Rose Bowl, episode 5. In which we find our mojo.

You know how it is with memory and food, right? That first bite of the right dish will flood memories right through your brain and (in my case) sentimental heart. I especially savor that moment in Pixar's 2007 feature, Ratatouille, when Peter O'Toole's aloof restaurant critic takes his first bite of Remy's elegantly deconstructed rustic dish. His flood of memories immediately returns the rough-edged critic back to his provincial childhood and the comforting warmth of his mother's lovingly-prepared casserole of farm-fresh vegetables and herbs.

Although my own meatloafing of America throughout these here ramblings can recollect many happy memories of traveling with Mari, there was no meatloaf in my childhood. There are other dishes that evoke strong memories of my mãe e pai, especially Portuguese and Brazilian recipes from my childhood. Although I've managed to nearly recreate a few family favorites, including stuffed peppers (a hint of cloves in the ground beef mixture was my mom's secret signature) and pudim flan (slowly stewed sugary prunes embellish the otherwise silky smooth surface), the recreations are never quite perfect as you know if you've ever tried to copy a family recipe.

I've also never been able to come close to my favorite family dish, my mom's obsessively layered lasagna. I have no clue where my mom came up with her recipe, but her carefully constructed casserole has absolutely no origins in Portuguese or Brazilian cuisine. The weight of that finished glass lasagna pan and the corresponding heft of the memory of family celebrations will forever cloud my gastronomic judgment, I suppose, and (much like a cake left out in the rain in MacArthur's Park) I will never ever have that recipe again.

Many thanks to Donna Summer for bringing me out of that foodie reverie!

Sometimes, however, you do happen across a heavenly taste of the cherished past and such was our good fortune the weekend of Mari's Rose Bowl fleamarket 50th birthday weekend. During last year's LA visit for my 50th, I was surprised and happy to discover a West Coast location of a Midwest favorite, Portillo's, where Mari and I enjoyed a post Long Beach flea Chicago dog and Italian beef sandwich.

Another Midwest favorite blipped its way onto my culinary radar while planning this year's post flea refueling. I could not believe that after all these years (our last visit was in 1989 in South Bend) Mari and I were about to enjoy pizza and perfectly seasoned slices of Mojo potatoes at Shakey's!

Thinly sliced and delicately battered, Mojos are the perfect side dish to accompany a memory-inducing and oh-so-savory starch-fest. Our trip down memory lane was incomplete, of course, without our college friends with whom we had shared many a heavenly Mojo, many a comforting meal, and many a lasting memory.

Visit the site to plan your own starchy walk down memory lane. Although no longer in the Midwest, there are Shakey's locations in a variety of unexpected regions of North America (and Asia).

shakeys.com

Originally, our plan was to enjoy a memory (and Mojo potato) filled lunch at the Glendale Shakey's, the closest to the Rose Bowl, immediately following our 3-hour shopping safari, but along our route that morning we couldn't help but notice a few colorful and strategically-placed signs advertising an estate sale. Hmmm.

That hot pink sign a mile south of the Rose Bowl stuck in our memory throughout the morning and we couldn't help but be tempted by it again on the way to our well-deserved and much-needed Mojo-memory-filled nourishment.

And, of course, you know how these things go...

there was a garage sale on the way to the estate sale.

This delicate beauty made its way into my weekend stash of treasures. For all of two dollars, I was absolutely elated to still find this bone china beauty so late in the garage sale day. 

Remind me to share with you some blog day the location where I am now cleverly displaying my fleamarketed teacups that could no longer control themselves in their own display cabinet. It combines two things I cannot live without.

Now, I have a confession about estate sales.

I have kind of a love-hate relationship with them.

I love them because I enjoy hunting for treasures as you all know. I hate estate sales because more often than not, they are happening because someone has moved on (and I'm not talking about a simple move across town, but a more metaphorical move).

