Coffee Bean Blues

I walked into the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf this morning (for the first time in years) while waiting for my car to be serviced.  I have fond memories of the year and a half I worked at the Coffee Bean on Larchmont Blvd., a quaint neighborhood community located down the street from Paramount Studios.

In the early 90's, the staff was one big family, led by Mary, the beloved owner and manager. The regulars, many of whom were actors and stars, were REGULARS, as in devoted customers who'd arrive at the same hour every day.  Vincent Schiavelli would order the same double espresso every afternoon, served in a miniature porcelain cup and saucer. I knew him as the haunted ghost on a train in the movie "Ghost", but at the Coffee Bean he loved discussing opera and food.  I remember serving James Remar, pre-"Dexter" days. I recognized him immediately as Dutch Schultz from "The Cotton Club".  John Malkovitch was a regular, along with drop-ins like Faye Dunaway and Teri Garr. One of the regulars was drummer Jack LeCompte, who was actually dating one of the girls behind the counter. (He and I became great friends and ended up working together for years...we still do!)

The Coffee Bean back then was actually considered an authentic coffee house, the "anti-Starbucks". Big bins of fresh beans from all over the world were on display behind glass, each with a giant metal scooper, and you could pick your poison froma variety of beans - Guatemalan, Costa Rican, Java, Mocha, Sumatra...

The mix of aromas in the Coffee Bean was indescribable.  The beans all arrived in huge drawstring burlap bags, and we ground all the beans right there behind the counter. We, the "baristas", learned the tricks of the trade while navigating the slosh behind the counter wearing platform rubber-soled clogs (you had to wear clogs back there). Spilled milk, crushed ice spilling over the tops of the blenders, crushed beans and water congregated on the tile floor in mass puddles, and I remember hydro planing while balancing a blender in one hand and reaching for the counter with the other.

We actually mixed the "ice-blendeds" in actual garden variety kitchen mixers. We learned how to create the perfect foam (low fat milk forms the best froth), and all our drinks were listed on chalkboard up on the wall. Mary had beautiful handwriting and she wrote out all the drinks by hand.

I thought the burlap bags were so cool, I took them home and used them as area rugs.

The Coffee Bean was a meeting place for many actors in between call times and auditions and also a haven for neighborhood residents. You couldn't hear anything above the din of spirited conversations, laughter and debates.  All the employees were artists,  actors, dancers, singers and musicians. Mary loved hiring creative people and she gave us the flexibility we needed for auditions and jobs. We didn't make much money, but the tips helped, and they were all collected in a huge glass jar and split among us at the end of our shift.

This morning, I walked into a different Coffee Bean, 20 years later.

 Gone were the big bins of whole beans. Everything now is "pre-ground" before it ever arrives in the store. You can't even smell the coffee.  The chalkboards are replaced by cheap-looking printed signs. There's no "bar" in front of the counter anymore. Everything is clean, generic and packaged.

Customers don't talk to each other about music or opera or the latest film; everyone is hooked into their iPad or laptop, earphones blocking out the world.  Or busy texting.

I ordered a cafe latte in the one flavor offered, and somehow a girl (who hadn't been in line)  sidled in front of me and claimed it as her own. This non-paying customer actually stole my coffee. Nobody behind the counter noticed.

So, I'm feeling a little nostalgic for the old Coffee Bean on Larchmont. Back then, I didn't realize  how fleeting it was or how drastically life would change.

And I wonder what I'll be waxing nostalgic about 20 years from now.

Jazz at the Merc with Jon Mayer

If you happen to live or work near Old Town Temecula, mark your calendar for Thursday, October 3. I'm thrilled to be joining jazz giant Jon Mayer on piano and the wonderful bassist Chris Conner.

Sherry Williams hosts "Jazz at the Merc" each Thursday in this intimate jazz setting, which I have never seen but it sounds fabulous. The Mercantile is one of Temecula's original buildings  and it has been completely restored and acoustically it's supposed to be pretty awesome. 

 
Tickets are $15, and we play 2 sets. 

