First: It is summer. So, to drink rose is de rigeur.
Further, “The 2009 Muga Rose is a mix of red and white grapes, 60% Garnacha, 30% Viura, and 10% Tempranillo which spends 2 months in American oak vats. Medium pink-colored with a pretty nose of strawberry and rhubarb, on the palate it is dry, crisp, and tasty in a slightly austere style which more sophisticated imbibers may find appealing.”

As to that last comment, I don’t know that it takes sophistication to drink something that does not taste of soda pop. Buy this wine. Drink it chilled, in a fuller, rounder glass, and with pork, chicken, seafood or on its own for the sheer love of anything you want to celebrate. In my case, that would not include breakfast because I get tipsy if I imbibe anything but Bloody Marys before 5 or 6 p.m. I have flaws; weaknesses even.

Second: I LOVE LA!!! As of yesterday. Apparently 90% of all cars left town to honor Independence elsewhere. I am telling you true! Even the sun celebrated. No morning coastal fog challenging moods till noon. Cool breezes, lush vegetation, clear sunny blue skies, empty streets…. AND I found (drrrumrrroll) a bookstore….a really Good Bookstore! I was so happy, bought two books! Then, right next store, a restaurant of French styling, and charming wait staff. The bar: imported from France with heavy dark wood to lean upon, backed by shinning brass, glass and mirrors to set off all those lovely bottles with French labels. The flooring: those oh-so typical tiny white and black tiles. The barman: handsome and French with a smile that would make anyone want him for their very own. The dining rooms: dreamscapes with slowly wafting ceiling fans, soft afternoon light, subdued, alluring golden yellow washed walls and dark wooden chairs with their white cotton tablecloth covered tables. It was the sidewalk tables everyone chose yesterday. Smog-free al fresco! Ooo! LaLa.

Then: Two cheerfully helpful waitresses who, when asked by me mesmerized by the treats in the glass pastry case, which tart, the Goat Cheese with Fresh Pear, or the Lemon Citron, each declared her love, leaving me with an equal vote for both. Whereupon the raven-haired fair skinned dark eyed red lipsticked beauty brightened perkishly to state with a touch of an accent, “Whichever one you pick, you will be choosing one of us!”

Oh my.

I stared at the tarts. I am pretty sure I blinked. I looked at her. I breathed in and out calmly. I deliberately blinked again. She was there even then. I proved my mettle. I did not swoon. I did not ask her what time she got off work. I did not buy the tart she preferred.

I grinned all the way home, drank the rose, had the wonderful dinner I made, and much later, a really nice dessert. (The Goat Cheese with Fresh Pair Tart.)

Turns out that civilized block is part of what might well be a civilized neighborhood. I feel heartened, but am quite aware I may have been seduced by the dearth of cars, which very quickly presents one with air one does not see. Soon, I head out to look further. More Los Felz and more Silverlake, and my new non-fiction LA Noir by John Buntin. A perfect book for these streets of long glamorous, but never shiny, LA.

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