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Whether you're Asian or not, you've all heard the phrase FOB which stands for Fresh Off (the) Boat. I use this term or variations of it (e.g. "fobby", "fobbish") to endearingly make fun of friends or relatives who have just come over to the States, or even those who have been here for a while but who still seem to hang on to the old country. You know, stuff like the fact that they think Versace shirts are hip or that they prefer to squat on the ground instead of sitting in a chair or leaning against a wall or the fact that after years of being here, their clothes still smell like mothballs AND they still have not mastered the English language. I know many people like this--hell, even my parents are a little on the fobby side--and I love each and every one of them to bits, but I have to admit there was a time when I was a kid growing up, that I was a little embarrased to be surrounded by all this fobbiness. I didn't understand why they couldn't try harder to assimilate, why someone always had to bring braised beef tongue to a Thanksgiving turkey dinner. I got over it soon enough, learning to appreciate and embrace the mix of cultures.
So it comes as no surprise, then, that as I've gotten older, I've incorporated some fobbiness into some of the things I do, even though I am SOOO not a fob. Like I always bring a pack of dried squid and shrimp chips along on road trips. I still eat porridge and noodles for my birthday. I still have an aversion to the number 4 because the number 4 in Chinese sounds like the word for death. And at barbeques, my friends and I always like to fob it up a little--we cook stuff on the grill, but there's always, ALWAYS rice. We did one this Saturday which was not at all refined, no need for any sort of ambiance, 'cause we're all like family anyways. There were no place settings or proper utensils. Tin foil and bags were strewn all over the counters and table. But the food? The food was DAMN GOOD! So without further ado, I now present to you our ghetto FOB-ulous BBQ...
When we first got to my friend T's house, we all had to take off our shoes and leave them with the sea of shoes in the foyer...
Check out my friend's new shoes. Aren't they fobby??? He likes to wear these with jeans. But that's OK 'cause he likes them and that's all that matters!
OK, enough about shoes. These were really the star of the show...my friend T grilled up some steaks for us which were damn good. Here is the pile o' meat after T took them off the BBQ. Notice the random Target bag in the background.
No fobby BBQ is complete without rice (not shown) and kimchee:
Or without a few 40's of Hite Beer:
My friend H made these kick-ass egg rolls complete with dipping sauce (not shown)! Mmmm...
There was even some more "Westernized" stuff in the mix, like these grilled zucchini, eggplant and mushrooms. These...
Became these...My fave was the zucchini.
I didn't get a chance to take a pic of what I brought, which were potatoes au gratin with bacon, but if you look in the photo below of the mess on the table, they were in that glass baking dish. I used a recipe that I had torn out of a Southwest Airlines magazine, and they turned out really good! I'll make them again one day and do a whole post on them.
For dessert, my friend T's girlfriend J baked these really awesome chocolate macadamia nut cookies. We also had watermelon, red seedless grapes and a cake from Chinatown's Phoenix Bakery 'cause it was my friend M's birthday. Now see that greased up pot o'grease in the background?
Here's a close up of it. See how the grease is just caked on all up and down the sides of the pot? Mmmm. We were wondering what that ceramic pie on the stove was--turns out it's a bacon grease container. Now that's ghetto.
Here they are again but this time you get a view of the range controls, one which does not work and is taped over with paper and masking tape with the words "Do Not Touch" on it.
So there you have it, our ghetto FOB-ulous potluck BBQ. I love these kinds of functions--totally low key, no pretention, kick-ass food and drink, and lots of laughs. The topic of the evening this time was whether or not there really is a midget village with like midget sized houses in a midget sized community in Long Beach. My friend M swears he saw it once. But he was drunk and can't remember where it is exactly. So if anyone has ever seen it, been to it, or knows where it is, please let me know!
It's obvious that people are starting to lose it at the office. And for good reason, I guess. I mean, no one in their right mind likes to get fired, right? Our new parent company tells us that if we want to relocate, that there are great opportunities ahead for us, and that oh by the way, everyone has to re-interview for these opportunities. It's caused a bit of an oddly chaotic atmosphere at work, one that is interesting to observe at the same time: it's like watching all the dumb-ass worker ants scurry in different directions when someone takes the food away that they were all marching blindly towards. Some of these "ants", however, are certainly taking it better than others, depending on what kinds of things they have going on in their lives...or in their heads. Some people, for example, have families or mortgages they have to take care of, so they're rightfully more anxious about not getting to the point where the unemployment checks roll in. Then there are those who don't have a care in the world--like maybe they're young or live with mommy and daddy--and are looking forward to getting their severance package so they can take an extended vacation. Then there's me who doesn't have any loyalty to this company so could care less if I blatantly talk to potential employers over the phone from my own office, and who doesn't have any huge obligations like a family or a mortgage yet, but am getting closer to stuff like that as I'm getting married soon, and is viewing this whole thing as a huge inconvenience. Then there are people like my coworker who have obligations but not necessarily any financial worries, have been with the company for like 15 years and who were so blind as to think that something like this would never happen, and who have never so much as talked to any outside potential employers since they got hired, have not updated their resume in 15 years, and are shitting bricks that now they have to enter the job market again. There are people like this that I normally would not hang out with on a regular basis at lunch because they ride the corporate high-horse, but that I would have to babysit on a weekday night after work over happy hour because they were too stressed out to go home.
And so that's how my friend and I ended up at Olé Tapas Bar in Studio City a couple of nights ago with our other coworker who wanted to freak out over tapas and sangria. It was quite a cute space that we walked into--sleek, dark wood tables, West Elm-ish modular shelving with strategically placed fickering candle votives used as space dividers, plush red ultra-suede ottomans, murals of Spanish matadors on the walls painted in golds, browns and reds to tie in the color theme. We were lucky enough to snag one of the ottoman seating areas as it was still early, an option that would allow us to stretch out a little more, maybe allow my coworker to relax a little faster which would have been beneficial to all of us at that point.
I was originally just going to go with a single glass of red sangria--my coworker obviously needed a tad more than one--but was somehow convinced that a pitcher split amongst the three of us would be more economical and beneficial. Allright sure. A few short minutes later and our pitcher arrived, filled to the top with the ruby red drink, but also filled at least 3/4 full with ice. I also immediately noticed that it was just a little too easy to see through the red liquid. It apparently lacked any sort of opacity--I could see straight on through to the other side, not even any chunks of alcohol soaked fruit to block my vision. We poured this highly transluscent concoction into our glasses which were each garnished with a skewer of fruit, and upon first sip, I could taste its transluscense--totally watered down, bo body whatsoever. My one intended glass soon became three, yet I felt no buzz at all. Twenty-four bucks for grape Kool-Aid is a rip off, dontcha think? The gratis green olives they brought us were good--nice and salty, but not too salty--but weren't good enough to make up for this sorry, watered down excuse for sangria.
