It doesn’t take long to figure out, once you walk in, that Piknic is no ordinary dining establishment. It has a vibe like Cheers where pretty quickly everybody knows your name. I imagine an attractive feature for the many folks I see almost weekly in the cozy bar area veiled by a rain fountain or the lovely patio adorned with a roaring fire pit.
In the day of impersonal contact thanks to texting and email or social media sites, it’s lovely to experience the human connection.
My personal relationship with Piknic occurred about 7 months ago during a particularly challenging time. Without getting into any detail, it was a moment or series of moments that connected to one event that hit me blind side. One evening, I was fed up and with a sense of purpose and abandon I walked into Piknic and sat at the bar…with my journal. Yes, it was my plan to drink wine and journal, on that rather social Thursday night at the bar. It was very crowded, however, there was a stool waiting for me and soon after a great glass of red. I went to town, sipping my glass of red and writing, writing and sipping…as if no one was around me, as if I was sitting at my coffee bar in my kitchen. If it wasn’t for the ambient sounds of people connecting with people, the chatter about life, love, sex and the economy – not necessarily in that order – I would have felt at home. Not that I couldn’t throw a killer party with the same scene in my home, but that’s not the point. The point is Piknic became home for me that night. It was a safe reprieve from my external and internal world.
As for the journaling – well that didn’t last too long. I met someone. And had a great conversation and shared more wine and realized quickly that what I really needed was the human connection. And perhaps another point of view, a laugh, several laughs actually and as I began to take in this person, I began to take in everyone in the bar – the scene, the individuals who obviously knew each other, the energy. I shared my name with several few and learned their name and left Piknic jazzed, excited, and happy. I was touched – emotional and spiritually that night.
Fast forward, to a recent summer afternoon, the sun’s rays diminished yet still glowing. I’m sitting outdoors near the fire pit with my son and several friends, my posse, enjoying a lite dinner and great company. I watch as friends walk in, pull up a chair and join. I watch as my son laughs and jokes with our friends and the staff. I watch as the manager, who I just discover plays in a band, invites us all to her show. And our table grows and there’s talk about plans to meet for a basketball game, farmers market, a night out to dance…guitar hero. And I reflect, months back, when I was feeling anxious and unsure of why I was here and what I was going to do next – supposed to do next. Not loving LA and not loving much of any place connected to LA – including my home.
Now I walk into Piknic and everyone- okay maybe not everyone, but many know my name. A family of sorts in the ‘hood. The Playa Vista hood that is my village and Piknic, an extension of my home. I love LA and have discovered it has much to offer. And to think, it all began with a Piknic, a journal and a great red.
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