Friendship – TalkingGrid

Posted on July 16, 2015August 22, 2015 by Frau Kolb — 3 Comments

May in Manhattan

Miraculously, I managed to pop into Manhattan twice in one month! My first visit, the city had burst into color. Cherry blossoms, tender pinks dominated the street trees. Yes! It was a beautiful visit, spent mostly on the Upper West Side. That trip was gratifying. Yet, on my more recent journey to Manhattan in May, I spent time in intimate discussion, closeness with two of my favorite people in the world.

The Mysterious Madame L., a beauty with a superior mind, and Mr. Constantine Finehouse, concert pianist. In town to participate in a clinical trail at Memorial Sloan Kettering, Hospital. Seeing my little Columbia University fellows, my comrades on extensive romps all over Manhattan, now grown up and immersed in their respective professions, one in the Law and the other in Music, is heartwarming. I came back to The West Coast ready to cope with the reality of my cancer complications, medications, and DRAMA. I returned ready to take action to stop the cancer progression which would soon threatened my life.

The trip to New York City was altogether healing and I managed to cram a good amount of art viewing, with a visit to The Metropolitan Museum of Art, and into the embrace of my dearest friends. Madame L, graciously, invested days into lounging in my grateful company at one-hotel-or-another on Lexington Ave. Champagne in no short supply… We had a great time, as usual. Reading, agreeing, and finding beautiful details to savor. We ate and walked, talked and listened. We reveled in the BLISS that is pure friendship, understanding. Yet, I was tired. Fatigued. Anxious and ill, very ill. She made everything better by being with me. We barely noticed that I vomited, after every lavish meal. Together, my inability to move, became lounging rather than aching. Thank goodness, Madame L was there, keeping me company, sharing secrets, and showing me how flowers grow between cracks in city streets, the poetry of small gestures, and the beauty of sacred pennies (rusted with time and invested with meaning), AH! I love you, Madame L.

However, It was the Male Muse’s, Constanti ne Finehouse, who made my day with Cuban Lunch from a quick, bright, restaurant across the street from Memorial Sloan Kettering, Hospital. He had the right idea bringing his car and making sure I had food that speaks to my heart before retiring back into the hotel room’s spacious king sized bed. We slept. Exhausted.

In the evening, the gallant Finehouse, concert pianist out of Boston, very cool dude, went out and returned with chicken soup and the nastiest but most welcome “New York,” Cheesecake. What a thoughtful human! What a friend! He drove all the way down from Boston to take care of me on a vulnerable day of medical treatment. (I had no idea at the time that soon, I’d consider myself sprightly in comparison to my current shape.)https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Constantine_Finehouse

The city, ever vibrant and packed with much to do was a backdrop to the intense days of conversation and camaraderie. One’s school chums, those met while picking up polish at Columbia University may be the very best remedy for whatever deficiencies in brisk, ardent, and inspiring connection which have afflicted my sensitive soul, lately. Mutual understanding is so precious a gift, exchanging it makes us rich. My New Yorker and Bostonian buddies, The Mysterious Madame L & the favored Mr. Constantine Finehouse, revered concert pianist, and long-term Talkinggrid supporter, made copious amounts of time to connect and cocoon with a very willing me. Ah!

Good times were had, dinner at Amelie on 8th street in the West Village, where that atmosphere was very French, followed by desert at one of my favorite places, since my teenage years, the utterly charming Cafe Reggio in the West Village!

At the Forager with lovely young woman, a new friend... more news later. — At the Forager with lovely young woman, a new friend… more news later.

Saturday Brunch at The Forager, recommended by Blossom V, artist based in New York. There I met up with a young writer, a woman of talent and enormous appeal. We ate and then Madame L. returned to fetch me, and we returned to the gentle sweetness that is our very comfortable and sincere friendship.

I took time on Sunday morning to PoP into The Bliss Spa on Lexington, so close to my hotel for some Spa Time at The Bliss Spa, where I enjoyed the eucalyptus scrub, with viccii shower, and lemon sage mini-massage. Patricia, a former Cruise-Ship Entertainer, had a light touch and a warm heart, making me feel much better, for a moment. (Running out for a quick scrub is a must if you want to remain feeling, open and receptive to the beauty that is living, especially, on a whirlwind weekend spiked with medical drama, trip to New York City.

The Shield she wields looks like it has a big crack down the middle.

Astoundingly, Madame L. and I managed to hit The Pompeii Room at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, one of my absolute favorite places on Earth, before tripping into, “China: Through the Looking Glass,” a smashing, throbbing homage to the cult of cut, fabric, and history in the superb Fashion Exhibit that will knocked my porcelain socks OFF! In a few steps,we crashed into another world, each room was inspired and dark, lights focused on the embroidery, so tight as to bogle the mind, far away from the mundane, and into the temple of commerce where The Image of Fashion Design as a route is loudly tooted as a glorious path to personal salvation.

On Saturday Evening, I poured myself into a fine new knit dress and rolled west to Broadway, on my little black mule sling-backs, balancing, because I had tickets to see, Wolf Hall Part Two, “Bringing Up The Bodies,” the play is by author Hillary Mantel, a gem. The acting was stand out and the lead, an English stage actor, Ben Miles, carried the character of Thomas Moore rise to the height of power in the possibly unfair beheading of our eternal beloved bad good girl, the controversial, Anne Boylen.