As you know I can sometimes get a little (way too much for my own good) sentimental even about such seemingly meaningless miscellany as indelibly-inscribed slide rules, 99-cent owl-emblazoned souvenir plates, and four-dollar Avon pressed glass rose bowls. Imagine what it's like, then, for me as I walk through someone's former home and forage through items that have been selected for one final purge.

Let me share with you, though, one final bargain purchase that helped round out a small collection started a few years ago. I don't know what Lenox was doing getting involved with spices, but back in the late 1980s the Lenox Spice Village made its debut to the delight of collectors somewhere.

Miniature (each about 3 inches tall) Victorian-style cottages, each unique and delicately embellished with painted artistic interpretations of two dozen herbs and spices, were available to culinaria collectors who likely never used them for their implied function.

None of the dusty but still brightly embellished spice cottages still remaining in the emptied Pasadena townhouse that afternoon, the final (deeply-discounted) day of the estate sale, bore witness to any trace fragrant herb or spice.

Each porcelain cottage, I'm absolutely confident, had displayed proudly in that formerly pristine and orderly kitchen. The three carefully-chosen beauties photographed here found their (discounted to $2.50 each) rightful route to join two previously fleamarketed rescues (Bay and Saffron) on my kitchen counter. I make no attempt to disguise their far from utilitarian function although I did select herbs and spices that are among my favorites. My functioning spices (all 48 of them) have their own spice drawer where they are alphabetically tucked away in identical Penzey's spice jars with all their labels dutifully facing upwards as they await appropriately seasoned selection.

The five members of my Spice Village help maintain the eclectically collectible vibe on the countertop where I enjoy experimenting and recreating family food memories.

Chive, Tarragon, and Nutmeg have found a new home in my controlled clutter and will have their own spicy story to share some day.

This was my last photo at the flea. My drooping pineapples and I are posing with reminders to all visitors of other upcoming local events.

So many fleamarkets...

so little time!

A return trip (or two) is on our list.

More sites (and maybe a few stars) from SoCal next time.

Rose Bowl, episode 4. In which I fish scale new heights.

I think I've mentioned my pre-pubescent penchant for fish sticks previously, but even my adult appreciation for fresh fish has never led me to the precarious precipice of donning fisherman's gear and brandishing a fishing pole.

My love for cooking and my appreciation for fleamarkets (and concomitant collector's gaze) did lead me, however, to this epicurean gadget purchase during our Saturday morning fishing expedition at last October's Rose Bowl flea.

Now at home hanging off one of the IKEA Grundtal rails (far right between the ladles and fish spatula) in my eclectic (decoratively cluttered) dream kitchen, the Chinese fish scaler now serves a purpose more ornamental and inspirational than its intended utilitarian purpose (but it's also at hand just in case I do dive off the deep end and decide to actually go fishing).

Mari and I had stumbled onto an eclectic booth of vintage furniture, household items, and creatively crafted home decor. We also stumbled into an engaging young couple with perfectly charming fleamarket vendor personalities and a penchant for traveling similar to our own.

The husband is a talented furniture craftsman who grew up in Italy, moved to NYC and finally to LA (by way of the Big D, of course), collected a charming and talented wife along the way who herself collected and refurbished and resold a wide variety of bric-a-brac and household ephemera (my favorite).

He had cast these concrete candleholders in the perfect carry-on size for fleamarket travelers like us!

Although landing not quite light as a feather in Mari's tote, the clever combination of concrete, wood, and metal scored a perfect hat trick for us as we added the industrially charming duo to our new kitchen.

Now, I know what you're thinking when you look at my new old fish scaler (other than the fact that I will likely never scale a fresh fish in my life)... How the heck do you expect to get that through the airport without checking a bag, Lou? Way ahead of you, my friends. The following Monday we would make a quick visit to a local post office to mail said semi-sharp TSA-unfriendly weapon-like kitchen implement home in a padded mailer.

$2.94 and a trip to the post office sure beats a $25 checked-bag fee.

