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Los Angeles Times
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
L.A. Affairs: My husband left me for an actual movie star. I thought I was done with love
I was just back in L.A. after a stint in Vancouver that saw my soon-to-be-ex-husband realizing his dreams of becoming a successful actor and hooking up with a movie star who was not me. I was hurt, but it had always been a terrible relationship with more heartache than happiness. And now, though still licking my wounds and feeling adrift, I was relishing my newfound freedom. I bought a cute yoga outfit, burned innumerable overpriced scented candles, began a morning ritual of walking to the local bakery for a bagel and coffee, redecorated my apartment to my taste and took a French lover. I met him on a night that can only be described as enchanted. Spontaneously, I'd joined a group of old friends on their way to a house party in Hollywood. Crammed into a rideshare, someone passed out little yellow pills debossed with an E. I'd done ecstasy once before, and the high I felt then hadn't come anywhere close to making the low that followed worth it. I had sworn never again. But this was a new day — and a new me who wasn't deterred by anything so inconsequential as soul-crushing despair. I tucked the little yellow pill in my pocket for later. The party was in a chic work-live space: four stories of industrial design thumping with music and packed with hipsters. My crew grabbed beers and dispersed. Walking on a balcony, I turned a corner, and there he was, tall and slender, with soulful brown eyes and a longish mop of brown hair threatening to hide them. On his lapel, he wore a little button, a heart over crossbones. 'Are you a heart pirate?' I asked. His response didn't matter. The moment he opened his mouth and a French accent came out, I didn't care what he said as long as he kept talking. It wasn't long before we were kissing. The pill in my pocket forgotten, I had found all the ecstasy I needed. The next day, he texted me a time and date with a drawing of what looked like giant floating lava-lamp blobs with two pairs of little feet sticking out from underneath. I knew at once that the place was a public art exhibit in Silver Lake and that nothing could keep me from filling one pair of those shoes. An electric first date led quickly to another and another, and we slid easily into a coupledom of cute texts, dinners out and exploring Los Angeles together. He was an animator in the country on a work visa and he invited me into his group of friends, also young men from around the world on a grand adventure. They often went out to explore interesting new bars, restaurants and attractions. Or they just gathered at someone's apartment to make dinner together. When wives and girlfriends were included, I came along too. They were fun and lively, and I enjoyed them almost as much as I enjoyed him. He had opened his world to me, and showing him the sights of mine made it feel fresh and new to me as well. We took a trip up the coast to Big Sur, passing the elephant seals and San Simeon, staying at the Madonna Inn and driving on to the restaurant Nepenthe, where we ate a fancy dinner and camped across the road. We also took a trip to Baja, staying in La Fonda and visiting Ensenada. Walking on the beach, I was almost too smitten to feel embarrassed by his very European Speedo. Later, a woman at a restaurant commented how sweet it was to see two people so in love. This was so different from the tortured courtship with my ex. This was so effortless and light and so much of what I had been hoping for that when any cracks appeared in the perfect facade, I reasoned them away before they got big enough to threaten the dream. On Valentine's Day, he told me that he didn't believe in Valentine's Day because it was commercial. Instead, he said he'd make me dinner in his apartment. I would have been happy with the offer of dinner in minus the anti-consumerism explanation. But something about the fact he felt obliged to make it and that he hadn't bothered to ask me how I felt about Valentine's Day felt off — as if he was clarifying that what I thought or wanted did not figure into his choices. When we first met, he had just returned from a trip home to France. While there, he had taken up with another woman who was now sending him long, angry texts. When I asked about the situation, he shrugged and said, 'She thought it was more than a fun thing.' Surely what we had was different, I told myself, despite the telling pit in my stomach. When we were alone, his focus was all on me. But when we were with his friends, I often felt as though I'd come solo, just another member of the gang. Badly wanting this to be different from my codependent and stifling marriage, I told myself his aloofness was a good thing. It meant we both had our own lives, that we weren't getting so lost in each other that we lost ourselves. But he wasn't the one in danger of getting lost. Despite my best efforts, it was getting harder and harder to ignore that what I wanted to believe was a blossoming relationship was actually two people in very different places with very different ideas. I had come into this promising myself honesty, but I'd been working overtime to avoid the truth. Even when it was banging me over the head, like when he told me he loved me and then quickly quipped, 'Unless you get pregnant. Then bye-bye!' I laughed, pretending the comment hadn't stung. He was 28 to my 32. I wanted a baby badly, and the realities of biology were telling me I didn't have much time to waste. In the end, I was the one who broke it off. We went to a big studio launch party and, as usual, when offered the possibility of something newer and more interesting than me, he peaced out. The party was in a meandering warehouse converted to an intergalactic space station. As I explored the party, feeling abandoned and alone, the pieces began to form a complete picture I could no longer ignore. By the time we met up hours later to leave, I understood that I could linger in this half place for as long as I chose, but that it would never be the partnership I wanted. I was seeking a destination, while he was in love with the journey. He wasn't a pirate; he was a tourist to my heart. Just like the first time I took ecstasy, coming down from our romance sent me into a pit of despair. But like a stomachache from too much candy, the pain was short-lived. It wasn't long before I met someone who did want to share his life with me — all of it. For years, I kept the little yellow pill in my jewelry box. I never did take it. The author helps brands tell their stories; sometimes she tells one of her own. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband and two children. You can find her at L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@ You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
Los Angeles Times
17-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
‘Top Chef' begets Martha Stewart and José Andrés' new ‘Yes, Chef!' Will their kitchen therapy work?
