Mediterranean and Middle East origin

You expect me to eat THAT?

Yes, pigeon – the omnipresent rat with wings, the oil slick bird; friend to the car wash, enemy of Kings of Leon. Where the hell did these avian kamikazes come from anyway? Well, would the urban bag of feathers we see eating popcorn in the park garner more of your respect if it was known that it was a member of the same family as the bird of peace? The pigeon is actually a dove (rock dove, to be specific) that originally hailed from the Mediterranean countries and the Middle East. Eventually it spread to most of the northern hemisphere, not by migration but by intentional introduction to other areas. Most of the pigeons you see clamoring for scraps of your lunch today are feral, having adapted well to city life over the years and using building ledges, eaves and windowsills to substitute for their original homes on the cliffs. As with any other plentiful invasive species, pigeon became a food source first in Europe, although it’s popularity in the U.S. is slow to catch on. Much like the pseudonym “escargot” that helps the gastronomically timid stomach the thought of scarfing down snails, the pigeon goes by the native American-sounding moniker of “squab” (which is technically the name for a young pigeon, selected at that age for its taste and tenderness). It isn’t clear what is the aversion people have for eating pigeon, as dove, chicken, quail, duck, goose, pheasant and turkey seem to be fair game. The only negative to eating the bird is that it is paltry poultry – there isn’t a great deal of meat on it. If you’re served pigeon in a restaurant, the telltale sign is that it looks like a scrawny, Skid Row chicken.

Pigeon at The Monro in Liverpool, UK

My first experience with eating pigeon was in Liverpool, where it is a relatively common menu item listed simply as “pigeon” (no pussy-footing around here). The Monro is a gastropub with a rotating menu that features cuisine from the UK, the Mediterranean and other parts of the world. Although relatively new in Liverpool terms (the city is over 800 years old), it has a warm and modern feel while maintaining a pub-like charm. On the day I visited (my first ever in Liverpool) I was brought to the Monro for dinner by a friend who thought I might enjoy the cuisine. I saw pigeon on the blackboard and was sold, having ordered the last one they had on hand (which was worth the two in the bush). The meal came with two pigeons – one served on a bed of cooked-down beets, the other nestled atop bubble and squeak (a side dish made from potatoes, cabbage, onions, leeks and or other vegetables that gets its name for the sound it makes while cooking). Lest you get the impression that there were two large birds roosting on my plate, a sprig of cilantro between the birds’ legs made it appear as though they were holding up a giant magnolia tree. What little meat there was on the birds was moist, with only a slight pungent taste, complemented well by the vegetables.

The finished product - roast squab

My second run in with the bird was when I decided to cook one myself. I found a hermetically sealed plastic-wrapped pigeon in the freezer section of San Gabriel, California’s Hawaii Supermarket. The fist-sized package simply read “Squab”, and I figured that for less than 5 dollars, it was worth the freshman attempt. Preparing the pigeon was an experience that I laugh at in hindsight, but I don’t recall it being a chucklefest at the time. After thawing the package, in noticed that it was filling up with the pigeon’s blood between the plastic and its skin. Additionally, features such as the complete head and feet became more visible. I noticed that under the large “Squab” letters (in tiny print) was a line that read “New York Dressed, Uneviscerated Pigeon.” It took some research but I discovered that New York Dressed did not denote it was wearing a powder-blue tux with ruffled shirt, but instead indicated that it had nothing removed, but had been bled. Uneviscerated meant exactly what it sounds like – it still had all the parts and internal workings the bird-god gave it. I cut open the plastic in the sink and the pigeon sprang out like one of those foam capsules you drop in a glass of water to make it grow. Still a small bird, I had to figure out how to open the body cavity to remove the organs neatly without having to gut it like a fish. It took almost half an hour to clean it out and I found myself pulling out bits of lung, intestine and other dicey items. The heart refused to come out; requiring me fisting the fowl creature to get a decent grip and then yanking it free. My preparation was simple: I put it in a covered glass dish with some olive oil, garlic, mustard, ginger, black pepper and rosemary with a little grape jelly for sweetness and then cooked it until it was done throughout (which didn’t take long since there was little meat). I ate the pigeon without any side dishes, and although it was flavorful it was hardly satisfying.

Eating pigeon conjures images of trapping the birds near a dumpster by homeless and destitute people, yet it’s finding a place in more and more restaurants and is definitely worth a try. If you’re up for the challenge you could try preparing it yourself, and when the family gathers at the table asking what’s for dinner, you can flip them the bird.

The Monro
92 Duke Street
Liverpool, Merseyside L1 5AG, United Kingdom
GPS coordinates: 53°24’5.08″N 2°58’50.69″W

Hawaii Supermarket
120 E Valley Blvd.
San Gabriel, CA 91776
GPS coordinates: 34°4’44.85″N 118°5’56.53″W

See images of pigeons Val has eaten
Just for fun, see and hear Tom Lehrer performing “Poisoning Pigeons in the Park”

South Africa

Chicken curry bunny chow

Bunny chow does not come in a bag labeled “Purina”, nor is what Glenn Close was cooking in “Fatal Attraction”; in fact, despite a variety of preparations, it doesn’t appear to contain any rabbit at all. Bunny chow originated as a quick, handy and sloppy street food in Durban, South Africa and popularized by Indian migrant workers. The closest thing Americans can relate to would be the sourdough chowder bowl, except the bread is a loaf of white bread and the filling of choice is curry (originally vegetable, but gradually adding in meats). Although bunny chow’s popularity has spread throughout South Africa, Durban is still the bunny chow capital and since 2004 has been the host of the annual Bunny Chow Barometer, a contest sponsored by Coca-Cola in search of the best in the city. Bunny Chow is generally ordered by the amount you want and the type of curry (for instance, you could get a quarter chicken or a half mutton). The chunk of bread removed from the loaf and placed on top of the bunny is called the “virgin” (unsoiled by the decadent curry), but it generally doesn’t stay virgin long. Bunny chow is the perfect street food, essentially a self-contained meal that’s hearty and filling.

The World Fare Bustaurant

Bunny chow as street food has come to America and is the main offering of the unique World Fare Bustaurant food truck in Los Angeles County. The term food truck really doesn’t apply here – like Tom Jackson’s Rescue Juice fire truck, World Fare utilizes an unusual vehicle for their rolling kitchen and dining room: a double-decker bus. Owner and South African expatriate Travis Schmidt and his partner Jason Freeman purchased an old tour bus in San Diego and converted it into a two-level dining experience. Don’t expect a candy-apple red bus like you’d see barreling down the streets of London; the brown behemoth is covered with a map of the world made from a collection of photographs, and if you look closely you will recognize people in the pictures. The entire first floor has been converted to a full kitchen where nothing is impossible; creating the South African specialty is the job of Southern Californian Chef Andi Van Willigan, whose resume includes a stint as corporate executive chef for the Michael Mina Group and serving a 2-season sentence as Gordon Ramsay’s sous chef on Hell’s Kitchen. After ordering and picking up your food at the window, you can eat on the street as the South Africans do, or on the converted upper deck; lately World Fare has been experimenting with having live music with the performers serenading diners from the second story.

Bunny chow!

The signature menu features four types of bunny chow: braised short rib, chicken curry, BBQ pork and a vegetarian chili. The bunnies are small, but not bite-sized, with the filling stuffed into a dinner roll-sized bread bowl; the virgin has been replaced by the crusty cap of the bread. You can get them individually, or opt for a combo with a side of fries or the truffle mac and cheese balls. If you’re going through the trouble of trying the bunny chow, do yourself a favor and get the mac and cheese balls. Not particularly South African in nature, these golden globes are breaded and fried and every bite feels like home. For the most part, the bunny fillings are somewhat on the artisan side, but if you want to get close to traditional, opt for the chicken curry. As you sink your teeth into it, the flavors from the coconut milk, garbanzos, cashews and cilantro do a dance in your mouth. It may not be historically accurate, but damn, it’s good. Daily offerings with influences around the world are listed on the blackboard – I’ve tried the wine-braised short ribs and the salmon with strawberry salad, which were both beautiful and delicious. These were served on dishes made from the woody part of the palm frond that connects to the tree and with biodegradable utensils.  You can wash your meal down with a cold strawberry basil lemonade or an orange lavender tea, but I recently tried a new cold, naturally sweet and zesty blueberry mint tea that I hope stays on the menu for awhile.

There’s nothing like trying international street food in its native setting, but if you can’t swing the airfare to South Africa to try the bunny chow, you can let it come to you in style on the World Fare Bustaurant. As long as they’re evolving the bunny chow, maybe they’ll add one chock full of Bugs and Thumper…

World Fare Bustaurant
Los Angeles County, California
http://twitter.com/worldfare
http://www.facebook.com/Worldfare

See images of bunny chow and other dishes from the World Fare Bustaurant

Waterloo and City – Culver City, California

Waterloo and City in Culver City

Having missed my annual pilgrimage to the UK for the past couple of years, I eagerly accepted an invitation to partake in Waterloo and City’s family-style British lunch. Just going by name alone, I imagined it to be a pub with an Underground theme (not like an air raid shelter, like a London subway station). I was surprised to find the restaurant resembling a refurbished Denny’s from the outside, but once inside it most definitely took on the air of an older European establishment that had been mostly modernized. Our group of “foodies” sat at a single large table where we were introduced to chef and co-owner Brendan Collins whose British pedigree reflects a career stretching back to his teen years in the UK. Chef Collins and managing partner Carolos Tomazos bring the relatively recent gastropub concept to Culver City with a nod to traditional British and continental European cuisine. Collins is a subscriber of the “nose-to-tail” philosophy, but instead of focusing on using every part of the pig, he stuffs, roasts, terrines, and creates pâtés from a menagerie of furry creatures.

A platter fit for a king

There are small, classic British touches in the look and feel of the restaurant – the kitchen crew wear pin-striped aprons and bowler hats, even though they work mostly behind the scenes; a game room features a pool table, a dart board and a table-top Pac Man video game with warm and friendly couches and a fireplace, and one corner of the restaurant features traditional Wedgwood-looking wallpaper with a hidden, tongue-in-cheek surprise. Disney’s Epcot Center is famous for dressing up facades to look like European bistros and pubs, but the food gives the illusion away – the opposite is the case here. You can forgive the lack of green glass lamps, subway signs, and wood and glass bar panels when you look at the blackboard menu (which on this day featured a full English breakfast, fish and chips, roast dinner and shepherd’s pie). One item that immediately caught my eye was the blood cake, which I imagined to be a pseudonym for black pudding. I ordered the roast dinner, remembering the delicious home-cooked taste of the last one I had in a Liverpool pub, and (like the rest of our group) let Chef Collins surprise us.

