Le Roi De Trempettes

With fuel prices in California climbing close to meltdown levels, I intended to keep today's comida expedition within rifle shot of the quaint Casa Basura. Luckily, a solid (and historic) option came to mind that fit the bill perfectly. Philippe's (nowadays pronounced with the E on the end) is an LA landmark that hardly needs anymore introductions, but I will gladly oblige nevertheless. Originally opened in 1908 by French immigrant Philippe Mathieu, this old-fashioned lunchroom holds title for generating the illustrious French Dip. While this dubious claim is often disputed by Cole's Pacific Electric Buffet (who also declares the honor), most Angelenos think Philippe's first for dips. I somehow managed to miss the noon rush, so I chose the shortest line with the most animated lunch lady (all orders carved on the spot) and presented my humble request: beef dip, coleslaw, pickled huevo (brined in beet juice for a psychedelic effect), and an ice cold lemonade.

 After receiving my trayful, the next step is to procure a seat in the institutionalized (not unlike grade school or a psych ward) dining room. This can prove no easy task during peak hours but today I was chowing down in no time flat. The most exquisita feature of the dips here, as well as Cole's, is that the French roll is dipped (or double dipped) in the au jus rather than having it served on the side. This technique insures a desirable uniform moistness. Accompanied by some chiles and Philippe's hot mustard (which has a nice creamy horseradish flavor), these sandwiches bring out the wolf that lives in all of us. As for the sides, the slaw had a cool vinegar finish and the egg (after I was done staring at it) maintained a sturdy texture with an earthy undertone. With the world turned upside down and imminent doom basically unavoidable, it's a welcome relief to see that Philippe's hasn't changed much after all these years. Truly a lesson on the benefits of patience. Now if only more things in life were just as practical we'd be in good shape.

Sea Shanty

After an unintentional hiatus, I, Solo Basura, have returned once again to the lunch lines to seek out worthy comida that proves to be both mildly inspirational and downright delectable. On a lovely Viernes afternoon, K and I found ourselves in Encinitas at one of my favorecido North County roadside stalls. Raul's is mostly known for their adobaba, chile verde, and fish burritos but whenever I'm in San Diego my brain instantly computes rolled tacos. I swiftly ordered the number 13 combo: four rolled tacos (2 carne, 2 pollo) served with rice and beans (both vegetarian as it goes). At this point I will pause because I know what you're thinking: "Man, that's some gringo comida if I've ever seen any." While this is certainly true (catering mainly to surfers and teenagers), Raul's does manage to keep it real with items like the Mexico City style chicken sopa: flavorful broth, tomates, onion, shredded pollo, sliced avacado. This happens to be K's go to choice here (with a taco back of course), so after the stage was set we started on in.

Ah, a perfecto snack before heading down to San Elijo state beach for a night of camping in the sand. Shortly after we arrived, however, the wind picked up and the sky darkened followed by some light hail and rain that banished us to the tent for the rest of the night. During this restless time, drifting in and out of sleep, I had the tune of the Drunken Sailor stuck firmly in my cerebro (put him in the scuppers with a hose-pipe on him!). I hadn't thought of this song in years but there it was clear as a bell. I'm not sure if I can attribute this heightened musical ability to Raul's, but I'm certain that further testing is definitely in order. Who knows how many hits one might get for a video of a half asleep guy belting out a popular standard (secretly fueled by rolled tacos), but I'm guessing lots.

The Little Things

Lately I have been waiting for a moment in time to coincide when the sun is warm, traffic doesn't completely suck, and I'm off from work to take the drive down towards Gardena to seek out the secluded Sakae Sushi. With two out of three of these specs in place, I flew south on a frio and blustery Viernes to have a taste of traditional Kansai style oshisushi (pressed in a wooden box) mixed with some good old fashioned cut rolls.

The spartan menu at Sakae (since 1962) is summed up with just six immaculate items: saba (pickled mackerel), ebi (cooked camaron with sweet vinegar), inari (fried tofu placed over boxed rice), nori-maki (shiitake, spinach, kampyo {dried gourd shavings}, oboro {translucent kelp} and egg), tamago-maki (same ingredients as nori but topped with sweet egg in lieu of a seaweed wrap), and a California roll (aguacate, shrimp, roasted sesame seeds).

Despite the weather, I took this pristine parcel out to Redondo Beach to enjoy my catch (12 piece mix plus 5 slices of CA roll) in the ocean air. With a lot of work to do, I wasted no time and ripped open my present like a spoiled kid at Christmas. All of the morsels in the box proved to be muy fresco and packed with oishii flavor. I especially like that the inari wasn't stuffed with rice but on top. If I had to pick a favorite out of this elite group, I would have to crown the tamago-maki. I've never tasted tamago this unique and it's a good feeling when you eat something amazing for the first time. For that matter, I'm not even that into huevos but today I can certainly say that I am The Eggman, goo goo g'joob!

Five Waters

There are few places in the world more historically complicated than the Punjab regions of modern day Pakistan and India. With a constant barrage of ancient invaders (Greeks, Persians, Turks, Afghans) followed by a couple of predominant empires (Mughal and Sikh) capped off with British colonialism, the Punjab was not only at the forefront of culture and theology but also heavily responsible for comida etiquette as we know it today. Such as sitting down to eat (people had previously stood to partake), asking to pass an item across or under a table, and engaging in light conversation about the weather while silencing belches with a rolled fist. Of course these statements may just be the rumors of time, but what remains certain is the ongoing influence of Punjabi cuisine (especially the devoted use of the tandoor) in the worldwide spectrum of Indian cooking.

