Archive for the 'Travel' Category

Debunking my personal plumeria myth

Years ago, I lived with a roommate who was addicted to Bath and Body Works shower gels and moisturizers. Her scent of choice? Plumeria, which I eschewed in favor of Sun-Ripened Raspberry or Warm Vanilla Sugar (so many mornings of seeing that B&BW label in the shower finally wore off on me). Even then, my priority was all things edible. Or, at least, edibly scented.

In the echo chamber of my head, I pronounced the name of the flower like a fast food place that specialized in stone fruit. Not a taqueria, but a PLUM-ehr-EE-ah. I persisted in this belief that the scent had something to do with plums, even though the flowers on the label gave no indication of that whatsoever.

Plumeria blossoms, Hanalei

Plumeria blossoms, Hanalei

Then, a few weeks ago, I ended up on vacation on Kaua’i with The Mint Killer and her family. On the way out of Lihue, The Mint Killer pointed at a line of trees with white blossoms and said, “Plum-AIR-ee-ah. That’s my favorite.”

It had been more than 10 years since I pondered the mysteries of my roommate’s fast food stone fruit body wash, but suddenly it was as if the clouds over Hanalei Bay had broken and a rainbow had appeared.

“OH!” I said. “Plum-AIR-ee-ah. I always thought Bath and Body Works made up that fragrance.”

The Mint Killer gave me the oddest of looks, the kind of look that says, up until now, you have demonstrated most of a grasp on smart, even when it comes to plants, but now I’m not so sure.

But I say this: if a stone fruit fast food place opens in your neighborhood, you will be the first to know how to pronounce its name. So there.

Pizzeria Mozza: Familiar, but divine

About six years ago, while on a business trip to Monterey, I sat at the hotel bar late one night chatting with one of our consultants over a glass of wine. On that particular day, I’d given a communications workshop in the morning, attended another meeting in the afternoon, and then dashed out the door to go for a drive down Highway 1 to catch as many late-afternoon and early-evening vistas as I could before dark. Then I hit an amazing Asian fusion restaurant with a co-worker on the way back up the coast before returning to the hotel.

I gave the consultant a run-down of everything I’d done after wrapping up my work duties, and he sat back in the chair and shook his head. “You know what I do on business trips?” he said. “I fly in, I go to the hotel, I eat at the hotel, I do my work at the hotel, and then I fly home. I don’t have time to go look around.”

“You don’t have time?” I asked. “Or you don’t make time?”

He conceded my point, which is this: There are two kinds of business travelers. Those who are content to settle for underwhelming, overpriced hotel food and bland experiences, or those who make the time to do something to enjoy wherever their travels take them. I don’t care if you’ve been sent to Peoria—there has to be some coffeeshop or restaurant or local market or city museum that has something interesting to offer, and I operate by the philosophy that it’s important to, without killing yourself, make the time to not just work while traveling, but play, as well. After all, you’ve been sent to a different destination, so you might as well get to know it better.

This is how I ended up at Pizzeria Mozza for dinner last night. I’m on a quick business trip to Los Angeles, and was in search of good dining options for a solo traveler. A search of Chowhound led to a goldmine thread of ideas and information, which eventually took me to my destination.

Anything but pedestrian
Here’s what I had for dinner: Cauliflower all cheesed up, a breadstick, pizza and butterscotch pudding.

Sounds pedestrian, right?

Here’s the thing. Pizzeria Mozza is the brainchild of Nancy Silverton of La Brea Bakery fame, Mario Batali of orange Crocs and crazy-good Italian food fame, and Joe Bastianich of I’m-the-son-of-Lidia fame. (That’s actually hardly fair to Joe, who, with Batali, has basically built a restaurant and wine empire. He might be the most accomplished Mama’s boy ever…) With a pedigree like that, I should have expected an amazing meal, and that’s exactly what I got.

I started with the breadstick, which came with a couple of its brethren, loosely wrapped in wax paper. It was flavorful but simple, and crunchy without being a tooth-breaker. I would have eaten said brethren, but I knew I was in for a full-on meal, and didn’t want to waste any room in my stomach.

Recognizing that it was going to be incredibly heavy, I nonetheless ordered the cauliflower gratinee, which showed up in a little pottery dish, browned to golden on top and smelling so creamy-good that my immediate neighbors along the wine bar stopped their conversation and started talking to me. As I expected, it was a totally unnecessary indulgence, but whatever. It was good enough to write about, and therefore, I’m not sorry I downed it. In fact, I practically burned my tongue because it was so good I could barely wait for the steam to stop curling before I started eating.

The bartender, Nick, must have noticed my sheer lack of patience, because when he delivered the pizza I’d ordered—Coach Farm goat cheese, leeks, scallions and bacon (and, although it wasn’t listed, a healthy dose of roasted garlic)—he warned me to hold tight. “As it cools, the leeks get sweeter and the flavor of the goat cheese really comes out,’ he said.

Those of you who have told me all my life how I eat much too fast? Your approach was dead wrong. If a hot, foodie bartender explains how eating slower will be in my best interest as an enjoyer of goat cheese? Well, then I eat like a snail.

A dessert-related loss of dignity
Nick also endeared himself to me by delivering me a complimentary taste of a Moscato d’Asti offered by the restaurant alongside my dessert, the butterscotch budini. This was something like a butterscotch pot de crème, but with a layer of salted caramel sauce and a dollop of whipped cream on top, served alongside rosemary pine nut biscotti.

Nick’s recommended approach was to take a bite of the budini, then a sip of the Moscato, then a bite of biscotti. “There are plenty of other combinations, I’m sure, but that one’s worked the best for me,” he said.

“I’ll take your word for it,” I said. He was absolutely right—the combination was fabulous.

“Make sure you eat all the way to the bottom,” he said. “There’s good caramel down there.”

“Are you kidding?” I replied. “This is so good you’re going to be lucky if I don’t steal the glass so I can lick it in the car on the way home.”

I try to maintain my dignity, people, but when faced with such a luscious dessert, I lose all control. Apparently.

Not the only one enjoying myself
The diners around me were also loudly enjoying such treats as the roasted red peppers with tuna (including a diner who swore she doesn’t even like tuna, but loved that dish), the Rucola, funghi & Piave salad with a lemon dressing, the pizza Bianco, and the mint chocolate chip gelato. The buzzing conversations about film sets and upcoming location shoots stopped every time a new dish was delivered to any of the patrons within earshot so they could ooh and aah over the next eating adventure.

The meal definitely required me to kick in over my per diem allowance for dinner, but I would have paid for the whole thing, gladly. And I would have taken photos, but honestly, I was so entranced by the food, I completely forgot.

So…if you’re in LA, get thee to Pizzeria Mozza. It’s the familiar, elevated to the divine.


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