Trial and Error at Ventura Harbor Village

Two weeks ago, my father and I went downstairs to the elections department in the lower plaza of the Ventura County Government Center in Ventura (conveniently down the street from where we live) so he could register to permanently vote by mail.

While we waited for his application to be processed, I got to talking again with the delightful bearded guy behind the counter and the subject came around to Ojai, where he had grown up. I told him that whenever we went to Ojai, namely my mom, my sister and I lately, we always go to Ojai Pizza Company, which my mom loves for the pizza and which I love for their iced tea, which comes from Peerless Coffee & Tea in Oakland. I love the Ojai Library for its wood-paneled reading room atmosphere, and that iced tea matches the atmosphere, although I can't bring it there because they don't allow it in there, or any other food or drink. But while I do drink it, I imagine myself in the library in it, no matter if we're in Ojai Pizza Company or eating at the beautiful park nearby.

The elections guy told me that his favorite thing at Ojai Pizza Company is a calzone with pepperoni, pineapple and extra black olives. It appealed to me because I love calzones, empanadas, any foodstuff that's enclosed. Even McDonald's apple pie once in a great while. Then I raved to him about the pico de gallo that comes with the quesadilla and possibly more at Bonnie Lu's Country Cafe, also in Ojai, about how that pico de gallo is not only the freshest I've ever tasted, but it had to have been made by some means of a magical alchemy or by fairies themselves in the kitchen. There's no other explanation for how spiritually incredible that pico de gallo is, and obviously I've never forgotten it.

But even as we talked about that pico de gallo, and how he told me, shockingly, that he's never had it, I was thinking about his calzone recommendation. We haven't been to Ojai Pizza Company, or even Ojai itself, since before the sheer fright of the Thomas Fire that also bore down on Ojai. We figured to let time pass after the fire for everything to get back to normal in Ojai, including the water supply (for my iced tea), before we ventured back there. But life got in the way. Me and my sister's constant job hunting. My father ending up in the hospital again owing to a kidney infection and a severely low white blood cell count. Him gradually recovering from that eight-day stay and getting back on chemotherapy. More job hunting. Looking to live somewhere else in Ventura, namely the apartments behind Ralphs. Us exploring in full what might be available there and eventually finding the unit that's right for us, with about 30 square feet more than our current apartment, and slightly more space to work with, including more walls than we imagined, which means more spots to hang pictures, based on the mirror-image apartment we walked through on the second floor of the building across from our new apartment, which showed us what we will have. The apartment complex is still under construction, with so many interiors still to be done, but ours should be ready by mid-July.

So much to do. So little time to return to our favorite haunts, including the Oaks mall in Thousand Oaks, which I consider the best mall in Southern California. But we want to try as soon as possible before things get really busy, before we move again, before we essentially start living a new life in which Mom has said that the only reason she'll move again is to the beach if we ever have that opportunity, most likely by winning the lottery. Otherwise, this is the place, not least because it's her castle, as she said, along with an apartment number that matches her birthday, the first time the number of an apartment is for her. It's always been for the rest of us.

Thus, at that counter, I thought about that calzone. It appealed to me since I love black olives, any kind of olives really, a genetic gift from my mother. I could go for that at Ojai Pizza Company. Or maybe not. We haven't been to Ojai since last October or November. It will be easy to cover ground at the Ojai Library again since I'll look at the new releases, which are better than what the E.P. Foster Library in downtown Ventura offers, and certainly better than what my local Hill Road Library has. I'll look at the expansive back wall of novels since there's always something there that pops out to me. But a pepperoni, pineapple, and black olive calzone? I've tried the pizza at Ojai Pizza Company, but I've grown attached to the vegetarian sandwich they have there, which is zucchini, mushroom, red onion, roasted bell pepper, black olive, and tomato. I don't ask for any extras. I love it just the way it is. So would it be worth trying that calzone, risking it being just ok, despite my love of calzones? Probably not, because of how long it's been since we were there. If we go to Ojai soon, and then again before the end of the year, then maybe I'll try the calzone. That would be the better plan.

