After a series of missed meetings with out-of-town visitors and aging punk rockers, Miguelito and I decided to spend our Saturday night sans a set schedule. The burst of spontaneity first threw us into the middle of a party feting the opening of Society for Rational Dress' new store in downtown L.A. The coolest person there was a 2-year-old girl who wore a big smile, pigtails, a striped oxford, brown leggings, sparkly legwarmers and Velcro sneaks that glinted in metallic pink. Shamed by her spirit and style savvy, Miguelito and I dashed to a mini concert that The Bird and the Bee was scheduled to play at a fashion showroom. The fire marshal prevented us from entering the venue. We made the most of loitering in the dingy alley behind the building by accosting Quest Crew, aka America's Best Dance Crew. Four of the seven members in the all-Asian group were hush-hush about their next venture -- something about a movie -- but they were sweet enough to honor my fangirl request for a photo with them. True to their rep, they drove away in a black lowrider.
Feeling peckish, Miguelito and I had to think of a place for dinner. We had ODed on Asian food after our previous post-fashion meal at Chosun Galbee so we drove to the gritty Toy District to check out Church & State. No one had told the packed restaurant that there was a recession. Buffered by attempts to sit at the overflowing bar, I spotted a lone table on the brick patio. With no heat lamp looming above, the table was probably intended as a refuge for smokers. Miguelito and I commandeered it. Our strategy to withstand the cold was to order lots of hot dishes, starting with French onion soup.
We were a second away from ordering the fried pig's ears until we reverted to our marrow obsession and ordered the roasted bones. This was the first time I saw it split in half lengthwise. The accompanying salad was also different. Instead of the usual medley of Italian parsley, onions and capers, we had cubed radishes and parsley. The radishes offered a crisp bite that offset the rich marrow. What if someone had tried some sort of spread made out of wasabi for the marrow?
Though we were stuck in the restaurant's equivalent of Siberia, we never felt deprived of attention from the servers. A steady stream of them came to check on how we were doing. Miguelito's theory was that the servers, unlike their bozo counterparts at other restaurants in L.A., were trained well to be attentive, always in anticipation of the customers' needs. Also, because the inside of the restaurant was so hot and loud from the lively patrons, the servers probably thought it was a relief to go check on the two of us outside. They came out right away with our sizzling croque fromage, a panini filled with a melted motley of Gruyere and other cheese, caramelized onions and grainy mustard. The flood of Dijon vinaigrette dressing on the salad made it too hard to eat, however.
Sticking with our "shared snacks" strategy, Miguelito and I ordered half a plate of the grilled sea bass with capers and spinach. It was delicious. We gobbled it up so fast that our waiter, Kyle, asked if we wanted the other half of the plate. We declined, but we wrote him and the hostess, Michelle, a rave review for their bosses to read. Fortified by the yummy food, we braced ourselves for karaoke chaos at Alejandra's 26th birthday party in Koreatown.
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