Here, Eat This! The Adventures of Kiki Maraschino

A favorite of locals and a darling of restaurant reviewers, Ackee Bamboo on Degnan helps to alleviate LA’s need for some good Jamaican food. Kingston-born proprietress Marlene Sinclair and her husband Delroy serve up generous portions to the hungry customers who are often making a special pilgrimage to Leimert Park just to try her jerks and curries.

Oxtails

Curried Goat

The oxtails may be the best I’ve ever eaten. Of course, oxtails are kind of like sex. The last one always seems like the best one. And it was fantastic. The short ribs are also exceedingly tender. Ackee Bamboo starts off with excellent cuts of meat, treats them well and spices with a delicate hand. Goat meat leans towards toughness, and is an easy dish to ruin. The care and long braise it receives here yields a much more tender result. Although I’ve had hotter curries, the meat is far superior to any other I’ve tried. The jerk chicken is served with an excess of the traditional paste of ground peppers, herbs and spices. The paste acts as a sauce, so the chicken is almost stewed, rather than the more common dry finish we usually see on jerks in the United States. The talapia filet is cooked in a similar sauce. In fact, if there is any criticism to be made against Ackee Bamboo, it is that some of their dishes taste exactly the same. But when sameness is delicious, why complain?

Short Ribs

Jerk Chicken

The festival bread is addictive, although like any fried bread, the quality quickly deteriorates once you take it home. The bland rice and peas (actually beans) are a welcome relief from the heat of the main dishes. The cabbage has been cooked long enough to remove all pungency and is cleverly mixed with shredded carrots, whose sweetness not only complements, but improves the overall flavor of the cabbage. Callaloo is cooked like greens, but is milder, without a trace of bitterness. It is almost like a heartier strain of spinach.

The square patties are flatter and larger than the typical half-moon pastries. The beef patties are surprisingly hot, with a slightly acidic undertone. The chicken patties are made with ground chicken, and surprised me by surpassing the beef in flavor. The vegetable patties immediately cause me to regress to a six-year-old child with a mouthful of spinach. Another palate will have to judge that one, along with the ackee and salt fish.

They serve all manner of interesting bottled juices and drinks. The romantically named Honey Punch is a combination of fruit juices and honey, the most dominant flavors being lemon, strawberry and pineapple. Sipping the Lychee-Pineapple juice was like drinking out of a hummingbird feeder, and the June Plum juice is probably an acquired taste. Ginger beer burns with ginger, so it may not be the best match for spicy dishes. They have a pink version of Ting, the national soda of Jamaica. Ting is a grapefruit soda that would probably go well mixed with gin.

Located in a pretty square across from 5th Street Dick’s Cafe, Ackee Bamboo’s decor is homey and easygoing. Everything is spotless. You need a key to use the restrooms outside, but the restrooms are also sparkling clean. The practical furniture doesn’t invite lingering, but this may be the one of the few places in town that gets you in and out before your lunch hour is over. That doesn’t mean you have to rush off. People hang out on the comfortable couch or at the patio tables outside, greeting friends as they pass and giving the restaurant a warm, neighborly feel.

Ackee Bamboo (323) 295-7275
4305 Degnan Blvd. Ste 100 LA CA 90008

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Ever since I started writing food reviews, I have been haunted by Jonathan Gold. I would be researching pho for a post, and come across one of his articles, “Cinnamon, anise and the funk of simmering beef, the soup’s unmistakable signature, perfumed the air.” Sometimes Jonathan Gold just makes me want to stick a fork in my head.

I used to play “Restaurant Roulette” on Ventura Boulevard, where I would just stop at random eateries. One day I decided to start at one end and eat my way down Ventura, restaurant by restaurant. A month into my project, Bob and Lindsay were discussing the fact that “the next street Jonathan Gold is going to eat his way down is in North Hollywood.” What? Gold already did it? He ate his way down Pico when he was 20? No!
.
Last night when the Society for Professional Journalism invited Gold to their mixer, the opportunity was just too good to pass up.

When we arrived at the event, the Redwood Bar and Grill’s nautical interior made me feel like I was in the Krusty Crab. The weird little downtown bar was packed and they had a fantastic assortment of beers. We headed towards the back, where a tiny, packed room full of fans was was listening, rapt, to Gold’s advice. There were only about 40 people crammed in there, so it was not as overwhelming as I had anticipated. Gold was fielding questions from the crowd, which were very hard to hear over the Journey cranking out of the bar. So if I misquote anything, blame it on Steve Perry.

Gold said some of the things that restaurant reviewers do that bother him is to use the first person in a self-important manner and to impart information in a condescending fashion. It is one thing to simply answer the question, “Is the restaurant good or not?” But it is important to remember that we are entertainers as well. It is easy to write about food; it is hard to write about eating.

That was exactly what I needed to hear. I may never wax poetic about Suzanne Goin teasing out the flavor from a tomato with the precision of a sushi master, but at the very least I have my own perspective, and that alone validates my writing. I may not be grammatically perfect, pithy and mellifluously flowing with Tom Robbins-esque metaphors. But I have observational skills bordering on OCD, a freakishly sensitive palate, and I think I’m fucking hilarious sometimes. I seem to attract trouble and my stories of being run over by rats and chased out of restaurants by crazed chefs have their place within this genre.

Someone asked Gold whether or not he takes notes. He said he seemed to have some kind of mental illness that prevents him from remembering a name he heard 15 minutes ago, but allows him to remember a dish he ate 10 years ago and whether they had used parsley or chervil. Then he spoke at length about the responsibility of critiquing. A bad review can close a mom-and-pop place down. It is different than movie reviews, where they have the backing of large corporations. I had not planned on participating, but it was such a perfect segue. So I asked, “Like the pizzle incident?”

He laughed, “Oh, you remember that?”
“Yes, and whether it had parsley or chervil.”
People around me asked, “What is pizzle?”
I said, “Penis.” Then I continued addressing Gold, “And by the way, I think I may have eaten pizzle in France, and thanks to you I knew the word for it. So I will be forever grateful to you for that. So did that incident change the way you wrote? Has it made you hold back sometimes?”
“What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you get a restaurant closed down by reporting that they served pizzle? Or is that an urban legend?”
He replied, “Well, not because of that. Oh no. It’s legal to sell pizzle. You can go to the Ranch market and buy one. It’s like a big bullwhip.”

This information filled my head with so many ideas all at once that it almost burst.

Then there were a few more questions from the audience that I have forgotten, because I was thinking up the various ways to serve pizzle. Would you have to devein it like a shrimp? (I’m sorry, am I making you boys uncomfortable?)

When they ended the Q&A, everyone descended upon the cornered writer. I debated holding back until the first wave had passed, but I decided I’d better get my photo in case the chance didn’t present itself again. He said I could take his photo only if it wouldn’t be posted on the internet. So I took it with no flash so it would be more flattering and he agreed (Very pale redheads must use these tricks. Meanwhile, Kevin was on the job in the background and got an even more attractive picture). Then I introduced myself, and without a moment’s hesitation, he said, “You wrote the thing on the Masque.” Wow. He does have a good memory.

I wandered around chatting with a few other people, then it seemed like the room had cleared out. Gold was speaking with two other people, so I thought I would just go eavesdrop. As usual, my vow to keep my mouth shut was almost immediately broken. I asked Gold why he had switched from writing about music to food. He said he had always written about both. But a pivotal moment occured late at night in a rock band’s hotel room. The band was comprised of prep school kids who had dropped out to become musicians. All he could think was, “Your poor parents.”

At the bar, people were recommending their favorite out-of-the-way places to him all night long, which must happen to him incessantly. It must be a nightmare. I added to someone’s shocked query,”You mean you haven’t been to every single restaurant in LA yet?” He responded, overwhelmed, “There are over 30,000 licensed restaurants in LA.” First of all, it is very impressive that he knew that statistic off-the-cuff. Secondly, I just made the quoted statistic up because I can’t remember the number he really said.