It was the same at Ventura Harbor Village yesterday. The trial the past two times we were there is that the arcade hadn't fixed my beloved Galaga machine, only beloved because Galaga's on it, not necessarily the machine itself. The second-to-last time we were there, the image was all stretched out, and I couldn't even see the ship to determine where I was at the bottom of the screen, to try to dodge the aliens' weapons. I could see what I fired, but I was moving left to right and right to left blindly. Then the last time we went, the machine was off, out of order, and I left a note on an index card on the machine, from the perspective of the aliens and the fighter, imploring the arcade to fix it because, "Have you seen Wreck-It Ralph? Do you know what happens to arcade games that are out of order and are then not fixed? Help us!"

After eating at Andria's Seafood Restaurant, which my mom loves for their homemade tartar sauce and cocktail sauce (it was my parents' 36th wedding anniversary and Mom saw that as the best place to celebrate. She was right), Meridith and I stopped at the arcade on the way to Coastal Cone for ice cream to see if the Galaga machine was fixed. It was fixed as best as could be. I could see the fighter, although where you look to see how many lives you have left, you could only see the tip of the nose of the fighter. If this was the arcade at Sam's Town in Las Vegas, or at Sunset Station in Henderson, or the arcade at The Orleans in Vegas, I would have complained. But this is Ventura, a small town. I'm grateful just to have a working machine, although I haven't been back to Golf 'n Stuff on Walker Street near where we live lately to see if that Galaga machine is still there. Those are the only two that I know I have. That's good enough for me. But I need to know that they're working, that they're still there. And this one was, though I didn't go for it right away, not only because we were going to have ice cream, but I found three credits someone had left in the Pirates of the Caribbean pinball machine, and I wasn't going to give up that opportunity.

The errors came with what I had at Andria's and at Coastal Cone. I didn't have to think long and hard about what I was going to have at Andria's. Clam chowder. I love clam chowder and Andria's clam chowder is nice enough. Having fresh clams in it makes a wonderful difference of course. But the error in this latest visit was that I ordered a piece of Andria's fish, which they don't list specifically as they do their cod and halibut. The fish was fine, but it turns out I didn't need a piece of fried fish alongside my clam chowder. The clam chowder had been enough, and Meridith shared some of her fries with me. She likes their fries there, since she can dip them in tartar sauce to block out some of the potato taste (she doesn't like potatoes, but there are certain kinds of fries she likes), but gives me the more mealy ones. Of course, there are potatoes too in the chowder, but to me, the fries at Andria's are the best in Ventura, just like the fries at Raising Cane's were, and most likely still are, the best in the Las Vegas Valley. Next time, it's just clam chowder for me and if Meridith happens to order anything with fries again (this time it was calamari and it was much better calamari than the last time we went), I'll have a few. I don't need a big piece of fried fish alongside the sanctity of Andria's clam chowder.

Then there was the error at Coastal Cone. I had been looking at their menu online the two nights before we went, wondering what to order. On May 31st, we had gone to Baskin-Robbins in the 99 Cents Only shopping center on South Victoria for their $1.50 scoops, which they do every 31st in a month. I had a scoop of butter pecan there, and a scoop of Mom's Makin' Cookies, which turned out to be one of their best flavors. Brown sugar-flavored ice cream, chocolate chip cookie pieces, chocolate flavored chips and a cookie dough batter ribbon. The butter pecan there? I forgot how utterly bland it was and was forcefully reminded this time. I needed butter pecan back, especially the Thrifty version that's offered at Coastal Cone. To me, that's the best one.

But then I saw on the menu on Coastal Cone's website that they had a 1950's Malt, which is vanilla ice cream, double malted milk, and Hershey's syrup. I love malts, and this sounded perfect. But vanilla? With how infrequently we visit Coastal Cone, I wasn't going to waste $8.50 on vanilla (the prices went up at Coastal Cone and at Andria's, likely because whoever owns the Ventura Harbor Village property raised the rents). And I've also returned to my love of brownies (not excessively, since I'm losing weight pretty well right now, not least because of all the stress I've been going through in the past year and a half, and Dad's latest hospital stay helped me drop a few pounds immediately), so there was also a chocolate walnut brownie ice cream flavor there. Perfect! I'd get more of a texture of something despite ice cream being blended into an almost-liquid. Some blended-up walnuts, brownie pieces. It sounded good! Yes!

