On Rodeo: You Know the Dinner is Good When it’s Four Hours Long


Last week I was invited to On Rodeo, the restaurant and lounge inside (and outside) the Luxe Hotel on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. They are adding baked goods to their offerings and have wisely begun with a chocolate soufflé.

I don’t typically attend events like this but I’ve had several lovely lunches at the Luxe Beverly Hills and my daughter is bugging me to have a sleepover (and possibly a Sweet 16) there so I figured I’d put on my best eating dress and head out for some soufflé before dinner at 5pm.

We had passed appetizers, champagne and the soufflé along with an explanation of the sourcing of the chocolate and a reminder that Beverly Hills and Cannes are sister cities. I sort of paid attention but mostly I was enjoying the dessert. I enjoy the occasional sweet but given the option of cake or a cheese plate I’m pretty religiously going to choose savory over sweet so I was delighted to find that the soufflé was full of chocolate flavor and missing that overly sugary finish that too many desserts seem to have.

Once you’ve had dessert you might as well stay for dinner. So I did. There were wine and tequila pairings and great company at the table so I instagrammed the meal because I wisely knew that I’d forget each and every thing.

We started with roasted tomato soup which tasted like warm tomatoes from the garden.

Next was Ahi Tuna with fresh citrus there was a white wine pairing that was delightful.

Beet salad with candied walnuts

Do not miss the shrimp (and I don’t love shrimp) paired with a sip of tequila

Pan seared salmon on a bed of cauliflower with a sauce you don’t see.

Our second dessert was bread pudding because everyone needs a second dessert when you’re on your fourth hour of dinner.

bread pudding

And their dessert cocktails are spectacular. My favorite is the Key Lime Pie Martini. It’s delicious.

on rodeo key lime pie martini

If you’re looking to sit outside, to see and be seen be sure to request table 81. You’ll be smack dab in the center of Rodeo Drive. We ate and drank and laughed until 9.30. Just in time for a midnight snack, right?

One Week of Working Out Followed by Some Weekend Sabotage


Last week I worked out with Loren Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Loren is this mass of energy with a booming voice and the unique ability to get me through a circuit with tons of sweat and no tears.

Monday was the first workout and although I’d thought of myself as being pretty active I was winded and even queasy at some points. Loren was patient. I was embarrassed.

Then he told me about some of his other clients, two were more than 350 pounds when they started with him. I stopped feeling embarrassed. It doesn’t matter if you’re losing 15 pounds or 150 you’re going to look a little funky at the gym. Oh just disregard that. It totally matters if you’re looking to lose 15 or 150. 15 is a cakewalk compared to 150. I should just quit my whining.

Wednesday I was much better about drinking more water before I came in. I felt a tiny bit sore but strong. I worked my butt off and began peppering Loren with questions about his personal life. Oh you have a dog? AND a cat and she bites you when you cheer for the Lakers? We’ll have to fix that. Your wife has a really interesting job.

Basically I walk into the gym and I’m like, Loren, entertain me! Tell me about your dog and your cat and your wife so that I don’t really feel these horrible core exercises and why can’t I touch my toes I do yoga all the time? And it really is just one sentence.

I make it a rule to not be in heels all day long and Loren asked me about flip flops. Uhhh… guilty. He explained that flip flops actually shorten the hamstring and calves and gave me two great stretches to do when I’ve been wearing flip flops. Obviously I’m pitching the flops for flats this summer.

Friday was also a great day at the gym and I actually felt like I knew what I was doing again. It was the right amount of soreness and my belly was feeling less like a belly and more like a core. I was all I am gym woman hear me roar… and then it fell apart.

I left the gym Friday morning and met Logan to pick up some DVDs he made for the kids at school. We met at Aroma café where I could have skipped eating but instead ate a massive breakfast burrito AND potatoes. I ran home… okay drove, and cleaned up for lunch with Gib. Again, I wasn’t all that hungry and a salad would’ve been fine but I ended up getting a cheese plate at Delphine and wiping said plate clean. From there Gib and I went to Beard Papa at Hollywood and Highland to pick up cream puffs for my kids and his family.

I need you to know that I did NOT eat a cream puff. This is my only victory.

Friday night we went to see The Hunger Games because Mr. G’s boss said that everyone in the department should see it. Although I enjoyed it immensely it’s not great filmmaking. It’s like Aldous Huxley for Dummies. In any event after a week of three training sessions and a two and a half hour tennis match on Thursday (yes I did win, thank you for asking) I went and sabotaged myself with a weekend of gluttony.

