Rincon Salvadoreno ( 3827 W Sunset Blvd Ste C. Los Angeles)
Rincon Salvadoreno is a little Salvadorean spot on Sunset, right near the border with Echo Park, about the size of a master bathroom in a modest middle class home. We were hungry when we arrived and asked the waitress, as we ordered our pupusas, if there was a chips and salsa option. She replied in a manner that, honestly, I didn't quite grasp. A few minutes later, a bowl of freshly made chips, still dripping with oil, arrived, with fresh salsa on the side. It's that kind of place. Apparently, the restaurant closed either right before, or right after we arrived. No one told us, and there wasn't any sort of prominent sign for us to see. Again, that kind of place. The pupusas, the only thing I've tried so far, are a bit oily, and also a tad more delicate than I'm used to, but more than satisfying, especially when slathered with the savory slaw offered in abundance. (B+)
El Cochinito ( 3508 W Sunset Blvd. Los Angeles)
Only a few blocks away from Rincon Salvadoreno is El Cochinito. It's actually next door to the excellent Alegria, and a good place to duck into if you ever get tired of fighting their wait times, or even if you could care less about Alegria. El Cochinito serves Cuban food, large servings of Cuban food I may add. I don't often encounter meals I enjoy that I can't finish. I failed, in this regard, at El Cochinito. The yuca appetizer, with a tasteful drizzling of mojo de ajo dressing, is pretty essential to any meal. The Roast Chicken (with a mound of rice and beans) is more than decent, but pales a bit in comparison to the Lechon Asado, a tender, delicate, savory-enough but not thirst-inducing pig, that arrives with enough mass that you'll be able to take home leftovers for pork tacos, just as I did. (A)
Scoops (712 N Heliotrope Dr. Los Angeles)
In the "bicycle district." Chocolate and wasabi ice cream. Need I say more? (A)
Pure Luck (707 N Heliotrope Dr. Los Angeles)
Vegan spot located across the street from Scoops. I used to date a girl who was vegan, and I will count the time I tried to make her a proper vegan meal as one of my great cooking failures, next to the first meal I ever made for a girl in which I demonstrated an inability to properly cook noodles. This spot is a bit better than my effort. I had the torta with jackfruit BBQ and vegan pozole. Way, way, way better than it sounds. A nice, dimly lit, Saturday evening dinner spot. (A-)
Sapp Coffee Shop (5183 Hollywood Blvd. Los Angeles)
OK...I think I underrated Sapp in my previous review. I still put the Boat noodles a few notches below the ones at Ord Noodle down the street, which is not in any way a put down. A return visit found a rich and filling plate of Curried Chicken in Curry Rice as well as a Nam dish (Thai spam) that was pretty good as well. I think I'll be back. (B+...and climbing)
Beverly Soon Tofu (2717 W Olympic Blvd Ste 108. Los Angeles)
I've maintained for some time that Korean food is the comfort food of Asia. At least that's my take on the Korean food I've had in the United States. Never been to Korea. Either way, Beverly Soon Tofu may be the most comfortable dinner spot I've found in LA. It's a small restaurant that left its front door open on my initial visit. Patrons sit in close quarters atop little carved wooden stools and rest their hands on equally cabin-core carved wooden tables. I kept looking for the animatronic bears but couldn't find any. I can honestly say that there are few things I enjoy more, on a crisply cool LA night, than a plate of well seasoned squid paired with a suitably spicy tofu soup (were those jalapenos?) and a selection of pan chan that, while not really approaching the diversity at Sa Rit Gol, is more than adequate. The galbi was nice as well. I always have a hard time, when eating Korean, deciding if I'm there for the pan chan or the entrees. I suppose it's a silly question in the end. (A)
Mike's Deli (4859 W Slauson Avenue. Los Angeles)