"Crystal clear" should never be used to describe sangria
Olé redeemed itself slightly with its twelve-dollar Placa Caliente, a sampling of four of their popular hot tapas all arranged on a white square platter with sauce squiggles and such. The Queso de Cabra Frito con Miel, or fried goat cheese with honey, were quite good, its breaded sweet outer crust contrasting nicely with the soft, pungent tasting balls of goat cheese. Roasted potatoes with aioli is probably an all time favorite comfort food of mine, so it was no surprise that I did also particularly enjoy our Patatas Bravas. The chunks of potato were full of that salty, roasted flavor and tasted even better when given a few swipes of the creamy garlicky aioli. A few slivers of caramelized onions added some interest, as well as a few strips of Serrano ham, which I didn't particularly care for here, as they charred the hell out of it making it too crispy whereas they should have left some of the fat intact on it. Our Setas Y Alcachofas, or sauteed mushrooms and artichokes were simple, sauteed in an oniony sauce, nothing out of this world but were still good. Least impressive was the fried calamari, or Calamar Vasco, which were nicely battered, but were served with a red chili garlic sauce, a sauce which one can normally find at the Asian grocery store next to the Sriracha. I guess it was OK, but its Asian flavors just did not go with all the other Mediterranean flavors on the platter. There was a little bonus on our platter, a small mound of caramelized, pickled onions in the center of our four tapas that were soft, a little sweet, a little tangy, and really good to snack on.
This Placa Caliente made this happier hour slightly happier
I noticed that the restaurant's website advertises a happy hour that runs from 5-7 pm Mondays thru Fridays though we never got any menu or any mention from our server of happy hour specials. This happy hour, to me, was not so happy. I think that I would have been a little more happy had we not spent so much on watered down sangria, or if plain and simply the sangria had been made properly. But not everything's about me. To my stressed-out coworker, this happy hour was indeed happy. In two hours, over watered-down sangria and a plate of decent tapas, we had managed to let her ramble and be self centered and whatever the hell else she wanted to be, calming her down in the hopes that maybe she wouldn't be stressing us out with her stress over the next few days. OK, that's happiness in itself.
Olé Tapas Bar
13251 Ventura Blvd.
Studio City, CA 91604
(818) 986-3190
www.oletapasbar.com
To The Bitch That Interviewed Me This Morning:What do you think's gonna happen when you neglect to tell me that this supposed "great job" involves frequent travel at the drop of a hat? Do you think you could have told me that during our phone interview so that I wouldn't have had to waste my time driving out to Timbuktu to talk to your bimbo ass? Do ya really think it's gonna help me change my mind when I tell you I don't think the travel will work, that I have alot of personal commitments like my family and my future husband, and then you tell me, "Well, talk it over with your fiancé. You know, a happy wife makes for a happy marriage!" And what do you think's gonna happen when, before you tell me about the travel, you make me take a fucking test that involves numbers, which I'm normally really good at but not first thing in the morning and especially not when you surprise me with it?Well, you're gonna cause me to get really pissed, and be fuming when I walk out of there all uncomfortable wearing a suit in this heat, and be starving 'cause I didn't eat any breakfast 'cause I had to get up an hour earlier than usual to come meet you. And you're gonna cause me to have a sudden brain fart on the 60 freeway, when suddenly, my empty tummy and I feel like having a few Spam musubis from Shakas in Monterey Park to make up for all of this and though I've been there a million times and know full well that it's on Garfield, took the Atlantic exit by mistake. Uh-huh, you caused me to get off on the wrong exit--one that, when I finally realized what I had done, had a traffic signal out a couple blocks up, making for one helluva traffic jam. So then I said, "Fuck it," and just went home, where I had to get ready for my "normal" job, which now seems like paradise compared to your hell-hole, and where I proceeded to scarf down ALL the leftover rice that was in my fridge.Yeah, take your job and shove it. Bitch. Yours Truly,Pam(So do you think I should send this instead of the traditional Thank-You letter?)
Actually, I didn't know what it was until my friend told me. We drove out to Bahn Mi My Tho the other day for bahn mi and while we were there, she picked a pack of these up. She pulled these out when we were using the Alhambra Costco picnic table area to eat our sandwiches.
OK Pam, you gotta sound the letters out. "Nem-Chua-Nha-Trang-Dac-Biet...uh, what is it?"
"It's a pickled meat sausage," she said.
"Oh OK. Can I try one?"
Tart and garlicky, snappy in texture and dotted with a sliced garlic clove and chili to add a bit more kick, these little things are pretty darn good.
I found out later that the little buggers are simply called "Nem Chua," the "Dac Biet" part meaning "special", and the "Nha Trang" part being the brand/maker/whatever. What? It's not like I can read Vietnamese!
I don't see how people can stand using those nasty jarred pasta sauces like Rag-Eww or even Classic-Uh-Oh when it's just as easy to make your own. Funny enough, it comes out of a can.
The following is a recipe, adapted from one of Mark Bitmann's, for Arrabiata Sauce, which literally translated means "Angry Sauce" in Italian. Whoever invented it was probably angry from eating yucky jarred sauces and then came up with this one. It's fast and incredibly easy to make.
Arrabiata Sauce
(adapted from Mark Bittman's How To Cook Everything)
1/4 cup olive oil
3 cloves garlic, cut into chunks or slices
1 tsp. crushed red pepper flakes
1 28 oz. can whole plum tomatoes, drained and crushed with a fork
Salt & freshly ground pepper to taste
*Heat olive oil, garlic and red pepper flakes in a large skillet over medium high heat. Cook, stirring occasionally, until garlic becomes quite brown--but not black--about 3-4 minutes. (Bittman says 7-8 minutes, but I strongly disagree. 7-8 minutes over medium-high will yield black, bitter garlic for sure.)
*Add tomatoes to the skillet along with salt and pepper. Turn heat to medium. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the mixture becomes saucy, about 10 minutes. Season with salt and pepper.
Violà! There you have it. Browning the garlic and red pepper flakes in hot olive oil first gives the tomato sauce a smoky, spicy dimension that you'll never get out of that jarred stuff. Serve with penne pasta and some grated pecorino-romano, and you've got a simple pasta dish with some serious bite.
P.S. I have to admit, though, that I do keep a jar of the jarred stuff in the fridge for emergencies!
In light of my recent experience dining alone, had I eaten this myself, I'd have gained 20 pounds for sure.
My friend and I recently had dinner at Westminster's Pagolac, a Vietnamese restaurant best known for its "7 Courses Of Beef" meal. $12.99 per order, the menu says. We were about to get one order for each of us, but fortunately our waiter was honest and told us that may be a bit much for us girls. So one order it was. This was the opposite of dining alone, I thought to myself, One order, but for two people!
