Maui, Part 1, Section A: Saying "I Do" The Hawaiian Way

When I was just a wee 6th grader in the early 80's, I read a story in one of our Reading Comprehension textbooks about technology and the future. The story described a day in the life of a typical American family at the turn of the century in which the family relied heavily on modern technology to get through their daily lives. They used "Vision Phones" to communicate with one another. If I remember correctly, they submitted their grocery lists electronically and were even able to type in what kind of meal they wanted via some high-tech refrigerator and have the food made for them. As a kid back in the day, I found technology fascinating, but at that level, I was more concerned about how to program the little turtle to turn 180 degrees on the screen of my Apple IIE than to think about how I'd be completely dependent on technology as an adult. So as much as I thought our reading assignment was cool, the little "yeah right" light went off in that little bowl-cut head of mine. Now, I don't think I'd ever trust my fridge to make my food, but never in a million years did I think I'd be using Skype and a web cam to see what my baby niece is up to. Never did I think I'd ditch the shopping mall for the convenience of online shopping. Never did I think that I'd plan my entire wedding via the web.

Yes, you heard me right.

I planned my entire wedding online.

Over the past year, my computer and I have been attached at the hip, sending emails back and forth between vendors, chatting and getting ideas from wonderful cyber-bride-friends I've met online, and searching through countless websites and photos to figure out how my dream day would come together without actually ever having seen anything in advance.

And so, on a beautiful and very warm September morning in Wailea, Isaac and I, along with 14 of our closest family and friends literally just "showed up" and celebrated one of the most important events in our lives. Technology did me right and all the cyber wedding planning paid off--it was the perfect day. The sky was a such a vibrant shade of turqouise and the Pacific Ocean such a beautiful deep shade of cobalt blue that morning that I knew my Dad was shining down upon us. We were completely encapsulated by the natural beauty surrounding us as we said "I do."

Maybe it's because I've always been the rebel in my family, always choosing to do the unconventional; whatever the case may be, I guess I'm what you can call the ultimate Chinese Anti-Bride. Not that I think that Chinese wedding traditions aren't beautiful because they absolutely are, but really now, I've been to one too many Chinese weddings in my lifetime and I didn't want to put on the same show that dozens of my friends and family members had done in the past. I also really didn't feel like going through a thousand rituals topped off by an extravagant 10-course dinner banquet at Ocean Star Seafood for 400 people. Isaac and I wanted small and intimate instead, and that's what we got. Sure, you might say that we missed out on a wad of red envelopes stuffed with cash from our elders, but we were willing to sacrifice money in exchange for some peace and quiet, the opportunity to spend quality time with our guests and most of all, the ability to enjoy and eat all of our food! I don't know how many times I've heard stories of my famished tuxedo and gown-clad friends making a beeline to In N'Out Burger after their own weddings.

It's a little easier taking a chance on a restaurant when it's only 5 or 10 miles away because you can simply do a drive-by. If not that, then with the growing amount of Southern California foodbloggers out there nowadays, there's bound to be someone with a delicious pictorial review of the restaurant in question. When planning a wedding that's a couple of thousand miles away, however, you're making a decision based on a website with maybe a couple 3x4 photographs of your venue at most. Most of the reviews out there, if any, sounded like whatever tourist-trap literature they had come from had been paid by the restaurants to write favorable reviews, or should I say advertisements rather. It took a couple months of web-tective work , googling Maui restaurants and spending time on The Knot, which is more or less the Chowhound of the wedding industry, to finally choose our shower, wedding reception and post wedding dinner locales.

I really hoped that the outside of Cafe O'Lei was no indication of the quality of food and atmosphere we'd be awaiting inside. We were here for the first of our wedding-related events, our Co-ed Wedding Shower-Slash-Welcome Lunch and though I am by no means an atmosphere snob, it's always nice to have a little bit of atmosphere for those special occasions. I had faith, however. I knew if there was one thing my brother and sister in-law are picky about it's food, and I knew that despite the restaurant's upstairs location in a Kihei mini-mall that was adjacent to Denny's of all places, the food was bound to be decent. I had also heard through the wedding grapevine, that these guys do a pretty mean catering gig. So under the awning, up the stairs and through the tinted glass doors I went.

The atmosphere proved to be very pleasant--we had our lunch and shower festivitites in a private room with arched doorways and teal blue walls--and the food also proved to be fine. Not excellent, but fine.

Their menu is a mix of contemporary American and Pacific Rim-inspired cuisine. We started off our meal with a couple plates of Manoa Lettuce Wraps and Cafe O'Lei Crab Cakes. The crab cakes, in my opinion, were slightly on the bland side, but made a little tastier with a few swipes of the remoulade-like sauce and a few bites of the arugula salad that adorned the dish. I also detected a slight hint of cilantro mixed into the cakes which immediately gave them the gag-factor. The Manoa Lettuce Wraps, however, were quite tasty. Hoisin sauce gave body to the bits of ground chicken, mushrooms, water chestnuts and ginger which were consequently wrapped up and eaten in cool, crisp lettuce leaves.


cafe o'lei crab cakes


manoa lettuce wraps

My Mom offered me a bite of her Jumbo Tiger Shrimp Salad, which was nicely presented on a bed of mixed greens. "What is that yellow stuff?" I asked her; to which when she told me it was yellow papaya, I politely declined, telling her that I don't eat that stuff because it smells and tastes like ass. She told me that I was silly, that the salad was "delicious and refreshing" and that I was missing out. I guess I'll never find out so I'll take her word for it, and here's a picture:


jumbo tiger shrimp salad

I quite liked my Seared Ahi Sandwich, served with wasabi mayo on focaccia because the big hunk of ahi tuna was extremely fresh and tender. On the side was a Caesar Salad...nothing special, but nevertheless providing some contrast to all that bread and meat. Too bad I couldn't finish it all--I had a wedding dress to fit into the next day!


seared ahi sandwich

My husband-to-be ordered the Sauteed Mahi Mahi with rice and salad and a couple of our friends ordered the Tempura Mahi and Chips, all agreeing that the mahi mahi, though quite a boring fish, was very fresh. Around the table were the restaurant's Crisp Fried Boneless Chicken, Crab Club Sandwich, Asian Salad, and Bill Eby's Makawao Beef Burger. I sampled some, I didn't sample others. Overall, we were quite pleased with Cafe O'Lei as the food, for the most part, was tasty and nicely presented as well as reasonably priced; the portions, however, were so large that it was a little overkill for those of us wanting to preserve our bikini bodies.


sauteed mahi mahi


tempura mahi & chips


crispy fried boneless chicken

Dessert consisted of a combination of treats for the table to share: a pineapple upside down cake which was excellent, a chocolate banana cream pie that was a little on the hard side and quite forgettable, a chocolate/Grand Marnier cake which was absolutely sinful and a lilikoi cheesecake that was so sweet it made my cavities hurt.


a bunch o' dessert

There were no games to be played at this particular shower--we did not have to play "Make a Wedding Dress Out of Toilet Paper" this time. Instead, my friends and family presented us with a scrapbook filled with pages that each of them had put together. Everyone gave loving well wishes and marital advice; some even chose to take us on a trip down memory lane...my oldest, bestest friend included a photo of us marching in an elementary school Halloween parade. There was a skinny boy wearing a giant Yoda mask marching in front of us; my friend was wearing 60's sweater and poodle skirt. I had on a purple leotard and my bowl cut hair was held in place by one of those headbands with the springy bug antennas on top. That dorky looking girl in the picture probably thought she was destined for a huge church wedding followed by an over-the-top Chinese banquet filled with red and gold good luck charms and lion dances. Little did she know that she'd be one day living her reading assignment--planning her dream wedding via a computer.