Remember the New Jersey Devils of the late 90s? I suspect you don't as the few people that read this blog, I suspect, took a pass on late 90s northeastern ice hockey teams. Either way, the Devils were one of the best teams in the league. They were also incredibly boring, lulling teams, announcers, writers, fans and the league in general, to sleep with their mastery of the trap, a defensive system whereby the Devils basically played mistake free hockey and waited for their opponent to make a few mistakes in the middle, at which point they would strike, and win fairly often. Kind of the hockey equivalent of the Ravens in '02, or any team that wins with a great defense and a "game manager" for a quarterback. Anyway, Mike's Deli is kind of similar to both these teams. There's nothing really exciting about Mike's. The menu, along with the ambiance, could exist in a strip mall in Springfield, IL just as easily as a strip mall on Slauson Avenue in L.A. But there is certainly something to be said for a lunch spot that recognizes the value of stuffing quality ingredients-Boar's head meat, crisp lettuce, thinly sliced tomatoes, mustard, mayo, kosher sliced pickles, and onion-between good bread. The sandwiches are boringly consistent in a good way. I ate there for three straight lunches this summer and could have gone for a fourth. (B)
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Monday, September 15, 2008
Solo work
Casa Bianca (1650 Colorado Blvd. Eagle Rock)
Whenever I’m at Casa Bianca I feel like I’m interrupting a family reunion. The fact that they don’t pick up the phone after 6 on a Saturday night only adds to the alienation. It’s not that they’re elitist, or rude. It’s more the feeling that everyone working there, whether by blood or simple ethic, is part of the same, fully-functional, circulatory system. There’s the 50ish gentleman at the front and his wife, and then there are the many unassuming waitresses who I assume, wrongly or rightly, to be the direct descendants of Sam Martorana, the recently deceased founder. And then there are the customers, all of whom seem perfectly comfortable waiting 2 ½ hours on a Saturday night, packed into the small reception area or lucky enough to grab a plastic chair on the sidewalk. Everybody belongs. Maybe it’s because everyone, no matter where they came from, has been to this restaurant at some point. We all remember those childhood pizza houses, dimly lit, neon sign on the front, peppermints by the cash register, with bad paintings of the home country on the wall, presided over by strikingly casual waitresses and waiters, most of them related to the owner. We’ve all been to this place, but most of us have not had this pizza.
The pie at Casa Bianca arrives as an oblong, misshapen, irregular disc. Almost completely uniform in its flatness, it would resemble a plane interrupted by occasional dunes on a topographic map. The cheese that covers and largely unites the dish is charred to a degree that many joints would never even consider. The thin and crispy crust generated by the time I suspect it spends in the oven is a perfect accent to the tomato sauce. We always opt for the mushroom and pepperoni combination, as I’m a firm believer in the laws of diminishing returns when it comes to pies and subs, but I can’t imagine that a pizza here could ever actually be bad, so…use your best judgment I guess. On the rare occasion that I opted for a pasta dish instead of the pizza I was pleasantly surprised that it, to some degree, held its own in comparison. The salad, though, resembles something that could be prepared at a Wendy’s super bar in the late 1980s. The garlic bread is pretty basic, in a not so exciting way. Not that any of this really matters, once you've had the pizza. (A)
Whenever I’m at Casa Bianca I feel like I’m interrupting a family reunion. The fact that they don’t pick up the phone after 6 on a Saturday night only adds to the alienation. It’s not that they’re elitist, or rude. It’s more the feeling that everyone working there, whether by blood or simple ethic, is part of the same, fully-functional, circulatory system. There’s the 50ish gentleman at the front and his wife, and then there are the many unassuming waitresses who I assume, wrongly or rightly, to be the direct descendants of Sam Martorana, the recently deceased founder. And then there are the customers, all of whom seem perfectly comfortable waiting 2 ½ hours on a Saturday night, packed into the small reception area or lucky enough to grab a plastic chair on the sidewalk. Everybody belongs. Maybe it’s because everyone, no matter where they came from, has been to this restaurant at some point. We all remember those childhood pizza houses, dimly lit, neon sign on the front, peppermints by the cash register, with bad paintings of the home country on the wall, presided over by strikingly casual waitresses and waiters, most of them related to the owner. We’ve all been to this place, but most of us have not had this pizza.
