Shreddin' and Grillin'

My friend Heather hooked me up with the rad skater dudes at Arbor in Venice, Calif. I hadn't even unwrapped the plastic wrapper from the Tokidoki-designed deck that arrived in the mail last week. But Arbor's manager, Drew, walked me through the process of choosing the appropriate trucks and wheels for my new skateboard. When I said "walked through," I meant that he talked to me as I slid back and forth on the wood floors of the tiny shop on various models to test the trucks' stability and ease in rounding corners. After sending one of the neighborhood skaterats across the street to buy some black grip tape for the top of my board, he whirred a hand drill a couple of times, tightening the bearings on the trucks and black wheels I had selected. Minutes later, I cruised out of the shop on my tricked-out skateboard.

Heather and I skated our way from the Venice boardwalk starting at Washington Boulevard over to Abbot Kinney Boulevard, where we got some grub at Axe. I had always wanted to try the seasonally prepared, organic-preferred menu at this California-meets-Japan restaurant. Heather informed me that the restaurant's name is pronounced "ak-shay," instead of "acks" as I had assumed. Having worked up an appetite by shredding the sidewalk, I ordered the chicken apple salad, a hodgepodge of boiled chicken, slivers of red apples, homemade croutons that were the size of ping-pong balls, celery and thick slices of boiled potatoes.

Heather enjoyed a liquid lunch since she had noshed before meeting me at the skate shop. I loved the whimsical design on the label of the family-brewed Delirium Tremers beer from Belgium that she chose. Though not as sweet as a Chimay ale, the Delirium Tremers had a robust flavor that was enjoyed best served in a goblet than a highball glass, she said.

After I parted from Heather, I made my way to Fred Segal in Santa Monica, Calif. The uber-trendy boutiques that make up the mini mall were holding their annual sale, marking down nearly everything by 50 percent. I scored a pair of Miu Miu's snakeskin thong sandals that match the snakeskin business card holder I bought years ago from Jutta Neumann in New York. I'm going to be stylin' when I report at the upcoming apparel trade shows with my coordinated accessories.

I continued my quality time with Heather later in the evening at an art exhibit called Autumn Lights 06 in downtown Los Angeles. An award-winning lighting director, Heather thought several of the pieces were amateurish. Indeed, it seemed that the artists were more creative with their sculptures and stuck a couple of light bulbs inside as an afterthought.

Robert Reynolds stretched cellophane tape over steel wire to create this stretch sedan.

Joined by Heather's hubby, Mike, who was nursing a cold and didn't go skateboarding with us earlier, we decided that our favorite piece was Sean Sobczuk's seahorse. It was also popular with the hip kids who checked out the show with their parents. One Asian-American girl, who must have been about five years old, wore a halter dress covered with a black-and-white Op Art print and brown motorcycle boots. My inner child came out when I swung from a white bedsheet hanging from a bungee cord attached to a metal beam in the courtyard of the CalTrans Plaza where the exhibit was held. I had seen other visitors try to climb the sheet and wanted to do the same. But a burly security guard quickly walked over to me and waved his hands to indicate that there would be no monkey business at Autumn Lights.

I shrugged off the reprimand. Heather, Mike and I walked to Sohoju for some sake and Korean barbeque.

There was no spinach on the veggie plate, which included pumpkin, sweet potato and asparagus. The scallops were sweet.

I also ordered the galbi, which came pre-cooked, and the rice cakes.

The best light of the evening glowed from the hot coals cooking our food.

349 Saint Johns Place

My favorite cousin in the whole wide world, Peony, has a special guy friend who is an Internet deejay. Jordan broadcasts his radio show straight out of Brooklyn.

