Burmese Please

In celebration of Burma's first open election in viente anos (which was mysteriously won by the incumbent military junta) and more importantly the imminent release of political prisoner and personal hero Aung San Suu Kyi, I decided to dedicate this weekend to my favorite Southeast Asian comida. What Burma lacks in civil liberties is inversely made up for on the dining table. Geographically situated between India, Thailand, Laos, and Southern China; Burma is almost fated to have excellente grub. LA, strangely enough, has a general lack of Burmese restaurants so I started the festivities with Yoma Myanmar in Monterey Park. I had to put on the restraints when I saw the noodle menu (especially Nan Gyi Dok) and resigned myself to order a lunch combo instead: beef curry, fish cake curry, arroz, and a daal-like vegetable soup. Unfortunately all my photos of this plato are terrible, but after talking with the uber friendly waitstaff about my short stay in the border town of Tachileik I asked for an order of fried samusa just to be safe. These little wonders (papas and cauliflower) are served with a mouth-watering sauce flavored by cilantro but is inherently smooth and spicy like an old-fashioned Burma-Shave. More to follow...

Greetings from Inglewood, CA home of The "Fabulous" Forum, Hollywood Park Racetrack, Randy's Donuts, Brian Wilson, and the cozy Mutiara market.

 This Halal cafe specializes in tandoori, kababs, and biryani but serves a few standard Burmese dishes (owner hails from Rangoon) on the weekends. I took this golden opportunity to order up a bowl of Ohn No Khao Swe (a very close relative to Khao Soi): wheat noodles, coconut milk, and curried pollo garnished with cilantro, crispy shallots, dried chiles, hard-boiled egg, and limon. K had curry on the mind and went for the daal-lamb combo: chunky lamb and lentil curry, salad, naan, and basmati rice. The gregarious proprietor of Muriata not only told us about his ethnic roots but also informed us that the secret of making good food is to cook the rice perfectly so it "stays long". I have no idea what that means but it seems to be working.

 Our last stop on the mission of Burma was another Muslim influenced hash house (this time in Culver City) that serves Burmese cuisine after 5 PM and on weekends. The fragrant Jasmine market has a small grocery with an even smaller Burmese menu, but I'll have to take it as it comes.

 I felt an obligation here to order Mohinga the unofficial national dish of Burma. This hearty and gritty soup is typically eaten for desayuno and consists of vermicelli in catfish soup with banana trunk, onions, boiled huevos, garlic, and fried chickpeas. We also added a side of Keema Paratha (spiced ground pollo stuffed in flat-bread served with pickled slaw) to round out the meal. Well, congratulations to the people of Burma for the promise of a brighter future. And, if there are any Burmese nationals reading this who are handy in the cocina, just know that the second largest city in America is awaiting your fantastic comida. Don't say I never did you any favors...

A Heartfelt Missive

If there is one item on the menu that even the most passive comida admirer will undoubtedly have a strong opinion about, it's bound to be pizza pie. Whether the best is found in Chicago, Rome, or a lonely teahouse along a Himalayan trail; folks love to tell you "how it is". As for myself, having lived a number of years in Nueva York, I was exposed to some of the great local pizzerias like Grimaldi's, Patsy's, and Ray's (but which one?). I must confess that although I found these fine establishments tasty, I'm just not sure that I have the pizza "know-how" to write a cultured review on the subject. In fact, my novice skill level has kept me from attempting a pizza entry on CCB thus far, but after receiving a clandestine video from Rackics I acquired the needed inspiration to give it a go.
 

Fortunately, K and I didn't need to travel to Seoul on Sabado to set our sights on a Korean influenced pizza parlor. We weaved our way through traffic to the interestingly named Pizza & Chicken Love Letter for an unhealthy dose of wings de pollo and specialty pie.