Chefs who behave badly get their own show. Also, pink Champagne cake at Madonna Inn plus more road food favorites. And can fish be too fresh? I'm Laurie Ochoa, general manager of L.A. Times Food, with this week's Tasting Notes. 'For far too long,' Martha Stewart says into the camera during the opening moments of NBC's new 'Yes, Chef!' cooking competition show, 'the pressure of the kitchen has been an excuse for out-of-control behavior.' 'That kind of behavior doesn't make a great chef,' adds her co-host, chef José Andrés. 'It holds them back.' Stewart and Andrés are correct. And yet, that kind of behavior — yelling at fellow chefs, throwing pans in frustration, undermining colleagues and sometimes inflicting more harmful abuse — has been the roiling soup that has fed reality TV cooking competitions for more than 25 years. It's also been the kind of behavior that restaurant workers have tried, with varying degrees of success, to root out as cheffing became an aspirational profession instead of disrespected grunt work. You can read about the pain as well as the allure of working in and around restaurant kitchens in several recent memoirs, including Laurie Woolever's 'Care and Feeding,' which restaurant critic Bill Addison praised in this newsletter last month, Hannah Selinger's 'Cellar Rat: My Life in the Restaurant Underbelly' and books by two chefs and reality TV cooking show insiders, Tom Colicchio's 'Why I Cook' and Kristen Kish's 'Accidentally on Purpose,' which I wrote about last week. If you've watched even a few minutes of a reality TV cooking competition — from 'Hell's Kitchen's' Gordon Ramsay angrily dumping out a contestant's overcooked steak to even the sweet contestants on 'The Great British Baking Show' expressing frustration — chances are good that you've seen how the kitchen pressure Stewart talks about often does lead to bad behavior. So can a reality TV cooking competition really help chefs become better people — and better bosses? Possibly. But three episodes into the inaugural season of 'Yes, Chef!' — a show cast with '12 professional chefs, each with one thing standing in their way: themselves,' Stewart says — it looks as though the cards are stacked against redemption. 'In our kitchen,' Stewart tells viewers about the chefs, 'it takes a lot more than good food to win. They'll need to figure out how to work together.' Andrés and Stewart have a lot of life experience and advice to offer, with Stewart admitting, 'I have been known to be a perfectionist. And that kind of holds you back sometimes.' But when it comes down to which team wins and which team loses, it turns out that good food does matter more than bad behavior. (Note that there are spoilers ahead if you haven't watched the show yet.) After TV competition show veteran and designated villain Katsuji Tanabe ('Top Chef,' 'Chopped') takes all the eggs in the kitchen so that the opposing team has none to work with, he and his teammates are rewarded with a win. The reasoning: The losing chefs struggled to, in the language of the show, 'pivot.' Even worse for the development of the chefs, the decision of who stays and who goes at the end of each episode is not made by Andrés or Stewart. Instead, a one-on-one cook-off is set up between the contestant deemed to be the Most Valuable Chef (MVC) and another contestant that the MVC strategically chooses to go up against. If the MVC wins, the challenger chef goes home. But if the challenger chef beats the MVC, the challenger becomes the decider. So far, this has led to one of the better chefs, Torrece 'Chef T' Gregoire, being booted largely to reduce the competition, followed by the executioner of that decision, Michelle Francis, getting axed in the next episode, possibly comeuppance for sending home a popular player the week before and partly because of her dish — even though she was handicapped by the egg theft. The sharp edges and head games almost feel retro, closer to the template set 25 years ago this month when 'Survivor' first aired and popularized the whole 'I'm not here to make friends' trope that was common in sports and then became emblematic of reality TV posturing. We'll see as the season progresses whether the chefs can turn around the bad attitudes and insecurities that led to them being cast on the show. I certainly hope Andrés and Stewart are given more time to guide the chefs toward their better selves in future episodes. But if you want to watch a show where the chefs are modeling kitchen behavior we'd like to see more of in our star chefs, may I suggest the current season of Bravo's 'Top Chef.' Both 'Yes, Chef!' and 'Top Chef' are made by the production company Magical Elves, but 'Top Chef,' now in its 22nd season, is showcasing a group of chefs who actually seem to care about each other. Yes, there are big personalities on the show, notably Massimo Piedimonte, who often generates