This time of the year there’s so much great produce, it’s more about what to exclude. Unfortunate but sort of zen. “Remove what is unnecessary,” is some sort of mantra or wise speak, right? Sounds like some cool kung fu shit to me. Stick to the basics, formulate your menu, make lists, yada yada. Zzzzzz. Yeah, I’m boring myself with that. How fun is it to be organized? My guess is not at all, but at least you can look at those who are scatterbrained and judge them. It’s not something I’m in touch with. I’m more of a throw shit at the wall and see what makes the biggest splatter type. A, “Hey, I forgot all about this thing in a jar we made two months ago, it tastes really good, how did I make this again?” type.

At any rate, the market is teaming with ingredients to entice my ADHD addled brain. We’re already beginning to amass more stuff than we can actually sell. This part of the summer is the slowish time for most restaurants in LA. Many of our regs are on vacation in Europe or they’ve left this pre-apocalyptic wasteland for more rural environs.

Speaking of rural environs, M&J finished their wedding tour with a nice meal at Rustic the other night and the three of us pondered the idea of leaving LA for (literal) greener pastures. Ah, the positive fantasy of living again in a place without the lingering stench of dried human urine on every corner was strong in all of us. Many ideas formulated. “Let’s build a commune,” the most present. “We’ll do weddings up there, have animals, build stuff, distill our own whiskey…” It went on and on. The return to something more tangible and quiet has begun developing in me for some time. There’s only so much concrete and smog one can take. I don’t know. I think we all have a “base programming” built into us. If you start out in the country as a kid, you’ll be more likely to veer in that direction and crave it. I’m there. Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe I left a beautiful place like Vermont for a place like New York so many years ago.

I remember the emotions and the wonder and dread of going from the blue and green to the grey, brown, and grimy. The buildings blocking out the sky, the masses of people in the streets, how every task, like going to the grocery store, became a trial in patience and fortitude. I felt like I had stepped into the movie Bladerunner and for months I was afraid to take the subway. Eventually I adapted and grew to love and then despise living in New York. There were some good times, there were some bad times. The bad times tottered the scales over on their side. LA is getting like that a little bit for me now. I’m not as angst ridden as I was in New York, however, because there is no snow or ice and I have patches of my own joy, namely my family–Jo and my boy.

LA is a strange and wondrous place. A miracle it even exists at all if you think hard about it. If I keep telling myself that, there’s a possibility I’ll believe it. There is magic here, but it’s mostly about the weather and mystery of how we all ended up here. My friend K, a therapist who comes in every so often and sits at the bar, once asked me this question: “How does it make you feel to live here?” I answered back, “Pretty good.” Yeah, I’ve integrated myself into this strange and confusing place and try not to let the little big things bother me. You know them, the little voices that say “Where does all the water come from?” and “There really seems to be a lot more homeless,” and “What is happening to Wilshire Boulevard?” and “Where does all the tax money go?” and “Wow, groceries are really expensive now.” You’ve got to ignore these things because you really have no control over this stuff. Who does? The people in charge? I don’t think they even know what the hell is going on anymore. Maybe my brain has been permanently deranged by the pandemic sort of like how people who lived through the depression saved everything and became low key hoarders.

I think a ton about what I do for a living, for money. Order booze and then find tasty ways to put that booze into people’s bodies, but not too much at once. Or am I “Serving up experiences?” Oh dear. Go away Danny Meyer brainwashing. I’d like to think that we’re just a little neighborhood bar where you can come and leave the stress of the world behind you for a half hour or a couple of hours. That’s really what eating out is about, no? Aside from not having to do the dishes or clean up after yourself…

And so I’ll bring it back to the start here. What do we choose to include and exclude in our lives to better our time spent in this meaningless existence? In the be all end all does it matter that I love Weiser melons so much? Well, yes and no. The Weiser sugar cube melon (pictured above) functions as a symbol. it represents something you seek. We all have this in some way or another. If you could boil down your life what would it be? For me, the melon symbolizes dedication. I make a damn good drink with it, I see the pleasure on people’s faces when they quaff it down and this in turn creates the feeling in me that what I do, although somewhat absurd and insignificant, has meaning. It creates a life for my family because I care about it. If you don’t care about what you’re doing, you’re lost. I’ve had those moments and still do, but I choose to exclude those questions and blips of bad judgment I do not need. That bullshit doesn’t serve me.

The melon appears for a little while and is gone, disappeared back to whence it came or more likely and less dramatically, into the Champion juicer for a cocktail. It’s not a silly metaphor but rather an emblem of near perfection. Like the cocktail it goes into, it is a tangible piece of a person’s life that allows them to live. Perhaps the reason why farmers are considered to be the happiest people on earth despite the toil and incertitude. They see growth and death and they are helpless to the throes of environment and weather but in the end their work and dedication becomes an item grown from the very land they care for and stand and live upon.