When I wasn’t out buzzing around, I was resting in my hotel room. I’m sorry to say that I missed a meeting with a great artist and best on-line buddy. We had dinner party plans and I was supposed to be her date for the evening. She is one of my favorite people and it was a disappointment not to find the strength to make it to our planed meeting. I failed to find the strength to make it, instead having a bit of quality time hugging the toilet bowl… but, that happens when you are in advanced cancer treatment.

Posted on December 8, 2014December 14, 2014 by Frau Kolb — 1 Comment

The New Muse: Kathy Goodell in San Deigo!

Gently, a day is taking shape. This visit is chiseled from the veined marble of long understanding. Kathy Goodell and Frau Kolb are friends with a connection that spans decades in this life and the infinite in some other plain of existence, past lives playing a prominent role. Yet, this is our first time spending an entire week under one roof. Will we get along?

Hartmuth Kolb is pleased to visit Point Loma in San Diego, California

Frau experiences refreshed awareness that life is phenomenological blooming of energy, fleeting blooms on the edge of time, the wind of ideas stirs reflection, when in the company of this refined Contemporary Art Muse. Thus, OPEN to talks on closing acts and end game strategy, we embrace a day of deep talks, woven into the breezy fabric of classic San Diego sight seeing.

We wake up early, as usual. The morning zips past. At noon we were at San Diego International Airport, picking up our friend, a soul sister and personal Art Muse of Talkinggrid, Kathy Goodell, a human flowering of loveliness and edgy intelligence has arrived! She is easy to spot, looking fashionable, in her HUGE sunglasses and “Op Art,” silk blouse. She is a powerful Muse. We rush to greet her. She embraces us with the warmth. BIG HUGS! Flowing kisses. “Hello! Hello!” All around, our day is off to a rip roaring good start!

Kathy Goodell looking lovely with BIG SUN GLASSES in San Diego with Frau Kolb and The Family

On the way to lunch in Little Italy, in San Diego, The Art Muse of Talkinggrid, Kathy Goodell’s winning personality is like a shawl, comforting. In my world, Goodell is famous not just for her expansive and intellectually daring sculptures and art installations, but also for being a person whose personality is at crossroads of glass and metal, transparent grace, fragile, yet of enduring strength and lasting fortitude. Her artistic oeuvre touches on the accidental, dreamy and quasi scientific in scope. Her art work moves me. She is a venerated teacher of art, mentor to many, with a following that spans generations, continents. She graciously speaks to my little children about the recent Henri Matisse, exhibition, up now in New York City, now, connecting with them immediately, tending to that sacred spark, an interest in art, which we hold dear.

Muse Goodell is loving the organic food market, Jimbo's in San Diego! — Muse Goodell is loving the organic food market, Jimbo’s in San Diego!

Always creating, Kathy Goodell, takes in San Diego

I painted this portrait of our amusing guest in a burst of inspiration, joy.

Goodell's good looks inspire artists, young and old. — Goodell’s good looks inspire artists, young and old.

Goodell by Annabella — Annabella, age 8, makes a nice drawing of Kathy Goodell.

My Kid finds Goodell a worthy subject for a portrait.

Goodell, simply, oozes neon talent. She is one of those beings that lives and breaths the mystical condition of being a “True Artist,” a multi-faceted creature, adventure ready. She thrills me with her floating free generosity of spirit, her cool fashion sense, and her quick mind. She is a favorite of the lively Contemporary ART MUSES, a female goddess of great creativity and wit, a source of artistic inspiration to many a young and an old artist, both inspiring to art legends and generations of students. Goodell is friend who has earned the extra attention not just from Frau Kolb but from all her army of adoring students, all grateful for her indefatigable encouragement and support.

Imagine being a real Contemporary Artist, an art professor, paid for your expertise in art, a Guggenheim Grant recipient, Best Friend to Frau Kolb, Star of Talkinggrid, and international MUSE! A respected person known for knowing about ART! Think of that… Imagine being known as an Contemporary Artist and being a woman respected for her solid creativity and staggering productivity? Now, go Google yourself. What does Google say about you? Google Kathy Goodell, you will discover a woman at the crossroads of American History, a person of singular interest, and tremendous charisma. Be impressed. I am.

We drive to the Historical and Natural Preserve of Point Loma, gladly paying $5.00 per vehicle entrance fee. We look about and then decide to visit the Light House. “I Love LENS!!!” Goodell purrs. Up into the little hill we go, which like so many such relics from a time past, seems tiny, a little precious jewel of a home, which once housed the keeper of the lonely lighthouse and his family. The rooms, spick and span, chamber pots under the beds, pitcher and bowl for washing one’s face, a little guitar in the corner, hand made quilts… the usual American frontier artifacts of a time just recently past, idealized as formerly simpler.

Point Loma is a lovely vista point from which you can see all of downtown San Diego, Bay and Harbor.

