I’m Getting Jaded
Years ago, I happened to make the superficial acquaintance of a Hollywood producer with a bit of a “reputation.” Not a reputation for artistry or problem-solving know-how, but rather one of a more lascivious nature: local legend had it that he had slept with so many women, he had reached the carnal tipping point. He no longer found the idea of sex to be that stimulating.
Um, what? I was flabbergasted. Who does this asshole think he is? How dare he casually disregard an aspect of life many uphold to be of prime importance, if not sacred (my strict Catholic friends, I’m looking at you).
This past Sunday I thought of this man for the first time in years after finishing a meal at Salt’s Cure on Santa Monica Blvd. By all accounts, it was a first-rate brunch and I felt satiated and grateful I could partake in it. But I couldn’t shake that nagging feeling of being….jaded.
French press coffee? Meh.
Los Angeles Magazine stating that this place will “have you counting the days til next Sunday morning”? Yawn.
Duck hash with a ham (locally raised) & cheese sandwich? Snooze.
Pork liver terrine with mustard seeds? Hmpth.
Is it hard for me to get excited anymore? Have I become the self-indulgent, self-satisfied, ennui-ridden food equivalent of the douchebag Hollywood producer? Have I lost my way?
Such existential thoughts of terror flashed across my mind for the remainder of the day. However, the next morning, I woke up with an acute craving for the tangerine roll I started my Sunday brunch with, and all was right with the world again.
Salt’s Cure, 7494 Santa Monica Blvd., West Hollywood, CA 90046, (323) 850-7258.