The Merc

42051 Main Street

Temecula, CA  92590

866-653-8696

www.temeculatheater.org

Thursday, Oct 3

7:30 pm

Bad Hair Blues

I have bad hair. I mean, really bad, over-processed, dry hair. Which is now turning prematurely gray. (Not exactly prematurely, but hey, cut me some slack.)

This means, I can’t just let it go, leave it alone and let it grow out the healthy way. I’ll end up looking like Barbara Bush. Or Anderson Cooper.

What makes this even worse is that my day job is in Beverly Hills, on Rodeo Drive, in fact. Where I am surrounded by dozens and dozens of industry types, actresses, executives and models, all sporting their perfect silky golden or amber tresses. (For the record guys, nobody is born with hair like that.) I tell myself that these goddess-like locks are actually thousand dollar hair extensions purchased at Umberto, Giuseppe, or Cristophe Salon.

This doesn’t help my plight, however.

Over the past 20 years, I have changed the color of my hair the way women change nail polish. It started with the theater.

I got the lead role in a play, and this character was known for her long black hair. Was I content to just go purchase a black wig? Of course not. I had to dye my hair black. This way, the roots of my hair would blend in with the synthetic wig the theater purchased, and the hair would look seamless. The critics would be truly impressed – no, transcended - by my perfect black hair. (Maybe they were. I did win a Dramalogue Award for that show.)

However, I didn’t realize when I applied the store bought semi-permanent dye that leaving it in my hair for 2 hours might actually lock it in for life. My mother came to town to see me in the play and told me I looked like a witch on Halloween.

After fruitless bleaching and treating, it took 3 years for the Sharpie pen black in my hair to finally grow out, at which point my hair was so dry from all the treatments, I should have just shaved my head.

A few years later, I recorded an album. The producers hired a marketing girl who thought it would be really great if I were a redhead. It would set me apart from everyone else. Sure, why not? I thought. I’d never done red before.

What I didn’t know is that once you dye your hair red, you have to constantly go back to the salon to have it “refreshed” so that you don’t end up looking like a rusty nail. (This involved lifting the base tone a few shades and then adding color.)

6 or 7 “refreshments” later, my hair now resembled brassy barbed wire. The only place to go from here was blonde. If I tried to return to brunette (which I think was my original hair color – I honestly don’t remember), the brassy undertones would remain. So blonde it was.

That particular transformation was a bit shocking. I remember going to a temp job at a law firm the next day, and the attorney I was working for didn’t recognize me. When he finally did, he started laughing, and that’s never a good sign.

I spent the next few years trying to find a balance between blonde and brown, and I think I finally reached it for a glorious 2 or 3 years. Then the gray (white, actually) started to appear.

At first I wasn’t sure what those albino streaks were. I fantasized that my hair was actually turning blonde. Or maybe the sun by the lake that summer simply bleached my hair. I ignored it.

Until I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

So now, every 5 weeks, it’s back to the hair salon, to get my “roots done”, hoping that the color matches the rest of my hair. Which it rarely does. And every couple of months, I have to add highlights, so my hair won’t look like a one-tone Chevrolet.

God, it’s endless.

This morning, I decided to wash my hair and let it air dry naturally, just leave it alone, let the September air do its magic.

You really don’t want to see what I look like right now.

"Living the Dream"

My good friend Monica Carrera said to me 2 years ago,

 "I'm going to write a play about 3 women. I'm going to do this."

I said, "Great!"

She said, "No, you don't understand. I'm really going to do this. I am going to finish something I start this time, and I'm making a promise to YOU that I am going to have this play finished in 6 months."

Of course I encouraged her, but I didn't take this promise too seriously because:

a) she had a 3-year old;
b) she had a full-time job; and
c) she had never written a play before. This was probably one of those things that would burn out in a few weeks, when the very real demands of being a full time working mom would douse the flame.

We all have dreams, but life gets in the way.

Boy, was I wrong.

In 6 months, her play about 3 women in their 40's navigating the world of LA was written, re-written, cast, and staged for 3 sold-out nights at the BANG Theater in Hollywood.

