Educating Khanh

Last Sunday, my friend Bruna treated me to dinner at Dusty's, an intimately lit bistro in Echo Park that was more reasonably priced, cozy and yummy than Cafe Stella and some other French-inspired eateries on the East Side. Bruna was taking care of the check because on the following night I was going to be the first guest speaker in the freshman writing class that she teaches at Art Center in Pasadena, Calif. The topic was writing reviews. I got the job because I had written a pair of articles about a fashion and architecture exhibit at Los Angeles' Museum of Contemporary Art. The dinner was intended partly to supplement the little stipend I was going to receive and mostly to ease my nerves. I have to admit that I hate performing in public. Most people don't believe me when I make this confession because I always seem in the zone when I am on stage. Yet, whether it's a flute solo, theremin recital or speaking in front of a group of more than three people, I always get anxious. But I suppose hours of preparation and my perfectionism always bolster my nerves and help me get through the ordeal. Still, Dusty's was a nice little place for a bribe. Even though it was chilly outside, I ordered a rose wine, which went nicely with my arugula salad topped with a thin slice of gorgonzola cheese.
I usually don’t see cauliflower gratin offered at restaurants in L.A. Actually, it’s quite rare to see cauliflower on menus at all. I’m not sure why. I like the white vegetable, which is more subtle and versatile in recipes than broccoli. I must confess that this gooey dish was my second choice as a side for my arugula salad. I originally ordered the sweet potato French fries, but the server informed me that she was out of them. Though she tried to talk me into getting the regular shoestring fries, I decided to try the gooey gratin instead. After a few minutes, the gratin’s top cheese layer cooled to become harder than the thumb-size florets.

The herb ricotta cheese offered with the basket of raisin bread and baguette was thick and flavorful.

The quietness and dimness of the restaurant made it easy to forget that I was in Echo Park. That is, until I glanced at the sign for tamales and burritos hanging inside next to the hostess stand. Ever the poet, Bruna helped me make up stories about why the electric placards were there. Were they remnants of the previous business? Were they an homage to the Latino neighborhood? Were they on sale at a swap meet? Anyway, the meeting went well. I jotted down pointers in my orange Rhodia notebook. Then, on Monday, I showed the kids my mad skillz and advised them to read promiscuously. I'm even going back for an encore performance at another class that Bruna teaches on Tuesday. Maybe I should ask Bruna for an encore meal at Dusty's the night before the class.

Tweet