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BEN LEE’S BLOG
Wine Tasting
I spent this past weekend doing something I haven’t done in many years: wine tasting in a beautiful town called Paso Robles. The occasion was to commemorate a friend’s birthday and my wife and I were invited to join the fun. About ten of us drove the 3+ hours north of Los Angeles, to a land where the grape vines grow.
I’m not a major wine expert. I enjoy drinking it and am trying to educate myself more about it but for the most part, I know what I like and what I don’t like based on the taste and not so much because the harvest was better during a certain year or the bottle had time to breathe before the first glass was poured. And, truth be told, after the fourth or fifth winery visit during the course of a day, it was hard to be too discerning about what we were drinking anyway!
But in between the merriment and clinking of glasses amongst friends, here’s what I did discover after a day of wine tasting: marketing mattered. It seemed as though the more beautiful the vineyard, the more delicious the wine tasted. If our group was warmly welcomed by the host and he/she treated us nicely, we felt more inclined to purchase a bottle. Or six. If the atmosphere of the winery felt more like an elegant, sophisticated soiree versus a loud, raging bachelor party, well that seemed to influence our purchasing power, too.
For me, the experience all circled back to real estate. Presentation truly is everything! Time and time again, if the house I’m selling has been spruced up in even the most seemingly undetectable and subtle ways, potential buyers are (sometimes subconsciously) impressed. Often all it takes is a lone candle flickering on a bookshelf to positively affect the lighting and pleasant aroma of a room, to make a buyer smile as she walks through the front door.
The metamorphosis a house can make after time and effort on the seller’s part is actually pretty measurable. Taking a house that is somewhat cluttered, in a state of disrepair, overly decorated, heavily adorned with personal artifacts… and then transforming that house and making it show worthy: by editing the furniture, removing some of the personal touches, adding a decorative pillow here and there- all of a sudden, the house goes from mess to yes. It is sellable. And not just sellable- it commands more money. I see this every day.
Sampling a variety of delicious blends of fine wine is not so different than looking at a bunch of beautiful houses. After you see so many and for a prolonged period of time, all of which are undoubtedly expensive and beautiful, you start to become numb to their nuances and details. It’s the overall affect that strikes you when you take that first sip or walk through that front door. How are you greeted? Are you welcomed? How do your senses respond to the space? This is, of course, different for everyone. It’s the special something about a home that speaks to you personally; that beckons you to return.
Paso Robles was not just a beautiful town, but the experience itself was a beautiful diversion- it was great to get out of the city for a bit and even greater to spend time with friends, celebrating a very happy occasion over many glasses of truly delicious wine. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone from our group of travelers decided to buy a second home in Paso, amongst the rolling hills and vineyards. It’s impossible not to feel happy surrounded by so much beauty. And, of course, good wine helps, too!
What’s Nextdoor?
Other than checking in with Facebook and Twitter once or twice a day, I’m not one for having a big presence on social media. I don’t really enjoy engaging in the big political discussions, getting in fights over vaccinations, gun regulations or even sharing the latest in kitten videos or celebrity memes. It’s great to stay virtually connected to people from all corners of my life, but other than keeping informed of these people’s news, I never really found visiting these sites too useful.
But then I discovered an interesting social media site called Nextdoor. This is a private (is anything really private, though??) website exclusive to your specific neighborhood and, if you choose, its outlying areas. It’s free to join (you may need to be invited by someone) and after your address is verified as actually being a resident of the neighborhood, you are admitted into its secret, sacred walls of membership.
The site has a wide reaching range of topics upon which you can share or comment, all of which pertain to your neighborhood. Suspicious looking individuals lurking around? Some nervous neighbor will post about it. Was a car recently broken into or a package mysteriously lifted from a front porch? There will be fifteen people all sharing stories of similar experiences with offers as to how to nab the bad guys.
On any given day there will be questions about finding a good piano tuner, contractor or dentist. Sometimes there’ll be more interesting posts like when a woman couldn’t find her iguana so she told residents to be on the lookout. Often there will be residents looking to get together socially, maybe to start up a band or a group of card players.
On occasion there are squabbles between the people who post and you wonder how they actually have time to sit behind their computers and harp on one another with such speed and snark. Site administrators are supposed to shut down unwarranted and personal attacks and those individuals will probably get a private message or two of warning before being kicked off the site altogether should their behavior persist.
I’m typically more reader and less contributor to the site but this week something happened and I felt compelled to log in. My brother recently moved in with our mother who lives in our neighborhood. I got a frantic call at work that my brother’s 100+ pound Doberman jumped her fence and was wandering around, most likely lost somewhere in Cheviot Hills. While my wife started driving around looking for him and calling out his name, I quickly jumped onto Nextdoor and typed out that the big dog had gotten loose and he could be anywhere. I told the 10,000 or so residents reading the post that he looked terrifying but was actually a very sweet and gentle dog, despite his massive size and he answered to the name of Rocco.