eye rolls by the other chefs when his bravado goes overboard. But he is seen in quieter moments trying to tame his impulses and become a better person. And there is genuine emotion displayed when chef Tristen Epps gets word right before a big challenge that his father-in-law has died and his mother encourages him to continue competing. The entire show, from the production staffer who takes him off the set to his fellow competitors seem to support him. There is even camaraderie among the losing contestants who try to work their way back into the competition through the spin-off 'Last Chance Kitchen,' judged solo by Colicchio showing his mentoring skills. When Chicago's North Pond chef César Murillo is pitted against three-time 'Last Chance' winner Katianna Hong, co-owner of the recently closed Arts District restaurant Yangban, there is support and respect shown for both talented competitors by the eliminated chefs watching the proceedings, including chef Kat Turner of L.A.'s Highly Likely. 'Top Chef' used to have a lot more hotheads. 'I'm not your bitch, bitch,' was a catchphrase in the show's early years when one chef pushed another too far. But the new season, which has just a few more episodes to go, is proving that you can cool down the temperature in the kitchen and still entertain. To celebrate the 100th anniversary of the motel — the first use of the word is credited to the 1925 opening of the Milestone Mo-Tel in San Luis Obispo — Food's writers and editors joined our colleagues in Features to put together Motel California, a story series that includes a guide to the state's '34 coolest, kitschiest, most fascinating motels' and our team's picks for the best roadside diners and restaurants. Also in the package: Christopher Reynolds' account of his 2,500-mile search for California's greatest motels, a roadside attractions guide and Marah Eakin's profile of Barkev Msrlyan, creator of the Merch Motel brand of retro souvenirs. Food's Stephanie Breijo spent time at the very pink San Luis Obispo landmark, the Madonna Inn, and says that the 'maze-like, kaleidoscopic lair of chroma and whimsy is home to some of the most iconic food on the Central Coast.' She came away with insider knowledge of the red oak grills at Alex Madonna's Gold Rush Steak House and of the Inn's famed pink Champagne cakes — made in the hundreds each week. But the pink cake recipe remains a secret. Breijo did, however, get the recipe for the Inn's Pink Cloud cocktail — topped with whipped cream and a cherry. Plus: Julie Wolfson guides us to some great coffee shops along the Santa Barbara coast. This week, the paper introduced a new feature, L.A. Timeless, which highlights stories from our archives. The first two stories this week come from former L.A. Times restaurant critic Ruth Reichl, who wrote about learning to shop for fish at L.A. supermarkets with Jon Rowley, the man Julia Child once called 'the fish missionary.' I got to go along on that reporting trip all those years ago and I'll never forget the lessons Rowley taught us. Her companion story on Rowley went into one of his obsessions: '[T]hat fish can be too fresh ... a fish coming out of rigor mortis five or six days after harvest (in ice, of course) can be far better eating than a fish less than one day out of the water.' Tickets are on sale for our second-annual Great Australian Bite. Last year, we were on the Malibu Pier. This year, chef Curtis Stone is hosting the event with Tourism Australia on his Four Stones Farm. He's partnering with chef Clare Falzon of the restaurant Staġuni in South Australia's Barossa. Read more about the event and how to get tickets here.
Los Angeles Times
15-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
Madonna Inn's Pink Cloud cocktail
Picture-perfect and pink, Madonna Inn's signature cocktail matches the famous San Luis Obispo hotel in every regard. The Pink Cloud is the most ordered drink at the inn's Silver Bar, where patrons sit on swiveling wood and pink-leather stools or colorful high-backed chairs to sip this strawberries-and-cream concoction topped with pink sugar (available in the baking aisle of many grocery stores) and a neon-red cherry. At the cocktail's originator, legendary tiki chain Trader Vic's, the Pink Cloud is considered an after-dinner drink and — at least initially — called for only four ingredients: ice, crème de cacao, crème de noyaux and evaporated milk, all shaken together. At the Madonna Inn the drink can be ordered as early as 10 a.m., and it involves a bit of extra flair. The bar team amps up the pink hue with strawberry purée, and the fruity sweetness via flavored vodka, then blends it to a frosty, thick consistency. But the Madonna Inn also can make this 'adult milkshake' nonalcoholic, and so can home mixologists: Just swap the strawberry vodka for white chocolate syrup, and powdered cocoa mix for the crème de cacao.
