Picture Says a Thousand Words
Surprisingly, the bar behind the Loteria stand at the Grove Farmer’s Market is actually a wonderful place to grab a pint of beer on a sunny, holiday weekend.
Ty Burrell and his baby apparently think so as well.
Dr. Obvious, PhD.
Los Angeles Magazine recently named Papa Cristos’ roasted lamb & feta sandwich as one of L.A.’s finest sarnies. Oh really, Los Angeles magazine? What’s your next headline story? ”Men Like Cleavage”? Or how about “Taylor Lautner is Gay”?
No shit, Sherlock. Eat up, fellas and give your order to the cashier who looks like an older version of Vinnie Delpino from Doogie Howser, M.D. Go ahead, I dare you not to recognize the uncanny resemblence.
International House of Burgers
Kalbi Burger (www.kalbiburger.com)
We live in interesting times when I can march into a shack in L.A. and ask them to top off my burger with sauteed kimchi. While the Japanese Umami burger has taken the city by storm with its diminutive, yet powerfully flavorful hatch chile and truffle burgers, Koreans have counter-parried with their own culturally relevant short-rib beef patties at Kalbi Burger.
The difference in burger styles is allegorical to each country’s contrasting affinity for seafood. The Japanese have their delicately constructed sashimi, comprised of the fleshy, snooty fishes of the sea. The Koreans champion the ugly, deep-sea dwelling mollusks, clams, and octopi, each scampering until they find themselves thrown into a fiery-red stew. It’s more of a blunt, in-your-face approach to ocean delicacies.
Such is the difference in American burgers as well. Umami burgers are smaller portions and stand on the strength of their flavor. Kalbi burgers try to overwhelm you with the size of the short-rib patty and condiments, as if to slam a pot of kimchi jigae on the counter while simultaneously challenging you to an eating contest.
At the risk of being branded a traitor, this time, and in this context, I prefer the Japanese version over the Korean variation. Although I still prefer Shin-soo Choo over Ichiro Suzuki.
4001 Wilshire Boulevard, Unit E, Los Angeles, CA, (213) 738-7898
Diabetes in a cup
Between Pizzeria Mozza and Jar Restaurant, which butterscotch budino is better? I don’t know, but I do know that I ate enough of Jars’ offering (pictured below) to put me into apoplectic shock. Instead of debating whether a mosque should be built at Ground Zero, can we instead focus on more relevant and important philosophical questions?
Ludo likes Asians
Even Ludo Lefebvre knows Park’s BBQ is the best. I wonder what his favorite pho place is.
It’s about integrity, folks
Porto’s Bakery
The first question my friend Hayden lobbed toward the cashier-in-training was the following:
“Excuse me miss, but do you happen to carry Inca cola at this establishment?”
Casher-in-training [excitedly]: “Why yes we do!”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Hayden was just being a wiseass, but the delivery of sardonic wit tends to be the outcome of long bakery lines. I’m not sure what originally possessed us to venture to Glendale for lunch, but I do know what will bring me back: the regular cheese rolls, the sumptuous potato balls filled with ground beef and the cubano sandwiches.
Note to newcomers: do not get the regular cubano sandwich. While the slow-roasted pork is top-rate, the bread is a little dry. Get the cubano sandwich on the sweet roll, which is sweeter and more moist. The perfect sandwich.
A colleague of mine at work does a little bit of legal work for Porto’s Bakery. I asked him excitedly if he is allowed to cut the line. Interestingly enough, the owner doesn’t allow anybody to cut the line. If he allows anyone to cut the line, it threatens the integrity of the operation and of course chaos would ensue. And nobody likes chaos when they want their slow-roasted pork sandwich. You have to respect a man with principles.
Porto’s Bakery, 315 N. Brand Blvd., Glendale, CA 91203, (818) 956-5996
you could use some flair stickers
The Tasting Kitchen
You aren’t going to get much analysis from me about the food here, other than an aerial shot of one of the pastas. Rather, you are going to get a summary of what I learned after having a few very pleasant drinks with L.K. at this neatly packed eatery down the street from the Brig.
1) Soccer players blend in to the crowd. Landon Donovan sat 8 feet away from us and I didn’t even realize until the end of our meal. The entire time I thought he looked like my accountant’s stoner cousin. Except shorter. At no point did it dawn on me that I had spent countless hours this past World Cup summer watching the guy sitting next to me. USA! USA! USA!