The Point Loma lens are so beautiful. Old glass, it captures the room around it, the light, the rainbows, upside down and inside out, the play of here and there is OTHERWORLDLY. One could image that these objects might somehow be portals to different dimensions. Doorways into space. The infinite.

Excellent iphone image of the LENS at Point Loma in San Diego. — Excellent iphone image of the LENS at Point Loma in San Diego by Talkinggrid Muse, Contemporary Artist, Kathy Goodell.

In Goodell’s company I find myself thinking about the perpetual. What is FOREVER? Our friendship is a lasting one, the seed of which was a casual comment Goodell made as the young Frau Kolb… I wasn’t Frau Kolb then… I was a very young woman working in an Italian Restaurant in Soho, when Kathy came in to dine. I waited on her. She saw something in me. That we became like family is a testament to her OPEN heart and generosity of spirit. Her friendship is an unwavering source of good in my life and I hope to be forever that in hers. All this LOVING makes me think of DEATH. Death.

The finality of it… really, each of us only has a few close friends in this world. Goodell is one of mine. Thus, with her I discuss the grand plan, my vision(s). We share the minutia of our days and compare notes about people that admire us, her, and/or me. We know a number of the same people, being that we are both California/New Yorkers: girls who wear the robes of Muses, forming a Muse Team, inspiriting each other to new heights.

Actually, when I die, I’d like for my tombstone to say: “Artist, Mother, Friend!” I’ve always enjoyed imagining my own funeral. I like the idea that ALL MY X Boyfriends might come together to mourn me. A handful of handsome men in tuxedos, of course. They would drink whiskey, or ambrosia, make toasts, boasts, and talk about what a pain in the ass I was. Hartmuth, my husband, would defend my memory! I would attend the event, as a sexily clad ghost, wearing a gigantic black hat bedecked in veils. The men, steadily drinking might glimpse me here, there. However, I vow, not to linger… wouldn’t want to get stuck as a wandering spirit, on this side of the river Styx.

I ask Kathy Goodell:

What three words would you chose for your tombstone?

“OH MY GAWD!” She answers.

Who do you imagine might most weep when that moment of dropping a handful of dirt on the casket arrives?

“Besides YOU, Frau?” She asks, hazel eyes twinkling. (Of course, Goodell, did not really say that… but I can dream. If I really asked her this question, I think she would say her niece would be there, eyes a flood.)

What achievement(s), as a public person, artist are you most proud of?

“As a public person… I have to think about it for a minute… That my art might infect some with a sense of the eternal.” She answered, really.

How do you expect to be remembered?

“All depends on who is doing the remembering.” She says reminding me that every memory is but a flickering candle in the unceasing wind. Who cares how we are remembered when so much of what is remembered is tarnished in the self serving act of remembering? We live but for a flashing instance, to be forgotten is inevitable. Yet, by making great art Goodell is among those that will leave an enduring legacy.

I ask Goodell a handful of earthy questions (above) on her second day in San Diego. Each day here Goodell tells me of at least one beautiful story of her life and her development. She is a San Francisco native, successful transplant to New York, with an international exhibition record and a following that spans generations. As a child she was curious about religions, not finding the perfect spiritual fit she designed her own rituals, methods of observance. Her family, long established in the United States, has historically interesting characters galore. She is a person whose personal history is fascinating and instructive to the extreme. I would like to learn more about her and a week in her gracious company, leaves me longing for more of her causal bounty/beauty.

I’d like to share with you, more of Goodell’s Goodies, stories, images and a creative perspective unlike any other. I am inspired by Goodell’s tenacity, wit, and inner glow. She represents the mature woman we’d all like to become, a person that owns herself and holds her own in any situation, a woman I admire. As Goodell prepares to depart we sit next to each other and I relinquish a little control over the image I want to project of her glory. Her unwavering modesty, overrides, my desire to BANG a DRUM, toot HER HORN, and CELEBRATE like a champion gladiator her enduring brilliance, her remarkable SHINE.

Acrylic on canvas,4th of December 2014 © Frau (Caridad) Kolb

Posted on October 12, 2014October 12, 2014 by Frau Kolb — 2 Comments

Nitespa, Mar Vista, Los Angeles: Book a Royal Blast into Autumn Bliss!

New Friends,

Frau Kolb & DJ Frankenstein in front of three "Rush Hour Grids, For New York," Paintings by Frau Kolb, 2011 on view at Nitespa Mar Vista, now — Frau Kolb & DJ Pink Frankenstein in front of three “Rush Hour Grids, For New York,” Paintings by Frau Kolb, 2011

I dressed up as a BLACK BIRD, loosely inspired by the blackbird in the delightful coming-of-age love story, “Moonrise Kingdom,” another great film by Wes Anderson. I was feeling shaken, having had a medical emergency earlier in the week. Fortunately, all were forewarned that I was, “mysterious.” Which made my entrance all the more smooth, that and the super tunes spilling from DJ Frankenstein’s turntable, I could have to arrive on a stretcher to the wonderful party arranged by Julia Martin, and I’m sure it would have not offended the super-cool crowd or the proprietress of the new Nitespa Loft in Mar Vista, on the West Side of Los Angeles.

