Chocolate Chip Sleeping Bag

Confession time! I once worked in a situation (for years) in which warm-from-the-oven chocolate chip cookies were served everyday after lunch. It was BRUTAL.

Each day started with a quiet promise to myself that today was going to be the first day of the rest of my life, meaning I would not UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES eat a cookie. And definitely not the 3 or 4 I had grown accustomed to. And every day ended with a promise to actually keep that promise tomorrow.

Shocking truth? If you "share" 8 giant cookies with someone, you've still eaten 4 yourself. Don't blame me. It's just math. And cookie math is harsh you guys.

There is a food truck in Los Angeles which serves chocolate chip cookies wrapped around candy. Commence heavy breathing. They are stealth. They are gooey. And they are the best example of what can happen when you treat a chocolate chip cookie like a sleeping bag for an Andes mint or peanut butter cup. Zip that candy up and tuck in in for the night.

Goodnight, cruel world. I'm going to my grave with chocolate on my face. Juuuuuust out of reach of my own tongue. Why does that always happen?!

Come see what's up at the Sweet E's Truck. I taped my visit for you guys. Because every girl's dream is to be watched eating cookies. And with extremely rogue hair.

Salvation on Wheels

I visited the Holy Aioli truck on a day that smelled of sunshine and garlic. I got a crunchy on the outside, ooozey on the inside, pungently perfect sandwich. And I ate that sandwich, and the accompanying truffle fries, in front of a bank of windows at the Wilshire location of LA Fitness.

 

The only thing I appreciate more than truffle fries is irony.

 

So here are a few minutes of sweet, sweet irony for you. With music.



 

 

 If you wish to visit the truck digitally, before visiting it physically, you can do that here.

Dr. Who? Dr. Saganaki. That's Who.

What’s not to like about going to the doctor? A half-day off of school, a zesty interaction with amiable office staffers in primary colors, a quick pass of an ice cold stethoscope, and you’re out-lollipop and sticker in hand, and all appendage repair done by riotously themed band-aids.

Or at least…that’s how it is when you’re 10.

I recently subjected myself to an adult check-up. Having been a fairly healthy child and teen, I did not know to be afraid. In the way you don’t know to avoid picking up a hot curling iron by the wrong end until you’ve done it once. A swollen palm basted in Vaseline for a week is an unwelcome test of ambidextrousness.

Going for a check-up now is an experience pitted with the cultural and situational landmines that come with being an adult. For example, the cynical voice in my head (which inexplicably sounds like Jon Lovitz) chiming in as the blood pressure cuff tightens: I could have just done this at Costco. Or my naive failure to predict that I would be given a paper gown exactly twice as wide as it was long, thus giving an impression somewhere between “paper napkin football player,” and “surly snowflake in a 2^nd grade play.”

A tetanus shot and a co-pay later I was released into the day, feeling underwhelmed and a bit betrayed by a medical field that I had previously embraced.

No lollipop, and a midriff-baring gown. You are welcome to pry my co-pay from my cold, dead…credit card. Actually, can you split it between two? Because this one gets great points, and this one I think is feeling neglected.

The sting of modern medicine buzzing in my arm, I was going to need more than the comfort even a lollipop could provide. Keep your lollipop. I need cheese.

Cheese (especially in any degree of melt) is an undeniable emotional band-aid. It seals a fractured ego, and possibly a fractured bone. I cracked my radial head once. A Cinco de Mayo combo platter of enchiladas later, and sweet recovery was mine.

The Good Greek Grub truck is in a way, an ambulance. The vitals they take are the shimmers of hunger and pain in your eyes. And the stabilizing drug they administer goes by the FDA-approval pending name: saganaki. Flaming. Cheese.

 

 

 

You have undoubtedly seen a movie at some point, which includes a scene in a Greek restaurant at some point, during which flames shoot from a dish of cheese at some point, and someone yells: “OPA!”

THAT. Is saganaki.

Not just any old collection of comfort calories, it is presented as part of a drama. A pageant. The cheese show.

In what world is a plate of cheese shooting a ceiling-high wall of flame NOT the greatest show on earth?
 

The Good Greek Grub truck has taken the not-so-suited-to-travel pyrotechnics out of the equation, and what is left behind is a sagnaki "bite," a firm square of  Greek cheese, wrapped like a gift in homemade dough and fried-just as all gifts should be.

And sprinkled with oregano, as slightly less than half of all gifts should be.

