Shining Star

While speeding up the Glendale freeway, K and I were flagged for a pit stop that veered us down into Glassell Park, cosmic coordinates of Tacos La Estrella. One doesn't need a telescope to spot the constellations on the menu at this quaint fonda. I ordered a carne asada mulita (homemade masa pressed flat, grilled and sandwiched con queso, carne, cabbage, and salsa) with a taco de pastor on the sly. Although a 'little mule' is destined to be sterile around the barnyard, this is definitely not the case at the taqueria table: fluffy yet crispy, warm and slightly greasy, the mulita has a flavor that could easily spawn a multigenerational telenovela. K, who is a big fan of shoes, opted for the always practical carne asada huarache: elongated and fried masa topped with carne, cabbage, onions, queso, salsa and radish. I should also add that the pastor (while not shaved off the spit) is stewed to a tender loving perfection. One thing to remember before blasting off to La Estrella is that they keep banker's hours (but open daily) from 9 to 5. This is due, at least according to my observations, to the fact that the family lives in the casa directly behind the restaurante. You can't have people roaming around at all hours looking for delicioso tacos while trying to relax with a cucumber facial and a crossword puzzle, now can you? Anyway, I certainly think there is room enough to put one more star (one you've actually heard of) on the Hollywood walk of fame. Keep your eyes peeled.

The Long March

At the toll of the lunch hour on a magnifico summer day, I found myself in Venice Beach searching for some quick comida before taking a long siesta in the sand. Luckily, I recalled that a newly formed lunch combo has been instituted at Mao's Kitchen. A bit torn between Chinese and a pulled puerco sandwich, I ultimately decided to take an amended page from the Little Red Book ("An army without tasty eats is a dull-witted army, and a dull-witted army cannot defeat the enemy.") and dine like a dutiful comrade. Despite being designed to "serve the people" with its flexibility concerning menu substitutions, some people would argue that Mao's isn't real Chinese food at all. At this point, I will take a slight diversion. Let's take my order for example:

Surprisingly flavorful hot and sour sopa, spring roll, sesame and yam beef (lightly batter-fried carne, snow peas, tomate, yam in spicy-sweet sauce sprinkled with toasted seeds) and steamed rice. According to the menu, this recipe comes from Nanjing in the Jiangsu Province. Even though China maintains a single time zone, its geographic size weighs in at a vast 9.6 million square kilometers. Imagine transporting this dish to Urumqi in the Xinjiang Province where it would certainly be considered non-halal, possibly bland, and maybe even inedible. With that said, it seems that real Chinese cuisine is dramatically regional, thus the Americanized version is just another offshoot of a diverse culinary system. This is not to say that it's always good, nor would I be so presumptuous as to even mention it in the same sentence as the Eight Great Traditions (oops), but who hasn't experienced a little rush when finding that neighborhood joint that's a little better than the rest. Maybe Mao's would be that go-to spot if I lived in Venice, but I'd definitely have a closer look around just in case. Oh, and make sure to BYOB fellow comrades.

Way To Go, Joe

With a few horas to kill before I was scheduled for a pick up at the Long Beach airport, I decided to do some comida recon deep in the corazon of Cambodia Town. After a successful mission (will be returning with numbers to confront the Khmer cuisine here ASAP), I drove towards the eastern border of this little enclave to a well-established watering hole by the name of Joe Jost's. Founded in 1924 as a barber shop & pool hall, Joe moved his fledgling taproom to its current location in 1933 (after a devastating earthquake) and began slingin' cervezas and sandwiches following the lift of prohibition in 1934.

I promptly took a bar stool by the front window and ordered a schooner (around 18 oz.) of frio Busch beer, a Joe's special (homespun polish sausage {complete with a clever slit down the middle to house a thin dill pickle strip}, slice of swiss queso, mustard on rye bread), and dos pickled eggs. These briny huevos are puckered along with a distinctive yellow chili pepper that is found in almost every pub, burger joint, and deli in the LA basin; then served over pretzel sticks con sal y pimienta. Despite being up half the night with strange dreams and a solid case of heartburn, I would certainly have this exact set for lunch everyday if I were alive in 1935. As for amusements, JJ's has it all: slick shuffleboard table, keg cam, cell phone booth, snooker, and an astounding archival display of the bar's calendar history (wink, wink).

It's Not Crazy, It's Katsu

With the X games in town for the weekend I knew that K and I needed to add some 'extreme' to our Sabado comida search. So, after knocking a few ideas around we happily decided on katsu. What's so radical about breaded cutlets? Nothing usually, but today was a definite exception to the norm. We found ourselves standing outside the Brown Derby Plaza (site of the original restaurant) in Koreatown on a muy busy section of Wilshire Blvd. Tucked away in a corner like a nutty relative, the elusive Wako Donkasu awaited us with open arms.