Stay tuned for part 1, section B, when DG actually ties the knot!

Cafe O'Lei
2439 S. Kihei Rd
Kihei, Maui, HI
(808) 891-1368
lunch served from 10:30 am to 3:30 pm; entrees from $7-$15 per person
dinner served from 5:o0 pm to 9:00 pm; entrees from $16-$35 per person
www.cafeoleirestaurants.com

Aloha...I'm back!

I'm back, bitches...married, tan, and very, very bloated.

My new husband and I spent the last half of September in paradise, basking in the sun, frolicking in the water, eating some very ono grindz and watching gorgeous sunsets every evening.

But now I am back home in Los Angeles.


From this....


...to this.

As I was driving home on Washington Boulevard from an extremely difficult first week back at work the other day, I watched the sun set. Like the sunsets we witnessed in Hawaii, rich hues of periwinkle, lavender, orange and gold danced with one another to form the most interesting marbled patterns in the sky. Unlike Hawaii, however, there were no palm trees, golden sands or sparking waters in the foreground. No, what I saw in front of this sunset on my drive through Vernon, CA, that evening were "El Cucuy de la Mañana" billboards, power lines, railroad yards and big rigs. This sunset was formed out of the smog particles that had saturated the air, which by the way, thanks to the Farmer John plant in the area, also smelled like rancid cat food.

I have decided, therefore, that I need to find a way to pack up and move to Hawaii, and I figure there are three ways in which I can achieve this goal:

a) Think up an ingenious business plan involving some way to lure in and gimmick tourists.

b) Live a modest lifestyle with whatever life savings I already have and work at Starbucks in order to get a 401K and health insurance.

c) Whore out my analytical skills--there's gotta be someone over there who is in need of some in depth business analysis.

Or I can just shut the fuck up and enjoy my life in L.A. And maybe just have a vacation home in Hawaii. Is that better?

Anyways, folks, I'm glad to be back...have you missed me??? Look for new posts detailing my Hawaiian food (and other!) adventures over the next couple of weeks.

Much aloha,
DG

Heaven Has A New Star Chef: In Loving Memory Of My Father

After a fifteen month-long battle with pancreatic cancer, my father recently passed away. I wrote my Dad a letter regarding love that I read aloud at his funeral service, and I'd like to share it with all of my readers...


Dear Dad,

I remember a day years ago when I was growing up and you and I had gotten into an argument. I don't remember how the argument had started or even what we had argued about, but I do remember that in a fit of anger, I had asked you why you weren't loving like other dads. I told you that I resented the fact that I got more lectures than hugs and kisses from you and that you never called me "honey" or "sweetheart" or "princess" and that because of that, I did not feel loved. I also remember that you were very hurt and angered by what I had said. Though it's more than 20 years after the fact, I still want to apologize for ever saying that. I'm sorry Dad--I was young and naive, and most of all, I was wrong.

For over the years, I learned through you that I didn't need to be called "honey" or "sweetheart" or "princess" because those are merely words! I know that you were never the touchy-feely, huggy-kissy type; in fact, more often than not, you had quite a serious demeanor and fiery spirit. But through your efforts to teach your children what's right--hence, the lectures--and through the constant selfless sacrifices you made for your family, you showed me what the true definition of love really is. You taught me that it's not what you say, but instead what you do for your loved ones that counts. You were the ultimate embodiment of the phrase "actions speak louder than words" and for that, Dad, you are the most loving man I have ever known.

Dad, one of your greatest passions was food, and it was often through food that you showed your love. You always planned ahead to make sure you fed me my favorite dishes when I came home to visit. I could have just bought myself a little something for lunch at the office cafeteria on days where I went straight to work from flying back from home, but you always made a special stop in Oakland Chinatown on the way to the airport to buy me a bahn mi sandwich just so I could have something better to eat. And because I'm your daughter, you always kept a watchful eye over all of my boyfriends, but despite the suspect comments, you showed your acceptance in your own way. Never did you say to me "I like him--he's a nice guy"; instead, you'd ask, "What does he like to eat?" or "Does he eat this?" and then cook accordingly.

So that I would have a taste of home away from home, you always packed more of my favorite home-cooked foods into to-go containers to take back with me to LA. Sometimes you even drove the food down to LA yourself, spending a few quality hours with your daughter and then turning around to deliver food to [my brother] in Davis on the same day! I know, there were times when we were a little less appreciative--when we'd trade our home-cooked Chinese food for pizza or when we would joke with our cousins about tossing those to-go boxes out the car window on the way back to school. But we always knew that no other dad would have done such an act of love for his children, and we savored everything you cooked for us.

I will miss you Dad; I will miss your cooking and most of all, I will miss your love. But I am comforted by the fact that you are in a better place and that we will see each other again. Until then, I know that because you've affected so many people so much with your love, there will be enough love to last for generations to come.

I love you Dad.

Love,
Pamela


It's not like I've been around much recently anyways, but I just wanted to officially say that I'll be taking a little bit of time off from food blogging to catch up on some personal things. Don't you worry, though...I promise that I will be back in full force with a husband, a clear mind, and a full stomach. Look for new posts in the fall, maybe earlier if I find the time.

And please, if you haven't already read the post I wrote back in November when I had taken time off to be with my Dad, I urge you to do so. It means alot to me, and I hope it will mean alot to you as well.

I wish all of you and your loved ones the very best.

Can I Press Charges For Hit and Run Snarkiness?

(photo courtesy of Melissa's Produce)

Dear Anonymous Commenter:

Do not read my post about my first experience eating Salvadorean food at Koreatown's Atlacatl and then leave me a comment that simply says:

"How did you get the impression that 'yuca' is a tuber? It definitely is not..."

By doing a little internet research in the form of articles such as this and this, I came to the conclusion that the yuca is indeed a tuber. But if you disagree, then please, do not just do a drive-by and then run off. At least tell me what it fucking is.

Hugs,
DG

Who Wants Some Dirty Sugar Cookies?: The Dirty Sugar Cookies Virtual Book Tour, Day 20

I think I found my epicurean soul sister.

If "epicurean" is the right word to describe us, that is. Because the word "epicurean" implies that one is well studied in the art of food and drink--that one has, according to Webster's Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary, "sensitive and discriminating tastes especially in food or wine." When somebody says that someone is an epicure, thoughts of ladies and gents with eating with turned up pointy noses come to mind.

