See you next fall

January 1st and I have what you might call a tumultuous relationship. Oh sure, I'm always happy when it comes around, but then something inevitably happens to break the mood.

For example last New Year's Day, I found myself in the ER with my blood pressure somewhere between steam coming out of a pressure cooker and a lovely hillside view. That was because at the time, I'd been prescribed a new med which, come to find out, funny thing, I was deathly allergic to. Doctors, amIrite?

Anyway, this new year the tradition continued. We got home from a lovely time at our annual January 1st brunch with the usual suspects. I was in the kitchen by the fabulous new farmer's sink we put in during our remodel a couple years ago, and turned around to walk back into the living room.

Unbeknownced to me, my teeny, tiny, virtually invisible 90-lb. German Shepherd had stealthily snuck up behind me and was standing there. When I turned to go, I went ass-over-teakettle (hence the picture) into a wall, the refrigerator and finally landed face down on the kitchen floor like a bag of rocks.

Physical comedy was never my strong suit.

My son happened to be sitting in a chair that faces our open kitchen and saw the entire event. He quickly came over to ask if I was ok, which I was. Besides my knee, arm, back and cheek, the only thing that was injured was my pride. And my until then perfect tour en l'air (look it up).

So bruised but undaunted, I continue into the new year with a brand new resolution—to try to be more careful and aware of my surroundings every January 1st.

And look both ways while crossing the kitchen.

What's in your wallet?

The day after Christmas, somehow I was able to overcome my food coma from our annual Christmas morning brunch and actually get a few things done. One of them was something I'd been meaning to do for years (if you said "Get a real job" calm down - you're not the first).

For some reason I never was able to find the time for this particular chore. But after years of procrastination, it finally happened: I cleaned out my wallet.

Oh sure, it may not seem like a big accomplishment to you, but considering the amount of paperwork and junk I was carrying around it was definitely life-changing. Well, okay. Pocket changing. The best way to describe the process is it was alternately a trip down memory lane, and a slog through a land fill.

If you know anything about me - and after over 1000 blogposts you probably know more than you want to - you know I'm usually an exceptionally organized person. As a rule, I like to clean as I go. I'm good that way. I put things (and when necessary, people) in their place in real time so I don't have to come back and do it later. Occasionally though, it's not always possible to do.

For example, my wallet was loaded with restaurant receipts I meant to file away in my incredibly organized tax receipt folder the day I got them. It's December, and I was clearing out receipts from as far back as March. The nice part was getting to reminisce about the meals, remember who I had them with and relive them a little bit.

The bad part was my wallet looked like the one in Costanza's hands in the picture.

Also in the billfold were souvenirs from trips I'd been on this past year, mostly in the form of hotel room card keys. I had my Comic Con hotel key from last July, my San Francisco visit room key from October, and discount coupons from each of those hotels for cocktails in their swingin' bars.

There were little notes to myself about things that seemed important at the time, and a few lines I thought were funny and I should remember.

The big surprise was that I'd actually been carrying around more than a few of the 500 Innocean business cards I got when I first started there. Of course now, they're collector's items which could probably fetch in the high $1's on eBay. A lot of the time I keep stuff using the "just in case I need it..." approach. Pretty sure I won't be needing them. And besides, my shredder needs something to do.

The nice part about all that clutter out of my wallet is it's considerably thinner now, and folds comfortably in my front pocket.

Plus now when I hug somebody I don't have to say, "Don't worry, it's just my wallet."

Rustic never sleeps

You know the old saying—you can take the boy out of the city, but you can't take the city out of the boy. Whatever. I'd actually hoped that saying would propel me into some kind of pithy segue into this blogpost about the most rustic restaurant you'll ever eat at.

Come to find out I was wrong. So let's just dive straight in, shall we?

This past Sunday we took my son—a newly-minted 21-year old—to the Saddle Peak Lodge for his birthday brunch. The wife and I have been there many times over the years, but not recently. And when we were thinking about where to take him, my wife was the one who came up with the SPL, which like many of her ideas, was a brilliant one (Hear that? It's the sound of me scoring marriage points).

The SPL is definitely unlike any other restaurant in L.A. For one thing, it's not in L.A. You'll find it on the side of a mountain in Calabasas, about five miles up the road from Pepperdine University and the Malibu Colony on Pacific Coast Highway.

Like someplace out of the 1800's, the SPL is built from logs, and has stuffed animal heads hanging all over the walls, looking down at you while you're dining on the superb, pricey food. Maybe it's that I've been to Disneyland too many times, but I kept expecting the heads to turn and start talking and singing like at Country Bear Jamboree. Or maybe the scene from Diner. "You gonna finish that?" "If you want it, just say it!" "Well, if you're not gonna finish it..."

They didn't. But it would've been bitchin' if they did, amIright?

Dining there, you really feel you've gone somewhere away from the city, and time-traveled to a more genteel era. Or a more gentile era, if that's possible. I may be getting off track here.

Anyway, the point I'm getting at is its rustic charm and semi-isolated location (even though only a few miles from the coast and a freeway) makes it feel like more than a nice meal. It becomes an easy getaway.

Unlike the Rainforest Cafe or other fabricated "theme" restaurants, the SPL comes by its rustic charm honestly. According to its website:

"Part roadhouse, Pony Express stop, hunting lodge, European auberge, perhaps even a hint of a bordello, Saddle Peak Lodge has been many things to many people in its long history. For 100 years—some say even more—Saddle Peak Lodge has been a place of enchantment, romance and great dining for generations of those who seek a unique experience."

In case you were wondering, my son had steak and eggs, and to celebrate his new 21-ness, washed it down with a mimosa. I had Eggs Benedict with smoked salmon and a heart-stopping good Hollandaise sauce. The wife enjoyed California Goat Cheese and Broccoli Quiche, you know, like they had in the old west.

Everything was exceptional.

The only suggestion I'd make is if you're going to dine there, it might be a better idea to visit at night. Away from the glare of the city lights, you can see the brilliant light of the stars against the dark blue blanket of the night sky. Also, the restaurant is decorated with lights inside and out. There's a lot of twinkly magic going on after the sun sets, and it brings out the enchanted quality even more.

Not to mention it hides all the bone-dry brush in the canyon that's one cigarette butt away from a raging inferno.

That might be the city boy talking.

Ned Reyerson & Mother's Day

I had this idea for a post about Mother's Day being like Groundhog Day. The movie, not the holiday. It was going to talk about how, like all holidays, it's the same year in and year out. How through a carefully planned program of brunch and flowers we show our appreciation for all the moms in our life.

Something we should be doing every day.

Frankly, it was going to be a thin thread connecting the two. And the only real reason for it was because I wanted to post this clip from the movie.

So consider the clip my gift to all the moms out there. Enjoy your day.

Over and over again.