Roast dinner with Yorkshire pudding

We started out with a breadboard with baked goods made on the premises including croissants, breads, scones and cookies. I somewhat jokingly asked where the Marmite was, which prompted our waiter to present a small tub of the salty goo at our table. Since it would have been rude to request it and then not eat it, I begrudgingly slathered the tar on a piece of raisin bread (which I think made the Marmite slightly more palatable). Surprise is a mild word for what came next – breathtaking would be more appropriate. A large plank was brought to the table bearing a collection of the finest representation of charcuterie I’ve ever seen. Terrines of bacon-wrapped trotters, rabbit with pistachio, venison and huckleberry, delicately prepared pates using the freshest and most exquisite combinations of offal and meats decorated the tray in what can only be described as food art (although food porn may be a more appropriate term). Chef Collins called the presentation “The King”, although these dishes took lowly peasant cuts and elevated them to royalty status. I was pleased that although we didn’t order it, the blood cake was brought to the table, and I have to admit it bore very little resemblance to black pudding. Where black pudding typically uses oats, barley or some type of grain for texture, the blood cake was mixed with pork fat, apples, onion and spices, making it moist and crumbly. The dark red mound was topped with a fried egg, but I wanted to get a taste of the dish without the distraction – what I experienced is difficult to put into words. The rich forkful melted in my mouth, with no trace of the metallic taste that often accompanies blood-based dishes, giving me a new death row last meal choice.

The roast dinner was delicious in its simplicity – pure, fresh and flavorful ingredients were cooked to perfection, keeping in line with the traditional preparation. Fanciful desserts that were created by Chef Collins were brought to the table, my favorite being a moist and warm chocolate torte topped with a scoop of dulce de leche ice cream and glazed bananas that were like a vertical presentation of bananas Foster. Chef Collins was present off and on during the course of the meal, answering questions and making us want to return for dinner. He explained that while the focus is on traditional and inspired British cuisine, it was by no means limited to it. Chef Collins has brought together the best of centuries of elegant and simple European cuisine with some modern twists in an outstanding presentation that left me stuffed, yet craving more. There are three things I hope the British don’t attempt to reclaim: the melody to “America”, the original 13 colonies and Chef Collins. As historians look back on our lunch, for a thousand years men will still say, “This was their finest hour”.

Waterloo and City
12517 West Washington Blvd
Culver City, CA 90066
GPS coordinates: 33°59’49.04″N 118°25’53.28″W

See images from Val’s lunch at Waterloo and City
Enjoy the multimedia podcast of Val’s lunch at Waterloo and City with Deep End Dining‘s Eddie Lin

Philippe the Original and Cole’s Pacific Electric Buffet, Los Angeles, CA

Philippe the Original vs. Coles Pacific Electric Buffet

No one doubts the French dip sandwich’s city of origin – it was born shortly after the turn of the 20th century, becoming one of Los Angeles’ signature dishes. But before you start feeling sorry for redheaded stepchildren French toast and French fries, understand that that the paternity of the French dip has been fraught with doubt and controversy since farther back than anyone still alive can remember. For those who have not visited L.A. and tried it, it is essentially a sliced roast beef sandwich (with pork, lamb, ham and turkey options added over the years) in a long roll that is dipped in au jus. It is usually served with as much or as little spicy “open-your-sinuses” mustard that you care to apply – this hellish concoction kicks Chinese mustard’s ass six ways from Sunday. The sandwich has evolved over the decades, with the roll originally having been dipped in beef gravy. You would think every restaurant in Los Angeles would be offering the dish, with either a nod to its creator or arguing over patent rights, but there are only two heavyweight contenders vying for the title of “Creator of The French Dip” sandwich – Philippe’s the Original, and Cole’s Pacific Electric Buffet. Both were first opened in 1908, and both claim to be the inventor of the tasty sandwich.

French dip sandwich and 9 cent coffee at Philippe

In this corner, Philippe the Original; the restaurant opened by French immigrant (take notes here) Philippe Mathieu in 1908 was originally on Alameda Avenue (without the sandwich as a menu item). Prior to his death in 1960, Mathieu stated that after moving to a new location in 1918, he was preparing a sandwich for a policeman in a hurry and when the roll fell into the gravy, the officer said he’d take it anyway. As the story goes, on the policeman’s next visit, he asked for the sandwich prepared the same way, and so a star was born. Mathieu sold the restaurant in 1927, and in 1951 the new owner moved Philippe’s to the current location on North Alameda Street in a building that formerly housed a machine shop. The decor is blue-collar factory deli – rows of plain counters line the main area where the food is ordered; the concrete slab floor is sprinkled liberally with sawdust. Patrons queue up in lines between the counters and order at the long deli case that lines the room; the line frequently stretches outside. The full menu is displayed on a blackboard-sized sign to the right of where you order, but specials and hot items are listed on signs behind the counter. Let the staff know what you want (although I recommend just asking for what they’re famous for), and any extras (they have delicious potato salad, pickled eggs, macaroni salad – you get the drill). Your sandwich will be dipped, but you have the option of requesting “double dipped”; dipping entails gently immersing the open face of the roll in the au jus prior to adding the meat. Don’t miss the opportunity to have what is most likely the only 9-cent cup of coffee in town. When the time comes to pay for your selection, the server at the counter will push a little tray towards you with a pen. Don’t be offended – for sanitary purposes, your cash doesn’t “change hands”. You may have to wait for a seat at one of the communal counters, unless you’re lucky enough to snag a booth; try to feel good for the homeless guy who managed to grab the leftovers of the previous patrons of the adjoining counter. There’s plenty of nuclear death mustard on the counter (and no, it is the mustard that is that spicy – no horseradish, wasabi, habanero, etc); I would advise tasting a fork-end of the stuff before dousing your sandwich. Personally, I think it adds a nice kick, but just a fair word of warning – I did not see a medical aid station on the premises.

French dip sandwich and Coles slaw at Coles

In this corner, Cole’s Pacific Electric Buffet; until 2007, Cole’s was renowned for being the oldest restaurant in Los Angeles in continuous operation until being closed for renovation and restoration, reopening in December of 2008. It is on the ground floor of the Pacific Electric Building, the former main terminal for the Pacific Electric Railway (Los Angeles’ famous Red Car line). Opened as a public house by Henry Cole (not a French name for those keeping score) in 1908, Cole’s was guaranteed clientele from the hustle and bustle of riders of the electric cars. Cole’s testimony regarding the origin of the sandwich is that sometime shortly after opening in 1908, a patron with sore gums requested his French bread (please take notes, I’m not repeating this) be dipped in the beef drippings to soften it up. After the recent restoration, the decor can best be described as ice cream parlor meets Victorian bordello; red-flocked wallpaper adorns the walls, and the restaurant is capped with a red tin ceiling. The white octagonal tile floors have some patches missing where counters or cabinets once stood and the seating options are wooden parlor chairs or plush vinyl 50′s style booths that look out of place with the turn-of-the-century decor. The restaurant is v-shaped, with the dining room on one arm and the fully stocked mahogany and glass Red Car Bar on the other. Cole’s is strictly sit-down dining; take any seat you like and the waitress will bring you a printed menu. There are two French dip options: the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper with the differences being the price and amount of meat. On my outing there I couldn’t resist ordering the “Cole’s Slaw” as a side; maybe I’m just not wowed by coleslaw, but theirs tasted like just about every other mayonnaise-based shredded cabbage and carrot salad I’ve ever had. One item (Atomic Pickles) sounded intriguing – I considered ordering them until my waitress informed me that two of them came with the sandwich. These tasted like someone took some dill spears and stuck them in a can of pickled jalapenos for a while, although there was an odd, sweet undertone to them as well. The sandwich was delivered to the table halved down the middle with a small cup of au jus on the side for dipping at the table. The meat seemed moister than Philippe’s (both are thoroughly cooked with no pink), but it may be because I ordered the Big Dipper, reducing the bread-to-meat ratio. Like Philippe’s, Cole’s also uses their own brand of deadly napalm mustard in the never ending French dip sandwich war, so caution is strongly advised.

The battle over exactly who invented the French dip sandwich has been raging for almost a century; it is doubtful the outcome will be decided in our lifetime, if ever. One thing is clear, this is a war where the diner is clearly the winner. Some of you may be looking to me for my opinion on who should emerge victorious, but I’m simply a war correspondent; I prefer to remain fair and balanced.

Philippe The Original
1001 North Alameda Street
Los Angeles, CA 90012-1803
GPS coordinates: 34°3’34.54″N 118°14’13.04″W

Cole’s Pacific Electric Buffet
118 E 6th St
Los Angeles, CA 90014-2006
GPS coordinates: 34° 2’41.23″N 118°14’58.25″W

See images from Val covering the French dip war from Cole’s and Philippe’s in Los Angeles

Korea

The chef at Beverly Living Fish Center prepares our live octopus

Octopus Paul has been eerily accurate in predicting the World Cup winners; his cousins in fish tanks throughout Korea would do well to develop enhanced psychic abilities or they could end up segmented and writhing on a plate. Fortunately for Paul, he is too large to end up as sannakji hoe (a Korean dish involving the quick dismemberment of a small octopus with the severed tentacles delivered in a squirming mass to your table). Opponents of this type of cuisine argue that it is cruel to eat a live animal, but rest assured that Otto is very dead while his limbs are playing angry cobra on the plate. The octopus’ nervous system functions differently than in higher life forms – it is the same kind of reaction as an insect’s lost leg continuing to dance or that frog drowned in formaldehyde in biology class that starts kicking when he’s dissected. The hope is that the chef is talented and lighting fast at dispatching the octopus, but if you decide to try this unusual cuisine, you’re better off not knowing.

Octopus as a moving experience

Friend Rex Kim had told me about a place in Los Angeles’ Koreatown that serves the dish; the restaurant goes by the odd name of the Beverly Living Fish Center (which makes it sound like a place where the wealthy go to stock their koi ponds). Beverly Living Fish Center (we’ll call them BLFC to conserve bandwidth) is in an industrial-looking building, but you know you’re in the right place when you are ushered past the tanks full of the eight-armed mollusks. Once inside the dining area, the decor improves drastically. Joined by Rex and friends Joshua Joseph (Trippy Food’s webmaster) and Hui Wang, we ordered a platter of the sannakji hoe, while I supplemented the dish with a dosirak lunch, the Korean equivalent of the bento box. Hui ordered the eel, and I was intrigued to see how that was going to be presented. Since we were all going to partake of the octopus, we had them bring that out first. It was obvious as to how soon we’d see it at the table since we could hear the familiar repeated whack of the cleaver from the nearby preparation area. When the plate arrived there was a moment of silence, not in memory of the fallen mollusk, but in amazement at what we were seeing. Sitting on the plate was something that can only be described as looking like Medusa’s head. A myriad of free-roaming appendages were scrambling about the plate, apparently trying to figure out why they were no longer a part of the collective. We dug in with our chopsticks, but getting just one of the tentacle segments to our mouths was work, as they did not want to go. The pieces had to be literally pried off the plate, as their very efficient suction cups were working overtime on the graveyard shift.

