In defense of the hotel lobby breakfast, and Watch What Happens when I'm Live

Plus my first time at New York's The Odeon, and your music pairing...

For a few important reasons, I don’t like walking outside a building until I’ve had a coffee. On a recent podcast episode, Conan O’Brien told Paul Scheer about an awkward celebrity encounter with Arnold Schwarzenegger. A still-yawning Conan staggered to his hotel lobby coffee line, only to find Arnold waiting there, equally un-caffeinated. The two superstars, who talk for a living, quickly found their conversation reduced to Cro-Magnon grunts, sans java. “Gotta have my coffee, right?” “Yes, coffee is good for waking up,” et cetera. Sounds even better with Arnie’s accent.

Paul Scheer is on How Long Gone this week, and I should be reading his new book instead of writing this right now. I actually had a celebrity encounter with Paul. He and I shared a cab the one and only time I went to the  Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah. I was there to DJ some bullshit and see if any gifting suites would let me do a “pull.” I remember snagging a handsome Filson shooting coat, armpit padding and all, made to cushion the recoil of my 12-gauge pump action, which I definitely used all the time back in Silver Lake, where I often went hunting. I probably sold it on eBay to buy needles or something (turntable). Paul was sitting shotgun, and I was in the back seat with my shopping bag. I may have hit him with a “Hey man, killed it on Human Giant”; he may have shrugged and looked back at his phone. Thinking back, I have no clue how or why we shared a taxi.

The turntable needles that I would lose and buy several times a year.

Here in New York, there are almost as many coffee shops as there are marijuana dispensaries, but you won’t see me in one before noon. I bring my collapsible coffee brewer on trips to countries where coffee only comes in the form of espresso, but when I’m wanderlusting in a drip-friendly megalopolis, I’ve grown to love my mornings spent clacking away on my laptop in the hotel restaurant. The old me never gave them much of a chance, mainly due to financial factors, but even more so because they seemed to be occupied only by stale businessmen and shiny Austrian families. 

Sometimes there’s a grand buffet full of muesli towers, strawberry yogurt, and sweaty sausage links. You’ll somehow end up spending $58 for a Denver omelet and an English muffin that you had to toast yourself in that crumb-stuffed conveyor belt. I’ll grab a couple pats of ice-cold butter and gently warm them on the toaster’s flat top, flipping them often so they don’t liquefy while standing there like a knob, waiting for my pucks to shoot out like two kids from a water slide. Luckily for me, I don’t eat much for breakfast.

I’m writing this from the lobby bar at the Standard, East Village, while I’m here in New York. Chris and I were bartenders on Bravo’s Watch What Happens Live with Andy Cohen last night. I flew in at the last minute to a booked and busy New York City, where much of the streaming industry is in town for the annual network “upfronts.” You can check out our unrelated TV debut on Peacock or some clips on YouTube. It feels nice to be in the city while it’s overrun with fellow inferior people from Los Angeles; there’s strength in numbers. I can blend in with the herd of Netflix producers migrating east for a week of team-building dinners in Midtown. If you can’t tell who’s from LA and who’s from New York, just look at the shoes.

Sure, I could save money, put on my outside clothes, and walk a few blocks to the bodega for a 32-ounce drip coffee and an egg sandwich for $10, then smuggle it back up the elevator to be eaten in bed. But that sets a dark precedent for the rest of my day. I’ll spend more money in the hotel, but it will be worth it for the feeling of knowing that my coffee mug and water glasses will continue to be refilled until I say no. It’s comforting to know that things won’t ever run out. I wasn’t hungry, but I treated myself to a warmed (Balthazar) croissant while the rain pattered the sunroom’s roof at the Standard—the perfect breakfast. 

While eavesdropping on a nearby table of two overly accessorized artists in town for a gala, I was reminded of something David Chang said recently. Chang gave a tip to uninitiated Korean BBQ diners: it’s considered bad form if you order more banchan, a (typically) free appetizer, and don’t finish eating it. As the sculptors exchanged words like “form” and “discipline,” two breakfast plates arrived at their table. Their server then asked if everything was to their liking. After a long silence, one of them mustered up the courage to announce the inequity: her dining partner’s toast pieces were noticeably larger than her own. I felt like a hunter again, giddy with excitement as a quail wandered into my crosshairs.

The server happily brought out a complimentary plate of toast—butter, jam, and all. I’d be watching Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives while spilling Nespresso on my sheets if I had stayed inside my room. Now I get to watch someone wearing $50,000 worth of jewelry eat four thick-cut pieces of toast—or, maybe even better, crow.

I was done with breakfast and ready to start my day, but now I had to sit there and see if Big Mama was going to take down all four slices. Forty-five minutes flew by as the two babbled on about cheating men and Rhode Island real estate, and I left one headphone off my ear to soak it all up. She began announcing how much she loved her breakfast and how full she was while toast plate number two had yet to be acknowledged. But I knew she was a woman of her word. I asked for the check as she buttered her final slice, never breaking eye contact or missing a beat in conversation. There’s a lesson to be learned somewhere in there.

Superiority Burger’s masking-taped Odeon tea towel.

What does one do after appearing on Watch What Happens Live? Drink a 5 p.m. martini at the Odeon. I’ve somehow never been inside Keith McNally’s 43-year-old restaurant before. The food is simple, and better than I thought it would be. But the room itself, of course, is a sanctified space—a Tenet-like turnstile into another time, maybe the ’40s, maybe 1998. It’s impossible to duplicate that unseen energy, so Keith is still revered despite the way his opinions make some people feel. Aside from his eye for lighting, I believe Keith’s real skill is hiring people who know how to attract other people, be it with chutzpah, comprehension, or just a great ass, and paying them well without hesitation. (A note after the fact: I know that Keith no longer owns The Odeon.)

Music Pairing

“The Rip,” Portishead (Via YouTube)

Beth Gibbons, the singer of Portishead, just released a solo record today. I haven’t had the chance to listen to it yet, so listen to this one instead. Despite it being released 14 years ago, it’s some of their newer work. I’d love a Challengers-style techno remix of this ever-building track.