My compliments to the chef

The happy gentleman in the picture is Michel Richard, a French chef and former owner of Citrus, which was and will always be my favorite restaurant in L.A.

Citrus was novel for many reasons. Location was one. On the northwest corner just one block off Highland on Melrose, Citrus was at the end of an unassuming residential block. It had a closed in patio, with large umbrellas and a roof that could be drawn back, although it rarely was.

Instead of hiding the kitchen in the back of the house, Richard was one of the very first who chose to separate it from the dining area with a wall of glass, turning it into a gallery where diners could watch their food being prepared.

They could see the chefs at work. The attention to detail. The timing. The skill. And, vicariously, they could experience the pure joy of creation.

Citrus was also the home of my favorite restaurant dessert ever. Michel Richard's raspberry tart. Now, I'm not a fan of raspberries, and I'm not crazy about tart flavored items. But the way this dessert was made, the blend of flavors, the impossibly smooth texture, the thickness of the crust, the balance of flavors. It was perfection.

Citrus was around during the years I happened to be doing a lot of commercial production in Hollywood. And as any creative team will tell you, there's no lunch like a production company lunch. Or a post-production house. Or music production. If you had a good idea and a budget, you were wined and dined at the restaurant of your choice.

And since all the production companies and editorial houses were within five minutes of Citrus, the choice was easy.

I'm not saying I took advantage of that as often as possible. But I'm not saying I didn't.

Here's the thing. I can remember a lot of great meals I've had and restaurants I had them in: Jeremiah Tower's Stars in San Francisco. Emeril Lagasse's NOLA in New Orleans. Laurence McGuire's Lambert's in Austin. George Lang's Café Des Artistes in New York. Great meals and chefs to be sure.

But for me, none of them match the feeling of adventure, comfort, happiness, camaraderie and satisfaction of eating on the patio at Citrus.

Sadly, all good things come to an end. Citrus closed in 2001. Another incarnation opened at the Hollywood nightclub Social (cleverly called Citrus at Social- go figure). But the experience was never the same, and that version shuttered in December of 2009.

Michel Richard is no longer with us—he died of a stroke in August of 2016. But he did what every great chef aspires to.

He left me wanting more.

Piercing observation

Picking up a prescription at CVS the other day, this woman was ahead of me in line. And, like you, I couldn't help noticing her neck piercing. In fact I was so focused on it, I almost overlooked the one in the cartilage of her left ear.

My first thought was how much it must've hurt getting it. The two reddish dots on each side of the piercing didn't look like the daily alcohol swabbings were going particularly well.

My second thought was why her neck?

As a rule, I don't have any problem with piercings. In fact I wear two earrings in my left ear (it used to be three, but the third hole never healed - let's leave it at that). I got them years ago while I was working at Tracy Locke, and I asked this cute girl I worked with if she liked guys with earrings.

After she said yes, I broke a land speed record getting to a store on Melrose called Maya and had my ear pierced by yet another cute young girl.

Just for the record, that was the last thing I did that either of them liked.

To me, the secret of a great piercing is like buying a house: location, location, location. Why squander a perfectly good one in a location no one is going to see it? Or at least not enough people to make it worth the effort.

But I suppose that's better than going completely overboard like Pinhead over here with so many that absolutely everyone can't help but noticing.

Moderation, so I'm told, is the trick.

The issue occasionally comes up with my own kids. When my daughter was 9, we were on a trip to San Francisco and walking through the Emporium Mall on Market Street. She asked me if she could get her ears pierced while we were there. And, you know, thinking I actually had a say in the matter, I told her sure. She was ecstatic, right up until she saw the horrified look on my wife's face. The one that says to her "You're too young for earrings." And says to me "Maybe you should've discussed this with me before you just blurted out she could have them."

I get that a lot.

The deal we struck was that when we got home she could get them pierced. The plane hadn't even touched down before we were at a Claire's in some mall getting her ears pierced. I would've bet her allowance she was going to cry. She didn't. That was her mother.

My 15-year old son has started rumblings about getting his ear pierced. And I'm well aware that I don't have a lot of ground - as far as setting examples go - when I tell him no.

But he's mighty involved in acting, and nothing looks worse than a piercing hole in a close up shot. So far that's keeping the discussion at bay.

That and the fact I keep telling him if he gets me a potato, an ice cube and a pin I'll do it for him.