Local Look #1: Melrose Place(s)
My day off today called for a few treats, including but not limited to some pampering and an internet-free, iPhone-less date at one of my favorite caffeine escapes. I decided to treat myself to an iced mocha from Alfred, despite having no date this morning and very few friends who can typically day-date with me anyway.
Rather than miss or dwell upon this memory-filled neighborhood of West Hollywood, I figured that I should do exactly the opposite of what my mind was telling me to (drive far, far away, that is). No, instead I was determined to enter it whole-heartedly, embrace the stomping grounds and comfort spots which used to (and still do) bring me so much joy, and start to re-create some new memories within them: alone, and with new friends once in a while. Take this cafe, for example: In my entire year of living in my second WeHo apartment, I’d frequent this quaint spot with my nearby neighbor Ailie and sometimes my second roommate, Nili. I fondly remember their kind supply of liquid sweetener, which I prefer for my iced coffee, and their raw and literal iced mochas that swim with swirls of Hershey’s syrup. Ailie and I would talk about work, recollect about RA horrors, and update each other on our weekend hookups or the current statuses of our Tinder profiles.
**insert** One of the three guys next to me at Alfred Coffee & Kitchen as I wrote this accused another of seemingly cheating on The Commissary. There are, to my knowledge, three reputable espresso houses within a half-mile radius of each other in this neighborhood: Coffee Commissary, on Fairfax; Urth Caffe on Melrose; and Alfred Coffee & Kitchen, the newcomer known for its subtle handle-bar mustache logo plastered on a few scattered cinderblock walls and billboards around Fairfax Village. Two of these conduct their point-of-sale on an interactive iPad. You can’t go wrong at any of the three.
Right down Melrose from me is Urth Caffe, the trendy and pricey coffee house where Jill and I had breakfast the morning of our first (and, ultimately, last) apartment tour on West Knoll Drive. It would become a home [steps] away from home, the perfect brief escape for a prized and well-earned Spanish latte at the end of a hard week or a almond-milk Jasmine green tea latte, which Ailie first introduced me to. I came here with Jeff on the late nights we were sick of Chinese dim sum from the bar where he worked; I then came here with Andrew on the nights when I could convince him to come see me. It’s where I introduced him to my best friend for the first time, when I thought he was something; it’s where I first discovered that boba could come in a smoothie, and boy, was that something. Some people know Urth for its weekend brunches away from USC, some for its frequency of appearance on Entourage; I know and love it from those cozy moments.
I started my trip down Melrose this morning from Bayan’s two-bedroom apartment, on the corner of Melrose and La Brea only 1.8 miles from both of my WeHo residences over the two years after college. While separated by only a stretch of this staple Los Angeles thoroughfare, we’d occasionally jog toward each other for a shared workout and more often meet for a vintage shopping spree and catch-up over ethnic cuisine (there’s Thai, there’s Argentinian, there’s an Urban… Outfitters). First, I'd pass the Floyd’s barbershop where I used to routinely have my A-line trimmed and sharpened with no reservation and no history with a stylist. Next and next door is the bar Darkroom where I held two significant celebrations - My twenty-third birthday party prior to Vegas weekend and also my Grove going-away fiesta, only one of which ended with me throwing up straight onto the sidewalk outside the pita restaurant on the other side of the street.
Keep jogging or driving and I'd pass the purple-facaded nail salon, which I’m pretty sure is dubbed My Spa, where I enjoyed many a solo pedicure while listening to a blend of Victoria Secret fashion-show rock performances (on repeat, all year round) and Vietnamese banter always seemingly about me. A few doors down is Melrose Tanning, where Jill, Alex and I discovered clean amenities and five dollar Wednesdays the winter that led up to our Vegas escape. You won’t be surprised to learn that we frequented that store-front, as well. Skip down the way to the hand-wash car wash with rainy day guarantees, certainly due to the rare cases in which they had to honor this “guarantee” in a parched city like Los Angeles. Finally before reaching and crossing Fairfax, there’s the expansive parking lot of Fairfax High School, typically packed with Audis and BMWs but which, on a weekly basis, exchanges those cars for white pop-up tents, crafty antiques and vintage/ hand-crafted furniture during the Sunday Melrose Trading Post. We’d commonly stumble across gourmet carnival-worthy fried delicacies, a few B-list celebrities hiding beneath floppy hats, and one-of-a-kind trinkets and accessories such as Nili’s harmonica pendant.