I realized that people must constantly challenge him, like a prizefighter. It must be weird to be the fresh meat in town. The tables have turned; interviewer has become interviewee. I may feel like I have to live up to Jonathan Gold, but he’s got to live up to that Pulitzer.

I asked one last question before we hit the road, “Is there anything you won’t eat?”
“Scrambled eggs.”
The crowd murmured in disbelief.
“I have the same aversion to them that I have to peanut butter sandwiches. I remember very clearly the moment I told my mother (and here he switches into British pukka) “Mother, this is the very last time I shall ever eat an egg.”
One of the group cleverly remarked, “Back when you were an 18th century English schoolboy?”

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As Lou Reed put it, “The first thing you learn is you always gotta wait.” But when you are jonesing, you are always willing to wait. And the catfish at Cafe Soul definitely brings the jones down on me.

Cafe Soul opened this past October in the location that was formerly home to the Kitchen on 43rd Place. The changeover was so fast, I’m not sure the restaurant even closed its doors. Cafe Soul is retaining the Kitchen’s recipes and menu. They are even still serving the Kitchen’s “red pop” off the menu, which is actually red Kool-Aid. And yes, they are still serving the famous curry chicken. At this time it does not look like they will continue hosting jazz bands in the small upstairs area, but you never know.

I have been waiting for catfish like this for a long time – light, flaky fish with a tight, sandy cornmeal coating. The greens, which use lamb instead of pork, can be unpredictable. Most days, they are a contender for the best greens in town. However, on one visit they definitely tasted “off”. The short ribs fall off of the bone at the slightest touch, and they are blanketed with what may be the most complex, flavorful gravy I have ever encountered. The macaroni and cheese has a nice, crispy cheddar crust and thick custard. The fried chicken can be a bit greasy, unlike the catfish which is stellar every time. They serve chicken and waffles all day, and when you’re strapped for cash, there are a few dishes charitably priced at $3.50.

The kitchen can be slow when there is only one person running the place. Most of the food is cooked from scratch, so this is not the place to go when you’re in a hurry.

Cafe Soul is open until 10pm Monday through Thursday, and until midnight on Friday and Saturday nights, which is fantastic news for people visiting the World Stage around the corner. They close at 8pm on Sundays. But since the drum circle brings in the crowds, the kitchen tends to run out of menu items as Sunday afternoon fades into evening.

I am not too worried about Cafe Soul’s minor flaws. Considering the speed of the takeover and the hindrance of an insufficient staff, I am confident that once this place finds its legs and rhythm, it will be the star of the neighborhood.

Even though I occasionally want to interrupt the cook, like to ask for my drink while we wait, she is always so busy in the kitchen that I feel like I need to just stay in my seat with my hands politely folded in my lap.

Somehow when I’m sitting in the Soul Cafe I feel as though I am at my aunt’s house for dinner. The vibe is warm and comfortable, but you also get the vague sense that you had better behave yourself. Dinner will be ready when it’s ready.

Cafe Soul (323) 299-7797
3347 1/2 West 43rd Place LA CA 90008

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A few weeks ago, I wandered over to MacArthur Park and hit the tamale festival! I was even thinking about going back again the next day for the one treat I missed, and then I realized that I would have to be crazy to do that. Besides tamales, there were tortas, tacos, pupusas the size of LP records, and even some new things I had never ever seen before!

Let the fun begin!

I personally feel like tamales are like meatloaf. The tamale you grew up with is the tamale by which you judge all other tamales. It doesn’t matter if it was from the church, a neighbor, the lady with the grocery cart, or if you are lucky, your family (and if you are unlucky, the grocery store. Poor thing).

The first stand we tried were the tamales from one of the event organizers, Mama’s Hot Tamales Cafe. They definitely had friendly servers, in spite of the long day and long lines.

As for the tamales, the masa was extremely fluffy with good texture, but they weren’t like MY tamales. I add red sauce and the pan drippings to my masa to make it heavier and richer. So fluffiness is not my thing, but I know that is many people’s preferred style. They seemed to be overwhelmed, as was every booth. They needed about 10 more food vendors. Each line was about 30 people long.

The tamales suffered a little for the overwhelming rush. They were uneven (as homemade tamales usually are). The masa in Bob’s chile verde tamale was still mushy and raw. he returned it for a chicken with green sauce, and was happy with that. I thought my beef with pasilla was a little skimpy on the meat and heavy on the masa. Of course, that again is relative and I know people who will argue about the proper masa vs. filling ratio for much longer than you care to listen. The mole tamale was fair to middling.

But Mama’s chile queso tamale blew me away. It was the perfect tamale. Lots of cheese and just the right kick from red jalapenos. The cheese kind of reminded me of Asadero, the cheese in the market that is just labeled “Quesedilla”. I tried to find out what kind of cheese it was. They said, “Jack” but it was too stringy and rich. Finally I asked an old lady inside if it was queso fresco and she nodded. I am thinking Chihuahua maybe? Maybe it was a combo of different cheeses. That is definitely the tamale to go for if you only have one tamale this year.

Tamales innards do not photograph well. hence my hesitation with the tamale eating contest. This is the beef tamale I tried to cut open daintily with my jagged plastic fork:

He is so patient.

There was entertainment all day. Some of the daytime performers didn’t get much of a crowd. Some of them were upstaged by the giant sign. But he had heart.

Unlike some street festivals, the streets were kept clean of debris and trash didn’t pile up. In spite of a lack of tables, the park has so many walls to sit on, and of course there was grass. Some people just plopped right down on the curb.

All of the food vendors had really long lines. So we made lots of new friends. One of my new friends showed up with this tamale and was very unhappy. I bit a crispy edge, and I think it was overcooked rather than intentionally crispy. I didn’t want to just tear apart this person’s food, and the only way she could describe it was, “wrong.” Most Central American tamales differ in size, wrappings and fillings, like green olives. I have certainly never seen a big, flat tamale before.

My new friend also turned me on to a whole new world: Cueritos Preparados. They take one, giant chicharrón and cover it with a salad and cueritos, which is pork skin marinated in vinegar. Pork skin on pork skin. It would be a lifesaver for anyone on the Atkins diet. Both the chicharrónes and Tostada bag in these pictures are perched on big jars of cueritos.

And if a giant Chicharrón is too inconvenient, you can have it served in a bag of Tostitos to easily eat while walking around the festival.

This is probably the most impressive flame and resultant smoke cloud i have seen come off of a grill. Now, that’s a fire!

By the time I got to the front of the Mexico Lindo line, I discovered they didn’t have tamales. But I didn’t care because everything else looked so good. Especially my guilty pleasure – the bacon and jalapeno dog. The bacon makes the meaty dog even richer, greasier and smokier. This is the hotdog of the gods. Screw Pink’s and everyone else. This will be my last meal if I ever go on that killing spree.

They also had the world’s biggest pupusas, but I just couldn’t hang. Besides the hotdog, I also got a taco pastor that was fantastic (and they let me dress it myself).

This guy must have been important, because he walked around back and all of the vendors gave him food. He was still cool enough to let me photograph his stash. Speaking of dignitaries, there was a list of invited city councilmembers on the website, and it was like a scavenger hunt for me trying to catch Tom LaBonge stuffing his face with tacos, or Bernard Parks going Chicharrón Wild. But no such luck. Maybe they will be in the tamale eating contest tomorrow!

That guy’s stash turned me on to the shrimp cocktails and tostadas at Mi Linda Sinaloa.

Between eating binges, I wandered around taking lots of pictures of ducks and trees. I became fascinated with the vendors, and that will have to be its own post. I couldn’t resist these children either, breaking my own rule about photographing children without asking their parents first. The second kid looks like he might have been being abducted, so maybe I am off the karmic hook.

Every fisherman has a story about the one that got away. By the time I made it back to Mexico Lindo during my rounds, the gigantic tortas were gone.

Look at them; they’re monsters!

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Sometimes it seems like the only people who actually eat at Taix are the musicians. Taix is kind enough to actually give the performing bands drink and meal tickets. I’ve never even eaten in the restaurant itself, but I’ve spent a lot of time in the homey wine bar, where I can listen to local bands while I dine. Whenever I cozy up in the warm brick-interior listening to the edgy jazz, I wonder why I don’t come here every weekend.

