BBBBBBBB........

(note to self and for the next blogger..namely alan... the best time to do this blog is right after the evening... because now a few days later it's dispersed into thin, foggy, canvas carrying, trying to make it cleaner one candy wrapper purse at a time air...ahem... ok.. is this think on..oy vey)

B is for baby blues bbq where we all found ourselves monday, the 16th of february around 7:30 pm... waiting and waiting and waiting for a table to seat the 12 of us. they are totally casual, love feeling kinda folk with one rule: they will seat us when everybody gets there. as i walked in, i forgot that i was looking forward to seeing my shadow in the shiny shelac vibe resonating high through their website & turning on the juke box.... we found ourselves on the corner of a perfect dive with some pastel pallette alien figured art on the walls. i mean.. who am i to judge? i said 'you never know - she could end up at the guggenheim' and quickly kevin replied 'no, i know...' with a smirk and a slight repositioning of his glasses.

a table of 6 became available and all the girls in the group went for it. that is when we met francisco... a latino version of adrian grenier or whatever his name is...that guy from entourage but crazy humble and willing to help us with more blue moon, wet towels and paper towels....maybe it's just the hair that felt like adrian. he also had a special 'southern' spark in his eye. odd for a man named francisco but so true.

we ordered shrimp napping on mattresses of cornbread with a spicy duvet sauce... and the 10 -13 people special... with ribs, corn bread & 4 sides. collards, okra, cole slaw & baked beans. by the time the boys sat down, we had ordered and were steeping deeper into the 'B' experience. here is how it went.... oh and banana pudding & pecan pie for desert were amazing.... they were out of pulled pork and key lime pie (hard to take).... the waitress tyrus was INCREDIBLE.... and we already talked about francisco....right? enjoy ....

see you at C y'all.... night night... X

A = Atlacatl and American conversation

Let's be clear. This is not Debbie Swift Hampton's zupper club. But it started with her. Facebookin' ideas, facts, chatter, and supper club suggestions. I took it and ran with it. Sounded fun, unpredictable, like an adventure around our unknown city. I threw it out there and let the vultures bite. Date was set, monikers in place, and babysitters secured. Next thing I knew, I'm in a texting battle arguing bi-polarism and ownership of a concept that I thought had been handed to me on a silver FB platter. Feisty texting over the silly name. Zupper Club. It's taken and accounted for, "change your name" I was told. Huh? I was called a thief. Does DSH not understand the nature of this sardonic game? Is there not friendly rivalries happening? Apparently, its quite serious to DSH. A white flag was planted firmly in the open plot reserved for the fastest runner of Zupper and I was on a slower horse. But alas, there were other plots, equally open and equally enjoyable, and I rode for the next one not far behind. Dove in, planted, and here we are, Züpper Club. No copywright infringement. Just pure, friendly, hazardous fun. I will not be kept down.

Our first restaurant, Atlacatl Family Salvadorean food in mid-city. Kevin and I hopped on the 405 to the 10 east and up Arlington. Weaved through South Wilton up to Beverly and I was already on a cultural tour through the uncharted city.

Me: "Look at these trees and quaint homes! Slow down, I wanna see more. This neighborhood is so charming and old. Kevin, where are we?"
Kevin in his most dry way, "LA. We're late."

Arrived to find the Fishers and Ravals at a back table near the chicken painting. Goddard clan was under the weather, so we left two empty chairs at our table in honor of them. Hunter green tablecloth, bright overhead light, flimsy silverware, small wooden chairs with a vinyl pad, crochet bun cover in our waitress' hair. I opened the menu and saw fried pork for $3.75. I was happy. Linda and Alan rolled in casually cool and we all settled in to define the terms of züpper.


Manish: "Separate checks. And its mean to call the waitress by her name."
Linda: "We should send thank you cards the next day."
Josh: "We should make t-shirts and underwear, and set up a 501 C3 and bank off this baby!"
Paige: "This is all about my secret competition with Debbie Swift Hampton's zupper. I have to win the imaginary prize."
Sage: "Paige is bored and a freak magnet. God, don't let Joaquin wake up. "
Jules: "Is this a conscious restaurant? Yeaaahhh, I'm gonna have to let that go huh?"
Alan: Silence. Buying zupperclub.com. It's on DSH.
Kevin: "No more people. No fucking freaks in zupper club."

