The Nickel Diner in downtown Los Angeles is a trendy throwback in more
ways than one. First, its location is marginally sketchy. That’s because it’s sand-
wiched between blocks of ornate historic buildings on which sophisticated rest-
aurants, shops and lofts have taken up residence. Meanwhile, next door to the
diner are facilities for the homeless. Then there’s the food which is true diner fare
with a fun, contemporary twist: maple glazed donuts covered with bacon; home-
made Pop Tarts; scrambled eggs with Fontina cheese, for example.
In true diner fashion, breakfast is served nearly all day. Even though the mac and
cheese sounded appealing, as did a BLT with avocado on sourdough, I settled on
one of the egg scrambles: Italian sausage, roasted red peppers and parmesan mix-
ed with what seemed like half a dozen eggs. Creamy, but scrambled hard, the eggs
absorbed the rich flavors of everything else. Most diners offer a choice of sides, at
the Nickel there’s a healthy option of sliced, fresh tomatoes or the less nutritious
home fries. I said tomato, my friend said potato, and both were great. The bacon
donut was a treat; I don’t have to be healthy about everything.
I’ve been to the Nickel twice, and have been fortunate enough to be seated right
away. There have been other times, when driving by, I’ve seen wannabe-diners
outnumbering those needing the services for the indigent. I think it’s worth taking
a chance of snagging a table and mingling with the crowd — inside or out.
The Nickel Diner
Four Plates
524 S. Main St.
Los Angeles
Occasionally, when a business or restaurant has resided in one place for a very lengthy
time, it’s hard to exorcise memories (good or bad) to make room when new occupants
come along. That was my fear of going to Spice Island Grill. Gone was the long-established
and dependably good El Tesoro. In its place was not only a new owner, but an entirely dissimi-
lar cuisine: Jamaican. I needn’t have worried. Besides the address, the two vastly different
restaurants share an apparent commitment to well-prepared food and attentive service.
Vibrantly colored walls and knick knacks from Jamaica greet diners, but more importantly
are the friendly faces and acknowledgement from the staff. The menu offers a 15-minute
lunch. Although we didn’t time it, I suspect ours, and others’, took a little longer. But that’s
fine, because it’s a comfortable space.
The lunch menu features a variety of sandwich, entrée and salad offerings with the requisite
Jamaican jerk seasoning. I ordered the jerk chicken sandwich served on Jamaican Cocoa
bread, which is thick and bun-like. The jerk seasoning on the grilled chicken was tangy
and spicy without being overwhelming. My dining companion ordered chicken curry with
a side of plantain. The flavors were rich and full of depth. The thinly sliced fried plantain
tasted more like squash, as it should, than banana.
In addition to chicken and pork, there’s shrimp, goat, tilapia and even tofu imbued with jerk
seasoning. Perhaps Spice Island Grill will have a life at least as long as its predecessor –
18+ years.
Spice Island Grill
Four Plates
10 N. Sierra Madre
Colorado Springs, CO
What begins campy and comic book-like soon assumes a more serious tone about
familial dysfunction in Karen Russell’s Swamplandia! This enigmatic coming-of-
age story is set in Florida’s Everglades, where the harsh environment is full of danger-
ous creatures and rich in bittersweet memories for the Bigtree family.
Thirteen-year-old Ava Bigtree is the narrator for most of the novel; when the setting
switches to the nearby coastal town of Loomis, Russell narrates. Swamplandia! is the
name of the Bigtree family’s alligator theme park. When Ava’s mother, the main attract-
ion as an alligator wrestler, dies, the family disintegrates. Ava’s 16-year-old sister is in
love with a ghost; Kiwi, the older brother, leaves to work at the competing theme park
in Loomis; and Chief, the children’s father, leaves Swamplandia to look, he says, for
funding. Through most of the novel, Ava is the most level-headed, so when she shows
her age, it’s a good thing for the reader, but not so much for Ava.
This is one whopper of a tale, but Russell creates complex characters facing difficult
issues in their lives, not the least of which is dealing with the mother’s death. The back-
drop of the theme park and alligators provides some levity on one hand and heavy-duty
allegory on the other. Russell’s beautifully-written descriptions and sentence structure
are captivating. There are some laugh-out-loud moments countered by creepy events.
Several times I considered closing the book to stop what was likely to happen, but
needed to keep reading just in case I was wrong.
Swamplandia!