The pie at Casa Bianca arrives as an oblong, misshapen, irregular disc. Almost completely uniform in its flatness, it would resemble a plane interrupted by occasional dunes on a topographic map. The cheese that covers and largely unites the dish is charred to a degree that many joints would never even consider. The thin and crispy crust generated by the time I suspect it spends in the oven is a perfect accent to the tomato sauce. We always opt for the mushroom and pepperoni combination, as I’m a firm believer in the laws of diminishing returns when it comes to pies and subs, but I can’t imagine that a pizza here could ever actually be bad, so…use your best judgment I guess. On the rare occasion that I opted for a pasta dish instead of the pizza I was pleasantly surprised that it, to some degree, held its own in comparison. The salad, though, resembles something that could be prepared at a Wendy’s super bar in the late 1980s. The garlic bread is pretty basic, in a not so exciting way. Not that any of this really matters, once you've had the pizza. (A)
Yum
Asa (18202 S. Western Ave. Gardena)
Asa, located in the little Japan of disconnected strip malls that exists south of Little Tokyo in the Gardena/Torrance area, is about as close as one might get to the feel of a late night Tokyo ramen spot in Los Angeles, and for that matter, North America. Not that the Japanese are really big on strip malls, but once you step inside, you might get what I mean. From the headwear of the ramen cooks to the long narrow strip that makes up the restaurant (and the bar) to the utterly polite waitresses to the dim lights to the menu that looks like an artist, rather than an Apple designed it, to the big, brothy cauldrons of ramen (above) that arrive after an appetizer of tofu with bonito flakes, for a half an hour, you feel like you stepped across the Pacific. Rameniac calls it "two in the morning glorious" and he/she knows way more about ramen than I do so maybe you should just read what he/she had to say. While you're there, just check out the whole site. All this being said, I'm not sure if it really compares to the mind-warping of that first bowl of ramen I had in a crowded little Shibuya businessmen's spot on my last trip but, oh well, Shibuya is a bit farther than Gardena. (A)
Ruen Pair (5257 Hollywood Blvd. Los Angeles)
I've heard, from an actual Thai person (from Thailand), that Ruen Pair has gone down. I wonder if this is a bit like the decline of a player like Carlos Delgado, or maybe Greg Maddux...not as good as they used to be but, at least in Carlos' case, still pretty good. I was pretty ecstatic about Ruen Pair on my recent, and first, visit. Not that you should trust an Alabamian over a native Thai so take it for what it's worth. Why was I so ecstatic? Pretty decent papaya salad with raw crab, though nothing like the nose-letting homemade recipes I've had at Buddhist temples and cookouts. Addictive, sour duck feet salad. More than adequate crispy pork. And fried catfish with crispy basil that, without approaching the brilliance of the same dish I had on a recent Jitlada visit (more on that later) was at least satisfactory. Come to think of it, I wasn't really blown away by anything. But, like Delgado and Maddux, Ruen Pair probably deserves a second, third and even fourth look. (B+, for now)
Sapp Coffee Shop (5183 Hollywood Blvd. Los Angeles)
One visit. Tried the Boat noodles with pork. I understand the Sapp Coffee Shop appeal, and will probably be back for the specials (Steamed Chicken with Rice (Singapore style?) on Saturday and Curried Chicken with Rice on Sunday). For now, though, I'm sticking with the Boat noddles at Ord Noodles down the street. (B)
La Cita Restaurant (4608 San Fernando Rd. Glendale)
I've been looking for something in my neighborhood that, at least in some ways, approximates the laid back comfort of the inimitable Ciro's for sometime, and I guess maybe I've found it in La Cita. Sitting as if sleeping on a tired and lonely stretch of San Fernando, near its intersection with Los Feliz, La Cita may sometimes appear deserted when you walk to the door. It did when I arrived on a recent Friday night. I fell in love almost immediately as I sunk into the slightly torn cushion of one of the booths, spied the Dodgers game on a corner TV, and ventured into a pair of salsas, one green and one red. The menu is a mix of dishes that would be familiar to anyone in Los Feliz and a number that might require a trip via google. I sampled the Chile Verde, a stewy mix of tender pork and green chile sauce that could have been a bit spicier, though I suppose that's what the table side hot sauce is for. La Cita is not Ciro's, but I think I've found a new place to rest my head on a Friday night. (B+)
Elena's (1000 S. Glendale Ave. Glendale)
"How do you like this one," I asked, pointing at the picture of the Stuffed Eggplant on the graphically interfaced menu that would accommodate a Romulan. "Well, I'm not a vegetarian, so I don't really know," the waitress replied. "People order it a lot, so I think it's good." There's something about a reply so direct and absent of artifice, personal and honest, that says something about a restaurant that you hope is confirmed in the food. "I'll try that then, with the lentil soup, and an order of the mutabel." Sitting in Elena's waiting for my soup, surveying the patrons lined around the periphery of the covered patio that functions as the dining room, I had a strong suspicion that I was the only newcomer.
Elena's is tucked on a corner of Glendale Avenue, across the street from what appears to be an Armenian version of Waffle House, easy driving distance to a host of Armenian markets and DVD rental stores, not to mention the Glendale Galleria and the multi-purpose Grovesque Americana. Let's hope that whatever transformation occurs in Glendale within the next 10 years or so leaves room for comfortable, casual spots like Elena's. If not, where will we find such ridiculously tasty lentil soup?
