Spring Break Food Diary Pt. 1

Scientific research has shown that writing a food journal/diary or taking pictures of food can actually help dieters stay on task and lose weight. I’m not really trying to lose weight–I’m actually trying to gain the five pounds I lost while studying over the past 3 months. And since I’m back in California, I figure I could probably eat real food instead of eating Tiger Milks and drinking Myoplex (PROOTEEEEIIINNNN) to gain back my muscle (don’t laugh too hard now). So here goes:

Dear Good Fatty, Bad Fatty,
I’m so glad I can confide my secrets within your pages; today I’ll tell you what I’ve been devouring all week.

Friday: soondubu and barbecued animal flesh at Ko Hyang Tofu House in San Gabriel
Saturday: 2 Beard Papas, 2 sausages from Wurstkuche, and chiles en nogada from La Cabanita in LA (I also had a 40 and some margaritas that night)
Sunday: short rib has breakfast from City Park in Pasadena, two bowls of shio ramen from Santouka, and two mulitas from La Taquiza in LA
Monday: old mulita from La Taquiza, asparagus san yan from China Bistro, and two double doubles from In-N-Out, beer and chocolate
Tuesday: pho from May’s Cafe, sandwich from Von’s, Sweet Tomatoes (salad, pasta, bread, four bowls of soup, brownie, ice cream) for dinner
Wednesday: toast for breakfast, bowl of rice, chicken, and radishes from home, and two tacos from Robertito’s for lunch

I still haven’t barfed, so I must not be eating enough. I’ll try to step it up. Thanks for listening, diary. You’re my best friend.

The 100th Post Fail

I’ve been wracking my brain trying figure out something for this post that would melt some faces. I couldn’t really come up with anything, especially since my planned rant against all online rating services and communities was greeted by all nays and no yays by my friends. Therefore, I’ll have to move that to a later fantastic (damn right!) post. So for now, I’ll succumb to my writer’s block and just say, “Screw my 100th post.”

P.S. Writer’s block is an actual disease–a form of dystonia.

P.P.S. Here’s a map of where I ate for Spring Break 2009. Think of it as a preview of musings to come.

View Larger Map

Los Angeles Day 5: More Mexican Food, And Two For The Road

My plane was leaving at 3:30 so I had to leave the USC area around 2 to get to the airport on time. I had already planned the day out a week before I even left Nashville, and replayed the scenario over and over in my mind: wake up at 8am, get breakfast, pack, eat lunch, buy some snacks, leave for the airport. I had at least enough time for two meals my last day in Los Angeles.

However, I never factored in just how much my gastrointestinal system would resemble the 405 freeway on a Friday afternoon by the end of my trip–even I was surprised my GI system wasn’t firing signals to my brainstem telling my body to puke up a couple tacos or bowls of noodles to relieve the jam of food clogging up the entire length of my intestines.

I skipped breakfast. But I did get lunch!

The weekend had already been packed with visits to lots of good eateries, but I was still excited about getting tacos and mulitas from La Taquiza, a gem hidden amongst strip malls riddled with fast food chains.

One of their specialties is al pastor: meat on a spit, just like how meat is made for gyros, except it’s much greasier and therefore more delicious. I got two tacos al pastor, each of which came with a soft tortilla and generous chunks of meat. That’s it. All other toppings, like onions, cilantro, and salsa, are added at the eater’s discretion, but I bet the taco is just as good in its pure form; I decided to add onions only because my brain needed to be tricked into thinking I was eating at least somewhat healthy. Mission accomplished; I ate two meaty tacos without the slightest regret about what it was doing to my arteries.

Why, I even went on to eat my mulita with chorizo without any reluctance. It was my last meal in Los Angeles after all. The mulita is La Taquiza’s true specialty–cheese, avocado, and meat smushed and melted between two sheets of tortilla (similar to a quesadilla, but not). It’s a fusion of all the forms of fat you could ever want–dairy, vegetable, and animal–that, when combined, unleash a triglyceride and cholesterol-laced explosion in your mouth. I doused it with green sauce and red sauce, then proceeded to savor every bite.

After I washed it all down with horchata, I left for the airport.