Los Angeles Times
15-05-2025
- Los Angeles Times
It's the summer of the motel. An epic guide to the best roadside havens in California
(Photographs by Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times; Al Seib, David Fotus, Jacob Tovar and Megan Morello / For The Times) The motel, a word born in California, turns 100 this year. And for road trip adventurers, there have never been more might stay at the legendary pink palace that is the Madonna Inn. Or Surfrider Malibu, where you can borrow a Mini Cooper and cruise along PCH. There's Sea & Sand Inn, which clings to a breathtaking Santa Cruz clifftop. And Pioneertown Motel, a charming desert outpost with Old West this guide, we jangle our room keys to explore the greatest motels across the state. Along the way, we stop to discover cool vintage history, iconic restaurants and essential roadside attractions. Ready to hit the road?
Los Angeles Times
15-05-2025
- Los Angeles Times
At the world-famous Madonna Inn, let them eat pink cake
The signage is pink, the rooms are pink, and the rose-patterned carpet is pink. But none are as quintessentially pink — or recognizable — as the long, hand-peeled ribbons of custom-dyed white chocolate atop the pink Champagne cake at the Madonna Inn. The Central Coast's quirkiest landmark is famous for its 110 candy-colored guest rooms themed to the likes of cavemen, carousels and pioneer America, but this maze-like, kaleidoscopic lair of chroma and whimsy is also home to some of the most iconic food on the Central Coast. Husband-and-wife team Alex and Phyllis Madonna opened their white wooden hotel with only a dozen rooms on Christmas Eve in 1958. Through the years more rooms would debut, along with additional wings to meet the demand. In 1960 they began construction on the main structure, which now houses a steakhouse, a copper-and-wood-accented cafe, a bakery, a cocktail bar, a wine cellar, a food-focused gift shop and a dance floor, in addition to private-events spaces adorned with gold, stained glass and, of course, plenty of pink. 'Our inn may not suit everyone's taste, but from the number of pleased guests we've had from practically every country in the world ... we feel that we have contributed to the joy of traveling,' the late Alex Madonna once wrote to The Times. At the Madonna Inn nearly everything is made on-site, and what isn't is often sourced from nearby specialists. San Luis Obispo's long-running Cattaneo Bros. makes the linguica sausage that's served as an appetizer at Alex Madonna's Gold Rush Steak House and a filling for the Copper Cafe's omelet. Some of the fish is caught from the nearby coast. Castoro Cellars' local San Miguel facility makes the hotel's house-brand wines. At the Silver Bar guests swivel on pink-and-wood stools to sip vacation-perfect cocktails such as the signature Pink Cloud, which comes topped with whipped cream and the motel's ubiquitous house-dyed pink sugar. Monstrously thick wedges of cake make their way from the bakery to nearly every table at every restaurant, while whole cakes rest in bright pink cardboard boxes, lids only half-closed at an angle and taped to the sides — a testament to the size of these famous baked goods. And no cake is as famous here as the pink Champagne cake. It's a bit of a misnomer; there's no pink Champagne in the cake at all. Bakery manager Margie Peau says it was served during the hotel's 'Champagne hour' and the name stuck. Since its inception roughly 50 years ago, the recipe remains nearly identical and closely guarded. Layers of springy, fluffy white cake are surrounded by a butter-yellow Bavarian cream and whipped cream, all frosted and coated in shards and ribbons of custom-dyed pink chocolate and a dusting of confectioner's sugar, a textural, creamy delight. Last year musician Kacey Musgraves swooned over 'the layers and ruffles of [her] favorite pink Champagne cake' in her song 'Dinner With Friends.' Dozens of copycat recipes are spread around TikTok, Instagram, personal blogs and publications such as America's Test Kitchen. Everyone wants a taste, with some guests driving hours for the treat. 'I think it's just so unique,' Peau says. 'We have a lot of people who came as children, and now they come back as adults and they're just kind of in awe of it. Nothing has changed; it's like going back in time. They're getting the same cake that they got when they were little kids, and now they're bringing their grandkids and they're getting the same cake.' They come in all shapes, sizes and colors: full sheet cakes, half-size cakes, round cakes and wedding cakes, single layers, double layers and more. Peau once weighed a 12-inch German chocolate cake, which rang in at 25 pounds. Eleven people comprise the bakery team, and they make hundreds of cakes throughout the week for slices — 80 on weekdays, 100 on weekends. They churn out as many as 65 cake orders each day for weekend pickup, plus additional cakes for events held on-site. 