Pete's Cheese

I cruised downtown on Sunday to see my friend Mathew read his poetry to crazy music a la David Bowie stuck in a shopping mall. At one point in the reading, which was sponsored by the Brooklyn, N.Y.-based publication Greetings, Mathew affected a Valley Girl accent and praised Bowie's gift "to accessorize." Right after Mathew finished, I had to accessorize my tummy with some food. My pal Bruna, who is a noted poet in her own right, and I went to Pete's Bar and Cafe, where we indulged in the cheese flight with the recommended shiraz. The Brie and blue cheese were fine, though I would have liked to pair the latter with some honey. I was surprised by the pungency of the mustard cheese, which was chock full of mustard seeds. I liked how the cook froze the Thompson seedless grapes. The iced fruit did a great job in cleaning the palate.

Martha's Moxie

I've added Martha Gellhorn to my list of role models. What a classy broad. The only things I don't want to mimic from her life are a failed marriage to a narcissistic like Ernest Hemingway and sexual frigidity. I'm too much of an optimistic alpha wolf to let such negativity hijack my life.

Toad in a Hole

My Sunday flight to Los Angeles from San Francisco was delayed by 30 minutes because there were too many planes waiting to land at LAX. I was fine with the wait. On the plane's satellite TV, I watched the entire episode of "Iron Chef America" in which Bobby Flay battled some dude with an immemorable Italian surname that wasn't Batali over eggs. Flay served toad in a hole, which is a country bumpkin dish consisting of a piece of toast that has been hollowed out and filled with a fried egg in the hole. I was so inspired that I made myself two toads in the hole at my house for dinner. I didn't use any gourmet pancetta that show-off Flay served with his plate, which helped him win the challenge. I was lucky to have eggs in my refrigerator. Ever the bachelorette, I usually stock only milk, water and champagne in the fridge and veggie burgers, ice and vodka (Stoli, mind you) in the freezer.

Buckwheat (Sans the 'Fro)

I overheard some people say that they wanted to check out the hot and hip place for brunch in San Francisco. I chuckled to myself because I know better than combining hot, hip, brunch and San Francisco in one sentence. The latter two go well together, but hot and hip aren't the words I'd use to describe good eateries in San Francisco. It's all about the food. And for a post-lunch, pre-flight snack on Sunday I went to Ti Couz with my sister.

Located in the Foggy City's Mission District, which is the equivalent of Los Feliz in Los Angeles, Ti Couz specializes in crepes a la Normandie. Instead of white flour, the cook uses buckwheat flour. Plus, the triangle is shunted for the square as the favored geometric shape to present the crepe. I'm such a stickler for old-school ways that I ordered the crepe complete: ham, cheese and egg cooked sunny side up rather than scrambled. My sister had the crepe filled with mushrooms and creamy sauce.

To help me get over my hangover from Missy's wedding, I ordered the menthe presse. The waiter first set a carafe of water and bottle of sugar syrup on our table. About five minutes later, he returned with the glass of freshly squeezed lemon juice and torn mint leaves. If he had dawdled another minute longer, I would have jugged the carafe at the table.

As I drained the liquid from the glass, I added more sweet syrup to keep the drink full. I would have put the IV straight in my vein if I weren't squirmy around needles.

San Francisco in September

I love San Francisco in September. The Indian summer brings out the sun and warm temperatures. It's a perfect time for weddings. C-Money and L'il Flip (a.k.a. Cory and Missy) got hitched over the weekend. It was a beautiful wedding, filled with good times, peals of laughter, cases of champagne and unlimited love. Just check out the picture of me and my fellow swanky scribes.

I love how all the chicks in my office are so unique, possessing a surfeit of style and representing a different era and mood. Marcy reminds me of a Cannes jetsetter from the 70's, while Emili evokes Auntie Mame from the 40's and 50's. Me, I'm channeling Louise Brooks in my vintage silk dress from the 20's. Was I surprised to see that Ralph Lauren presented a similar dress in his spring 2007 collection, right down to the scalloped hem.

Even the place settings at the reception were grand enough for the Great Gatsby. The fluted butter came in three colors: pink for strawberry, yellow for plain and green for an herb infusion.

The butternut squash soup wore a charming hat made of puff pastry.