What is it about the soup? Food authorities, from the less prominent you find on Yelp, to the Pulitzer prize winning, swear by it. Ultimately, I'm not really sure what makes it so good, though I suspect it's the sensation created by the more than faint swash of lemon that runs across your tongue as you swallow it, or perhaps it's the consistency of the soup, with just the right amount of oil, modestly touched with salt, or maybe it's simply the little round pot and saucer it arrives in. Whatever it is, you'll begin planning your return visit a few seconds after the first taste.
The entrees, with choice of soup or salad, include all the normal combinations of chicken and lamb kabobs (every bit as good as others I've had in LA, though Altadena's Soumarelo may have a bit of an edge), falafel as well as various salads. The Stuffed Eggplant, a noticeably oily mound of sauteed peppers, celery, onion and garlic atop an eggplant, garnished with parsely, arrives with an equally cumbersome serving of fragrant rice. Paradigm altering? No. Tasty comfort food? Just what you need.
The mutabel, fine in itself, is not really in league with the genius blend of smoke and eggplant found at Armenian fast food giant Zankou but, really, where can you find mutabel that is? On my way out, takeout box in hand, carrying the inevitable leftovers from the rather large servings, my waitress stops me, politely taking the little container of mutabel off the top of my box and fastening the lid. She then hands me a bag to carry it in. Need I say more? (A)
El Taquito #2 (467 N. Fair Oaks Ave. Pasadena)
Many restaurants aspire to, and excel at, the art of creating distance between your vision of a home-cooked meal and the experience of going out to eat. El Taquito, rather by design, necessity or apathy, is a bit different. When you step up to order, you peer into a archway that affords a gaze of a couple of female cooks (I’ve never seen a single male employee) standing in a small kitchen, stirring heavy pots of liquid, grilling quesadillas to order. It could be your mom, or your aunts, or the lady you see at Mass every Saturday night for all you know which, as you know with mom's cooking, can lay the seeds for a few disappointments for every 15 or so successes. I've eaten the best sopes I've EVER had on numerous visits--plump and chewy bedrock tortillas topped with beans, sour cream, lettuce, tomato and powdered cheese--and then been somewhat bewildered and embarrassed on a later visit while showing out-of-towners "quality Mexican food." The tacos can be unforgettable, or merely very good. When they're on, though, it's hard to find a better lunch bet. (B)
Friday, September 5, 2008
Some favorites
India Sweets and Spices (3126 Los Feliz Blvd. Los Angeles)
India Sweets and Spices, with its spacious, cafeteriaesque setting and visually unappetizing steam table is the closest I can get these days to Pudahara Bus Station, which was the closest I've gotten yet to India. Pudahara Bus Station isn't actually in India, it's in Malaysia. And for all I know, besides the many Indian-Malays that pass through the station, the host of food stands selling street food, and the suffocatingly hot air vents that dried my hair as soon as I walked in at 7 AM in route to a coastal Malaysian city, Pudahara may be nothing like India. Either way, I like to think it is, at least until I finally go to India. And I guess I like to think that India Sweets and Spices, with an ambiance based more on florescent lights than exotic murals and piped in sitar tracks, captures something closer to the daily experience of the Indian underclass than any posh Indian restaurant could hope to.
Located on the eastern fringes of Los Feliz, part of ISS functions as an Indian market which, by itself, is worth a trip, if nothing else than to walk the aisles and marvel at a selection of foods you obviously won't find at Trader Joe's. When you're finished shopping, cross over to the restaurant side and offer a gaze at the panoramic menu that looms over the counter.
