True story: I had planned on taking the pintoresca route (along Sunset Blvd.) home from work one day this week to stop at
All American Burger for a CCB spiel. As it turned out, a crew of my former co-workers were in town grinding away at some week long job in Beverly Hills. I met up with them on Martes in the Fairfax district, all of us hambre and thirsty, and we eagerly headed towards
Thai Town for a familia style feast. Along the way we decided to pull over and have a bebida so I suggested
Ye Coach & Horses, which happens to be across the calle from All American Burger. As we were entering into the dark bar, I glanced over my shoulder to steal a look at my next target; thinking to myself how I had already mentally outlined my entry with great tie-ins to Fast Times at Ridgemont High complete with a working title of "No Shirt, No Shoes, No Dice". No dice is right because although the signage was still standing the restaurant was gone underneath it. Nothing but a pile of dirt. A little long-winded (and perhaps anticlimactic) I know, but I was a bit dismayed to be hit so squarely with a Buddhist-like view of change (nothing is permanent except impermanence). After pondering this for a few days, I decided to move on but wanted to pick a solid burger joint in lieu of our fallen comrade. Without much hesitation I made a decision and (following a couple sluggish Copa Mundial matches) flew on over to
The Hat. This small chain is mainly known for pastrami dips and chili cheese fries, but I like the addition of the pastrami burger: beef patty, queso, lettuce, onion, tomate, thousand sauce topped with shaved pastrami. Accompanied with some horseradish and a few papas fritas, there really isn't much in the universe that can beat this thing taste-wise. Staring out onto Lake Av. in a comida stupor, I managed a small grin when an image popped into mi cabeza of Jeff Spicoli (after being hoodwinked to attend class by the ass-kissing Desmond) stating: "Wait a minute, there's no birthday party for me in here!".
Last Viernes I took some time in between futbol matches and walked under the 101 freeway to the ambitiously named Historic Filipinotown barrio for some local style comida. The object of my short hike was Bernie's Teriyaki: a well-worn, no frills, and borderline hilarious establishment that is best known for its Filipino inspired lunch platos of grilled pollo served with beef or pork skewers over lightly fried arroz. Here I should mention the Bernie's quirk. They routinely get an extremo amount of take out orders from businesses downtown and, even though these good people have been at it since 1977, you have to wait behind the order in front of you (which may have 20 platos easy). This is when you get to play the "see who cracks first" game as impatient and hungry clientele begin to squirm and curse mildly under their breath. I, Solo Basura, even got a little edgy but maintained my focus on the consummate pro next to me (perfect poise, lots of makeup, eye of the tiger) who, after her numero was ultimately called, sauntered away with just a single piece of pollo (a solemn comida dedication truly to be admired). What's so special about Bernie's then? Actually, not much. Why is there room for Bernie's in mi corazon? It's tasty and muy barato, great for people watching, and best of all you can suck down a 24 oz Orange Bang for some pocket change and a dream. Oh, and let's not forget the moist towelette. 