The second half of my beloved Melrose route features WAX, home to my trusted skin guru and confidante Alexis. Having recently returned from maternity leave, she was glowing today straight from her flawless face, per usual but even more so thanks to her darling, chubby-cheeked newborn Beau. There’s coffee and wine bar Froma, where I once met the owner while seeking a flavored iced Americano post-wax one foggy morning. On the north side of the street, there’s the offshoot Sweetzer that Ailie still lives on. Cut right onto Melrose Place and there we find Alfred Coffee & Kitchen, home to retro floral wallpaper and always a few cute and small, WeHo-worthy Boston Terriers on the joint's small, succulent-lined patio. Step inside and downstairs to order from the barista behind the iPad, and one can only try to avoid the distractions around the mod register, which take the form of buttery pastries and artistically-wrapped chocolate bars (the kind that make you wonder who you currently need to buy a gift for). Today, I pondered the bar seating on high stools, the low family-style work tables and eventually settled for a tiny round table on their 5x10’ tile patio, one that only fit my laptop and iced mocha with an inch to spare. Here, I can always rely on the chance to people-watch... the “industry” professionals discussing work and break-ups through the glass doors next to me, as well as fedora-topped actresses and writers working on their matching Macbook Pros, earbuds in and teacup canines perched below their tabletops - or in their laps. I adore the tagline stenciled in Typewriter above the foyer-like dining room: But first, coffee.
I was hyperaware today that 500 feet away from where I sat runs La Cienega, across which is the street upon which I lived with two of my soul-sisters in this lifetime: Jill and Nili. My heart ached and my eyes watered to think about the neighborhood walks we’d take to Fresh Corn Grill for a weekday dinner date or to the Abbey for a night of drinking, dancing or Obama-re-election watching. I recalled the stumbling ventures to Santa Monica boulevard for the Annual Pride Parade (see below), as well as tedious walks home from wee-hour escapades at the gay clubs or bull-riding at SaddleRanch up a little farther, on Sunset. I missed the hardwood floor chases after Simba when she was tiny... I missed the peaceful off-day mornings of doing yoga on my patio... and, I missed the Netflix binges with both of my roommates of both Revenge and House of Cards, respectively.
But I won’t miss or permit nostalgia to settle in, and stay -- not today. I’ll recall and reminisce fondly, and I’ll relive those memories occasionally during catch-ups and at future housewarmings, going-away parties. I’ll continue to take Bayan’s and my heart’s advice, to embrace these moments and homey locations and create NEW memories. This won't serve to cover up the old ones, but rather to honor and layer them, like a comforting stack of books on one’s bedside table that purely gets richer and more full of potential every day.
To the friends, food trucks and glorious back alleys of Melrose Avenue.
Rather than miss or dwell upon this memory-filled neighborhood of West Hollywood, I figured that I should do exactly the opposite of what my mind was telling me to (drive far, far away, that is). No, instead I was determined to enter it whole-heartedly, embrace the stomping grounds and comfort spots which used to (and still do) bring me so much joy, and start to re-create some new memories within them: alone, and with new friends once in a while. Take this cafe, for example: In my entire year of living in my second WeHo apartment, I’d frequent this quaint spot with my nearby neighbor Ailie and sometimes my second roommate, Nili. I fondly remember their kind supply of liquid sweetener, which I prefer for my iced coffee, and their raw and literal iced mochas that swim with swirls of Hershey’s syrup. Ailie and I would talk about work, recollect about RA horrors, and update each other on our weekend hookups or the current statuses of our Tinder profiles.
**insert** One of the three guys next to me at Alfred Coffee & Kitchen as I wrote this accused another of seemingly cheating on The Commissary. There are, to my knowledge, three reputable espresso houses within a half-mile radius of each other in this neighborhood: Coffee Commissary, on Fairfax; Urth Caffe on Melrose; and Alfred Coffee & Kitchen, the newcomer known for its subtle handle-bar mustache logo plastered on a few scattered cinderblock walls and billboards around Fairfax Village. Two of these conduct their point-of-sale on an interactive iPad. You can’t go wrong at any of the three.
Right down Melrose from me is Urth Caffe, the trendy and pricey coffee house where Jill and I had breakfast the morning of our first (and, ultimately, last) apartment tour on West Knoll Drive. It would become a home [steps] away from home, the perfect brief escape for a prized and well-earned Spanish latte at the end of a hard week or a almond-milk Jasmine green tea latte, which Ailie first introduced me to. I came here with Jeff on the late nights we were sick of Chinese dim sum from the bar where he worked; I then came here with Andrew on the nights when I could convince him to come see me. It’s where I introduced him to my best friend for the first time, when I thought he was something; it’s where I first discovered that boba could come in a smoothie, and boy, was that something. Some people know Urth for its weekend brunches away from USC, some for its frequency of appearance on Entourage; I know and love it from those cozy moments.