So maybe "epicurean" isn't the right word to describe my newfound (insert word pertaining to food here) soul sister Ayun Halliday, author of Dirty Sugar Cookies: Culinary Observations, Questionable Taste. To be quite honest, when Ayun first approached me and asked if I'd like to participate in a virtual book tour to promote her new book, I had no idea who she was. I never read her other books The Big Rumpus, No Touch Monkey or Job Hopper nor have I ever heard of her 'zine East Village Inky. And maybe because I hadn't, and because at that time I didn't know much about Dirty Sugar Cookies except for the fact that it was some sort of food memoir, I pictured Ayun as the stereotypical epicure...you know, the type that has serious discussions about foie gras with a group of wine snobs. But I was sooo wrong! (Please forgive me Ayun!)

Ayun knows food the way I do. We like it; hell, we adore it. But come on, let's be honest here. We didn't always like what we like, or dislike what we dislike. And we weren't all born with a silver palate, but we did have curious obsessions with those that seemed like they were. Dirty Sugar Cookies takes us along the long, sometimes awkward, but certainly humorous road to culinary self-discovery. She brings us back to her chilhood and adolescence where Pop Tarts weren't just something she scarfed down at camp, but something that fit into an almost obsessive-compulsive pattern of breakfast eating where everything, including Count Chocula and the Pop Tart, had to be placed just so. I'd pretty much pushed Seventeen Magazine deep down into the dregs of my memory until Ayun resurfaces those memories of prom fashions and lip gloss in telling us what role the beloved teenage magazine and food played in her coming of age. She tells us of post-coital breakfasts and why certain neighborhood diners were more well suited for them. We go with her to Indonesia and Thailand where she shows us why we'd never want to order an Austrailian Pizza and also about how she fell in love with (but never again could find) mangosteens.

But perhaps my favorite part of Dirty Sugar Cookies is an earlier chapter titled "Fruit Basket Upset" where Ayun reminded me of my childhood definition of good cooking. Now I'm not talking McDonalds, pizza and candy; I'm talking about those things that I identified as good eats when I first realized that cooking's a process--that it's an art. With that being said, I'm not talking about miso glazed black cod or osso buco either. When I was young, I thought the most bad-ass chefs were the ones who could make some outrageously over-the-top creation like the coveted "Enchanted Castle" cake from the Betty Crocker Boys and Girls Cookbook that Ayun so fondly remembers. It was a cake situated on a lawn of coconut shreds that were dyed green and that had ice cream cones as turrets; it was a cake that was big, gaudily ornate and colorful and which had a big fancy picture within the cookbook, luring both boys and girls in everytime they looked at it and making them think "Gee, when I grow up I'm going be a chef and make a cake just like that one!" Little did one know that the inside of that cake probably tasted like paste. Yet at that age, that cake stood for real cooking, dammit.

So, because I'm a sucker for sarcasm, I decided to recreate "Shitty Kitty Confection" from a cake recipe at the end of the chapter. Ayun calls it "a trompe l'oeil treat"--a bit wacky, I say, but I fucking love it. Imagine all the "oohs" and "aahs" Mrs. Happy Housewife would receive as she brought this out to the dinner table back in the day! Here the excerpt from Ayun's book...follow along, won't you? (And maybe make one yourself someday!)

"Prepare 1 large package of vanilla pudding mix according to package directions. Most likely this will involve milk. (You'll want to have some on hand anywayto wash down the horrifingly realistic finished product.) Stick the pudding in the fridge in a container of your choosing.

Mix 1 box of German chocolate cake mix with whatever eggs or oils it may call for, and bake according to the instructions on the side of the box in whatever pan grabs you.


(My supplies! Fortunately, everything was on sale at Albertson's.)


(Mixin' it up with Duncan Hines)

Repeat the above process with 1 box of white cake mix.

Get ready to fuck your blender up with 1 package of vanilla sandwich cookies...you know, the kind you hated as a kid because they weren't dark, like Oreos. If you're the old fashioned type, get out your rolling pin and clobber them up to crumb city that way.


(Since I have a food processor, I guess I didn't have to fuck up my blender)

If you want to get really fancy, dude up 1 cup of cookie crumbs with a few drops of green food coloring. Stir them up good and set aside.


(New and improved extra deodorizing formula!)

Once the cakes have cooled, crumble them up into your largest mixing bowl with half of the undyed cookie crumbsand enough pudding to bind it all together, without turning things too boggy.


(Mix it up good!)

Line the brand new litter box you bought at the pet supply store with one of the brand new disposable litter box liners picked up on the same trip. This is one step where it doesn't pay to skimp, no matter how fastidiously you wash dishes.

Strip the wrappers off a few small Tootsie rollsand heat them in the microwaveuntil they are as pliant as if you'd tucked them into your armpits for an hour (which you can totally do if, like me, you don't have room for a microwave in your kitchen) Now that they're warm, these little brown logs are yours for the shaping. Pay special attention to the ends, which should be tapered. Make as many of them as you'd like, but at least one per guest. Follow your muse. Just work in small batches for maximum plasticity. Bury most of the doctored Tootsies in the cake mixture.


(I showed Isaac my first turd attempt. He's had a cat before (poor Isaac) and would be able to tell me if my Tootsie turds were passable. He took it from me and said I had to make 'em smaller & more dimply. The above is what the finished product looked like. )


(Carefully inserting a Tootsie turd into the cake litter)

Over this mess, sprinkle the remaining undyed cookie crumbs. fancy types can follow this up with judiciously spaced, chlorophyll green "odor crystal"crumbs.

For good measure, plop a few more Tootsies defiantly atop the "litter"--you know, the way felines do.


(The practical side of me told me to not buy a real litter box since I will never, ever own a cat. So I used my trusty 9x13 cake pan.)


("No, no, cats don't leave all their turds on the top," Isaac advised, "you gotta bury them more." I left one sticking out just for kicks.)

Serve with a pooper scooper that, if not brand new, is at least reserved for culinary purposes such as this."


(Mmm! All nice & clumpy--just like kitty would have left it! Note that I didn't have a kitty litter scoop either, so I used the next best thing.)

It tasted kinda like...paste! But oh what fun it was!

Dirty Sugar Cookies is available for purchase now through Powells.com. Buy it. Now.

Daily & Gluttony Go To Fatburger

I don't mean to lead you on.

I don't mean to make it sound like there were raging parties at the university with girls playing Battle-Shits in the bathroom. In fact, there were no "Extreme" guys taunting me inside the convenience store. I was not stuck at some tow yard with some scary dude with crossed-eyes, boils and missing teeth. Doogie Howser did not steal my car while he was high on E. There was no jail, no doobage, no giant walking bag of doobage, and no riding on the back of a stoned cheetah.

No perhaps none of this happened. But just like our friends silver screen friends Harold and Kumar, I was on a quest one Saturday night for the one thing I just couldn't get out of my mind. They wanted their White Castle and I wanted my Fatburger. And I set out on a quest to get it.

I don't know what suddenly gave me the urge to go on the hunt for this particular burger on a bun. Perhaps it was how the smokiness of the grilled beef patty seems to dance in harmony with the melted cheese and special thousand-island and relish based sauce. Or maybe it was how the top of the toasted bun gleams with the slightest bit of oil and breaks with a faint crunch when you first bite into it. Whatever it was, I was obsessed, even if only for one night.

