Quick Fix: Joan's on Third!
February 13, 2006
INT. CARYN'S APARTMENT--BEDROOM--MORNING
The radio BLARES at the very second that it changes to 6:30AM. A hand reaches out and smacks it so hard that it turns off.
Only half a face is nestled into a plush pillow. The other half is obscured by a warm quilt that happily smothers the rest of the body too.
Punky, perched upon his throne of the other pillow, wakes and stretches his front paws out onto the half face. A hand pushes down the covers, revealing a groggy Caryn underneath. She swats away the paw on her face.
Punky stands up, hunches his back and walks out the stretch. He sniffs Caryn's face before giving her nose a dry, sandpaper lick.
Cut it out, Punky.
She squeezes her eyes tight for a second before they pop open wide. Sunlight is already bouncing on the bed.
Caryn bolts upright and spins to the clock: 10:30AM!
Crap, crap, crap!
She jumps out of bed, sending Punky flying from the room. She SMACKS her toe into the nightstand.
She hops into the bathroom. The dust settles in the sunlight as Punky cautiously peeks back through the bedroom door.
EXT. CITY STREETS--LATER
The Honda elicits a chorus of horns as it squeezes in and out of traffic. Caryn, with sopping wet hair, is too engrossed on her cell phone to notice.
No, Flora, don't tell him anything! I'll be there in a twenty.
She tosses the phone on the seat and grabs her mascara from her purse as she barely misses the bumper of a pretty Ferrari she carelessly cuts off.
INT. CAFE--MOMENTS LATER
The narrow and brightly lit room is packed. Caryn takes advantage of two chatty and oblivious women to manuever herself ahead of them in line. She peers at the virtual array of sumptious fare in the shiny glass cases: a myriad of fresh salads, grilled vegetables almost too perfect to eat, macaroni and cheese cut into thick, gooey squares.
As she waits for the man ahead of her to finish placing his order, she stands on her toes to get a look at the other counters further down the line. On one end is a glass case filled with a half dozen different kinds of cupcakes and an assortment of muffins and scones. The case on the other end of the store displays desserts so decadent, it's hard to tell exactly what they are. Caryn eyes a few selections covered in rich, dark chocolate.
Caryn gives the waiter her best Chesire-Cat grin.
I need your help.
INT. MR. R.'S KITCHEN--LATER
Caryn dashes in with a couple shopping bags labeled "Joan's on Third." Flora takes them from her hands and immediately starts unpacking them as Caryn grabs serving trays from the cabinet.
They pop open the plastic containers and dump the contents into bowls: curried chick peas, lentil salad, crisp green beans, mushrooms and walnuts. Caryn lines the bowls up on the tray and garnishes it with fresh french bread. She rushes out with Flora following with plates and silverware.
INT. KITCHEN--MINUTES LATER
Caryn re-enters, now much calmer. She takes a deep breath and finishes unpacking the bags. She arranges a couple cupcakes and scones on another tray. Finally, she opens a slightly opaque bag of crisped rice squares. She stacks them neatly in the center of the tray and steps back to examine the arrangement.
Pleased, she crunches into a rice square of her own and takes the tray to her waiting boss.
8350 West Third
Los Angeles, CA 90048
HOURS: Monday-Saturday 10AM-8PM; Sunday 11AM-6PM
I've only recently discovered this absolute gem of a restaurant and gourmet marketplace. If you're in a pinch for something good enough to serve to guests, this is the place to go! The food is outstanding and prepared with expertise and an eye towards perfection.
They also have a small selection of artisan grocery items. The puffed rice squares (pictured) are a sort of rice crispy bar for grown-ups, toasty and light.
Check out their gorgeous site for more information: Joan's on Third
Warming Up: Chicken & Artichokes!
January 31, 2006
INT. MR. R.'S KITCHEN--AFTERNOON
The cast iron skillet is back in use as chicken breasts sizzle and pop to a golden brown in olive oil. Caryn is half engulfed in a low cabinet, rooting for something that doesn't seem to be there.
With all her CLANGING, she doesn't see Hank enter, dressed in swim trunks. He swings a towel over his bare shoulder.
Looking for something?
Caryn bolts up to a standing position, her head colliding violently with an open cabinet door.
Oooo. Are you okay?$MTEntryExcerpt$>
Back to Buttermilk Country Bread!
