Special Forces

 

Little Tokyo is not only a great place to get a cherry haircut; it's also the new home of a ramen chain that has thus far been mainly limited to the South Bay with a couple of outposts in the San Gabriel Valley. Shinsengumi: a much needed addition to the downtown noodle scene that will no doubt serve to satisfy the hunger of even the fiercest Ronin. Named after an elite police squad of the late shogunate period (who are most famously known for preventing the burning of Kyoto), Shinsengumi likewise protects their long tradition of serving excelente Hakata style ramen. As loyal CCB readers know, this hearty regional variety is characterized by a rich, milky pork bone broth (which at Shinsengumi is meticulously checked using a refractometer) and thin, straight (non-curly) noodles.

I tallied up the signature C.P.C: Hakata ramen with crispy pork ear, poached huevo (I got marinated hard-boiled for some reason), and fried onions. All ordering here is done on a 'golf card' with rows for each member of your party to choose: ramen type, firmness of noodles, amount of oil, strength of soup base, and any omissions along with a myriad of toppings from corn to cod roe

While gawking at the patterned countertop, my steamy bowl was plopped down front and center complete with the core components: pickled ginger, cebolettas, and chasu puerco. All I had left to do was place the toppings and go to town.

Pure crackly goodness. I must admit that I may be a bit too prone to having fanciful thoughts when dining on comida such as this, but with Halloween on the horizon it seems apropos. Shinsengumi would make a robust final meal for any forlorn samurai required to commit seppuku although it would make a terrible, yet slightly humorous mess. While a more modern wayward soul might have their fill of this amazing stuff at the Tokyo location before setting off forever into the mythical Sea of Trees. Whatever you do get some Shinsengumi before it gets you...

Border Patrol

 

I once thought the center of the universe was most assuredly located at the intersection of 6th and Mission in San Francisco. Never before had I felt such insane magnetism and outright unpredictability. I now know this notion to be a folly and suspect that the true hub of the cosmos lies in a much more serene (albeit hotter) environment. San Ysidro, California, the last bastion to browse through endless retail stores before heading south into the equally vast reaches of the Baja Peninsula. Stashed away under the 905 freeway lies the site in question, a well-stocked liquor store with a parking lot host that will knock your 'swap meet' socks off and leave you dreaming for more.

Complete with a few working payphones and the ever pleasant rattle of light rail, Mariscos German must of used some sort of celestial divining rod to find where to best chock their wheels. The menu here is extensive: ceviches, cocteles, clamatos, caldos, and even some sabrosa carne asada to keep things honest. 

Whatever delectable direction you choose to take, all orders come with a spicy seafood broth that will warm up the taste buds in a hurry. Typically there is a prawn or two to be found floating in your cup, which is mostly for flavor in my opinion, but if you're starvin' como Marvin take the extra step and suck away.

For me, it seems, the intergalactic concourse is all about the tacos de pescado: precisely fried white fish in a warm tortilla simply topped with shredded cabbage, pico de gallo, and crema. It would be tough task to find a contender for these magnifico plugs on either side of the border...muy bueno. It may be that our perception of time is determined by our personal inner clocks. Being that the center of the universe is relative to our own limited travels through the ether. Er, right...I'm just glad to have pinpointed its source once again, at least for now.

Use Your Noodle

Is it truly absurd to motor 15 miles for a bowl of noodles? Not when you got the time and the traffic's right. Besides, distance driving is a sport Angelenos frequently play whether we want to or not. But more importantly, as a wise comida sage once told me, when one is faced with the promise of phenomenal noodles it is always prudent to take advantage. K and I faithfully accepted this advice and sped out to Temple City for a Taiwanese style almuerzo at House of Mandarin Noodle.

While ordering a fresh mango juice, the stern (yet meticulous) waitstaff quickly profiled us and determined that K most certainly spoke Hokkien dialect (which she doesn't) and that I, Solo Basura, should ultimately be given the option to eat with a fork. With that established, I set the wheels is motion and ordered it up.

The first item on the block was a glistening bowl of puerco wontons in a spicy sauce with crushed peanuts and chopped celery. These little bambinos cover a lot of bases: fiery flavors and juicy dumplings combine with an emphatic crunch. During my savory foray, I couldn't help but think that this dish would make an excellent desayuno and it would sure as shinola wake you up in no time flat.

Next came the sliced beef pancake (sometimes referred to as a Shandong beef roll due to its Northern Chinese origins) stuffed with carne, green onions and cilantro. I must admit that I have had better versions of this tasty creation, but I also realize it's counterintuitive to complain about anything that's beefy and flaky.

And for the finale, a steaming cauldron of delicioso beef noodle soup: rich broth (not greasy at all) with tender carne, firm noodles, scallions, and cilantro. This stuff will put a smile on your face and damn sure cure what ails ya. If beef isn't your thing HOMN has around twenty noodle soups (along with stewed cold cuts) to choose from, just be sure not to miss out. I am deeply humbled to have recalled my comida teachings in such a meaningful way: it's not the distance, it's the noodle. This was well worth the trip.

A Happy Diversion

While attempting to reach my local Italian deli for a look at a sandwich of legendary stature (later, for sure), I was abruptly blockaded by an unexplainable swarm of LAPD. This included three low flying helicopters, a dozen or so motorcycles, and an endless stream of squad cars all being filmed by a rookie cop with a smart phone. I decided not to take any chances in case they were going gangbusters towards the previously mentioned deli (which is certainly popular with the fuzz), and changed my course entirely heading south to Arlington Heights where La Cevicheria rocks gently in the breeze. This place is no secret, but the steady trickle of customers (never overwhelming) seems to make the already jovial proprietor even more elated. Walking up to the screen door my mouth started watering like Pavlov's dog when I mentally pictured my usual ceviche of choice.

