OK, I'd been quite ambivalent about visiting LA from the get go. Why? I'd been here three times already. The first two times, I was a kid, and all I did was go to Disneyland, Universal Studios, watch TV, and eat a bewildering array of breakfast cereals. The third time, I was on the tail end of a 3 month backpacker trip of Europe during which I'd visited amazing museums full of art and history, and frankly, I was happy to just spend a few days unwinding at my grandmother's apartment. The only thing that made LA interesting for me this time around was the prospect of authentic mexican food, which I'd been interested in since I read Rope Burns by F.X. Toole. "People put fish in tacos? Fucking awesome, I have to try that."
Anyway, it was stupid of me to write LA off before I even got here. It's far from being one of my favourite cities, but it can definitely kick some ass. On the flight here, I read a book by Anthony Bourdain called "A Cook's Tour", in which he has the following to say about food:
"...the best meal in the world, the perfect meal, is very rarely the most sophisticated or expensive one. I knew how important factors other than technique or rare ingredients can be in the real business of making magic happen at a dinner table. Context and memory play powerful roles in all the truly great meals in one's life. I mean, let's face it: When you're eating simple barbecue under a palm tree, and you feel sand between your toes, samba music is playing softly in the background, waves are lapping at the shore a few yards off, a gentle breeze is cooling the sweat on the back of your neck at the hairline, and looking across the table, past the column of empty Red Stripes at the dreamy expression on your companion's face, you realise in half an hour you're probably going to be having sex on ceal white hotel sheets, that grilled chicken leg suddenly tastes a hell of a lot better."
Within mere hours of landing at LAX, jetlagged out of my fucking mind, I had an experience that illustrated this point.
My aunt and uncle, who I'm staying with in LA, took me and Jo to a crab house in Redondo Beach. Apparently the crab house we went to is famous, but being a weeknight, the place was pretty quiet. Being from out of town, there were a few things that made the whole meal exceptional for me.
1. The experience: While the place was run by Koreans (like so many places in LA), the kitchen staff were all Mexican. The Korean proprietor, upon being informed of our order, yelled out the order in terrible Spanish. "Yeh, Sajangnim" (Yes Boss), replied the staff, with impeccable korean pronunciation. They would continue to use their phrase book korean throughout the evening, always with amazing pronunciation. As I would discover later, Korean food prepared by mexican cooks is par for the course in this town. Evidently Mexicans are some of the finest trained cooks in the world, with the majority of the behind-the-scenes cooks in any fine dining restaurant in the US being Mexicans. And as I would later discover, there are unexpected similarities between aspects of Mexican and Korean cuisine, so I'm sure that preparing food for a family-oriented Korean restaurant is a walk in the park for some of these guys.
Sidebar 1. - Only in LA: The conversation being had by 4 girls at the table immediately behind us "Yeah, he didn't realise how much she loved him until he got shot, and she was at the hospital caring for him." No, they were not talking about a soapie.
2. The view: The scenery was amazing. The restaurant on Redondo Beach is located on a wharf. Outside the window was an uninterrupted view the ocean, people fishing on one of the wharves, with their fishing lines illuminated by the setting sun so that they resembled gossamer...what the fuck am I talking about. Fishing lines were shiny and it was all very pretty. Right outside the window was one of the biggest seagulls I'd ever seen, looking at me with the exact same look that Harley gets when she's begging for a corner of my toast. "You're not going to leave me hanging, are you? Look how pretty I am!!!"
3. The food: I love crab. My mum makes a wonderful Korean spicy crab soup, which we eat quite regularly. That's blue swimmer crab, though. I'd never before had larger crabs (in this case, Dungeness crab) that have been prepared only by steaming. In case my reference to the scenery and the Anthony Bourdain quote gave you the wrong impression, let's be clear; this crab would have been delicious in any setting. Not only is the meat fantastic, but there's something primal about smashing open a crab claw with a wooden mallet, breaking it apart with your fingers and eating the sweet, succulent flesh with your bare hands. The melted butter they provide as a dipping sauce was a bit overwhelming, making everything taste like popcorn, so I refrained from dipping the more flavoursome leg meat (crab meat from the legs has a higher mineral content, giving it a stronger flavour.). The blander meat from the body, though, I couldn't help dunking in the butter now and then.
Also interesting to me was the different approach that everyone had to wielding their mallets. I opted for a rythmic approach which was evocative of the opening riff of Metallica's "Leper Messiah" - dun-dun-DUN! dun-dun-DUN! My sister, on the other hand, preferred a "One Strike, One Kill" philosophy, like an old school karateka. To each their own.