Unlike Harold and Kumar, I had no partner in crime that Saturday night as Isaac had already made other plans. Under other circumstances, I'd normally tell myself to forget it, to wait until I had someone to go with me, but I already knew the consequences of self-denial. So I set out on my journey solo, unbeknownst of what adventures lay ahead of me.

First stop: www.fatburger.com to see where I'd be headed exactly. Because that night I'd typically been a "like totally fer sure" Fatburger Valley Girl, getting my fix at the Fatburger locations near my old office, namely, the Studio City locale or, before it closed down , the one on San Fernando in Burbank. I entered my zip code into the "Find the Nearest Location" box. Aha! What's this? There's a Fatburger near downtown on Figueroa? Of course! What USC student wouldn't want Fatburger? I'm there!

So I have eaten by myself, eh, probably four times since I got over my phobia of dining solo several months ago, but in my pathetic mind there's just something pathetic about a girl having dinner out alone on a Saturday night, so this girl would be taking hers to go. I therefore picked up the phone before leaving my house and dialed the newly discovered Figueroa location to call in my order.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

(Repeat about 20 times)

OK, there must be a mistake. What burger joint would be closed at 7pm on a Saturday? So I told myself to be patient and wait another 5 minutes to call again. I dialed. No answer. Each 5 minute wait quickly became intervals of 30 seconds, and each time I failed to get an answer. Almost half an hour had passed and though this supposed location was only a couple miles from my house, I just couldn't risk it. What if I drove all the way there and it was closed? What if it had gone out of business??? So I set out for the Fatburger that I at least knew existed.

I jumped in my little car and headed towards the 5 freeway which would take me to Los Feliz, home of the Fatburger on Vermont & Hollywood which, because I had driven past it just a few days prior, would certainly be there. Except instead of getting on the 5 North, brilliant me gets on the 5 South. And I drove...and drove...and the next closest exit seemed like an eternity away. When I finally found an offramp, I suddenly found myself in one of those seedy cities that borders downtown LA and the industrial wasteland known as Commerce. Logic would tell me that if I get off the freeway and go under whatever overpass the freeway forms, that I would eventually find a sign directing me to the freeway entrance for the opposite direction. I felt like Fred Flinstone running through Bedrock, always passing the same palm tree and house as he kept running, only in my case, it happened to be that I was indeed passing different houses--it was just that they were all very similar. They all had crappy chain-link fences around them, they all had broken down cars out front, and they all had people and dogs that stared at you when you drove by. Uh, not a neighborhood I'd like to be stuck in.

The mere thought of Fatburger, however, kept me motivated--I still had a mission to accomplish after all--and in time, I found the freeway entrance. With one hand holding the "Fatburger Locations" printout AND holding the wheel, my eyes alternating between the road and reading the phone number, and the other hand dialing, I was well on my way to burger-land. Except...

...Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Oh fuck me, I thought, was this a national Fatburger holiday??? Now that this newly dialed number was in the dialing memory of my cell phone, I started redialing every 20-30 seconds with no luck until I was exiting the 5 freeway at Los Feliz Blvd and SOMEBODY finally bloody answered.

"Fatburger, can I help you?" the guy on the phone answered as I had already exited the 5 on Los Feliz Blvd.

"Yeah, you can go fuc..." JUST KIDDING! I wouldn't drive all that way just to tell somebody off, would I? (Well, actually...) I figure the poor people working there were just so busy catering to other obsessive and hungry freaks like myself that they could answer the phone. He told me eight minutes; I was there within one. As I waited I fantasized about Doogie Howser returning my "love stained" car and then buying my entire Fatburger meal. Unfortunately, I had no such luck. Fortunately however, the Fatburger was in my greedy little hands after about ten minutes and I was on the way back home. I propped the bag up and open so as to not let steam get trapped inside the bag and make everything soggy.

About an hour and a half after I had originally left the house in the first place I was back at home, comfy and cozy, and quite content with Fatburger in hand. The reward in front of me was representative of my usual selection: Fatburger with cheese, hold the onions, add bacon (sorry, no egg this time). Add chili, but on the side. Skinny Fries.



I like that all the parts work together in unision; I like that the bun isn't too bready, but still substantial enough that when you bite through its slightly crispy edge, you don't get too much grilled beef patty or too much special sauce or too much cheese. I like that the lettuce is shredded and the tomato isn't too thickly sliced so as to not get pulled out in sheets with your teeth. Everyone has their own preference regarding the fries, but I prefer the crispiness of their Skinny Fries over the meatiness of their Fat Fries. And the chili, my friends, is not for the burger, but to dip the fries in. A whole order of chili cheese fries would be a little too much, so instead, I do it my way.



OK, so maybe my quest was nowhere near as interesting as Harold and Kumar's, but the outcome was the same: I got what I set out for and was completey satisfied. How far would you go for something you crave?

Fatburger
1611 N. Vermont Ave
Hollywood, CA 90027
(323) 663-3100
www.fatburger.com
Many other locations thoughout Southern California, but I can't guarantee they'll pick up the phone!

Short Rizzles In The Hizzle: DG Cooks Braised Short Ribs

When it comes to grocery shopping, I am, for the most part, a creature of habit. I hit up the same stores every week: Trader Joes, California Market and Costco. Trader Joes, California Market, and Costco. Trader Joes...OK enough--do you know my routine by heart yet? For kicks, I sometimes throw in 99 Ranch or Mitsuwa. My diet on a typical week is for the most part pretty simple; I can get pretty much everything I need at one of these stores. No problem, right?

Every once in a while, however, I get a hankering to cook something a little out of the ordinary. Let's say, for instance, that I want to whip up a little Osso Buco on (anti-) Valentine's Day for my honey & me. Some people might find it an adventure driving all around town wasting precious gasoline trying to find a couple of veal shanks. But me, not so much. Take that hunt for veal shanks, for example. I was a good sport about it at first (Hey, this might actually be kinda fun, I thought), even making it a little project by doing a little research. Quite a few people told me that Whole Foods' or Gelsons' meat departments carried the shanks, but the cheapskate in me quickly scratched those options off my list as I didn't want to pay something like $15 a pound. Eat, Drink, & Be Merry told me about some Kosher meat shop he went to on the Westside, but uh, either I had to stay true to my Eastside roots, or I was just too fucking lazy to drive to the Westside. I took my creature-of-habit ass over to Burbank where I made the usual rounds to Costco & Trader Joes and while I was out there, I remembered being told that Howdy Market on Magnolia had a pretty decent meat selection. But they were out. They were out and poor little ol' me sat in my car clueless as to where to go. I pulled the trusty Thomas Guide out and tried to devise a strategy as to which street I should start down to find a decent butcher and not have to go to Gelsons. Should it be Victory? Or maybe Burbank Blvd? Or perhaps there's something else on Magnolia? Fortunately, the light in my head suddenly switched on and I recalled that Monte Carlo Italian market was right down the street and did indeed have a meat counter. I was in luck...they had 6 veal shanks left, and for only $6.99 a pound. I took them all. I guess you could say that the osso buco dinner was well worth the grand tour of Burbank, but I can't deny that even thinking about it makes me tired. That's why I try to stick to what I know best.