The mixed greens were tossed with pistachios and dried figs. Classy. I gave props to the lovely bride, who is quickly turning from an assembler of tuna salad into a top-drawer foodie.

The sun set by the time the plate of halibut and filet mignon was set in front of me. I tried taking a picture with the flash on my new cell phone. But the contraption bathed the food in an unattractive green light that made it resemble a target from a Special Ops video game. I managed to snap this photo of the candy tray, which preceded the chocolate cupcakes frosted with a gooey ganache. Between courses, we buzzed to the old-fashioned photo booth to take black-and-white pictures for the guest book. Because of the long queue, we piled as many people as we could in the booth. I ended up in one series with the bride's two younger male cousins. I'm an honorary Filipina now.

Home Cookin' in Echo Park

Eileen invited me to her house for a home-cooked meal. I had been out of town for two weeks and we wanted to catch up. It was funny that she decided to whip up a batch of pasta alla putanesca, which means harlot's pasta, full of salty black olives in a chunky red sauce. But I suppose it was appropriate as we had lots of girl talk to do. The $7 bottle of Alba Liza from Silverlake Wine Shop helped loosen lips.

For dessert, we shared the bar of MarieBelle dark chocolate that I gave Eileen as a souvenir from Kiki de Montparnasse. Considering that Kiki de Montparnasse is a high-end lingerie shop, and the back of the candy bar's beautiful cover was printed with a suggestive saying from Bertolt Brecht ("Temptation to behave is terrible"), I think the chocolate was intended as an aphrodisiac for lovers.

Instead, it was a crunchy coupling with the vanilla ice cream and fresh strawberries for giggly girlfriends.

A Few of My Favorite Things

I like geek fashion.
I adore Simon Doonan, who joins Emily Hahn and Pauline Kael as one of my favorite writers under 5'5". Kudos to him for standing up for the little peeps.
I dig Mr. Spock and have dressed up as his girlfriend for one too many Halloweens. But I don't fetishize him as much as Capt. Kirk does in this spoof.

Gaslamp Gastronome

I was in San Diego for work this weekend. For dinner on Saturday night, I checked out a Mediterranean bistro called Dussini with my co-worker, Rachel, and her beau, Paco, who was kind enough to lend me his camera for these shots. Dussini was our second choice for dining in the gentrified Gaslamp District. The first pick, Gaslamp Strip Club, caught my fancy because of the name. But the steak house had an hour and 45 minute wait. We quickly checked that place off the list and headed to the next establishment. It was perhaps serendipitous that Gaslamp Strip Club, which had a silhouette of a reclining naked lady on its logo, was packed. Blaring frat-house music, the place reminded me of a glorified sports bar. Dussini was much more civilized. We were seated promptly and given a basket of olive bread, toasted flat bread and other carbs. A plate of butter, tapenade and hummus was also offered. I wasn't sure what to expect of Dussini. Rachel and I joked that we would yell at the intern who mentioned Dussini in an article about new restaurants in San Diego if it turned out to be a dud.

We were not disappointed. For an appetizer, the three of us shared a plate of lobster macaroni and cheese, dressed with truffle oil. How sadistic of the chef to include a puff pastry in the shape of the sacrificed crustacean.

I like eating cute furry creatures. So for my entree, I chose the Colorado lamb, grilled medium rare, with mashed potatoes and white beans stewed with bacon.

Rachel suggested that we share the dessert special: white and yellow peaches brushed with a vanilla glaze and paired with a scoop of vanilla ice cream coated in crushed wafers over a bed of chocolate mousse.

I also wanted to try the trio of creme brulee. In addition to traditional vanilla, we had chocolate and a lemon cream with a tart berry base. The caramelized tops on all three ramekins weren't crispy enough for me. The cremes needed more time under the broiler or blowtorch to be more brulees.