3 months later, one more re-write and then a staged reading of this re-write. It was a smashing success.

Now what?

"I'm going to make this a web series," she said.

"A what?"

"A web series. That's the next place this has to go. I have to write another script and shoot a trailer. That's apparently what you do."

I have to say, I've known Monica for years, and I'd never pegged her as the "I'm jumping head first into the fire" kind of person. She had been in the theater world and done some acting in the 90's, but she got married and now had a house and a kid and a normal job and seemed to be living a safe life.

This was an altogether new persona.

She began to dive into the world of film making with tenacity, curiosity, resourcefulness, eagerness, and her entire savings account. I don't know of anyone who would do such a thing at this stage of her life. She hired a director, a crew, a location scout. She held casting sessions. She hired makeup and wardrobe. She took no shortcuts. It was utter madness.

She cast me as "Sara", one of the leads, and for the first time in 13 years, I was acting in front of a camera again.

We shot for 2 days and ended up with so much footage, there was enough not only for the trailer, but also an episode. Behold the pilot episode for "Living the Dream":

I can't begin to express how proud I am of my friend Monica. She took an idea, a desire to write about 3 women - the kind of women we all know here in the Land of Make-Believe, and she created what is now hopefully an ongoing series about these characters.

To keep it going she mounted a funding campaign on IndieGoGo, so that we can continue filming more episodes. It's a long haul, but we're gonna do it!  See the trailer (which started it all) below, with the link for donating:

"Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas"

Merry Christmas! I hope you enjoy this track from my Christmas CD, "That's What Christmas Used to Be". This CD was recorded at the legendary Bradley's Barn in Nashville, TN under the direction of Rusty Higgins. It features the talents of some of the best musicians I know, including my Dad, Bill Pursell, who arranged and played on 2 tracks. Enjoy!

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas
Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

Live Jazz at Robano's

We are still going strong at Robano's, the new hang for live jazz on Wednesday nights..Only now, we are outside in the beautiful Italian courtyard.  I play with guitar greats Barry Zweig and Ron Anthony. Barry  played regularly with Buddy Rich, Dinah Shore, Sammy Davis, Jr, Keely Smith and more.  Ron played with Frank Sinatra for 9 years, and before that, he played with the George Shearing Quintet. I learn from these guys every night we play together and consider myself so lucky to be with them....
Come join us! There's no cover, free parking, a full menu and bar, and Happy Hour has been extended until 8 pm, just for us...

Robano's is located at 10057 Riverside Drive, in Toluca Lake, CA. 

Wednesday Nights at Robano's

Guitarists Barry Zweig, Ron Anthony and I have had a great month of Wednesdays so far, at Robano's in Toluca Lake. Please stop by and enjoy the live jazz! We've had some incredible jazz luminaries stop by and sit in, and you just never know who you'll run into... Robano's is a great Italian neighborhood hang, with a beautiful open courtyard and an indoor stage, which is here you'll find us doing our thing.  We start at 7 pm amd play til 10 pm.

Robano's

10057 Riverside Drive

Toluca Lake, CA  91602

(818) 761-6613

Great food, full bar, no cover, lots of free parking

Singing with "It's Always 4 AM" with Ron Anthony

Ron Kalina on harmonica, backed by Ron Anthony (guitar), Adam Cohen (bass) and Barry Zweig (guitar)

John Pisano sitting in with Barry Zweig





Losing Marty

Since moving to LA in the early 90's, I've been so blessed to meet and work with so many legendary musicians and performers. Being a fanatic for jazz, I always gravitated to the older cats, artists who've been around the block more than a few times, and they have been like mentors to me. Beginning with Leonard Reed, then Earl Palmer, George Gafney, Ross Tomkins, Ron Anthony, Tony Russell (to name a few). I can't begin to recount how much I've learned from all of them over the past 15-20 years. You hang out with a group like this, you end up meeting, hanging out with, and playing with some of the best, hippest talent in the world.

