I hope that your Thanksgiving was full of laughs and that you spent it with people close to you… or at least your experience was as trauma free as possible.

On the great day of thanks I worked a long shift at a new restaurant. Not new to to the world; in fact, rather established, but new to me anyway. It has been around since the 50’s and its claim to fame is that Marilyn Monroe and similar used to frequent the hotel and its many pools and guest rooms. Evidently not much has happened since.

Picture it, Thanksgiving Day 2007. I kept the phones off and the curtains drawn in a seriously reclusive way. I watched the entire third season “Six Feet Under” to further punctuate my mood. If I had to spend the evening with people who were not my family then I was going to have the morning all to myself my way. Sadly my self-imposed solitary was over all too soon and work beckoned.

There were some 500 reservations spread out between noon and eight. Every piece of available real estate suitable as a serving surface was used as a table. If we could seat somebody on it, it was a chair. We brought in outside staff from the banquet division to help with the back work, like polishing silverware, clearing tables and running food. One poor sod had the job of polishing the silverware. For six hours this man stood next to the dish tank and polished everything that came through. He never saw anything but the rag and the flatware for the entire time.

I waited on 21 people in three separate parties and had far too much time on my hands. The work was mostly for the back waiters. I felt bad, there was nothing for me to do but take orders and when you have a set menu any chimp could rise to that task. When the orders came out they were so fast I barely had time to put the proper silver down. The food was prepared ages before so everything was simply warmed or grilled and plated with the easy things like mashed something, bland vegetables and whatsit sauce.

About half way through the shift I noticed a happy table of gays with a child in a neighboring section. Everyone in the party looked happy to be there with one notable exception. He was clearly a guest of the unconventional family; uncomfortable and probably praying for a natural disaster to bring the evening to an early close. To ease his tension he decided to assert some control over the situation. I’m sure you’ve all seen this before, the moose-in-Tiffany’s type complaining to the staff in a vain attempt to appear sophisticated when in fact they end up looking more moose-esque than ever. It’s painful to witness because you have to be embarrassed FOR them. And the irony of the chump making a fuss and complaining on THANKSGIVING was almost too much to bear. The other fellows in the party must have felt the same for their next round of drinks were all straight up.

Believe me, I was not at all pleased with the reality that I would be unable to join my family for Thanksgiving for the first time ever. It just so happens that the new people get last licks when it comes to the schedule and there was nothing to be done. Certainly I wasn’t going to make a public spectacle of myself or undermine the happiness of others. There will be other days, fun days, my sort of days. And I won’t wait a full year again before I take a moment to give thanks because I am indeed very thankful and appreciative… most of the time.

I decided to take Boy Wonder out to dinner for all of his hard work lately. Being Monday we had few options, until he suggested the new space that recently opened up in WeHo across Larrabee Street from East West called Eleven. We had been watching this space go through a massive renovation lately with its mosaic patio and concert style lighting that we would see at night.

The place is two stories, lit on multi-levels with warm, orange light and square decorations creating a strong, secure confident space. Above the front door is a DJ booth like no other. Appropriately at 11 the place turns into a lounge, removing the tables upstairs allowing for patrons to dance and hang out in this masterfully done atmosphere. The “booth” looks out over the entire space and is lit like a stage allowing the music man to interact with his subjects creating a harmony between them. Many of my DJ friends have expressed countless times that they perform better when they have a visual and an exchange of energy between them and the guests.

I always begin my critique of a restaurant when I walk in and meet the host or hostess. Our hostess was illuminated with personality, walked us upstairs to a perfect table and told us that she would be coming back to ensure our experience was nothing short of wonderful. So far so good; very good, in fact.

The waiter was from Australia and with that accent was sure to get me salivating long before anything else. He presented us with a drink menu and wine list first. I love that. When I was back in Boston I would always allow my guests to enjoy their arrival by offering that they sit with an aperitif of some sort before continuing with the dinner menu. This was of course done Sunday through Wednesday when the time to turn the table was not as important as the guests’ relaxation and enjoyment of the ambiance and everything thereafter. There was no rush for anything and we were presented with the dinner menu after our wine was delivered, which was a Pinot from the Carneros region here in CA.

