Seven-Day DTLA

First meal

I just had a week-long business trip in LA, stayed downtown at the Freehand Hotel.

By the end of the week, I had eaten every kind of vegetable known to man, and some that even stumped the waitstaff; I got a ton of freely given Vitamin D, an eyeful of tats and man-buns, and an unsolicited dose of human warmth and friendliness.

Amenities basket

 Home

I knew I was in California the minute I stepped into the lobby, warm with earth tones and potted cacti, stylish guests, the smiley greeter, and the vivacious Mallory at the front desk whose knowledge of LA restaurants and natural wines was unsurpassed.

Fatal room flaws—there is no coffee set up. Black mark, very black, as black as the Dunkin' Dark Roast which I was forced to procure across the street. Especially because the hotel coffee service does not start until 6 am. Just not working for the EST guests.

No shower caps. Really? What is it? A reduction in plastic? A nod to greenery? You’ve got your greenery covered, Freehand, with all the lights in the room set on timers to go off automatically. You can barely get through a shower without having to reset the lights.

Okay, but the rooftop pool makes up for it, funk music is blasting at all times. Servers have blue and gray hair and pink army boots and large star-shaped drop earrings. The deck is filled with pasty white newly arrived East Coasters who have thrown off their earthly bonds of khakis and blazers and are fast asleep in the sun. Like a tray of croissants warming in the oven.  The pool floats are in the shape of pizza and pineapple. The DJ carries his dog.

Morning runs all but one

Grand Street

You can run around in DTLA and always find something fascinating. Go straight up the hill on Grand where you find the Music Center of LA, ballet, opera and symphony, Grand Park home to the civic center, lots of steps, lots of fountains and lots of steel; the lobby of the stately Millenium Biltmore Hotel,  the impressive LA Times Building building, which is soon to suffer the fate of The Boston Globe in the second season of The Handmaid’s Tale. 

Millenium Biltmore Opening 1924

A perfect LA Saturday

From the top

Up with the birds and straight up with the Uber to the tippy top of LA, Griffith Park Observatory where views and tourists abound. What do the visiting French students make of this bust of James Dean?

Qui est-il?

His hair was almost as nice as Bryce Harper’s. I ran down to the Los Felix neighborhood whereupon I found Starbucks Reserve (an "immersive theatrical shrine to coffee passion," per the website) at Avocado and Hillside. Back on the hotel elevator I met Cindy the yoga instructor who invited me to her class starting in 5 minutes. Location—Poolside, rooftop. Mats provided. An hour of naturally hot yoga, with the skyscrapers and the headstanders.

Brunch with Audrey

From there dearest friends took us to a classic outdoor brunch at The Alcove where we met their Audrey Hepburn look-alike daughter and her beau Daniel. The waiter described our bottled water as Bougie.

That night—cushioned seats in the second row, loge level, home plate at Dodger Stadium to see my Nats play! Dodger Stadium is big and old and new and its fans have a ferocious level of intensity that belies the California mellow vibe.  

Meet the Prez

So our connection, a high school classmate of my husband’s with whom I bonded at the last reunion, is a childhood friend of Mike Rizzo. The one President who matters in Washington, the President of the Nationals. Riz, as they call him, came up for a personal photo session after the game.

Eating our way through the garden

They're adding vegetables to my eggs Benedict

The first night we were eager to have some real Mexican food. Chica’s Taco Bar was recommended. Down and out and small and rough edged and four kinds of hot sauce in plastic squeezy bottles. So far, so good. But the chicken taco featured chick peas and feta cheese, the fish taco was topped with Caesar salad, and the beef tacos had radishes on top. Come on now California!!

A straw of steel,  as green as the drink

Second night, Colori Kitchen (or Calorie Kitchen, as I prefer to call it) is your basic, exposed brick, old school Italian, all the bread and oil you can eat, spaghetti,ravioli, the usual suspects.

Then we really ramped it up for the next three nights. Botanica, where the vegetables tasted as if they had just been pulled out of the ground and rinsed. The only protein was a baby clam or two, and we were mystified and amazed by a side of “sunchokes." Are they potatoes or artichoke hearts? No, they are the root of the sunflower plant, dummy!
A sampling--fattoush-y salad, chopped spring vegetables, sumac breadcrumbs, roasted garlic labne & za'atar vinaigrette; Romesco, seared spring vegetables, charred leeks, smashed potatoes, almonds, cilantro; Sungold tomato and ricotta tartine, the first tiny tomatoes of the year with marjoram & fresh ricotta on Bub & Grandma's bread.

Kismet, highly recommended as one of LA’s finest, coolest, hippest. Watch out tapas haters and only children, if these restaurants are any example, we are moving universally to the land of small plates. Sharing is mandatory. Fried cauliflower with caper yogurt, kobocha squash with peanut citrus, and aleppo pepper; avocado with puffed wild rice crispy lentils and coconut vinaigrette.

You get the idea here about LA cuisine, no food travels alone, it is always "with" or "&" another; and it's hard to buy a calorie.

Sugarfish—Yum. Sushi where you are advised by the chef to Trust Me. In fact there is a “Trust Me” and “Trust Me Lite” on the menu.  You are also advised by the chef on several other counts. "Hand rolls should be eaten right away."  "We politely decline requests for extra rice." The rice is served warm to create a “melt-in-your-mouth sensation beneath the cool fish.”

Finally, Bottega Louie, the opposite end of Colori Kitchen—everything is light and new, the pizza is thin, the pulpo is thick, the atmosphere is airy and spacious, the hostess is glamorous.

LA observations sought and unsought

On two evenings out we were treated to spectacular displays of PDA. Intertwining legs and arms, long meaningful gazes, lip-locking passion, without surcease. The couples had no idea where they were except with each other. They seemed oblivious to everything and everyone around them. The audience, that is.

There was a gorgeous woman with black hair at the poolside bar, she wore a blue and white striped cotton shirt dress, and sported $500 sunglasses and red lipstick. As the sun set, her hair was blowing in the breeze, and the sun acted like a spotlight on her face, and the breeze acted like a wind machine in her hair, and it was just like being on a set. In fact we were on the set of DTLA.

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