Of course it sounds good before you have it. The ice cream itself is good, when it's ice cream. And I got my malt, a double scoop, but walnut pieces kept getting stuck at the tip of the straw along with fake-tasting brownie pieces as it turned out, and I realized I had squandered my chance at Coastal Cone. I should have gotten two scoops of butter pecan in a cup (I'm not one for cones, unless the cone is something really special, and their fish-shaped waffle cones are smaller in person than they're shown online), and I would have been very happy with that.

I've tried butter pecan in a malt at Coastal Cone before, and for me, it just doesn't work. I need the texture of the ice cream and the pecans located prominently throughout. If it was any other ice cream place, say somewhere in L.A. that basically requires a two-day drive from Ventura (everything is further away here than it was in Santa Clarita, and if we have to make such a drive, then I want the Getty Center or Philippe's French dip sandwiches in downtown L.A., or Langer's Deli well before some ice cream place), then I'll try a malt again at one of those places since I don't care about the ice cream as much as I do at Coastal Cone and also at Ojai Ice Cream, where those ice creams are homemade.

Next time, it's only clam chowder at Andria's and only butter pecan ice cream at Coastal Cone. Galaga works, thankfully, and after Coastal Cone, I played it four times. I know that every kind of ideal one seeks is a process of trial and error. And I have it down at Pho & Tea at the Pacific View Mall, where I always get Vietnamese iced coffee and their pork sausage spring rolls. Next time, I might venture toward a Vietnamese grilled pork sandwich, but I know already that it's good, since I had it when I was first experimenting there, back when it was called Pholicious, when I was looking for what was right for me, besides the Vietnamese iced coffee, which I know is always right, and which is the only coffee I ever drink, to the exclusion of all other coffees. I suppose it's a good record, though, being that I've nearly hit upon what's right for me at Andria's within two years (the year before we moved, and nearly a year that we've lived here in Ventura) and at Coastal Cone. In this town, in this region, it's accessibility, based on how often you get to each place. In Vegas, it was easy. 99 Ranch Market on South Maryland Parkway was almost right there, for my Vietnamese iced coffee, and #1 Hawaiian Barbecue on the outskirts of the Walmart shopping center at the back of McCarran International on South East Avenue was almost right there, for my roast pork, and they could always be had. Here, you take time. You really think about things. After the interesting distractions to be had in Santa Clarita and moreso outside of it, and in Las Vegas, Ventura strips your life down to the bare essentials, and it's scary at times. But here, you really do figure out what matters and what to do next and where to go next. At this point in my life, it feels right, knowing what truly matters while looking for my place here.

More of the Same of My Southern California Dream Home

More pictures of the same spot, looking up at my dream home at Ventura Harbor Village.

Two things came to mind today as I thought about this location: First, I'm not even sure if there's a shower in the square footage behind these windows. A bathroom there must surely be, but are these units also for living? If so, then there should be a small kitchen too. I'll probably never find out, but that's how I'd like it if I became a resident.



All I'd need in that apartment is a bed, a couch, a coffee table, a TV, a DVD player, and basic cable (for Jeopardy! and The Big Bang Theory on CBS), and I'd devote the rest of my space to bookshelves. Inspiration for my own writing would come from what I have on those shelves, what I get every week from a hopefully nearby library, and just by walking the grounds of Ventura Harbor Village. Tourists wander, the line grows long at Coastal Cone, and I can always watch boats sail the harbor, as well as gawk at the mammoth ones that are docked at various slips.



The price for a bowl of New England clam chowder at Andria's Seafood Restaurant is $6.09. If I hit the lottery or had a job there that pays well enough to maintain such a harborside lifestyle, then yes, I could have it every day for lunch if I wanted, but I wouldn't want to get tired of it. So once in a while for lunch, on an idle Tuesday or Wednesday that just feels right for it.