Several weeks ago, I thought, "Wouldn't it be nice to have some short ribs and mashed potatoes?" There was a small, unavoidable problem, however: I didn't know where to get good short ribs, bone-in. I knew Costco sold short ribs, but they're boneless, and what are short ribs without the bone? That's why they call them short ribs, after all. You already know that Gelsons and Whole Foods were out of the picture. And I almost never ever set foot into your mainstream supermarket like Ralphs or Albertsons unless I really have to. And as you know, I've been a busy, busy person lately...I just didn't have the time to be driving all around town to find short ribs. So for several weeks I thought about making short ribs but because stubborn ol' me didn't want to stray from my regular shopping routine, I kind of gave up on the idea.

One day, as I had just finished filling up my cart with produce and little clear prepacked boxes of panchan at one of my usual haunts, California Market in Koreatown, I walked by the meat section, perhaps to pick up some sliced beef for bulgogi or some sliced short ri...iii..b...

Short ribs? Did someone say short ribs??? It was like a light had been turned on and suddenly I could see--there I was in the middle of the California Market meat aisle having an epiphany of sorts. My gosh, why hadn't I thought of the Korean market before? I suppose I had been experiencing some sort of culinary tunnel-vision all along, because prior to my enlightening discovery, short ribs at Korean market equaled kalbi and that was it. Just because I'm used to getting them sliced thin and marinating them with garlic, soy sauce, sesame oil, and pear juice amongst other things, doesn't mean that I can't ask for them sliced thick to be braised with mire poix. Hey, and fortunately for me, there were packages of thick cut short ribs right there in front of me ready to purchase for only about eleven bucks--will ya take a look at that?

Removing the 3 hunks of shorts ribs from their styrofoam tray, I pat them dry and dusted with a little flour and then slowly released them into my fabulous dune-colored dutch oven for browning.


The short rizzles are finally in my hizzle

After browning on all sides, I removed the ribs, and proceeded to add 2 stalks worth of chopped celery, 1 chopped carrot and 1 chopped onion--or if you want to be fancy about it, mire poix--scraping up all the browned bits from our meat as the veggies began their sweating process.


Mire what?

I then added a couple dollops (and by dollops, I mean dollops, no measurements here) of tomato paste and a swig or two of cabernet to our celery, carrot and onion mixture and cooked for another couple minutes. The meat was released back into the pot, covered with beef broth and simmered for about two hours on low heat.


Simmer down now...

The meat was so tender...

How tender was it?

It was sooo tender...

That it fell off the bone!

OK, har-dee-har-har, but seriously, we all know that unless cooked properly, short ribs can be tough and dry. That's why we tenderize the hell out of our kalbi with Asian pear juice. But when cooked correctly, it kinda makes you glad you're a carnivore. It's got meaty meat, it's got bone whose marrow has permeated into your sauce giving it its velvety properties, and it's got that luscious gelatinous connective tissue you can get only by simmering everything down.

I chose to serve my short ribs over a bed of arugula tossed with lemon juice and alongside some homemade roasted garlic mashed potatoes. With a glass of cabernet as accompaniment, this was the perfect comfort meal.

Things have a way of working themselves out in the end, don't they? I have to admit that I was a little disappointed in myself for being so unresourceful in the first place, but I learned an important lesson, and from now on this creature of habit would start to think outside the kalbi box.

Izakaya, Superman and Set Theory: Musha, Torrance

What do food-blogging, Superman and set theory have in common? Read on...

The last time I went to Musha, it was at their Santa Monica location and there was too much food for the size of our teeny tiny table. This time, Isaac and I went to their Torrance location and were almost in danger of not having enough food on our gigantic table. Huh?

The only way I can halfway decently explain this is that the two Mushas must, in fact, be Bizarro twins. What are those, you ask? Well, it's all related to a man in blue tights.

You know, Superman wasn't only responsible for making us drool over that manly body wrapped up in red panties and blue tights, but the comic strip itself was also responsible for bringing forth the whole concept of the Bizarro World in which Lex Luthor created awkward duplicates of Superman and his buddies. If the Superman Bizarro world doesn't ring a bell, then surely you must remember the Seinfeld episode where Elaine's new boyfriend and pals were strangely reminiscent of Jerry and his cronies. But however alike they were, Bizarro Jerry and friends were different all the same. Bizarro Jerry and buddies looked oddly like the originals, but whereas the originals were comfortable with each other's shallowness, their alter-egos were well read and considerate. Different--but the same. The same--but different. You get the picture.

The two Musha Bizarro twins were no exception: the two restaurants are imperfect clones of one another and able to exist independently within their own parallel universes, otherwise known as Santa Monica and Torrance. It was a Wednesday evening when several of us Southern California food bloggers left whatever world we normally call home and crossed over into the Bizarro Musha land of Torrance.

The fifteen-or-so of us were seated at the huge table that sits smack dab in the middle of the restaurant. We were all given menus but none of us looked at them right away; I, for one, was too busy chatting with all the wonderful personalities I had around me. Isaac and I brainstormed with Steve of Gastrologica and wife as well as Jonah of l.a.foodblogging and wife as to where the next blogger get together should be. We got some 411 about Mr.EatDrink&BeMerry's Japan trip and Ms. BoLA's upcoming high school reunion. We did some major catching up with our friend and recently turned food blogger, Mr. DietChiliCheeseFries of The Random Burrito. And as always, it's an absolute pleasure finally see the faces of the people you cyber-connect with on a regular basis: I asked Professor Salt of You Gonna Eat That? if he was a really a professor and had a great time talking food with him, his girlfriend and friend at the other end of the table. Now is he really a professor? Meet him yourself and find out. Ms. Colleen Cuisine, Jeni from Oishii Eats and I seemed like we'd been friends for longer than just an hour. And I am still a little star struck from meeting Eddie Lin of live octopus, beef pizzle, and balut eatin', deep end dining fame.

When I finally opened the menu, I noticed some Bizarro characteristics between Musha Torrance's menu and Santa Monica Musha's menu right away. The format and all-caps, Asian inspired font were the same. Like the Santa Monica menu, there was quite a bit of Engrish used to describe the dishes. But not all of the dishes were the same. The Torrance location does not serve green bean salad nor as big of a sashimi selection, for example, but it does serve certain dishes that the Santa Monica one doesn't serve like Eihire, or stingray fin cooked on a shirichin grill. Then, of course, their menus share many of the same dishes. The more I thought about ut, the more the whole situation reminded of a Venn Diagram--you know, those two intersecting circles we all used to draw in logic class with the shaded area in the middle to show where the two sets were similar. I just never knew back then that the two sets were in fact, Bizarro twins. If I had had the foresight to compare sets to Superman back then, maybe set theory would have been more interesting.


