table talk / By Joseph Byrd

Secret Ingredients

Part I: Angostura bitters, chicken base and dill. Don’t tell anyone.

(June 12, 2008)  In the days when we thought we had money, we used to go for breakfast to The Crest House in Culver City, a big “family restaurant” with a dark, dingy bar attached. We’d play racquetball for an hour, shower, then sit in the bar (away from the “family” section) and have Bloody Marys and a big breakfast that lasted us ‘til evening.

Chuck, a crusty bartender right out of a sitcom, made the best Bloody Mary we’ve ever had, and when we left L.A. he gave us the recipe. I promised never to share it, but one secret was Angostura bitters, lots of it, which provides a deep, ineffable sweetness. Expensive, perhaps, but bars can afford to bump up their non-alcoholic ingredients since their profit margin is obscene.

GALLERY >

Back to The Crest House. After a while, we segued into our practice of unusual breakfasts. I don’t remember when we first discovered that the previous day’s baked-macaroni-and-cheese was a winner, but thereafter, whenever we could get it, we did. It featured chopped ham, something we’d never encountered, but beyond that it was simply the best goddamn mac-and-cheese around. I tried to make it on my own — aged cheddar, sweet butter, Italian rigatoni and so on — but nothing I did matched theirs.

We’d gotten to know the chef, Gus. A tall, graying Chicano autocrat of the kitchen, he operated on a very strict food-cost spreadsheet — although this was long before spreadsheets. (He baked macaroni in huge stainless-steel inserts, which were then transferred to the steam tables, whence they would be scooped into au gratin dishes and put under the salamander to brown.) There was a tang, a special flavor at the root of his sauce. Not exactly cheese, but what was it?

We asked. Sorry, he smiled; it was one of his specialties. “It’s all up here,” and he tapped his temple. “I write it down, they don’t need me; they can hire some kid who can follow directions.” And that was that.

At least until we decided to leave the music business and move to Humboldt County. “Gus,” I pleaded, “We can’t live without your macaroni. The people up there are uncivilized. They think macaroni-and-cheese is Kraft Dinner.” And he relented. A very special favor, he smiled, but don’t tell anyone.

The Crest House closed in 2005, the property sold to developers, and by now has turned into condominiums, like much of the west part of L.A. So Gus’ secret can be safely revealed.

Sorry, fellow gourmets, it was ordinary commercial chicken base. You used to have to get that in restaurant supply stores, but now it’s available as Better Than Base. (Which it isn’t, really, other than that it contains yeast extract instead of monosodium glutamate.)

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