My preferred space is the third window on the right. In yesterday's entry, I linked to the hardcover edition of The Ha Ha by Dave King. Where the foot of the bed is in that photo is where I'd place my bed under that window on the right. It feels right. For me, it would also feel like every day is the weekend. Every day should feel like the weekend anyway, but being that my dad is a teacher, and I'm a substitute campus supervisor, Monday through Friday feels like Monday through Friday. Not so much in dreading Mondays because any day you get paid is a good day, but just that schedule of the week with weekends off that makes a Friday feel like the universe has aligned itself, and Saturdays and Sundays entirely up to you. Or maybe it's just where we live right now. Once in Henderson, I'm sure I can make every day feel like the weekend. There's more to see and do there than there is here.



Ventura Harbor Village has a Greek restaurant called The Greek at the Harbor. I'd be set. They've got feta cheese, and moussaka, and baklava. They've also got window seating where you can look out at some of the boats. Feta cheese and that view would suit me fine.



Lately in my head, I've been hanging out at Fashion Outlets of Las Vegas in Primm, right near the Nevada/California border, and the Buena Park Mall in Buena Park, where Po Folks used to be, and where Knott's Berry Farm is. For a long time, I've been fascinated by that mall's utter straightforwardness. Nothing to try to entice shoppers to go there. It's just there, and people do go there, and they shop there, which I know is the purpose of every mall, but this is also a rare mall where you can feel history hanging heavily over the area. It's not just perhaps the ghosts of Buena Park's founding fathers, but also past citizens themselves. It's the one city I know of in Southern California that keeps its history alive, and even if it didn't, you could still feel it like you do when you're walking around wherever you are in Buena Park.

I've also thought about Ventura Harbor Village beyond these entries. Because of it and San Juan Capistrano, I've always been amazed that peace can be found in Southern California. It's not a frantic rush to wherever you need to go, wherever you have to go, and whatever you have to do. Life can exist without that silent pressure. I don't have it anymore since I know I'll be going home to Nevada soon enough, but I hope there are people in Southern California who do call that part of Ventura, and San Juan Capistrano, home, for the reasons that I believe it can be home. They must appreciate it every day. It seems like it would be a good life, but maybe even more if the state wasn't so overtaxed. Plus I don't drive freeways, and once I'm out of California, I'm never coming back. It'll be home in my imagination until I arrive home and then it'll be in the back of my mind. I won't have to fantasize anymore. But I will always appreciate what Ventura Harbor Village has done for me and my imagination, because I felt relaxed and I was shown that life exists outside that franticness, and it set me on a course to find better for myself, which I've found in Las Vegas and Henderson. You can't ever forget a locale that does something like that.

My Southern California Dream Home

If I was a different Rory L. Aronsky, content to live in Southern California for the rest of my life, and making enough money to move wherever I want without concern, or hitting the lottery to the same effect, I know exactly where I would want to live.

At Ventura Harbor Village, in Ventura, above the arcade containing my beloved Galaga machine, above Coastal Cone where a butter pecan malt tastes oh so sweet and oh so wonderful, there is square footage up there, separated by walls, that could conceivably be used as offices. A psychiatrist could hang a sign there if they wanted, or a real estate agent, or some business that requires an office in place.

Outside the back exit of the arcade, next to a pair of restrooms, I stand north, looking up at windows that make up my favorite spot, above a carved-in sign that says "More Shops and Restaurants":



This is my Southern California dream home. I'm not sure what the square footage is behind any of those windows, but I would set up an apartment there. I would want to live at the harbor, looking out at all the boats, sitting on a bench having a butter pecan malt, and playing Galaga whenever the arcade is open. All I would need to know is how close I am to the nearest library.

In fact, there's a novel called The Ha Ha by Dave King that I bought last month, 30% for the novel itself, and 70% for the cover, because it reminded me of standing on that very spot where that picture was taken, imagining the window open just a bit, the blinds up just a bit, the foot of my bed right under that window, and me laying on it, reading. I could make a peaceful life for myself there because I feel so at ease every time I go there. Sure, there may be problems in Ventura itself, issues that have festered, but unlike the Santa Clarita Valley, where I feel like I'm crushed under so much bullshit disguised as passivity (though I've sadly gotten used to it over the years, and will be well over it by the time we move), being at Ventura Harbor Village makes you feel like no matter if there are problems, there is a time for them and that's not this time. Not so much ignoring for the sake of relief, but a more easygoing nature toward solving issues.

This is where I would be, happily, if I was a different me.