The downside to all of this is that I tend to lose them entirely too soon, and last week's passing of Marty Harris has saddened me beyond words. I can't remember when I first met Marty; he was just always around, backing up wonderful singers and playing with the best groups in town. I ran into him everywhere, and I ended up playing with him at Micelli's, The Money Tree, Monteleone's, Barone's, private parties, casuals, etc. He was so opinionated about singers, I considered it a huge honor that he would want to play with me. We never used charts, never had to. Charts got in the way, and for the kind of music we were doing, we all knew the basic roadmap anyway, and every night was magical.

Marty could play anything. Anything. He had played with Anita O'Day (my hero! He loved telling stories about Anita O'Day), Woody Herman, Clark Terry, Diana Ross and Tom Jones. He could make anyone sound good, even me when I completely lost my voice before a show last year. He didn't feel well and he was in pain, but he played like the monster he was, making up for my deficiencies that night.

One thing about Marty - To play with Marty, you had to have ears. And you'd better know what you're doing. The women in the two stories below shall remain nameless.

A few years ago, I was asked to sing at a birthday party for an actress' mother, and I called Marty for the job. It was just the two of us. This particular celebrity wanted me to sing "Stardust", and she wanted to dedicate it to her mother. I'm sure she wanted a lovely ballad. I had written up a chart (which of course Marty ignored). After I sang the verse rubato, Marty broke into a wonderful swinging stride which brought the tune to life, and everyone started dancing. A few songs and a couple of glasses of wine later, our celebrity host wanted to sing a song (a standard) to her mother. She wasn't a singer, per se, and she had probably learned the tune listening to someone's recording of it. When she stood up in front of Marty, she became completely thrown by his chord changes and inversions, and it was pretty disastrous. Not used to being caught with her pants down, she blamed it on Marty. He wasn't "playing it right". (You gotta love it when singers blame the musicians. It gives the rest of us "chick singers" a bad name.)

Another time, I walked into Micelli's, where Marty was playing with a flamboyant French diva. It was the same thing. This poor woman clearly wasn't used to singing with a pianist of Marty's caliber. She came in at the wrong places, forgot where she was, and hit some very questionable notes. Marty trudged on, playing through it, trying to help her find her place.

"Terrible!" she furiously whispered to me during the break. "I have NEVER had such a night! This pianist does not know what he is doing!" " She retreated to the bar.

"Terrible!!" an exhasperated Marty said. "This woman's got no idea what she's doing! Hey, you want to get up and sing a song?"

A few times during our shows, after I finished singing, he'd say, "You know, Laura, a better ending would be this...." and he'd play it for me. He was always right. I hope I still remember those endings.

Right up until the very end, Marty played with a full heart. He looked great and never lost his chops. He was truly one-of-a-kind, and there will never be another Marty. We're all getting older, and I'm no spring chicken any more. I know, it's life. But it's just getting harder and harder to lose my friends.

 

                                                             Marty Harris, 1933 - 2011

Recommended: The Financial Lives of the Poets, by Jess Walter

The Financial Lives of the Poets by Jess Walter


My rating: 4 of 5 stars


This is the first time I've read anything by Jess Walter, and I really got a kick out of his self-deprecating, clever wit and ironic style. The main character's tragedy is played out like a comedy, and Walter captured the desperate financial times we now face. Our unemployed hero, Matt, heads out to a 7-11 one night to buy milk, but he makes one wrong turn in the throes of desperation. One wrong turn leads to another, and before he realizes what's happened, he is a fledgling, hapless drug-dealer in training. He's also lying to his wife about the fact that they are about to lose their house, and his wife is preoccupied with an internet/facebook/texting affair with a guy from her past.




Matt (of course) is caught by the authorities and forced into being a narc - a dreadfully unsuccessful narc. After losing just about everything, Matt has to recalibrate his life and what's left of his marriage. It sounds dismal, but there is something wildly cathartic about this novel. Matt's desperate spiral into denial, horrendous decisions and complete financial ruin parallel the current descent of the American economy. The recalibration of reality. The realization that at the end of the day, if you still have your own coat pockets to share with another pair of cold hands...maybe everything will be ok.




