Dear ——–,
Today is the one-year anniversary of my blog. It’s been a really wonderful experience, and I’ve definitely rediscovered the pleasure of writing. Finding the right words to describe my adventures has been almost as much fun as going on them. Thanks for reading!
Lunch at Street
Dear ——–,
Bryan and I spent one of the most perfect Saturdays ever. We started off with a leisurely lunch at Street, where we enjoyed sweet-salty Kaya toast, a succulent pulled pork banh mi and Vietnamese corn with a kick of spice. The iced chrysanthemum tea was so tasty it made me think, “Why hasn’t anyone else done this?” (We had to try Susan Feniger’s restaurant after she charmed us on Top Chef Masters.) We headed over to Exposition Park afterward and took a stroll through the rose garden, where we saw an older couple taking wedding pictures and lots of signs saying “no soccer.” We took a moment to smell the proverbial roses. Then we filed inside to see “Hubble 3D” at the California Science Center. It was really amazing to fly inside the nest stars and gas making up Orion’s belt and watch astronauts making repairs on the space telescope. I wish there were some more shots of the galaxy in 3-D, but I guess you can’t go back and make famous Hubble shots (like the Eagle Nebula) into true 3-D after the fact. In a happy daze, we made our way home.
Studio 1 at East West Studios
Dear ——–,
On Monday, My-Thuan and I met up at Animal for a completely artery-clogging dinner. The bacon gravy that came with the seared foie gras and biscuit had crack in it; the pork belly and slaw sliders slipped down my throat. We were thinking of getting the bacon chocolate crunch bar for dessert, but I confessed to My-Thuan, “I’m a little porked out.” We had a velvety panna cotta instead. Afterward, I met up with Erika to see Bryan at East West Studios, the former United/Western Recorders where Frank Sinatra recorded “My Way.” Bryan was recording some raucous rock songs for Halos in the mod Studio 1. He was working a Neve console that was designed special for Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” session. Mike gave us a tour of the Philippe Starck-redesigned lounges and kitchen. The drippy white chandelier and oversize horse lamp gave the rooms, as Bryan said, a kind of modern “Alice in Wonderland” vibe. Everyone was super busy, so Erika and I headed back to the house, had a chat and tucked ourselves into bed. It was a school night, after all.
Josh Ritter playing the Henry Fonda Music Box
Dear ——–,
Gretchen invited us to see singer-songerwriter Josh Ritter at the Henry Fonda Music Box on Wednesday and now I know what all the fuss is about. He opened with “Change of Time,” which I now can’t stop listening to. He sings with an honest voice somewhere between Bob Dylan and Paul Simon, with songs that sound lush and a little vintage. Before the show, I had heard half an interview with him on NPR where he said he really loved Flannery O’Connor. I figured that was a good sign. It’s been a while since I’ve walked fairly blind into a show and really loved what I heard. (I walked in blind to a lot of bands at South by Southwest and didn’t encounter very many I liked at all.) So I’m really glad Gretchen suggested this. The opener turned out to be interesting, too: the Carolina Chocolate Drops are a black string band with one member who plays the bones and dances almost as if he had glow sticks in his hand. I associate banjo and bluegrass with white Appalachia, so I guess I learned something new.
Lunch at Cheeky's
Dear ——–,
Sue did her restaurant research and directed us to Cheeky’s in Palm Springs, after reading about it in the Washington Post. How can you go wrong with a place that offers a flight of bacon that includes applewood-smoked, thick-cut and jalapeno varieties? My heirloom tomato sandwich — which came with egg, arugula and bacon — disappeared quickly. I washed it down with a perfect watermelon mint aqua fresca. We had a good time introducing Bryan’s parents to a couple of new tastes on their trip: they spread pungent aioli on their sandwiches for the first time at Cheeky’s and tried their first crisp, savory carnitas at El Mirasol. We celebrated his parents’ anniversary at Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse, where we each had our own petite fillet drizzled with butter. A waiter came over to wish them happy anniversary. He asked in disbelief: “Forty years? To the same person?!”
Arnold Palmer golf course in La Quinta
Dear ——–,
For their annual vacation, Bryan’s parents rented a beautiful house at the Mountain View Country Club in La Quinta, near Palm Springs. (They got access to the house because Bryan’s dad works for Toll Brothers.) The dry, 100-plus-degree heat made sitting outside like baking in a sauna, but it actually made me feel very loose-limbed. As Bryan played two rounds of golf with his dad for a discounted greens fee, I read “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” and cleaned up some work e-mails. Bryan’s mom also treated us to an hour at Mirela’s Spa du Jour. Sue’s facial was on par with the best she’s ever had and I was in a sweet daze after my attentive ylang-ylang aromatherapy massage. We wondered where all the water was coming from to prop up all this development (Northern California?), but clearly green sprouts where there’s green … We were happy that Karen and Jason were able to join us for one night. The boys grilled ribs in the backyard with a stunning view of the Santa Rosa Mountains and Bryan’s dad got to meet his grand daughter for the first time.