Eel with dancing bonito flakes

The taste was more of a disappointment than the texture and experience – uncooked, there was an ever-so-slight oceanic taste to them, but otherwise quite bland. A dip into the soy sauce gave it a little flavor, but also added some fight to it. Not being connected to a brain, the limbs are apparently unaware that they are dead. This means that if your are successful in wresting them from the plate, introducing them to your gaping maw does nothing to reduce their survival instinct – be aware that they WILL try to attach themselves to any semi-solid object in your mouth they can find. Since semi-solid objects include your throat, it is imperative that you chew the hell out of them before swallowing (the old “shoot and swallow the oyster whole to get it down” trick doesn’t bode well here). This is probably the part that most people don’t like, since even cooked octopus has a chewy reputation. I would describe the experience as eating live rubber bands. The floorshow was not limited to the octopus, as Hui’s eel selection came to the table on a hot plate with what looked like tiny dancing maggots strewn across the top. The moving part defied explanation – closer inspection showed them to have no real structure (although we couldn’t rule out flatworms) – they literally looked like tiny moving pencil shavings. We later discovered these to be bonito flakes, finely shaved and dried skipjack tuna. The dried flakes react with the steam, causing them to absorb moisture and expand. Besides the entertainment value, the bonito adds flavor since it is generally fermented and smoked during the drying process. As for the eel, the preparation was traditional (with brown eel sauce topping) – since Hui is the sharing sort, we all had a bite, and I can tell you that it was delicious.

Live octopus can fall outside most people’s comfort zone, but what little taste is present is inoffensive, and if you chew it, there is little or no risk to your health. It’s worth a try for the entertainment value if nothing else, and you can sleep soundly knowing that the little bugger was in octo-heaven while you were chomping down on his squirming limbs. One thing is for certain – it will be an experience that really grabs you.

Beverly Living Fish Center
4356 Beverly Boulevard
Los Angeles, CA 90004
GPS coordinates: 34°4’33.93″N 118°18’13.68″W

See images of Val and friends eating octopus and other unusual aquatic goodies

Watch video of Val and friends eating live octopus and eel with bonito flakes

Italy and the world

The amazing pumpkin and prosciutto pizza at Lucifers

Although we have a tendency to think of pizza as a modern fast food phenomenon, it has been with us for centuries (if not millennia). Although other ancient cultures have had some sort of pizza-like dish, it was the Romans (later Italians) that tossed the disk of dough into our hearts and the annals of culinary history. Perhaps you’re thinking that pizza isn’t particularly trippy, unless you’re driving 90 miles per hour in order to deliver it in under 30 minutes, but consider those who take the food of the commoner to a whole new level. There are far too many variations and novelty concoctions to mention in a single article, but I’ll highlight a few of them here briefly and then defer to the visual podcast that I and friend Eddie Lin of Deep End Dining made on a recent trip to Lucifer’s in Los Angeles. It’s up to you to find Geno’s East, The Original Ray’s, Santarpio’s or your friendly neighborhood House of Pizza on your own (but I’m always available to make suggestions).

A slice of Famous Rays

First, let’s briefly talk about Arcadia, California’s Zelo and their Potato Pancetta. Picture a hearty deep dish pie with a cornmeal crust and stuffed to the brim with Italian pancetta, roasted slices of potatoes and mozzarella cheese drenched in a savory tomato sauce. With every bite there’s the comfort and taste of home fries with a zesty Mediterranean twist. Not everyone is a fan of Chicago-style pizza, but this rich and flavorful pie is like eating an earthy, sweet and smoky Italian ham and potato casserole. Zelo also features a tasty Wild Mushroom pizza featuring three different types of mushroom. We had them do a half-and-half for us, doubling our pleasure and fun. Their cornmeal crust is a special taste treat, along the lines of Geno’s East’s crumbly whole-wheat crust.

Saying my prayers before entering hell

On the novelty side of the house, Pasadena, California’s Luigi Ortega’s has summoned a diabolical, spiteful pie from the fiery depths of Hell with the ominous moniker of “Dr. Death’s Suicide Pie”. This evil bastard only makes you wish you were dead – the first bite quickly numbs the mouth, tongue, lips and any other exposed flesh it comes in contact with. When I ordered it, I asked the manager for some milk; he told me that quenching the fire with milk was an exercise in futility, and offered me a dish of sour cream, which he said he would happily bring to the table – when I was done. The pizza is stocked with chunks of Buffalo chicken, spicy Andouille sausage and sliced jalapenos, all held together with a peppered mozzarella cheese. Chopped and sprinkled liberally on top are the grizzly remains of no fewer than six habaneros, with the pie doused in a fiery habanero tomato sauce that bore a striking similarity to magma. After the first piece, a strange transformation took place. Since I could no longer feel pain, the flavor of the ingredients became more present and I found that the pizza actually tasted good. I was able to eat the entire pizza, mercifully chased by the sour cream. Taste saved the experience, and I would try it again, but I don’t look forward to the three days of going down, down, down in a burning ring of fire.

My latest trippy adventure was at the equally fiery-themed Lucifer’s in Los Angeles. Rather than to prolong the anticipation, I’ll let you listen to the podcast and get a feel for what the adventure at this invitational tasting event was like first hand. Whether it’s a little slice of heaven or hotter than hell, good pizza never fails to please. Take another little pizza my heart, now, baby!

Zelo
328 E. Foothill Blvd.
Arcadia, CA 91006
GPS coordinates: 34°9’3.46″N 118°1’18.05″W

Luigi Ortega’s
1655 E. Colorado Blvd.
Pasadena, CA 91106-2131
GPS coordinates: 34°8’46.09″N 118° 6’58.27″W

Lucifer’s
1958 Hillhurst Ave.
Los Angeles, CA 90027
GPS coordinates: 34°6’25.41″N 118°17’14.10″W

See images of unusual and delicious pizza

Watch Val eat Luigi Ortega’s Dr. Death’s Suicide Pie

Hear (and watch) the Deep End Dining / Trippy Food podcast from Lucifer’s in Los Angeles, California

Ventura County, CA

Rescue Juice, open for business

In the 1990s, Megan Jackson’s primary concern was not which taco truck had the best tacos al pastor, but how she was going to beat leukemia and stay alive. Chemotherapy just seemed to make her sicker, forcing her to make a truly life-altering decision – she was going to heal by stopping the chemotherapy and through nutrition, with the focus on natural juice. Her doctors warned her against it, and asked her to sign a waiver stating that she was resorting to untested methods against their wishes (presumably to absolve them of any wrong-doing and prevent legal action after what would undoubtedly be Megan’s demise). Not only did her health improve, but also her leukemia went into remission (and has stayed there). Megan’s husband Tom became a man with a mission – to spread the news and pass the juice; he was only lacking a means to do so.

Tom Jackson, owner of Rescue Juice

In 1995 on the return road trip from their honeymoon, Jackson spotted a 1969 GMC fire rescue truck in a vacant lot beside a fire station. The vehicle had been there so long there were weeds growing out from underneath it. He immediately realized that this was going to be his labor of love (with the emphasis on labor), converting the truck into a rolling juice bar. The truck needed extensive work, and he spent almost a year, several thousand miles and $45,000 dollars to get the vehicle in thirst-quenching order, ready to respond in February of 1996. Jackson had made Channel Islands Harbor his new home and base of operations, initially offering fresh, healthy juices, coffee and light snacks out of the aptly named Rescue Juice truck. In addition to bringing the vehicle to fundraising events to raise money to battle leukemia, Tom also does catering and appears at major events in the area (sirens blazing by request). You could say that he was running a cutting-edge food truck when the earliest of the fusion trucks were still in diesel diapers.

The aptly named Fire Extinguisher

Jackson states that as a result of public demand, he no longer blends items such as ginseng and ginger root in the drinks (they were sitting unused), but he still uses fresh, healthy ingredients. I discovered Rescue Juice at the annual Johnny Cash Music Festival at the Ventura County Fairgrounds; I was in dire need of some coffee and spotted the truck (which isn’t too difficult) prior to having to call 9-1-1. Although hot coffee seems an odd choice at an outdoor festival under the blazing sun, I’m relatively sure that Juan Valdez holds a prominent place in my ancestry, and his legacy was not to be denied. Although Jackson can whip up cappuccino and lattes on-board, I was in the market for coffee – hot, strong and black. From a “fast food” standpoint, coffee seems to be something that is difficult to do right – it runs the gamut of tasting like the ashes from a 5-alarm fire or someone having run a fire hose through a coffee filter. I was pleasantly surprised that Rescue Juice’s coffee was flavorful, and neither too strong or too weak. Claudia and I also split what Tom calls the “Fire Extinguisher”, blended from fresh non-sprayed strawberries and lemon. The drink was thick and naturally sweet, with just the right amount of tang from the lemon, a cold, refreshing and healthy treat on a hot summer day.

The Rescue Juice truck has been abating thirst for 15 years now, certainly an accomplishment to be proud of. In the event of a beverage emergency, it’s Tom Jackson to the rescue!

Rescue Juice
567 Channel Islands Blvd. #103
Port Hueneme, CA 93041
805-272-5148
provide@mac.com

See images of Tom Jackson and the Rescue Juice truck

Castroville, California

Grateful that the artichokes are a peaceful race

Castroville, California bills itself as the Artichoke Capital of the World, and as discussed in the article on the Castroville Artichoke Festival, it is well justified. When you have the chutzpah to adopt such a lofty title for yourself, it only stands to reason that you’ll want to erect a monument to establish your dominance and strike fear in the hearts of also-rans and other vegetable king wannabes. In 1963, this monument took the form of a 20-foot tall steel and concrete artichoke, the symbol of Castroville’s fame and prosperity. Of course, giant vegetable advertising didn’t hurt Ray Bei’s vegetable stand, which eventually grew into the sprawling stop for all things artichoke simply known as “The Giant Artichoke”. This includes a continuation of the original vegetable stand featuring fresh and frozen artichokes and even dried artichoke flowers. You can also get local honey (still in the honeycomb), nuts, a variety of vegetables and fresh and dried fruit. A walk through the heart of the artichoke (an empty inverted green globe hallway) takes you into the restaurant.

If there is another artichoke dish, they missed it

The front of the restaurant features a gift shop where you can purchase your standard artichoke souvenirs such as shot glasses, postcards, T-shirts, but ironically no mini tribute knock-offs of the goliath guarding the entrance with its concrete petals and metal thorns. The restaurant is simple, decorated with Artichoke Festival posters from the good old days, and the immediate expectation is you’ll be offered an artichoke as a side dish for everything on the menu. Fortunately there’s a variety of artichoke food options to choose from, or you can simply cut to the chase and get the artichoke platter which features a three-way bonanza: fried, steamed and artichoke bread. Claudia was full from the food from the festival and opted for a bowl of the cream of artichoke soup. I imagine this dish is a no-brainer, as soup is the perfect way to market the previous day’s menu surplus. The food didn’t take too long – I felt that Yoda and Kermit the Frog would have enjoyed the presentation, since it was a veritable testament to the color green. The steamed artichoke was tender without being wilted, but the fried hearts were a dark brown color, usually a sign of being left in the oily bubble bath a little long. They were crispy without being crunchy with pretty green juicy centers. I wasn’t sure what to make of the artichoke bread – it was the consistency of zucchini bread with similar flavor, but with a green hue that hinted at the possibility of food coloring doping. The soup was full of flavor, but depending on the spoonful it was sometimes difficult to differentiate from cream of broccoli until you hit upon the familiar slightly bitter aftertaste (a tell-tale by-product of the cynarine compound produced by the vegetable). The food exuded the essence of the armored vegetable and was both flavorful and relatively inexpensive. The only disappointment was the city’s missed opportunity of concocting an artichoke ice cream – it would have been a fitting desert as well as a nice feature at the festival. Don’t get me wrong here; this is road food, not haute cuisine, but when in Castroville, do as the Castrovillians do.