From the street, Taix can give the impression that it is past its prime. Sometimes there is a fine line between a restaurant being an institution and being outdated. From the looks of it, one would expect heavy white sauces, ladles of butter, and bygone delicacies like duck a l’orange and seafood crepes. Nothing could be further from the truth. Taix is more of a countryside French bistro, serving soups, steaks, and even a throwing a few pastas into the mix. Choose from the menu wisely, and you can have one of the best meals in town at the best price in town. The weekend shows in the wine bar have given this place a much-needed shot in the arm and Taix has become happening again.

The Taix family first opened the restaurant in their downtown hotel in 1927 as a family-style chicken joint. It has been in its present location since 1962, and is now in the capable hands of Raymond Taix and his son Michael, who is the third generation of the family working in the restaurant.

I like Taix. I really like this place. It is amost “our place.” Besides the nice comfy banquettes, funky wallpaper, and amber on tap, they have an award-winning wine list that includes some pricey vintages. The little wine bar would be so relaxing if the soundman didn’t CRANK the music so loud between bands. I asked him once if he could turn it down just a tad. He snapped, “I already did.” and walked outside. He came back in five minutes later and turned it up even louder. I have to say, in spite of the volume, the DJ does play some great stuff, obscure blues, a weird Tina Turner cover, and some songs you are going to have to pull out your Nuggets albums to look up. And I do owe him for rescuing my favorite coat one night when I left it on a chair.

I like Taix even more now that I have noticed their weird fake rose garden in the main dining room. It reminds me of the Madonna Inn. In the spring, the flowers change to wisteria and other pastel fakes.

Taix has simple appetizers; their cheese plate is about as basic as it gets. But when you are drinking and watching a good band, it is actually a much better snack than hot wings. I don’t quite trust them enough yet to try the escargot. The place is too old-fashioned, and they are a little too inexpensive. The onion soup is rich, hearty and obscene with an overabundance of cheese. My friend Ralphie, who eats there an awful lot, swears by their Salade de Saumon (Poached salmon on mixed greens with marinated cucumbers).

The petite rack of lamb is excellent, if just a tad gamey. The dauphinoise potatoes that accompany the dish are spectacular. The aged New York steak is tender and meaty, but a bit generous in addition to a soup or appetizer. I usually can’t finish it. The braised short ribs are served in a rich reduction and fall right off the bone. In fact, the short ribs may be the best item on their menu. Unfortunately, the bistek is disappointing. On the night I tried it, the charred edges gave off a slight fishiness, as though the steak had been cooked right on the heels of a salmon (Salmon have heels?). I am also not fond of the Maitre d’hôtel butter on the steak, which contains far too much parsley for me.

The Pennettes Monégasque (Penne pasta with tomatoes, garlic, basil and olive oil) and Poitrine de Poulet Frais Grillée Diable (Grilled fresh breast of chicken with mustard, garlic shallots, capers, lemon butter sauce) are both good choices if you are not in the mood for steak. But I have to say, the braised short ribs and New York steak have stolen the show for me every time.

The daily specials pique my interest, but I always end up there on a weekend. So I have yet to try the Rabbit. And they have been roasting chicken for what, eighty years? So it must have been perfected by now. If nothing else, the specials are certainly reasonable:

Monday – Our famouse Taix roast chicken with Bordelaise Sauce – $10.95
Tuesday – Coq au Vin: Traditional French dish of chicken simmered in red wine with mushrooms- $10.95
Wednesday- Braised lamb shank – $14.95
Thursday – Tender roast pork loin – $11.95
Friday – Braised short ribs simmered in Cabernet with carrots $14.95

After the bands start, it can become difficult to find your waitress. They don’t want to interrupt the entertainment. So I often end up having to crash the little cashier area in the back of the bar to ask for the check or order another round of drinks.

In spite of the slight irritations of earsplitting mood music and disappearing waitresses, I still love Taix. On a recent night, I was sinking into my chair with my belly full of steak. The Atomic Sherpas started playing, and we finally got another round of beers. The girls all started dancing, and it was a beautiful night. At one point, the Sherpas were playing a very slow, sappy song. I looked around around the table and we all exchanged easy smiles. Everyone had that contented, vaguely stoned look of peace and satiety. I felt so warm, full of good food, listening to good music, and surrounded by friends. It occured to me that this was one of those moments I would remember for a long time.

Live music Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights. Usually post-punk free-form jazz bands.

Taix
1911 Sunset Boulevard
Los Angeles, CA 90026
Tel 213.484.1265

( I guess it is officially called the 321 Lounge, but everyone I know calls it The Wine Bar).

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I just got back from Sebastian’s in Burbank, the latest restaurant to be crucified by Gordon Ramsey, get buried, and come out all shiny and new on Kitchen Nightmares. When I walked into the dining room I was absolutely giddy, “There he is! The guy who yells! he just greeted me! The guy who yells just greeted me!” I had to run into the bathroom and call my friend, Lynn, who I was planning to meet because I was so excited about the Moody Chef. She asked incredulously, “Are you calling from the BATHROOM? I’m standing out here waiting for you!” Neither Lou nor the cute waitress were there.

One of the 2 bathroom stalls was out of order, and whatever was going on caused a dip in the floor that they had attempted to cover up with a rug. I tripped on it twice. I can’t imagine what will happen when some old lady breaks her hip.

Of course I walked in just looking for problems. The tablecloth had black charred dust on it, there was a very, very dead rose in one of the vases, and my bread plate was chipped (we never received any bread to put on the bread plates). The menu was also covered with a light dusting of powder, and I could only assume it was from the pizza ovens. At one point the entire place filled with a plume of smoke, and all of the doors had to be opened.

My friend, Lynn, is also a super-picky food critic. I said, “You know, with all of these Ramsay restaurants it seems to be attention to detail. How hard would it be to throw away that shriveled black rose? They don’t see it?” Lynn pointed out, “There is a Trader Joe’s selling flowers ACROSS THE STREET.” I also noticed a hole where the wall had been opened up near the floor and some electrical pipe was exposed. A work in progress. They can’t hide that? Ramsey would be SO MAD his forehead would wrinkle up like a sharpei!!!

The menu, which was once a confusion of –

“Pick a flavor”

“Pick a meat”

“Pick whether it should be a sandwich, salad, or main dish”

had been pared down. Now there were a few appetizers, and about 6 salads. The pizzas and sandwiches still had the weird flavor combo thing. At some point Moody Chef (Was his name Sebastian? I don’t know) overheard me say, “I want steak AND hot wings”. He pointed out that I could have a sandwich with the “flavor combination” of buffalo wings and steak. What? Ugh. Buffalo steak? Can’t people just TELL what flavors don’t go together? Every single sandwich – Parmigiana, etc, would have been fine with chicken, but with steak or portabella? No thank you. Bad combinations.

My friend pointed out that every flavor combination on the sandwiches and pizzas contained just one ingredient too many. It almost sounded good, and then – gorgonzola? No! Everything had one extraneous flavor that ruined it. It seemed like there was still some serious denial happening with Moody Chef.

We ordered buffalo wings, which were mushy and unevenly coated. My friend assumed they were frozen. Probably. I’m so used to Sysco foods coming out of kitchens everywhere, and all of the fish and meats from freezers, it’s sometimes hard to tell. I’m almost becoming desensitized to the subtleties of texture other than “Bad”. My palate, however, is still super-sensitive and the chicken was obviously fried in the same oil as the fish.

We split a bacon-cheddar-mozzarella-red onion pizza that Lynn invented from the make-your-own-pizza section. Moody chef was tossing the pizzas himself. The dough was fantastic. Cheddar and bacon were ingenious on a pizza. But the underside of the dough had a black, charred oiliness towards the center that left a pool of oil the color of absinthe on the plate. Not very appetizing.