It was a good trip. And I also got two burritos for the road!

Los Angeles Day 4: LA Mill Coffee and Chano’s

I’m running out of witty or creative titles, although the title does explain what the post is about, at least. What I do have in plenty of supply, though, are pictures of food! Oh, glorious sustainer of life!

LA Mill Coffee wasn’t really on the top of my list, or the middle of my list, either. It was kind of a snap decision that I decided to see if the coffeehouse/cafe/restaurant really did live up to all the hype. Even on a Monday morning at 10:30, the place was pretty packed. I figured that people worked odd hours that allowed them the luxury of free mornings, or they were just jobless. But the menu is quite expensive, as I will explain, so unemployment really isn’t conducive to eating here. Another possibility is that people were spending money that was earned by more important people.

Enough with the digressions; there’s plenty to discuss about LA Mill. As anyone can see from pictures on the interwebs, this place is pretty chic with its bold color combination and un-indie furniture. What you won’t see, though, is that they serve water in glasses that look like they were washed with sand and dried by sand. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but since the place obviously caters to a poshier clientele (with its faux(?)-alligator skin seats and GIANT chandelier), I figured they would pay more attention to the nitty gritty. Or maybe that’s the way I was raised and edumacated while working at my parent’s restaurant; it’s all in the details. Also, I figured that I would get nicer water glasses for a lunch that cost almost $60 for two.

Anyway, let’s move past the speckled glasses. We drink coffee, afterall. Not water.

I ordered a Blanco y Negro, which contained coffee granita, madagascar vanilla bean ice cream, vanilla scented, and chilled. By chilled, they meant shards of ice in your coffee. I like the presentation of it, fitting of a $6.50 drink, but the drink never hit the spot. I’ve been drinking black coffee for the past 2.5 years, only making a few exceptions for cappucinos–why did I order this all of a sudden? It was the atmosphere. I was caught up in the hype. The specialty drinks were calling my name. Damn you fancy menu! It doesn’t lie: the drink was coffee and ice cream. But that was the problem. I like coffee. I really like coffee. I like ice cream. Just not together. I should’ve ordered a black coffee.

My partner in crime had a Pink Lady, which had sweetened berry hibiscus tea topped with soda. Actually, I’m not sure she had this, but the description matches the picture. And now that I know the red stuff is hibiscus, I think the drink did have some hibiscus flavor in it, though it wasn’t the disgusting flavor of jamaica, but rather real hibiscus–sour and medicine-like. I didn’t have much, but it looked nice!

We started out with a butternut squash soup (I couldn’t find it on the online menu) with sourdough croutons. A server came out and poured the soup in front of us, mixing soup from a pitcher and some sort of cream in the bowl. It also came with ground pepper on the serving plate. Huh. Interesting. The soup was delicious, though, and the croutons were tart and squishy, soaked with buttery goodness. This was a winner.

I ordered the much-talked-about ABLT, or Asian BLT, with pork belly, arugula, tomato, and preserved black bean. The meat was fatty and flavorful, but I just couldn’t take the taste of black bean and pork in a panini. I needed rice. Call me Asian what have you, but black bean sauce only goes with rice, and maybe noodles, not bread. I would also like to note that I did not get the preserved cippolinis and assorments of olives that were supposed to come with plate. Again, we paid almost $60 for lunch. I have some expectations when my meals exceed $25. Not trying to be whiney, but…strike two.

Gina had an order of vegetarian hen eggs with mushroom. It was an average breakfast, only it wasn’t served in a gargantuan portion that breakfast houses are notorious for using–the dish wasn’t coma-inducing. The bread did have the texture of something stale. It didn’t sit quite right with us. Maybe it was the way it was toasted/baked (no sign of toastage), or maybe I’m not into bread that much. I still finished off the dish for her when she didn’t want anymore because that’s what fatties do: they try everything, and then they finish everything because they don’t want starving kids in Africa to eat their food (I’m greedy).