The next day I had lunch at Cafe Chloe, which is becoming my favorite daytime eatery in San Diego. Unfortunately, I ate by myself after a morning of reporting, so I couldn't borrow anyone's camera to take pictures. I sat outside on the patio, sipping a glass of pink lemonade flavored with lavender while going through my notes. The salad I ordered was a blend of sweet and salty, light and heavy. The smoked trout provided a solid foundation for the watercress and butterleaf lettuce, skinny slices of Granny Smith apples, equally thin layers of roasted fingerling potatoes and globs of candied almonds. I was so hungry that I didn't pay attention to the dressing, which was most likely sweetened with Balsamic vinegar.

Forgotten Food

Here's the shrimp and avocado salad that I forgot to mention in my posting about EN Japanese Brasserie. Good luck to Peony in her attempts to recreate the mayonnaise-rich blob of boiled shrimp and avocado chunks. It was delicious mush. I liked the mohawk effect from the single lettuce leaf, though I thought the sand-colored bowl made the salad look washed out.

West End Girl

I've taken my artsy-fartsy act to New York's Chelsea neighborhood, where I'm crashing at my friends' photo studio/loft while they're jetsetting in South America. It's awesome.

Done with being all dolled up and demure for my sister's wedding, I got a manicure. My color: MAC's Nightfall, which is dark gray with a touch of blue glitter.

I trekked down to SoHo to check out some boutiques, including Kiki de Montparnasse, a high-end lingerie store that tries to be the boudoir to Agent Provocateur's burlesque stage, and Space Mercer, where a skinny gray belt by Martin Margiela caught my eye with its blend of Old World leather craftmanship and techno steel ring. I passed the Chanel boutique that had the quirkiest window display. It was another example of the Old World meeting the Modern Age. In this case, the Parisian lady was reincarnated as a robot toy.

Back at the Chelsea loft, I had to be careful not to stand too long in front of the 9-foot-high window lest the livery drivers, who were waiting for their rich passengers to finish shopping in the multiple galleries on the block, think I was an installation piece.

The great thing about my street is that passersby don't even need to set foot inside a gallery to view some art. This videobox was installed outside of Whitebox Gallery, inside the brick wall facing the sidewalk.

My favorite cousin in the whole wide world, Peony, who now lives in Brooklyn, N.Y., came over for a snack. Unfamiliar with the grocery options in the neighborhood, I picked up some Stella Artois beer, Cheetos and baked potato chips at a nearby deli. After asking for my ID, the shop owner looked at me and said with amusement, "Oh, California girl."

After our Old World meets White trash snack, Peony and I headed to EN Japanese Brasserie for dinner with her boy. Earlier I dropped my cell phone and rendered it useful only as a paper weight, so I inculcated Peony in the ways of ghetto photojournalism by art directing while she snapped pictures on her cell phone for The Food and Music Club.

The yuba sashimi glistened. Peony thought it was sexy.

The shochu made of sugarcane was smooth going down our throats. I like shochu even though it is sometimes dismissed as the poor man's sake. EN attempts to elevate the stature of the low-grade distilled booze, offering shochu made of barley, sweet potato and sugarcane and even mixing it with green tea.

The grilled duck breast topped with shaved daikon was a house specialty.

The braised pork belly took Peony back to her childhood because it looked and tasted like our grandmom's specialty of caramelized pork with whole hard-boiled eggs. The big difference was that our grandmom's version is better because she fries the hard-boiled eggs for a slightly crispy texture. Peony reminded me that when she was little her Vietnamese nickname was "Baby Caramelized Pork" because she ate so much of it.

The coup de grace was EN's seared foie gras served atop a fat round of daikon. I think I'm going to hold the first East Coast eating meeting of The Foie Faction here.

The Last Viet Meal

For my last Viet meal in Virginia, my dad yesterday took me to Huong Que, one of the most popular restaurants in the D.C. area which happens to be owned by a guy who went to junior high with my mom in Vietnam. Though the restaurant's Viet name can be translated as "home fragrance," most Americans know it by its Anglo moniker: Four Sisters, which was in tribute to the four daughters in the family. I'm not sure how many know that there are only three sisters working in the family business now, as The Washington City Paper has reported.