Not the recommended method of eating an artichoke

Should you drive from Peoria, Illinois non-stop to eat at The Giant Artichoke? No. Should you make this a stop traveling the length of Highway 101 from San Diego up through the redwood coast or on your quest to see all the California Missions? Sure, why not? Should you dine here in the shadow of the vegetable behemoth born in the days of Camelot and the New Frontier while attending the venerable Castroville Artichoke Festival? Most assuredly. It’s a great way to try a variety of artichoke preparations, see the uncontested world’s largest artichoke and attend the famous festival all in one fell swoop, crossing the three items off your California bucket list. Make that a bucket of artichokes, please.

Giant Artichoke Restaurant
11261 Merritt St
Castroville, CA 95012
GPS Coordinates: 36°45’44.81″N 121°45’10.99″W

See images of Val’s visit to The Giant Artichoke Restaurant

Mexico

Dark, rich huitlacoche prior to cooking

It raises a few eyebrows when I announce that I’m headed to Los Angeles’ Koreatown to check out the smut, but in this particular case it’s corn smut (huitlacoche) I’m referring to. Huitlacoche has been a staple of the Central American diet for centuries – it is essentially a fungus that infects the corn kernels, swelling them and turning them black with spores. Where American farmers would historically destroy their infected crop, Mexican growers have intentionally introduced the fungus into theirs. Huitlacoche fetches a higher market price than the healthy corn would; in the past decade, some American corn growers have added it to their crop, but it is still somewhat slow to catch on. There is some debate on the origin and meaning of the word, “huitlacoche” – the word is derived from the Nahuatl language, and there are some who roughly translate this to “raven excrement”, although the actual meaning and source are still up for discussion. Not having encountered raven excrement, I can’t attest to the accuracy of the description, and certainly not the taste. To my eyes, it has the appearance of overcooked spinach in squid ink. Huitlacoche is immensely popular in the Mexican state of Oaxaca, and the definitive source for huitlacoche in Los Angeles is Guelaguetza Restaurante, a local chain specializing in Oaxacan cuisine. Owner Bricia Lopez graciously invited me to share the dish; I had eaten at Guelaguetza previously, which readers of this blog may remember from an article about their tasty preparation of chapulines (grasshoppers).

Huitlacoche empanada (L), huitlacoche with onions and jalapeno (R), chapulines (C)

I eagerly anticipated digging in to the murky, black fungus, but started out with a tall glass of horchata (a Mexican rice drink). The horchata had crushed nuts on top and a pink hue that I had never seen before in other horchatas I’ve tried. Bricia told me that they puree tuña (the Spanish word for the pear, or fruit of the cactus, not Charlie from Sunkist), which gives the drink a fruity sweetness and a little color. She had the huitlacoche prepared two ways – in an empanada (essentially a giant folded-over tortilla filled with the fungus and gooey, melted Oaxacan string cheese), and cooked with onions and jalapeños for building tacos. I couldn’t resist sampling a forkful of the bare-naked fungus first; it had a rich, earthy taste like the ghost of a wood ear mushroom, with the distant remnant flavor of the host ear of corn. The onion and peppers added some spice and flavor, but didn’t diminish that woody, mushroom taste. I had a hard time deciding whether to dig into the empanada or construct a taco, so I followed her lead as she filled a tortilla with some of the huitlacoche and a generous batch of the chapulines that had been roasted with a little garlic, salt and lime. As off-putting as this image of the grasshoppers drowning in the inky black fungus may be to the uninitiated, I could barely contain myself, prepared for the wild combination of flavors and textures. The chapulines added a wonderful crispiness to the soft, moist huitlacoche and the lime they were cooked with added a citrusy zest. Figure in the bite from the jalapeños and the sweet flavor of the onions and you get a pretty good idea of the amazing sensory experience eating this dish was.

That IS a grasshopper butt sticking out of my taco

The empanada is probably a better choice for the entry-level corn smut consumer. Nothing shocking or crazy here – with the visual subdued by the surrounding tortilla, the diner simply encounters the mushroom/corn hybrid flavor of the huitlacoche and the melted mozzarella-like queso Oaxaca, resembling a damned fine quesadilla in appearance and taste. Be forewarned that the empanada is huge, so bring friends to help you eat it. Overall, both dishes were incredibly delicious, healthy and satisfying. This is another of those foods that make you scratch your head in wonder as to who decided this plant disease would be edible, but I’d like to build a flux capacitor so that I might go back in time and personally shake their hand and buy them a drink.

If you’re reading this at work and your boss asks what you’re doing, tell him you’re checking out smut online. After you get fired you can head down to Oaxaca and eat huitlacoche until your unemployment check runs out, or just visit Guelaguetza – I’ll even spring for a horchata.

Guelaguetza Restaurante
3014 W. Olympic Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90006
GPS coordinates:  37°52’11.25″N 122°18’1.83″W
Find Guelaguetza on facebook
Follow Guelaguetza on twitter

See images of Val discovering huitlacoche

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and surrounding states

Jones Dairy Farm scrapple - OK when the butcher is closed

Philadelphia, you can keep your Cheez Whiz-laden shaved steak sandwiches – but you’ll take my scrapple when you pry it from my cold, dead trotters. Scrapple for me is a nostalgia food – it’s one of those dishes that was hard for me to comprehend as a child, but it was a special treat for my eastern Pennsylvanian mom. It is essentially a thrifty breakfast food, made from pork scraps and trimmings so that nothing goes to waste. German-influenced and American-born, it bears some similarity to the U.K.’s white pudding (which is neither) and German panhas. Whatever is too small for the butcher’s case or a pig part that defies identification gets ground up and cooked; a variety of grain (frequently buckwheat or cornmeal) is added to the broth and then poured into a loaf pan to solidify. The resulting gray meat brick is then sliced into thick slabs and fried, usually accompanied by fried eggs. Move over, SPAM, your grandpappy’s breakfast meat is back with a vengeance.

The finest scrapple in Berkeley, California

Scrapple isn’t difficult to find from Pennsylvania to Maine; you can get Jones Dairy Farm, Rapa, and several other brands in the frozen food aisle of most grocery chains, but many East Coast butcher shops carry the real deal. Whether you’re trying to rekindle the experience of that “everything but the oink” flavor or are just curious, the butcher is your friend here. I envy those of you with that choice; as a transplanted Yankee expatriate I am faced with the dilemma of where to get my scrapple fix on the Left Coast. Fortunately there is a ray of porcine hope in the Bay Area and in L.A. In 1982, Bette Kroening and some chef friends opened a 50′s-style diner in Berkeley and dubbed it Bette’s Oceanview Diner. Lest you be disappointed, I’ll tip you off in advance – you can’t see the ocean from anywhere in or around the diner (although it is a few short blocks away). Bette’s is famous for their pancakes with legendary wait times of several hours, but I must have arrived during a coastal evacuation because we were seated after a short wait and served pretty quickly. I’m sure their flapjacks are as light and fluffy white as St. Alphonzo’s, but I wasn’t there for the griddlecakes, mister, no siree. I wasn’t leaving the Bay Area until I had partaken of their hidden secret. Although scrapple is a regular menu item at Bette’s, it appears to be overlooked; it is served up with poached eggs, perfect for mixing the runny hen fruit with the scrapple Massachusetts-style. Their monolithic meat was grilled to a golden brown crust with the perfect meat to grain ratio, making it firm but not too bready. In addition to their scrapple, Bette’s is a great trippy food destination for what appears to be the world’s largest slice of cherry pie dangling precariously above the register like the Sword of Damocles.

The remainder of the scrapple at The Filling Station

Scrapple is pretty scarce in the L.A. area, but a recent conversation with “snout-to-tail” devotee Ben Ford prompted him to whip up a batch using the pork scraps at his Ford’s Filling Station gastropub. Ford blended his with polenta, with his version being heavier on the pork by-product than the grain. The scrapple was seared on the grill resulting in a somewhat crunchy exterior and a warm, moist center. Accompanied by a pair of over-easies, I fought the temptation to do a mash-up and sampled a forkful au natural. I’m not sure if Ben spent any time in Philly, but he got it right on his freshman try. The slab of gray goodness was so tasty I ate half of it before realizing I was missing a Kodak moment. I think the photo of the half-eaten scrapple was a testament to how good it was.

Scrapple is the perfect marriage between SPAM and sausage, with only its grayish color and foreboding sounding name standing between it and mass popularity. You don’t have to be from Philly to enjoy scrapple, but I tell you what – yo, don’t be grittin’, youse guys need to taste this jawn.

Bette’s Oceanview Diner
1807 Fourth Street
Berkeley, CA 94710
GPS coordinates:  37°52’11.25″N 122°18’1.83″W

Ford’s Filling Station
9531 Culver Boulevard
Culver City, CA 90232-2618
GPS coordinates: 34° 1’23.25″N 118°23’43.25″W
Find Ford’s Filling Station on facebook
Follow Chef Ben Ford on twitter

Jones Dairy Farm web site
Rapa Scrapple store locator

See images of Val’s encounters with scrapple

Los Angeles, CA

Chubby Pork Belly and a side of kimchee

It has slowly and insidiously crept its way into our culture; Angelenos had been content to enjoy the hard-fought-for, all-American tradition of chowing down on tacos al carbon and barbacoa burritos from the local taco truck until upstart Roy Choi decided to infiltrate our street food society and peddle his Korean fusion cuisine propaganda throughout L.A. County. I could be wrong about the all-American thing, but not only did Choi introduce the hungry denizens of L.A. to the kimchee taco, he single-handedly turned the food truck industry into a viral sensation. Not content to rely on word of mouth, Choi discovered the power of twitter and before long tweets were barreling through the ether letting the hungry mobs know where the Kogi truck was going next; how long was it going to be there; where the next destination was. Lines were hours long, and oh, how the word spread like chili paste. Choi soon had four trucks ranging all the way into Orange County, and soon BBQ, pancake, grilled cheese , Indian, dim sum, French fry and Brazilian street food trucks were taking to the streets like an epicurean plague. No disrespect to the other wonderful and quirky food trucks that have since warmed the cockles of our hearts and intestines, but Kogi was the flame that lit this Roman candle. Choi was preparing his food out of a small kitchen in Culver City that slowly evolved into a bar where you could enjoy the same cuisine served on the trucks without having to chase them down under the moniker of The Alibi Room. Not content to simply dominate the food truck scene and change the way we look at bar food, Choi opened a third venture – a small, friendly and kitschy Korean fusion restaurant where food is served in cardboard dishes from a pegboard menu called Chego. Over a year and a half after his first Kogi truck, Choi has gained national (if not international) notice for his empire, due in great part to his foresight in using the Internet to build his kingdom.

