The anticipation of a good meal is occasionally the only redeeming quality of a day. Especially on days that are routine, ordinary, or perhaps slightly boring, food can bring us to life. It brings color to my cheeks, so I've been told.
I recently had one of these days, while reporting for jury duty in downtown Los Angeles.
After an early morning, hour-long drive on side streets, and spending two and a half hours trying to read in the waiting room without falling asleep, my group was sent off on a 90 minute lunch break.
I knew where I was headed. Three blocks from the courthouse is Grand Central Market, a convergence of LA food stalls set in a 100-year-old building. I thought about it most of the morning, wondering what I might get. Last year when I found myself in the same situation, I ate at DTLA Cheese two days in a row, devouring a simple salad. With a few new eateries to choose from, I found a seat at the counter of Bombo, Mark Peel's new seafood outpost, and ordered a bowl of mussels with pappardelle.
In the end, the day let me think, let me read, let me write, let me walk. I attempted to see jury duty as a metaphor for impending childbirth, because nothing about the experience that day was in my control, like which group my name would or would not be called in, the random computer generator, or if I was lucky enough to miss the courtroom all together.
Thankfully, I got off easy. The two civil cases we had been brought in for settled out of court, and by the late afternoon, we all cheered when we were told our service was complete.