Had we been fleamarketing a lot closer to home, some of the vintage and rustic gardening decor Mari enjoys browsing would have wound up in our back yard.

I am always fond of browsing mid-century furniture. Not so much a fan of leaving it behind at fleamarkets, but I love admiring it, snapping a photo, and (sadly) walking away.

There was a nice variety of mid-century mod teak at a (fairly wide) range of prices on display that Saturday in the "Antique Merchandise" section of the Rose Bowl which covers nearly half the vendor space.

Truth be told, Mari and I barely managed to cover about a third of that half in the three hours we spent inching and flea-ing along.

 

The amount of knick-knack paddywhack on display coupled with the beautifully browsable grounds (and the charmingly talented couples) can be overwhelmingly enjoyable.

 

With a full bottle of water and the right weather conditions, I'm good for about three hours of flea-ing before I crash like the S. S. Minnow. My first mate and I were not quite ready to call it a day, however.

A final view from the flea and a little post-flea fleamarketing next time.

Rose Bowl, episode 3. In which we stop to smell the succulents.

Feeling slightly less itinerary-bound than during my own epic five-day LA 50th birthday weekend, Mari and I had some unusually unheard-of free time when it was her turn to celebrate being fifty. Here we are spending some of that free time enjoying a nice walk in the late summer sunshine along the Pacific Coast Highway pedestrian path in Santa Monica.

Once again, we cozied up to the comforts of the Channel Road Inn but managed to spend a little more than just a few "down" minutes each day enjoying our special room. Thanks, again, to the wonderful staff for your warm welcome (and cookies!) and indulgent birthday pampering. 

Here is the site again should you wish to pursue your own pampering. I'm hoping an annual visit makes its way onto our own travel calendar.

channelroadinn.com

At right, Mari is leading your gaze out to the famed Santa Monica pier that we strolled last time (after paying an inexplicably excessive $15 for parking).

The pedestrian-friendly path alongside the restlessly hectic PCH overlooks the beach below and is itself beautifully lined with flourishing flora and luscious succulents.

We explored a little more of our lush Santa Monica surroundings this time around and enjoyed the somewhat touristy but bountifully festive Santa Monica Place.

A combination of indoor and outdoor shopping mall with plenty of restaurants as well as a movie theater, Santa Monica Place was easily accessible, even walkable from the Pier, but there is also plenty of street parking and a (paid, of course) parking garage.

Be sure to visit the site to do a little pre-planning and to explore your dining options. As you know, Mari and I are fond of the Cheesecake Factory and found ourselves sampling birthday cheesecake on more than one occasion.

santamonicaplace.com

I am fortunate to be a man of few regrets and fortunately most of those regrets merely involve inconsequential longings associated with unpurchased fleamarket finds. Pictured atop the vintage sideboard above is a set of bone china I kind of wish hadn't gotten away that Saturday, but I'm not really sure where the mid-century Royal Vale tea set would have ended up in our home. Mari may be forever grateful that I did not introduce yet another set of dishes or tea set into our life, but at least I was able to snap a photo and walk away without too much trauma. Besides, we had just barely made our entrance into the vintage/antique section of the Rose Bowl flea and there was still plenty of appetizing acreage for my collector's gaze to patrol.

One of the things I like about the Rose Bowl flea is that vendors are allowed to pull up to their reserved spot and unload and display as they see fit. As a vendor, that is the ultimate in convenience. The Long Beach flea, on the other hand, proffers vendors' goods in uncomplicated and neatly ordered rows of tables and booth displays. If you have ever schlepped boxes and unwieldy packages of items for flea sale from a distant parking lot to your assigned 10' x 10' space, then you will appreciate the convenience of the Rose Bowl flea for vendors.

The arrangement also allows for colorfully eclectic shopping experiences like this...

And this retro-friendly favorite...