Four Bookmarks
Alfred A. Knopf, 2011
316 pages
A mashup is the best way to describe the vegetarian sandwich at the Heart of Jerusalem
in Manitou Springs. It’s a grilled cheese with salad ingredients wrapped in Zaatar pita. This
sturdy bread is delightfully airy. Zaatar is a Middle Eastern spice combination of thyme,
marjoram and oregano. The spice is added with olive oil and brushed on top of the dough as
it is grilled. Also, the dough is docked. That is, pierced so it doesn’t puff up to create the air
pockets typically associated with pita. Rather than have the food inside the pita pockets, the
bread is wrapped around the filling. This thicker pita provides the perfect grip to embrace the
gooey melted cheddar, hummus, tomatoes, lettuce, pickled turnips and, whether by design or
accident, a few pieces of falafel. The bits of deep-fried ground chickpeas added both texture
and flavor. On my next visit, I’ll have a full serving of falafel. Although they tasted fine, the
turnips have an unusual color more closely associated with a shade of lipstick worn, perhaps,
by circus or prison matrons.
Service is somewhat sketchy. It wasn’t clear if we were to order at the cash register, or if some-
one would come to our table; ultimately a server came to us. The whiney Middle Eastern music
was too loud, but this may have been an effort to establish the right mood in a room with plastic
seat cushions and Formica tabletops. Fortunately, the food wasn’t eclipsed by the mixed-bag
ambiance.
The Heart of Jerusalem
Three-and-a-half Plates
718 Manitou Ave.
Manitou Springs, CO
Although somewhat entertaining, The Writing Class by Jincy Willett is a light
mystery with writing advice. Willett should have heeded some of her own tips,
particularly when it comes to character development. Oh wait, she didn’t really
address that. Still, plenty of other writing elements addressed go unheeded.
The class, comprised of 13 students, is actually a nine-week workshop. It’s taught
by one-hit writer Amy Gallup repeatedly described as “a loner who hated to be
alone.” That’s not necessarily the kind of thing that needs emphasis. Willett could
show this more, rather than tell it so frequently. Amy’s tired and cynical attitude
doesn’t mesh with her sense of humor and appreciation of good writing when it
surfaces. She’s quick to categorize her students when a new workshop gets under
way. However, she soon realizes she’s made some judgment errors, particularly
when someone in the group begins to send anonymous threats, which ultimately
lead to murder. Nonetheless, the group grows close and despite, or because of,
the murders everyone becomes friends and suspects.
Part of the problem lies in the suspension of disbelief which simply doesn’t happen.
The first threats should have triggered someone, if not Amy, to contact authorities.
Although, there is some acknowledgement this should be done, it doesn’t occur until
too late. Perhaps the best parts of Willett’s novel appear in the different voices creat-
through her students’ writings. They are far better representations than the one-
dimensional descriptions of the characters. If this was intentional, Willett was
successful.
The Writing Class
Three Bookmarks
St. Martin’s Press, 2008
326 pages
A good salad is more than lettuce on a plate, and a good sandwich is more
than two slices of bread pressed together. This is evident at Terrazza Grill
where ordinary midday basics, like salads and sandwiches, exceed expecta-
tions in creativity and taste. Terrazza Grill focuses on fresh, mostly grilled,
cuisine with a Mediterranean influence. The menu features a lengthy list of
sandwiches, ranging from burgers to grilled cheese, but these are far more
intriguing than they might appear at first glance. For example, Grilled Formaggio
sounds better with its half Italian name, especially when considering its des-
cription: grilled sourdough bread with cheddar, provolone and Swiss. Ham
and tomato can be added to further raise the bar.
I ordered the Grilled Chicken Panini. The menu says the chicken is marinated.
The marinade is lost to the tangy aioli, melted provolone and roasted peppers
on focaccia with lettuce, red onion, and tomato. This thick, gooey combination
makes the word sandwich seem like an understatement.
My friend’s Grilled Pesce Insalata featured blackened tuna on mixed greens with
cucumber, tomato, avocado, dried apricots and Craisins. Initially, the tuna was
undercooked. Medium rare here is nearly still breathing, but the server happily
took it back for a little more grill time. The salad was beautifully plated with
balsamic vinaigrette on the side. It was apparently very good since no offer for
me to taste it was made, and I wasn’t quick enough to pull a look-behind-you-trick
to sneak a bite on my own.
Terrazza Grill
Four Plates
1005 West Colorado Ave. Colorado Springs, CO
As the mother of sons I was compelled to read The Mama’s Boy Myth:
Why Keeping Our Sons Close Makes Them Stronger by Kate Stone
Lombardi. My oldest, in his mid-20s, often boasts of being a “mama’s boy,”
however, my other two have yet to claim to the same title. Nonetheless, I
feel close to all three. Of course, they don’t tell me everything, but they share
quite a lot. More importantly, I no longer feel the way I did when they were
younger: that our relationship would stop flourishing as they got older. That
is not happening at all, and, according to Lombardi, I am not the only mother
enjoying this experience.