What is retained of the classic saganaki experience is a gooey but substantive chunk of melty cheese, loosely confined to cubist finger food portability. This is the tactile experience of a mozzarella stick, with the refined flavor and tang of a dish lovingly perfected with quality ingredients. Not quite the primordial volcanic spectacle, you can actually have this saganaki for lunch. Without flames shooting above your cubicle, for all the office to discuss. So there’s that.

OPA!

 

Trickle-Down Chickenomics

 

The most terrifying 9 seconds of my life happen immediately after flushing an airplane toilet.

 

There are 5 seconds of ominous mechanical silence and inactivity, just long enough to make me wonder “did I push the button hard enough?” This is followed by 4 seconds of sudden deafening noise and suction, the kind which leaves me convinced every single time that I have obviously opened a hole in the plane, and every passenger regardless of seat assignment will be exhaled violently from the aircraft, through the gateway of the toilet seat, starting with me.

The second most terrifying 9 seconds of my life are kicked off when a well-intentioned soul asks me (and it’s not often) “hey, you wanna come over and watch the game?”

And I am sucked through the toilet seat of life, spit out at 10,000 feet. What should I say? What game? NO. This is seen as a declaration of war to those who would not miss “the game,” who have been waiting patiently for “the game” all week, and who have a clear allegiance to one side/team/city in this “game.” It is an allegiance polished lovingly over the course of years, studded with live viewings of this team in action, and upheld even in the bad years, the low years, the losing years.

I simply cannot what game? this noble jerseyed person I see before me.

BUT over the years I have come to find out that there is secondary purpose to these functions and gatherings and viewings. A hidden valley if you will, of opportunity. Because running coolly just below these jovial hangings-out is an undercurrent, a salted, crunchy, messy, long-cooked, crock-potted, and many-coursed riptide of food.

Eventually I got wise to the idea that I could attend a function such as this and spend the entire duration in the kitchen, where I have found many other amigos willing to spend an 75 minutes with me co-chairing The Committee To Open This Bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, or serving dutifully on the chili advisory board.

Best Bites #1-Picca Peck of Perfect Plates

I had a rather long love affair with a fish the other night. We made lusty eye contact with each other several times across an electric humming restaurant. This whole fish, lets call him “Branzino,” stretched out atop an openwork grate, which sat about a foot above the orange choreography of a troupe of well-attended flames. And for at least 45 minutes “Branzino” sizzled and smoked and melted its way through its metamorphosis, scandalously in full view of myself, and everyone else in the restaurant for that matter. And when it was set at last in the center of our table, we welcomed it as a beloved object of affection with whom we had had a 45 minute affair with, and then proceeded to eat every last protein ounce.

Social Media Week Food Truck Challenge! (AKA Win Something)

The Social Media Week Cross-City Food Truck Challenge is this week. Do you know where your food truck is?

It’s hard to find a cluster of people standing beside a food truck in Los Angeles, who are NOT on their phones. They are tweeting their experience by the minute, instagramming their orders, and if they’re like me, blogging on the go.

 

 

The Social Media Week Cross-City Challenge, is a rad way to take advantage of the Great Relationship. And win something along the way.

Street Food + Social Media = True Love Forever.

The contest includes four major international cities: London, Vancouver, Chicago, and Los Angeles. To participate, eaters and vendors must share their food truck experiences with the world via Twitter.

My predictions…?

Watch for The Grilled Cheese Truck to be a early front-runner. Known for their long lines, and inventive comfort foods such as the Short-rib Mac and Cheese Grilled Cheese, and tomato soup shots, this truck has enjoyed plenty of Food Network coverage, and has gotten much national attention. Also, they are very reliable when tweeting their location and their followers tend to be fervent Tweeters. As Roy Choi focuses on his brick-and-mortar efforts, The GCT is the informal heir to the Kogi social media crown. But it has been unbearably hot in L.A., not exactly mac-and-cheese, tomato soup weather. Will this hurt them?

A personal favorite of mine, The Eggslut Truck, serves a lean mean pancake taco, along with clever iterations of eggy breakfast inspired goodness. The concept is original, the food is reliably delicious, and they may benefit from their smart standing engagements outside of popular coffee spots in the city. Coffee and a pancake taco? It’s a no-brainer. But to win, they will have to mobilize their every morning regulars to document their brunch munching on a daily basis.

The No. 1 Currywurst Truck is a relative new-comer to the scene, but it did not appear quietly. Chris, the proprietor is a magnetic and enthusiastic German social media and sausage enthusiast. His shocking red truck is impossible to ignore, but he backs that up with delicious dishes that demonstrate his passion tastily. Currywurst has been an extremely popular street food in Germany for a while, but fills an unseen niche in L.A.