It will "take your mouth to the Asia"

As I mentioned earlier, there was quite a spacial and dimensional difference between the my experiences with both restaurants. 'Cause see, depending on which way you look at it, one of the restaurants is like the guy with the really big body and the really small head, and the other one is like the guy with the really small body and the really big head. Issac, DietChiliCheeseFries and I shared a bill and as usual, our eyes were bigger than our stomachs so we started ordering everything under the sun, many things which coincidentally lay on the specials menu on the outer, non-intersecting portion of this Bizarro Musha Venn Diagram. "One Fried Albacore Tuna Sashimi," I told our waiter. "Sorry, we are out of that tonight," he answered. OK, strike one. "OK, then how about the 'Tako' Octopus Ball?" "Heh heh, sorry we are out of that too." Hmm. "Uh, then do you have the Soyweed Roll?" "Oh soooory, we are out." Yeah, of course you are buddy. Strike three. Well gee, interestingly enough, we have a really, really big table on which to fit all the food that you don't have. Sooo much different than the other place where we had too much food, not enough space, wouldn't you say?

We also thought that the Kabocha pumpkin croquettes were part of the intersecting portion of the Bizarro Musha Venn Diagram, but apparently not. EatDrink&BeMerry's had them at the Torrance location before, a friend of mine's had them here before, and I know for a fact that they are part of Santa Monica's regular menu. This was total Bizarro Venn Diagram chaos and caused all of us upon seeing the word "Kabocha" on the menu to accidentally order the Kabocha Dip. It was all good though, the velvety light orange paste had both hearty and refreshing qualities to it. The Keebler Elf crackers served with the dip, however, needed to go as they broke apart so easily that they didn't work well for dipping at all.


This is what happens when you fail set theory

Our next few dishes did reside in the intersecting part of our Musha Venn Diagram. "M.F.C" or Musha's Fried Chicken is basically a cleverly named chicken karaage and much better tasting than anything the Colonel ever made. (Don't trip though, I do love me some KFC sometimes!) Because M.F.C is from Bizarro-land, it's certainly no surprise that it's not cut into nugget like chunks like your typical chicken karaage, but is more like one big sliced up chicken thigh instead. The wonderful almost milky-salty taste and crispy crunch that one always gets with their favorite chicken karaage is all there however and for that, M.F.C. isn't all that Bizarro.


No bucket for this chicken

Our tuna poke kind of resides on the very outer edge of the intersecting part of our circles because in Santa Monica, the poke is found on the Sashimi portion of the menu which Torrance simply does not have. Nevertheless, it is delicious at both locations. I love that poke is so multi-dimensional, and Musha's version is no exception. There are the flavors of salt, sesame, soy and chili working separately yet in unison; texturally, it's just as interesting: the crunchy texture of the ogo seaweed and scallions, the tender bite of the maguro tuna and the crispy crunch of rice cakes show that opposites do indeed attract.


The poke is okey-dokey!

We were also glad that like the Santa Monica location, the Torrance location offers Shirichin-grilled plates. Our favorite is the Tanshio, or grilled beef tongue, sliced thin and self-grilled on our shirichin grill until slightly crispy at the edges and enhanced with a few squirts of lemon and a few swipes in the salt and sesame based sauce. To my point about being the same but different however, there was plenty of room to grill this time around, which was way unlike our experience with Torrance's Bizarro Twin. And as always, Isaac found a way to make his food more interesting...uh, can you say sriracha on the beef tongue??? I think my fiance resides in the Bizarro world sometimes.


Look! TWO grills on the table...with room to spare!

Braised pork belly and all of its variations actually cross several worlds, making it a resident of a multi-cultural Venn Diagram intersection. Here at Musha, the tender meat braised in sweet gingery soy is called Buta Kakuni in Japanese but seems to shout "Hey yo, no color lines!" as it was served on one of those blue and white ceramic dishes that fill every Chinese family's cabinets. My parents would have put daikon chunks into the dish along with the soy-soaked boiled egg; these guys used potato as a bit more of a Western twist. Proving the dish's Bizarro- worthiness was its cilantro garnish which, though never welcome in my book, is understandable on Chinese food; being on a Japanese dish, however, is sheer insanity.


Wait, am I at my parent's house?

Speaking of crossing cultural universes, our "El Taco Rice" took the cake. Isaac and I thought it was intriguing because, well, it's kinda just like us--one big Latino-Asian Venn Diagram. The tostada salad-looking dish was surprisingly good. Seasoned ground beef garnished with cheese and chives sat atop warm steamed rice in a delicate but crunchy taco shell. Cool cabbage shreds dressed with some kind of kewpie mayo dressing and juicy tomatoes added a refreshing aspect to the fusion. "You think they used Lawry's seasoning on this?" DietChiliCheeseFries asked. And then it clicked and suddenly I was transported back to my college days: my roommates and I had the rice cooker going 24/7 and whatever we ate, whether it was something Asian like kalbi & kimchi or something not like Hamburger Helper or taco meat seasoned with instant taco seasoning packets, there was always some rice on the side. El Taco Rice brought those fond food memories back; except that for the $3.80 we paid at Musha for an appetizer sized portion, we were able to dish up huge plates of food for me and all my college homies.


Yo quiero taco rice

Though Musha Torrance was out of several items that evening, there were some pretty interesting dishes had by the rest of the group, some that live on the outer portions of the Bizarro World and others that coexist in the middle. There was a Baguette Gratin, a steamy, gooey hunk of baguette stuffed with scallop, cream and cheese and wrapped in foil shared by Professor Salt and friends down at the opposite end of the table. Jeni, BoLA and EDNBM shared a takotami, supposedly "Musha's Signature Dish", an omelette of sorts made with octopus, Tokyo leek, red ginger and tuna broth. After seeing Mr. & Mrs. Jonah of l.a.foodblogging's Ebi Yuba Shinjo, or shrimp dumplings wrapped in tofu skin, we were moved to order some of the cute little pouches for ourselves, but guess what? They had just run out. So needless to say, we didn't even try asking our waiter about the cool looking table-seared mackerel shared by Mr. & Mrs. Gastrologica.


Didn't want to be let down, so I just looked

Start the sappy piano music, because the cheesy moral of the story is: The whole Musha One and Musha Two experience was all-in-all Bizarro, but if you think about it, isn't life pretty Bizarro in itself? No, I'm not saying that we were all created by Lex Luthor's duplicating ray, but that while we are all so very different, we are all very much the same. The world is one big Venn Diagram, and Musha is just a wee part of it.

Musha Torrance
1725 Carson St., Suite B
Torrance, CA 90501
(310) 787-7344

Stay Tuned...

Where the hell have I been? Well, working late hours, planning a wedding and a slew of recent familial and social obligations makes for a pretty neglected blog. But it doesn't mean that I've stopped eating, aw heck no.

Hang tight 'cause in the next few weeks I'm hoping to tell you:

*That for the price of a one tank of gas, I filled up with quite a fine meal at Ford's Filling Station.

*How a bunch of local food bloggers crossed into a parallel universe at Musha.

*Where I had a sudden epiphany one day and therefore ended up braising short ribs.

*What I ate out of a styrofoam cup from Sergio's Tacos.

*How Fatburger was my White Castle one Saturday night.

Stay tuned!

Untitled, 2006: Mystery Food Stall at California Market, Koreatown

You'd think by now I would know his name.

