b is for barcaro la

barcaro la- chosen by sarah
zupper club started off on this fine evening with a heated discussion about what is too bougie for the club- with kevin the food bully demanding that the food be "cheap" and "ethnic".  it was later decided that cheap and ethnic aren't necessarily requirements, but off the beaten path is a must.  bacaro's location in the middle of who know's where (south la) seemed to fit the bill, at least to the girl from maine who picked it.  but the menu was a little fancy (it is a wine bar, after all), and if the restaurant had been anywhere closer to the westside kevin's argument would have been strong.  luckily, it wasn't & kevin's zupper bullying was squashed.
the mood in bacaro was festive.  loud, cozy, and small, the restaurant felt like fun before we'd had our first drink.  it is allegedly a hotspot for USC students- although the crowd wasn't too young.  there were two guys running the whole place, and they desperately needed a couple of competent clones.  so that first drink, it took a LONG time (but still, got to us before paigey did -1 hour late!).  luckily we had lots to distract us while we waited for our giant chimmay's & wine.  there was catching up to do and a tapas menu to dissect.
when dinner arrived (finally!) the pan seared polenta, bruschette, crostinis, cauliflower, and bacaro burger (topped with a friend egg!) were scarfed up.  all of the complaints from the food bully about the place being too bougie were silenced by some oven roasted bone marrow.  funny how that works.
dinner conversation was light: there was talk of where paige should get her tattoo gift to kevin, whether lou should have strippers at his bachelor party (yes), and paige broke the news that max's sister shoko got the book deal.  sometime during dinner it was discovered that max's longtime friend (who recommended the restaurant  to sarah) is also manish's agent.
one of us had a bit too much too drink (paige) and repeatedly professed her love to us all.  she also told kevin "don't start with your dinosaur behavior!"   the sassiness level went up a notch when sage made the announcement "i like dark meat!"  and up again when paige and sage started a boob grabbing/pinching fight for some entertaining photos. (hopefully those will surface someday)
the night ended on a high note, with sage and manish showing us a note their sweet little girl had posted on her bedroom door that said simply "DON'T CUM IN HER!"

A = Aunt Kizzy's

Zupper A – The group converged on Kevin’s choice: Aunt Kizzy’s Back Porch looking for soul food and a place to eat. Kizzy’s is on the second floor of a non-descript strip mall in Marina del Rey.  Within the shell of the mall, in the crowded interior they’ve tried to cobble together the feeling of a back porch – orange walls with wood posts and corrugated tin eaves which hang over tables with a faux terrazzo finish.  The walls are covered with autographs of celebs who have dined there.  Sugar Ray Leonard, Yusef Lateef, Erkel, Rick James, Jimmy Smits, you get it.  

The hostess asked us to wait in a tight corner table until something cleared that could accommodate our party. While waiting we all immediately got on our iPhones and didn’t make eye contact with one another for a good 15 minutes.  This prompted Manish to come up with the idea of remote Zupper – we don’t really need to get together.  The conversation turned to apps we might use to document the club – seems instagram won the honor.  Hopefully some photographers will bring cameras next time. We need better documentation! 

Drinkless, we waited, and waited aaaaannnnndddddd waited, until we decided to refashion the tables and squeeze into the staging table making it our home for the night. Finally after a mere 45 minutes, our charming waitress Carrie asked us if we would like drinks.  We ordered a variety of beers, which literally arrived at the table one at a time in 10-minute intervals.  It was at this moment that Paige’s new Zupper moniker was arrived at: Paige “simmer down” Appel (she was about to go off on poor Carrie who was handling the whole restaurant on her own).  I think it must have been about 3 hours and twenty minutes before we ordered out food.  We did have delicious cornbread and butter to hold us over. 

The rule of the evening was mercifully simple for the first round.  Just to come up with your moniker before the evening was out.  Many were bandied about: The winners:

Paige "simmer down" Appel

Kevin "food bully" Appel

Linda "i like it raw" Taalman

Alan "pepperoni cups" Koch

Annie "let it marinate" McElwain

Kent "Famb Chop" Familton

Ashley "A-Cakes" Landrum

Sage "butter on butter" Raval

Manish "white meat" Raval

Kelly "pass the salt" Harris

Chris "mmm, cheesy" Harris

Awaiting the rest when they join us for B. 

The table was divided girls on one end, boys on the other. On the boys side Alan wistfully relived Rubinos Pizza with its oil filled pepperoni cups while Manish schooled us in the importance of “Photograph” by Def Leppard. On her end, Paige spoke to the girls of feminine troubles at a client meeting in Austin where she was glued to her seat for fear of unleashing the Shining’s elevator doors should she leave her chair, and finally Sage bridged the gender divide to inform us all that Manish is a Santa Monica Indian. 

After the wait, the food came all at once: chicken fried steak, fried catfish, fried chicken, fried okra, collared greens, red beans and sausage, short ribs, macaroni and cheese, stewed cabbage.  All looked good and would have tasted great had we had some silverware. Ahh, but it was worth the troubles - all homey, no frills, all huge portions. Kizzy did not disappoint (it was actually one of Manish’s high school acquaintances cooking the food.).  Chris and I discovered “Texas Pete’s” pepper sauce – basically vinegar that has had peppers soaking in it for some time -- good, spicy tangy, good.  We were all stuffed.  Kent was the only one to eat his whole dinner (a point worth making because in five years I think I have only seen him graze on a bag of raw almonds). 

So…dessert?  3 for the table: Peach Cobbler, Vanilla Pound cake with Chocolate frosting, Sweet Potato Pie. All good like your grandma might make – The cake had that “out of the box” taste – comforting somehow. All was washed down with Red Stripes and Coronas. While grazing on the desserts, we discussed the DC whores that stole the Hitched moniker and we set about trying to come up with new names. Many were suggested.  Most duds.  Ascots and Sparkles?  Really  Sage?  Alan though up Yellow, which was appropriately abstract from that noggin of his. I of course threw around a lot of smut referring to the wedding night, no surprise there. Manish came up with the winner Hymen Trophy. Most at the table, save Alan, thought Paige and I are nuts for actually liking The Cream and came to the conclusion that we might just as well call it Cum.  See who won that one.... 

Looking forward to B. (all photos courtesy of multiple iPhones)

- Kevin