I looked around the expansive dining room as we waited for our first course. In the lobby, a cute display of a vintage Vespa scooter and carriage--two of Vietnam's main modes of transport--surrounded by colorful flowers and fruit baskets. The place had an energetic vibe which I loved...all around us, local Vietnamese families were busy eating, conversing, and simply enjoying a weekend supper together.
Take me to Pagolac...and make it snappy!
I've heard of this "7 Courses Of Beef" thing before--I've seen it advertised both in the windows and on the menus of various Vietnamese restaurants--and it's always intrigued me. It sounds so massive, doesn't it? Like you're gonna get the whole cow or something. I remember going with my coworkers to get pho one day at some place that happened to serve this 7 course meal. One of my coworkers nearly fell to the floor when he saw the neon lit sign in the window: "Seven Courses Of Beef. Hahahahahahahahaha!!!!" I don't know why it was so funny; it could have been perverted, it could've not. I guess we all just find our own ways to entertain ourselves.
Not two minutes later, our first course arrived: Bo Nhung Dam, three slices of beef tenderloin that we were to cook fondue style in a little hot pot with vinegary broth. My friend, who'd had this meal before, went first, demonstrating by dunking the slice of beef into the broth, swishing it around a few times, then assembling into a spring roll with the rice paper wrappers, the lettuce and herbs and the assorted veggies that they had brought to the table. I quickly followed suit, swishing my slice around in the broth, while trying to dodge the flames that were coming up from under the dish. The rice paper wrappers were a little difficult to peel apart, but I took my time, and soon I got a piece of the thin, white wrapper. I tore off a piece of the green leaf lettuce that was amongst the huge pile of herbs as well as a few leaves of purple basil and mint, placing them carefully atop the piece of slightly cooked beef that I'd lain on the rice paper. To this I added a little bean sprout, shredded carrot, pickled daikon, and sliced cucumber. A nice dunk in the fish-sauce laden peanut sauce, and I had my first delicious bite. If you like the traditional unfried Vietnamese spring rolls, goi cuon, you'll like this for sure. It's cool and refreshing, with the snappy rice paper, and all the various herbs, lettuce, and veggies, while also being hot and intense from the cooked meat. The funky peanut sauce adds a nice kick as well.
Our condiments patiently waiting our 7 Courses of Beef!
Course No. 1: Bo Nhung Dam
There was still one slice of beef tenderloin left from course #1, but we didn't have time to get to it before courses #'s 2,3,4 and 5 arrived. They actually came all on one plate garnished with two stale shrimp chips and were to be eaten exactly the same way as course #1...made into a spring roll. Course number 2, Bo Cha Dum, was a huge steamed meatball that had mushrooms, peanuts and a few strands of vermicelli mixed in. It reminded me of a steamed pork cake that my Dad makes that contains shitake mushrooms and water chestnuts; this meatball, however, had a twinge of coconut milk to it, which made it really tasty. There were three rolls wrapped in beef slices, and I wanted to take them apart, but didn't, so I just read the menu for a description of course number 3: Bo Sate, beef sate prepared with a special curry sauce, pickles, ginger and wrapped in sliced tenderloin and charbroiled to perfection in an open flame. I was a little disappointed by this one as I expected to taste the sate flavors a bit more. Wrapped in all those spring roll goodies, though, it was fine. My favorites were courses 4 and 5: Bo Nuong Mo Chai, charbroiled ground beef sausage, and Bo La Lot, beef sausage wrapped in a "Hawaii Leaf", which was reminiscent of a greap leaf, and grilled. Bo Nuong Mo Chai was a little meatier and shaped into a round meatball, each bite perfectly juicy and spicy. The Bo La Lot seemed to be seasoned with the same type of spices, but its texture was a little softer, still oozing with juiciness after biting into the charred leaf.
Four courses of beef on one plate
By the time Course #6 Bo Bit Tet, a salad of grilled beef and lightly dressed lettuce leaves, came around, our rice paper was starting to get a little dry, and it became much more difficult to peel them apart. I'd get the corner up and as it lifted off, it sometimes started to stick to itself, looking like this:
Now I'm not going to say what that looks like. My girlfriend and I could not stop laughing though! Some people laugh at "7 Courses of Beef", we laugh at rice paper that looks, well, shall we say, used.
Anyways, the beef in course #6 was a bit too well done and dry, but again, making it into a spring roll seemed to solve everything.
Course No. 6: Bo Bit Tet
Course #7, while containing beef, was not meant to be eaten spring roll style, but rather, served as sort of a palate cleanser after having all of those intense flavors. Chao Bo, a soup made of rice, ground beef, alphabet noodles (though I couldn't spot any...I saw star shaped macaroni instead), and scallions in a clear broth, was soothing--something I'd like to have the next time I get a cold.
Course No. 7: Chao Bo
By the end of our meal, I think I'd probably assembled and eaten about 12 "spring rolls" just by myself and was ready to burst at the seams, a feeling I'd had just a few days before. But we got the check and for all this food plus a Thai iced tea, our total came to just under 20 bucks after tax and tip. A total deal for some really good times and seven whole courses of delicious beef!
Pagolac
14580 Brookhurst St.
Westminster, CA 92683
(714) 531-4740
Just me, myself, and the food.
Oh please don't let there be a parking space, oh please don't let there be a parking space, oh please...
Aww shit, there's a parking space. Right out front.
I never, ever am able to find a parking space on Little Tokyo's 1st Street. I always have to park on Temple or 2nd or some side street and walk over to wherever it is that I'm going. But not today. Today, there was a parking space right in front of Daikokuya. It was a sure sign that the time had come to face my fear of dining alone.
All morning I'd been playing mind games with myself--should I, shouldn't I, should I, shouldn't I--but the fact was that I was STARVING after a morning of running errands, and more importantly, I'd been meaning to do this for awhile now. When I was getting ready to leave the house today, I knew there was a possibility of this happening since my better half had already made his own plans; I also knew that it's be pointless and a waste of time to run home just to eat. So with this in mind, I grabbed a magazine from the rack and stuffed it in my purse "just in case." I told myself as I was driving towards Little Tokyo that if there was no parking, then forget it. If there was parking, then I had to do it. Well, you know how that turned out.
Yes, you can say it. I've got issues. Like major issues. And I've thought long and hard about why I have such a fear of eating alone. It's not that I'm afraid of being alone. Hell, I do stuff on my own all the time. I've gone to Knott's Berry Farm alone and went on the rides by myself before (story for another day) ; I've even gone to a concert at the Greek alone. So why the thing with the eating? To me, and this is only to me 'cause I'm that delusional, the act of eating by yourself, especially if you're a woman, kind of makes you look alone. Like here I am, no friends, and I'm so sad that I have to stuff my face, and that's how I'm gonna get fat, and then I really won't have any friends. And that's a really fucked up way of thinking: How could I be that self-centered of a person to think that all eyes are on me? I think I may have hung around with too many mean, shallow people in my lifetime who would actually think about saying something as evil as, "Look at her. She's eating alone. She must have no friends."