Saturday morning was fine, but nothing to be proud of and Saturday night was just an embarrassment. We went to Morton’s with the Tarquinios and relished in being the young’uns in the restaurant. Four of us made our way through 50 ounces of beef, creamed corn, potatoes au gratin, asparagus and three types of dessert. We ate the breadsticks, ordered cocktails and still polished off a bottle of wine.

I woke up Sunday feeling a little bloated and headachy. Fortunately for me sports kept getting canceled and didn’t leave my bedroom until about 10.30. When I did leave it was to eat. Of course. I met some of the ladies of LA tech for tea Sunday afternoon and Serena and I polished off a giant tray of high tea sandwiches and desserts. Serena will stay skinny.

Of course I went home for an hour and then to dinner at another friend’s house where desert was red velvet cake.

This week I’m quitting sugar.

I should be ashamed but I swear to all that is holy, I loved every bite.

Gagtastic: Breast Milk Ice Cream


I was breastfed. I breastfed both of my children, one more successfully than the other. I think it’s nice when mothers of infants feel comfortable nursing in public, but I think it’s less nice when women with older children bare their breasts in clear acts of defiance in public.

At one point a chef in Switzerland added “Mother’s Milk” to his menu, only to be shut down by the health department.

Today in London the Icecreamists is offering breast milk ice cream. Their new flavor Baby Gaga combines breast milk with Madagascan vanilla pods and lemon zest for an appealing(?) ice cream. The milk comes from 15 women and the ice cream sells for $23 (£14) a serving.

I’m wondering if anyone but over the top lactivists and fetishists would buy this? I’m not sure I’d buy regular cow milk ice cream from a place that sold this. You?

I Have Issues


Yesterday was a three restaurant day. I started my morning having Pho with Lolita, and then had a quick trip to Whole Foods. I paid for my groceries, and needed a pen to write a check (I know I’m a dinosaur) so I asked the checker for a pen, and he whipped one out from behind his ear. I held my hands up in the air like a burglary suspect who is finally being arrested. “I have issues,” I declared, “Can I use one of those pens?” And I sort of waved at the pile of pens next to the register. You know the ones, they don’t have hair and ear goo stuck to them.

I had some jeans to pick up in Beverly Hills, and my friend Jay was having The Sweets Truck come to his workplace, so I thought I’d swing by there, pick up some yummy desserts, and have a visit with Jay. I’m so pleased that I did. We met the nicest group of eight people who came from Mission Viejo in a giant limousine, they were celebrating a man named Lyn’s 50th birthday. I won’t tell you everything, but I did take video and as soon as I can get it uploaded I’ll share it in the sidebar.

Next was Alexander’s performance. The last two weeks he’s been at Day Jams, it’s a camp where the kids form a band, create their own song, their own posters, back stage passes, CD covers, and shirts. It’s a week long, and on the Friday they put on a concert. It is adorable times eighty bazillion.

After the concert Alexander had requested dinner at The Counter. We obliged and had hamburgers and wine, he had a hamburger with a strawberry milkshake.

While driving home I got a text from Kim Prince telling me that she was walking distance from my house with Jennifer and Lisa. I had Mr. G. drop me off for a drink with my friends, and we proceeded to get the worst service any restaurant could offer. Our server was VERY nice, she was apologetic about forgetting my wine, charged us for fewer drinks than we’d actually had, but she was busy sitting at the table next to us with three men. Yes. Really.

Somewhere after my ninety seventh glass of water (it’s been well over 100 degrees for the past three days) I noticed one of the other servers was wearing extremely low slung shorts. And by extremely low slung, I mean you can see ass crack when she’s NOT bending over. I’m pretty sure she felt sexy, but in a food setting I never want to see ass, that’s just me. I pointed it out to Lisa, who was like, “they’re not THAT low.” Because Lisa is a nicer person than I am. I promise you, there were absolutely no underwear involved.

About ten minutes later I was grabbing Lisa’s arm stage whispering, “fecal matter and food”, because the ass crack waitress had jammed her ticket book down the back of her pants right over her ass crack. At that point even Lisa agreed, “there is so much wrong with that I don’t know where to begin.” And yes, those food tickets that were smeared all over her butt, were torn off and handed to the cooks. Because what good is food without a little ass juice?

There isn’t a chance in hell that I’ll go back there. You know, apparently I have issues.