Menus opened and I was a little confused by the Enselada drink. "What? A salad drink?". Sage went for it and it was yummmm. Basically chopped fruit, mint, juice, and god knows what else. On a hot summer day, I would go back just for that. Dinner in February, Salvadorean pilsner, please. Pupusas sounded appetizing, they are the national food of El Salvadore and the chewy-bready-tortilla-masa part alone was lard-liscious. Add beans and cheese into the mix, and I'm a happy camper. Kevin's soup of sweet corn, cream, and cinnamon was a communal favorite. Linda's yucca and pork was passed and devoured. Plantains looked a bit like a sauteed penis, and Sage's tamale resembled a large animal feces, as did my beans and rice. But despite the appearances, it was all really tasty. The food being spot on set our palates for authentic transport to Central America. However, the conversation was purely American.

Sage: "Can I have money for the juke box?"
Manish: "Here's a dollar, bring me 75 cents back."
Jules: "Do you guys like Spanglish?"
Manish: "The movie? Are you kidding me? That's so wrong."
Josh: "You, Me, and Dupree?"
Jules: "The Holiday?"
Paige: "Fishers are so not in charge of movie club."
Kevin: "They should be. That would be funny."
Manish: "Oh my god, those movies suck."
Linda: "Network is classic."
Everyone: "Agree, agree."
Alan: "3 days in the Condor."
Kevin: "What's that movie with Goldie Hawn and Chevy Chase where they are divorced and she is with Charles Grodin?"
Paige: "OMG, I love that movie."
Alan: Silent. iPhone. Imdb. Hands it off to Kevin for viewing.
Kevin: "Seems like old times!! That's it!"
Sage: "I like Stealing Beauty, I wanna be Liv Tyler."
Paige: "I love her, Empire Records is my fave."

Crickets.

Josh: "Juno makes me weep."
Alan: Silent. iPhone browsing.
Linda: "Let's start The Wire Club."
Paige: "How about the Gwyneth Paltrow club?"
Josh: "What about that movie with the guy from Die Hard and Haley Joel Osmet?"
Manish: "Uhhh, Bruce Willis? One of the biggest movie stars alive? Yeah, we know him. Sixth Sense."
Jules: "I know.... wait....The best movie is Pink Panther. Hands down"
Manish and Kevin: "The original right? Not the one with Steve Martin?"
Jules: "NO WAY, are you kidding me? Please......the man in the hole, (makes a circle in the air with her hand and then a stop sign).... STOP IT."

Lots of laugh out louds.







Paige: "Does everyone have their moniker?"
Alan: "I wanna change mine. Alan "forget the mustard" Koch."
Kevin: "I liked "immature palette" better."
Jules: "What's a moniker? Isn't that like a little castle?"
Linda and Sage: Eyes and head fall to the ground laughing.
Josh: "Monikers are our züpper names, babe!"
Jules: "Ohhhh... right."
Kevin: Radish to his eye to simulate a monocle.
Paige: "All our monikers kinda suck. DSH has me beat there."

More laughs out loud.

Time flew, beer emptied, pupusas digesting, and soon our first night was over. Everyone went to get cash out of the ATM to pay our $180 bill and we hugged good night. Paige felt up Sage's boobs. Josh and Manish fisted in honor of the Obamas. Fisting should be a rule of züpper. Must fist upon arrival and departure. Fist, fist. Boob feeling optional.

First meal a raving success and we all ran home to post our enthusiasm on Facebook. Yes, facebook, cause that is what we do. I got into an fb chat with Debbie. She thinks I can't let the name debate go. I tell her to cool it. Its a joke. Its an ode. Its all in good supper fun.

But let's be clear....Atlacatl definitely kicks Akbar's ass.

Bring on the B Jules.

(And p.s. this is my first blog EVER. No idea how to write a thing like this. Someone else do it next.)