We had asked to have the steak halved in the kitchen for us. It arrived in one piece with some nice new potatoes and an odd nouvelle cuisine sculpture of vegetables. Lynn mumbled something about them not splitting it for us as we’d asked and Moody Chef ran right over. Which meant he was listening to every word we said. The steak, which we assumed was a Ramsay dish, was half-excellent and half-awful. The tender part of the steak was nicely seasoned and one of the best steaks I’ve had lately. The rest was fat and gristle.

At one point Moody Chef came over to chat, and asked if we’d seen the show. I started in on it, and my friend later said she would never have admitted it to him. But I wanted to see what he would say. He said, “You know that show is not real, don’t you?” Oh Boy!!!! This was getting good! He continued, “We don’t even own a microwave. They brought in the microwave for the crew to warm up their meals, and then pretended it was mine.”

SCORE!!!!

I said, “It did seem like your moods changed very quickly, so there must have been some serious editing.” He said, “All the yelling you see, that was late at night, when the restaurant was closed. You’ll notice, when I walk off it’s night and I’m wearing a black jacket, then magically I’m wearing a white jacket and it’s daytime.”

I said, “Well, every show has a story arc where he has to break the manager or cook or whoever for them to finally accept the changes. Did he really yell in your face?” The diner at the next table, with a heavy accent, said, “Your nice steak is getting cold.” Fuck the steak. I didn’t care about the steak. This was the good stuff here. Then Moody Cook said, “Yeah, I’ll come back. We’ll talk after you eat.” Damn! Damn! Damn! Lost him.

I told my friend, who is officially blogging the story, “I wish you didn’t have dibs on this one. It’s getting good.” She was tepid, “It’s OK.” I asked, “Can’t you smell the blood? I feel like a shark sensing blood in the water!!!”

At the end of the meal, when the restaurant was full and he was clearly busy, he asked how the meal was. I said, “It’s a shame I can see you’re too busy to chat now.” My friend gave him her card and said she’d like to talk. He said something about the menu. I said, “No. We’re not interested in a review. We’re interested in your experience with the show.” (Really, I have a lot of questions. How did they get picked, how long was the crew there? How much was Ramsay there and how much was it just the crew? How often did Ransay yell at him? What else did he think was staged?). He said, “I might not be able to say much because of my contract.”

I asked, “Ramsay made you sign a contract?”

“Sort of, see, I’m gonna have my own show.”

“Like Rocco DiSpirito?”

“No, well, like…”

“Like a cooking show at the cooking network?”

“Well, I can’t say…the contract.”

As we left I called out, “Good luck with the umm thing!”

I didn’t mention that they don’t pick people for reality shows because they really have their shit together.

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If you are on the Westside and thinking pastrami, you are probably thinking about Johnnie’s on Sepulveda. If you are in South Los Angeles and you are thinking pastrami, you are definitely thinking about Johnny’s on Adams. That’s Johnny’s with a “Y”. Two blocks East of Crenshaw, Johnny’s is conveniently located just a few blocks off the 10 freeway. This neighborhood stand has been serving up giant, monolithic pastrami dips since 1956.

Even though we are calling this series “Late Night Eats” I know that you know, and you know that I know, that what we are really talking about here is drunk food. So after testing out the “best martinis in LA” over at Liquid Kitty last Saturday night (purely research for this blog of course), my husband (and sober driver) took me over to Johnny’s.

At 2:30am on Saturday night, there were about twelve people waiting outside and three women cooking like mad in the kitchen. Everyone in line was really polite, saying things like, “Oh no, after you, I believe you were here first.” Everybody knew the bars had just closed. And everybody was acting like they weren’t sure if one of the people in line might be drunk and crazy, and they weren’t going to be the one to find out. Little did they know that on this particular night I was the drunk and crazy one.

I overheard the counterperson telling the guy in front of me something about gunshots the night before. He made a sympathetic “tutut” noise before grabbing his food and moving on. The protocol at Johnny’s is that you place your order, then hover around the window. When your order is ready, they pass you a plastic french fry basket and you put your money in it. Then they give you your change with your order. (UPDATE 2009 Shooting at Johnny’s)

I took advantage of my hovering time to watch them cook and ask if I could snap a few pictures. I was also eavesdropping to see if I could find out what had happened the night before. My blatant eavesdropping and nosy questions did not seem to please the cook (I heard the word “Koolaid” in her grumbling. So I said, “You’re RIGHT. I DON’T know what flavor it is. So why don’t you tell me?”). The counterperson cut me off and told me, “Oh, we’re just talking about a television show.” She clearly had experience in talking to drunk and crazy people. It’s not like one stray bullet is going to stop me from going to Johnny’s. Not unless it hits me right in the ass, which was probably what the cook was hoping would happen right about then.

I usually just get the pastrami, but for the sake of this review I had ordered more of a variety. I noticed they had just added a fish sandwich to the menu. If it was a catfish sandwich, it would have made my entire night. I probably would have done a little dance. When I asked about it, the finality with which they said, “We’re out of tartar sauce.” made me not even consider asking for one without tartar sauce. So I got the usual pastrami – piled deli high on a lightly dipped french roll, dressed simply with mustard along with a side of dill pickles and peppers. You can also ask for it double-dipped, but I prefer a light hand with the au jus to avoid soggy bread. The pastrami that bursts from the overstuffed roll is lean and peppery, with just the right amount of grease.

The pastrami burger also cannot contain the overabundance of salty, fatty meat (Yes, that’s right, a pastrami burger. Are you warming up the car yet?). They also serve hot links, hot dogs, tamales, and tacos. But honestly, their short menu could be even shorter. If you’re at Johnny’s it’s because you’re craving pastrami. And they are going to make sure you get plenty of it. To satisfy your sweet tooth, there is sweet potato pie and Sock-it-to-me cake.

The vodka in me decided to also order a side of chili fries. I’m sorry there is not a picture, but it is very difficult to get an appetizing photo of a big pile of chili under flourescent lights. I couldn’t wait until we got home to bust into the fries. The chili was pretty much straight ground beef dampened with a well-seasoned sauce. The fries tucked beneath were still hot and crispy. It was the most wonderful thing I had ever eaten. The nectar of the gods. Angels breath. As the car took a sharp corner, I had to weave carefully not to spill the generous container. I nagged, “Woah, watch it on those curves there, buddy.” He said, “I can drive just fine. I’m not the one who’s drunk.” I said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re not drunk and eating these delicious fries.” And I really did feel sorry for him. At that moment I was genuinely sorry for every single person that wasn’t zooming around the old Pasadena freeway, nursing a nice buzz while eating the greatest chili fries in the entire world.

Johnny’s Pastrami on Adams
(4331 West Adams Blvd. (323) 734-6003
Open 24 hours, 7 days a week. Cash only.

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For the fifth year in a row, Liquid Kitty on Pico has won Citysearch’s title of Best Martini in LA.

Liquid Kitty harkens back to LA’s dark, Chandleresque side, with dim lights and strong drinks. It reminds me of both the rat pack martini bar Olive, and a little bit of Yee Mee Loo’s, an historic Chinatown bar. The Hollywood speakeasy feel is enhanced by the lack of any kind of sign out front with their name on it. Just keep an eye out for the blinking neon martini glass and cigarette.

Every drink at Liquid Kitty is a double. So arrange your sober driver beforehand, because these drinks can really sneak up on you. Especially the dazzling array of sweet, brightly colored cocktails. They may be served in martini glasses, but they are still cocktails – proprietor Dave Childs is a martini purist, “A martini is either vodka or gin with a tiny amount of vermouth.” Period. That doesn’t mean you have to lose your sense of humor though. “The Liquid Kitty” is a Ketel-One martini with a Camel cigarette (no filter) on the side.

In the early 90’s, LA was still struggling with the remnants of cheesy yuppie bars, and all of the old tiki bars were closing down. Feeling like there were no cool bars on the Westside, musician Dave Childs and his old high school friend Cedd Moses started looking for a space where they could open a bar to fill the void. They found out the former punk Club 88 was for lease, and went to check it out. They noticed a bar next door with a ‘for rent’ sign. They called the owner and ended up buying the place.