A few hours or so later, my phone rang again. It was my mother on the other line saying good news! They had found Rocco!!
Now, it sure would make for a better story if someone had read my post on Nextdoor and found the dog, returning him safely and everyone could then live happily ever after. Unfortunately, what happened instead was: after family members searched for hours, driving up and down every street in the neighborhood and calling out his name over and over again, my mother heard what sounded like a faint baby’s cry coming from the inside a bathroom in her house. Inside her very modest, one story, 3 bedroom, 2 bath home, the biggest dog known to man had decided to take an innocent snooze and no one had even realized it.
Was I mortified to have to go back on Nextdoor to explain to the concerned residents of Cheviot Hills, Castle Heights, Beverlywood, Rancho Park, South Westwood Adjacent, and Culver City that “oopsy! We found him!” Yup, I was. But no one seemed mad about it- they were just happy that we found our dog, even if he was found safe and sound inside the house.
And, in the end, it’s nice to know there are several thousand residents who’d be quick to help a fellow neighbor at a moment’s notice, whether to look for his big dog, an iguana or just to get together and share a cup of coffee if the mood should strike. Connections of any sort are hard to come by nowadays so if a site like Nextdoor can provide that for a neighborhood, well then more power to it.
Little League Baseball
The Cheviot Hills Pony League Baseball tryouts were this weekend at Rancho Park. Did you play little league when you were a kid? I did. And I kind of hated it. My dad was one of the coaches which was nice- he wasn’t one of those scary dad coaches that yelled at everybody, but the sport itself was just not for me. I hated the pressure of being at bat, all eyes of the team staring at me in worried expectation. Fielding was really no better. If a ball was hurling through the sky, I’d usually hope it would land somewhere as far away from me as possible. I actually didn’t discover the sport I loved until I was a freshman at Santa Monica High School: water polo. Maybe it was a result of growing up in Malibu, surfing in the Pacific Ocean as often as weekends and after school afternoons would allow, but discovering a sport that was active, competitive, and took place in the water was ultimately the one for me.
I have two boys interested in baseball. Really, one who is borderline obsessed, one who likes the camaraderie of the dugout and an excuse to wield a bat, and one son who’s experience mimicked mine and after one season, opted to keep searching for a sport better suited to his interests. For the two boys who are so far sticking with it, this weekend was their tryouts and, of course, memories of my own time playing came flooding back.
There are some rather obvious differences between the kids playing in Cheviot Hills’ league and my time in Malibu during the early 1980s. First of all, what alleviates a great deal of pressure off these kids today is: everyone makes a team no matter how terrible they play. The league encourages kids with little or no experience to get in the game so no matter what, they’re making a team and will play some baseball.
And they’re not going to get heckled as a result of their lack of experience nor will the more established players get yelled at for flubbing a play. Sure, if they’re goofing around or not paying attention out there, they’re going to hear about it! But there is also an understanding amongst the coaches, parents and kids that heckling or yelling at the players, umpires or each other is not tolerated.
However, with that said, another difference between today and the baseball of my youth is how seriously it’s all taken. Sure, the kids have fun- nothing beats being part of a team of kids to be goofy with. But with the amount of time these coaches and managers have devoted to bettering the players in their charge, there isn’t a lot of time to be too goofy at all. With hours of after-school practice during the week, as well as marathon-long weekend games, many of these players also seek private coaches to fine-tune their technique. And the gear many of these kids want just play a game of ball is astounding! Bat, mitt, batting gloves, wristbands, helmet, cleats, sunglasses, bat grips, titanium ionic necklaces… Sports Chalet should just have a direct link to my bank account so I don’t see how much it all adds up to.
Only time will tell if this is the sport that will follow my boys through high school and beyond. For the time being, I will say, there is something extremely neighborhood-y and nice about the two of them being a part of this league. They are encouraged, befriended, challenged and respected. My wife and I love being in the stands, running into friends we know, enjoying the snacks and letting the dog hang out during the games while we watch all of the action.
I can’t help but be proud, too, of the fact that they are choosing to participate in a sport that has nothing to do with my pressuring them to do so. They opted to play baseball all on their own and I’m glad they’re working hard and seem to be really enjoying it.
So, if you’re looking for me on the weekends, if I’m not holding an open house, I’ll be in the bleachers at Rancho Park. Play Ball!
Law And Debate
I come from a long line of attorneys. My grandfather was one for a while but eventually gave it up to sell cars instead. My mother and father are both attorneys, in fact they met while attending Loyola Law School and opened up a practice together before my mom left to be a LA County Superior Court commissioner and my dad joined up with another firm. So, you can say it was in my DNA to be a lawyer, too. A few years after graduating from Wesleyan University in Connecticut, I enrolled at Loyola Law School, right here in Los Angeles, my parents’ alma mater. In fact, on my graduation day, I didn’t receive my diploma from the Dean but was handed the leather bound certificate from my parents, instead. A treasured memory that makes me smile when I think about my graduation day.