I discussed this with a friend once, who asked me, "So like, if you go to the mall and you get hungry, then what the hell do you do???" "Oh, that's easy," I answered, proceeding to tell him that I'll either buy a pretzel and eat it as I walk around, or go buy a nutrition bar from the health food store that'll tie me over until I get home. So many times I've been out running errands, get hungry, and have to stop and pick up something to go that's easy enough to eat in a parked car, motor running with the A/C on. I gross out with most fast foods, so my "car foods" of choice are kim bap from the Korean grocery store, a bento box from Mitsuwa market (chopsticks included!), or of course, In N'Out Burger.
So today was the big day.
Apprehensively, I opened the door to Daikokuya which I had chosen for my first solo flight, one, because they have a counter, and two, because I had a real hankering for tonkotsu ramen! A bubbly waitress greeted me immediately and asked how many. "One, " I said in a low tone, holding up one finger. To my surprise, she directed me towards a booth, probably since it was still early and they could afford to have me sit there instead of at the counter, and as I walked past some of the other booths, I noticed that there were a couple of other solo diners. Cool! I thought, I'm in the company of others in the same solitary boat! She started to set my menus up on the side of the booth that faced the front of the restaurant, but I thought that might be a little too conspicuous for my first time, so as soon as she was done arranging, I quickly moved the stuff and plopped myself down on the side of the booth that faced the back. Sorry, I know it's a day for not messing around anymore, but shoot, a girl's gotta be comfortable too.
Armed with the lastest issue of Kiplingers, I sat and waited for my ramen, flipping through various articles on how to retire rich, and what the hottest new funds are. I came across this headline that I interpretted as a message:
See? With the parking space and all, I think this really was meant to be.
After a few short minutes, my ramen arrived. It was hot and steamy, dense and full of delicious pork flavor, perfect for calming my nerves which I now realized had...gone away!!! I couldn't believe how easy this was, and how silly I had been all these years for being so afraid. The only crappy thing that happened, though, was that I had taken a sip of the hot tonkotsu broth a little too early and without blowing on it to cool it down, and scalded my tongue, making a dorky face and spitting some of the hot broth back into the bowl, and when I looked up, I noticed the waitress had seen me. I think she quickly looked away because she knew I was embarrased. But you know what? It's OK!
I've come to realize why people don't mind this eating solo thing. There was, in fact, a nice thing about the solitude I had experienced. I liked that it was one on one--just me and the food--no conversations and such to get in the way of flavors and textures. It was an intensified sensory experience, and there's something to be said about that. I don't know if I can do a sit down dinner alone just yet, but we'll see. I'm taking this slow.
I was so happy with myself and the whole experience that I left my server a 25% tip. I got in the car and called Isaac right away, "Honey, you'll never believe what I just did..."
I lost my virginity. Again.
This time, I popped my Ethiopian food cherry. And this time, I wasn't careful, so I'm with child. An injera bread baby, that is--that's growing in my belly as we speak because I ate too damn much!!!
I walked into Messob Ethiopian Restaurant on Fairfax's stretch of Little Ethiopia pure and untouched, half knowing what to expect from talking with friends who have had Ethiopian food before and also from the delicious review of a fellow food blogger, and half not, 'cause, well, just because. It was a little like being a kid in a candy store; I couldn't stop staring at all the interesting fixtures: huge red and green wicker basket looking things that ran down the center of the restaurant which I later found out were low, glass topped tables and not snake baskets, carved low back chairs with printed cushions, large patio-sized umbrellas that also graced the middle of the dining room. In the front of the restaurant, a windowed alcove that contained all of these fixtures, perfect for intimate group gatherings. The three of us, however, chose to sit at a "regular" table along the wall...probably easier for eating my first Ethiopian meal!
Messob's lovely dining room...I couldn't help but stare!
To make things easier, we ordered the Super Messob Exclusive for two, a combination platter that includes some of the restaurant's most popular dishes. And because we were starving, we ordered a few sambossas, triangular fried dumplings that are a little reminiscent in both name and form to Indian samosas. These, however, had a thinner, flakier "skin" than Indian samosas and were filled with spiced lentils. They were quite good, though extremely piping hot, burning my mouth a few times.
A piping hot sambossa
To drink, plain ice water (boring!) and...a chemistry beaker looking carafe of Messob's homemade Ethiopian honey wine (less boring!). It was all aglow with the light yellow color of honey, and it tasted almost like a very sweet hard cider. I detected a slight carbonation, but I could be wrong. A little too syrupy sweet to drink alone, but as an accompaniment to the boldly flavored foods we ate, it was just fine.
Chemistry was never my strong suit, but this wasn't bad!
Ahh, the long awaited moment...our Super Messob Exclusive platter finally arrived. It was a beautiful presentation of colors and textures atop a huge round of injera bread and I just couldn't wait to dig in. Instinctually, I wanted to grab my fork and start tearing into this, but I was reminded that Ethiopians traditionally eat with their hands. Their menu, in fact, goes into detail about Gursha, the technique of hand feeding your dinner companion(s) by placing chunks of food into their mouth. Gursha, it says, plays up the exotic component of eating and is exchanged between husband and wife as well as friends and relatives. OK, I know we were all good friends and all, but uh, no thanks. I think we had quite a pleasant Ethiopian dining experience sans Gursha! My friend instructed me and my other friend, also an Ethiopian food virgin, to tear off a piece of the injera from the basket, and proceed to pick up whatever my little heart desired from that fabulous platter of food. The injera, a spongy, sour flatbread whose purpose is both food and utensil, felt a little like a chamois to me and reminded me that I have to get a car wash soon. "What makes it so spongy?" my friend asked. "They make it with 7-up," I answered. "Really?" she replied. At least I was able to fool her for a second. Seriously, injera is made with teff, a practically gluten-free round grain that flourishes in the Ethiopian highlands and whose properties are slightly yeast-like, therefore resulting in a bubbly texture after a brief period of fermentation. I'm still really glad that I remembered that I need a car wash, though.
Say "No" To...how CAN you say no to this???
I need to wash my car
I really need to wash my car
I dug into the siga wot first, a stew of beef braised in red pepper sauce. The chunks of beef were tender and hearty; I tasted a faint hint of star anise, so it tasted almost like a Chinese dish ngao lam--braised beef and tendons--that I'm more familiar with, and was therefore, really comforting. There were two stewed chicken drumsticks--doro wot--on our platter. Its meat was a little hard to tear off the bone with injera (we were novices, after all) but after that, it was all good: a little salty, a little sweet, and nicely spiced with ginger, cardamom, and paprika.