Pork sliders at the Alibi Room

It would be easy to attribute the meteoric rise of this triad to electronic media, but without cheap food that is high on both quality and taste he’d be waving down tailgaters at the Rose Bowl. Let’s start with Choi’s oldest offspring, the Kogi truck. With four trucks (Roja, Azul, Verde and Naranja) to choose from, the lines aren’t as crazy as they once were; you may only have to wait in line for an hour or so. On a recent visit to Venice, the Kogi truck literally came to me, pulling up and setting up shop where I was standing. Being the food adventurer I stake my reputation on, I had to go for the most unusual offering (this is where you think, “Korean tacos? Yeah that should be easy”). Since I have a weak spot for hot dogs, I decided on the Kogi Dog and their signature kimchi quesadilla. I hung out in line with Anthony Taranto, a local who has dined at the Alibi Room but took advantage of the truck pulling up to try the mobile food (in this case the short rib burrito) and friends Shane and Sita (who opted for the Blackjack Quesadilla, which, draped in salsa verde is more of a nod to the food’s Mexican heritage). I started with the Kogi Dog, and while it kicked like a mule from the kimchee topping, there was so much crunchy vegetation on it that the wiener got lost. The kimchi quesadilla was a curious conflict of tastes and textures, with the melted cheese taming the kimchee and the salsa roja covering it. It was an explosion of taste, but too much food, even for me. Shane raved about the Blackjack Quesadilla, spicy and flavorful, and Anthony finished the massive burrito, which I thought could have taken down a grizzly.

There is a hot dog somewhere in that vegetation

I visited The Alibi Room in order to compare the experience to eating directly off the truck. Although the meat is still prepared there, the woman serving the food (and drinks) informed me that in order to stock all the trucks, the rest of the food is prepared in a larger, more central kitchen. I wasn’t in the mood for the heap of food I sampled at the truck and so I sat at the bar and opted for the short rib sliders. The sweet and tender meat was topped with cheese, mayo, red salsa and shredded cabbage; the cold and crisp topping nicely offset the meat with plenty of spicy moisture from the condiments. I had heard that the lines were crazy at the Alibi Room, but arriving around 6 PM I found there to be plenty of room at the bar. The decor was sparse and modern with lots of light streaming in from outside (a feature not obvious when standing in front of the building). Most of the patrons were drinking from the well-stocked bar, and those who were eating were served in the same “to-go” dishes used on the trucks.

Worth the wait

The recently opened Chego proved to be a planning challenge; again, legendary tales of waiting several hours had me mulling over whether or not to wait until the hoopla subsided, but since the cuisine is different from the fare served at The Alibi Room and on the trucks, I figured I’d bite the bullet and give it a try. On the day I went it was quiet enough to not have to wait for a table. The concept is simple – walk up to the cashier, pick your item from the board on the wall and take a number and a seat. I couldn’t resist the pull of the dish titled “One Chubby Pork Belly”, although I imagined it was a foreshadowing of my physical shape after chowing down on one. I caved in and ordered a side of kimchee and took a seat. There’s plenty to look at while you’re waiting for your food to arrive; eye-level shelves surrounding the small room are stocked with a variety of memorabilia; naturally my eyes were drawn to the foot-tall Pee Wee Herman sitting proudly on Chairry and surveying the food. Apparently he approved. I was pleased that the portions were not gargantuan, but they certainly were filling. The meat was moist, fatty and a little crispy and the freshness of the pickled radishes, water spinach, cilantro, and cross-sections of Chinese broccoli stems created complexity without taking away from the pork; the whole mess was suspended in sticky rice and topped with the omnipresent fried egg. The kimchee was lying facedown in a pool of its own spicy blood, and it had the perfect amount of fermentation while remaining crisp and spicy. Chego is small and very friendly, but I’m not sure I’d want to be packed in like a sardine waiting for a table (I didn’t see a counter or bar area where you could stand and eat your selection).

I have to wonder if the Korean invasion is complete, or if Chef Choi has something else up his sleeve, but either way I am officially admitting defeat. I will submit the articles of my surrender in 140 characters or less.

The Kogi BBQ truck
Los Angeles and Orange Counties, California
Follow Kogi on twitter

The Alibi Room
12236 Washington Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90066
GPS coordinates:  33°59’49.06″N 118°25’36.39″W

Chego
3300 Overland Avenue
Los Angeles, CA 90034
GPS coordinates:  34°1’39.23″N 118°24’47.83″W

See images from Val’s visits to the Kogi truck, The Alibi Room and Chego

Your basic head cheese feast

Picture five pounds of Velveeta sculpted into a bust of Louis Pasteur. Can you see it? OK, that’s just wrong. If that’s what you imagine when you hear the term “head cheese” you’re way off base. I don’t blame you, though – the name is somewhat confusing. Let’s get one thing straight, right off the bat: there is no cheese in head cheese. Suffice it to saythat  the “head” part is slightly more accurate, but it’s doubtful that your marketing department would get very far with a product simply called “head”, unless you produce films in the San Fernando Valley. The head component of this dish is most commonly the head of a pig, but don’t expect to see Arnold Ziffel staring at you with his cold, dead eyes when you purchase this culinary oddity at your local butcher shop. I’ve wasted your valuable time with what head cheese isn’t, so out of fairness I’ll bring you up to speed with what it is. Head cheese is a meat product (usually pork) that is generally served cold and sliced as a luncheon meat. In addition to all the edible bits covering the pig’s skull (including ears, snout, and cheeks), it often contains pork tongue, trotters (pigs’ feet) and heart; normally the brain is removed. The pig’s head and accompanying body parts are spiced and cooked down to where all the meat can be easily removed, and then it is finely chopped and placed in a terrine, deep dish or pan along with the broth and chilled. The natural collagen in the bones and hide create a gelatin that solidifies the broth and holds all the tasty bits of skin, flesh and fat together in a translucent suspension that looks like the result of Jackson Pollock experimenting in sculpting. Finally, this block of exploded pork puddingstone is sliced and served with bread. Historically, it has been most popular in the UK (where it is known as “brawn”), gradually spreading in notoriety to the U.S., particularly on the east coast.

The blur in the distance is Chef Ford preparing the head cheese

Head cheese carries a special nostalgia from me; when I was a child my mother would buy the pre-packaged Oscar Mayer variety to make a fine sandwich. To this day she refuses to let me tell her how it’s made lest I spoil her enjoyment of the dish. Personally, I had always thought the Oscar Mayer variety bore a creepy similarity to the plastic fake vomit available from the Johnson Smith catalog or your friendly neighborhood joke shop. Despite its sometimes off-putting appearance, I was determined to find some to rekindle that sense of amazement at this simple peasant food. I was unable to find the pre-packaged variety at most of the area chain groceries; I was suffering a bad case of head cheese withdrawal and I had to find my 40-year fix.

Chef Ford presents the garnished variety

Enter friend Eddie Lin, who informed me that Ben Ford (chef and owner of Ford’s Filling Station) hand-makes what is probably the best head cheese in L.A. County (although I’m wondering if it’s the only head cheese in L.A County). Ford is a follower of the “snout-to-tail” philosophy, using every part of the animal; his restaurant has a rotating menu of uncommon cuts of meat, and since head cheese is not an everyday staple there, I asked him to let me know when he’d be serving it again. When I received an e-mail stating, “We’re serving it now”, I wasted no time in getting down there. Ford prepares the head cheese two ways: traditionally, in cold slices on a plate accompanied by fresh bread; and in lump form on toast garnished with picked onions and spicy peppers. Being the adventurous omnivore of legend, I opted for both. I decided to start with the dressed-up version; the meat required no chewing whatsoever and the texture was contrasted nicely by the crispness of the peppers and onions. There was just enough spice from the vegetation to enhance the flavor, although it made me that much more excited about sampling it in its purest form.

The moment I had waited for had arrived; the disc-shaped slices were overlapped on a wooden dish with an ample supply of fresh bread standing by. I tried lifting one of the slices first with my fingers, then alternately with the fork and knife, but the soft meat disintegrated; I decided I would do a shmear like a fine cabeza pate. I tried a forkful au natural first; it was truly hog heaven. The fleshy bits were ground down to a fine consistency – the tiniest taste held the right mix of melty fat with hints of tender, stringy muscle fiber. None of these big chunks of unidentified bits floating around, just smooth, buttery melt-in-your-mouth goodness. Since the menu featured fried green tomatoes, I decided to try them as a side dish since it’s anybody’s guess when I’ll get back to Texas. Their tomatoes were slightly red, which added some sweetness yet maintained the firmness required to keep them from falling apart into mush. The beer batter was a nice touch as well.

Deli-style coarsely chopped head cheese

I have since found an Italian deli (Mario’s) in Glendale, California that carries San Fransisco’s Molinari and Son’s brand head cheese sitting in a giant loaf looking like a shell for a meat Howitzer. They’ll make you a head cheese sub, or like any other deli will happily slice it for you to go. This is the coarse chopped commercial variety with obvious chunks of snout, ears, etc. and as such is a little chewier. It’s more authentic and tastier than the Oscar Mayer variety, but pales in comparison to the freshly made mélange available at The Filling Station.

I’ve come to the decision that Ben Ford truly is the head honcho; I know I’ll be back to try some of his other menu items, but The Filling Station certainly managed to entice me to return again with the promise of good head (cheese).

Ford’s Filling Station
9531 Culver Boulevard
Culver City, CA 90232-2618
GPS coordinates: 34°1’23.41″N 118°23’43.16″W

Find Ford’s Filling Station on facebook
Follow Chef Ben Ford on twitter
See images of head cheese at Ford’s Filling Station
See video about head cheese from The History Channel

Los Angeles County, California

Ta Bom - it is Da Bomb

To many of the non-Portuguese speaking Angelenos who see Ta Bom coming, the name emblazoned on the front gets alliterated to “The Bomb”. Ilse Marques and her twin daughters Jackie and Julie aren’t about to go Rosetta Stone on their ass since it brings customers to their chunk of pavement, and because… well, they are the bomb. It would be erroneous on my part to call Ta Bomb a “gourmet food truck”, as there’s nothing uppity about their traditional Brazilian street food. “Ta Bom” (“It’s Good” in Portuguese) is not just a catchy name, it’s truth in advertising – this is real, hearty food of the people. A transplant from São Paulo, Marques found herself unemployed with time to consider a change of occupation. She had always wanted to cook Brazilian food, and so almost exactly a year after her life-changing experience, her truck was launched. Everything is fresh and made from scratch, and they will talk about the preparation with pride – they clearly love what they do. It’s a foregone conclusion that I wanted to try the more unusual items on the truck, and so I asked what someone walking up to a stand on the streets of Brazil would want.

Ilse Marques (center) with daughters Jackie and Julie

The first item on their menu is the grilled top sirloin steak taco. To me it sounded like a tribute offering to the taco truck gods that begat the food truck craze, but hardly indicative of Brazilian cuisine; oddly enough, the steady stream of patrons who came to the window while I discussed traditional food mostly ordered the taco. Not that I’m knocking it – in fact, I watched as one of the cooks was cutting fresh, red sirloin by hand, and the folks that ordered them raved about them. Jackie told me that the most popular item with a Brazilian pedigree is the coxinha, a tear-dropped shaped croquette made with shredded chicken entombed with cream cheese in a breadcrumb crust. When this tear of joy hits the hot oil, the cream cheese melts into the chicken and results in a hot cone of Brazilian heaven; all I knew was that I had to have one. The pastels (crisp pastry folded over a variety of meats, cheese or bananas) are popular, but I was intrigued by the cachorro quente (the Brazilian-style hot dog). While I waited for my food I faked disappointment in not seeing the most popular beverage in Brazil – Guarana Antarctica – but apparently if I had dug into the ice chest I would have found them in plentiful supply.