A variety of sausages, a curry laced sauce, formidable crusty roll for dipping, and an apple strudel chaser make this truck a winner. The large amount of services per week, as well as the truck’s constant presence on both Twitter and Facebook (including hilarious videos narrated by Chris himself) should work to his advantage.

Text tweets get 10 points, and photo tweets (Twitpic, Instagram, Lockerz) get 20 extra points.

But since you’re probably more than a little competitive, (know the best ramen in the Valley, favorite bartender knows your favorite cocktail?) here’s how to rack up the most points, and really make every bite count:

Get the Eat St. App, and tweet your pics and comments from there. 25 additional points. Eat and Tweet smarter. The winner is he/she who has tweeted the most street food tweets for their city. Be that person. Be that winner. Share your tweet to @eatsttweet so it can be counted, and include you’re your city’s hashtag so they know where you hang your fork. Los Angeles is #eatSMWLA.

Make sure you include the truck’s name, and prizes include Eat St. Prize Packs, and Whole Foods Gift Certificates!

Eat it and Tweet it, start planning your week now!

http://socialmediaweek.org/losangeles/2012/09/10/food-truck-challenge/

 

Best Bites #2-Sticky Toffee Salvation

I had been wounded. I was a bit stunned. Betrayed. Disappointed.

There is a scene in Michael Clayton when George Clooney stops his shiny black villain’s car on a small country road at dawn. The steely anti-morning presents to him a collection of horses on a hill. In silence, he gets out, and makes his way up the steep hill to commune with the magnificent beasts, every one nearly motionless. The animal innocence of the horses stands in contrast to the human heavy-heartedness that ClooneyClayton brings with him up that hill, as they all share a moment of inter-species wordless communication, breathing frosty breath into the scene. And behind him, his car explodes.

This scene is a perfectly-timed moment of cinema.

 

It is also an accurate representation of what it was like the night I went to The Parish for the first time.

Best Bites #3-99 Problems But A Knish Ain't One

I wore hot pink shoes. THAT’S how excited I was to eat at Umamicatessen.

It was a throwback night. A celebratory, take-the-train-into-downtown with a beloved friend, wear shoes that will leave scars but know you will have enough cocktails to not feel them form as it happens, night.

 

Umamicatessen is five different restaurant “concepts,” all served in one dining experience. In essence, upon being seated, you have five different cuisines available. The gloriously spastic mentality that brought us the suburban mall food court has been movin’ on up.

Umami Burger is just one planet of possibility orbiting your table. There was a veggie burger eaten at our table, courtesy of the Umami sector. PIGG, the contribution from the famed Chris Cosentino brings you 100% lard-fried “pork corn,” and the hearty long-cooked Iberico pork ribs with olives that I chose from the nights list of specials. The bakery in residence, called And a Donut served up the carrot cake cream cheese donut I had, and was the provider of a pre-ban foie gras donut in whose honor many goosey gushing words have been penned.

But here’s the thing.

Best Bites #4-See You Later Alligator (On My Fork)

My grandmother kept her lips an unflinching shade of “Hawaiian Red” for 50 years. She kept black and white photographs even longer, and could always put her finger on any specific one when needed for proof regarding a date, or a fashion, or the actual existence and appearance of a person discussed. She kept silver squares of foil for a second or third use later, and kept the swirlingly colored, bell-sleeved outfits she wore to weddings in the 70’s. She kept lists, newspaper articles, in touch with people, track of people, a running tally on the prices of things, promises, and every recipe she ever clipped. She kept a Kleenex in her bra. And when I absolutely, positively, would NOT eat alligator, she kept trying.

It was one of many spring breaks spent in Florida with my grandparents, and we had all spent the day in their backyard pool, smoothing our way down the slide like purchased gumballs in a machine, eager to meet our crashy, splashy end.

I had spent the day precariously contained in my 12 year old food-adoring body’s worst nightmare: a bathing suit. My lack of interest or knowledge in sports (at that age, anything requiring “going outside” was a sport, as far as I was concerned) had produced a child with no muscle. My whole body represented the atrophy of a summer broken arm, just released from its cast. Pale from a New York winter, the cumulative effect of putting a bathing suit on me at that age was visually similar to putting several tight rubber bands around a slightly softened wheel of brie. I loved food, almost all food...

Best Bites #6-Beatnik Brussels Sprouts

I want to tell you something that I am ashamed of.

And it’s shockingly NOT the fact that I have more than once opened an operational oven half way to a fully-cooked pan of brownies, to scoop off a bit of half-baked batter for myself.

Nope, it’s not that.