Frau Kolb with Anne Barron and Christopher Strimbu photo © Jess Barron, 2014

Lovely Ms. Martin has successfully established new place for our set to meet, hang our hats, get our nails done, a massage, a facial, a needed Brazilian… all kinds of services to help us recover that coveted baby-fresh and pampered GLOW. Nitespa is a space specifically tailored to those that are looking for a more personal, intimate, fitting refuge from the mundane, the coarse, the ordinary, impersonal spa.

(We all have so much to worry about, with ebola, police brutality, social disparity, the cost of living, the tumbling market, the children’s issues, marital demands of fulfilling obligations you never imaged you might ever be expected to meet, all the while maintaining one’s standard of living, in a world where the competition and the caprices of the ancient goddess, Fortuna, are not without a cruel sense of humor.)

Fortunately, Nitespa has expanded. The new location ROCKS! Some of you remember the dilapidated little beauty shack where we drank wine, communed, and got our nails down in Venice, Beach California. It was very hip and easy access. It was near Abbott Kinney Blvd. I’ve written about the spot before. The NEW LOCATION is a true hideout for those needing serious pampering in an indulgent VIP friendly, luxury loft location, which feels like an upscale home, where BEAUTY is welcome to perch.

You really must experience Ms. Martin’s unique sense of urban hospitality. She is creating a new way of being beautiful, in a breezy easy, health conscious surge of FUN! Nothing could be better for you than going to Nitespa, in my book.

WE, Julia Martin and I met years ago, when I tripped into Nitespa Venice for a manicure. I was delighted for the white wine she, so graciously, served and the cute Japanese girls that were creating lovely nail art for Julia’s fortunate cliental, including me! My nails wet, I asked Julia to rummage in my big old patchwork leather bag for my wallet. She was amused to discover a little travel bottle of tequila in there (I still, almost a decade later, have that same little bottle… somewhere in my home). Our pure connection was instantaneous, we felt ONE with each other’s fun loving spirited being!

Over the years our friendship has grown. Other less firmly founded, connections from that fun frenzied Los Angeles period, have faded away. In contrast, I am continuously impressed with J. Martin’s unique sense of urban hospitality. The astounding tenacity and insight of a woman with goals, a family, and a business to run is a wonder to behold and an inspiration for anyone. She managed to keep Nitespa on the map, in Venice, while so many other businesses folded in the high rent, high density area, jammed with trendy restaurants and slick boutiques competing for clients among the cash strapped, the striving, and the few that are flush, alike on the pure force of her personal charm and dedication to providing excellent beauty treatments to extravagant eccentrics and other demanding divas. She managed this feat by being a friend to her neighbors and an active part of the local art and business community.

"42nd Street, Times Sq. Grid," acrylic painting, 24x30", 2011, by Frau Kolb — “42nd Street, Times Sq. Grid,” acrylic painting, 24×30″, 2011, by Frau Kolb

A supporter of artists, including me (notice that four of my paintings are now available for viewing at Nitespa’s beautiful big white walls…) , Julia Martin has earned her place of recognition, trust, and affection in the west coast art community, from San Francisco to San Diego Julia Martin is LOVED and her following grows more staunch, loyal, and determined with each year of her continued success. No wonder that with so many beauty options available in Los Angeles, those in the know, have come to prioritize the ever-soul replenishing treatments offered at her open yet exclusive beauty hide-out and become her frequent VIP guests. Julia’s new Nitespa location is spacious and private with comfortable treatment rooms and a full kitchen available. Her space is a place where we can face ourselves and make time to ponder matters of personal and public significance in a comfortable, yet luxurious, Townhouse loft.

How do we tune into our selves and find time for all the parts of our being that might otherwise be neglected?

10433940_10152703883020907_5559163099977600292_n — (I’m so glad I managed to get my act together and appear as Frau Kolb, in full Frau Kolb verbosity, at Julia Martin’s Royal Moonrise, Wes Anderson tribute party, on Saturday Night. Especially because, I was the Guest of Honor!) I’ve NEVER had that happen before. I’m touched!

Friendship is the answer. Last week, Frau Kolb had the pleasure and privilege of being honored by the honey eyed-genius, behind the living vision of intimate manicures and memorable massages, Ms. Julia Martin… a unique source of good in the world of Beauty. She is now The West Coast Beauty Muse for Talkinggrid as of last week’s splendid display of magnificence in entertaining a fun-loving group of way-ward intellectuals, part-time revelers, and party crashing troubadours in search of cosmic booty! What a grouping of interesting humans! I even had the pleasure of a powerful art chat, with an informed and active art collector, residing in Santa Monica! (He promised to have us over for dinner that we may enjoy his private art collection. Imagine that! )

We had a blast! The magic number of cool, elegant, educated, chilled-out, party-people, sipping cocktail punches presented with faultless aplomb by the excellent Ms. Martin. For the party she wore a short fur and a stripped dress, a loose interpretation of Margo Tennenbaum’s smeared eye liner, big fur routine, in Talkinggrid’s favorite movie, by Talkinggrid’s favorite director.