I caught Mari mid-beeline as her own collector's gaze eyed a charmingly beat-up metal toy truck she plans to turn into a charmingly beat-up planter (for a succulent, of course). Creative vendors like these lend an industrial-sized fleamarket like the Rose Bowl personal charm and give shoppers, browsers, and collectors a memorably charming (or charmingly memorable) experience.

Among my own purchases that Saturday were some additions to a favorite collection. My previously pictured and blogged typewriter ribbon tin collection (NYC Markets revisited, episode 6) received four new old additions.

Not to worry, I bundled the transaction from a single vendor who actually happened to be the only vendor among the hundreds we browsed with typewriter ribbon tins for sale.

Again, it is the font-fabulous graphics and striking colors that draw me to these miniature collectibles. I also appreciate their diminutivity (just trying it out, relax) which makes them fun to collect from faraway markets and likewise easy to drop into bubble-wrap pouches for safe travels.

The living room display is gill-packed now, but makes me happy.

More fleamarketing from the Rose Bowl (and beyond) next time.

Rose Bowl, episode 2. In which Mari does the hula pie.

When my biological clock decided it was time to tick-tock past fifty, I was more than well-prepared with plane eTickets, TPIR reserved-seating tickets, and Nobu table-with-ocean-view reservations booked as far in advance as the powers that be would allow (that was thirty, not thirty-one, days if you recall).

And while Mari's 50th birthday technically landed on our August calendar, so did back-to-school and thus we were open to exploring a new-to-us Southern California fleamarket a couple months later when the weather would be (we hoped) a bit cooler and our experience more comfortably cooperative than 2016's mid-September steamy perusals at the Long Beach flea.

Occasionally, Mari will make a special request while I am trip planning, and I'm all about honoring a request and fulfilling her dreams... Yada yada yada.


Yada also includes a 25th proposal anniversary re-proposal at the top of the Eiffel Tower on Valentine's Day a few years ago if you recall. 

This time, Mari made her request while we were celebrating my 50th birthday. On our way up Pacific Coast Highway to my sunset birthday dinner in Malibu (I know how that sounds, but I'm owning it) Mari and I made a spectacularly surprising foodie favorite discovery.

We sighted our favorite restaurant along the way to Nobu. It wasn't exactly the site of our favorite restaurant because this was our first time driving PCH, but it was a new-to-us location of a favorite, Duke's Waikiki, where we had enjoyed one of our most memorable meals over seven years prior while celebrating our 20th anniversary.

We later learned that there are three Duke's locations in Southern California as well as two additional Hawaii locations, all of which honor Duke Paoa Kahanamoku, five-time Olympic swimming medalist and champion of the sport of surfing.

The restaurant chain's main site has a nice tribute to Duke and a timeline of his accomplishments which include heroic and humanitarian efforts.

Visit the site also to explore the menus at the different locations because if you are in SoCal or Hawaii, you'll want to add a relaxing meal of fresh seafood in an amazing oceanside setting to your travel itinerary.

dukesrestaurants.com

Mari and I exchanged cameras with a friendly young couple celebrating their own special dinner for this photo with a life-size statue of Duke himself.

I was fired up to share Mari's celebratory "Hula Pie" that was generously provided by our friendly server. Although I was tempted to lick the plate clean and drop it into Mari's purse for a shanghaied souvenir, we behaved ourselves and made a quick stop at the gift shop on the way out and purchased a pair of souvenir plates to enjoy with our own celebratory treats at home when overcome with travel cravings.

Like a couple of expert fleamarketers,

we are never hard-pressed to find a gift shop.

Our Rose Bowl fleamarket experience, dear reader, what can I say?

We would have been overwhelmed had I not explored the site before our visit to get the "lay of the land" and had it not been for the color map (and great scrapbook embellishment) thoughtfully provided at the market entrance.

Now, about that other thing...

You know, that thing I don't like talking about...