If you're like me, rather indecisive, the kind of person that will opt for omakase or a waiter's recommendation over the agony of actually making a decision, you may find the most comfort in one of the set meals. The most expensive of the three, listing at a whopping $6.99, arrives in an elementary school-style sectioned tray and contains a simple salad (made a bit more complex with the addition of that ever so reliable and ubiquitous green sauce), a generous portion of rice, a selection of pickles that could fulfill one's sodium intake for a couple of days, two types of bread, a small serving of slightly sour yogurt, your choice of two of the entree items, ranging from a fairly tasty palak paneer, a competent dal, and a deceptively wonderful, subtly spice vegetarian combination to two or three other choices of the day, a samosa almost devoid of grease and a mango lassi. If you're still hungry, try one of the dosais. Or just head back to the market side. (B+)
El Huarachito (3010 N Broadway Los Angeles)
Mexican greasy spoon on Broadway. The kind of sunny, urban, well-trafficked spot that you're quite sure, upon the first look inside, local Mexican families approve of. Framed culturescapes of
Foo Foo Tei (15018 Clark Ave. Hacienda Heights)
Foo Foo Tei is located on a cold palisade of concrete walls and sparse vegetation. It's one of the ugliest streets I've seen since my day stranded in Needles, CA. Somehow it just happens to contain two of my favorite restaurants in LA. If you get to Foo Foo Tei a bit early you might beat the crowds. If not, get ready to wait awhile. Inside, florescent lights and wooden paddles displaying the ramen selections function partially as ambiance, but the real aesthetic is provided by the parade of Japanese Americans-businesspeople and families on weekdays, baseball players, families, and couples on the weekends-huddled over giant steaming bowls of ramen. Aside from the noodles they come for simple dishes of grilled salmon, mackerel and squid, bowls of rice and eel, fried tofu, all waiting to be dressed with massive amounts of the chopped garlic that sits on each table. (A)
Soumarelo (1090 N Allen Pasadena)
Can you really objectively write about a place you visit as much out of some sort of largely baseless love for the owner as much as you visit for the food? Soumarello is such a place. You casually mention to the owner that you’ve heard good things about the soup. Five minutes later there is soup on your table. You spy a large plate that looks interesting heading for a table of five who appear to know how to order. “It’s not on the menu but I can make it for you…right now,” he says. In the end, though, the owner could be a complete monster and Soumarello would still be worth the visit. What do they serve at Soumarello? Whole chickens, as delicate as snowflakes, waiting to be deconstructed and dipped into tiny cups of potent garlic paste. Fragrant rice. Sandwiches filled with crisp falafel and just the right amount of taziki sauce, pickled vegetables and lettuce. Steamy, perfectly savory, chickpea soup. Everything is nice. I will say that I still prefer the mutabal at Zankou. (A-)
Ciro’s appears as I suspect it looked twenty, maybe thirty years ago: wood-paneled walls with generic beer signs placed with no philosophy for design. Comfortable wrap-around booths, perhaps meant for a post burrito slumber, sit next to square tables. A jukebox with
Zankou (5065 W Sunset Blvd. Los Angeles)
The mutabal at Zankou is in its own league among the adequate menu of wraps, plates and side items. It may be my favorite single item in LA, at least in the realm of things I would most want to have an endless bowl of as I watch a football game. There's a characteristic smokiness to the product that begs the question of why the owners don't offer a complimentary beer the same way a snooty pub might with good cheese. The chicken wraps, coated with just the right amount of a suitably potent garlic sauce are pretty good as well. As are the pickles. And the tabouli. But make sure you try the mutabal. (A-)
Akasaka can be found on the same lonely stretch of road that contains one of the best lunch spots in the world, Foo Foo Tei. When you first make your way into the restaurant you’re greeted with the sound of water from a bubbling fountain just as you duck your head under the hanging piece of stenciled fabric that marks the way to the main door inside. There’s a small outdoor seating area, but I can’t ever resist the pleasure of sitting inside. Upon entrance you may run into someone, or push the door against their back, as there will likely be a cramped line filling the tiny foyer that you first encounter. If you have a reservation, you’re good. If not, you may be in for a wait. The restaurant is about the size of a master bedroom (at the most) and is divided between the main area and two semi-private side areas (one more private than the other). Signed photos of stars that probably don’t even know they’re stars vie for space with what appear to be family pictures and computer printouts of the roll offerings. There are no windows and no visible doors beside the one you enter through. It’s all a bit cozy to say the least. And in the center of it all, at least spiritually, is the sushi chef, the owner's daughter, handling the customers at the bar and the fish with equal ease.
What about the fish? Everything at Akasaka seems big and bloated. The Rainbow Roll, a plump specimen that as much in common with the Hollenbeck burrito at El Tepeyac as with a Rainbow Roll at any fru-fru LA sushi joint, is worth every bit of the $25 it costs. The Salmon Skin Salad, a not too salty marriage of large amounts of crisp salmon skin, avocado and daikon radish sprouts, is sometimes more salmon than salad, but consistently good. There’s a great seafood udon bowl containing (you guessed it) a pile of sea-going creatures swimming in a briny broth that reminds you of where they came from. And then there are combination platters that combine decent teriyaki with sashimi. The only downer I’ve ever really had here is the $65 platter combo, sort of the combination “boat” of Akasaka. It seemed a little long on fried chicken and tempura in comparison to the other stuff. Not so much my thing. The Chirashi Sushi bowl is more my thing. The dish contains 20-25 pieces of sashimi- salmon, shrimp, yellowtail, tuna, liver, uni, scallop, squid and more, sitting simply and unadorned, the way I like it most- neatly arranged atop a bowl of sweetly seasoned rice topped with tempura flakes. You even get the shrimp head, deep-fried as an appetizer. (A)
Ord Noodles (5401 Hollywood Blvd. Los Angeles)
Somewhere in a cave in northern
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Stolen: II
As a follow-up to my last post, here's my list. Bold what you've eaten. Cross out what you have not. I tried to follow the spirit of the original list as closely as possible, by which I mean I tried to make a list of semi-obscure foods that would not be completely hard to find in a restaurant or market in the USA. At least that's the way I read the original list. If you'll notice, my list goes from one end of the globe to another. And my list leans heavily in favor of places I've lived for a long time (The American South) and places I've visited (Japan...twice). Enjoy.