2) We food bloggers run fast, run hard, and run deep. We met a couple, Jay and Karen from Napa sitting adjacent to us that had flew down specifically to document First Fridays in Venice. Think about that. They FLEW down from a vineyard paradise to sample food trucks and document the experience on their iPhone 4’s. Do not underestimate us food nerds. We will shove you out of the way to sample a garlic aioli mayonnaise french fry dip.
Tasting Kitchen, 1633 Abbot Kinney Blvd., Venice, CA 90291, (310) 392-6644
Sesame this, riddle me that
Is there anything better than a chunk of marbled shortrib rubbed with salt and sesame oil? If you answered “yes”, please stab yourself in the eye with a fork.
Pho Cafe
Here in southern California, I can’t walk five feet without running into a Cambodian-run donut shop. And thank Christ almighty that is the case. But why are all the best Vietnamese places in east LA? What, no love for Century City or the west side, my fair Vietnamese-brethen?
I don’t get it. Is there an ordinance stating that you can only open a Vietnamese restaurant within 500 feet of a guitar tuning shop? Silverlake can be fun, but c’mon guys, its not exactly the mecca you should be settling for.
It is with such racially-charged bitterness that I strolled into Pho Cafe. My indignant grouchiness faded away upon ordering a cold glass of Tiger beer and the beef fritter. Reminiscent of Korean rice paper bo sam, you take the crispy-sweet batter, mushroom and beef concoction and place it on top of a rice cake that you first dip into a bowl of steaming hot water. The water helps transform the cake into a membrane that you can fold over the contents. Add some cucumbers, mint, hoisin and rooster sauce, and you have yourself quite a tasty appetizer.
The pho was disappointing. Definitely not that great - the most important component, the broth, was not as savory as I expected and had too much salt. But the array of rolls and appetizers really make it worth stopping by here on your way to the Thirsty Crow, which is down the street.
Pho Cafe, 2841 W Sunset Boulevard, Los Angeles, CA 90026, (213) 413-0888
charred octopus
Hatfields
I write this posting with a slight tinge of sadness for a few reasons. First, my friend from college decided to move out of LA to Menlo Park with her family, as her husband decided to take a job working for Al “Tweed-Is-My-Favorite-Fabric” Gore. In a nice gesture, she took out a large group of her friends to say “goodbye” at Hatfields.
Secondly, I just read Anthony Bourdain’s tribute to the recently passed Harvey Pekar (American Splendor) and it dawned upon me that I will never be able to write anything quite as eloquent or evocative as that piece was. Is it conceivable that a man like Bourdain, who champions the authentic over the contrived, favors substance over the gimmick, and heralds the working class over the self-appointed elite would view an individual like myself as a member of the uninspired class? Am I simply a gossip-attuned automaton with a camera phone who likes to patronize Michelin-blessed eateries? Am I…gasp…a douchebag?
The mere thought was enough to make me shiver in the middle of a July heatwave.
After much soul searching, I looked at myself in the mirror today, plucked out a few grey hairs from my scalp, and breathed a sigh of relief. I came to an undeniable, inexorable conclusion: I’m simply a fat kid who likes to eat. Done. End of story.
Phew! Glad that is over with. Now focus your attention on the first picture: the “croque madame” twist at Hatfields. Extremely tasty and delicate, and also a far cry from the 16 oz. heart-attack-on-a-plate you are normally accustomed to, this variation utilizes a quail egg. I know what you are thinking - how the hell does a quail egg cover the entire croque madame? The optic feat is accomplished because that picture is a close-up. If the camera panned out, my index finger would look like Wilbur’s leg from Charlotte’s Web.
I found the charred octopus to be very buttery, very good, and very opposite to the variety served at Osteria Mozza. Osteria’s version maintains the charred flavor whereas Hatfields’ version almost melts in your mouth. You may prefer one version over the other, but note that because of the different underlying approaches, it is difficult to render an apples-to-apples comparison.
Oh, and the pork belly. Is there anything a pig can’t do? Don’t answer that wiseass, I already know that pigs can’t re-enact all the sequels to High School Musical in pig latin (ironically). Not that I won’t try to choreograph this. Pig Zac Efron, I’m going to eat you for lunch tomorrow. Unfortunately, that is probably not even the gayest thing I’ve said today.
The pork belly at Hatfields wonderfully and delicately undresses itself upon the slightest touch, much like…wait, that is too easy. I’m going to take a cue from Bourdain and favor the subtext over the obvious, just this one time.
Hatfields, 6703 Melrose Avenue (not Beverly Boulevard - that was the old location), Los Angeles, CA 90038, (323) 935-2977.