Although the main focus here is the sweet potato gold pizza, we ordered the Love Letter Combo #3: bulgogi pizza (basically a classic supreme with marinated barbecued carne), una docena original crispy fried wings (complete with a stainless steel bone receptacle), crunchy ensalada (shredded cabbage, corn, dressing, hot sauce), tangy pickled radish, and a pitcher of cola all signed and sealed with a beso. The pizza was certainly passable but the wings (plain yet flavorful) were well above the typical barroom standard. Next time I'll be sure to order the spicy chili wings (served with loads of diced ajo). It's sad to say that none of our fellow diners broke out into a comida dance in or around their comfy red booths. Maybe we shouldn't rely so heavily on others and start working out some snazzy moves of our own. One thing's for sure, with the handful of coupons we scored I intend to come back for seconds real soon. Kamsamnida!

Haunted Tank

Recently, I was reminiscing about my favorito chilhood comic book GI Combat which periodically featured an otherworldly series entitled: The Haunted Tank. This flashback in turn reminded me that there happens to be a military museum/graveyard on Rosemead Av directly in the line of fire of some primoroso comida. So on Friday, hungry and warlike, I set out to Tankland for a bit of armored history. The abundance of outdoor exhibits here (mainly from 1940's though mid-1970's) include: tanks, troop transporters, jeeps, artillery, ship guns, ambulances, amphibious craft, and ordnance. Truly an amazing place to walk around, my experience was further enhanced by a lively conversation with one of the owners. I certainly had more than a few questions in between his mechanical rants such as: "How in the hell did they start those World War I tanks?" and "Do you remember that meth head that drove a tank on the freeway in San Diego?". After getting my fill of the mighty landships, I slowly clanked towards Monterey Park for a fix of steaming Xiaolongbao.

Pulling in at Mama's Lu, I ordered camaron wonton noodle soup with an order of juicy pork dumplings. I know this may seem excessive but dipped in sliced ginger and vinegar these little "baskets" go down like generic oolong tea. Although the skin was a bit thicker here than other local Shanghai style cafes, it served to contain the succulent broth nicely when handled with comida sticks. The sopa was also noteworthy, served bland intentionally, I added chile sauce and a dash of soy to accompany the bok choy, flat noodles, and cerebrum shaped wontons. All in all I would say that this luncheon was not only tasty, but also practical and efficient, much like the trusty M4 Sherman. Kaboom!

Surf N' Turf

I'm not quite sure what brought me to the doorstep of La Playita on Lincoln Blvd. a few weeks ago, but after I found some fotos on mi camara I decided to piece together the details. Actually, the details don't really matter; what matters is that this roadside taco shack serves up some apetitoso comida. I ordered two tacos al pastor, one steamed shrimp, and one pescado (broiled, minced, mixed with salsa) plated with some gratis rice and beans. After grabbing some pickled products, I headed up to my favorite Santa Monica picnic locale the finely manicured and transient adorned Hotchkiss Park. Named for a savvy Victorian Era businesswoman, the grassy slopes here are situated on a perfect angle to dine and recline.

While enjoying my mini-feast, I slipped into one of those half daydream half people watching modes but still maintained focus on the intense flavors. The puerco was excellent and I like that the mariscos tacos weren't the typical fried varieties. Other than that, the rest of my experience remains hazy. Maybe I was traumatized by top-notch tacos, maybe I fell asleep. Either way I'm delighted to add La Playita to my mental list of "must have" tacos, check it out.

Cuyahoga

When I arrived at the Cleveland aeropuerto last Domingo, I moseyed downstairs and found the highly efficient taxi dispatch office with an eager attendant waiting to dash me off in any multitude of directions. Before I could finish stating my destination she handed me dos slips (one for me, one for the driver) with the address and a predetermined fare. Duly impressed, I had a pleasant drive with a friendly cabbie but when I handed him my card to pay there was no place to swipe it. In fact, he broke out the old carbon paper and made the imprint rubbing briskly with a tube of chapstick. I couldn't help but wonder if this was some type of metaphor for what was once the "foundry" region of our great nation. On one hand seeming to be at the forefront and on the other slouching into something obsolete. Progress and disrepair. Actually, I was just hoping my trip wouldn't blow. With that said, I am pleased to report that my feelings of angst were unjustified and that the city of Cleveland (although a non-freezing version) has been nothing short of remarkable. After my two day fill of museos and historic campuses, I took a long walk in the drizzle up through Murray Hill to Coventry Road anchor point of Pacific East Restaurante.