As an accompaniment to the meal, my uncle ordered a half-bottle of Johnny Walker Black, which he poured for me over ice. Generally I prefer single malts, and I would never add ice to whisky. Nor would I think that hard liquor and crab would be a good food/alcohol combination. But you know what? With the sea breeze in my face, the sun so low on the horizon that the fishermen on the wharf were now mere silhouettes, and a plate of delicious smashed crabby bits in front of me, that blended scotch on ice tasted pretty fucking good.
Sidebar 2: Candy corn and Mellowcreme Pumpkins My new friend Kat hails from LA, and she has been giving me food recommendations for my trip. Since she seems to know a thing or two about food, I've been following her advice. One of the things she recommended was Halloween season candy; candy corn, and mellowcreme pumpkins. OK, candy corn. Don't eat them. I'm pretty sure I have diabetes now. Seriously. You know those cake decorations on top of overly sculpted asian birthday cakes? Those flowers and leaves moulded from coloured confectioners sugar? Now imagine that on top of being skullfuckingly sweet, those decorations had a slightly buttery, toffee-ish flavour. Now imagine a big goddamn bag of them. That's candy corn. Mellowcreme Pumpkins? Same as candy corn, but twice as big and shaped like a pumpkin. Don't eat them. You will be unable to taste normal food for a couple of days, as your brain will have dulled the flavour signals from your tongue in order to avoid overloading, possibly leading to an aneurysm.
Note: This is a post that I've been drafting for a couple of days. The first 6 paragraphs were written immediately after drinking 9-10 beers, then I thought "Fuck it, I'm too drunk for this, I'm going to crash" and saved it for another day. The beer is so cheap here, it is impossible not to drink. The beer section at a supermarket in LA pisses all over the dedicated liquor stores in Australia. I picked up a sixer of Red Hook ESB, Jo picked up a 6-pack of something called Spiced Pumpkin Ale out of morbid curiosity (think gluhwein, but using beer instead of wine, and with only a fraction of the spices, and almost no sugar, and you'd be on the right track). I would be such an alcoholic in this country.
Anyway, it was stupid of me to write LA off before I even got here. It's far from being one of my favourite cities, but it can definitely kick some ass. On the flight here, I read a book by Anthony Bourdain called "A Cook's Tour", in which he has the following to say about food:
"...the best meal in the world, the perfect meal, is very rarely the most sophisticated or expensive one. I knew how important factors other than technique or rare ingredients can be in the real business of making magic happen at a dinner table. Context and memory play powerful roles in all the truly great meals in one's life. I mean, let's face it: When you're eating simple barbecue under a palm tree, and you feel sand between your toes, samba music is playing softly in the background, waves are lapping at the shore a few yards off, a gentle breeze is cooling the sweat on the back of your neck at the hairline, and looking across the table, past the column of empty Red Stripes at the dreamy expression on your companion's face, you realise in half an hour you're probably going to be having sex on ceal white hotel sheets, that grilled chicken leg suddenly tastes a hell of a lot better."
Within mere hours of landing at LAX, jetlagged out of my fucking mind, I had an experience that illustrated this point.
My aunt and uncle, who I'm staying with in LA, took me and Jo to a crab house in Redondo Beach. Apparently the crab house we went to is famous, but being a weeknight, the place was pretty quiet. Being from out of town, there were a few things that made the whole meal exceptional for me.
1. The experience: While the place was run by Koreans (like so many places in LA), the kitchen staff were all Mexican. The Korean proprietor, upon being informed of our order, yelled out the order in terrible Spanish. "Yeh, Sajangnim" (Yes Boss), replied the staff, with impeccable korean pronunciation. They would continue to use their phrase book korean throughout the evening, always with amazing pronunciation. As I would discover later, Korean food prepared by mexican cooks is par for the course in this town. Evidently Mexicans are some of the finest trained cooks in the world, with the majority of the behind-the-scenes cooks in any fine dining restaurant in the US being Mexicans. And as I would later discover, there are unexpected similarities between aspects of Mexican and Korean cuisine, so I'm sure that preparing food for a family-oriented Korean restaurant is a walk in the park for some of these guys.
Sidebar 1. - Only in LA: The conversation being had by 4 girls at the table immediately behind us "Yeah, he didn't realise how much she loved him until he got shot, and she was at the hospital caring for him." No, they were not talking about a soapie.