The delicious creamy-centered coxinha

I had a pretty good idea what to expect with the coxinha, but the hot dog floored me. Anyone who has had to listen to me babble for hours knows that hot dogs are my comfort food of choice, but no one could have predicted my slack-jawed amazement in this work of art. They start with a high quality beef sausage, which is butterflied and slapped on the grill. The bread (which was more roll than bun) was also grilled on both sides. The doggy is then put to bed on the roll and then topped with grilled corn, a condiment trilogy (mustard, mayo and ketchup) and potato sticks (yes, those crispy shoestring potato snacks we used to buy in a can as kids). The combination of the savory sausage, the sweet corn, the crunch of the potatoes and the toasty roll made me want to retire from eating so I would always remember this as the last thing I ate. I came to my senses, realizing that I still had to finish the coxinha, which was like a rich, cheesy knish and was both tasty and filling. Jackie offered me one of the tacos so that I could see what initially brings people to the truck, and although the meat was tender and flavorful with just the right amount of cilantro, onions and salsa verde, it seemed like an obligatory food truck staple teaser, leaving me to feel sorry for those just ordering the tacos and missing the best fare.

My woeful tale of gluttony isn’t over – Jackie told me that no Brazilian meal would be complete without a homemade brigadeiro, a fudgy truffle-like candy made on the stove from condensed milk, butter and cocoa, then rolled in a ball of chocolate sprinkles. I was informed that in order to make a good brigadeiro, it requires stirring for almost half an hour. I’m not much of a chocoholic, but it was sweet without being overbearing (reminiscent of soft, melty fudge); I chased the treat with the Guarana Antarctica (which I found similar to a mild Mountain Dew) and thanked the Marques family for keeping tradition alive and bringing it to the masses. I’ve often thought about visiting Brazil, but for now I’m content with letting it come to me.

Ta Bom (Brazilian Taste Truck)
Los Angeles County, California
http://twitter.com/Ta_Bom

See images of L.A. County’s Ta Bom Brazillian food truck

The Grilled Cheese Truck, The Foundry on Melrose

Los Angeles, California

The Brie Melt and Cheesy Mac and Rib Melt

Ask partners Dave Danhi (“The Big Cheese”) and Michele Grant (“Cheese Executive Officer”) of The Grilled Cheese Truck, “Why grilled cheese?” and the answer you will undoubtedly get is, “Why not grilled cheese?” In a sea of trucks serving up unusual fusion food requiring assistance from a Berlitz guide for identification, The Grilled Cheese Truck is one of the few that doesn’t require a vivid imagination and an open mind to figure out what’s on the menu. A staple, comfort food and favorite of all ages who eat, grilled cheese has immediate, recognizable appeal. But what drives someone to focus a mobile restaurant on the American classic? Well, according to Danhi, he attended a few of Los Angeles’ now legendary annual Grilled Cheese Invitationals and thought it would make a good street item after seeing the popular reaction to the contest honoring the culturally iconic sandwich. It appears his assumption was correct; The Grilled Cheese Truck was honored in the 2010 Grilled Cheese Invitational with the People’s Choice Award (not bad for only having been in operation since October of 2009). Numerous foodies and friends recommended the GCT as a “must try”, but scheduling had made it difficult – until the truck appeared prominently in the 2010 Pasadena Doo Dah Parade. Dave and Michelle sat atop the truck, tossing out foil-wrapped sandwiches as it was seemingly pulled along by rope down the middle of Colorado Boulevard. A quick trot beside the truck was enough to find out that they were going to be at Vrooman’s after the parade, and my lunch plans were set.

Val digs into the sweet and tasty Brie Melt

By the time I arrived, the line was already an hour long in the hot sun, resulting in me being grilled as well, but by the look of satisfaction on the faces of those already digging in to the golden, melted slices of heaven, it would be worth it. I could have ordered the tried-and-true Plain and Simple Melt (with four choices of cheeses and price ranges), but that’s not how Val from Trippy Food rolls (although he does apparently speak of himself in the third person). I chose that phrase in homage to their motto, emblazoned across the back of the truck: “Chef driven grilled cheese, ’cause that’s how we roll”. And roll they do, like the big stone ball in Raiders of The Lost Ark, and so my sights were set on the golden treasure – the Cheesy Mac and Rib Melt. This cleverly concocted and constructed cavalcade of cheese starts with macaroni and sharp Cheddar, and then blends in barbequed pork and caramelized onions. These ingredients had no business playing together, and yet they worked perfectly – the tangy and sweet pork held its own against the sharp and creamy Cheddar, and the macaroni added an odd yet comfortable texture and chewiness to the sandwich. The beauty of having a dining partner is that you can order multiple items and share, which allowed me to also order the Brie Melt. This artisan sandwich was made with double cream Brie embedded with thinly sliced pears and a drizzle of honey on cranberry walnut bread. With those ingredients, this sandwich had the potential of being overpoweringly sweet, and yet the slight pungency of the Brie kept the sugarplum fairies at bay. The contrast in the warm, gooey cheese and the crisp, cool pears made this a meal worth savoring. Just for good measure, we also ordered a sack of tots (get the image of a burlap bag full of children out of your head) which were golden brown and yet moist (without being soggy).

The line forms for The Grilled Cheese Truck

If you prefer eating your grilled cheese sandwich late at night while sitting at a  table, then I recommend giving multi-Grilled Cheese Invitational award winner Eric Greenspan’s restaurant (The Foundry on Melrose) a try. Greenspan’s grilled cheese is a thing of sweet beauty, and oh, so rich. The artisan raisin bread is grilled sans ingredients, sizzling away in a shallow pool of butter. Once grilled, the bread is topped with soft cheese melted under flame, and then fresh, crisp greens and braised short ribs, which practically pour onto the sandwich. The result is richer than Bill Gates; a sinfully decadent, gooey sweet conglomeration that you’ll be tasting long after you finish licking your fingers. No side dishes necessary here – a little goes a long way.

Eric Greenspan finishes his signature sandwich

The Foundry has elevated the grilled cheese sandwich to gourmet status, and The Grilled Cheese Truck has taken it on the road. Of course if you want to stick with melting a couple slices of Kraft singles between two pieces of Wonder Bread, be my guest; it just seems a little cheesy to me.

The Grilled Cheese Truck
Los Angeles County, California
twitter: http://twitter.com/grlldcheesetruk
facebook: http://www.facebook.com/#!/grilledcheesetruck?ref=ts

The Foundry on Melrose
7465 Melrose Ave.
Los Angeles, CA 90046
GPS Coordinates: 34° 5’1.45″N 118°21’9.79″W

See images of Val at The Grilled Cheese Truck and Eric Greenspan’s signature grilled cheese sandwich

San Fernando Valley, California

The bright yellow BBQ truck is coming your way

Gourmet food trucks are popping up like diesel-powered weeds in southern California, so although I was gracious about having been offered the opportunity to preview one of the newer BBQ-themed trucks, the prospect wasn’t registering very high on the TrippyMeter®. This was before showing up at the home of owner/operator Bill “Smokin’ Willie” Kelley (sorry to disappoint anyone picturing a ganja-toking, pony-tailed country songwriter from Texas) and witnessing “the blessing of the fleet” along with his closest friends and family. In this particular case, the fleet consisted of a sole, bright yellow truck. Kelley has retrofitted this Urban Assault Vehicle with all the tools necessary to quickly and reliably cook and serve items featuring his signature Classic, Shanghai and Chipotle BBQ sauces. His family recounts with pride how almost 40 years ago, Bill’s mother crashed a neighbor’s family reunion after smelling the irresistible aroma of their barbecue sauce cooking away on the smoker. Unable to pry the recipe from their clawed death grip, she worked on reverse engineering the sauce to her own specifications. The sauce became a family treasure, and when Kelley became disillusioned after a long career in the music industry, he devoted himself to creating a marketable version of the family matriarch’s legendary sauce. After a few years, multiple attempts and some collaboration with Chef Michael Acuna, Bill found a market for the three variations on the family recipe as bottled sauces. Since then, he’s conducted classes and has published a grilling guide (with recipes, mouth-watering pictures of the grilled food items and pairing of the food with music suggestions), but recently he has chosen to diversify and peddle cuisine featuring the three blends.

Bill Kelley slaving over a hot BBQ truck

We’ll get to the food momentarily; the blessing of the fleet demands immediate attention. A stranger in the midst of this close group, I was treated like a member of the clan. Bill’s mother was in attendance on this hot afternoon, and all acknowledged audibly that there would be no product if not for her original labor of love. The contributions of friends and family over the years were recognized as we gathered in a circle in front of the truck. Family friend Hector (a member of the Yaqui tribe) led a formal ceremony to bestow luck and blessings on Kelley’s venture – he smudged each attendee in the circle with white sage using an eagle feather, and although I can be a wise-ass on occasion, the ceremony moved me to solemnity. Hector blessed the truck after each person had been blessed, walking first counter-clockwise around the truck to remove the bad spirits, then clockwise to encourage the good spirits. Individually, we passed a pouch of tobacco around the circle; each person said a few words and placed a pinch of tobacco in a clay bowl, which would later be burned as an offering.

The amazing chipotle chicken taco

I have to tell you, nothing fires up the old appetite like a traditional ceremony, and so with the fires at the ready, Bill began serving up the afternoon’s fare. I asked if he planned to change up the menu from what was being served, but he said he had decided on going with a few items that he knows best (although he is open to changing it up in the future). After getting a few kinks worked out (like when to start up the steam table) he offered items from the regular menu. The food was served with rich, homemade barbecue baked beans and potato salad made from baked potatoes rather than boiled spuds (which provided a firmer texture, and fortunately were not swimming in mayonnaise). I tried a few of the menu items; the chipotle chicken taco was a personal favorite. The chicken was shredded and infused with the chipotle barbeque sauce, then topped with fresh, crunchy coleslaw. The sauce was not overpowering but provided a nice, subtle burn at the finish. The Shanghai sauce on the vegan tofu taco was mild, almost defying the title of “BBQ sauce”; I have yet to have a tofu taco on anyone’s truck that I found to my liking – I wish someone would fry the tofu first, but it would probably be a decent option for vegans (even the mayo was Veganaisse). Bill’s son laughingly pondered what the legendary hufu would do for the dish; I’m sure it would be a big hit with vegetarian cannibals. The BBQ meatball sandwiches were delicious, with the meat smothered in the sweeter Classic sauce. Since the meat was high quality and cooked well, these would still be good even with a lighter application of the sauce.

I will always be grateful for being able to share the experience of Bill’s family gathering to launch the truck, reminisce on how it all started and send positive vibes for a successful run. Kelly’s venture has the most important ingredient for a dive into the churning waters of the L.A. County gourmet food trucks – it has heart, and lots of it. No matter what the outcome is, he is already successful. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Los Angeles.

