Dog Day Afternoon

Duly inspired from a photo of an LA hot dog taken by fellow CCB heapster Sausagehead, K and I set forth on a semi-dangerous mission to find some overly decorated versions of the classic Americano favorite. While I had originally picked a couple of hot dog havens in Reseda for this experiment, it just seemed too damned far (later perhaps) so we took the rapido drive to Pasadena instead. Our first stop was The Slaw Dogs where the list of dogs, links, toppings, and sides is long and wide. K opted for the summery Picnic Dog: grilled Vienna all-beef, BBQ sauce, onion rings, potato salad, and pickle spear. I went straight in for The Original: steamed dog, beer chili, shredded queso, mustard, chopped cebollas, and cole slaw. K handled her dog with relative ease while mine was certainly a knife and fork affair. Unfortunately, we skipped the Belgian style (or sweet potato) fries here in order to save room for later. The Slaw Dogs also maintains a creative daily dog special board along with a solid selection of international cervezas.

Next item on the agenda was the Dog Haus only a few blocks away. This place boasts the motto: best of the wurst, so I felt an obligation to include it in our tubular research.

Packing an impressive arsenal of sausages, burgers, and sides the Dog Haus is truly locked and loaded. All Haus Dogs come with a signature 1/4 lb. all-beef skinless served on King's Hawaiian bread (3 rolls split together). This is a bold bread choice because it ensures a sweetness that some purists might snub, but for me it worked out just fine. K went 'healthy' with the Sooo Cali: mixed greens, aguacate, tempura fried onions, diced tomate, and spicy basil aioli. Noticing a connection between my favorite dog (Tijuana style, yes they are better south of the border) and an item on the menu, I ordered the B.L.A.S.T: smoked bacon, lettuce, aguacate, sliced serranos, tomate, topped with mayo. We also ordered some papas fritas but after entering into a coma de comida about halfway through I can't seem to remember much about them. Everybody loves hot dogs which is why they remain a vast and ever-changing food topic. I look forward to addressing (eating) this dynamic subject again but I think I'll wait until the real dog days of summer come steamrolling through the Southland.

Old Habits Die Hard

I'm sure you know the feeling of craving Indian/Pakistani comida and lots of it right? We've all been in this dire situation and luckily there's a simple way to deal with it. Find a local lunch buffet and go for the oro. Today, I decided to relive some fond memories of working a tipico day in the sometimes glorious and occasionally mysterious ciudad of San Francisco. Not that the work was always agreeable, but the camaraderie regarding comida was (and undoubtedly still is) second to none. My first stop was Mezbaan under the old Pasadena Hotel where the steam table was still in full swing. Although the selection here is on the small side, the quality is muy grande: salad, sauces (including an excelente chutney), fish pakora, veggie samosa, tandoori pollo chunks, superb basmati rice, chicken korma, daal, saag, and spicy eggplant all served with a dense naan. As and added bonus I chatted up my waiter who, like myself, walked into this place for the first time that afternoon. This earned him some stern looks from the cashier but my telepathic "sure, he's a shitty server but what a nice fellow" glances back seemed to really smooth things over.

True to SF form, I followed this feast up with a trip to the candy store. After a snappy jaunt down the arroyo, I arrived at Galco's soda pop stop in Highland Park (since 1955) which truly is a mecca of bottled beverages of all shapes and sizes--seltzer and cerveza included.

 Perusing the aisles of Galco's has to be some of the most thirst quenching research known to man. And while I didn't exactly find the items I was looking for (Exhibits A and B), I did make off with a some noteworthy sodas: Cheerwine, Bundaberg Root, and Nesbitt's orange with a roll of Bottle Caps thrown in for good measure. My reenactment of days of yore was a standing success except for the lack of good company, Doors references, and most importantly all those vitamins wrapped in worn and crinkled foil.

 

 For JG, who always had a thing or two about food.

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.