My $6.25 lunch special started with a spring roll, wrapped the traditional way with the green onion strand sticking out of one end.

The lemongrass-marinated chicken was so tender that I didn't even need my serrated knife to cut it.

My dad ordered the Viet coffee. Just as they do in Vietnam, the server brought a thermos of hot water for my dad to pour into the filter himself.

After lunch, we went next door to Song Que, the deli that is also run by the Lai-Tran family. I bought sweet porridge speckled with black beans and the coconut milk on the side, sticky red rice with fresh grated coconut and sticky rice steamed with peanuts to eat on the train ride to New York. I had already stuffed my tote with a papaya and Asian pears for the trip. I'm turning into my mother! Next thing you know, I'll be carrying bags of dried shrimp to Los Angeles.

Eat Drink Man Woman

I eat exclusively Vietnamese whenever I visit my family in Virginia. Whether it's food prepared by my grandmother, mom, one of my aunties or a restaurateur who knows my extended family, the meals are always yummy and made with love. Thanks to my sister's wedding, there was a surfeit of opportunities to nosh. Take a look at the buffet crowded with eggrolls, sweet sticky rice infused with coconut milk and dyed the lucky color red, Vietnamese jello that has been art-directed into colorful layers, skinny slices of Vietnamese bologna and other morsels. Just think that this was intended as a snack to tie people over between the first wedding ceremony at our house and the second one at the Buddhist temple. Viet folks have a peculiar relationship with food. Rather than asking how I'm doing, my mother always asks me whether I've eaten. I think the fixation with food, particularly with meat, stemmed from a long history of wars, deprivation and a famine that afflicted Vietnam during Japan's occupation of the country during World War 2.

After the second wedding ceremony, we headed to a town hall where a Chinese restaurant catered the nine-course meal. It turned out that I didn't have to be the reception's MC. That didn't mean I wasn't excused of any responsibilities. Because I was the maid of honor, I had to stay in the ao dai until the introductions were done at the beginning of dinner. As a result, I missed the first three courses of the feast. And readers should know that I probably regretted the opportunity to photograph the potstickers, eggrolls and noodles more than eating them. I eventually slipped out of my ao dai into an H&M black babydoll dress that was a total Chloe knockoff and which I cinched at the waist with the ivory sash originally used to bind the calla lily bouquets. It was a move that both MacGyver and Diana Vreeland would have appreciated. And I made it in time for the crab and asparagus soup.

This is five-spice chicken served with prawn crackers.

This is lobster in a gooey sauce with green onions.

This is Chinese broccoli sauteed with portobello mushroom caps. One of the groom's cousins didn't like the mushrooms because of the slimy texture. I thought the fungus was meaty and tasty, a nice complement to the crunchy greens.

My mother called me to escort her, my dad and the newlyweds around to the 17-odd tables for the customary greet-meet-collect the envelopes of money. I was responsible for carrying the white satin satchel in which my sister would insert the monetary gifts. How I was tempted to be the runaway maid of honor with the moolah. Fortunately, during the half hour that we went from table to table, the waiters got lazy and left the three last entrees. One of my new brother-in-law's cousins was kind enough to scoop some fried rice on my plate. I then added the braised cod and seafood stir-fry.

There was no wedding cake. Instead, guests popped cream puffs into their mouths, along with slices of ripe mango and gobs of juicy strawberries dipped in white and dark chocolate. These might seem like delightful alternatives to the wedding cake. But the work was more intensive. When I picked up my mom on Saturday afternoon at my grandmom's house where the desserts were being prepared, she told me that she had peeled only eight of the 25 mangoes. The Keebler elves would have been impressed by the industriousness that the Viets showed in dipping all those frickin' strawberries. In the end it was worth it because my sister had fun and my family was happy. If only we could have hired the Keebler elves to help with cleaning up.