Smokin’ Willie’s BBQ Truck
Los Angeles County, California

Smokin’ Willies on Twitter

See images of Val attending the pre-launch of Smokin’ Willie’s BBQ truck

Libra By The Pound, Culver City CA

Libra, the Brazilian youngster in Culver City

When I received an invitation to try Marcelo Ahn’s new Brazilian eatery, it was described as “Brazilian buffet”. I couldn’t get the image out of my head of a mutant cross between Fogo de Chao and Golden Corral or a Souper Salad with animals staked out over flames behind the sneeze shields. Fortunately for my sanity and my stomach, my fears were unfounded. Once inside the modern, gleaming eatery I was introduced to Marcelo who told me that he wanted to introduce people to the way people eat in his native São Paulo. As I stood near the front door speaking with him, my eyes caught a shallow sink with a hinged steel spigot next to where the plates are dispensed. Marcelo explained that in Brazil, sinks are placed at the front so that patrons can wash their hands prior to eating, a custom that seems to be lost to Americans. I was grateful to find out it was not there to wash your dish prior to use (not that I thought that, even for a second). The “buffet counter” runs the length of the restaurant, and there is an incredible variety of food that gets rotated on a regular basis. Brazilian cuisine is heavily influenced by European, African and indigenous cultures, and so I am told that it is not unusual to find items such as potato salad, couscous and insalata caprese on the menu. The food is served by the pound, and Marcelo states that the healthy amount of food intake is a decent mix of meat and buffet items weighing in at about a pound and a half. Latin scholars will have no problem linking the name (Libra) with its English translation (pound) and its abbreviation (lb.) which is an integral part of the logo and found throughout the restaurant, but I’m sure they still get asked what the restaurant has to do with astrology. As much as I am a big fan of a well-made potato salad, my unusual tastes lead me more towards poke salad, but the food was presented so incredibly beautifully that I had to try their take on some of the “normal” selections. The food was artistically arranged in clay bowls, and it was so attractive that I wanted to deliver a sharp smack at the back of the head to anybody who simply heaped the food on their plate. I would have done it, too, I swear.

A jumble of flavor on my plate

As I carefully arranged my selections on the plate I started to wonder where they hid the meat in this joint. I was also surprised that trays were available at the end of the buffet line rather than up front where the John Blutarskis of this world won’t leave a Hansel and Gretel trail of food morsels. Just past the case filled with beverages (including Guaraná Antarctica, a popular Brazilian soda) and deserts, cordoned off by a glass shield was Meat City. Selections of meat (which included Brazilian linguica, smoked sausage and chicken) were being cooked in what can only be described as an inverted foosball table from Hell, their fatty lifeblood dripping into the greasy depths below. Picanha (Brazilian top sirloin cap) and tri-tip were cooked to order on the grill, and the meat was placed on a separate plate. I had to try them all, but if your only acceptable vision of a Brazilian restaurant is the Americanized churrascaria with smiling waiters slicing never-ending quantities of lanced meat items onto your eager plate, you will be disappointed. Shame on you for being so closed-minded anyway.

Score! Linguica wins!

I desperately searched for the oxtail and potato, but apparently the coach didn’t put him in that night, one of the drawbacks of a rotating selection. I sat down to savor the work of art I created and looked forward to some of the more unusual items. The little, square sausage tarts were eggy bites with little crumbles of sausage suspended inside; the polenta with ragout was firm and served in geometric blocks. I really enjoyed their take on collard greens – rather than a glop of leaves, it was finely shredded and quickly sautéed with garlic and olive oil – I almost mistook it for seaweed. An oddity that won me over was the mashed yucca. I have had yucca Caribbean and Colombian-style, fried in chunks, but there is no way that the uninitiated would be able to tell the version they served (made with cream and butter) from creamy mashed potatoes. Another South and Central American staple, plantains found their way onto my plate in caramelized form – freshly made (as a peek in the kitchen proved). Although the tri-tip was decent, it paled in comparison to the dark and juicy picanha (which I would have gone back for again if there wasn’t so much food). The chicken was moist and crispy on the outside, the sausage and linguica hot and flavorful.

Carol Ahn, chef at Libra By The Pound

I had an opportunity to sit with Cordon Bleu Chef Carol Ahn (sister of Marcelo) for a while and ask her about other dishes. She said that they are trying to source the unusual and traditional ingredients for the slow-cooked black bean and pork feijão tropeiro stew; her description sounded so good I demanded to be put on e-mail alert when they started serving it. I commended her on sticking to traditional preparations, and enjoyed discussing Brazilian cuisine. She did, however, politely decline my offer of hormigas culonas (which my sister-in-law just brought back from Colombia and I had pocketed along as a snack). Libra has been open for just over three weeks now and although there’s some concern that Angelenos may be too accustomed to the churrascaria format to accept it, I think they’ll do well once word spreads about the quality, taste and presentation of the food. Maybe a 130-foot tall concrete and soapstone Jesus on the roof would help. Then again, maybe not.

NOTE: This meal was a press review event

Libra By The Pound
3833 Main Street
Culver City, CA 90232-2619
GPS Coordinates:  34°1’28.73″N 118°23’40.57″W

See more pictures from Val’s meal at Libra in Culver City, CA

Download a coupon for 15% off dinner during May 2010 and enter to win dinner for 2 at Libra By The Pound on our “Stuff (Merchandise and Freebies)” page

The original Ostrich Land sign in Buellton CA

The ostrich is a laughable bird, with wings too weak to lift its body and a light-bulb shaped head on the end of a fuzzy snake of a neck. Of course should you choose to laugh at it, you run the risk of getting kicked into tomorrow. Although they are the world’s largest bird, they generally prefer to avoid confrontation. They can run about 45 miles per hour and will lay down flat to avoid detection (contrary to popular belief, they do not bury their heads in the sand to hide). It’s hard to imagine that an animal this size would need to worry about predators, but the maned cats in their native Africa could make a bucket of Original Recipe out of one in short order. It is for this reason that the ostrich has been armed with a deadly clawed-toe Kung Fu kick. They also have mankind to worry about, having been hunted and farmed for feathers, hides, oil, eggs and meat for centuries, if not millennia.

Manager Sonny Cabrales shows his ostrich offerings

Ostrich farms were lucrative businesses, but towards the end of the 1900s the cost of raising them led some farmers to simply let them go; it was not unusual to hear of a hunter in Texas running into one face to face. One ostrich farm that has managed to keep in business for the past 20 years by introducing their livestock to tourists is Ostrich Land in Buellton, California. You may have seen some of their ostriches in the film “Sideways” but you don’t need a Hollywood camera crew to see them up close. Ostrich Land has a small gift shop that sells eggs (yes, they make great omelets), feathers, oil and other ostrich products. They do have some meat for sale, but they maintain that it comes from a nearby ranch. For 5 dollars, you can go out back and get a large dog food bowl attached to a metal dustpan filled with what looks like rabbit pellets to feed the birds (ostriches as well as their diminutive cousin, the emu). The ostriches saunter up to a railed platform and jam their heads in the bowl like a feathered cobra, emptying the bowl in a few minutes. The two-handed death grip is recommended as they will steal the whole contraption given half a chance. Oh, by the way, important safety tip – keep your face well out of their reach. Sure, ostrich feeding is fun until someone loses an eye.

Nothing but meat and bun, my friends

If all this ostrich talk is making you hungry, fear not – ostrich is lean, high in protein and makes a delicious alternative to beef (that’s right, it tastes like cow, not chicken). Ostrich appears frequently on the menu worldwide – I found a place that features ostrich steak prominently on their menu in the hills overlooking Bogotá, Colombia. You don’t have to look far – at many (if not all) Fuddruckers, you can order their ostrich burger for a few dollars more than the hamburgers, and take my word for it, they are thick, juicy and delicious. There is a slight pungent taste that helps differentiate it from a beef burger, but it is far superior to the hamburgers available in most fast food stops and burger joints. If you’re thinking of getting exotic with the family dinner, many large and specialty grocery stores carry the meat (mostly in ground form for burgers or chili). One of my favorite meat markets in La Crescenta, California (Harmony Farms) carries not only ground ostrich and ostrich patties, but “ostrich mignon” as well as ostrich roast. Manager Sonny Cabrales will answer questions you have about which cuts work best, etc., as well as helping you find other game as well (they’re well stocked with bison, kangaroo, alligator, elk, antelope, boar, frog legs – hell, they have turducken).

The next time you’re in the mood for red meat but want to walk on the wild side, try ostrich. More than just an alternative protein source, ostriches can be fun, and if you don’t believe me, check out the Ostrich Festival in Chandler, Arizona, where the high point of the event is the ostrich races. With human riders. No kidding. Bird, bird, bird, bird, bird’s the word!

The Annual Ostrich Festival
Tumbleweed Park
2250 S. McQueen Road
Chandler, AZ
GPS coordinates: 33°16’24.08″N 111°49’36.00″W

Harmony Farms
2824 Foothill Boulevard
La Crescenta, CA 91214
GPS coordinates:  34°13’28.25″N 118°14’26.94″W

Ostrich Land
610 E Highway 246
Buellton, CA 93427
GPS coordinates: 34°36’22.13″N 120°10’35.44″W

Punta Ingles Restaurante
Km. 9 Via La Calera
Bogotá, D.C, Colombia
GPS coordinates: 4°40’25.14″N 74° 1’14.40″W

See more images of Val eating and feeding ostriches

This is a nice example of the sweet tooth (mushroom, not me)

There are a variety of reasons mushrooms aren’t universally prized for their incredible flavor – for starters, commercially grown mushrooms are generally cultivated in soil rich in animal manure (and no, they don’t “taste like crap”, although I don’t have a point of reference). There are those who turn their nose up at mushrooms based on their lower class family members (molds and fungus), and the understandable fear of psychotic reactions, illness or death from toxic mushrooms. Mushrooms have been harvested, cultivated and eaten for millennia and harvesting them in the wild can be a delicious adventure. That having been said, I would caution (with big, bold, red letters) to only do this with someone who knows what they’re doing. Nothing ruins a meal of sweet, delicious mushrooms more that vomiting and paralysis.

Pig ear mushroom, edible but too old

On a recent trip to northern California, we took a trip to the coastal county of Mendocino to visit a family friend who has a beautiful cabin up in the woods. The house is surrounded by cool, damp forest, which Robert informed us is the perfect climate for wild ‘shrooms. When he suggested a nice walk through the woods, coupled with a mushroom harvest, I was immediately onboard. He gave us a general idea of what to look for, but we always deferred back to his judgment call before collecting any. As it turns out, the most beautiful ones are the ones to watch out for – after awhile it was easy to identify different types along the trails – black trumpets, sweet tooth, coral, pig’s ear, etc. If there were any that Robert wasn’t sure of, we wisely passed them by regardless of their taste potential or lack of toxicity.

We came back to the cabin with a considerable amount of black trumpets and sweet tooth mushrooms and decided to cook up some of the black trumpets. Robert sautéed them in a little butter and garlic and presented the hot plate of mushrooms on the table, which we savored bite by delicious bite. The black trumpets gave of a slightly earthy, pungent flavor, but were also quite sweet. The texture was different that biting into the white button caps found at the local Stop & Shop – they were firm, yet delicate, requiring very little chewing, and each bite released more of the wild flavor.

