This round of ’48 Hours in…’ was penned by my dear friend, Erin Edds. A fellow entrepreneur, Erin and her husband, Stephen, are the operators of the wildly popular Hoosier Momma Bloody Mary mixer line – a favorite at Colts games, the Indianapolis 500, and Kentucky Derby.
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First, you head north past Los Angeles’ Hasidic Jewish neighborhood and onto the posh boutique-lined Beverly Boulevard for a bite at Petty Cash, an upscale taqueria. The walls look like an enormous Digital Retna mural, and the bar is stocked with scores of agave spirits, many of which you’ve never seen before. You see the trompo and decide to order tacos al pastor to go with your Paloma.
Jeffrey Morgenthaler, bartender extraordinaire.
More like Jeffrey the Grouch when I first met him in the Denver airport years ago. The name rang a bell as the shuttle driver rattled off the list of us weary travelers waiting for a ride to Vail. “I think I follow you on Twitter,” I mumbled to the tall, graying mixer as we walked to the van. “Where are you based?” I asked like a common cocktail newbie.
For this round of “48 Hours in…”, I asked my friend, and locale expert, Evan Strange, to point us in the right direction. Though I originally met Evan during my visit to Indianapolis, he made the trek down Texas way two years ago, and is certainly my go-to to get the off-the-radar dining deets in this capital city.
San Francisco chef Richie Nakano is as widely known for his opinions as he is for his ramen. An online biography describes the cocksure chef as “the expert of kitchen trash talk”, his regularly updated Twitter feed peppered with sideswipes at everything from local regulations to “Best Of” lists. Nakano doesn’t toss his thoughts around lightly, however, and his long abandoned blog reads like a Bourdain novel, an articulate, knowledgeable voice representing kitchen dwellers from Los Angeles to New York. A father, a baseball fan, a line cook. Another dedicated chef you won’t see at an awards show.
It was a last minute trip home, the kind you don’t want to make, the kind you take because someone’s health is failing and visits must be made. Everything from my pre-departure routine to those long hours in a metal tube with wings felt more dismal than usual. I had a cocktail on each flight, sleeping when I could, eschewing my iPod and trashy magazines. The subsequent gathering of my immediate family upon my arrival into Detroit weighed heavy with concern, a weekend schedule of meals and responsibilities and meetings with health care providers. Our family’s modus operandi to laugh and carry on conflicting with the uncomfortable stomach-gnawing of impending loss.