9 recs for a rainy week in May
Nathan Fielder. Soft serve. Los Angeles.
Hello and welcome to another edition of Eliza Recommends. These are a rare occurrence because I tend to get obsessed with a topic and spend the next two to three weeks thinking about it and not much else. However, it’s been long enough since the last edition for me to amass a collection of Things for you.
Several of them are inspired by a recent trip to Los Angeles, a city I like very much and especially when it is rainy and gloomy, as it was during my stay. This was the first time I had fun driving around the city, despite the fact that I missed my exit on the freeway several times. This is probably because I limited my work meetings and social appointments to Silver Lake and its immediate vicinity, so I mostly drove in increments of 5 or 10 or 20 minutes. You might even say I didn’t really drive in LA.
Here we go.
Spiced plum tea and a “brookie” (hey) at Alcove in Los Feliz
I’m sick to death of whitewashed millennial- and Gen Z-baiting coffee shops. The gravest offender is Blank Street Coffee, of course, which seems to be on a Starbucks-like warpath, but without any attempt at manufacturing personality — instead of a freaky two-tailed mermaid, Blank Street’s brand mascot is just the color of an iced matcha latte. Aesthetically, these kinds of coffee shops are not only boring but condescending, as though we can’t identify a place that sells coffee without getting hit over the head with a white subway tile. The worst part is that I still find myself patronizing them, because I know that they’ll have a pretty good matcha on the menu.
While I was in LA last week, I met up with Aelfie Oudghiri at Alcove, an ivy-covered spot in Los Feliz that is, refreshingly, the opposite of a Blank Street Coffee. Spiritually, it’s stuck in the 1990s. The cottage-like café has dark wainscoting on the walls, silver teapots behind the counter, and a curved pastry case full of impossibly tall slices of cake and enormous cookies. I got a spiced plum tea and a “brookie,” which is a combination brownie-cookie that I strip mined for all the salty cookie bits. Huge belly ache, 10/10 experience.
Aelfie’s social media-free lifestyle
Like Pat McHale, Aelfie has been using a light phone, which limits her mobile capabilities to calling and texting. She told me that her creativity has exploded since she stopped looking at social media so much — and she was already one of the more imaginative thinkers I know. I promptly deleted Instagram from my phone, with the caveat that I have to redownload it weekly in order to promote this newsletter. Every time I try to look at it on my laptop, I loudly tell myself “NO!” and close the page.
I’ll report back when I’ve gathered more data, but I do feel slightly more sane already.
The Sinners soundtrack
Although I would have liked a more detailed explanation of its vampire lore, I thoroughly enjoyed Ryan Coogler’s Sinners, especially the big musical number, which had me absolutely levitating out of my seat. (The Irish folk number was also fantastic.) I’ve been listening to the soundtrack on Spotify so that I can replay those scenes in my head.
Listen: “I Lied to You” / “Rocky Road to Dublin”
Sleeping with the light on
If you’ve just seen a scary vampire movie or are spending the night alone, did you know that you can just sleep with the light on? It’s true. You can leave that lamp on, with its warm cozy glow, and snuggle into your pillow. If you happen to wake up at dawn, as the sky is starting to brighten, you can turn the light off and keep snoozing securely.
(Alex is going to hate this one, because I’m a huge brat about needing the darkness when he wants to read in bed with the light on. The rules are different when I am alone!)
Watching little bits of Suzanne Farrell: Elusive Muse on YouTube
When I was sick in March, I spent several nights reading the most interesting portions of Jennifer Homans’s biography of the ballet choreographer George Balanchine, Mr. B. Those bits generally had to do with his obsession, creative and romantic, with the dancer Suzanne Farrell, who was more than 40 years younger than him. While doodling around on YouTube, I came across the full tape of a 1996 PBS documentary about Farrell, and I’ve been watching it in little sips before bed all week. Homans used Farrell’s autobiography as a source, so it’s not like her perspective isn’t represented in Mr. B, but there’s something very different about watching Farrell talk about her strange, complicated entanglement with her mentor. (I also just like the sound of her voice: Midwestern but almost Mid-Atlantic, calm and precise.) Seeing her dance for the first time, I now get what all the fuss was about.
“The Editorial Battles That Made the New Yorker”
Catching up on old issues of the New Yorker, I inhaled Jill Lepore’s story about the magazine’s anxious, needy writers and evil, manipulative editors (my words). It’s nice to know that even John Updike was insecure about his submissions! Here’s the author Denis Johnson writing to his editor about yet another round of revisions: “If you think I’m crazy now, come see me after just a little more poking… Follow the sound of the whimpering up the stairs, to the farthest closet. I’m in there curled up like an abortion.”
The soft serve at Koma in Takoma Park, MD
Oh. I just realized why it’s called Koma. Maybe this is why the New Yorker keeps rejecting my pitches.
Anyway, when we went, the flavors were chocolate ganache and toasted marshmallow, which was the restaurant’s elevated way of doing a kid-friendly chocolate and vanilla swirl for Mother’s Day. It did taste a little fancy — toasty and a touch bitter — and the texture was out-of-this-world pillowy. I will be returning for the more grown-up mango Sichuan peppercorn sorbet.
The Rehearsal
I worship Nathan Fielder’s insane mind. Season two of The Rehearsal is generally less agonizing and more explosively creative than the first season, which is saying something. Episode three contains a zag so funny and inspired that I had to rewatch it immediately. I cannot say more, you just have to see for yourself.
Piper Bangs’s paintings
When I was in LA, Meghann Stephenson — who has been making ever more amazing oil paintings since we last touched base with her — told me about the work of a young artist named Piper Bangs. Bangs paints lumpy, anthropomorphized, oversexed fruit in a way that’s simultaneously cute and creepy. I find it very touching. Need to find a way to see those squirming pears in person.
Recommendation 9.5: Sam’s Place, where Meghann took me for a drink. We both had Ghias over ice, so I’m more in it for the serene wood-paneled space than the wine list, which I’m sure is also nice. The bread and butter was great.
And how about these fleurs back in D.C.?
Eliza
Such a good list. And yes, it’s the ridiculously yellow Bartzella peony!