January 26, 2006
INT. MR. R.'S MANSION--KITCHEN--LATE, LATE NIGHT
The back door swings open and Mr. R. stumbles through dragging enough luggage for an entire family. Hank follows with an equal count of bags. They deposit their loads just inside the door and stretch their aching arms.
I just couldn't take another day in St. Barth's. I'm exhausted.
January 16, 2006
INT. CARYN'S APARTMENT--NIGHT
Dearest Readers and Friends,
Thank you so much for your support and kind notes during my hiatus!
I just want to drop you a note to say that I'm finally working on some new entries and hope to be back in full swing within the week.
I sincerely apologize for the unexpected delay. I know it must be frustrating to follow a blog that so abruptly disappears for an extended period.
Nevertheless, your unwavering interest in my site is a constant inspiration to me.
I look forward to returning to our story.
Lovin' Lamb & Eggplant Casserole!
November 30, 2005
INT. MR. R.'S MANSION--KITCHEN--AFTERNOON
Caryn slices through eggplant as a skillet sizzles nearby. The swinging door creaks open and Mr. R.'s head pokes through.
Going to the gym. Be back in a couple hours.
She nods and tosses freshly chopped mint into the skillet.
MR. R. (CONT'D)
Is that lamb? Looks good.
He withdraws his head from the kitchen. Caryn salts the eggplant slices.
The door swings open again and she rolls her eyes.
Change your mind already?$MTEntryExcerpt$>
Words, Words: Food Poetry!
November 13, 2005
INT. MR. R.'S MANSION--STAIRS--SAME
Caryn skips down the steps in a hurry. Mr. R. appears at the top of the stairs, clothes rumpled from weeks in bed.
Caryn escapes down the long corridor. Mr. R. gains some ground behind her.
She weaves in and out of the fancy furniture sitting unused as always. Mr. R. bumps an end table and knocks over a vase that shatters to the ground, but he doesn't stop.
You don't understand!$MTEntryExcerpt$>
Photo Finish: Pork Tenderloin!
October 31, 2005
INT. MR. R.'S MANSION--BEDROOM--EVENING
The massive king bed nearly disappears beneath the volumes upon volumes of books and newspapers. The curtains are drawn and the light is so dim that a lone figure laying on the only open space on the bed is barely visible. He faintly resembles Mr. R. under the scruffy beard, only this man seems more portly and full than the fit, handsome actor.
The door to the bedroom creaks open, letting in a blinding stream of light. The man shifts to one side and turns the page of the book he is reading. The deep, baritone voice confirms his identity.
Curve Ball: Risotto Cakes!
October 19, 2005
INT. MR. R'S KITCHEN--DAY
Caryn stumbles into the kitchen, trying to carry way too many grocery bags in at once. She unloads the bags in the middle of the floor and takes a breath.
Flora is sitting at the table. The baseball game plays from the television in the corner.
I've been trying your cell phone for an hour!
Caryn grabs the phone from her back pocket and flips it open. Dead.
Eclectic Edibles: Blogging By Mail 2!
October 12, 2005
INT. CARYN'S APARTMENT--NIGHT
Crumpled newspaper spills from an open box on the floor. Punky dives in and out of the box, sending the newspaper flying.
Caryn lays comatose on the couch with the television remote in her hand. Matt appears outside the screendoor, shirt tail deliberately untucked in his stylishly rebellious way.
What happened in here?
He steps through the door and into the mess.
He helps himself to the crunchy cookie dotted with almonds and sorts through the rest of the loot sprawled across the coffee table: rich brownies, chewy ginger candy, exotic spices.
Where'd you get all this stuff?$MTEntryExcerpt$>
Goodness Gracious: Gyoza!
September 30, 2005
INT. CARYN'S APARTMENT--EVENING
Caryn and Winnie sit on pillows on the floor around the coffee table. Armed with a fancy set of chopsticks, each girl is devouring her own plate of tender dumplings stuffed as full as they can get.
I never understand why people take the time to make perfect pleats on these things. Who looks at the pleats?
No time to examine them on the way to my mouth.
Caryn dips the last dumpling in the dark sauce and finishes it off. Winnie sets down her chopsticks.
Still no sign of him?$MTEntryExcerpt$>