On a Monday night you can expect a more relaxed vibe in restaurant service, but the leisurely pace we experienced had nothing to do with slow trade. The staff paid close attention to our needs to ensure that we savored every moment and that is exactly what we did.

If there is Tuna Tartare on the menu that is always our first course. We were not disappointed. This was not your run-of-the-mill tartare. It was Japanese Hamachi with Blue Fin Tuna Tartare. It was accompanied by a Cucumber, Avocado and Daikon Salad. The presentation was on a large, rectangular plate that allowed for one of us to eat the Blue Fin while the other was busy deconstructing the Hamachi. The pieces were more than adequate. They were thick slabs of succulent flesh wrapped around the salad creating two towers of decadence. The classic paring of the Daikon and Cucumber was elevated a notch with the inspired addition of avocado and a drizzle of Yuzo Ponzu.

For my main course I had a Pan Roasted Cod Filet with Romesco, Chorizo, Clams and White Beans. The cod was finished with a bright Garlic Parsley broth and toasted almonds. I was a bit hesitant with this dish; the long list of accompaniments was a little concerning. My reservations were not justified. It could not have been done better. A fish such as Cod was made to be paired with subtle compliments like Chorizo and White Beans. The Parsley broth was superb and the chef is genius. This dish was all about the ways that flavors can tease and play on the palate in a scrimmage of taste and texture. I was most impressed with the size of the portion. Just as I was saying to myself, “I had better stop now to save room for dessert” I was lifting my fork with the last bite.

Boy Wonder had a Macadamian Nut Crusted Maple Leaf Duck Breast with a Celery Root puree, Swiss Chard, Mizuna Radicchio, Golden Raisins and Black Trumpet Mushrooms in a Wild Huckleberry Sauce. My concern with the cod also extended to the Duck, but it should come to no surprise to you that my fears were unfounded. The Huckleberry sauce is what tied this dish together; the dark sweet flavor profile was a harmonious match for the rich and savory duck breast. The radicchio, spinach and celeriac gave the perfect amount of earthy tones to balance out the rich and sweet elements. I watched Boy Wonder’s eyes sing along with the dish and I knew that this was going down in the food books as the best meal yet.

For dessert I was pleased to see a Chocolate Crème Brule. I requested that along with two glasses of a Tawny Port, a fortified wine from Portugal that I find is always a good pair with chocolate. Unfortunately this fell behind the first and second course in presentation and taste. It was rather large sitting quietly on a dish with a lonely dusting of powdered sugar. The chocolate was bitter and immediately put me and the port off. There was also one more thing that I have to say on the note of lacking and falling behind. I only say this because it is a pet peeve of mine and has been for years. The salt and pepper shaker should be removed after the main course has been cleared to finish the meal and introduce a new course, dessert. One does not need to season their Crème Brule or any other dessert for that matter; it is part of the meal that, like the plates, should be removed.

The wait staff, the décor, the food and everything in between was absolutely superb and executed with pride and excellence. And by the way, our hostess did come back just in time to find us purring with delight into the final sips of our Pinot.

Now seated on a Delta flight bound for Tampa I can honestly say this is the highest I have ever been while making a blog entry. In Tampa I will be performing at a club called “G Lounge” but the real excitement for me will be seeing my cousin Joe for the first time in about 12 years. Our family had a ridiculous argument that resulted in a division on my mom’s side that left some of the cousins at a loose end. The kid has grown up and is one of the most well adjusted 25-year-olds that I have ever seen. He reminds me of myself at that age! Well, give or take a few minor details…

It amazes me that after all the hype about “Homeland Security” and all the airport dramas with restrictions on shampoo and mouthwash that people still carry on as if they’ve never flown before; much less switched on the news this century. I mean how do people expect to walk up to a METAL DETECTOR with about a pound of metal distributed on them from head to toe in the name of fashion? I heard the attendant exclaim twice in a very slow, condescending tone “You are walking through a metal detector that detects metal, please remove all metal objects.”

When it came to my turn I had my lap top removed and placed in its own basket - just like the numerous signs indicated it should be. I had removed my shoes, even though they were flip flops (what else?). There was no metal on me anywhere and all I had in my hands was my boarding pass. The woman in front of me had missed the signs and apparently the last two years. She shuffled up to the detector clad in armor; a belt that wrapped around her waist four times, and several bracelets on each of her wrists. She had not removed her shoes or the shoes of her offspring that was drooling onto the floor. I knew exactly what was going to happen as if I were watching a TV show that I had seen a thousand times again.