Mochi
Takoyaki
Chicken Heart
Natto (though reluctant, I think I tried it, maybe)
Okonomiyaki
Fresh Wasabi (I mean FRESH, not the shit they give you at a sushi place in the USA)
Red bean ice cream
Sochu
Kimchee
Bitter Melon
Raw Crab
Papaya Salad
Mangosteen
Black Egg
Pig's Blood Soup
Chicken Feet
Roti Canai
Wild Boar
Vietnamese Iced Coffee
Dosai
Turkish Coffee
Trappist Ale
Jamon Serrano or Jamon Iberico
Deep Fried Snickers
Moon Pie
Quail
Boiled Peanuts
Pickled Okra
Cracklin' Corn Bread
Turtle
Gizzard
Muffaletta
Homemade beer
Tacos from a taco truck
Menudo
Ceviche
Things I should have consumed:
1. The Ghetto Burger (in Atlanta, in Decatur, or East Point, I think. 1 lb. burger with bacon, mayo...maybe a fried egg, all served in a hot and crowded little restaurant. My friend Will ate it and felt a bit sick...There's also a burger, served in the same area, that features a beef patty with a halved Krispy Kreme doughnut as the top and bottom buns...or maybe that's the Ghetto Burger. Whatever...they're both in Atlanta...if you want them.)
2. A TJ dog (dog, bacon, mayo)
3. The Damnit to Hell (A BBQ sandwich that used to be served in a little restaurant called The Tired Texan, near Legion Field (where the Tide used to play), in Birmingham, AL. Famous for the topping of incendiary peppers that made grown men and women weep precipitously.)
4. Budweiser with Clamato (Found at my former local Latino grocer in Pasadena, when I used to live there.)
5. Fugu (maybe someday...)
Mochi
Takoyaki
Chicken Heart
Natto (though reluctant, I think I tried it, maybe)
Okonomiyaki
Fresh Wasabi (I mean FRESH, not the shit they give you at a sushi place in the USA)
Red bean ice cream
Sochu
Kimchee
Bitter Melon
Raw Crab
Papaya Salad
Mangosteen
Black Egg
Pig's Blood Soup
Chicken Feet
Roti Canai
Wild Boar
Vietnamese Iced Coffee
Dosai
Turkish Coffee
Trappist Ale
Jamon Serrano or Jamon Iberico
Deep Fried Snickers
Moon Pie
Quail
Boiled Peanuts
Pickled Okra
Cracklin' Corn Bread
Turtle
Gizzard
Muffaletta
Homemade beer
Tacos from a taco truck
Menudo
Ceviche
Things I should have consumed:
1. The Ghetto Burger (in Atlanta, in Decatur, or East Point, I think. 1 lb. burger with bacon, mayo...maybe a fried egg, all served in a hot and crowded little restaurant. My friend Will ate it and felt a bit sick...There's also a burger, served in the same area, that features a beef patty with a halved Krispy Kreme doughnut as the top and bottom buns...or maybe that's the Ghetto Burger. Whatever...they're both in Atlanta...if you want them.)
2. A TJ dog (dog, bacon, mayo)
3. The Damnit to Hell (A BBQ sandwich that used to be served in a little restaurant called The Tired Texan, near Legion Field (where the Tide used to play), in Birmingham, AL. Famous for the topping of incendiary peppers that made grown men and women weep precipitously.)
4. Budweiser with Clamato (Found at my former local Latino grocer in Pasadena, when I used to live there.)
5. Fugu (maybe someday...)
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Stolen
My friend Hillary posted this to her much superior blog. Instructions below.
1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.
4) Optional extra: Post a comment at www.verygoodtaste.co.uk linking to your results.
1. Venison
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros
4. Steak tartare (I think)
5. Crocodile [does alligator count?]
6. Black pudding
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn, or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters
29. Baklava
30. Bagna cauda
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Salted lassi (no salt)
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar
37. Clotted cream tea
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O
39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat (at a Jamaican restaurant, if I remember correctly)
42. Whole insects
43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Fugu (thought about it in Osaka)
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin
64. Currywurst
65. Durian
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant.