I'm not a big fan of lamb unless it's really fresh and either grilled or roasted, so needless to say, I could have done without the yebeg siga alitcha which was a curry-like lamb stew. The meat was tender, but tasted a tad too much on the gamey side. Funny enough, this also reminded me of the lamb curry stew that my Dad sometimes made when we were younger. All it needed was some scallions and potatoes. I never liked the Chinese version for the same gamey reason.
I did, however, quite like the kittfo, which was basically spiced ground beef, and the zelzel tibs, beef sauteed with onions and chiles. The tibs were maybe a tad on the dry side, but like carne asada for tacos, were chopped into small chunks and were so tasty that they were more than manageable.
Meats, meats and more meats
As much as I loved our meat dishes, I think I loved our vegetable dishes even more. Collard greens seemed to be prepared the same as how I'm used to 'em--Southern style--and were also perfectly sweet, salty and bitter, with maybe a slight hint of ginger that made this delicious dish a little more unique than its Southern counterpart. Nothing could beat the simplicity and cleanness of yatakilt alitcha: steamed cabbage, carrots and potato spiced with garlic and ginger. Strips of injera bread cooked with tomato sauce, tomato fit fit, were strangely good and perhaps should have been picked up with just my fingers to avoid such a carb overload. The yater alitcha, a greenish yellow dish of steamed peas and onions seasoned with garlic and ginger, as well as the yemisir wot, split lentils in red pepper sauce, were velvety smooth and both had bold, spicy flavors. A party in my mouth of different spices: tumeric, cardamom, nutmeg, paprika, cumin, cloves...the list goes on. A simple salad of lettuce and tomatoes tossed in a vinaigrette also helped to cleanse the palate.
Tomato fit fit and collard greens
Yater alitcha and yemisir wot...tasty!
By this time, I realized that that injera bread baby was starting to expand in my belly, as I hadn't kept track of all the injera that I'd tore off and nibbled over the last hour of eating. We still had a little food left on that huge platter of ours, and our waitress, knowing that we were all somewhat new to this, came by and told us that we must eat the layer of injera bread under all that food we just devoured because "it's the best part!" Yeah, of course it's the best part, having soaked up all of that saucy, spicy goodness. We made a few attempts, picking up pieces of this sauce laden sponge with the injera from the basket, but realized that if we kept doing this bread- with-bread-thing, it would for sure be a premature birth as our stomachs would just burst open. Then we tried picking up pieces of the yummy injera base with our bare hands and realized we were making too much of a mess. We would have given up and asked for forks at that point had we not been ready to go into labor right then and there.
And if that wasn't enough, our meal included a couple of baklava, which blew away a previous cavity hurting experience with baklava. But because we were so full, we took a few obligatory bites and left the rest.
Were they trying to induce labor???
A really wonderful, delicious meal, although I've learned my lesson: Practice safe eating--only order the Supper Messob Exclusive for ONE next time.
Messob Ethiopian Restaurant
1041 S. Fairfax Ave.
Los Angeles, CA 90019
(323) 938-8827
www.messob.com
Do not go to Louise's Trattoria. Ever. Especially the one in Studio City.
I always knew they sucked ass, but after today's horrific experience, they suck even more ass, and I will never ever go again, even if it is for an obligatory work lunch. They:
1) Took over half an hour to take our order.
2) Took an hour to bring out our food even after my coworker had gone to a manager to tell him we had to be out of there by 2:00 to make a 2:30 meeting, and uh, could they please take our order?
3) Did not apologize to us when finally taking our order or bringing the food out.
4) Served another large party table, as well as several smaller tables, who had arrived after us...BEFORE US.
5) Cannot even make a panini right. The chicken breast was drier than the Sahara, and the whole thing tasted like ass.
6) Served my coworker a salad that had wilted greens in it.
7) Served my other coworker a tri-tip salad whose tri-tip had that nasty greenish irridescent film on it.
8) Finally apologized when we presented our tab to the manager sans tip and explained that their service and food sucked ass. Despite apologizing profusely, he said that the restaurant was short-staffed and that sometimes when that happens, one table tends to bear the brunt of it, and unfortunately today, it was our table. So is that why you and your other managers were out on the floor actually helping out by taking orders and serving food and such, and is that why we watched you and your staff give extra attentive service to all the other tables while you blatantly ignored ours? Fucker.
9) Always seem to make me sick. The last time I ate at Louise's (which was like four years ago for another work function), my stomach hated me for a whole day. I'm just waiting now...
10) Are going to get a big nasty letter from all of us in the next few days. Co-worker's in the middle of drafting it.
I can't believe I'm actually gonna say this, but I would have rather gone to the Olive Garden. Much better food and service than the shit we got today. And that's saying alot.
I'm pooped.
I went up to the bay this weekend to visit the folks, and though it was a nice visit as always, I haven't had a chance to rest. A one hour wait at the airport and a one hour flight full of scary-ass Raiders fans later, I was finally back in LA last night feeling like crap. Doesn't seem like much, but it certainly does drain a person (those Raiders fans weren't helping either, trust me). Then it was off to bed to start yet another dreadful work week.
It's Monday evening now and I am determined to get some rest, so I'll keep this post short. It's days like this that cause me to keep a case of Nong Shim brand Chajung-Myun in the pantry. Just boil up the thick noodles and the dehydrated veggie pack (consists of dried carrots and some green stuff that I can't identify) 'til al dente, drain off all but a little of the water, and then mix in the instant coffee-looking black bean sauce mix. Oh yes, it is very much laden with MSG, but very tasty at the same time. It's an instant, yet very substantial meal that costs less than a dollar--add some kimchee and you're set. Um, just try not to eat it every day, OK?
Available at your local Korean--or other Asian--grocery store. (Or even Vons if you're near K-town...just beware of unnecessary price hikes!)
As much as I hate to categorize people, places and things...people, places and things inevitably fall into categories. You know, like you can look at a guy and know what his story is: "Oh yeah, he's one of those Rockabilly-guys-who-slicks-his-hair-back-and-wears-a-wifebeater-tank-top-and-cuffed-blue-jeans-and-shows-off-his-tattoos-while-driving-his-vintage-car-with-the-fuzzy-dice-hanging-from-the-rear-view-mirror." Same goes for restaurants. You can say that a restaurant is a "hole in the wall," or an"haute cuisine establishment" or a "mom and pop joint" or a "tourist trap" or a "cheap-donuts-and-Chinese-that-caters-to-blue-collar-guys" and figure out who its customers are, what makes its clock tick.
Well this restaurant threw me off. Because I wasn't really sure what its story was. Which would normally be okay, because then I'd just tell myself that the place is so unique it doesn't fit in to any category! But this place didn't not fit in in a cool, unique way. This place didn't fit in in a "its-trying-too-hard-to-fit-in-so-it's-not-working" way. Hey, is that a category? Shit, am I even making any sense?