We were hoping Owen Wilson would just magically show UP at the party. I prayed for his super-coolness to just appear, but alas he did not. We did, however, enjoy discovering a lemon juice soaked ONE dollar bill inside a lemon… thanks to magician, who entertained us with the old fashion slight-of-hand the soul craves and somehow, my Post Paris Blues have VANISHED! I am cured!

Thank you, Julia Martin, superlative hostess, proprietress, and vision behind the one-and-only Nite spa, Mar Vista for a more than merely wonderful evening. It was a true pleasure and I can’t wait to come in and have lovely French, Pascal take care of my visage and lovely Christina to paint my nails, like little masterpieces, each one.

Thank you.

Posted on October 2, 2014August 22, 2015 by Frau Kolb

Constantine Finehouse’s Sushi Cure for Paris Nostalgia

Autumn in San Diego, California, 2014

The sun dips into the sea earlier each setting. Summer flings are winding down. A tidy sorrow, fine and knit of tiny mistakes collected over many seasons of living, wraps itself around you… Paris, is a vivid recent memory and you tend to it by reading the history, the canned memories, and the predictable novels set in the twenties, when Hemmingway was a young buck, pushing a pen around with the force of a bayonet. The reading soothes… yet… longing for those little plastic-wicker chairs outside cafes where people sit and read and people watch… how I miss them!

Frau Kolb is in San Diego, California, gripped by a bad case of Paris Nostalgia. POST-PARIS BLUES threatens to strangle our pleasure in being here. How is that? I mean, Paris… yes… is wonderful. But, hummingbirds and butterflies are not at home there! In contrast to the urban wonder of Paris, San Diego is defined by its still unspoiled open spaces and natural beauty. Blue sky triumphant like a blanket of possibility, stretches across the rusty mountain tops in the distance. Nature, wild and inviting, canyons and mountains, call out to those that love to hike. Usually, this bounty of being enthralls me. Yet, now… I keep thinking of the little bookstores in every neighborhood in Paris, which invite a different kind of bounty, an internal exploration, which I so enjoy.

Thank goodness for a perfectly timed visit from a best friend based in Boston, Massachutes. Constantine Finehouse, concert pianist, multi-lingual, multi-cultural, friend to Frau Kolb, long time supporter of The Talkinggrid, POPS into San Diego TO THE RESCUE!

He brings with him urbane sophistication, offhand knowledge of many subjects, and a self reliant independence that makes him the perfect guest. His only need is to practice piano. To this end, he heads out… coming and going like a semi-feral cat. The prey he brings back from his excursions are telephone pictures of another San Diego. The San Diego of under used upright pianos in churches and universities… so foreign, and near!

Daily we make our way, to safety, to the familiar port, the secure harbor with a “little help from our friends.” Whenever we care about another that feeling gives us strength to move forward. Friendships are necessary for mental health. Yet, fitting IN is NOT my strength. I struggle with normalcy and haven’t experienced it much in my life. I’ve given up on the normal, because I don’t understand them and I don’t think they have much patience for us either.

Fortunately, we gather “a little help from our friends,” who aid us in getting on with, “the business of life.” I’m grateful that my most sophisticated and sensitive, Male Muse, a friend for more than a decade of meaningful connection, pianist Constantine Fineshouse, came to visit for a long weekend which helped me transition from being the Parisian Frau, to the well adjusted Southern California Beach Bitch, that some believe to be the real me.

Our conversation flows mostly in English, although we met in an advanced Spanish (grammar) class at Columbia University in New York City. Although, Constantine’s German is nicht schlect, we rarely speak in German or Spanish. We met while were students. Our friendship sprang up immediately and has endured various incarnations. We have matured yet we always allow ourselves a little silly surrender to childish playfulness. The initial spark, which animated the first part of our friendship, a was a delicate little flame, which lasted only a few weeks, snuffed by a small difference in age and my need to go find the real fire to light the hearth that is my heart, capable of warming my soul, for fifteen years going on forever. The small spark, however endured and has survived. Today it is used to maintain the spark of the small torch toward the path of this lasting connection, a trusted and cherished platonic friendship, like a temple built on a solid foundation, which also serves to build up the part of me that needs support and maintenance, which gives me strength to find my little patch of cultivated peace in this ever sunny land. How pleasant!

The fact is that every city, every location, has its merits and San Diego is a town with many fine qualities, besides its beautiful beaches and picture perfect weather. Finehouse, for example, worked his magic on his smart device, (kept hidden, unless needed for specific purposes, Finehouse is NOT one of those people that is constantly fidgeting with his obscenely smart phone). Reading reviews, he finds the perfect a hole-in-the-wall sushi house, next to a parking lot, in an ugly strip mall that serves sushi so good that a line snakes out their door everyday at lunch time.