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare (if rabbit counts...)
87. Goulash
88. Flowers
89. Horse
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam (spam sushi...yum)
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano (I think)
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee (see 95, maybe)
100. Snake
1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.
4) Optional extra: Post a comment at www.verygoodtaste.co.uk linking to your results.
1. Venison
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros
4. Steak tartare (I think)
5. Crocodile [does alligator count?]
6. Black pudding
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn, or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters
29. Baklava
30. Bagna cauda
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Salted lassi (no salt)
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar
37. Clotted cream tea
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O
39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat (at a Jamaican restaurant, if I remember correctly)
42. Whole insects
43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Fugu (thought about it in Osaka)
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin
64. Currywurst
65. Durian
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant.
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare (if rabbit counts...)
87. Goulash
88. Flowers
89. Horse
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam (spam sushi...yum)
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano (I think)
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee (see 95, maybe)
100. Snake
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Escape from LA: San Diego
I arrived in San Diego, after a 4 hour bout with traffic on the 5, just as the sun was setting, which made for a pretty amazing postcard across the bay as I drove up and down a collection of one way streets near the airport in search of the Casbah, a nice little club where one of the most amazing bands of the 90s would be holding residence that evening. I found the club on my second pass and, seeing absolutely nothing in the immediate neighborhood, pulled out my hand-scrawled map and headed to the pre-party: dinner at Blue Water Grille.
When I discovered Polvo was playing in San Diego I was pretty ecstatic. A few days before the show, when I looked at the responses to my post for recommendations on Chowhound, I was even more excited.
Blue Water Grille (B+) is located on a strip of restaurants nestled underneath a steep but inviting neighborhood where parking places seem even scarcer than LA. As you approach the restaurant, the welcome aroma of curry saturates the air, not from Blue Water, but from House of India next door. Maybe next time.
The interior of the restaurant features an array of framed photographs of fish, fishermen, fishing boats, and more fish...all surrounded by the color blue. It feels a bit like that little market you might have visited with your parents, or your kids, for fresh seafood on a trip to the beach. The plastic plates on which your food arrives only adds to the informality.
It's hard to find a favorite when one scours Yelp or Chowhound for opinions on the place. Some people like the salads (one girl raves about the blue cheese dressing), some the sandwiches and some the plates. After a typically epic internal argument, I opted for the Red Snapper plate, with seasoned rice and a small salad, over a sandwich with an order of chowder. I'm not completely sure if I made the right choice, but the Red Snapper was more than competent, delicate without being fragile, and made a nice paring with the healthy portions of rice and salad. I suppose the chipotle seasoning could taste a bit more like chipotle, at least in terms of adding the spice I was hoping for, but that may be a minor complaint. I would return, though I think I would try the chowder the next time.
Polvo was next. At some point I got the feeling that you had to be at least 30 to get into the show, which I suppose would make sense as the last time I saw them, 10 years ago, these same 30-40 year olds were in their 20s. It was amazing. Well worth a ten year gap. Hopefully they'll do it again.
After the show, full of adrenaline, new t-shirt in hand, I hit the road, ready for the drive back to LA, with no intent of stopping for anything other than gas and a coke. Somewhere along the way, the Lucha Libre Taco Stop (A) intervened. I had to stop.
In some circles I suppose Lucha Libre might be called a museum, a museum of Mexican wrestling that happens to serve tacos. The walls are covered with vintage posters and photographs of masked strongmen grappling and jawing, posing and preening. In a few spots you'll find little dioramas of wrestling action figures in mid jump, Super Fly Snuka style. A flat screen TV, on my visit, was airing some sort of old movie featuring Mexican wrestlers and otherworldly beings, all in a classic technicolor tint. All this before you even get to the counter.
The menu features simple tacos, specialty tacos, burritos, quesadillas, salads, and a couple of specials. The California Burrito, which I expected to feature some combination of organic ingredients capped with fresh avocado, resembled the California of Pico Boulevard more than the California of Wine Country, as it was composed of cheese, lettuce, pico de gallo, your choice of meat, and...french fries. The adventurous could add a TJ hot dog (dog wrapped in bacon with mayo, mustard and maybe ketchup) for $1.50. I decided to wait on my TJ dog for a late night in LA, opting instead for the Tap Out specialty taco and a standard chicken taco (both pictured above in blurvision).
