My Trip to Oz, Part Two

Day 2

While I slept in, Jane explored the fitness center at the hotel. Luckily, she brought back some espresso and fresh baked muffins for me to enjoy in bed! What a fabulous way to start the day. . .

After cleaning up a bit, we strolled down to Blvd, the restaurant on the main floor of the hotel, for breakfast. At my house, this meal usually consists of coffee, cereal and half a banana. Here, it was an event to be savored and enjoyed. Hollywood powerbrokers in suits had meetings at surrounding tables, while tourists looked up eagerly every time a new party was seated, hoping it would be a celebrity. We sipped our cappuccinos, and lingered over eggs benedict with lobster, an omelet with wild mushrooms and truffles, and toast with fig jam. Then off to the spa. . .

After slipping into yet another robe, Jane and I sipped fresh mango juice and headed for the steam room in preparation for our massages. Twinkling lights on the ceiling cut through hot fog as I felt my whole body warm up and truly relax. Down a hallway dotted with candles and flowers in mini vases at our feet, we reclined in the “Tranquility Room” as we waited for our masseuses. An hour later, Jane and I met up again for our manicures. It was more pampering than I had ever experienced in one day! Feeling terrific, complete with gorgeous nails, we decided to spend the afternoon at the pool, before meeting Jennifer for dinner.

Everyone in California talked about “June gloom” – a term we had never heard before. Basically it meant that the mornings were cloudy, and around noon the sky turned completely blue and clear, and the day heated up to the upper 70s. We were having so much fun, we couldn’t imagine complaining about the weather – especially when the afternoons were so sunny and warm!

At the pool we reclined on our chaises, soaking up the sun’s rays, in between dips in the pool and the hot tub. We ordered rum drinks and some elegant hors d’oeuvres, then donned our sunglasses and enjoyed the view!

Unfortunately, while Jane’s skin turned a pleasant bronze, mine turned bright red. (We have long winters in Wisconsin. My complexion usually matches the snow.) Getting ready for our dinner date at Asia de Cuba, I tried to pick out an outfit that would hide my sunburn. After modeling my ensemble, Jane looked at me and shook her head. “It’s fine. But you don’t look fabulous. You need to look FABULOUS tonight!” She immediately took out every piece of clothing she’d packed and started putting together outfits for me to try. “This top with this skirt. Okay no, try this other top. Okay, what about a little sweater over that? Maybe a dress?” This went on for awhile.

Finally I was outfitted in a slinky, long sleeved black top, a knee-length print skirt, black sandals and vintage jewelry, all courtesy of Jane. I put on my sunglasses (Prada knock-offs I had purchased in Italy years ago) and felt like a movie star. I tucked a couple of Jennifer’s books in my purse so I could get her autograph, and we were ready to go!

A little nervous, we gawked at the huge, Spanish style mansions as our driver wound around the streets of Beverly Hills, taking us to the Mondrian Hotel. As we entered the lobby, it was hard not to stare at all the “beautiful people.” I had the distinct impression we had walked into the middle of a Dolce and Gabbana photoshoot. But once we gave our names to the maitre’d, I was immediately put at ease – there waiting for us was Jennifer Weiner, looking just like her picture on the back of my books, casual and relaxed, checking her iphone for messages. Her face lit up when she saw us, and she gave us each a hug, congratulating us and welcoming us to LA.

The whole evening was wonderful – and went by so quickly! Since it was still early, Jennifer ushered us up to the hotel’s Sky Bar for incredible mojitos. Sitting in the open air lounge, looking down on the pool and a panoramic view of the city of Los Angeles, we sipped our drinks and giggled – yes, giggled – as we described our stay at the Beverly Wilshire thus far.

Then I concentrated mightily on keeping my borrowed black sandals on my feet (they were one size too big) as we walked back to the restaurant, Asia de Cuba. An intimate dining room done all in white, we were seated at a premiere table directly in front of a large window that afforded us another incredible view of the city. Our waiter came over to explain the culinary concept – Asian/Latin food served family style with dishes arriving as soon as they were ready. Studying the menu, Jane and I were relieved when Jennifer offered to order her favorites – which all turned out to be insanely delicious.

