#Los Angeles

We harvested the last of the mirabelles today under heavy skies and to the sound of rolling thunder, the first raindrops already falling as we packed away the ladder and hurried inside with the last couple of kilos of yellow plums.

There’s something so simple and satisfying about making old-fashioned jams and cordials, a word that has a distinctly Victorian ring to my ears. Or at least, it’s simple and satisfying once the pots have all been put away and the kitchen is clean.

We were in Los Angeles a couple of weeks ago, and I was talking to one of the fellows behind the bar at The Library in the Roosevelt Hotel in Hollywood.

A vodka cocktail from The Library.

It’s a dimly lit place of deep leather seats and candles, with thick stacks of books piled up as table supports. The kind of place that invites spending more time than foreseen, and maybe a few unplanned confessions

After we’d tried the first couple of surprising cocktails, I had to go over and see what this guy was up to. I’ve never had such a bright pomegranate vodka martini; the margarita was spiked with unexpected cilantro and green chili.

As it turned out, the countertop looked more like a salad bar than a standard bar for booze. Fresh fruits, everything from pears and pomegranates to bell peppers and chills. Not to mention a wide variety of fresh herbs in bunches. Any juice for a drink is crushed or squeezed on the spot, the herbs mashed with a mortar and pestle.

A not-so-great picture, taken in very low light, of a small part of the bar counter.

Impressive.

What I liked even more was the time taken to really pay attention to each concoction, including the strawberry/balsamic vinegar/vodka creation I had (top picture), topped with a foam of elderflower St. Germain liqueur.

Sure, it all takes longer, just like cooking up and straining mirabelles for a couple of liters of sunny golden cordial. Still, so satisfying, a real pleasure.

We’re staying in West Hollywood with a good friend, and the back garden of his 1920s bungalow is bordered by an unexpected diagonal wall. It’s an odd angle that traces the boundary between this house and the next property.

On the other side of a large nearby street at the end of this quiet block, the diagonal transect continues, seemingly cutting a small property there like a wedge of cheese.

It’s not just the result of a whimsical land surveyor or careless property division.

It’s a bit of urban archeology, visible to all.

Pacific Kit Homes, 1925
Source: The Daily Bungalow

Back when Los Angeles was first being expanded over a century ago, smart real estate developers built streetcar lines from the established part of town out into the stretches of land they’d bought but which had no roads or reason to live there.

They’d sponsor ‘lunch and lecture’ events out in the middle of nowhere (relatively speaking), offering a free streetcar ticket, a lunch, and a real estate pitch for one of the new, modern ‘streetcar suburbs’.

The view of Hollywood and Cahuenga, not too far from where we’re staying circa 1906.
Source: Water & Power Assc.

As for the homes being sold on land carved out of the desert and farmland, many of them were pre-fabricated catalogue homes, shipped in kits by railroad and assembled on the spot. They were modern in the sense that they had indoor plumbing, central heating and electrical wiring.

And in neighbourhoods like Spaulding Square in West Hollywood, these charming little homes survived a century of ups and downs and assorted earthquakes. There are a number of neighbourhoods around LA that feature these catalogue homes, and many of them have been or are being renovated and restored to a charm that doesn’t seem dated at all.

A Spaulding house.
Source: LA Office of Historic Resources

The streetcar lines weren’t so long-lived. The rise of the personal automobile and car economy had begun. Once the LA real estate had been parcelled and sold, the costly and profit-depleting streetcar lines were shut down, one by one. Los Angeles became the epitome of automotive triumph (or disaster, depending on how you choose to view it) that it is today. There’s a nice piece on the rise of roads versus rail here.

A gated entryway that was once a streetcar line.
Photo: PK Read

The diagonal alleys and odd property lines around the area are the remnants of old rights-of-passage maintained for a time, just in case the streetcar lines were revived. But by the time public transportation became a burning topic again, these old lines were mostly blocked off, too narrow to use again, or completely paved over.

The old alleyway that’s in my line of vision as I write this is a fossil, a small layer in the sedimentation of urban and commercial interest and investment.

Retired LA streetcars.
Source: Inhabitat

champagnewhisky

Never cry over spilt milk. It could've been champagne. Or whisky.

Simple, Slow, Good

Past Cuts