With that in mind K and I stopped by Punjabi Tandoor, a Sikh owned Indian fonda in the magical ciudad of Anaheim, for a quick fill of flavorful sauciness. One distinguishing mark of Punjabi restaurant comida (apparently home cooking tends to be lighter) is the copious amounts of ghee (clarified butter), cream, and paneer (farmer queso) employed during dish preparation. In short, if you like it colorful, rich, and fancy free then this stuff is ripe for the sopping. I ordered up a combo 4: arroz, chicken makhani (tandoored in a yogurt tomate gravy), mixed vegetable korma, cup o' kheer, and a samosa (with brilliant chutney) for good measure. K had a combo with saag paneer but I was too entrenched in tearing my naan to remember anything else. We've all had good naan to be sure, but I must say that the made to order flatbread (garlic or plain) at PT is among the finest anywhere: hot, slightly fluffy, and crispy in all the right places. Truthfully, I have always wanted to take a self-reflective comida tour of northern India, and it still may be in the cards, but until then I'll look towards PT for that little piece of Shangri-La.

It's Like Seoul Man

 With K feeling a little under the weather, I deduced that a trip to Korea Town for some hot sopa would do the trick for a speedy recovery. We pulled in at Ma Dang Gook Soo (that signage looks extra spiffy at night) for a fix of steamy kalguksu. First things first, we cleared the nasal passages with an order of duk bo ki: spicy rice cylinders, zucchini, cabbage, cebollas, carrots, and fish cake. While not quite the fiery version K was hoping for, this popular snack dish is always tasty to chew on a chilly afternoon.

Next it was kalguksu time. Literally translating to "knife noodles", the name reflects that the wheat flour noodles are traditionally cut by hand. I opted for the pollo variety: slow simmered chicken broth (with garlic, ginger, jujubes, and onion) sets the stage for the noodles, papas, zucchini, shredded chicken, green onion, dried seaweed, and thinly sliced huevo. Add a dollop of sesame chili sauce and the result is truly chicken soup for the soul, muy excelente.

 

Meanwhile, K dove into a shellfish concoction of similar stature: anchovy and seaweed broth with steamed mussels, clams and mushrooms. During the slurping, I had to do a double take after noticing one of the friendly waitstaff transporting a bowl of kalguksu barehanded. I received mine with enough billowing steam to blow clear across the table so after 10 minutes in I gave it a heat check--untouchable. I waited to make sure my perception was correct and sure enough I was right. Even with their special grip technique this feat should rank alongside the twelve labors of Hercules. Incredible, come here for the hearty comida and you'll leave marveled by the superhuman service.

Me And Pastrami McGee

 LA is filled with hundreds of greasy spoons that boast colorful signage typically touting the words: burgers, pastrami, burritos. While many of these fondas are best used in an emergency, I did decide to investigate the role of pastrami (outside of a Jewish deli) in the larger SoCal comida universe. Pastrami (from the Romanian pastram meaning 'to keep') is usually made from beef that is brined, dried, seasoned, smoked, and steamed. The result when done properly (as we all know) is tender, packed full of punch, and nothing short of magnifico. I began my meaty research with a slice of the Old Country at Sahag's Basturma where the surly staff crank out Armenian style pastrami (basturma) and soujouk (dried, spicy sausage) pressed in french bread or by the pound. Waiting for my sandwich I felt like I was back in Yerevan (never been) playing checkers with a heavily-cologned colleague and reading crumpled newspapers without photos all day, but when my order came up I hit the streets eager to find a picnic spot.

Before I motored onward I took a quick bite and was astonished. The seasoning tasted strangely similar to Indian pickles but what kind of lunatic would apply Hindu spices to beef? To ponder this obvious contradiction I snaked up to Barnsdall Park to finish what I started.

After diving in, I realized the answer is less theological and more culinary. Similar bouquets are used to zest basturma: cumin, fenugreek, garlic, paprika. Served with some olives, peppers, and thinly sliced pickled radish this cured curiosity hit close to the numbers. In the future I'll know to score my basturma cold cut to eat with huevos (as is popular) or on pita bread with fresh cucumber and tahini sauce.

After digesting for a few days, the next item up for bids was an all expenses paid trip to Pasadena where The Original Tops has been turning cabezas with their succulent pastrami since 1952. Just when you thought The Hat was money, and it certainly is, here comes Tops with a briefcase full of Wilsons. I ordered the Famous Pastrami (Au jus, stacked pastrami, mustard, pickles on a toasted French roll) saddled with shoestring papas, pickled carrots, and chiles all washed down with an icy lemon ole. This juicy sammie was like sinking a Bob Barker hole in one and winning both showcases (the crappy one with furniture plus the cool trip to Rio) on the showdown. With that said, maybe I am serious enough to tackle Langer's delicatessen but until then how good does this look? Come on down!

The Hokkaido Shuffle

With the temps remaining on the chilly side, I (Solo Basura) made a much needed desvio towards Mar Vista for some Asahikawa style ramen. True to form, the small Santouka chain serves regional noodles that are not too hot and not too cold but one hundred percent delicioso. I politely asked for a spicy miso set: ramen (simmered pork broth, bamboo shoots, jelly ear, seasame, negi, cha-shu puerco, picante miso paste), small pork rice bowl, and a boiled egg marinated in mild shoyu. You really do get rewarded in life by asking for things nicely. The broth was buttery, the noodles were near perfecto, and the pork was fatty and flavorful. Even the rice bowl was a hit (must be the juicy pork shoulder) and of course a sliced huevo is a welcome addition to any bowl of noodles. Next time (maybe tomorrow), I'll certainly order their signature shio (salt flavor) ramen that comes topped with a cute pickled plum. Sufficiently warmed and rejuvenated, I hit the streets with an extra spring in my step. Santouka is one ramen-ya that's guaranteed to move your feet and get you out of your seat. Slurp.