The quality of the mostly raw seafood served, had my Boston based, highly sensitive Male Muse, Mr. Finehouse, drooling…

San Diego offers dreamy sushi! You know what else…

In La Jolla, we visited Cafe La Rue at the Hotel Valencia. I needed a dose of Parisian pleasure, no matter that we are so very far from France, the source… Paris, inspires. The decor invites comparison with that of a traditional Parisian Bistro or Cafe, it has sweet paintings of Parisian Life, done in 1947, the food is good, hearty, my favorite breakfast they serve is the Toad in a Hole, which is totally delicious, not particularly French, and totally the right kind of comfort food to banish the POST PARIS DOLDRUMS alas the waiters, elegant as they are, speak no French what-so-ever and somehow… here, in Southern California, I am an exotic and strange in my demands for a little sip of sparkling ambrosia, whereas in Paris, everyone seems to understand me, my secret language, my arcane tastes, and hidden expectations. I settled for a glass of, always pleasing, Vueve Cliquot and a nibble of charcuteri and

(pasterized… American versions of) French cheeses… all was edible enough, even almost ideal… what is missing is that open ended ease of Parisian Cafe Life. One is not expected to rush off after a meal, from one thing to the next, in Paris. In the United States eating is something that simply happens for the most part. It is not taken seriously as a pursuit, a focus. People often eat in their cars.

Cafe La Rue, at 1132 Prospect Street in La Jolla, California is a far cry from being fast food. Yet, one is expected to eat, pay, and move along. There is no personal touch, no sense that you matter, that your preferences or presence count. Even though all the waiters and bartenders there are handsome and friendly enough… The missing ingredient, in American cuisine is TIME. People here rush from one thing to the next and savoring doesn’t happen in the context of coming and going. It takes time, conversation, expertly prepared fresh food, and a culture that supports the lingering soul to make meals truly touching like the splendid Lunch for One, I had at Cafe Constant in Paris or the incredible marathon evening at Je Thé… me with Jacky and The Muse and Hartmuth Kolb in Paris, France.

Posted on August 5, 2014August 11, 2014 by Frau Kolb — 1 Comment

Je thé… Me, Taste Paris, with Jacky Larsonneur

We were early, the first customers of the evening at Je thé… me, a romantic restaurant known for its good food. We crossed the thick curtain covering the door and into a comfortably furnished, tight, dining room. The host, Jacky Larsonneur, tall and erect, is standing at the center of the room, his mischievous blue eyes sparkling. He pounces on us with the grace of a well fed tiger! We were to be his willing prey for the evening. We loved being the center of his sage and savvy attention.

He ushered us to our padded seats and fully welcomed us to his place, with a touch of formality which would be soon brushed away, he instantly signaled that the ancient rules of hospitality were in effect. We had arrived into the care of Je thé… me, a space where we could put our guard down and swallow the delicious fact that we had entered a restaurant unlike any other. Larsonneur has deftly owned and operated the enchanting restaurant for almost three decades. The space is a home away from home, a well polished jewel of romantic corner kitchens, an absolutely perfect, quintessentially French spot. I’ve quietly dreamt of such places my whole life. In New York, we attempt recreate the energy of such spaces… perhaps Balthazar’s succeeds. The shelves are filled with books, tea pots, and other “comforts of home.” The warmly furnished room is acutely inviting, a place to melt away stress and enjoy a fine meal. The Germans call this feeling, “Gemütlichkeit,” which loosely translates to, “cosy,” or “warm and familiar.” It is a complex word, really… yet it fits perfectly in thinking of the warm embrace of the space, the restaurant, Je thé… me… such a sensual name… such an excellent evening, about to unfold.

Le Vin, the wine, cements a new friendship at Je thé... me in Paris, France. — Le Vin, the wine, cements a new friendship at Je thé… me in Paris, France.

“English?” He asks after a few pleasantries in French. He introduces us to his menu. It was poetry in food, just delightful. Salivating over the options, we allowed him to guide us, making recommendations, choosing which wine we drank. At ease in the roll of Culinary Guide, he takes us on a marvelous trip into a familiar yet new world of flavor. We eat and drink with silent reverence. Other guests arrive. First a man with two beautiful Asian women, who sound 100% California. They are seated on the other side of the attractive room. Later, they come to appear flabbergasted, mouths open, eyes bulging, at the wealth of attention we receive from our talented host. Shortly after an older woman and her (likely) granddaughter appear and are seated. Finally, a young blond couple from Denmark take the table next to us, where they proceeded to make-out passionately for two hours. Did they eat food? I don’t know. I was busy scarfing DOWN my entire plate, making every morsel vanish, worshiping drops of reduction sauces, expertly prepared.

I am transported to a purely sensual zone. Ms. Crane, The Muse, sits next to me on the bench, laughing, making funny comments about the cast of characters around us, the universe, and beyond. Hours slip by, we don’t fret. This is a time reserved for eating, drinking, and conversation. My adoring Big German Scientist husband, enjoys the view, across from us and documenting our good time without being intrusive. Speaking of welcome intrusion… did I mention that Jacky planted his laptop on our table and sang to us, old French songs? He did. He sang to us! He serenaded our table! (How’s that for entertainment?) He has a marvelous voice. He popped his laptop on our table and shared with us a video of him, on youtube singing in a choir as a young boy. He was an angel. He sang solo, brilliantly! The camera loved his blond boy beauty. Oh, Jacky! You are a restaurant man beyond compare! What talent! Pure charm! Je thé… me.