Overall, I would say, “Color me not impressed.” “Not impressed” would probably be an ugly color, like olive or puce. A lot of people probably LOVE the place. Frankly, I wouldn’t pay that much for the food or coffee. I can find better quality everything, sans turquoise aligator seats, in a lot of places in Los Angeles. Hell, we even have a $10,000 espresso machine at EMW Tea Co! We could make stuff like that and charge exorbitant amounts of money. But maybe that’s why I don’t like LA Mill: they do something different and get praised, hyped, and actually get customers. I’m jealous. We try to do something like that in Fresno, and the tea shop gets the stink eye from most people who pass by the window. Yes, it’s true that I’m envious of LA Mill’s ability to attract many customers who pay $10 for a pot of tea while EMW Tea Co has trouble selling pots of tea at $6. But(!), I still think $60 for lunch is way too much for the quality of meal/service/amenities we received.

At dinner, we had Chano’s and Cup of Joy, two staples of my undergraduate dining. It’s food that’s cheap and tasty, and even more delicious when drunk. I won’t say much, except for that each item was meaty and savory, the way all food (with or without MSG) should taste.

Popcorn chicken from Cup of Joy. Nothing compared to the tobasco rim jobs one will receive after eating at Prince’s, but maybe that’s a good thing.

Minced mushroom and meat on rice combo. The English translation of this Taiwanese dish is offensive to both cooks and customers. I with Taiwan would come up with an official translation for my favorite dish from childhood.

Carnitas tacos. My first exposure to real Mexican food in over a year. I’m speechless. My stomach cries acidic tears of joy when eating this, though.

Mix-up burger. It’s a cheeseburger with pastrami. Not really Mexican, but I had an urge to get something really unhealthy, but not deadly like their nacho plates.

I also got a large cup of horchata. I thoroughly enjoyed each sip of rice, cinammon, and sugar, and then passed out from food coma. It was what I could consider a good dinner.

Los Angeles Day 3: Kickin It Oldschool

On my third day, I hit up a couple places that I used to frequent while in college. My friend Donna picked me up so we could get some food and catch up on the past couple of years. The first stop was LA Chinatown–the one in downtown, not Monterey Park–for a giant bowl of pho at Pho 87. Pho 87 is hole in the wall with great tasting and unpretentious food. It was packed with out-of-Chinatowners even at 2pm on a Sunday afternoon, a testament to its deliciousness.

Since this would be my only Vietnamese meal for a couple months, I did as I did at Santouka: ordered a dangerously large amount of food. I started with a bowl of their special pho, which came with a variety of cow parts that reminded me of anatomy for some reason: tripe, tendon, flank, meatballs. And unlike the brown-water broths normally served in Nashville, the soup here exuded flavor which could only come about from hours of brewing no less than a dozen different ingredients.

I also ordered egg rolls for the both of us, but somehow I was the only one eating them. I had five out of eight pieces, to be specific.

I finished up with a glass of che 3 mau, a concoction of beans and jellies in coconut milk. It’s really more of a dessert than a drink, but every place always serves this as a drink. After finishing my bowl of noodles, egg rolls, and che 3 mau, I felt a sudden urge to urinate (I did drink a lot of fluid, after all). It was when I finally stood up after eating that I realized just how much I ate: my abdomen began to contract, trying hard to contain all that I ate to prevent my stomach from bursting out a la Aliens.

It was painful.

I never thought I would throw up from eating so much. And I wasn’t going to anytime soon. I suggested to Donna that we kick it and meander around Chinatown.

Chinatown is one of the most underrated hangouts in Los Angeles. Sure, it’s a huge tourist spot during the day, but it doesn’t compare to New York’s Chinatown; you won’t find counterfeits here. During my years tutoring at Castelar Elementary School, it was only during my last year at USC that I discovered the art galleries and hipster shops in between antique shops. There’s also a pretty chill nightlife. And the architecture is pretty awesome. It’s like walking around an brightly colored Asian themepark.

I came back with baked goods–egg tarts–despite my stomach ache. And I ate them. They were creamy, flaky and delightful.

That night, I went to Yai in Thai Town, another hidden gem/hole in the wall I only discovered during my senior year at USC. The food is cheap, plentiful, and made with some soul. Each dish tasted like someone’s mom or dad made it, albeit without as much love, because I don’t really know who made it, so there’s not much love there. But it’s still good!