Over our fried calamari salad, scallops on a bed of corn and plantain puree, and hoisin glazed spare ribs, all three of us talked about writing, about our kids, and about our impressions of California. Jennifer told us some behind-the-scenes stories of the television industry, and the excitement of seeing one of her series proposals finally make it to production. Checking her iphone occasionally, she gave us reports from the set, where they pre-shot several scenes of this week’s episode of The State of Georgia. As we feasted on dessert – a plate of Mexican doughnuts rolled in cinnamon and sugar, injected with caramel – we watched the lights of the city emerge as the sun went down. I marveled again at my good fortune to be in this amazing city, in the presence of amazing, talented women – my best friend Jane and one of my favorite authors, Jennifer Weiner.

Back at the hotel that night, before heading up to our room, Jane and I peeked into the restaurant “Cut” on the ground floor of the Beverly Wilshire. We had decided that a Wolfgang Puck steakhouse with no prices on the menu was probably not on our itinerary, but we did want to see the elegant restaurant in action. Suddenly I saw a short, gray haired man in chef’s whites walking toward the host station – it was Wolfgang Puck himself! He greeted us and shook our hands. What a marvelous celebrity sighting for a foodie like me!

Went to bed feeling fabulous indeed.

What I did on my summer vacation. . .

It all started when my 2-year-old son Charlie was taking a nap. Taking a quiet moment to check my Facebook page, I noticed Jacquelyn Mitchard had posted a link to a contest from Good in Bed author Jennifer Weiner. She encouraged everyone to “like” Jennifer’s page, and write a short essay (175 words!) about a memorable moment in the last decade to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the break-out novel. Someone was going to win an AMAZING prize.

Which brings us to my friend Jane and me. Former co-workers, we are women in our 40s with to-do lists and carpools and wonderful kid, demanding jobs, and lots of responsibilities. We are busy. We don’t call each other in the middle of the day just to giggle. Or, we didn’t, until we found out I won the contest and we were going to Beverly Hills.

The next week was filled with dozens of giddy emails containing research on restaurants, Hollywood tourist sites, and what one should wear when walking along Rodeo Drive. For two women from the Midwest, this was going to be an incredible experience!

Day 1

Finally the big day arrived. Jane and I took our seats in first class on our trip from Madison to Minneapolis, then Minneapolis to Los Angeles, and once again the giggling commenced.  Veterans of coach seating, we were amazed by the “star treatment” we received -- hot towels distributed by flight attendants, free drinks in real glasses, and a lovely lunch served on china. As we reclined in our large, leather clad seats, we marveled at the extravagance, enjoying every second of the luxurious service.

When we met our driver at the airport (also a new experience), he was surprised that we had only two small carry-on bags. (I suppose his regular clients are Hollywood starlets lugging tons of designer suitcases wherever they go!)  From the backseat of the enormous black SUV, our driver pointed out landmarks that we had only seen in movies and on television before. Palm trees lined the streets and mansions dotted the hills in the distance. Everywhere plants and bushes were exploding with exotic-looking flowers in purple and red.  Finally we pulled into the private drive of the Beverly Wilshire, the hotel made famous in the movie Pretty Woman, behind an orange Lamborghini. Doormen rushed to help us from the car and whisked our luggage away.

After the long flight and a two-hour time change, we wandered into the lobby of the Beverly Wilshire a bit dazed, but determined to take it all in. The entry was so much more grand in person than it appeared in photos on the website – the huge crystal chandelier shimmered above a central table festooned with flowers in vases of varying heights. This centerpiece was off-set by towering columns, dark wood, and an in-laid marble floor.  In no time a uniformed porter was pressing the elevator button for us, and leading us up to our room on the third floor, in the older “Beverly” wing.

Our suite was the picture of elegance. Fluffy white robes hung in an enormous, marble tiled bathroom. Slippers awaited us in the closet, and flat screened TVs occupied both the bedroom and the living room areas. As we feasted on fresh chocolate dipped cherries, a raspberry tart, and cookies that had been artfully arranged on the coffee table as a welcome, Jane and I dissolved in giggles again. This really was going to be a trip like no other.

Since we each had family in LA, we decided to split up for the night and visit relatives. My sister- and brother-in-law gave me a quick driving tour of LA (the Hollywood sign, Graumann’s Chinese Theater, the walk of fame, the Paramount lot) and then we caught up over margaritas at their house in Culver City.

By the time I came back to the hotel, it was 1:30am central time and my beautiful, sumptuous bed was just what I needed.

My blog's namesake

And because some of you have already asked. . .here is a butter duck.