The sushi here was well worth the trek: Blue Fin toro (muy buttery), Tai, Aji, Hirame, and Unagi with a spicy Hamachi cut roll. Served with some cold sake this plato hit the spot, but wait (like the slogan of my hotel) in Cleveland you can "expect the unexpected". This place blindsided me with a bonus Malaysian menu, and a decent one at that. I intended to order more pescado but I took a break and asked the sushi chef for Roti Chanai instead, extrano no?

I love the crispy warmth of this dish: fried and flaky flat bread served with a hearty curry (con pollo and papas). This stuff would make an excellent daily desayuno if it wasn't equivalent (most unfortunately) to eating two grande donuts covered in meat sauce. Now I understand the lesson from the taxi ride. It wasn't so much an outdated inconvenience as it was a pleasant surprise. I mean that is probably the last time in my life I will witness a carbon copy used on a credit card. I wonder what happens next when I take the train towards Lake Erie to check out Johnny Cash's tour bus at the Rock Hall, thanks Cleveland.

The District

Having spent many hours as a youngster in and around the fine institutions that line our National Mall, I felt a distinct nostalgia upon returning to our fair Capital for the first time in over a decade. K and I met up with the amazing Piderclan (AP, V, and lil' O) for some good old-fashioned sightseein'. Of course wandering around enormous museums hungry is near suicidal, so before being reunited with outdated dioramas, preserved giant squid, and suspended airplanes we stopped at Lincoln's Waffle Shop for a greasy desayuno. Situated across the calle from Ford's Theatre and directly next door to the casa that he died in, Lincoln would have surely come here for a syrupy stack after watching "Our American Cousin" had he not been so inconveniently shot behind the left oreja. Besides serving decent blue-plate specials, Lincoln's does a bustling lottery business but what really makes this diner unique (as V found out) is the full bar in the basement complete with some Capitol Hill suits soaking up their morning suds.

 After a long day of learnin' stuff, K and I parted ways with our little tour group and hightailed it down to the Potomac waterfront (still ahead of rush hour) for an express blue crab feast. We hit the cooked seafood stand and made our way to the floating 'eat-in' patio with a dozen crabs (Old Bay seasoned), a throwaway mallet, and a sackful of hushpuppies. I managed to occasionally glance up at the afternoon tour boats as a break in our mechanical routine of cracking shells and pinching meat (with frequent dips in the vinegar cup). Following a much needed hand washing, we flew across the George Mason Bridge leaving the Pentagon in our dust, heading south and out of sight. Next time in town I'll be sure to have West African comida on the radar. Until then, godspeed D.C.

Khao Soi 2: Electric Boogaloo

9/02/10 was a particularly auspicious day on the calendar in the LA area because it happened to numerically coincide with a certain upscale zip code. Instead of preparing for a potential cataclysm, the mayor of this well-to-do ciudad called for a ritzy celebration of all things (comida included of course) 90210. I did what any hungry reveler might do on such an occasion and went in the complete opposite direction towards Thai Town. The object of my lunchtime quest was the always delectable, yet often elusive, Northern Thai dish: khao soi. In an ongoing study of this culinary masterpiece (see previous entry here), I entered into the quiet Pailin Thai on Hollywood for some systematic research. Although not listed on the menu, this family-run cafe will gladly accommodate all those in search of a golden bowl: spicy yellow curry, egg noodles, pollo (thigh and leg meat), cilantro, and crispy noodles served with pickled cabbage, shallots, green onions all topped with a healthy squeeze of limon. The results are conclusive: khao soi can and should be consumed daily if at all possible. Further findings: Pailin, the heavily mined and newly appointed Cambodian Province, has long been known as a stronghold for the Khmer Rouge well after their demise in 1979. While this region was fiercely logged and stripped almost clean of its abundance of precious stones, thankfully (possibly due to Kola migrants from Burma) one overlooked (albeit edible) gem still remains intact today...yep, a distant cousin of delicioso khao soi.