The Chapin: a holy grail of tangy mixed mariscos Guatemalan style. One might presume that a ceviche recipe from a landlocked country might be a bit like buying a surfboard in Nebraska, but believe me this is some of the best that the present universe has to offer: shrimp, pulpo, crab, tomates, red onions, avocado, cilantro, fresh mint, and Worcestershire sauce served with a dynamic duo of tostadas and habanero salsa.

 In addition to a Peruvian ceviche (highlighted with red snapper and yellow aji peppers) and the now infamous chalice of Bloody Clams, La Cevicheria serves hearty Caribbean fish stews along with industrious seafood cocktails like vuelve a la vida: camarones, oysters, abalone, octopus, crab, fish ceviche, tomates, pepinos, onion, avacado, and cilantro all swimming in a saucy micro-ocean. Whatever your briny poison, this spot has got you covered. I would like to thank the LAPD for a truly pleasant dining experience and for reminding me that when you go one way I'll gladly go another. Here's mud in your eye!

Khao Soi 3: Search for Curly Gold

It's been almost a full year since my first sequel regarding the magical qualities of everyone's favorite Northern Thai noodle dish, so today I sailed over the Cahuenga pass to Sri Siam for a golden bowl of Khao Soi. North Hollywood is largely known for cranking out infinite amounts of internet pornography, but this fair barrio also hosts a decent amount of solid Thai cafes that can be just as tantalizing. Sri Siam serves all the basics plus a wide array of noodle soups (like yen ta fo sho kun: spicy rice noodle soup, fish cake, fish balls, espinaca), flavorful seafood dishes (such as crispy soft shell crab with green curry), and tangy salads (like the crispy rice salad: sour sausage mixed with crispy rice, roasted cacahuetes, ginger, green onion). However, with the focus of my comida adventure already predetermined, I ordered and waited vigilantly to get my hands once again on the savory treasure.

One curious detail hit me right away when the menu offered Khao Soi with a choice of beef or pork. As we know by now, this dish has Muslim roots and is sometimes served with carne but certainly almost never with pork. I should have simply requested pollo but I stuck with it and opted for beef. Along with a unique crispy egg noodle chopstick holder, this version came with the tipico sidecar: purple onion, bean sprouts, limon, pickled mustard greens, and a potent chili flake sauce. Once the components were fused, I set right in and experienced those joyful spicy sniffles in no time flat. During my slurping I suddenly realized that a Sri Siam bowl of Khao Soi is way hotter than any neighborhood skin flick, even on a good day. So for those of appropriate age and equal interest, here's a candid peek. Hubba Hubba.

Earthquake on 1st Street

Sometimes signage above a restaurant is just too ridiculous to ignore. Such is the case with La Chicken in Little Tokyo which flaunts colorful banners that tout Japanese tacos and burritos. At first glance this seemed like another in a long line of 'Asian Confusion' joints that create needless comida combinations designed to enhance mediocre flavors. This aside, I promptly swallowed the bait (seeing that separately Japanese comida and tacos rank high here at CCB) and found myself intrigued even further by the baffling sign plastered on the front door.

I chalked this up to a translation quirk but made a mental note to be on the lookout for a 'new car scent' when dining on my pollo of choice. I ordered dos tacos fully expecting that teriyaki sauce would make up the Japanese component but man did I get it wrong.

These plugs are nothing short of spectacular: marinated pollo (spicy and juicy), chopped cilantro, cebollas, and finely diced avocado. After fueling up at the condiment bar, I suddenly understood the Asian persuasion. Two ice cold and frothy salsas: the green (Japanese mayo, wasabi, and basil) and the red (Japanese mayo and Sriracha) whipped thin with a submersible blender. This is just a guess because when I inquired about the composition of these mystifying elixirs the proprietor (who I had already pissed off by snapping pictures) simply stated: "that one's spicy, that one's medium". While delving into this flavor explosion there was a slight seismic occurrence, which made a nice emphasis on an excellent almuerzo. Nothing at all to get worried about, although I'm pretty sure this dumpster jumped over a solid foot...Kampai!

Down on the Corner

Upon hearing longtime rumors regarding the elusive Oaxacan quesadilla lady (complete with her traditional blue corn masa), I frequently sneak a peek whenever I pass the intersection of Sunset and Echo Park to just maybe catch a glimpse of the legendary comida phantom. So after three years of vain searching (someday, Oaxacan quesadilla lady...), I must admit that I have only set ojos on this wonderful little mujer who serves up tasty quesadilla fritas Mexico City style. Was there some epic quesadilla battle to decide which culinary region would ultimately control this turf? Perhaps the good people on the street silently demanded a sea change from blue to fried?  

Whatever the case, I have eaten a pile of these crispy dandies and they never fail to fill those queso cravings. For me the most sought after variety is shredded pollo in red sauce followed closely by the papas con queso. There very well may be other astonishing selections but I have yet to deviate from the norm. The process is simple: masa gets patted out, fillings are added, then it's folded and fried until golden. Once your order is up, our fearless mujer will administer cabbage, crema, and crumbled queso blanco (similar to Parmesan) to your liking then set you loose on the salsa buckets. I wish I could pinpoint which variety is the most picante, but from experience I've got to say all of them. No matter what colorful combination I create it somehow always manages to turn out hotter than the center of Hades. 

The crema certainly helps to soothe the heat but to make sure you're on the safe side do a 180, cross the street, and get yourself an ice cold cerveza (or perhaps a cocktail in a can). Now available on balmy summer evenings, see you there.