The food was divine. Yet, I refuse to divulge the details of what I ate. Eat bite was a discovery, an explosion of flavor in my mouth. No, I won’t write a laundry list of ingredients. No. Exactly what I ate doesn’t concern others… Unless, of course, they man-up NOW and venture beyond the barnyard gate, to Je thé me… in Paris! Once there, I can imagine, a parade of pilgrims, FRANCO-FOODIES by the herd, hereby and henceforth, respectfully paying homage to Larsonneur’s impeccable hospitality, good wine, and super-fresh French food with bus tours (god forbid) and other (less tacky) fanfare. I will just say: that if one does not live to visit Jacky Larsonneur at Je thé… me, is simply missing out on enjoying living, breathing, singing history in action.

There is no television in the historically preserved room. By and large, French restaurants do not bombard you with advertising while you are eating. French food is to be taken s l o w l y, quietly or boisterously depending on the mood. The music, wine, and incredible quality of the food all collaborate to take you to sacred heights within yourself and in communion with tradition. French food is famous, of course, but when you actually sit and eat food that deserves this degree of reverence it changes you.

I will never again be the same woman. I have changed from the inside out, a part of me, my heart… I think… is now––forever–– French. I do not know IF the Potato Eaters at the other tables felt the same AWE over the delicate, fresh, innovative, yet totally traditional FRENCH cuisine, prepared sensitively, and served with intimate flair.

At our table, Ms. Crane, Hartmuth and I were swaying in a whirl of FOODIE JOY beyond general comprehension. It was a secular, intensely sensual, culinary-come-religious-experience. In this mood, of beyond bliss, the hours passed and we continued eating. Finally, we begged Jacky to pick our desserts. He brought one for each and each was pure perfection with the entree, eaten. WE had NEVER had such a meal, such service! The wine… ah… it was sublime. I shall never recover from this re-introduction to what food can be. Food is a potential space-ship with direct shuttles to heavenly JOY! Now, from the shelf, tumbled one of the encyclopedias on France. (OK, I admit, that I could not resist pulling one of the books off the shelf and perusing it, while the ice wine was being retrieved.) The book popped open, before us and there was Jacky, turning the pages to his Chateau… really? Yes, he pointed to a picture in the book and said that this was his family’s country property. Oh… now my American mind wrapped itself around very foreign concept. His Chateau… WOW!

That our host enjoyed our company was demonstrated in that he invited us to stay with him for a few more bottles of wine. We were out till the earliest hours of the next morning, sitting, conversing, laughing like lunatics well past midnight, playing, and dancing with Jacky. The Muse, Hartmuth, and I Frau Kolb… this evening could be the stuff of legend and myth. We were early, the first customers of the evening for Je thé… me. We crossed the curtain and into the room and found ourselves in a new relationship with the world, with life. We were welcome, ever so welcome, so we stayed and renovated our selves, with intensive healing doses of hilarity, studied frivolity, and unfiltered joy expressed in hearty appetites.

The Muse, Jacky Larsonneur, Hartmuth, and Frau Kolb at Je thé... me in Paris, France. Summer, 2014! — The Muse, Jacky Larsonneur, Hartmuth, and Frau Kolb at Je thé… me in Paris, France. Summer, 2014!

From the ether of fantasy and wishful thinking, surrounding Paris and The Muse, that which prompted this life-altering trip to a new return destination, a NEW cultural base for Frau Kolb & The Talkinggrid from which to learn and grow, the health and happiness of yours truly and those that truly crave a slice of a very good way of life, the French Way. I will return again and again to now beloved Paris, France and specifically to see Jacky Larsonneur and the most romantic of restaurants, where we feel in love, not just with the food, the wine, the host, but also with Paris, Je thé… me.

Posted on August 3, 2014November 5, 2014 by Frau Kolb

Born from The Womb Room and Ready to Go!

Drained from racing to the top of a collective dream, we retreated into the refuge offered by the elegantly understated, Hotel Pullman. Our room is done in inoffensive shades of plumy gray. A wide desk, a leather lounge chair, and a generous floor lamp allow for serious securing of ideas and floating impressions, gathered all around The Eiffel Tower, and retrieved from memories of last night’s adventures. Our room is a perfect haven for two tired tourists to recover, before transforming themselves into rare, industrial strength, Urban Butterflies.

Ever competent, Hartmuth, is on his lap-top searching for “The Perfect Restaurant.” Reading reviews in FRENCH, with no difficulty, my husband never ceases to impress me. (He found this, La Fourchette, a website, much like the trusty Opentable.com, website in the United States, where he made our reservation for the evening.)

We coin our affection for the gray on gray, plum room, our temporary HOME by giving it a fitting nickname. “The Womb Room,” embraces us. Soon, we will be born from it, and ready to go out and enjoy what Paris has to offer. At the moment we are content to each melt into our very own perfectly comfortable twin bed, separated by a trim twilight gray on dusty plum nightstand, stacked with Guidebooks and anthologies of short stories set in the contemporary French Capital, which I happily hauled across the Atlantic, in my indestructible, stand out peace-sign print, carry-on bag.

I doze with “First French Reader; a Beginner’s Dual-Language Book,” open on my belly, while my husband continues his intensive on-line hunt for “The Perfect Paris Restaurant.”