But, taking a page from my grandfather’s book, the law just wasn’t for me and after a few years of extremely long days, billing way too many hours and reading an exhorbarant amount of contracts with fonts too tiny to clearly see, I decided to make a change and be a realtor instead.
So, when my eldest son came home announcing he joined his school’s debate team, for a brief moment I thought that maybe an interest in the law IS genetic. My father-in-law has been a practicing Los Angeles attorney for over 55 years so Mason has it in his blood from both sides of the family. Who knows? In any case, he has been bitten by the debating bug and, even though I had practically zero passion for practicing law, I couldn’t be prouder of his interest in this, the unofficial family business.
Middle school debate tournaments are no joke. These students are handed really advanced topics and prepare for weeks to be well-versed on both sides of the issues. Some of the cases I’ve seen centered around the Iran Nuclear Disarmament, the US adopting a universal basic income, charter school accessibility, allowing for concealed weapons and barring football from educational institutions. Did I mention my kid and most of his teammates are 11?! But you wouldn’t know it from the confidence they project as they approach the podium, arguing their points in front of fellow teammates, competitors and judges. Mason’s league follows the rules of parliamentary debate so with that comes knocking on desks when a strong point has been made, heckling from the opposing side and having to endure a constant flow of interruptions that the speaker can choose to ignore or allow. The skills these kids are learning are immeasurable. To keep their composure despite the knocking and interruptions and for a timed length of time to bring home their points in concise and clear ways- these are abilities that will serve them well into the future, I have no doubt.
So, only time will tell if our first-born son will be the third generation to try the law as his first chosen profession. Maybe he’ll attend Loyola Law School and I’ll get to hand him his diploma in the same way my parents handed mine to me. I don’t want to be that pushy kind of dad who’s going to pressure or steer him in this direction. In fact, if he also happens to be the first in the third generation of Lees to try the law but then later decide to go into a different professional direction, well that’s totally OK, too. I happen to think Lee and Sons Realty has a pretty great ring to it! But until then, debate away, my son. You’re doing great.
Totoraku – LA’s Secret Japanese Beef Restaurant
The first rule about the secret beef club is to not talk about the secret beef club.
Well, it’s actually totally fine to talk about it but don’t even think about getting into it by just walking in off the street.
There is a seemingly unremarkable store-front restaurant on Pico in Cheviot Hills/Rancho Park called The Teriyaki House. Nestled among shops and restaurants, near Pep Boys and McDonalds, you’ve probably passed by it a million times. You may have even wandered in there to check it out, having no idea that the family-friendly looking restaurant itself is actually a façade for what exists behind the proverbial curtain. In only the most secretive and exclusive of Foodie circles, The Teriyaki House is actually known as: Totoraku. Diners are either personally invited to enter the restaurant and sit at a table by it’s enigmatic chef, Kaz Oyama, or they may come with a friend who has dined there in the past. Regular folks wandering around Pico Boulevard, hankering for a square meal need not apply. And if you’re a vegetarian or pescatarian or any kind of ‘tarian’ who doesn’t eat red meat, then you’ll want to keep walking, too.
This is an underground dining scene straight out of the movies. Very few tables, sparse décor and no alcohol (guests may bring their own wine). But the mood among the chosen few who populate the restaurant is buoyant. It is a culinary adventure everyone is sharing together which makes for a communal and jovial experience. Shyer eaters suddenly become emboldened and seem willing to take more risks with what they put into their mouths. No one wants to offend the master chef who approaches his meat with great reverence. And meat, most courses being raw meat, is the true star of the show. There is so much raw meat and from so many unexpected parts of the cow, after dining here you may never want to eat meat again.
The meal consists of nine courses and each is shared family style with your table-mates. Occasionally a beautifully arranged vegetable is snuck onto the platter but that’s little more than a garnished decoration playing second fiddle to the meat at the center of the plate. Each portion of meat, whether raw or cooked, has a delicate accompanying sauce. A spoonful of sugar to make the medicine go down, as the case may be.
I don’t consider myself a true Foodie. I love enjoying a fabulous meal as much as the next guy but my tastes run simple and I think by about the 4th or 5th course, I had my fill of the best Totoraku had to offer. Good friends of ours invited us to go and it was a lively, adventurous bunch of other friends of theirs filling out our table. As we were leaving, filled to the brim with beef, the waitress handed me a gold card that meant we were now in the club and would be permitted to return with guests of our own.
I can’t say I will be making a habit out of going there again soon, even with my golden ticket of reentry. I’m not even sure when the next time will be before I can just order a hamburger without having flashbacks to course number 7. I will say, though, I think it’s pretty cool to have a secret, underground club for serious meat eaters in the Cheviot Hills/Rancho Park neighborhood. If you haven’t been yet, you may want to become friends with the chef or a previous diner to sample it for yourself. Just remember to bring your nerve and your appetite and be prepared for a dining experience like none other.