Lombardi combines interviews with mothers of sons, excerpts from studies,
personal experience, and historic trends that have led her to conclude there
is nothing wrong with strong bonds between moms and their boys. In fact,
she highlights a number of benefits for males. These include possessing more
expressive and thoughtful qualities. Yet until now, little has been written to
correct the bum rap directed toward moms if their sons were too sensitive or
socially inept; and having a male role model was considered the way to over-
come “problems” caused by a mom with tight apron strings.
Dads, as Lombardi notes, don’t face such scrutiny in their relationships with
daughters. All parents should be encouraged to maintain close ties with their
children. For moms it should happen without Oedipus’s looming shadow.
The Mama’s Boy Myth: Why Keeping Ours Sons Close Makes Them Stronger
Three Bookmarks
Penguin Group, 2012
324 pages (includes notes)
I’ve always loved to read, but there are times I just can’t bring myself to pick
up a book. Suffering overwhelming grief, experiencing mind-numbing fatigue,
and finishing an exceptionally well-written book have all, at one time or anoth-
er, contributed to a reading lull. I’ve had a bit of trouble picking up a book since
finishing The Dovekeepers. This made me think about other books that have
stopped me in my reading tracks*: Cutting for Stone, The Night Circus, A Prayer
for Owen Meany, among others, I’m sure.
Occasionally there are times I stop reading a particularly good passage just to
relish the image or writing. This happens frequently when I read Barbara King-
solver. But that’s pleasurable. I truly do savor good books. I get lost in them. I
think about them. I want characters to move into my home. Some stories I just
don’t want to end. When the especially good ones do, I sulk. I want more of the
same, not something new.
Perhaps I’ve been over-reading, a concept I’ve never really considered until now.
Is it possible to read too much? I hope not, but I am satiated from my last read,
and I’ve been reluctant to start anything new. Fortunately, this usually doesn’t
last long.
When I can’t read, no matter what the reason, I feel unmoored. The great thing
about books, though, is that I know there are others certain to stop me yet again.
I can’t wait.
*This is obviously taking that end-of-a-good-book feeling to the extreme.
Depending on perspective, the good or bad thing about historical fiction is knowing
how something will end – at least generally. Alice Hoffman’s The Dovekeepers
may have Masada in ancient Israel as its setting, but her novel about four strong,
captivating women is all new. It’s no spoiler to acknowledge that, yes, nearly every-
one dies; nonetheless, Hoffman’s characters are so vibrant and remarkable that
they make their home in our minds and hearts.
Hoffman typically combines the supernatural with the ordinary, but this is the first
time she blends these with history and religion. In her hands, the concepts are not
as incongruous as might be expected. Along with what could be perceived as a little
magic, other attributes shared by the women include survival, desire, love and relig-
ious conviction; these qualities move the fast-paced story toward its inevitable con-
clusion.
Hoffman clearly did her research. Rich with descriptive language of the harsh land,
the brutality of men, and Judaic traditions, Hoffman details the lives of the women
before and after their arrival in Masada. The four, Yael, Revka, Aziza and Shirah,
fill the pages with joy and heartache. They are of various ages, backgrounds, and
experiences; all are intelligent, sensual, even daring characters. Although each wo-
man shares her narrative, the voices are not that distinctly different.
In some ways reminiscent of The Red Tent for its portrayal of women in a Biblical
context, The Dovekeepers is a gripping representation not just about the existence
of faith but of its necessity.
The Dovekeepers
Four-and-a-half Bookmarks
Scribner, 2011
501 pages
The Blue Star was here first. It is like the older sister of Nosh, which I wrote about here
recently. The two restaurants share the same owner, and are lively, energetic venues where
the chefs get creative, even a bit carried away. There’s something to be said about experi-
menting with new foods, but I decided not to order the fried alligator and waffles.
I love good service at a restaurant, especially when it complements good food. The Blue
Star knows the value of such a marriage. The place was packed but our server was patient,
answered questions, and remained attentive long after our meal was served. I’m also
impressed when the owner stops by. This happened when we dined at Nosh last month,
and again at The Blue Star. I am certain he has neither a twin nor a clone.
My husband ordered the Burger with Cheddar after confirming Crème Brulee was available
for dessert. I ordered a Grilled Apple Salad with a creamy blue cheese vinaigrette. Although
good, it was superfluous. I couldn’t finish my entrée of Mini Crab Cakes, thick with pieces of
crab augmented by piquant colors and tastes on either side: a splash of wasabi mayonnaise
and bright chile paste. Jasmine rice shaped like the crab cakes was a welcome addition to
the plate.
Although, I suspect Fridays are always hopping, especially right after work, this particular
Friday was electric with weekend anticipation – and the apparent need to use a Groupon be-
fore its expiration date.
The Blue Star
Four Plates
1645 S. Tejon St.
Colorado Springs, CO
The Blue Page Special 