WE are hosting The Muse for dinner out tonight! She’d offered to come to our area, in the 7th arrondissement. The Muse! Coming to see us! Hurray! What excitement! Anticipation!

I can not tell you how much fun we had the night before. I really can’t. I won’t. I refuse to reveal just how splendid it was. (I’m hoarding the story, savoring the lingering taste of the mind boggling pleasure of roaming deep into Paris, into the sweet Summer Night, in the quiet and refined company of pure Beauty and Handsome Strength.) In the same league of excellence as my husband, Ms. Crane is an amazing human. She positively thrills me with her keen intelligence and juicy observation skills, an avid people-watcher Ms. Crane makes KILLER cracks about The Audience.

The Audience? Yes, “All the world is a stage,” after all… wherever we go, Ms. Crane and I experience… a surge in public attention, a blanket of external focus, which wraps around us, creating an interesting bulge. Lumpy is the attention hurled at us, everywhere. We only catch that which is useful, wholesome, deftly allowing all the rest to fly past us. Undeniably, The Muse is so beautiful people crave to facilitate, to pave the way around her, and I benefit for this power she wields, without seeming to notice. Yet, from experience I know that THE MUSE notices everything. She is sharp, keen, calm, and alert.

Our friendship sprang from a mutual connection. Yet the force with which it grew, took us all by surprise, like the famous beanstalk, which Jack accidentally planted, our friendship immediately lifted us UP and apart from others. We found in each other a source of the most precious fuel. An immediate rush of mutual support and genuine understanding, which yields a bounty of frame shaking laughter, and truckloads of unmitigated earth moving, JOY! Few times in life have I felt such a strong bond for another.

It happens to be that the first time I met Ms. Crane I was in the company of my very best friend. Having flown in from Manhattan, she is a secretive Muse, a blue-eyed lady ninja, who has always had my back. She approved of Ms. Crane, immediately promoting her to “Someone Special,” status. This New York Muse, being an apt judge of character, is always watching out to ensure that I’m aware, paying attention to who plants roots in the garden of my heart, she acts like a beneficent pesticide, killing weeds that seek to spring up and take over the ordered peace I cultivate.

Many are startled or envious of The Muse’s intense physical beauty. The first response is understandable, the second unforgivable. The Muse has green eyes to make emeralds jealous. She is a tiny mountain of dangerous Alpine Curves. What breasts! What body of knowledge! The grooves in her brain must be very symmetrical, electric. Her hair smells of apricot blossoms in ripe summer meadows. She is a living ideal of human perfection, in Frau Kolb’s humble estimation. The desire to climb to new heights in her arms must be universal!

I experience unparalleled pleasure each time she hugs me. Her hugs scoop me up and carry me away from all mundane, ugly, and sinister nonsense which threatens to invade the pristine landscape of my picturesque imagination. That Frau Kolb would gladly travel to the end of the cosmos, to have lunch with The Muse is no question. (The timing of my first trip to Paris is but a token of my commitment.) No friendship can compete with The One that gives you reason to forget all the HORROR and arrive at the simple hilarity of reality. Together, Ms. Crane and Frau Kolb laugh and laugh at all the minor league and rather pathetic, mean people, the two-faced hordes of Los Angeles Liars, the lame Game Players, Aspiring Professional Actors, and cheapskate Name Droppers. We laugh at the pretentious “Grand Dames,” and the cheesy, “The Mean Girls.” In short, we laugh at all those that try and fail to harm us, to damage our enduring sense that living is a worthwhile choice.

We laugh. Laughter heals. Over lunch, or our soon to be dinner, we invite the world to laugh with us and thereby heal itself, because we can not help but roll with mirth when we contemplate our good fortune in having found each other.

This feeling of LOVE is one I know intimately. Yet it is not ROMANTIC in the way that I am thinking of now… I will never forget our first date, he made me laugh right away. His humor cutting through my New Yorker attitude and introducing me to a new vulnerability I hadn’t been able to afford before his muscle and brains came into my life. Thereby, my WHITE KNIGHT books the room for love and laughter, healing, and feeling good. He secures the possibility of my joy. He protects me and provides for me, the way that I always dreamed ONE would. He performs this service and many others promised and did not deliver, without prompting. He is dynamic, active in his LOVE. Because, LOVE is NOT A THEORY! Love is laughter, support, understanding, and flowing fuel into the tank of one’s soul. Love is reciprocal, life sustaining, and energizing on the cellular level. It makes the world spin

NOW, my German Genius has found, “The Perfect Restaurant.” We are dressed. I’ve changed into a long sleeved silk blouse with a coral collar, thick black tuxedo slacks, with a traditional side seam, and I’ve carefully stuffed my swollen foot into platform Prada heals. I’ve applied a dash of make-up and we are ready to GLOW!

Thus, we set off to Je thé… me where we met and established the greatest admiration and affection for the most charming restauranteur and entertainer: Jacky Larsonneur He treated us like old friends on our first visit. We arrived early and stayed well beyond closing, indulging in fabulous French wines and the after glow of a perfect traditional yet innovative dinner to exceed our expectations and etched permanent smiles on our newly adopted French faces.