I've written a bit (a bit, she says?) about salsa dance, and the community of salseros I know here in Los Angeles, but not so much about the girlfriends I have made during my time around the dance floor. So, let's focus on the salseras for the moment.
I have become good friends with a lovely woman named Dora. Dora, like my frister Diana, is Russian (although Diana was born in Shanghai and grew up in Montreal, and met her husband, Brendan, in Mexico, but that is a story entitled to its own post, which I will call The Passport; coming soon to
Dora recently took some time off from salsa, something we all do now and again. During Dora's absence, I danced a few times at Mama Juana's on a Saturday night. I don't usually do this. I usually spend my Saturdays with Billy; and every other Saturday we book with friends (at least that is the general plan, though it is hard to stick to this, calendars taking on a life of their own as they do). But there were a few salsero birthdays celebrated on Saturdays; as well as one of my favorite salsa groups performing, and that would be Ricardo Lemvo (who is wonderful and you can find out more about him here).
So, while Dora was away, I started hanging out with Jo, Carol, and the girls (which is what they call their circle of friends). I met Jo back in the day when I was dancing in Pasadena at a club called Vive, and have frequently seen her at a variety of clubs through the years. This girl loves her dance, and is out there a lot. And so is Carol. While Dora was on hiatus, Carol kept me updated as to what was going on and where they were dancing. The texts were flying, and I was grateful.
One of the birthdays celebrated during this time was Darryl's. Darryl owns Mama Juana's, and I had just gotten to know him shortly before his birthday. He has a huge personality; is a lively storyteller, and I enjoyed our 'dates' -- sitting at a table talking while class was still going on and I was waiting to get on the dance floor.
The Sunday before Darryl's birthday, Jo and Carol were sitting at a booth on the dance floor when I arrived. On the table was a large plate with about a dozen cupcakes on it. Half of the cupcakes were pink, the other half had white frosting with broken bits of candy on the top. When offered one, I demurred. Salsa and cake go together real good (I'm using bad grammar for effect), but I like my cake at the end of an evening of hard cardio. No one is more surprised at this than I. You might think the last thing you would want when you and everyone around you are sweaty, spent, and, most likely, dehydrated, is cake. But cake never tastes as good; even for someone like me, who doesn't really skew towards the sweet end of the spectrum when it comes to snacks. It tastes insanely good -- any variety of it, be it carrot, chocolate, whatever. Bring out a cake at the end of an evening of salsa and you will create a feeding frenzy. However, at this juncture, I hadn't begun to dance, so I wasn't yet sweatyspentdehydrated. But, I was eyeing those cupcakes. Can I have one later? I asked.
Sometime during the course of the evening, I noticed, with some chagrin, that the plate had disappeared. Too bad, I thought. They really had looked tasty. It turned out that Carol had brought them for Darryl to choose which variety he preferred, for Carol planned to bake cupcakes for his birthday party. The pink ones were white cake with a raspberry-cream cheese frosting piped on top. They were pretty. The other ones were chocolate cake with cream cheese frosting and broken bits of Butterfinger candy bars on top. I wanted one of those.
Carol and I walked out together at the end of the evening, and I mentioned that the cupcakes had disappeared. I think they're in the kitchen, she said. As we walked by, I peeked through the window of the kitchen, and saw the plate sitting on a counter close by the door. On it was one lone Butterfinger cupcake and a half of a raspberry one, with a short stack of paper plates alongside. I opened the door about a foot. There was only one person in the kitchen and she looked up at me. Can I have this? I asked, pointing at the plate. Sure, came the response. So Carol and I left Mama Juana's with me balancing the lone Butterfinger cupcake on a paper late. I'm going to take it home, I said to Carol. Which was my plan . . .
It sat on the passenger seat of my car as I started the engine and pulled away from the curb. I glanced at it a few times, just to make sure it was ok there, sitting on the seat, all alone. It was still sitting there, staring at me, when I executed a U-turn at the corner; and headed west on Cahuenga Boulevard towards home. I got about a block away from Mama Juana's. Maybe just a bite, I said to myself, as I tucked in to that cupcake. And, the sad truth is that you probably know what happened next. I had it half down by the time I passed Vineland Avenue; all gone by the time I hit Tujunga. No need to Mapquest; we're talking less than a mile, and bye-bye cupcake.
I texted Carol when I got home: That was the best cupcake I have ever had in my life! And, it was. She texted me back: Wow! Did you take 'nice' lessons? No, I didn't (ask Billy). A week later, at Darryl's birthday party at Mama Juana's, Carol brought out the cupcakes Darryl had chosen: the pretty white ones with the piped, raspberry-cream cheese frosting. She had help bringing them out. She had baked one hundred and twenty cupcakes! It was a fun night, with lots of dancing that culminated in consuming the second-best cupcake I have ever eaten in my life. Or maybe they could be tied for first. I'll have to try them both again sometime, in order to decide for sure. This experiment best carried out at the end of a night of dancing. Life is short, dance and eat cupcakes! And thank you for reading my blog.
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