Well, dear readers, it was a day like any other. It was the best of days, it was the worst of days, it was a day of wisdom, it was a day of foolishness, it was the epoch of lunch, it was the epoch of snacks, it was the season of Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons, it was the season of the film, Jersey Boys, it was the spring of my step, it was the winter of my spring, we had work on the computer before us, we had no work on the computer before us, we were all going direct to a new restaurant, we were all going direct the other way to see where a long-ago restaurant was. What am I, A Tale of Two Cities all of a sudden? Sometimes I just have to act like the dickens, don’t I? And speaking of the dickens, it’s always best to remember that a thousand chickens are going to the dickens.
Well, that was a complete waste of a perfectly good paragraph, wasn’t it? But let me tell you about my day yesterday, because it had some interesting highlights and no lowlights. I got up after seven hours of sleep, then the interim helper arrived and showed me how she’s been organizing the Indiegogo folks – she’s actually got it down really well, and now she’ll let me know how many mugs and t-shirts we have to do up for folks. So, I was very pleased by that and what I thought would take two hours ended up taking ten minutes. Then I had a telephonic call informing me that the lunch meeting was being pushed until Wednesday. The person I was talking to also lives in Studio City and he told me about a couple of new jernts that he thought might be pleasing to me, one of which was a new barbecue place that he said was really terrific, called Barrel and Ashes. Well, color me intrigued, so I just moseyed on over there for an early lunch. Before I left, I did a little Yelp reading – the usual array of comments that are hard to take seriously. There were a couple of warning bells, like “communal seating” “really crowded” and “trendy and hipster.”
I knew there would be no problem with the crowded part or the parking on Ventura Blvd. at eleven-thirty and that proved entirely accurate. The hostess did try to seat me at one of the communal tables, but since there were only four other people in the jernt, I asked for a proper table and got it. My server was very nice and attentive, got me my liquid refreshment and answered my few questions. After she told me that the pulled pork sandwich had kind of a vinegar taste, I opted for the brisket sandwich, which she informed me had a Kansas City-style sweet sauce. I also couldn’t resist trying the shells and cheese. Had I remembered the chicken sandwich that I’d read raves about, I might have tried that instead, and because I didn’t want to be a pig, I didn’t order the hoe cake, which is basically a corn bread pancake drenched in sizzling maple butter with some scallions on top.
The food arrived and the sandwich looked really tiny, but there was plenty of meat inside and it was very, very tasty. The shells and cheese were perfection. So, I’ll be returning on Thursday to partake of the hoe cake, the chicken sandwich, and the baked beans. One bone of contention with the Yelp folks was the 18% gratuity automatically added to the check. For me it wasn’t a big deal because I’m a twenty-percent tipper always. In any case, I was very happy with the dining adventure.
Then I came home, did some work on the computer, had some telephonic calls, and listened to some music. Because of all the nostalgic restaurant notes of the last few days, I’d discovered something very intriguing on Google – a matchbook from my beloved Kelbo’s. Now, the only Kelbo’s I ever knew about were the one we always went to, on Pico (the original, despite some idiot saying the other one was the original), and the other one on Fairfax across from CBS. But this matchbook rather astonishingly listed the addresses of THREE other locations – one in Brentwood, at the corner of San Vicente and 26th Street, one in Manchester on Manchester Blvd., but most astonishingly, one right here in the Oaks of Sherman. I couldn’t believe it. I have no idea what era that matchbook is from, but I’m guessing if there was a Kelbo’s out here it would have been in the late 1950s/early 1960s but probably gone by the mid-1960s. So, since I had the address, I drove down there – it was located a block east of Woodman, on the southeast corner. It’s a pre-school now, and apparently has been for a while. I took a photograph.
I can’t imagine this building being a Kelbo’s but you never know. Then again, whatever building Kelbo’s may have had certainly could have been torn down. Then I looked up online the Tarzana address where my father’s restaurant was, the Valley version of the Kiru, which opened in August of 1964. I don’t believe any of us kids ever went there, and it was only recently that I discovered that they hosted the opening night parties for Valley Music Theater – a theater-in-the-round that I went to, for heaven’s sake. There was something clearly wrong with my father to not let me know that or invite me, but that was my family. So, I found a street view of the address as it is now – it’s one of those large, modern quarter-block long malls now. Before we get off this subject, when I moved to North Hollywood in 1978, it was still a rather quaint little neighborhood. I especially loved the corner of Magnolia and Laurel Canyon, because there was one of those funkly LA marvels, a donut shop with a huge donut sculpture on top. Across from that was our local drugstore. Well, they tore down that iconic donut shop and replaced it with a bank and a strip mall. Here was what it looked like when I lived there – who would allow a building like that to be torn down. Shame on them.
Then I picked up some mail but no packages, thought about getting some food, but didn’t. When I got home, I made some popcorn and then sat on my couch like so much fish.
Last night, I watched a motion picture on Blu and Ray entitled Jersey Boys, the movie version of the Broadway musical, as directed by Clint Eastwood. The film received quite a few very bad reviews, it wasn’t a box-office hit and it disappeared quickly. And yet, if you go on the imdb, the first three pages of “reviews” there are all ten stars. It’s unbelievable really. Well, the film is hardly a disaster, but it’s probably not what fans of the show were expecting. The show is kinetic and always fueled by music, which is fairly non-stop. It’s not much of a story, so they keep it always fluid and moving. Now, I am a fan of Mr. Eastwood, but kinetic is never a word I would use to describe his direction. What we get instead, is a more standard bio-pic with the occasional song. It’s not the best approach to the material, but it’s well directed and once you accept that style it does hold the interest (or at least it held mine) and I thought the actors all did a nice job. After the film, you basically get a full out musical number and as everyone points out, that gives you a hint at what the movie could have been like with that approach. It’s just not really enough plot for a leisurely directorial approach and that’s what Eastwood is about. The music sounded fine, and I really like John Lloyd Young, who reprised his Broadway turn as Frankie Valli. Transfer is fine.
After that, I just relaxed, listened to music, and that was that.
Today, I have stuff to do, and then I’m having dinner with an old pal from my school days, and he’ll give me the full report about last weekend’s fifty-year reunion for our high school class, although he’s already given me a hint that it wasn’t all that. We’re going to a restaurant I haven’t tried called Loteria – I’ve looked at the menu already and there’s several things that sound like I’d enjoy them.
Tomorrow is the rescheduled lunch meeting, and then it’s more meetings and meals and seeing a couple of shows, including yet another production of 9 to 5 in the Dale of Glen.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, do a jog, hopefully pick up packages, and then sup. Today’s topic of discussion: We’ve done it before, but it seems appropriate – what are your favorite bio-pics? My all-time favorite is The Jolson Story. Your turn. Let’s have loads of lovely postings, shall we, whilst I hit the road to dreamland, where I shall undoubtedly dream of a thousand chickens reading A Tale of Two Cities.