Anyways, I first went to Tino's Italian Ristorante about 4 years ago when my coworkers and I were trying to come up with a place to eat and coincidentally found this restaurant's grand opening flyer on the windshield of every car in the office parking lot. Its address led us to a Valley Village mini mall, and we soon spotted the restaurant's sign wedged between all the others, but the restaurant was nowhere to be found...until finally, we found it literally tucked away deep in the corner of the mini mall. No storefront, no windows, just a single door leading into this...hole in the wall???
Well, you'd think, judging from its neighbors, but instead, you walk in and you find that Tino's is furnished with rustic wood tables and chairs. Gold leaf mirrors and faux paint finishes adorn its walls. Glass olive oil and vinegar decanters sit in cute wrought iron holders atop each table. Hell, they even give you a cloth napkin. So a cute Italian trattoria? Well, maybe, if it weren't for the fact that we felt like we were trapped inside a windowless box where, despite the quality furniture and decorative paintings, the low ceiling was composed of fluorescent light boxes amongst cheap acoustic ceiling tiles.
That first time we went four years ago, the guys at Tino's practically jumped up and hugged us when we walked in. They were extremely friendly, getting us seated and making sure we were comfortable and then taking our order, and then 10 minutes went by, and then another few minutes, and oooh! free bruschetta for the whole table, compliments of the chef! And then another few minutes, and several visits from our server telling us the food would be out shortly, and would we like more water or refills, and then finally, after over half an hour of waiting, our food finally arrived.
I don't remember what we ate that day, I just remember that our food was just okay. Some dishes were good, some just weren't. And the service? Well it both rocked and it sucked. It rocked because they were so friendly and gracious and they gave us free bruschetta, but it sucked because they were so slow and they kept trying to cover it up by being nice. After awhile, it gets old, like just get us our damn food already. Especially when we're the only ones in the restaurant.
OK so that was four years ago, and maybe I was being a little harsh. Tino's was new and maybe it was trying to find its bearings...I wasn't about to start interfering and making suggestions to the owner like Jerry did to Babu on Seinfeld. So when my group decided to go to Tino's for lunch the other day, part of me was bummed because I remember how odd the last experience was, but the other part of me was excited, because I was curious to see how our rookie had developed. To tell you the truth, I wasn't even aware that it was still in business.
But it was, and seemed to be flourishing. And yet nothing had changed, except for the fact that there were actually quite a few other people eating there. We walked in to find the same bizarrely claustrophobic and artificially lit yet cozily decorated interior. Our server tried to be friendly by asking each of us our names as we ordered our lunches so that she could remember who ordered what and call us by our first names, yet never bothered to use them again. In fact, when bringing us our food and drink, she had to resort to the old "Uh, who had the iced tea?" We got about three refills of their rosemary bread which we grazed on with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and once again, they brought us an amuse-bouche, this time deep fried mozzarella balls with peas, which were quite good--crisply breaded on the outside with a nice gooey cheesy interior--but still did not make up for the fact that we again had to wait over half an hour for our meals to come out.
Free doesn't always make everything better
Was the wait worth it? Not particularly. My Pollo alla Parmagiana was nothing special, just pounded, breaded chicken breast coated with marinara and mozzarella. Nothing stood out, except maybe the fact that it was a tad too salty. Its side of spaghetti marinara also lacked character...the sauce just sat there, the pasta just sat there. Everything just sat there. A little bit above bland and that's it. And you know what? That's what everyone else had to say about what they ate..."Eh, it was okay" or "It wasn't bad" or "I guess it was pretty good" was used to describe the lasagnas, chicken marsalas, and various pasta dishes around the table.
Don't just sit there...do something!
Both of my dining experiences at Tino's have made me want to slap it around and knock some sense into it. Hey, maybe it's not sense, maybe it's taste, or energy or...just knock something into it. I hate that it tries so hard to be all these things...a proper sit down restaurant, a low key hole in the wall neighborhood joint, a "get to know your name" kinda place, but can't seem to get one thing 100% right. And it bothers me that it bothers me, if that makes any sense. But I should just leave it alone, because they've managed to stay open and build up a clientele over the past four years, so obviously something worked.
Oh my God. I think I've got it. There is a category for places like Tino's. These kinds of places are called "Half-Ass Establishments" and that's exactly what they do well.
Tino's Italian Ristorante 5424 Laurel Canyon Blvd.Valley Village, CA 91607(818) 763-6272
I just realized that I never ate any fruits or vegetables today. Everything I ate was either meat or carbs. That sucks.
At lunchtime, I have a window of about 45 minutes where I can go without eating anything before my blood sugar starts to drop. Which means at 12:45, I'd better be eating lunch or at least grazing on free pre-meal bread or chips. Do not schedule a lunchtime meeting without serving lunch because I will eat your liver with some fava beans and chianti. Well, not really. You know what I mean.
Today, I got myself into a bit of a risky situation by agreeing to a 12 pm phone interview with a prospective employer which lasted, hmm, HALF AN HOUR. OK, then I was the stupid one after that because instead of going back to the office to eat, I went down the street to Target to buy stuff. 12:45 and I was out of Target but already the coach was starting to turn into a pumpkin. Yes, my time had run out. I needed to eat.
Back at the office, I ran into my friends who were on the way out who in turn hijacked me. Yes, they hijacked me because I have no mind of my own and instead of saying, "Oh no thanks, I'm just gonna go upstairs and eat the tofu with Trader Joe's Punjab Spinach Sauce that I had packed from home" when they said "We're going to the Coffee Bean, ya wanna come?" I caved into peer pressure and agreed. So yeah, instead of politely refusing so that I could run upstairs and scarf down my food in the privacy of my own sorry desk and raise my blood sugar back up to normal levels, I said, "Well OK, but I'm really hungry," and got hijacked.
"Cool! We'll go to the Coffee Bean in Toluca Lake and you can get food from Koo Koo Roo or Topz!" my friends suggested. OK yeah, this is gonna be fun.
I originally was going to go to Koo Koo Roo, not because I like it--in fact, I really don't like it--but because I've had it before and because I didn't feel like being that experimental in my current state of hunger. But I thought what the hell, I can at least write about a new place. And so I went to Topz. Supposedly, Topz is supposed to be the home of the healthier burger--did I just set myself up for an even bigger disaster?
There were two registers, only one of which was accepting cards, so it was just my luck that I had no cash on me and I was stuck behind high maintenance NBC Universal chick who seemed to be ordering food for her whole office. The cash only line, in the meantime, was moving with lightning speed. Come onnnnnnn...what are you ordering bee-yotch??????? Turns out she was ordering food for only two people--her total was only 14 bucks. So what the fuck was she ordering for so fucking long??? Oh well, no time to get mad, it was finally my turn.