I suppose Lucha Libre is not one of those newfangled taco spots that oppose the use of lard, or perhaps they've just found some substitute that crafts the steam-driven, perfectly moist and justly rich tacos that one really might only hope to find in Southern California, or Mexico. The standard chicken taco, dressed with a salsa that resembled a colorful middle eastern eggplant puree, in taste as well as color, was more than fine. The Tap Out, a taco of chicken, grilled vegetables and a creamy poblano sauce might be hard to find on the streets of Tijuana. It seems a bit too elaborate in comparison to the monuments to simplicity that one finds at the taco trucks of LA. I would love to know if something like this would show up on the menu of a Mexico City restaurant, or a Mexico City home. Not that it really matters in the end, for this meal at least. To my dismay, I finished it in less than a minute. No matter that I had to use my fork a bit more than I wanted to.
When I discovered Polvo was playing in San Diego I was pretty ecstatic. A few days before the show, when I looked at the responses to my post for recommendations on Chowhound, I was even more excited.
Blue Water Grille (B+) is located on a strip of restaurants nestled underneath a steep but inviting neighborhood where parking places seem even scarcer than LA. As you approach the restaurant, the welcome aroma of curry saturates the air, not from Blue Water, but from House of India next door. Maybe next time.
The interior of the restaurant features an array of framed photographs of fish, fishermen, fishing boats, and more fish...all surrounded by the color blue. It feels a bit like that little market you might have visited with your parents, or your kids, for fresh seafood on a trip to the beach. The plastic plates on which your food arrives only adds to the informality.
It's hard to find a favorite when one scours Yelp or Chowhound for opinions on the place. Some people like the salads (one girl raves about the blue cheese dressing), some the sandwiches and some the plates. After a typically epic internal argument, I opted for the Red Snapper plate, with seasoned rice and a small salad, over a sandwich with an order of chowder. I'm not completely sure if I made the right choice, but the Red Snapper was more than competent, delicate without being fragile, and made a nice paring with the healthy portions of rice and salad. I suppose the chipotle seasoning could taste a bit more like chipotle, at least in terms of adding the spice I was hoping for, but that may be a minor complaint. I would return, though I think I would try the chowder the next time.
Polvo was next. At some point I got the feeling that you had to be at least 30 to get into the show, which I suppose would make sense as the last time I saw them, 10 years ago, these same 30-40 year olds were in their 20s. It was amazing. Well worth a ten year gap. Hopefully they'll do it again.
After the show, full of adrenaline, new t-shirt in hand, I hit the road, ready for the drive back to LA, with no intent of stopping for anything other than gas and a coke. Somewhere along the way, the Lucha Libre Taco Stop (A) intervened. I had to stop.
In some circles I suppose Lucha Libre might be called a museum, a museum of Mexican wrestling that happens to serve tacos. The walls are covered with vintage posters and photographs of masked strongmen grappling and jawing, posing and preening. In a few spots you'll find little dioramas of wrestling action figures in mid jump, Super Fly Snuka style. A flat screen TV, on my visit, was airing some sort of old movie featuring Mexican wrestlers and otherworldly beings, all in a classic technicolor tint. All this before you even get to the counter.
The menu features simple tacos, specialty tacos, burritos, quesadillas, salads, and a couple of specials. The California Burrito, which I expected to feature some combination of organic ingredients capped with fresh avocado, resembled the California of Pico Boulevard more than the California of Wine Country, as it was composed of cheese, lettuce, pico de gallo, your choice of meat, and...french fries. The adventurous could add a TJ hot dog (dog wrapped in bacon with mayo, mustard and maybe ketchup) for $1.50. I decided to wait on my TJ dog for a late night in LA, opting instead for the Tap Out specialty taco and a standard chicken taco (both pictured above in blurvision).
I suppose Lucha Libre is not one of those newfangled taco spots that oppose the use of lard, or perhaps they've just found some substitute that crafts the steam-driven, perfectly moist and justly rich tacos that one really might only hope to find in Southern California, or Mexico. The standard chicken taco, dressed with a salsa that resembled a colorful middle eastern eggplant puree, in taste as well as color, was more than fine. The Tap Out, a taco of chicken, grilled vegetables and a creamy poblano sauce might be hard to find on the streets of Tijuana. It seems a bit too elaborate in comparison to the monuments to simplicity that one finds at the taco trucks of LA. I would love to know if something like this would show up on the menu of a Mexico City restaurant, or a Mexico City home. Not that it really matters in the end, for this meal at least. To my dismay, I finished it in less than a minute. No matter that I had to use my fork a bit more than I wanted to.
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