'We always have an extra stash of cakes that we can sell whole when people are like, 'Oh shoot, I forgot to reserve my cake for my kid's birthday' or something like that,' Peau says. (But to be safe, place your whole-cake order online at least 48 hours in advance, or three weeks out during the summertime peak.) The work begins at 4 a.m. when the first shift arrives at the pint-size bakery, with most working around a small center table. 'It's tiny!' Peau says. 'It was for a couple people; it was definitely not for this volume back then. We are always in each other's space for sure, but we like each other a lot back there.' During the holidays the bakery can feel even more cramped as it cranks out seasonal additions, such as 1,600 mini cupcakes and muffins for Easter and Mother's Day brunch and hundreds of additional pies for Thanksgiving and Christmas. The bakery team whips up nine flavors of pie, plus danishes, eclairs, giant cinnamon rolls, cream puffs and cupcakes, all of which gleam from their wood-and-glass cases at a corner of the Copper Cafe. Once they sell out for the day, they're done. Its tandem restaurant, the Copper Cafe, is where locals often stop by for breakfast: copious corned beef hashes, cheesy linguica omelets, fruit-topped Belgian waffles and other Americana set to the clatter and clang of a busy diner. This one just happens to have a roaring fireplace at one end. Just beyond the bakery and the Copper Cafe is the inn's culinary crown jewel: the ornate Alex Madonna's Gold Rush Steak House, a red-pink-gold dreamscape of a restaurant decorated with a 28-foot-tall golden faux tree at the center of its dining room, cherubs, candlestick lights and seasonal decor hanging from its sprawling branches. Beto Zamacona started as a dishwasher at the Madonna Inn when he was barely 18 years old. After 25 years, he's now the head chef at the steakhouse. According to Zamacona, the inn's popularity exploded over the last five years. Pre-pandemic busy nights were Friday to Sunday; now, he says, they're busy Thursday to Monday, and sometimes serve 300 guests at the steakhouse alone. Fifteen years ago, he cooked for only 35 to 50 guests on weeknights. 'It's getting insane,' he says. Reservations often book up weeks in advance, especially for weekend dining; it's not uncommon to spot guests feasting on the steak dinners with gold-jacketed baked potatoes at the nearby bar or cafe, which serve as overflow seating. Zamacona grills hand-cut steaks Santa Maria-style over a red-oak live fire, from behind stained-glass rose window panels. Given its proximity to the Central Valley, the restaurant's vegetables are almost always locally grown. He and his team cook rib-eyes, swordfish steaks, prime rib dinners, lamb chops, fried chicken, generous shrimp cocktails and more — most of which have been served there for decades — plus monthly specials that Zamacona creates under the guidance of the head chef of the entire property, Jacqui Burns. The steakhouse also caters events, and Zamacona says he's cooked up to 850 filets of steak for a single party. At Christmas and Thanksgiving, the steakhouse serves at least 1,400 people each day. There's attention to detail and kitsch in everything here. Decorating the dining room each season takes two to three weeks: bunnies and multicolored paper Easter eggs in spring, pastel pumpkins and cartoonish scarecrows in fall, Santas and twinkling lights and faux-snowy trees toward the end of the year. 'There's something magical when you walk in there,' says server Jamie Jorgensen. 'You look around and you're just like, 'Wow, who thought of this?'' She began working at the steakhouse in 2013, where she met and fell in love with Zamacona. They married four years later, and still work in the restaurant together. Jorgensen regularly serves a mix of locals and tourists, including repeat customers she recognizes from years past. Some come to dinner in dress that's themed to their rooms, others in midcentury glamour. One couple, she says, travels from Oregon twice a year, dining in the steakhouse every night of their weeklong visits. Like her husband, Jorgensen didn't foresee working at the steakhouse for so long — but she certainly hoped she would. It is, she says, unlike anywhere else. 'It's really difficult to walk in there and be in a bad mood,' she says. 'I always tell people you have to stop at least one time and check it off your bucket list.… If you want to see some people dolled up on a weekend, come on over to Madonna because we have the glitter and the sparkle and the rhinestone.'