Taking an afternoon stroll in the Englischer Garten
Dear ——–,
Once all the meetings were finally over, I headed to the Alte Pinakothek, one of the best collections of work by Europe’s Old Masters. Taking my time in the high-ceilinged galleries, I admired the dynamic, muscular movement in the Rubens works and the composure of the earliest known Da Vinci painting. I saw a quirky canvas by Hieronymous Bosch for the first time and decided I should look into his stuff. I bumped into Dave admiring the Rembrandts and found out we were both headed over to the Englischer Garten. We stumbled upon hundreds of people sprawled out over the vast lawns. A handful (mostly older men) were sunbathing nude. There were also a lot of people splashing around with their friends in the tree-lined streams to cool themselves off from the 90-degree heat. It was so social, so … bucolic. The scene reminded me of Renoir’s Bathers and I started to understand why Impressionists painted these kinds of visions. At the end of the 19th century, they were dealing with increasing urbanization and industrialization, and here, by contrast, was something spontaneous and natural. It was time to take a breath.
Traditional Bavarian music at Hofbrauhaus
Dear ——–,
On Wednesday, the conference organizers planned a night of tubas, flugelhorns and “traditional Bavarian food” at Hofbrauhaus. This is one of the biggest tourist spots, to be sure, but it was fun to do what generations of tourists to Munich have done. Seated in an enormous hall laid with a long wooden tables, I ordered a “small” pilsner glass of weissbier to go with sausages, stew, mashed potatoes and sauerkraut. (The “regular” steins literally looked like barrels.) I drank nearly half of the beer – a record for me – out of necessity. I kept asking the waiter for water, but he kept failing to bring it. A colleague also asked twice, but didn’t get it either. Incredibly thirsty in the middle of that unseasonable heatwave, I started to lose feeling in my fingers. I decided I’d better head out and find some water on my own. So here’s another tip about Munich: if you want your own non-sparkling water, it’s best to bring it with you. Outside Hofbrauhaus, I encountered what can only be described as souvenir alley: t-shirts with “Munchen” in rhinestones, ceramic beer steins emblazoned with baroque castles and capped with metal lids, cuckoo clocks, dirndl costumes, FC Bayern apparel. I managed to escape with just a tote bag and a magnet.
Another aside: Later, I found a place called Obacht around the corner. I never got to visit the shop while it was open, but this would’ve been my choice for whimsical, modern souvenirs!
Dirndls, lederhosen and other traditional Bavarian outfits on display in Munich
Dear ——–,
The third — and most frustrating — lesson I learned in Munich: the city runs on cash. Credit cards were rarely accepted, even at high-end shops like the leather-working Antonetty Lederwerkstatt. (I heard about Antonetty in a New York Times article. I was drooling over a particularly beautiful silvered goatskin totebag limned in lime green, but it was an astonishing 450 Euros.) When I went to Marais – a café/antiques shop also on the New York Times list – and collected a much more modest set of items (old florist placards with names of flowers in German, a flapper-style necklace with glittering black glass beads, rosehip and sour-cherry-and-Syrian-plum jams, a slice of flourless chocolate cake), the shopkeeper also insisted on cash. I had to schlep 20 minutes east of the store to find an ATM and trudge 20 minutes back again. Out of pity, the clerk gave me the chocolate cake for free. On this trip, I had to make numerous visits to the ATM and on Thursday, my bank cut my card off. When I called to reinstate the card, I had trouble “identifying” myself to them. They said they couldn’t take any of the other information I volunteered because someone else could have collected only specific bits of information and expect to get by on those. They couldn’t vary from the script. I’m all for security, but it was maddening in this case. The self of 10 years ago probably could’ve answered all the questions satisfactorily, but the questions had completely different answers today. For whatever reason, they weren’t using updated information. Eventually, the bank officer called the number on file, got Bryan, asked me a couple of alternate questions (duh) and allowed me to take out the 50 Euros I needed to get me a train ticket to the airport. This all, of course, took several excruciating hours.
As an aside: I didn’t call my bank before leaving L.A. because I had never had trouble traveling to foreign countries and withdrawing money on this card before. That might have prevented my problem. On the other hand, I bumped into a colleague in a Munich elevator who told me that she HAD called her card company before leaving for Germany and she still had trouble. She charged a glass of wine on the plane, and the charge originated from a U.S. address. The bank cut her off, saying that she was supposed to be in Europe. They called her home phone number, but obviously she wasn’t home to verify charges.
Valier's rocket-powered car at the Deutsches Museum
Dear ——–,
The Deutsches Museum, a science museum focusing on air and space, hosted the main events of the conference I was attending in Munich. We spent most of our time in a stately salon room next to sextants and other early scientific instruments and sweated through the 80-plus-degree heat. (Apparently few places in Munich have air conditioning and the weather was unseasonably warm.) After the presentations Tuesday, we got a tour of the museum: tiny German cars, an original Wright Brothers plane, an exhibit on dark matter. At one point, the guide showed us some experimental rocket-propelled cars made by Max Valier, the godfather of Germany’s rocket scientists. Hitler himself had heard some of Valier’s lectures, the guide said. And when Valier died in a rocket-related accident, Valier’s widow convinced Hitler to take an interest in the rocket cars. Der Fuhrer himself donated them to the Deutsches Museum. Is it weird that the museum has special holdings given directly by Hitler? Clearly you can’t erase Hitler from German history or the technology development in the mid-20th century. I guess you could argue that whatever political figure in power would have probably supported the rocket program, but I have to admit it was an unsettling reminder that Hitler’s Germany had a huge impact on America’s space exploration development. Valier inspired Wernher von Braun, who was probably the pre-eminent rocket scientist of the 20th century and jumpstarted the American space program after the war.
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