Pad thai was at a happy medium in between neon orange and poo brown. It’s also tastier when it’s not either of those colors, too.

The panang here was leaps and bounds superior to the one I had on Friday, and any I’ve had in Nashville. The sauce was creamy and thick, much like a stew. I ordered this mild, but I probably should’ve asked for something spicier. Thai food just isn’t the same when I’m not reaching for a Thai tea to extinguish a fire in my mouth.

The beef salad I ordered did start a small fire, though. This was one of the more authentic dishes on the menu, with beef and red onions tossed in vinegar, chilis and rice powder. Usually beef salads tend to be overwhelmingly sour or spicy, but this was balanced, possibly from the rice powder? I’ve never had rice powder so I can’t say for sure.

It’s been a week since I almost ate myself into painful stomach ache oblivion, and I think I’m still suffering the consequences of eating that much. I don’t regret it, though. Somehow, eating until the verge of throwing up made me feel alive. So how do I feel about it now? I say, “Screw Ben Franklin and his quotes–I live to eat!“

Los Angeles Day 2: One Ramen To Rule Them All

I woke up Saturday with a glimmer in my eye. I knew it was going to be a great day because lunch was going to be at Santouka, which is widely known as one of the best places–if not THE BEST place–for ramen on this side of the globe. Santouka isn’t really a restaurant per se; it’s more of a stall tucked away in the corner of a food court inside of Mitsuwa, a Japanese supermarket. My fall break’s success relied largely in part on slurping ramen from Santouka; it was a ramen pilgrimage–after flying from Nashville, driving across town to West LA, navigating the supermarket’s overcrowded parking lot, and creeping for an empty seat in the food court, I was finally able to sit down and drink from a broth that was nothing short of incredible. In fact, I ordered two bowls of ramen. Who knows when I’ll visit next?

My first bowl was a large order of shio ramen. While shio means salt in Japanese, to call this soup a salt broth is a gross injustice; the flavor of the soup is an intermingling of salt, meat, and seafood, which creates one of the most complex assortment of molecules to ever elicit tastes on my tongue. I had to let the soup sit in my mouth for a moment to determine everything I was tasting. Salty, meaty, seafoody, umami, and even sweet. This is a bowl of noodles that needs no accessories. The pieces of fatty pork, fishcake, seaweed, and scallions were all an afterthought. As for the noodles: some would describe them as al dente, others would say they were Q (or QQ). As long as they weren’t soggy, it was fine for me.

Even though my stomach was bursting to me, I decided to ignore my body and order another bowl of ramen. My next visit might not be for another couple of years. So I ordered a bowl of shoyu ramen, which had a soy sauce base. The soup was also delicious, just not delicious to the max like the shio ramen. After eating, I only had two options for afternoon activities: have my stomach pumped so I wouldn’t throw up, or go take a nap. So we went to the beach and took a nap.

Traffic was at a standstill because of a large hillside brushfire. It sucked because we were stuck for a good 30 minutes, but we at least able to see helicopters dump water on the fire. Seeing it in person is way more exciting than watching on TV.

For dinner, we went to Father’s Office 2.0 in Culver City. The space accommodates a lot more than the first Father’s Office, but there are still a bunch of people there, so it’s still difficult to find a place to sit. Like at the Mitsuwa food court, we had to creep around a bit before finding a table.

Father’s Office is known for having one of the nation’s best burgers. There aren’t any gimmicks like wagyu or kobe beef, or truffles, or foie gras, or gold flakes; it’s aged beef, caramelized onions, arugula, and bleu cheese. Each ingredient added a different dimension of taste to the palate. In short: get in my belly.

The sweet potato fries, like all sweet potato fries, were crunchy morsels of sweet, starchy goodness. You can never go wrong ordering sweet potato fries. The beer was also good. I’m not a beer connesseur–I don’t know how to order anything other than a Blue Moon–so seeing the selection of over 100 beers was a quite intimidating. My friends ordered the beers, and I drank them. That’s how I usually order alcohol. How have I made it this far without getting roofied? It’s probably because I’m not a very noteworthy conquest.