View all my reviews

A disturbing read: Runaway Horses, by Yukio Mishima

Here's my review on Goodreads:

Runaway Horses by Yukio Mishima

Well, I got through it. This book is beautifully-written and repelling at the same time. I did at times feel like I was reading the story through the eyes of a terrorist, which held its own brief fascination.




The bio of the author is actually even more interesting than the book, which I found unsatisfying at the end. Mishima seems to have been a man born in the wrong era - he was born into a Samurai family and was a descendant of a Shogun. Incredibly prolific, he wrote 30 novels, 18 plays, 20 volumes of verse and 20 volumes of essays. He was an avid swordsman and body builder and became extremely proficient in Kendo. Possibly bi-sexual, he posed in the nude and was enamoured by the strong male physique. Yet he was married with 2 children. He was charismatic, self-aware and apparently had an uncommon genius for conversation. He lamented the Westernization of Japanese culture, and his last works were the The Sea of Fertility 4-volume epic. Runaway Horses is the 2nd volume in that series.



And, like the protagonist in Runaway Horses, at the age of 45, this author committed ritual suicide after staging an unsuccessful (and publicly mocked) coupe on the Eastern Army of the Japanese Self-Defense Force.



Disappointing. Especially disappointing because it's so cliche and such a waste. Did he descend into madness? In Runaway Horses, he seems to speak through the character of Honda (a judge), who is the sole voice of reason in the novel. Yet he followed the way of Isao, the protagonist, in a grand gesture of life imitating his own art.
 
I'm a bit confused by the whole experience.  Thus, the 2 stars.

"Jack and Diane"

People ask me all the time, "What's your favorite song?"

I don't have a favorite song, but there is a song that resonates above all the rest.   It's not by Cole Porter, George Gershwin, Lorenz Hart...or John Lennon, for that matter.  It's a little ditty by John Cougar (later John Cougar Mellancamp) called "Jack and Diane".

It goes back to a humid July night in 1982.  I found myself  in some old jalopy with Mark, a “new guy”, about the 10th guy who’d asked me out that summer. My braces had come off a year before, I had transferred to a public school and I couldn’t believe my good fortune at being asked out so much. I didn’t know this was possible. I was incredibly naïve at 16, and this was a year of discovery – boys, beer, partying, and on this particular night, a drive to Radnor Lake.

Mark was really nice-looking, and a year older, and he went to my new school. He took me to a baseball game, and then he drove us to the hill on Radnor Lake to “meet up” with a few of his friends. He parked the car on the side of the road looking out over the lake, and turned off the engine. I guess he wanted to make out, but that went right over my head. I liked him, so I started chatting nervously, non-stop, about absolutely nothing. I chatted so much he completely gave up on trying to make a move.

After 10 minutes, these “friends” never showed up, and he started the car. He was irritated – with himself, with me, with the situation. And on the radio, John Cougar was singing about “Jack and Diane”.

“Oh I love this song!” I said, turning up the volume.

“Well, if you’re gonna turn it up, turn it UP!” he said, turning the knob so high, the speakers blared with distortion.

He started the car and quickly picked up speed on this narrow road, rounding curves, barely missing protruding mailboxes. He were now headed downhill, veering left, then right, along the outer edge of the road. He was speeding now. A car coming from the opposite direction almost clipped us as we zoomed past. I was alarmed, but I thought it would be very uncool for me to ask him to slow down. After all, what did I know?

“Hold onto 16, as long as you can….changes comin round real soon make us women and men...”

The gravel underneath the tires grew in volume, along with the drum solo.

Soon both sounds merged into one, and I felt the entire left side of the car rise in slow motion. Was this a dream? What was happening? The car was rising, yes, the car was definitely rising, as the sound of the gravel to my right grew in volume. Wow, we were actually rolling. The car was rolling off the road, downhill.

