A crop of fresh faces on 3rd Street

Los Angeles — 

Our mission was as well planned as the Lakers’ triangle offense: Complete two days of holiday shopping along Hollywood’s ever-changing 3rd Street, between the shiny new Grove plaza and the not-so-shiny Beverly Center mall, and for convenience and amusement spend the night nearby at the newly remodeled Farmer’s Daughter Hotel, across from the Farmers Market.

My father and my father-in-law seem to have everything they want, making gift buying a challenge. We thought a trip to 3rd Street’s unusual boutiques might prove more fruitful than the Glendale Galleria near home.

Before I set out with my wife, Candace, a.k.a. Cheese, we left our 11-month-old daughter, Sophie, a.k.a. Monkey, with her grandma and grandpa. Terry, my father-in-law, handed Cheese a new $100 bill.

“If I knew you were shopping for me, I’d have brought you more money,” he said.

Wow. Not only was he watching Monkey for the night, but he was paying us to split. Things were looking up.

The 45-minute drive took us through parts of Hollywood we hadn’t seen in some time. You gotta love Hollywood: Driving down Fairfax Avenue, we followed a woman chatting on her cellphone and steering erratically. The guy in back of us was brushing his teeth as he drove. As Sinatra said, “This town, baby.”

We pulled up to the hotel and noticed the light-blue checkered paint job, part of the 66-room property’s overhaul completed a few weeks ago.

“It looks like a picnic table,” Cheese said.

But we entered the lobby and were amazed by how cool this little lady was. Giant glass doors opened to a manicured courtyard with Adirondack chairs and lemon trees. Behind the lobby was a small pool.

The lobby had a quirky Postmodern farmer motif. An old, rusty mailbox was tacked to one wall. Other walls were lined with weathered wood planks, like in a barn, and paintings of a rooster and other farm fixtures. The staff wore red or blue plaid shirts and overalls.

One display immediately caught our attention: Polaroid photos clipped around a framed, signed photo of game-show host Bob Barker. With “The Price Is Right” taping across the street at CBS studios, the hotel is popular with contestants. This was Saturday, though, so nary a story of the Showcase Showdown would we hear.

The desk clerk let us check in early and at my request put us in a quiet third-floor room that later provided a beautiful sunset view, looking out toward Century City. Our key came attached to a tiny map of Los Angeles that noted points of interest — perfect for out-of-towners, which we were pretending to be.

The room ($99 plus tax) was spacious and kept the rustic-meets-modern theme going strong. Along with the distressed-wood floor, yellow rooster wallpaper, red checkered curtains and king-size bed with a denim bedspread, there were contemporary twists: free high-speed Internet access, a CD player and bedside copies of the DJ magazine BPM.

With all that country cool, I hoped the door would spring open and the Farmer’s Mother would walk in bearing warm cornbread biscuits. Didn’t happen.

$100 won’t go far

Instead we filled our bellies 168 steps away at the Farmers Market, the landmark at 3rd and Fairfax that will celebrate its 70th birthday next year. From more than a dozen choices we decided on Du-Par’s, a coffee shop slinging Joe since 1938.

As Cheese dined on pea soup, I enjoyed the best tuna melt I’d had in some time.

“I’m seeing checkers everywhere,” Cheese said, noting the curtains. The hotel had us under its spell.

After lunch we strolled west on 3rd Street, starting on the south side of an avenue lined with mostly clothing, home design and gift stores. We quickly discovered that the Ben Franklin that Terry had slipped us wouldn’t go far. One shop, Erica Tanov, stocked the cutest little pink dress that would have been perfect for Monkey. The price? $114. Ouch. Assuming she wore it three times before she grew out of it, that’s $38 a wearing.

“This is the kind of store Gwyneth Paltrow buys her baby gifts from,” Cheese said.

We did find a fun monkey bobble-head doll with a photo-frame head — perfect for the face of my Monkey.

After about a mile we reached the Beverly Center, crossed the street and made our way back on the north side of 3rd. Most of the stores were geared toward women. Cheese found a reasonably priced, hot pink purse at a cool travel accessories store, Flight 001, that made her day.

Alas, finding gifts for our fathers wasn’t to be. Our dads are plaid-shirt kind of guys, definitely not Paul Frank boutique material. Although there was a nice bookstore, Traveler’s Bookcase, that came close to yielding gifts, other places weren’t the best fit. In fact, there were more shops for your pets (Chateau Marmutt) than for men.

“You could buy a sweater for your pooch but not for your honey,” Cheese said.

After a quick break back at the hotel — Cheese changed scarves, I checked football scores — we braved the two shopping malls.

The Grove, the bustling home of more than 40 stores and restaurants, feels like a mix of Disneyland and Universal CityWalk. The shops are of the standard variety — Banana Republic, Victoria’s Secret and such. No quirky gifts were to be found.

Then we checked in on the Beverly Center, a collection of more than 150 shops and restaurants near 3rd and La Cienega Boulevard. Unfortunately it too is like a lot of other malls in Southern California, though we did spot Queen Latifah in Foot Locker. Not too often do you get to see an Academy Award-nominated actress in a sweatsuit. We stopped in Brookstone, hoping Terry’s $100 could be spent in one of his favorite stores. No such luck. The pressure was building.

Stopping for a bite

After sitting in the Beverly Center’s version of a SigAlert (of course we drove; this is L.A.), we were all too ready for a nice meal and a smooth drink. The choices on 3rd include well-reviewed spots such as A.O.C. and Linq. We chose Cynthia’s, where owner Cynthia Hirsh greeted us at the door and gave us the only table available without a reservation: a candlelit spot outside under the heat lamp.

The waiter suggested the spicy fried chicken breasts, which I loved. Cheese started with a red- and yellow-beet salad topped with baby greens, goat cheese and pecans, followed by rosemary chicken breast, all of which she enjoyed.

Although the menu was a little pricey — most entrees were about $24 — the food, our Newcastle Brown Ale and Merlot, and the ambience were superb. We made plans to bring our friends back the next time we could get a Monkey sitter.

We parked back at the hotel and ended the evening with a nightcap at Canter’s Deli, another throwback to the ‘30s and just a two-block walk up Fairfax from the hotel. An alternative jazz band played in Canter’s Kibitz Room as we sipped more frosty beers.

Come morning we passed on the complimentary continental breakfast in the sunny courtyard and stopped by the Quality Cafe down the street from Cynthia’s.

We got a table pretty quickly. Apparently most of the hipsters who saunter in on Sundays don’t get started too early.

“It feels like we are an island where there’s only young people, kind of like ‘Logan’s Run,’ ” Cheese said.

The place did ooze that cool, under-30 vibe. The food was good, the atmosphere comfortable.

But our weekend pass was about up. Surely Grandma and Grandpa were at their breaking point. And though we hadn’t been too successful with our shopping, the fun and relaxation left us with broad smiles.

As Chick Hearn used to say: “Slam dunk!” Mission accomplished.