Dave and Cedd teamed up with Ricki Kline to design the cool interior. The theme was drinking and smoking, low light and cool music. There once was a time when they also could have won “Smokiest bar in LA”. Over time, Cedd shifted his focus downtown to open Golden Gopher, Broadway Bar and Seven Grand. Now Dave is the owner, mixologist, sometimes DJ, raconteur and he might occasionally do an impersonation of the old Zachary All commercials if you ask really, really nicely (Portly long, portly short…cadet. Come on down and see us).

Your proprieter, Dave Childs, and his wife Lynn

Even the bouncers are friendly.

They are all about the music at Liquid Kitty. Monday night is karaoke, and DJs spin during the week. But sometimes they mix it up with a little Guitar Hero or I-Pod nights where you can DJ for 20 minutes from your I-Pod. If they like your stuff, you get a free drink. Every Sunday features live music, primarily old-school funk and blues, with the likes of Carlos Guitarlos and Jake Labotz. Live music is not limited to Sundays, and every once in awhile the Blasters make a super-secret appearance. Stay up to date with their calendar, and sign up for their Yahoo group here. Or become their friend. Every summer, Liquid Kitty throws a Punk Rock BBQ. Check out Heath’s post from last summer’s BBQ.

This is Saccharine Trust rocking out the Punk Rock BBQ the year before:

The clientele is extremely classy and refined. Especially when those deceptively pretty drinks are flowing.

Sometimes finding a favorite place can be as simple as liking the wallpaper in the ladies room

In spite of their traditional martini philosophy, they certainly don’t slouch in the cocktail department. I usually end up drinking about half the colors of the rainbow in one night. Seen above is the Harold and Maude, Rum, banana liqueur, sweet-and-sour and pineapple. Besides the Liquid Kitty and the Harold and Maude, they have started making a very dangerous, yet refreshing mojito. They make old-fashioned tiki drinks, a manhattan called the Travis Bickle and stock single malts like 12-year-old Macallan and 10-year-old Glenmorangie. But perhaps their most popular drink is the Lowlife: a well shot with a Pabst Blue Ribbon.

Parking used to be kind of a pain, but they have valets now and it’s well worth it. Now there’s nothing not to like about Liquid Kitty. In fact, a guy opening a bar in Chicago liked the name so much he took the name, even though they aren’t affiliated. The name Liquid Kitty comes from an old inside joke about a drunk guy trying to discuss finances who couldn’t pronounce “liquidity.”

Although not everyone buys that story. One night I had dinner at my mom’s, then planned on stopping by Liquid Kitty on the way home. My brother told me that after I left my 72 year-old mom told him smugly, ‘Elise thinks I don’t know what that that means.”

Liquid Kitty 11780 W. Pico Blvd, Los Angeles 90064 (between Bundy and Barrington) MAP
Open 7 nights a week, Mon-Fri 6pm to 2am, Sat-Sun 8pm-2am. 310-473-3707.
No cover any night, 21 & over (and they have a bartender who knows ASL)

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Sometimes I think the sign out front ought to read:

EL INDIO: PROUDLY HELPING DRUNKS SOAK UP THE ALCOHOL FOR OVER 30 YEARS!

24-hours a day, this Northridge taco stand buzzes with a steady stream of policemen, students, and blue collar joes. But El Indio really starts hopping after the bars close down. Everyone in the valley knows this is the hotspot for post-party tacos. I secretly enjoy eavesdropping on packs of club-hopping young men drunkenly nursing their bruised egos with a hefty side order of sour grapes, “That chick wasn’t even that hot. I wouldn’t have gone out with her anyways.” Personally, I think they’re far better off with the carne asada tacos.

I often wander up to the window early in the morning, somewhere between 3am and 6am. At this hour, when restaurants usually stick me with last night’s leftovers, El Indio is still willing to freshly cook up anything on the menu. They also patiently put up with my mangled Spanish. (Please understand that all of the conversations I am about to recount here took place in broken Spanish).

The menu has the usual tacos and burritos, along with homemade sopes and gorditas. For fillings, there are the obligatory carnitas, machaca and carne asada, but nothing here is just run-of-the-mill. El Indio’s carne asada never has a trace of fat or gristle. The carnitas manage to hit the perfect balance of crispy and moist, but sometimes they can be just a little dry depending on the hour. The machaca, or shredded beef, is served straight up for tacos, and scrambled with eggs for the breakfast selections. I have also found the machaca taco a tad dry at times, but it’s nothing smothering them in frijoles wouldn’t fix. The Milanesa is a pounded steak, breaded and deep-fried, kind of the chicken-fried steak of tacos. Again, El Indio kicks ass in this department. Their Milanesa is peerless.

Another place where El Indio rises above the herd is with their refried beans. Frijoles are such a humble ingredient, yet such a critical element for building the perfect burrito. One night I was complimenting the cook on the creamy consistency of the frijoles. I mentioned that they must use a lot of manteca. He said, “Without manteca, they’re not beans.” They cook the frijoles up in the biggest pot in the world.

El Indio, like Michoacan, is a very common name for taquerias. I also frequent an unrelated place called El Indio on Artesia in Redondo Beach. It’s almost like saying, “Mom’s Place” or “Joe”s Diner”. There are three restaurants in the Valley called El Indio. There is an El Indio Azteca on Roscoe off of Tampa and another on Devonshire near Haskell in Granada Hills. Do not be confused by look-alikes. I am talking about the El Indio at 17019 Roscoe Blvd, just East of Balboa. One day I asked one of the workers, “There are three El Indios? With one jefe? One dueno?” He insisted, “There is only ONE El Indio.” I asked about the ones on Roscoe and Devonshire. He repeated, a little pissed off, “There is only ONE.” I asked, “Solamente?” And he proclaimed, “Solamente!”.

Front to back: tacos milanesa, machaca, carne asada and buche:

El Indio’s piece de resistance, the one thing that keeps me coming back 24 hours a day, is the chile relleno burrito (Imagine a choir of angels singing here). A perfectly cooked omelette wraps around the cheese-stuffed chile like a lover’s embrace. The creamy fat in the beans makes them so much more than the perfect foil. If this were a Hollywood-style burrito love story, this is the part where the burrito would tell the frijoles, “You complete me.” The chiles are not too hot, and there are never any seeds. Many a chile relleno has been ruined by the lazy shortcut of not scraping out the seeds. On my recent photographic expedition, I asked the cook to cut the burrito in half so I could take a picture of the beautiful inside. I was surprised to find something orange. The chile was orange. I asked the cook about it and he said, “Yeah, it’s usually (he tried to think of the color in English and then just pointed at his red shirt). I said, “But it’s supposed to be (and pointed at my green sweater). Chiles change color as they ripen, so really, you never can tell. I asked “Pasilla?” and he nodded. I could tell he was just humoring me. He was clearly at the point of, “Look, lady, it’s just a chile. Let it go.”

Amongst taco connoisseurs, El Indio is known for their fantastic buche, which is something you can’t find at just any old taco stand. Buche is fried pig’s stomach (although I am told that in some areas the term is used to refer to beef cheeks or throat). In spite of the fact that the flavor of organ meats is often too intense for me, I’m willing to try anything once. Buche kind of looks like pig’s ears. The meat is neither soft like lengua and sesos, nor tough like cabeza. The taco tastes pretty average at first, like any old taco. As you continue chewing, the sinister gaminess of organ meat slowly rises up and carries you over to the culinary dark side. Compared to other foods I have eaten, I would say it reminded me the most of ox heart. A very pork-y ox heart.

Buche

As I was leaving, I stopped to say goodbye at the window. I asked the cook if I could see one of the chiles they use in the rellenos. When he brought out a bell pepper, I was floored. I couldn’t believe that all this time it had been sweet bell pepper, not even the semi-wimpy Anaheim green chile. I’m not into sesos or buche, and now I discover that my favorite chile relleno is a stuffed sweet bell pepper? I think the Minutemen said it best:

I Felt Like a Gringo

El Indio
17019 Roscoe Northridge (Just East of Balboa)
(818) 765-9259
Open 24-hours. Cash and credit accepted.