This Korean take on the Japanese favorite is downright delectable. After ordering your desired form of katsu, a bowl quickly arrives filled with toasted sesame seeds along with a mortar to crush them all to atoms for a homemade katsu sauce right at your table (brillante!). K went in with gusto and got the puerco katsu combo: perfecto cutlet (thick, juicy and crujiente), shoyu udon, cabbage salad, potato croquette, shrimp tempura, pickled chiles and radish. I went for the curry puerco katsu which proved to be a mighty trayful: same jugosa cutlet over arroz smothered in curry with all the fixins plus miso soup. All this comes with cold barley tea and a call button that illuminates a mini scoreboard by table numero for any whimsical comida needs. Since I can't say enough about this place, perhaps I should say no more and simply leave you with an image of the colorful cantina next door, salud!

Saint Rose

On a recent sojourn up to California's bountiful wine country, I was able to reaffirm a few things about my innermost likings. Front and center was the shock and awe that always seems to come when finding regional Mexicano comida that keenly catches the ojo. After snoozin' in, B and I headed over to El Michoacano for an early almuerzo. This friendly cafe serves up tipico platos along with a full page of Michoacan specialties. B opted for fried camarones con rice, beans, tortillas and salad; while I went straight for the enchiladas placeras (Morelia style): tortillas dipped in salsa roja filled with cotija queso then lightly fried and topped with shredded cabbage, jalapenos, carrots, crema, and cotija sprinkles. These come flanked by the meat of your choice: grilled pollo, carne asada, fried quail, or pescado along with some spiced 'home papas'. My next affirmation was that Pacific oysters (Tomales Bay varieties in particular) are by far the greatest shellfish in the whole wide mundo. On Sabado, B and I took the windy drive down to Marshall to pick up our own little harvest of bonita sweetwaters. We managed to make off with 59 smalls and a dozen extra-smalls before they sold out for the day, and hightailed it to back the casa for an epic oyster feed. These gems of the sea are perfecto raw or steamed with a pleasant briny, sweet flavor. And lastly, I was able to rekindle my appreciation regarding the mystical qualities of hot tubs. These bubbling devices can prove strange, if not slightly awkward, but once you're engaged it truly is a relaxation not to be missed. While I was a tad disappointed that this tub wasn't actually a time machine, I was more than grateful for the roiling solace to ponder my thoughts (eg: "oops, I just spilled my cerveza, how embarrassing." or "Man, my fingers sure are getting pruned" etc., etc.).

Cinderella Of The Pacific

Apparently the best fish tacos in Ensenada are not found in the Baja Peninsula at all, but rather on Hillhurst Av near Los Feliz Village. This is the unusual statement (which also doubles as the taqueria's name) that hangs high overhead for all passersby to lightly ponder. Tacos (literally "plug" or "wadding" originally in the sense to fill a hole and then beautifully adapted to refer to maize tortillas folded around comida), especially mariscos varieties, are something of a religion for me so I hastily ventured inside to fill the hungry hole in mi estomago. The carta here consists of three things: pescado taco, camarones taco (both frito of course), and bebidas (jamaica, horchata, or tamarindo). I ordered dos pescado, uno shrimp with a cool tamarindo and waltzed them over to the excellente salsa bar, which is really what makes this eatery shine: finely shredded cabbage, crema, radish relish, "hot guac", picante salsa with or without mango, mild salsa, and a tangy salsa with pineapple. During my feast I tried to recall if I even had a fish taco on a recent road trip to Ensenada...I certainly remember cocteles de mariscos, the mural at Bar Andaluz (circa 1930), Hussong's cantina, and the pharmacist with diazepam in his shirt pocket but nothing specific about fish tacos, muy curioso. I suppose I can't fairly say whether these tacos are better than those served in Ensenada, but I do know that the grimy port town by day turned little glass slipper wearer by night made a culinary mark by frying up tacos de pescado. Whatever the result, Best Fish Taco In Ensenada hands down has the best fish taco in Los Feliz, did I say that right?

Pieces Of Eight

Back in the days of Elementary School, if I recall correctly, we were customarily handed a mimeographed calender every month that briefly described the lunch carta for each day. These comida timelines were typically highlighted by wily entries from the school staff such as: Manager's Choice (spaghetti and meatballs or Salisbury steak without fail), Teacher's Choice (sliced turkey con green beans) or my personal favorite Janitor's Choice (always a Big Virginian {caliente ham and queso on a roll} with mashed papas and gravy). So today, while standing in a government line, I maintained this tradition and left the comida details to others to fall where they may. Auspiciously for me, K shrewdly decided on dim sum (a logico choice that can both satisfy the peckish and nearly famished alike) as we headed due south to 888 Seafood Restaurant in Rosemead. While we arrived on the late side (around 1 pm), the carts were still in full swing. The numero ocho is perhaps the most important symbol in numerology worldwide, and this is no exception at the triple eight. We received our first wave of dumplings (mainly camarones) from name tag "809", then came the friendly "830" with some bbq buns and puerco potstickers with leek, next (upon my request) "810" told a busy busboy to fetch an order of Shanghai dumplings; which were cleverly served in individual cups out of the steamer so as not to waste the soup, and lastly "808" topped us off with seafood rice balls as I eyed the elusive "887" strolling away with the congee cart...next time "887". This little theme worked so well that I will wholeheartedly accept a comida recommendation from anyone who reads this. Not only will you be exalted in a future CCB entry, but I will also send a small token of appreciation. Basura's Choice of course.