She was asked to remove her gladiator issued belt, her shoes, accessories and the slobbering child from her person and put them all through the X ray. He asked her to put he child through just for fun and in the hopes to disarm the disgruntled people that were standing behind her barefoot waiting for her to comply with TSA regulations. She was not amused although I sure as hell was. She, of course, did not have her boarding pass with her as she went through the detector and had to flag down her equally unaware husband who had her pass in his back pocket. It would be so great if people could get it together just enough to stop impeding my every move.

On my way to the terminal I came across a man with those wireless Bluetooth headphones that double as a phone. He was talking to somebody jokingly in the middle of the walkway, pacing back and forth, laughing and smiling. He was dressed rather outlandishly with sunglasses on and he looked like he was a shizophrenic comedian. I sat down behind him on a bench and had my morning coffee watching all the people walking past him with confused and sometimes alarmed looks on their faces. I don’t know why they looked that confused or concerned, this was after all LA.

Hopefully this gig in Florida will be fun. At least I know I’ll have a great time catching up with my cousin. I’m a bit fed up with traveling for now and look forward to getting back home again. This time for more than a few days.

The sleepy town I call home during the winter has gone through some changes in the time I’ve been gone. The video store that was run by the Lowells is now vacant with a “For Lease” sign in the front window that reads more like “Closed For Lack Of Interest”.

There used to be a small independent grocer by the name of Diane that dealt with the local farmers in the desert and surrounding areas. Everything was home grown and the only way to get this honest produce was to fill out an order form. She had broccoli, heirloom tomatoes, various kinds of apples and pears, beans and asparagus just to name a few. It felt really good to support local farming and to be part of such a healthy and beneficial interaction that you rarely see anymore.

As I drove into town I thought of how much fun I had preparing my meals around the seasonal produce. The stews I used to make. The elaborate omelets I would whip up so I could use what was left in the fridge to make room for what I would pick up that afternoon with all the other flip-flop wearing desert rats. However, as I drove by I caught glimpse of the store and saw the dreaded sign. This one read “Squeezed Out by Corporate Fucks!”…well not those words exactly, but close enough. Damn it!

Needless to say I was very disappointed by these discoveries. I mean, the list of reasons I like living in Palm Springs isn’t all that long to begin with. It wasn’t a very good time for a really annoying experience with an uncaring corporation. Enter Bank of America.

Whenever I have any interaction at all with Bank of America it usually ends with me fantasizing about removing all of my money from their greedy hands, packing it into Mason jars and burying them under palm trees. Not only do they have control of my money, they took over my credit card companies so it’s like there’s no escape. They have me at their incompetent mercy, but that lack of control I experience is admittedly offset by the extreme convenience of their normal operations. And I don’t really have that many Mason jars.

Last week I lost my ATM card; complete financial paralysis, right? It seemed like a visit to a local branch would be the best way to fix this. At the branch I was instructed to pick up a small white phone and press 1. Why did I bother coming to the branch if no one would help me? After a couple of minutes speaking with someone who sounded like he was all of 15 years old, I allegedly had my ATM card re-issued and left feeling some accomplishment and relief that my account had not been emptied.

This morning I called to check on the status of my card. I have learned from years of experience that thinking everything is taken care of will only lead to disappointment. I called my customer service (don’t even get me started on that phrase) number; the same one I’ve called for all of the nightmare problems I’ve had with them in the past. Sure enough, my ATM card had not been reissued and I had to sit on hold for three minutes grinding my teeth before they could find evidence that I reported it lost a week prior. I was livid and there was nothing they could say to make me feel anything less – especially not another one of their empty “I’m SO sorry!” statements.

It isn’t just the banks or the utility companies. More and more I find that my human interaction is being replaced by something more cost efficient. It isn’t an upgrade in any sense. Our population is booming out of control and yet companies are employing fewer people each year. While the companies protect their profit margins, we get crap service and have to visit megastores to get broccoli that was grown in Nova Scotia and have our movie rentals shipped to us from a distribution center in Kentucky. Personally, I’d rather support my local economy, get superior merchandise and have a nice chat with my favorite video store guy about new releases.