Monday, June 1, 2009

A for Amigos

Full disclosure: Reassimilating to life in SF post-Bali wasn’t so easy for a multitude of reasons…and the monster case of jet lag didn’t help. A special thanks to all my pals—you know who you are—who earned an A for Amigo that week. Muah!
Luckily, when the going gets tough, the tough can hop a plane down to the OC where a ridiculously cute baby is waiting around for his favorite emergency contact to visit him. Just when you thought that Heb’s son couldn’t get any more adorable, he defied all rules of physics and out-cuted his former self. Are you ready to melt? If so, click here. Below is a preview, just so you’re not startled:

By design, we didn’t do all that much in the OC other than interview my poor sister, Alison, multiple times each day about Swine Flu via phone and email (which I prefer to call H1N1 since it makes me sound scientific). You see, we were wondering if we could go to Heb’s brother’s restaurant in LA or if we’d be exposing the baby to potentially fatal germs, which would make us poor chaperones to say the least.

'Ali, who's a public health expert for the CDC, gave us an official H1N1 response recommendation consisting of "just go, you guys." But we decided to hang out in the hot tub instead where we could catch up on US magazine and work on our tans. An additional incentive was not having to listen to Bing Crosby’s “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire” on repeat for an hour (in April, no less), which, as you may know, is the only song that will keep this particular baby calm while confined to his car seat. Trust me.

'Just cause I’m really proud of Heb’s brother, Travis, I want to include this link to his restaurant, Gjelina, in Venice Beach—where he is also the head chef. Following is an excerpt from a glowing LA Times write up. I’m thinking that this reviewer must have visited Gjelina the last time Heb and I had brunch there. Note the reference to glamour girls who ain’t afraid to chow down. OMG, we're totally famous!

“Glamour girls in thin jersey dresses, guys in retro hats, the distinguished and the arty, the scruffy and the hard-working -- everyone's perched on vintage wood and metal stools. Forks dig into wood-oven-roasted baby artichokes or grilled white prawns in romesco butter. The tables are a wonderful mess of plates. This is a place where everything is meant to be shared. Nobody's just picking at their main course pretending to eat. They couldn't possibly. Not when the fare is this lusty and accessible.”

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