2. The view: The scenery was amazing. The restaurant on Redondo Beach is located on a wharf. Outside the window was an uninterrupted view the ocean, people fishing on one of the wharves, with their fishing lines illuminated by the setting sun so that they resembled gossamer...what the fuck am I talking about. Fishing lines were shiny and it was all very pretty. Right outside the window was one of the biggest seagulls I'd ever seen, looking at me with the exact same look that Harley gets when she's begging for a corner of my toast. "You're not going to leave me hanging, are you? Look how pretty I am!!!"
3. The food: I love crab. My mum makes a wonderful Korean spicy crab soup, which we eat quite regularly. That's blue swimmer crab, though. I'd never before had larger crabs (in this case, Dungeness crab) that have been prepared only by steaming. In case my reference to the scenery and the Anthony Bourdain quote gave you the wrong impression, let's be clear; this crab would have been delicious in any setting. Not only is the meat fantastic, but there's something primal about smashing open a crab claw with a wooden mallet, breaking it apart with your fingers and eating the sweet, succulent flesh with your bare hands. The melted butter they provide as a dipping sauce was a bit overwhelming, making everything taste like popcorn, so I refrained from dipping the more flavoursome leg meat (crab meat from the legs has a higher mineral content, giving it a stronger flavour.). The blander meat from the body, though, I couldn't help dunking in the butter now and then.
Also interesting to me was the different approach that everyone had to wielding their mallets. I opted for a rythmic approach which was evocative of the opening riff of Metallica's "Leper Messiah" - dun-dun-DUN! dun-dun-DUN! My sister, on the other hand, preferred a "One Strike, One Kill" philosophy, like an old school karateka. To each their own.
As an accompaniment to the meal, my uncle ordered a half-bottle of Johnny Walker Black, which he poured for me over ice. Generally I prefer single malts, and I would never add ice to whisky. Nor would I think that hard liquor and crab would be a good food/alcohol combination. But you know what? With the sea breeze in my face, the sun so low on the horizon that the fishermen on the wharf were now mere silhouettes, and a plate of delicious smashed crabby bits in front of me, that blended scotch on ice tasted pretty fucking good.
Sidebar 2: Candy corn and Mellowcreme Pumpkins My new friend Kat hails from LA, and she has been giving me food recommendations for my trip. Since she seems to know a thing or two about food, I've been following her advice. One of the things she recommended was Halloween season candy; candy corn, and mellowcreme pumpkins. OK, candy corn. Don't eat them. I'm pretty sure I have diabetes now. Seriously. You know those cake decorations on top of overly sculpted asian birthday cakes? Those flowers and leaves moulded from coloured confectioners sugar? Now imagine that on top of being skullfuckingly sweet, those decorations had a slightly buttery, toffee-ish flavour. Now imagine a big goddamn bag of them. That's candy corn. Mellowcreme Pumpkins? Same as candy corn, but twice as big and shaped like a pumpkin. Don't eat them. You will be unable to taste normal food for a couple of days, as your brain will have dulled the flavour signals from your tongue in order to avoid overloading, possibly leading to an aneurysm.
Note: This is a post that I've been drafting for a couple of days. The first 6 paragraphs were written immediately after drinking 9-10 beers, then I thought "Fuck it, I'm too drunk for this, I'm going to crash" and saved it for another day. The beer is so cheap here, it is impossible not to drink. The beer section at a supermarket in LA pisses all over the dedicated liquor stores in Australia. I picked up a sixer of Red Hook ESB, Jo picked up a 6-pack of something called Spiced Pumpkin Ale out of morbid curiosity (think gluhwein, but using beer instead of wine, and with only a fraction of the spices, and almost no sugar, and you'd be on the right track). I would be such an alcoholic in this country.
2 comments:
1) I told you they taste like sugar if sugar raped itself. And yes, you can't taste other food for awhile after a good candy corn binge. Usually every October I go on a sugar diet where I eat only sugar, and nothing else. In November and December I'm on a carbs diet because of the deliciousness of fried potato pancakes which I eat for the months surrounding Hannukah.
2) "Only in LA: The conversation being had by 4 girls at the table immediately behind us "Yeah, he didn't realise how much she loved him until he got shot, and she was at the hospital caring for him." No, they were not talking about a soapie." This sounds just like what happened at the end of season 2 and the beginning of season 3 of Grey's Anatomy. It wasn't until Cristina had to care for Burke after he got shot that she realized how much she loved him, but later he was a homophobe and got written off the show.
3) Yeah, wtf is the deal with your supermarkets not selling booze. It's like New York State. So backwards!
Haha the crabs are great isn't it, 1 minute they are alive in the tank in front of your and the next you are eating their steaming hot flesh.
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