I started my trip down Melrose this morning from Bayan’s two-bedroom apartment, on the corner of Melrose and La Brea only 1.8 miles from both of my WeHo residences over the two years after college. While separated by only a stretch of this staple Los Angeles thoroughfare, we’d occasionally jog toward each other for a shared workout and more often meet for a vintage shopping spree and catch-up over ethnic cuisine (there’s Thai, there’s Argentinian, there’s an Urban… Outfitters). First, I'd pass the Floyd’s barbershop where I used to routinely have my A-line trimmed and sharpened with no reservation and no history with a stylist. Next and next door is the bar Darkroom where I held two significant celebrations - My twenty-third birthday party prior to Vegas weekend and also my Grove going-away fiesta, only one of which ended with me throwing up straight onto the sidewalk outside the pita restaurant on the other side of the street.
Keep jogging or driving and I'd pass the purple-facaded nail salon, which I’m pretty sure is dubbed My Spa, where I enjoyed many a solo pedicure while listening to a blend of Victoria Secret fashion-show rock performances (on repeat, all year round) and Vietnamese banter always seemingly about me. A few doors down is Melrose Tanning, where Jill, Alex and I discovered clean amenities and five dollar Wednesdays the winter that led up to our Vegas escape. You won’t be surprised to learn that we frequented that store-front, as well. Skip down the way to the hand-wash car wash with rainy day guarantees, certainly due to the rare cases in which they had to honor this “guarantee” in a parched city like Los Angeles. Finally before reaching and crossing Fairfax, there’s the expansive parking lot of Fairfax High School, typically packed with Audis and BMWs but which, on a weekly basis, exchanges those cars for white pop-up tents, crafty antiques and vintage/ hand-crafted furniture during the Sunday Melrose Trading Post. We’d commonly stumble across gourmet carnival-worthy fried delicacies, a few B-list celebrities hiding beneath floppy hats, and one-of-a-kind trinkets and accessories such as Nili’s harmonica pendant.
The second half of my beloved Melrose route features WAX, home to my trusted skin guru and confidante Alexis. Having recently returned from maternity leave, she was glowing today straight from her flawless face, per usual but even more so thanks to her darling, chubby-cheeked newborn Beau. There’s coffee and wine bar Froma, where I once met the owner while seeking a flavored iced Americano post-wax one foggy morning. On the north side of the street, there’s the offshoot Sweetzer that Ailie still lives on. Cut right onto Melrose Place and there we find Alfred Coffee & Kitchen, home to retro floral wallpaper and always a few cute and small, WeHo-worthy Boston Terriers on the joint's small, succulent-lined patio. Step inside and downstairs to order from the barista behind the iPad, and one can only try to avoid the distractions around the mod register, which take the form of buttery pastries and artistically-wrapped chocolate bars (the kind that make you wonder who you currently need to buy a gift for). Today, I pondered the bar seating on high stools, the low family-style work tables and eventually settled for a tiny round table on their 5x10’ tile patio, one that only fit my laptop and iced mocha with an inch to spare. Here, I can always rely on the chance to people-watch... the “industry” professionals discussing work and break-ups through the glass doors next to me, as well as fedora-topped actresses and writers working on their matching Macbook Pros, earbuds in and teacup canines perched below their tabletops - or in their laps. I adore the tagline stenciled in Typewriter above the foyer-like dining room: But first, coffee.
I was hyperaware today that 500 feet away from where I sat runs La Cienega, across which is the street upon which I lived with two of my soul-sisters in this lifetime: Jill and Nili. My heart ached and my eyes watered to think about the neighborhood walks we’d take to Fresh Corn Grill for a weekday dinner date or to the Abbey for a night of drinking, dancing or Obama-re-election watching. I recalled the stumbling ventures to Santa Monica boulevard for the Annual Pride Parade (see below), as well as tedious walks home from wee-hour escapades at the gay clubs or bull-riding at SaddleRanch up a little farther, on Sunset. I missed the hardwood floor chases after Simba when she was tiny... I missed the peaceful off-day mornings of doing yoga on my patio... and, I missed the Netflix binges with both of my roommates of both Revenge and House of Cards, respectively.
LA Pride 2012 (upper) and LA Pride 2013 (lower), both taken on Melrose Ave
But I won’t miss or permit nostalgia to settle in, and stay -- not today. I’ll recall and reminisce fondly, and I’ll relive those memories occasionally during catch-ups and at future housewarmings, going-away parties. I’ll continue to take Bayan’s and my heart’s advice, to embrace these moments and homey locations and create NEW memories. This won't serve to cover up the old ones, but rather to honor and layer them, like a comforting stack of books on one’s bedside table that purely gets richer and more full of potential every day.
To the friends, food trucks and glorious back alleys of Melrose Avenue.
Alfred coffee is my fave, i'm there every day
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