All photos by Elise for LAist

I Felt Like a Gringo from Ballot Result by the Minutemen

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When your husband is in four bands, you become kind of selective about going to his gigs. But when a show is going to be at Safari Sam’s, I always say yes. Because I know I’m going to have a good time and leave well-fed. I really like the club’s layout. There is a large hall for watching the bands, and the outdoor smoking area is like being at a cocktail party. My favorite area is the loft, where I can order dinner and watch everything from a distance. It’s like three clubs in one. Service is always friendly, they have a large selection of beers on tap, and the food is fantastic.

The menu is standard American bar fare, with a bit of Cal-Mex and pub grub thrown in. Although they have a number of dinners and hot plates, I don’t really like to wrestle with a knife and a fork in a nightclub. That said, I will make an exception for my favorite item on the menu, fish and chips. The coating is light and crispy, and the fish is always fresh. Their “seasoned” fries are actually more like garlic fries with a few other seasonings thrown in to keep the garlic company. They are delicious, but so intense I have never even finished an entire side of fries. The appetizer order of fries arrives in a bowl bigger than your head, so prepare to share.

The penne pasta also arrives in the same humongous bowl with your selection of sauces. The Pomodoro-style tomato-basil is a good choice. Vegans can rejoice, because the vegan meatloaf is still available, even though it is not listed on their re-vamped menu. The vegan meatloaf is juicy and flavorful, if a bit spicy. They also have a vegan Boca burger, but you can always make that at home. Go for the house special.

The sandwiches are where Safari Sam’s really shines. It is obvious some thought was put into matching the right fresh bread to each sandwich. Their burger ranks right up there with the best of them. The quality of the ingredients really shows, and this is where little touches like homemade ketchup make all the difference. Even the simple chicken sandwich is elevated with a french roll, ripe red tomatoes, nicely-grilled chicken and a flavorful aioli.

There are a number of intriguing offerings on the new menu, including a ribeye sandwich and a fried fish sandwich. Safari Sam’s quesedilla and taquitos are kind of average, so I am not sure the addition of nachos and crispy tacos was really neccessary. The unusual pairing of fried shrimp and zucchini threw me for a loop until I thought about tempura. If it works there, why not? They have an adept hand with the deep-fryer. I’m definitely eager to try the wings.

I recommend arriving around 9:30 so you can finish eating before it is time to socialize and rock out. Service slows considerably as the night drags on as well.

The many faces of Safari Sam’s:

Straight into the pit:

Party in the Parking Lot!

Go, DJ Go DJ, Go!

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I had one of the worst meals of my life on a date at Yai #1. Back then they were simply known as “Yai.” They were also known for their “boat noodles.” For the uninitiated, boat noodles include things like liver and tripe. Our young, inexperienced palates just were not ready for that kind of adventure. Not that I’ve ever been a fan of liver. My date said: “This tastes like Lake Erie!” I asked him what Lake Erie tasted like. He replied, “Exactly like this,” and pushed the bowl towards me. So when I was listing Thai restaurants, I made a note of Yai. I wanted to make sure I did not end up there again.

I invited my seafood-loving friend out for my most recent Thai adventure, so I chose a place called Thai Seafood. She misheard me and–wouldn’t you know it–somehow we ended up at Yai. There is a Yai #2 in the shopping center at Hollywood and Vermont. The second outpost is a world apart from its flagship. Large, bright, clean and modern, the space is inviting in an IKEA kind of way.

I was up for anything. It had been 10 years since I last visited Yai, and this place looked like another world. It turned out to be the most 50/50 multiple personality dining experience of my life. We either loved the dishes or hated the dishes. Some of the service was apathetic at best, and other employees went waaaaaay above and beyond the call of duty. Yai #2 had a split personality.

By and far, our favorite dish was the crispy catfish. It was deep-fried to perfection, reminding me of New Orleans-style. There were few bones, and the skin was thin and edible (and easy to pick off it you are a little particular, like some people). The catfish was mild, but came with a fiery-hot dipping sauce.

The Yai glass noodles would also be worth a special trip back. Soon. The noodles were not in the least bit greasy – not too much sauce, not too little sauce, Just right. The plate was generous with tofu, egg, and veggies. The sauce was very flavorful but gentle with cooling lime, a nice relief from the fire of the other dishes.

Now things start going downhill. Up for a little more adventure than in younger days, I had ordered the boar curry. At this point it is very hard for me to make a fair evaluation, since I have never had boar curry anywhere else. Yet. The curry was complex and multi-layered. You could cook anything in a red curry like that and it would be delicious. You could probably cook people in that sauce and it would be pretty good. And I just might try it. The bits of meat I could pick out were very similar to moose, and if you’ve never had moose, then brisket would be the best comparison. The little, round Thai eggplants were also delicious. But most of the dish was comprised of chewy strips of fat. I asked our friendly host, Jay, if the dish included any organs, or if there was really that much fat on the boar. He said it was only boar meat. It’s just a really fatty animal. Later I asked my friend why they don’t just trim off the fat and she said, “They must like it.”

The last and most shocking dish was the ever-popular papaya salad. This papaya salad came with salted crab, which sounded so delicious. When the dish arrived, there were little purple crabs, shells uncracked, lounging around in the shredded papaya. Then my friend took a bite and made this face:

Now for those who have confronted me on the issue of salty crab, let me explain that my friend here is an archeologist who goes to countries you would never even consider visiting, climbs in disgusting holes and digs up dead people. And she eats whatever her local hosts feed her. She is not exactly a wilting violet. I took a bite of the crab and when the fumes hit the back of my throat I was afraid to close my mouth and have those flavors touch my tongue. My friend had to force me to close my mouth, and my entire body was inundated with salt. It was the saltiest thing I have ever had in my life. Even saltier than salt. Mixed with a fermented fishiness, it was one of the most intense things I have ever eaten. I have eaten worse-tasting things, but this was like “Thrill Seekers.”

We tried a little papaya to get the taste out of our mouths and whoa, the salad was intense with vinegar and fish sauce. You would think with something as intense as that crab, you would want a refreshing salad, not pure vinegar. But it was as if the various components of the salad were in a war for dominance. It was so intense we started having fun photographing each other taking bites of it and grimacing.

Our new friend, Jay, explained that the crab comes pre-brined from Viet Nam. He was even kind enough to bring out the package to show us.

Check out that sodium content!

Since my first experience at Yai #1 ten years ago had been so bad, and since my experience at Yai #2 was so mixed, I thought it was only fair that I go back to Yai #1 before writing this review. I placed my order to go, then walked over to 7-11 to get cash out for the cash-only Yai. My ATM card was not in my wallet. It was not in my purse. It was not in a box or with a fox, here nor there, nor anywhere. I had already placed my order. I was screwed. I had to slink back over and start counting out my crumpled up ones and the change from my car. It was so humiliating, I wanted to die. But everyone was so nice to me. When the other diners saw me counting quarters, they offered help, but I declined. Finally I came up 4 dollars short. Can you believe I actually carry around 15 dollars worth of change?! They insisted I take the food, and I insisted I will be back with the 4 dollars, and you can bet I will add on a hefty tip.

For the Yai #1 to-go I ordered my favorite dishes from Yai #2. The cellophane noodles were just as good, if not better. They are my new favorite.

I also ordered the catfish, which was slathered with fiery red sauce instead of served on the side. It was expertly fried, but they had not removed the pin-bones as the other place did.

I also ordered my alternative to phad thai, spicy mint leaf noodle. Made with the same flat noodles as pad see ew, it is usually called lard na or some variation thereof. But most places just call it “chicken noodles.” Theirs were first rate, with the variant of ground chicken instead of chicken pieces. The chicken was ground up with the herbs and spices, which all mixed in with the noodles like a bolognese sauce and made it a far superior dish.