This one is made from one stick of butter and two cloves for eyes, although previous generations evidently used an entire pound of butter.  . . .which is a lot of dairy to be smushing through your fingers.  I have a system down now -- I've been doing this for 30 years, so they don't take long, which is good since there is a very small window in which the butter is warm enough to mold but cold enough not to liquefy.

I brought this one to my friend Lindsay's holiday party last year, which resulted in a lot of speculation and some levity. Notice the knife nearby. . .I always say that while they are indeed meant to be eaten, you can tell a lot about a person by which part of the duck they go for first. I usually take a bit from the wing or tail. Some people lop the head off. Takes all kinds, of course. . . 

Local Girl Wins Trip to Oz

So, a few months ago I entered a writing contest sponsored by chick-lit star Jennifer Weiner. (Good in Bed, In her Shoes, etc.) She asked participants to describe a memorable moment in the last ten years of their lives, in 175 words or less.

Searching for the right subject, I thought of my wedding. The birth of my children. I thought of weddings and funerals of friends, of graduations. . .but they seemed so cliche.  Then I thought about moving to Madison in 2003. I was a newly single mom working in the for-profit world for the first time, supporting myself in every way, also for the first time.

This is what I wrote:

I told the relocation realtor what I wanted: Someplace new and quiet, with a dishwasher. A garage. Wall-to-wall carpet. Instead, she gave me what I needed.

The red brick apartment building was built in 1937. Right downtown, it was surrounded by once stately homes, worn down by decades of student tenants. The building’s second owner, an elderly woman in a wool suit and heels, showed me around. Polished hardwood floors, impossibly high ceilings, and dozens of windows with original, uneven glass. Butter colored subway tile in the bathroom and a cast iron tub. A kitchen the size of a closet. Radiators. One parking spot out back and no AC.

“What do you think?” I asked my sometimes boyfriend, who might miss me after I moved, but not enough to call.

“You’re not tough enough to live here. You need some safe, generic suburb.”

Maybe he was right. I had a new job in a new city. A new life after a splintering, jagged divorce. Everything seemed so hard.

He drove away. I signed the lease.

There is a famous quote (attributed to many different people including Mark Twain and Blaise Pascal) that "I didn't have time to write a short letter, so I wrote a long one." This exercise brought that quote to mind. . .and also made me focus on the choice of every word and the necessity of filling sentences with as much meaning as possible, since I had very little space. At the end of my paragraph composition I made a note to do things like this more often, because it was great practice for writing with precision. I hit send and kind of forgot about it.

Then, to my great shock and surprise, I won the contest.

My prize was a 4 day trip to LA,  where I would live a Hollywood starlet. And though I had no previous aspirations to do so, I had a crazy amount of fun, AND got to meet Ms. Weiner, who is incredibly funny and lovely in person. AND I got to see her new TV show State of Georgia being taped. The whole thing was incredible.

So that you can live vicariously through me, I'll post my diary entries from the trip over the next few days, along with some pictures. Still can't believe it all happened to me. . .

Let me introduce myself. . .

My name is Gwen Rice, I'm the communications director for Forward Theater Company in Madison, WI. I'm also a writer of plays, short stories, creative non-fiction, and snappy headlines. I am easily seduced by creativity, wit, talent, and red wine. I love making pie, going to the farmer's market every Saturday in the summer, throwing dinner parties, and checking things off my to-do list.

The name of this blog, in case you were wondering, (and I'd be surprised if you weren't) refers to a family tradition that's been passed down to me from my great-great grandmother. Generations of women in my family, farming in Iowa, churned butter and then shaped it by hand -- no molds here! -- into the shape of duck. This served as an edible centerpiece for every special occasion. They grew so popular that legend has it, some my intrepid ancestors also sold them to their neighbors. These days I make them for Christmas and Thanksgiving and anytime I want to bring a conversation piece to a party. My sons are in their experimental phase with butter animal sculpture, but someday I'm sure we'll have a mama duck and ducklings gracing my table, just like my mom did.

When I dabbled in catering (mostly just making holiday food for friends) I improvised the name for my business -- Butter Duck Catering. So when it came to naming the blog I wanted something unique and personal . . .I'm guessing there aren't many other butter animal monikers out on the interweb.

So, anyway. . . I'm planning to post bits and pieces of fiction I'm writing or revising. Please enjoy. If you have a suggestion for making the piece better, please share. If you don't like it, be patient. You might like the next story.