I ordered at 1/4 Pound Angus Burger with cheese, and made it a combo with their fries which are called "Aero Fries" and a drink. While waiting for my order, I noticed the "condiments" bar behind me and proceeded to fill up a bunch of those little plastic cup thingies with their garlic ketchup and garlic mayo.
I got the thing to-go, because I had already been out too long and by the time I got back to my desk to actually eat it was 2pm. My window was long gone and I think all signs of hunger, of impatience, of lightheadedness had left my body and I was in some kind of weird state of shock. Yeah, my body had already said "Fuck you. You'll see. You'll get yours," to me.
I bit into this 1/4 lb. Angus cheeseburger of mine, first noticing that its untoasted whole wheat bun didn't float my boat at all. The patty actually had a nice charbroiled flavor, but the bun and all the other tasteless ingredients managed to take over. So thank goodness for garlic mayo and ketchup which I proceeded to smear in globs all over the underside of each bun. Oh, and those Aero Fries? They're air baked, hence the name. They're allright...quite crispy considering they came from an oven. But they still lacked that certain sinfulness, uh, like the crunch and taste of actual oil, that only a deep fryer can give. Oh well, nothing a little garlic mayo can't cure.
By the end of my meal, I had devoured the burger, all my fries, 3 cups of garlic mayo, 2 cups of garlic ketchup, and oh, about a quarter of my soda (because I don't like soda). I went on Topz's website to get some 411 on their nutritional stuff. A burger's 400-some calories, Aero Fries are 390. That alone is over 800 calories. And I didn't count all that mayo and ketchup (the best part of the whole meal), the cheese, and whatever part of that soda I drank. Healthy? Yeah right.
I guess my body can say "I told you so."
Topz
10119 Riverside Drive
Toluca Lake, CA 91602
(818) 766-9066
www.topz.com
I wanna eat this, but I have to wait 'til tomorrow.
I dragged my ass out of the house at 7:30 this morning and drove to Porto's to buy my clerical a birthday cake. Why? Because 1) the lines would have become horrendous even an hour later, 2) when it's my turn to buy a cake, I go for the best combination of quality and price, and 3) I really appreciate all the work he does for me! So 7:30 am and one Parisian Chocolate Cake it is.
Aside from the long waits, Porto's is, in my opinion, probably the best bang for your buck when it comes to whole cakes. For only 19 bucks, you get this lovely 10" devil's food cake layered and frosted with Belgian chocolate whipped cream, and decorated with chocolate shavings and some really pretty chocolate flowers! And the best thing is, it's moist and luscious without being overly sweet. If chocolate ain't your thang, check out some of their beautiful fruit tarts or tres leches cakes. Best thing is that their cakes are a good size, taste really good (and remember--not too sweet!) and most are under $30.
The only thing to keep in mind is that, like I said, the lines at Porto's can get really heinous really fast, so either get your nappy ass out of bed early like I did today, or call ahead and order. Oh, and if you have to wait a day to dig in, buy yourself a bunch of treats to tie yourself over in the meantime...
Porto's Bakery
315 North Brand Blvd.
Glendale, CA 91203
(818) 956-5996
www.portosbakery.com
Five years ago, I was still in my twenties. Five years ago, I had a lot more energy; I went out a lot more, and went to bed a little later at night. Five years ago, I had pretty much just started going out with the love of my life. And five years ago I feel like I was a lot more naive and a lot less responsible. Tonight, I took a trip down a more recent memory lane and indulged in two of my favorite "five years ago" activities: shopping at Forever 21 and going for pizza in my old Larchmont/ Hancock Park neighborhood.
I won't bore you with the details of my I-need-to-update-my-wardrobe-but-in-a-cheap-way shopping trip, so I'll move on to the pizza. I've got emotional attachments to pizza in lots of different ways. It was, most definitely, my favorite "treat" food as a kid. Forget the burgers or ice cream; pizza was my poison as a little tyke. Some of my favorite family outings were our Sunday afternoon trips in the late 70's to this pizza joint in Pleasant Hill's Sunvalley Mall. My grandma used to use her leftover Chinese pastry dough to make her own version of pizza for her Americanized grandkids: ketchup or spaghetti sauce, cut up hot dogs or Chinese sausage and American cheese baked atop her lovingly made "pizza crust." My adolescent and college years were fueled by Bay Area pizza slices, namely from Blondies or Fat Slice, the cheapest, tastiest and most convenient food I could get while rushing from bus to Bart in whatever mischief I was up to at the time.
And thanks to Larchmont's Village Pizzeria, my saga with pizza continues. My first experience with Village Pizzeria was actually via delivery when I moved into the Hancock Park place I was renting at the time, when I had first moved back to LA after not being able to stand the chilling Bay Area anymore. Isaac and I had ordered a pizza after a long day of moving, so we didn't know if we fell in love with Village Pizzeria because we were starving or if it was because they actually made good food. After a few more visits and deliveries, we discovered that it was indeed the latter, and soon enough we were returning to this very neighborhoody pizza joint on a regular basis.
I hate listening to the whole "New York vs. Chicago" pizza debate, so it's great that this place has both thin and thick crust pizzas so that everyone's happy and keeps their yaps shut. I am personally more of a fan of the thicker crust kind (though I do tend to crave a thinner, crispier crust at times), so I usually go for their Sicilian crust pizzas. You can get them whole or by the slice with whatever toppings you desire, and while some people think the crust on these is a little dough-y, I think the thickness goes well with the generous amount of toppings the restaurant gives each of its pies. Isaac's Sicilian slices with pepperoni and sausage were the perfect junk food--loaded with ooey-gooey cheese and sinful meats. I went a tad more healthy tonight and ordered the Sicilian pizza with broccoli and sun dried tomatoes, which was comforting as ever with its warm crust, fluffy on the inside but crispy on the bottom. I just wish the sun dried tomatoes hadn't been as tart as they were. Oh well, nothing several shakes of dried parmesan cheese can't take care of.
Meat-za, meat-za!
Yummy-nummy pizza loaded with toppings
Village Pizzeria's non-pizza food deserves mention as well. I'm also a fan of their Italian style heroes, particularly the meatball and the chicken parm. They're always served on a warm, chewy roll with the perfect amount of mozzarella and marinara and come with a refreshing house salad on the side--not bad for a little over six bucks. We decided to forgo the hero sandwich in lieu of pizza tonight, but we did split a small chef's salad which, for a small, was a huge mound of ham, salami, chicken breast, mozzarella, mushrooms, peppers, onions, lettuce and tomatoes. It was definitely tasty--Village Pizzeria's house vinaigrette is a slightly creamy concoction with a slight bite to it--my only peeve being that I wish they'd chop the ingredients up a little more. Those chicken chunks were huge!