I've paid quite a few visits to this Korean food stall located inside Koreatown's California Market, yet I still don't know what to call it because all the signs are in Korean. Yes, my friends, this is the John Doe of Korean food stalls. Or should I call it John Kim? (Yoo-hoo readers, this is your cue to interject...if you know Korean, please tell me what the hell it's called)

Despite the language barrier, I can tell John Kim is a pretty straightforward kind of guy. There are about 20 things on his menu, all identified by a colorful picture, a number, the price and a description in Korean. There are things I can recognize like bulgogi and daeji bulgogi, kim bap and kimchi jigae. And there are a few things, mostly soup and noodle based items that I've seen before but can't remember the name of or read them for that matter. I go to John Kim everytime, though, for his bibim naeng myun, or spicy cold noodle with beef. "Number 19," I always say to the cashier, pointing to the menuboard picture above.

I wouldn't say it's eyes-roll-to-the-back-of-your-head good or anything, but it's certainly pretty damn decent. When California Market is the last stop on a long Sunday afternoon of dodging crowds and traffic while running errands and grocery shopping, a bowl of this sinus clearing stuff from John Kim is the perfect pick me up.

I always take mine to go because one, I don't want to be seen eating inside California Market and two, because well, where would I leave my cart? Of course I could shop after I eat, but you know, I'm just not that smart. So I bring the to go box home with me, having to endure the smell of red pepper paste, sesame oil and cucumbers the entire car ride.



Mr. Kim is practical--he always wraps my noodles in a plastic bag before it goes into the takeout container, helping to prevent any unfortunate spills in the car and also allowing the ingredients to marinate a little more until I get home. I wish I owned one of those cool metal bowls that these types of noodle dishes usually come in at the restaurants, but I don't, so instead, I dump the bag of noodles into the next best thing--a white Corning Ware bowl with little country prints on the side--and cut the noodles with kitchen shears to make them a little easier to pull apart. And with bowl and a bottled water in hand, I always head over to the TV to enjoy my fiery afternoon meal. I will admit that taking the noodles to go takes slightly away from the perfect chewiness these types of buckwheat noodles, but they do have a pretty good pull regardless. The spiciness is certainly appropriate though--not quite an immediate tongue numbing spiciness, but a spiciness that starts more salty at first, a wonderful blend of red pepper and sesame oil, and then slowly creeps up on you the more you eat--perfect for eating while cussing out all the stupid girls on My Super Sweet Sixteen.



Fifteen to twenty minutes into the meal, I'm all worked up, on one hand sweating because of the noodles themselves, and on the other, shaking my fist at all the underage primadonnas on the screen in front of me. Fortunately for me, there is always a good amount fo cooling acoutrements that always come with bibim naeng myun. There are cooling, thinly sliced cucumbers, as well as julienned pickled carrots and daikon, but what is probably the most unique item in this dish are the paper thin wedges of crisp, sweet Korean pear. Slices of beef and half a boiled egg add lend some neutrality (as well as protein) to the dish.

By the time I'm done, my belly is full and my nose is running, and yet again, I let a man whose name I don't even know make me cry. Thanks alot, John Kim.

John Kim at The California Market
450 S. Western Ave
Los Angeles, CA 90020

Fight The Power

Ever since my friend Sam sent me this link the other day, I have felt a newly found sense of empowerment. I thought I was alone in my disgust, but come to find out that there are others, in fact, who are just like me:

"What kind of culinary fascism is this?" -Roving Thundercloud, Portland, OR

"I had the immediate sensation of licking a 9 volt battery" -Rob, Buffalo, NY

"People will say, 'There's cilantro in this? I can't tell, I can't taste it.' That's akin, in my opinion to stating, 'My arm is on fire? Hmm, I can't feel it.' " -Anonymous

"Though I hate cilantro I can acknowledge, but not condone, its existance in culinary dishes of such countries such as Thailand, Mexico, Spain and India to name a few. However, under no circumstances whatsoever should cilantro ever be found in Japanese food. It was such an instance at a local restaurant that I found cilantro in my miso soup. Is nothing sacred?" -Pandora, Austin, TX

If you are anything like me, I urge you--please join to support the fight against this vile weed.

(Image courtesy of www.ihatecilantro.com)

TJ's Taste Test, Part 9 Of Many: Trader Giotto's Cacciatore Simmer Sauce

I gave Joe another chance.

But I should have known better. Penne pasta and sliced chicken breast cooked in a little heating dish at the Trader Joe's sample stand would just not be that good. But I gave it a chance because it surely smelled good as my cart and I turned the corner coming out of the frozen section. So I left my cart off to the side and walked up to the nice lady who handed me a small paper cup into which she had just scooped some of that tomatoey pasta concoction. I saw the stack of jars on the counter: "Hmm, Trader Giotto's Cacciatore Simmer Sauce, eh?" I pranced back to my cart excited to try my sample, and as I pushed along started taking small bites. It was a complete watery mess, tasting as if someone had just boiled the chicken in the sauce and then dumped a bunch of slimy penne into it. There was no depth, no dimension, and undeniably, I walked out of Trader Joe's that day with a cart full of hummus and chips and dip and salad dressings and cheeses and wine but sans Cacciatore Simmer Sauce.

If there's one thing I can recognize in people, places and things though, it's potential. And on another recent trip to TJ's, I realized that I may not have given our little jar of simmer sauce enough of a chance to prove itself. This time, I did walk out of Trader Joe's with a cart full of hummus and chips and dip and salad dressings and cheeses and wine and yes, a jar of Trader Giotto's Cacciatore Simmer Sauce.

The first thing I knew to do on this simmer sauce makeover was to actually brown the meat, (duh) so in went my chicken pieces into my trusty Le Creuset Dutch oven. I took the chicken out after a few minutes, and as the usual demented thought of "How sick do you think I would get if I took a bite out of that chicken right now?" ran through my head, I deglazed my pot with chicken stock, scraping up all the yummy crispy browned bits. I returned the chicken (which I did not take a bite of by the way) into the pot, poured the jar of deep orange red simmer sauce in, added a little salt & pepper and let simmer until the chicken was tender.

For the final reveal, I spooned the some chicken and sauce over a bed of lingune, garnished with a parsley sprig, and violà! You could hardly recognize him! The smokiness and saltiness from the browned chicken bits actually enhanced the celery and olives that were in this tomato based sauce, and the fat off the chicken skin lent the sauce some body. With a little faith (and some proper braising), I turned this ugly duckling into somewhat of a swan.



Pick up your own jar of Extreme Makover DG Edition at your local Trader Joe's for only $2.99.

Check, Checkmate!: The Bishop Coffee and Gourmet, Downtown Los Angeles

If anyone had asked me to live in Downtown L.A. fifteen years ago and I would have asked them to pound sand. In fact, if they had asked me only five years ago, I would have done the same. But let's just pretend that this person were a friend who just happened to have a loft hookup and approached me and Isaac three years ago with a sweet deal on a 1400 sq. ft., 14' ceilinged space...

Three years later, we are still living in Downtown L.A.

But to be honest, I don't love it. I don't hate it. But I don't love it either.

I love it because our apartment is so spacious and we're getting a pretty darn good deal on rent. I hate it because living in a big open space isn't all it's cracked up to be. There is no room to retreat to if my fiance suddenly gets on my nerves, and the fact that all our workout equipment is out in the open is simply tacky.

