So I’ve recently inherited a profound case of insomnia and after Friday’s third wind, I woke up on Saturday at 10A after days of brutal sleep and went to work. I feel a lot like Ed Norton in Fight Club…(silent scream) HELP! After a ruthless sixth day of work, I deliberated to once again beat myself up and go out with Carina, Krissy, and a boy who I was supposed to go out on date with a while ago, but had never connected with until now. One problem: the wife was exhausted and opted to stay in. I called Krissy and she asked me where we were going. I told her that Carina and I went to the Cha Cha Lounge in Silverlake last week and had a good time. To which she snobbishly responded, “I hate Silverlake! The people that live there aren’t native Californians. They all come here to find themselves. Why the f*@! would you come to California to find yourself? I think that’s so f*@!ing weird!” I laughed hysterically, but managed to cast a shadow of doubt in her mind and she obliged. I picked her up and met up with two confirmed yeses, two maybes, and one surprise guest and his rugby friends. We had a great time with a lot of cool people who didn’t really know each other, but that all managed to enjoy the company. However, it was perhaps Krissy that was the biggest hit! After a few drinks, Krissy worked the room real good! Which was fortunate because she (like all us Pasadena girls) has been in a dating desert! I didn’t want to admit it myself because if you say it, you think it, and if you think it, you got it. Oh no-we’re cursed! Unfortunately, by the end of the night Krissy drank herself into quite a stupor, puked all over her mom’s prized rose bushes, and managed to get a quick swift in the ass by her mother in the form of an eviction, but that’s another story…
Which brings me to a quick diatribe. Why the f*@! are people in LA so f*@!ing self-absorbed? I mean, really?! And believe me, I LOVE LA! As a native Angeleno, I have even professed my love for it publicly on my blog.
To me, LA has always been an exciting diaspora of really interesting people. However, it seems that recently “under the hood” of the people Carina and I have come across (both in business and dating) have not been all that sexy (and I mean that on a purely intellectual basis). Come on people! What the f*@! is wrong with you? Wake up and look outside yourself for once! Would it kill you to respond to an email, call when you say you will, and not flake out on a f@!*ing date? Those things are rude-and sadly, so are you. Get over yourself! I’m pissed, sorry! I, like Krissy, am starting the blame the “out of towners.” Which is probably what has led Krissy to her most mandatory vital sign to dating, which is:
- Your SS number must start with a six (which, in her mind, apparently means you were born in California and meet a certain age requirement)
Other vitals (all of which are hilarious but prove my point) include:
- You must be at least 6’2
- Weigh over 220 pounds
- Have a job
- Have a car
- You must talk to your parents at least once a day
- And go to the gym at least ONCE a DAY
She’s so silly. It’s no wonder she’s in a dating desert. In short, that’s why so many of my LA peeps suck, but I digress.
After an early (3A) Monday at the LA Flower Mart, I decided to go home at 1:30P and sleep peacefully until 4P. After waking up a bit more invigorated, I trekked over to Urth Caffé in Downtown LA to work alongside a hot cup of tea and a Baker’s Special. The Baker’s Special consists of the bottom shelf pastries which are marked down to $3-$4. This is especially great considering that eating in Los Angeles has made Carina and I functionally bankrupt. Needless to say, it’s worth the drive. Later in the night, my phone rang and to my surprise, it was the lovely Carina. But why was she calling at 8:40? I was worried, it was Monday and she should be in class until 10? Was I living in the wrong day? I’m being dramatic! Simple explanation-her professor let ’em out early. Anyways…we were obviously both hungry (when are we not?) and so I invited Carina to finally go try Wurstkuche in downtown. I had shamefully come into some money after I told my dad that I was broke. He asked me how much I needed and I said, “$100.” To which he responded, “$100! But you’re a grown woman!” And I said, “I know, that’s why I need so much!”
I’m not sure if it was Arun or our own addiction to the news crawl that turned us onto the place, but after six months past its grand opening, we had yet to indulge in the hype. After getting lost a few times over, we finally got there at around 9:15P. The place is set in the heart of the Arts District in downtown marked only by a conspicuously brightly painted door. One foot in the door and you know immediately where you are. The smell of sausage is oh so titillating. I was daunted and excited at the same time. When we walked in we were greeted kindly and casually by the cooks. I thought to myself, “hey, not a bad place!” I was further convinced when I saw the large menu of gourmet sausages and was only disappointed that I would only be trying one (sadly, each is priced at over $6-and being functionally bankrupt we could only try one each).
Once you place your order you go through a long walkway into the main room. The place was rich with wood countertops, concrete floors, and high ceilings. To the UG pleasure, the tables are all communal and an assortment of various mustards and ketchups stand tall at each table. The dim lighting seems to be a plus and the turnout given the Monday weeknight was boisterous and lively. I work at a design firm so I immediately drooled over the handcrafted iron-made numbers seen below. From the minute I saw them, I knew they were one of a kind (I was reassured later). Carina seemed all too unimpressed by the decor and wrote it off as too minimalist, she is a bit of a color whore-the girl has an orange couch!
I opted to go with the most simple of all the gourmet selections-I figured, the best has to be the most simple, right? I thought, there could be no way to f*!@ that up. So I ordered the veal one, the Bostworth. I accompanied it with sauerkraut and caramelized onion. My counterpart ordered the Sun-dried Tomato Mozzarella which she paired with onions and sweet peppers. She liked mine better and so did I. That never happens with Carina! Fortunately, we almost always prefer our own ordering.
***The first pic in post is of us at Wurstkuche with our dogs. It’s amazing how I, who never sleeps, is wide awake and while Carina who sleeps in the library all day is falling asleep on her sausage!
Bottom line: We liked the concept more than the actual place. The Oktoberfest motif and the Chimay on tap is nice in theory, but we were sadly unimpressed by the wait time of our food and our first waiter, who seemed to hardly acknowledge our presence after asked several questions. But hey, he had friends to talk to at the next table over….Usually after this much rejection I’d be drooling (girls like it the hard way), but I wasn’t in love. Similarly, neither was Carina. In fact, she said that she’s had better dogs from Costco and Trader Joe’s-OUCH! She is also a big bread quality snob and was angry by the bad quality buns. Luckily, by the end of the night we got a formal education on the joint by our very sweet bartender and all was made right in terms of service. I can safely say that given the copious amounts of incredible dogs in the city we live in, most of which are priced at a modest $1-2, I find it hard to pay 3-4 times the going rate for a marginally better dog. It seems the price to value ratio seems somewhat askew. Plus I am a girl that loves the bacon wrapped street vendor dogs. However, we will definitely try it again with more sleep, better ordering, and perhaps earlier in the day when the buns are fresher. We were told by our Royal Clayton’s friend who happened to be dining there that the Rattlesnake dog is the way to go. Any other suggestions?
Below is a homemade lemon tart by my co-worker, Jason. He thinks he’s an engineer, but I think he’s just a genius. Ms. Josie is happy at work when her co-workers feed her (hint, hint…). It was so good! Even though it was two days old, it still melted like pure butta’-which I am assured it wasn’t, but I have my doubts. Egh…I’ve never turned down a good dessert for its lard content and I never will!