, I was stra finita, extra done.

A weekend like this means dieting for the rest of the week and laundering the many outfits worn. Sure enough, I've got the empty fridge and heaping laundry basket to match.

posted by Lucy Sloan @ 11:58 PM