As a child I was a bottomless pit reader. Gifted with books as rewards for good grades or good deeds, my world was the size of the circle of illumination provided by an Itty Bitty Book Light. In high-school I found myself disappointed by so many classics, and completely changed by others. The Great Gatsby I could take or leave as a costume drama about rich people. But The Catcher In The Rye made my human heart sizzle away in a million exploding pieces like Pop Rocks.  Made me feel and hurt. Made me not alone.

But this is not what I am ashamed of.  I have made it this far in my life, the product of an activist family and a liberal arts education, without reading HOWL.

Best Bites #9-Holy Trennety

I wish I weren’t like this. But I am.

I usually go to a restaurant with my choice already made. I listen politely to specials, listen anxiously to the options they have run out of, and listen detachedly to what the server suggests as their favorite.

And then I read every single line of the menu, and choose the dish I’ve been lusting after while licking the online menu for the past several days.

But the first time I went to Bottega Louie, the menu was a Ouija board. It was a last minute decision to go there, and a complete dart-throw of a choice when I said: “Trenne,” listed as pasta with braised rib-eye and kale.

What landed in front of me, under the scrutiny of several hearty jousts of my fork tines, appeared to be: fried pasta. Before you get yourself all in a froth to the tune of“Dammit, must we fry EVERYTHING?!” hear me out.

Trenne is a hollow tube with open ends, just like penne. BUT! It is triangular, with 3 flat sides of starchy surface, and each side a tri-state area of its own. So here’s the geological breakdown. (Remember, this is for each individual salty little tube. So a whole plate of little universes to explore.)

OUTSIDE: crispy.

MIDDLE: al dente

INSIDE: soft, having been relaxed by the absorption of the earthy braise broth of the near-shredded meat.

This is a dish with a trinity of balanced components, and all 3 are important. But, the ultimate reason it must be consumed, not just considered, is the pasta. We will all make pasta, eat pasta, and be served pasta, a thousand times in one lifetime. It is a bit of a foregone conclusion, an impact already made, a culinary backbencher. But this single plate of food will remind you how spectacular pasta can be, when texture is nailed.

And as it turns out, it is not indeed fried. I asked. I was that person.

It is “seared in an extremely hot pan until crisp.”

Diabolical.

Bottega Louie
700 S. Grand Avenue
Los Angeles, 90017
www.bottegalouie.com

And if you're not quite sure why this isn't about food trucks, the answers to that and more can befound here:  http://thefoodessfiles.blogspot.com/2012/07/the-first-rule-of-bite-club.html

And if you really miss 'em, here's one of my favorites from the vault: http://thefoodessfiles.blogspot.com/2011/07/uncle-fester-latte.html

The First Rule of Bite Club

I’ve been on the food truck beat for 2 years now, and it has proven to be an amazing and constantly surprising adventure. Like The Wiz, or the Ralph's in North Hollywood.

But at heart I am an intense lover of food, almost all food. Eating it, writing about it, and talking about it tend to fill a hefty portion of my daylight hours. I don't always eat standing up, and I wanted to share with you some of the best things I have eaten in LA while sitting in a chair, perhaps beneath a gust of frosty air conditioning, with real utensils.

I have made a list. The lovely freedom here is that this is my list. It is my Ten Best Bites in Los Angeles, and it is completely subjective. Things both dramatic and quotidian have captured my heart. No effort has been made to cast a wide net of locations, or to make sure a diverse or trendy set of neighborhoods is represented. I have not eaten absolutely everywhere in L.A., and I may never get to. But I eat. Trust me. I EAT.

And if you ever need a restaurant recommendation anywhere in the country, hit me up. I keep a little black book for just such an occasion. This is simply a list of the bites that make me value living and eating in L.A., the bites I want again and again, despite my addiction to trying new places.

The one egalitarian effort I did make however was to try to include only things that you, too, can have. It's insanely frustrating to be told how mind-blowing something is, and how you absolutely-must-have-it-RIGHT-NOW, the whole time knowing you'll wait 3 months just for a reservation. Or to read about something that was a temporary special once, or a dish that was lovingly and expertly crafted at a restaurant that is now closed.

I love reading food based lists because I treat it like a To-Do list,and I wanted you to be able to as well. So here goes. One at a time, you guys. One at a time. Get in a countdown mood.

And if you get very homesick for a food truck adventure, they are all listed to the right of this and each subsequent post. New ones will follow, as soon as the last of my 10 Best Bites has been listed. And we can Get Right Back To Where We Started From.

Oh! And of course the first rule of Bite Club? Tell everyone you know about Bite Club. :)