My one pound bowl, in honor of Team Nissan.

I have two blogs to post; one about koan, the other about how amazeballs it is to edit with G.

Instead, I must defend a local establishment. Yes. I brandish a gauze covered hand forth, in defense of Chili John’s.

Places like Chili John’s are a rarity in L.A. It’s like Cheers sans alcohol; you go in, you sit down and jaw with others, and within minutes you choose your chili. No hipster self-awareness; the tchotckes are for reals. This is where people go to hang, to relax, to eat… not to be seen.

My choice is always straight chicken with a lot of tabasco. No rice, pasta or beans. Give me the meat.

Chili John’s is a Hammer Down Productions place of meet. Or meat. Whatever, we eat. So, yes, I protect it fiercely.

Yesterday, after an amazing editing session with Tom, the G-ster and I headed to CJ’s to feed our souls with some hot chili goodness. Last Saturday I was there and the good ladies gave me a piece of pie to heal my burn. BTW Debbie had burned her hand, and yet there she was, ladeling out delicious goodness. Chiliangel.

But this time, something was awry. Cathy and Debbie told us about this man, this Anthony, who left a derogatory post on their Facebook wall. An offhand comment… and the iPhones were whipped out.

We read it.

WTF. Sacrilege.

He suggested “improvements.” His improvements are tantamount to asking Hitchcock to not use a spiral shot. For Arturo to use less blood. For Corman to take more time… for Scorcese to not photograph a blooming rose… in essence, he suggested that Chili John’s conform to his generic wish-speak of a semi fast food restaurant.

Which is what Chili John’s should never do. CJ’s should live strong, spicy and authentic – as should you.

CJ’s is like what writing should be. CJ’s is real. It ain’t perfect. No one wants it to be. The chili steeps and stews. The prices fluctuate – a dollar here or there, reflective of the day. It is hot. It is sexy. At times it is unobtainable, like that girl in high-school – because for two solid months out of the year, and certain holidays, Chili John’s is closed.

My September iCal marked a chilibration. The previous month’s mistaken entry caused great grief, for G and I thought Chili John’s re-opened in August, during ITF auditions. I danced like a little girl at spring time at the thought of this gastronomic diversion… but the dance was denied. We discovered to our chagrin that we would have to wait until September to immerse ourselves and our souls in CJ’s hot chili goodness. Flash forward. September 4. Re-opening day. Hammer Down was there.

This place is home. When Team Nissan raced at Laguna Seca, I downed a one-pound bowl in their honor, wishing the BB a crash-free race. And though I was on a stool in Burbank, in my mind’s eye I was at the race, watching it frame by frame while Ms Morgan shot the hell out of it.

I’ve lost 5 pounds on a one month Chili John’s diet.

The women, Debbie and Cathy, are Ya-yas, aunties. They roll their eyes when G wants more hot. They know I want chicken chili right away. They’ve tended and clucked over my wound. They are home.

Oh. Back to topic.  Chili is like writing and directing. It’s messy… it’s real… and like Chili John’s chili,  a story best served is one that is authentic. It simmers for days… the ingredients meld and blend… it changes subtly day to day. It is, as Dracula cries, “The life.” It is beyond what feeds us… it is heart and soul.

And, like at Chili John’s, when I have a story beginning to form, G throws in the Insanity Sauce. Holy motherpussbucket, but that is one fun delicious bowl.

… and this “critic” does not get it. He has no notion of what home is; of how imperfection is brilliant. Of how, sometimes, we just need to sit down, relax… and eat chili.

Oh, Anthony, you are so cute. Take up golf. Get a life, Stop bashing this bowl of love that these amazing women dish out day after day. And… the love is not just what you eat. It’s what you give – and receive – when you hang in this beautiful place. Don’t like it? Carl’s Jr. has chili. But leave these ladies alone.

That you don’t get it makes me sorry for you, for there is so much beauty in the bowl – and in this soulful establishment.

And, BTW Anthony, I think G is stalking me. 😉

Now, all of you eat some chili

And go write

HRH, Princess Scribe