The chicken green curry was not too unusual. I liked the bamboo shoots and Thai eggplant, two of my favorite vegetables. The curry was rich with coconut milk, but it was hotter than hell. An excellent meal all around. And I will definitely be back soon. Because I owe them 4 bucks.

Yai Restaurant 5757 Hollywood Blvd. LA, CA 90028 (323) 462-0292
Yai #2 1627 Vermont Ave. LA, CA 90028 (323) 644-1076

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On the furthest edge of Thai Town, in the very back of a sparsely occupied shopping center, just down the sidewalk from the fish market, sits A&P Pastries. The tiny bakery is like a jewel in the rough. I love the decor, especially the Christmas-y decorations. Maybe they are leftovers from the holidays, but more likely it is pure coincidence. In addition to the festive touches, the mood in the small bakery is comfortable and welcoming. The counter girl is so cute and friendly; it is really a joy to shop there.

The two pastry cases boast beautiful pastel creations – rolled sponge cakes, French puff pastries, and cream puffs, along with savories like chicken turnovers and buns.

Most Asian sweets tend to go easy on the fat and sugar, which is often a refreshing change. A&P has the best of both worlds – a selection of traditionally rich Western-style desserts, as well as lighter cakes. The French-style pastries are sweet and full of a heavy cream, especially the delicious miniature cream puffs. The jelly rolls are more typical of Asian sweets, with a delicate sponge cake and a light-as-air whipped cream filling. The vanilla is pure heaven, but the orange jelly roll is somewhat intense.

There are also the familiar pale-green tinted cakes and jelly rolls which are flavored with bai dteuy, a type of pandanus leaf used to flavor Thai sweets. The taste is delicate, vaguely similar to vanilla, rose or coconut, yet distinctly its own.

The bakery sells a variety of buns, which are the freshest I have come across outside of my own kitchen. Some of the buns are filled with ham and cheese, but I would recommend the custard-filled variety. The pandam custard is disturbingly similar to guacamole in tint and texture. It’s still delicious if you eat it with your eyes closed. Just try not to think about guacamole (Do not think of a white horse).

A&P Pastries 5112 Hollywood Blvd. #109 LA 90027 (323) 668-0976

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Welcome to the frosty world of Thai snow cones! Also known as nam kang sai, they are not exactly what you imagine when you hear “snow cone”. I was not sure what I was ordering the first time I wandered into Bhan Kanom Thai. Luckily, I’m not all that picky about what I eat anyways. I like a little adventure. It’s a dessert, after all, so it’s not as if it’s going to be full of eyeballs or something.

Bhan Kanom Thai is a very well-stocked import candy and snack shop. They have a fresh bakery and make their own desserts. There are two cases running along the side of the spacious shop. One side holds trays of desserts like pumpkin in milk, and sweet black beans in sweetened condensed milk. The other half of the case is given over to the wonder of the snow cone. This is not your mother’s snow cone (Unless, of course, your mother is Thai. Then it probably is your mother’s snow cone).

The server holds a large styrofoam cup at the ready. You are given several options, from which you select three or four. Some of them are familiar to most Angelenos by now – sliced jackfruit, green-tinted boba, and coconut jelly. There were also little basil seeds that were flavorless but had the fun crunch of poppy seeds. I went with the larger “palm seeds” which are actually attap, the immature fruit of the Mangrove palm. They looked like big clear lima beans. A lot of Thai sweets seem to be clear and gelatinous. I also chose boba, coconut jelly, and jackfruit.

The server filled the cup the rest of the way to the top with crushed ice, and gestured to three syrups. The first one he could only identify as “red”. I asked for more clarification, like if this was a fruit flavor, and everyone just stared at each other and repeated “red”. It made me think of artificially flavored “grape” kool-aid that really is the flavor “purple” when you think about it. I gestured towards the green bottle and he shook his head no. Bad choice. So I went with the clear syrup, which he could identify as “Jasmine.” Later I was to discover that the green syrup was “cream soda” flavor. “Red” flavor is actually called sala, which is a flavor that comes from the fruit of the sala tree. It reminds me of a cross between Campari and cherry cough syrup.

Unlike some people, I enjoy floral flavors – I’m particularly fond of rose water, and a strange Canadian candy called “Floral Gums” that most of my friends think tastes like soap. So I really liked the Jasmine syrup. At first I approached the snow cone as more of a scientific experiment than a food, poking it and letting the textures play on my tongue. But after I got home and most of the ice had melted, what I was left with was an ice-cold fruit salad that I could not stop eating. Temperatures in the 100s made the snow cone a perfect snack.

So perfect in fact, that I made the trek back to Thai Town the very next day. And I was back a few days later to turn my friend on to the wonders of the snow cone. We arrived early enough to watch them baking and preparing all kinds of exotic goodies. This time I mixed it up a little, choosing jackfruit, palm seed, and red beans. The string-like white jelly is completely flavorless. My friend chose basil seeds for hers, and said that they looked like tiny little eyeballs. And after I had promised no eyeballs! She went with green “cream soda” flavor which turned out to be really sweet and tasted nothing like cream soda. We accepted the offer to top off the ice with a dollop of sweetened condensed milk, but that just took it too far. It made the snowcone almost too sweet to be edible.

Amongst the other taste treats there, I have picked up sweet candy threads that you roll up in a mushu-like pancake, a squishy thing that looks like a taco, sweet crispy tacos, egg yolk pastries that look like flowers, and little candies that look like hot peppers. I also picked up some dried Durian which I have yet to try. I think I’ll save that one for the next LAist get-together.

Bhan Kanom Thai 5271 Hollywood Blvd. LA 90027 (323) 871 8030

Other locations:
12714 Sherman Way North Hollywood 91605 (818) 255-3355
8402 Alondra Blvd. Paramount 90723 (562) 633-2799

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If Hollywood’s Thai Town has a center, it is the bustling block of Thailand Plaza. The two-story Plaza houses not only a restaurant, but is home to a Thai bookstore and a giant, well-stocked grocery. Thailand Plaza is easily identifiable by its elaborately decorated shrine to the Thai Buddha of four faces. Off to the side stands a spirit house, meant to entice spirits to take up residence. The idea is they will be so distracted they will not be tempted to move into your house. Just adjacent to Thailand Plaza is a square called “Thai Town Plaza”. This plaza has a truly happening restaurant row. It is anchored by Ruen Thai, the ritzy Red Corner Asia, and dessert shop Bhan Kanom. In the corner stands Thai Patio, the location that once housed Palms Thai (which has relocated to 5900 Hollywood, taking Thai Elvis with them). Hiding inauspiciously in the corner is the easily overlooked Ganda.

Right now the foodies may be singing the praises of North Hollywood as the Thai mecca du jour, but LAist is all about loyalty, and we still love Thai Town, forever and always.

The “official” boundaries of Thai Town stretch between Western and Normandie on Hollywood Blvd. That’s not much room to stretch, really, so the Thai restaurants have spread out towards the 101 Hollywood freeway and Vermont, spilling over to Sunset as they continue their outward diaspora.

In addition to their geographical boundaries, Thai restaurants in Hollywood are stretching their culinary boundaries as well. From Thai Express, the most basic corner stand sporting a hot dog on the roof, to the upscale Red Corner Asia, these neighborhood restaurants are serving a diverse clientele. Chefs are exploring Chinese fusion at Chuan Chim, Shabu Shabu at Hollywood Thai Cuisine, and even giving Thai food a latino spin over at Vim (pronounced Wim). One can still find comfort in the safety of pad thai, or head over to Palms for some serious boar curry. From noodle houses to grills, from little bakeries to Thai snow cone shops, the choices are endless. So let’s go thai one on!

Starting in the heart of Thai Town, Ganda’s generous buffet-style steam trays lure me inside. The decor is hip and exotic. If this restaurant were anywhere but the heart of Thai town, it would have your friends asking in awe, “How did you FIND this place?

One side of the restaurant contains a little shop of Thai goods. The centerpiece of the restaurant is the large steam table that overflows with a feast of enticing dishes. Only about half of them are recognizable, which only adds to my excitement. No one speaks much English, which I also take as a very good sign.