I love that I have all of the Little Tokyo's good eats practically right at my doorstep, but I hate that the act of shopping for decent food and groceries involves at least a ten minute drive. (OK, so there is Mitsuwa and Marukai which are great for Japanese products, but I refuse to buy anything else there unless I'm desperate enough to pay a higher price)

I love that there's some interesting architecture here in downtown, but I hate that crack addicts and homeless people are permanent fixures in my neighborhood. I love that downtown is convenient to the 101, 5, 10 and 110 freeways, but I also hate that my street is a thoroughfare for 18-wheelers. It's kinda cool when you constantly see your 'hood on TV and in the movies, but it is sooo not cool that these production assholes think they own the neighborhood and make you detour an extra 5 blocks just to get home. (No fuck-face, you don't live here, I do.)

I remember my friend driving Isaac and I to see our new building for the first time, and I clearly recall being just a tad freaked out by the surroundings. Am I that much of a priss, you ask? Well really, no, I am not--I spent many years hanging out in big cities where vagrancy is a common thing--I just don't want to see it right outside my window. My knowledge of Downtown L.A. at that time was limited pretty much only to Chinatown, Little Tokyo, the courthouses, the garment district, and the Staples Center; I knew that somewhere in between all of that was the infamous skid row, which isn't where our building is located, thank goodness, but was close enough to our neighborhood to leave visible traces here and there. But as we kept driving, I also started to notice that hip new businesses had taken root in the neighborhood. My mind turned away from the riff-raff (if only even for a few minutes) and to the cool places I had yet to discover. If it hadn't been for places like Cafe Metropol, Pete's Cafe & Bar, Freaks Vintage Clothing, Blooms General Store, Groundwerks Coffee, and Soul Folks Cafe--places that made me feel as if I actually had a neighborhood--I'd have thought twice about moving in.

The loft-living honeymoon is over you might say, but although cursing the inconveniences of living here under my breath has become a normal routine, I still get excited when I discover that a cool new shop or restaurant has opened up in the 'hood. It brings back memories of the wooing and courtship stage when all things loft were fun and exciting, when you'd still call up your friends and say "Hey, wanna come check out my loft?" and people would ooh and aah about the fact that you lived in a converted warehouse. Yes, this is exactly why I got the warm-fuzzies when I first laid eyes on one of downtown L.A.'s newest cool neighborhood businesses, The Bishop Coffee & Gourmet, located on Grand Ave. at 8th. It's one of those places you'd spot as you were driving around as a prospective loft dweller, and it's one of those places that would help you make the deal in that wishy-washy head of yours.

And I'm not just saying this because The Bishop's owner Suze is a dear friend of ours, the same friend, in fact, who got us the deal on the place we're living in now. I'm saying this because it's true. Sure, The Bishop provides local downtown office drones with their daily cup of joe and breakfast pastry, but unlike the hundreds of other coffee houses in the vicinity that provide the same service, The Bishop isn't just your typical shut-down-at-6-and-closed-on-the-weekends-because-all-the-workers-are-gone type of places. For a while, being downtown after hours or on weekends was a bit like being in a live version of Dawn of The Dead, where virtually nothing was open and only the freaks came out at night. But now, places like The Bishop actually cater to us people that live here, helping us remember what civilization was like. Want to grab some coffee and dessert at 11pm on a Saturday night? No problem, they've got it.


Suze hard at work behind her coffee grinder

If it's neighborhood you want, it's neighborhood you get. The Bishop's turquoise blue painted space may be tiny, but it just adds to the cozy neighborhood feel of the place. A mannequin coiffed in jet black braids--a hip, modern version of Gilligan's Island's Maryanne--hangs out on her vintage bicycle on a ledge atop the cafe.


Hey, where's Ginger?

Service here is not only friendly, but personable. All it takes is one repeat walk through their single glass paned door and chances are Suze and daughter Bri will already know you by name. "Tall," "Grande," and "Venti" from that Star place are sooo yesterday; here, you can order your Pasquini latte, cappuccino or espresso in "Pawn," "Bishop," or "King" sizes. You can order your drinks with extra shots, squirts of chocolate or caramel, hazelnut syrup, no foam or non-fat--she'll make 'em for you however you'd like and again, will mostlikely remember what you ordered the next time you come in, or at least remember that your picky, high-maintenace ass wanted something special. If you're like me and coffee's not your thing and tea is more your cup of tea, The Bishop carries an assortment of Harney and Sons teas with such flavors as African Autumn, Chinese Flower, Peaches and Ginger and Indian Spice. Just ask and Suze and staff will let you take a quick whiff of all the yummy tea blends they've got in their tea cannisters before they pour hot water onto your pretty little organza wrapped tea bag of choice.


Wakes me up before I go-go


Tea time!

For breakfast, dessert, and everything in between, The Bishop features breads by La Brea Bakery and pastries from Hollywood's Susina Bakery. The minature molten chocolate cakes have become a staple in our diets as have the bad-for-my-arteries-but-oh-so-addicting sun-dried tomato, caramelized onion and feta croissants. If you're looking for something a bit more substantial, they carry a selection of sandwiches made fresh daily such as curried chicken salad with apples and currants, (my personal favorite), Bri's ham & brie, and genoa salami, pesto & provolone. Grab a seat at one of the brightly colored sidewalk tables and watch the world go by as you enjoy a polenta scone or maybe even a slice of ham and swiss quiche.


When "flaky" is good


I love Curried Chicken Sammiches


Quiche me

But trying to find a friendly neighborhood cafe that's open late night and on weekends isn't your only problem, you downtown dweller, you. No, as a hip urbanite, you've got other problems. You've just been invited to a friend's house for dinner and oh no! you've got nothing to bring for your gracious hosts! There are no extra bottles of wine sitting on your wine rack, and after several scrounging attempts in your cupboards, you can't find a single thing to take with you, unless of course, the canned raviolis you bought from Costco count. And you know they don't, so what do you do? Fortunately for you, The Bishop is half coffee house, half interesting-packaged-foodstuffs store. Your host will definitely appreciate getting a nice basket filled with the likes of Stonewall Kitchen Rasperry Peach Champagne Jam and Maple Vanilla Pear Butter. They can also create quite a nice arrangement with La Favorita Fish and Bella Cucina Artful Food pestos and sauces along with some of the prettiest rainbow striped farfalle. Or perhaps your guests would appreciate a box of the most interesting pyramid shaped silken tea infusers by Tea Forte. The Bishop has Scharffen-Berger chocolate bars, and jars filled with cinnamon bears, candy necklaces, jawbreakers and um, trail mix--probably the only thing I don't quite get about their merchandise assortment, but to each her own I guess.


for all your gourmet needs


Where to buy Rastafarian pasta? Downtown!

Whatever your fancy, it's cool 'cause you don't have to fucking drive to Silverlake just to buy something nice. Hey, you're stuck downtown for at least the next several months until your lease is up right? So you might as well make the best of it, and trust me, The Bishop makes downtown L.A. just that much cooler and more convenient to be in. Almost makes you wanna stay huh?

Well...

The Bishop Coffee & Gourmet
816 S. Grand Ave.
Los Angeles, CA 90017
(213) 239-0411