For dinner last night, my daughter wanted to go to Pizzeria Mozza, LA's hottest ticket, and home of the best pizza in the universe. The fried squash blossoms stuffed with ricotta aren't bad either. When we went after it first opened, she called a month in advance and could only get a reservation at 5 p.m. on a Monday. This time she called a few days ago, and, of course, they were booked.

But she was still craving Mozza pizza, and it was her birthday weekend, so she decided to pull out all the stops to get us a last-minute table.

When she first moved here, she worked as an assistant to an agent, and she knows all the tricks. Without actually saying it, her voice implied she was making a reservation for a Very Important Person.

She made it in the name of "Gailor," and when the woman asked her what the first name was, she said, "It is the first name but," her voice lowered dramatically, "let's just leave it at that."

We got a table for 6:15 p.m. 

(Photo courtesy of Gailor Large)