As the car smashed through a brick mailbox, several young trees, and a few more mailboxes, I watched myself in slow motion fly around the inside of the car, and the only thought in my mind was,
“Wow, this is really uncool to be happening on a date…”

The car rested on its side. I was lying on the grass, where the window had been. John Cougar was no longer singing about being 16, or chili dogs, or the bible belt saving his soul. That was replaced by the sound of my date crying out my name to see if I was alive. And then the sounds of sirens.

Both of us miraculously walked away from the remains of the jalopy, but the promise of Jack and Diane died that night. A debutante and a football star might be able to go on after the thrill of living is gone…but that wasn’t so appealing anymore.

I cheated death that night. That was painfully obvious when I watched the flattened car get towed off the road, while neighbors shook their heads in amazement, saying it was a miracle we’d survived.

And Mark. This “new guy”. This stupid, impulsive guy, whose reaction to his precious car being towed away was to walk up to a tree, punch it, and break his entire hand.

I’d say I grew up that night, very quickly, with a little help from John Cougar.

Song of the Day: Bill Pursell’s “Our Winter Love”

Song of the Day: Bill Pursell’s “Our Winter Love”

Wednesday nights at The Luxe Hotel

When one door closes, another one opens. I am now at the Luxe Hotel in Bel Air every Wednesday night from 7 pm - 10 pm with the great Del Casher. (For those of you who don't know, he's the guy who invented the Wah Wah pedal.  He is also an amazing guitarist.)  We're joined by the wonderful Paul Morin on bass, and man, do we have fun. Lots of laughs, plenty of requests, and since Del never plays anything the same way twice, I have to be on my toes!  This Wednesday will be our 4th outing.  Come join us! The Luxe Hotel is on Sunset Blvd, just west of the 405 freeway. $3 parking with validation, no cover, and no minimum.

Here are a few photos from the past few weeks.

Jim Henke, curator of the Cleveland Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, with Del Casher

JL-R:  Jim Henke, Laura Pursell, Del Casher, Paul Morin

Engelbert Humperdinck (accepting an award at the hotel that evening) and Del Casher

Laura Pursell and Del Casher

Bassist Adam Cohen (on a break during the Engelbert Humperdinck event) with Laura

Patrick Barnitt and Laura Pursell Live at Ciao Christina!

Laura Pursell with Del Casher and band at the Sweet and Hot Jazz Festival

ll wit

"Sweet and Hot Jazz Festival" - Sept 5, 2010

I'm THRILLED to announce that I'll be performing at the Sweet & Hot Music Festival with world-renowned guitarist (and all around great guy) Del Casher.

This 15th Annual jazz bash will take place in the luxe Los Angeles Airport Marriott Hotel over the Labor Day Weekend, September 3, 4, 5 and 6th 2010.

My sets with Del will be on Sunday, Sept. 5 at 10:30 a.m. and at 3:30 pm. 

From the website:

"It's going to be an awesome gathering of familiar faces and brand new acts especially selected for your listening and dancing pleasure.


Nothing can beat the incredible music performed by the best of the best in an incredible world-class jazz party in combination with some of the most outstanding talents assembled in one place in a festive jazz festival atmosphere.


Music that is uniquely American drawn from the Swing, Blues, Jazz, and Big Band sounds of the 1920s, 1930s, 1940s and 1950s. America’s Golden Age of Popular Music our treasured musical heritage."

New Article in Valley Scene Magazine

Smooth Jazz Singer LAURA PURSELL at Quaint Italian Eatery CIAO CRISTINA in Toluca Lake: A Perfect Fit

Article in Valley Scene Magazine
A secret hideaway, tucked between Burbank and Toluca Lake, is CIAO CRISTINA, a unique family run Italian eatery featuring live jazz by fabulous vocalist, Laura Pursell, accompanied by gifted guitarist/composer/teacher, Ron Anthony every Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday from 8-11pm. With Laura's delightful renditions of jazz standards and Ron's stunning solos, your heart and soul will be uplifted, leaving you feeling lighter and brighter. Laura sings with such depth, the meaning of the words come to life during her cool, smooth delivery. Effortlessly complemented by Ron's brilliant chord and line work, is Laura's terrific technique, beautiful phrasing, and soothing style.