You know how I feel about paying to enter a fleamarket, but at least there was a plethora of free parking surrounding the stadium and plenty of friendly staffers to guide us to that perfect parking spot.

Although unfortunately unable to find any online discounts or coupons for admission, I did learn that all admission tickets must be purchased in person with cash on the day of the monthly flea.

Take a date because if you pay your $18 admission for two with a Tubman (still trying it out) you'll receive a crisp two-dollar bill in return along with your souvenir color map.

Visit the helpful site to plan

your own visit as a shopper

or to apply to be a vendor.

rgcshows.com/rosebowl.aspx

Trusty souvenir map in one hand, beautiful birthday girl with empty market tote in the other, I steered Mari into the heart of the vintage section to begin our Saturday morning hunt.

The colorfully eclectic and charmingly disheveled booth above yielded our first purchase of the day. Three of our six vintage tomato juice glasses are pictured here and have already been put to good use on a few weekend occasions.

More stories and rescued treasures from the Rose Bowl next time.

Rose Bowl, episode 1. In which we return to California.

There's a story, of course.

This photo was years in the making. The monthly Rose Bowl fleamarket landed with a huge wonderful blip on our radar long ago when we first started getting serious about fleamarketing. It was probably some show or other on HGTV or the Travel Channel and it probably had something to do with Lara Spencer, that creatively crafty temptress.

Mari and I were particularly tempted by the Rose Bowl flea last year when I was planning my 50th-birthday-California-here-we-come-weekend that included a taping of The Price is Right and a visit to the monthly Long Beach Antique Market. If you recall (California, here we come, episode 1), we did not visit the top-of-the-list Rose Bowl flea because my mother scheduled her Caesarean (me) a week too late back in 1966, but we had an amazingly overwhelming first fleamarket experience at Long Beach nevertheless.

It was Mari's turn to turn fifty-and-fabulous this year, and we made sure the trip calendar worked to our advantage (even if it was two months after the big day). 

When I turned thirty, I celebrated by "treating" myself to a long-fantasized convertible (which, if you recall from last year's California series, lasted 19 and a half years and was unfortunately not replaced by winning a brand new car on The Price is Right).

When I turned forty, it was a long-dreamed-of visit to London (and amazingly mystical Stonehenge) that scratched my Anglophilic itch that had its origins with Lady Diana's 1981 wedding.

Most recently, last year's (losing) bid to be a pool table winner on The Price is Right served as the marker of my 50th birthday milestone. It was also the first time I had traveled to California, but I knew it wouldn't be the last.

Here's a photo of Mari a few weeks shy of forty.

We were in Las Vegas for the first time and I couldn't think of a better location for her to scratch her own adventurous itch and celebrate a birthday milestone so I arranged a tandem skydive.

No, silly reader, had I been the other half of the tandem it is doubtful anyone would still be alive to write these fiercely finessed words.

A trained professional joined Mari on her first (so far) sky dive and a very proud (nervous) husband waited dutifully (sanely) on the ground with camera at the ready to snap this photo.

While Mari thought about revisiting her 40th birthday daredevilry as she turned fifty, our visit to Los Angeles/Santa Monica/Malibu last September for my big 5-0 inspired Mari's own 50th birthday California celebration.

Planned precisely (I wouldn't have it any other way) to coincide with our long-dreamed-of, top-of-the-list, and highly-hyphenated-and-anticipated Rose Bowl fleamarket, our second California 50th birthday weekend celebration included a few revisits and a few new adventures as well as a mojo-blast from our foodie potato past.

Before my gobbledygook gets too far-flung, here's a quick view from the flea.

We've been waiting a very long time to enjoy that spectacular SoCal view!

Here's another view which includes our birthday girl doing her best to fill up her favorite market tote.

More next time from the enormously expansive and ever-overflowing flea that is the second Sunday of every month Rose Bowl Flea Market and Market Place.

In the meantime, visit the official site for a quick browse.

rgcshows.com/RoseBowl.aspx