Los Angeles Day 1: WeHoooo (Or Just West Hollywood)

Preface: I’ve decided to cut down the content of my Los Angeles posts for the sake of conciseness, save for a few restaurants that warrant an in-depth discussion. I was able to visit about half the places on my “map of happy tummies,” and also visit a couple other places that weren’t on the map, but still delicious, nevertheless.

I landed Friday night around 8:30, and waited for my buddy from high school, Ryan, to pick me up from the airport. The contrast between Nashville and Los Angeles is beyond description. The multitude of people and cars and buses circling the airport arrivals level made my head spin after spending months in little ol’ Nashville. After almost 30 minutes of waiting, I was starting to become enraged purely by osmosis of the abrasiveness around me. I couldn’t stand anymore honking from every other car. And then Ryan showed up, and we were off!

We went to West Hollywood because that’s where Ryan’s girlfriend lives. Along the way, we stopped at a random Thai place, Sammy’s Thai BBQ, to pick up some food. I ordered a panang with chicken. I don’t want to bore you with details and crappy photos of the food, so I’ll just say this: it was meh. I guess Thai places in LA are either a hit or miss.

I lied. Here’s a picture of my food. Where is the substance?

Following dinner, we went out to some gay bar in WeHo, where we partook in 2 for 1 margaritas. It was $7 for two Patron margaritas. I can’t complain. I also saw an old college friend on the way out, who is currently on his third year surgery rotation at Keck. Hm. Interesting.

Walking back, we dropped into Barney’s Beanery, Los Angeles’ version of a dive bar: it’s kinda like all the bars around Nashville, except the crowd seemed more fake (but more diverse!), and it didn’t feel as authentic. At this point in the night, fried food = drunk food = GOOD FOOD. I really liked the fried mushrooms–you don’t see too many of those these days.

Afterwards, we trekked home along the streets of West Hollywood. The walk home involved spotting a stand called LA Buns and Ryan urinating in public. This walk isn’t that interesting now that I soberly recall. After we got home, stuff became more blurry. And that was the end of my first night in Los Angeles. I swear day 2 will be much more interesting and delicious UMAMI-licious.

Sammy’s Thai BBQ, Barney’s Beanery, and LA Buns are all on Santa Monica Blvd.

Devouring Los Angeles

I’m going to Los Angeles this weekend for fall break. I plan on eating at these places and more.

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I will follow up with how much weight I’ve gained, how much my cholesterol has risen, and how much happier I’ve become.

Dirty Dogs, A Taste Of USC

That’s not grease glistening–it’s something heavenly. It’s the perfect nightcap to a raucous night with friends in Hollywood. It’s what warms your soul and body inside and out on a cold 60 degree night in Los Angeles. And around USC, it’s the taste of football on Saturdays before games and the victory dance after trouncing (or destroying) teams like Ohio State.

In preparation for the game, I decided to make dirty dogs to bring a taste of LA to Nashville. Oftentimes, when I’m homesick, or just sick of Southern food, I think of what I could be eating in LA; and what defines Los Angeles seems to be burgers, tacos, and DIRTY DOGS. It’s an amalgamation of American hot dogs and Mexican ingenuity. It’s loved by the populous and hated by the government. It’s something out of a book, really. The dirty dog is so simple to make–hot dog, bacon, onions, peppers–yet no one makes it at home. It belongs in the domain of street food, to be eaten moments after the scents of bacon waft into your nasal passage.

I tried the best I could–and while they were good–they were no match to the LA original. Maybe it was the lack of danger and dirt that comes from illegal immigrants cooking bacon-wrapped hotdogs on makeshift and unsanitary carts with only their bare hands. Or maybe it wasn’t that at all. Maybe I wasn’t drunk enough to fully enjoy the flavors of pigs cooking in their own flesh. It does take a certain amount of nerve and inebriation to willingly pay 3 dollars for something most people would run away from while sober. I think the extra oomph in flavor comes from not knowing how I’ll fare after eating a street dog. Will I be ok or will I be on the toilet for half of the next day? That surge of adrenaline from taking the risk with street food is only inducible in that setting. Needless to say, eating these made me wish I was back in Los Angeles tailgating along Trousdale with the Trojan faithful. But until then, I’ll have to settle for this.