Laura enjoys the relaxed vibe, the people, the intimate setting at Ciao Cristina. "The staff is tremendous and the food is incredible. It feels like you're home." People communicate with her all night long. One customer even brought a jazz book for her to sing from.

Ron loves the challenge of playing three nights a week with Laura because he gets to be the keyboards, bass, and drums. "Laura has great intonation, timing, and ears. She sings in tune so well that I can change keys and she intuitively follows."

Co-owners and husband/wife, Alan and Cristina, are honored to have performers with Laura's talent and Ron's stature, who attract steady customers. Many well regarded jazz artists drop in and play a song or two. They told me, "We hope to increase our jazz program. Opening a business in this time has been challenging but as our music base increases we'll be staying open later."

Ciao Cristina is the total package - from pure jazz music to authentic Italian food cooked by Cristina (raised and trained as an executive chef in Venice, Italy); to organic and natural products, homemade pasta and soups, Napoletana thin crust pizza with dough made fresh daily, handmade Italian Gelato; to an amazing bar offering 20 kinds of beer on tap from around the world, including Peroni's and Italian Pilsner; to a fabulous staff of bartenders and servers; and to Alan's endearing warmth and friendliness welcoming you to the comfy, cozy ambience that irresistibly exudes romance. It's a place where lovers come back again and again to renew their passion.

Neighborhood regulars, Curtis and Linda Stimpson, appreciate the amazing owners who deliver "the best food in the world." The lasagna is "as good as it gets, and the wonderfully romantic music is for grownups." Molly and Stan Hyman raved about the European style kitchen run by Cristina. "She's more than an incredible cook, she's a true chef." She gets to know her customers and makes sure their special requests are accommodated. Molly said, "I feel at home here. I'm so grateful they're here. I've spent enough time in Europe to know there's nothing there that's any better.

Server, Donna, works five nights a week and says "We're like a family. Everyone who works here really cares. They have big hearts. It's my home away from home."

Ciao Cristina is a dream come true for Alan and Cristina. They designed it so locals could gather for traditional Northern Italian cooking, at a fair price. As members of the Green Restaurant Association, they're dedicated to preserving the environment by adhering to strict guidelines (visit www.dinegreen.com). They use organic, natural products and produce their own Natura Mineral Water, eliminating the need for transportation and waste by reusing bottles. Scrumptious favorites include the Venetian Pastisso [lasagna], from a family recipe, which has been passed on from many generations, the Alaskan salmon with fennel, and their all natural chicken dishes. Alan told me, "Nothing can surpass the joy of getting compliments from customers time after time."

Ciao Cristina
4201 West Olive Ave.
Toluca Lake
818-563-CIAO (2426)

Still singing and swinging at CiaoCristina

Wow....I've already been singing at CiaoCristina in Burbank for 4 months! People are coming in for the great food and live jazz, and every night has been a success. We've had some amazing musicians sit it and/or sub, we're talking Barry Zweig... Dori Amarilio...Julie Kelly..and more. Along the way, I keep adding to my arsenal of tunes, and my next goal is to talk Ron into doing some my originals from "Somewhere in this Room". Here are some images from the past few weeks...

Judy Garland singing "Too Late Now"

On Saturday night at CiaoCristina, a friend requested this song. I didn't know it, so Ron did a beautiful instrumental. I promised my friend I'd learn it, and in doing a litte research on the tune, look what I found. I think this is just gorgeous and thought I should share it. Here's Judy Garland singing "Too Late Now", by Burton Lane and Alan Jay Lerner.

Photos from Valentine's weekend at CiaoCristina

Ron Anthony and I had a wonderful evening on Saturday, playing with Scottish monster of the sax, Duncan LaMont. How lucky was I to play with Duncan 3 TIMES while he was in the U.S?? I hope I get the chance to play with him again. It was a great night.

Photos taken by Chuck Novak