A chunky, but refreshing chef's salad
Isaac and I spent a perfect evening sitting in their small sidewalk area enjoying the comfortable LA night air, people watching and talking shit while munching on our pizza and salad. It felt just like five years ago. But do I wish I could go back? Nah. I liked life five years ago, but I like it alot better today. I'll just pick this pizza memory upand carry it with me well into my thirties.
Village Pizzeria
131 N. Larchmont Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90004
(323) 465-5566
www.villagepizzeria.net
I heard this place is bumping at night...plate breaking, dancing, the sounds of "Opa!" yelled with each raised glass of ouzo. Hell, one of my coworkers said the last time she was here at night, the waiters made everyone get up and do a line dance that went outside the restaurant, out to the sidewalk and then back inside.
But during the day, you'd never know that The Great Greek was such a partier. I've encountered daytime "GiGi" twice now and both times she'd come off as a plain-jane, a recluse, a wallflower with her quiet, empty dining room, a few customers scattered around her very Ventura Blvd-ish covered patio. Like an annoying nosey mother or friend, I started judging our little introvert: Hmm, she really needs to get out more, be a little more outgoing...how's she ever going to find someone for herself like this???
Perhaps she attracts with her domestic abilities, I thought. Outward personality isn't everything. Maybe she pours all her passion into her food and then will end up snatching up some lucky fellow who just longs for great homecooked meals made with love. Uh, I don't think our little friend here fared very well in that department either. Frankly, her cooking just did not impress.
I gave her fourteen (yes, fourteen!) chances to wow me. Not as in I've been there fourteen times, but more as in the "Spectacular Greek Deluxe Family-Style Feast" that me and two of my coworkers ordered in which you get 14 of the restaurant's specialties for $14.95 per person($21.95 at dinner).
First of all, let me just point out that I think we only got thirteen dishes. I could be tripping, but as I reviewed my photos and matched 'em up with their website menu, I kept getting thirteen. She can't count, either? My gosh, GiGi, what can you do?
I liked the four Mediterranean dips with pita bread, or spreads, or whatever you wanna call 'em, the best, though that's not saying much because I've had better elsewhere. She makes good pita bread, I'll give her that. It's warm and fluffy, perfect for scooping up those spreads whose consistencies were nice, thick and creamy. Our tzatziki was cool and refreshing, with little slivers of cucumber to add a little texture. Our lightish orange Greek caviar "Tarama" had a nice briny flavor, though it tasted a little too much like the lox spread that I get at my local bagel shop. The hummus and eggplant "Melitzanosalata" were both creamy and mellow, and lacked a much needed kick.
A decent tzatziki
Eggplant Melitzanisalata & lox spread, oops, I mean whipped caviar tarama
A just "allright" hummus
I actually enjoyed our salad of Greek fassolia beans also. Mixed with red and green bell peppers, onions and olives tossed in olive oil and vinegar, these "beans on steroids" were firm, but had a nice, velvety bite. I did not, however, like the Greek Village salad which was supposed to be your typical Greek salad, complete with lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, red onions, bell peppers, and feta cheese. Whatever dressing they used was goopy and slimy, and purely disgusting.
Greek Fassolia Beans
A very slimy Greek Village Salad
I've had better dolmas out of a jar. Seriously. A little lemony and a little oniony, these dolmas tasted allright, but once again, there was something slimy about these. It may have been because its seasoned rice filling was a little overcooked; or it could have been the sooo unnecessary light yellow hollandaise-ish sauce they used to top wach one of the little bundles. Whatever the case, I think GiGi here could learn a thing or two about about dolma making from Trader joes, even.
More slime...dolmas
Our "golden fried "kalamaria," which was you guessed it, fried calamari, was decent though just your typical fried calamari, and I wish I could have traded in the crap I'm about to describe for more of it. I bit into one of the "keftethes," seasoned meatballs, and it was so dry and tasteless that I wondered if it had been made of a combination of beef and cat litter. I'm usually a big fan of the phyllo, spinach and cheeese pastries spanakopitas and I was excited to try their moussaka, what they described as the "national dish of Greece"--baked eggplant, ground beef, Greek spices and bechamel sauce, and their baked pastitsio--"pasta layered with ground beef, herbs, tomato, and bechamel sauce," until I tried them, that is. Each one of them may as well have been cheaply made cafeteria casseroles, the worst thing being that I know it was one of these that made me burp some gnarly stuff all afternoon. Sorry for the disgusting details but hey, I gotta speak my mind!
The only decent thing in this picture was the calamari, and they're way in the back.
Her spanakopita did nothing for me
Pastitsio, or your mama's macaroni casserole?
So it was to my surprise when I heard from some of the others in my group that our GiGi lets her hair down at night and really knows how to throw a party. Yeah, I should have known--it's usually those quiet types, huh? Too bad her cooking doesn't get any better at night, but I guess after a few glasses of wine and fun surroundings, I guess the food would become secondary.
The Great Greek
13362 Ventura Blvd.
Sherman Oaks, CA 91423
(818) 905-5250
(photo courtesy of PBS.org)
I'm really hoping I can go to this, because I really adore this woman.
Since I was a young-un, I'd come across Julia Child on PBS every once in a while, and would become entranced everytime by her love of food, the people that surrounded her, and life in general. She has been a great inspiration to many of us, myself included, as to the importance of living life to its fullest and simply enjoying. Which is why it's ironic that because I may be working alot next week, there's a chance I may not be able to make it to what I'm about to tell you about. Well, either way, I hope some of you will be able to go.
As a tribute to everyone's favorite chef, the Pasadena Museum of History, as part of their current exhibit "Orange Blossom Time: The Citrus Heritage of Southern California," will be hosting Julia Child in Orange Grove Pasadena Tuesday, September 27 at 7:30 pm. A panel of chefs from Le Cordon Bleu California School of Culinary Arts in Pasadena will be discussing "how Julia Child changed America's culinary landscape and their own lives" as well as preparing samplings of citrus-themed dishes inspired by the legendary chef including:
-Duck Rillette withTangerine Marmalade on a Wheat Crisp
-Fruit Nut Bread with Candied Grapefruit and Citrus Butter
-California Lemon Crepes
-Tequila Lime Sausage on a Corn Biscuit
-Pork Tenderloin with a Kumquat Glaze on Brioche
-Tangerine and Tarragon Sherbet on an Orange Florentine Cone
-Orange Grande Marnier Bombé
Tickets are $25 for general admission or $20 for museum members and includes tasting, program and exhibition entry. Reservations are recommended. Please call (626) 577-1660, ext. 10 for reservations and more info.
The Pasadena Museum of History is located at 470 W. Walnut Street (corner Orange Grove Blvd. and Walnut St.) in Pasadena; free parking in the museum lot and on Walnut St.
(Note to self: Get your work done early...this sounds like a good one!)
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