One of the perks of having a writer for a hubby is getting to see places I would never otherwise set my flip-flopped foot in. The other day, we were got to check out the lunch scene at Spago, Wolfgang Puck's epic socialite bistro. It was a Thursday, a major power lunch day. Hubby got an assignment to take in "the show", as one of the hostess referred to it, and review the grub. I was quite excited. When else will I get to check out potential future clients? We all know those socialite folks are batty. Happily, we gussied ourselves up in our best California casuals and headed out to dine with some of Hollywood's heavies.
When we arrived, we were immediately swept away by the posh young hostesses to a semi-shady table in the patio--also known as the lion's den. We had fantastic people-watching corner seats. At first glance, it felt like an upscale lunch room for active older adults. But a closer look reveled relatively old money, lots of new money, real estate gurus, mid-century comedy headliners, a few celebrities, and tons of "industry" folk working their magic making major deals. Of course, there were ladies lunching with faces stretched so tightly across their skulls that I feared one would snap off and land in my amuse bouche. They cackled as their jewels jingled and it was truly a merry old time. A woman who appeared to be Elvira's long lost twin sister glided from table to table, greeting anyone who was anyone as her gauzy peasant top flapped in the wind and her platform Louboutins clip-clapped against the brick floor. Her face, taught like the best of them, appeared mature with the suggestion of youthfulness that I'm sure her surgeon thought was convincing at the time. A sight to be seen, I assure you.
The food was as expected, good flavor and quality...but nothing to write home about. It was just fun watching the talent--kind of like the circus! The funniest moment was when the valet brought my car around to the front of the restaurant. In the excitement on the way over, I completely overlooked the fact that I hadn't driven my car in over a month. I left it in our car park only to collect massive amounts of dirt, dust and animal prints from nightly cat/raccoon parties that apparently only happen on my windshield and no one else's. The thing was filthy and the little paw prints didn't look so cute anymore--just kind of gross. The pièce de résistance: the Nissan emblem was missing from the front of the grill, the tragic result of a small fender bender two months ago when it was ripped off and wedged under the hood. I thought I heard gasps as the valet handed me the keys and slyly accepted the tip. Hubby and I cracked up the whole way home, as he spun the Nissan logo, that I now keep in the glove compartment, around his finger out the window. Stay classy, Sentra.