You can also order from a menu, but the steam table was too exciting to pass up. The curries immediately drew me in. They were not limited to the usual green, yellow, red and massaman. There were at least 8 different curry dishes. I recognized the fringe of tripe in one of them, and fish balls in another.

I pointed at a deep red curry and a green curry brimming with some unfamiliar vegetable. It was similar to collard greens, or kale, but much tougher. I was finally able to identify it as cassia leaves. Thai curries are so complex and intense it is often difficult for the palate to differentiate individual ingredients. No single flavor should dominate. When cooked correctly, the flavors of a curry should meld into a complex symphony. And Ganda was definitely playing my song. The red curry contained only tender beef, with no vegetables or fillers. The curry paste was thick, like a panang, and the dish nicely combined richness and heat. Another 3-star spicy dish for sure.

Ganda successfully balanced the basic flavors of Thai cooking: hot (spicy), sour, sweet, and salty. Actually, it was pretty heavily balanced towards the spicy. The fiery curries were stimulating in small doses, but I’m sure they could become dare-worthy pretty quickly. In Thai, you can ask them for something not so spicy with the phrase mai phet (not spicy) or mai sai prik (do not put in chilis). (www.realthai.blogspot.com).

Combo plates from the steam table come with 2 or 3 selections, plus steamed rice. For my third selection I chose kunchaing, an interesting-looking sausage that had caught my eye the second we walked in the door. Referred to as “Chinese sausage”, the Chinese lettering on the package actually says “Taiwanese sausage” and it is made in Whittier. It is much denser than the usual sai krok. It is like a dense polska kielbasa, bordering on a salami. The sausage was unusually sweet, yet it was not cloying or unpleasant. It was as if a delicate sweet syrup had been brushed on it as it cooked.

The spicy mint-leaf chicken ordered from the menu was a nice foil to the spiciness and actually cooled things down. The wide rice noodles were soft and slippery without being greasy. I was pleasantly surprised by the addition of long beans and straw mushrooms. It is definitely comfort food, and exactly the kind of thing you would want to eat if you had a cold.

Like many places in Thai Town, Ganda accepts cash only. Luckily there are two ATMs in the plaza. Also, like many of the places in the plaza, they stay open until 2 o’clock in the morning. The place was staffed entirely by women, and they were all welcoming and amiable in spite of the language barrier.

Although I am drawn to the bright lights and elegant vibe of Thailand Hollywood Plaza’s other restaurants, I think I will be sticking with Ganda for awhile.

(When I asked for the restrooms, the server handed me a tiny little bucket. I stared at her. She stared at me. I looked at the bucket, and I looked back at her. She laughed and pointed to the key that was attached to the bucket. This place wasn’t THAT exotic).

Ganda Thai
5269 Hollywood Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90027-4912
(323) 466-4281

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The San Fernando Valley rivals the Westside and the Fairfax District in the deli department. In Northridge alone, there are three competing delis: Brent’s, Abe’s and Weiler’s. Each one has its own fans.

Brents 19565 Parthenia St. Northridge (818) 886-5679

For a long time I was strictly into Brents, a local institution since 1967. They are definitely considered the frontrunner by most people. My friend insists their matzoh balls are the best, and that they are “the size of my head.” Their pastrami and corned beef sandwich, pictured above, has to be eaten with a fork before it can be made small enough to fit it in your mouth. They open at 6am, and serve most menu items early. They are famous for their catering, and have just opened a location in Westlake.

Abe’s 19626 Nordhoff St Northridge 91324 (818) 701-5563

Abe’s is open until 11pm on Friday and Saturday nights, which is convenient. They used to be a Solley’s, until Solley’s twin brother Abe took over. Which makes this delivery truck an obvious prop. Their cream puffs are freakishly large, the deli guys are friendly, and their pastrami is spectacular. And who can resist free pickles while you wait? But even the people I met there said they chose Abe’s because it was easy to get into on a Sunday morning.

Weiler’s 9046 Balboa Boulevard Northridge 91325
818-892-8663

Lately Weiler’s on the corner of Nordoff and Balboa has started to win me over. They opened in 1962, although they have changed locations. In spite of their un-deli-ish “country charm” decor, they do have some excellent pastrami and a definite neighborhood vibe. Servers greet customers by name and hardly anybody needs a menu. Plus they have these scary cookies that remind me of an unforgettable episode of Gumby:

Really, I am just into the sign. But admit it, you love mojo potatoes. 10340 Reseda Blvd, Northridge (818) 360-2151

A&W Seafood 9306 Reseda Blvd. Northridge 91324

A&W Seafood is known for its Hong Kong-style dim sum lunches. It may not be Monterey Park, but it’s pretty darn good. The hostess alternates between being kind of angry and sugary-sweet, which I find a scary combination. Otherwise, the service is friendly, and the ambiance is refreshingly cool and elegant on a hot day.

Colleges always attract good, cheap eats and CSUN is no exception

Cupids 9039 Lindley Av, Northridge

Cupid’s hot dogs can be a little bland, so I recommend you go heavy on the toppings. But the snap of the skin and the fat content are in perfect balance. The bun is soft and fresh, and the price can’t be beat.

My Hero 9514 Reseda Blvd # 15 Northridge (818) 349-4255

I once walked into a classroom on the first day of class at CSUN and the instructor had written on the board:

How to survive CSUN:

1. Attend class
2. Study
3. My Hero

Their subs are first-rate, but the secret is the tomato salad. Even when I was vegan, I would just get a tomato salad sandwich. The Italian-style dressing is not overpoweringly vinegary, and the the crunch of the celery is just right.

Falafel Palace 9255 Reseda Blvd. Northridge (818) 993-0734

This is the place for vegans. They even have vegan baklava. But carnivores can feast on shwarma with all the trimmings, and it wouldn’t kill you to have a falafel once in awhile. In fact, this is the place where even the most avowed meat-lover should have a falafel.

Mongolian King 9545 Reseda Blvd # 20 Northridge 91324 (818) 886-9711

Before every mall in the world had a Mongolian BBQ, I used to love the novelty of this place. Now I go there because the sauce is a million times better than the sauce at the place in the mall. They also have big, bread puffs that will burn the bejeesus out of your hands, so be careful.

Las Hadas 9048 Balboa Blvd Northridge 91325 (818) 892-7271

I always thought Las Hadas just looked like an an Acapulco’s kind of office-lunch place until Frank Black told me it was his favorite Mexican place in Northridge. It turned out they have fantastic enchiladas and huge, dangerous margaritas that make the girls from the office tell you all of their secrets.

Bakeries

Delicious Bakery 9147 Reseda Blvd. Northridge (818) 349-5700

Delicious Bakery, hidden in the corner of the Vons parking lot is a secret, so don’t tell anyone. This is where all of the delis get their baked goods. Go straight to the source and get your black-and-white cookies fresh out of the oven. Just look at the size of that hamantashen!

Weinie Bakery 9250 Reseda Blvd. (818) 886-7331

Hidden in the corner of a strip mall, the Weinie Bakery is the place for all things bao. They offer all types of Chinese buns and baked goods. Buns come will fillings like barbecued chicken, vegetarian tofu, and yes, they even have a roll with sliced hot dogs baked into it.

24-hour Party People

El Indio 17019 Roscoe Northridge (818) 765-9259

El Indio On Roscoe just west of Balboa, is a late-night mecca for cops and cars full of drunk partiers. Good tacos make for strange bedfellows. After the bars close down, the place fills with drunk guys nursing sour grapes about how the chicks who wouldn’t go home with them “weren’t that hot anyways.” 24-hours a day, El Indio has killer carnitas tacos and the best chile relleno burritos I’ve ever had.

Yummy Donuts 7555 Balboa Blvd Northridge (818) 780-2204

Yummy Donuts has acceptable donuts, but the pan quesedilla is killer. So are the little twisty cream puffs. Plus they have sandwiches and ice cream. Where else can you get an ice cream cone at 4am?

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