Black trumpets prior to cooking

There are a plethora of edible varieties of mushrooms, and not all are grown worldwide. Before deciding to forage for your own, it isn’t enough to look at pictures and go for “close enough” – be sure to take an expert along, or at least have them identify them before you eat them. Also keep in mind that even though there are many edible species, some have a short shelf life, require special preparation, or don’t taste very good once they’ve gotten “old”. Trust me, you wouldn’t want me to keep you in the dark and feed you a load of bulls**t.

See more images from Val’s mushroom hunt

The Grill on The Alley, Hollywood CA

A tale of two livers - bacon and onions and Bordelaise

I felt like John Cleese in “The Meaning of Life” walking up to the entrance of Hollywood’s The Grill on The Alley and stating emphatically, “We’ve come for your liver!”  It was not executive chef John Sola’s liver I was after (he was using it), but the tender and delicious calf’s liver which (according to Sola) is The Grill’s signature dish. The quandary I was faced with wasn’t what I wanted, but how I wanted it prepared – as part of their “Liver Lover’s Menu” promotion, the filtering organ is offered two ways: traditional-style with bacon and onions, and with Bordelaise sauce. I don’t mind traditional, if we’re talking the traditional amphibian dish of Ban Chom, but my mission in life is to go for the unusual, so Bordelaise won. Sola explained that their calf’s liver is acquired from Marshal Farms in Pennsylvania, but a search only returned results of other restaurants who get their veal products there, and a place in New York that raises ferrets. Needless to say, the possibility that the calf’s liver and ferrets may come from the same place made it all the more intriguing.

The blood orange martini - sweet yet strong like me

Prior to the meal, we were treated to hors d’oeuvres (including miniature crab cakes and gravlax) and do-it-yourself martinis. There were three varieties offered: the CEO, featuring Chopin Vodka and extra olives; a blood orange martini with Grey Goose L’Orange, Monin Blood Orange and orange juice; and a lemon drop martini. I had to try the CEO if only for the olives, allowing them to get drunk before eating them; the blood orange martini was on the sweet side but had a nice scent of fresh orange. I found it ironic that I was destroying my own liver prior to eating one. I worked my way through the thick slices of fresh baked bread with sauteed peppers and onions and a fresh endive salad with pecans, romaine lettuce and Gorgonzola cheese in anticipation of the bloody glandular feast.

Chef Sola tells us about his liver

The liver was a sight to behold – in place of the tough, seemingly laser-cut slice of brown chewiness I expected was a thick steak-cut portion of liver, dark brown on the outside and pink and juicy within. The meat was sitting in a puddle of dark, rich Bordeaux-based Bordelaise sauce in the shade of a felled broccoli tree. The liver was so tender that I didn’t really need to use the John Locke knife that was provided; it simply gave itself up to the fork willingly. The notable flavor of liver was present, but it was delicate and the meat metled in my mouth. It was without a doubt the best liver I’d ever eaten (except maybe the census taker’s, with fava beans and a nice Chianti – fthfthfthfth!). The manager had paired the liver with a 2006 Herzog Special Reserve Merlot, which fortunately didn’t clash with the Bordelaise.

If you were this liver would you eat yourself?

I finished up with a little Key lime pie and the obligatory cuppa joe and made sure to complement the staff on their organs. The only thing I found a little odd was the name (The Grill on The Alley) as it certainly isn’t a “bar and grill”, and perched inside the same structure as the Kodak Theatre I couldn’t see any evidence of an alley anywhere. The restaurant presents a typical upscale steak house atmosphere, perhaps a little on the dark side, but the staff is friendly and attentive and if for no other reason you need to go and get the liver. If you’ve been on the fence about trying liver, this is the perfect entry point; in fact, you may not want liver after this simply because it would be difficult to find it prepared so well. I suppose the old adage still rings true: Liver for today.

NOTE: This meal was a press review event

The Grill on The Alley
6801 Hollywood Boulevard
Los Angeles, CA 90028
GPS coordinants: 34°6’9.67″N 118°20’25.15″W

See images of Val enjoying calf’s liver at The Grill in Hollywood

Read Eddie Lin’s take on the bacon and onion liver at Deep End Dining

Durian

Pull the pin, count to three, throw and run

In the world of fruit, durian boldly establishes its presence in a variety of ways. It is slightly larger than a football, but would be better suited for a game of Rollerball – it has a thick, greenish brown hide covered with hard, sharp spikes that can and will inflict serious pain. In fact, hard hats are recommended in the Southeast Asian orchards where it is grown in order to avoid an encounter your own personal version of “Fat Man” and “Little Boy”. If the skin is not split on its own upon ripening, you’ll need a sharp, serrated blade to cut through the skin. Once opened, the durian presents itself with several chambers running the length of the fruit; inside each is the pale yellow flesh of the fruit. The hard, brown seeds are nestled in the flesh, and are about the size of a small kiwi fruit (which would most likely tremble in fear in the presence of “the king of fruit”).

Durian pastry from Phoenix Food Boutique in Alhambra CA

As if all this formidable armor wasn’t enough, the durian’s weapon of choice is its smell. Oddly enough, the smell has different effects depending upon whose nose is being used. There are some (myself included) that recognize the aroma as somewhat pungent, but not particularly offensive. Others can’t even get close to the intact fruit without having to resist the urge to blow their groceries. For this reason, some areas of Southeast Asia prohibit bringing durian into hotels and public places such as buses and airports. It isn’t difficult to find durian in the United States used (in somewhat muted form) in shakes, pastries (including cakes and cookies) and candy. If you have the opportunity, you should try the fresh fruit to appreciate its qualities.

Durian pastry - stinking good

Since the durian has a different effect on each person who tries it, what better way to compare these experiences than to gather friends and coworkers together while you crack open one of these bad boys at the office. We did just that, gathering approximately 15 people together in the outside courtyard to sample it. The fruit opened up like one of the larva in Aliens, and the smell caused several participants to take a few steps back. We dug into the fruit, scooping chunks onto a plate and inviting the group to partake, with varying results. Several people could only get it momentarily get it into their mouths, spitting the contents into the bushes; others couldn’t even get that far. Personally, I found the taste to be remarkably rich, like a mixture of butter, eggs, sugar and almonds with a marshmallow-like consistency. The smell did nothing to diminish the taste, and the only reason I only had about four scoops was because it was so rich. One of the participants likened it to onion custard, while another person said it tasted like vomit. We brought what was leftover upstairs into the kitchen for others to enjoy, prompting someone two offices away to call out, “My God, what is that horrible smell?”

I advise you to ignore the bad press durian gets, clear the images of a rotting hell-fruit out of your mind and give it a try. Hopefully you will enjoy it as I do, eating it whenever the opportunity arises. If not, please find a discreet place to toss your cookies so as not to confuse people with the smell.

Hawaii Supermarket
120 E Valley Boulevard
San Gabriel, CA 91776-3544
GPS coordinates: 34° 4’45.06″N 118°5’56.07″W

See images of Val with fresh durian, durian chips and durian pastry
See video of Val and co-workers eating fresh durian

Los Angeles County, California

Alex Chu opens for business

Those of us who have enjoyed dim sum can vividly picture the shiny stainless steel dim sum cart coming up the aisle loaded with steaming hot bites of savory goodness. If you saw this 26-foot long GMC dim sum truck coming up the aisle, you’d be vividly picturing your own demise. Owner Alex Chu’s take on dim sum replaces the cart with a truck that roves Los Angeles County. L.A. has always been famous for its taco trucks (what we Boston ex-pats used to refer to as “roach coaches”), but recently these moveable feasts have been diversifying, introducing pedestrians to Korean fusion, Indian food and now dim sum. Chu has been operating the truck for about a month now, but its popularity is growing in leaps and bounds. Dim sum is typically a light Chinese meal served with afternoon tea, but Chu is introducing it to the late night party crowd who can regulate the amount of small portions that will stay down alongside their Jell-O shots, margaritas and Corona long necks.

Duck taco and spicy tofu mulita

I had a recent opportunity to meet Alex Chu and sample the tasty morsels prepared on his truck. Naturally I wanted to start with the most unusual item on the truck, which Alex informed me, was the duck taco. This dish takes the longest to prepare, but the wait is worth it. Strips of seared duck flesh sat atop a small warm tortilla nestled with red onion and pickled cucumber with a drizzle of plum hoisin sauce. The oily, dark duck meat is contrasted by the crunchiness and tang of the vegetables, and the sweet plum sauce in a profusion of textures and flavors. In preserving the spirit of the dim sum cart, I decided to try additional items one at a time, only I didn’t have to wait for the truck to pass by, just in line with the other patrons.

Making short work of the duck taco

The second item I tried was the spicy tofu mulita, a mini-quesadilla filled with chopped tofu, Monterrey jack cheese and a spicy chili sauce sandwiched between two of the aforementioned tortillas and topped with shredded cabbage. I was slightly confused by the texture of the tofu and cheese together, and although tofu (the non-stinky variety) is not in my top 10, everything seemed to work well together. I was beginning to succumb to whatever opiate was being placed in the food, besieged with the desire to try more. Fortunately dim sum is served in small portions, which makes sampling easy without overdoing it. I ordered the pork and shrimp shu mai dumplings, packed with pork, shrimp and mushrooms and steamed to perfection in a yellow skin. These sat is a shallow puddle of Alex’s “special sauce” which he hinted was oyster sauce based, the perfect dip for the golden morsels. I finished up with the lo mai gai, sticky rice with bits of pork, shrimp, sausage and mushrooms steamed in a fat lotus leaf. The leaf imparts its flavor to the rice and along with the other ingredients creates an irresistible earthy, botanical aroma. The presentation made it look like a Central American tamale, and opening the package was like Christmas in China, with all kinds of tasty bits hiding inside. Although most people don’t eat the leaf, I had to try a bite on its own to find its flavor but found that more of the flavor was in the rice.

Alex has hit upon a unique portable cuisine idea, and I’m confident the food truck concept combined with superior quality food and decent prices will have lines forming quickly – I advise checking out The Dim Sum Truck before it becomes so trendy that the wait will be in hours. After all, how many times does the dim sum cart come to you?

The Dim Sum Truck
Los Angeles County, CA
twitter.com/dimsumtruck
(locations on the web site and Twitter!)

See images of Val visiting the Dim Sum Truck

Japan and beyond

If seeing dinner alive bothers you, this sign is for you

Before we get started, any of you shrimp boat captains who down a few California rolls and beat your chest in sushi-eating triumph are going to want to sit down for this one. Don’t get me wrong, I occasionally like cucumbers and avocados wrapped in rice with canned tuna, but there’s a plethora of gastronomic wonders out there that are as much a presentation extravaganza as they are an explosion of taste. As with anything else, I’ll start you out easy.

It’s no secret that for years I shied away from sea urchin roe (uni, to you sushi aficionados). They say your first time is always the best, but trying uni in a restaurant in Southfield, Michigan is the quickest way to prove that adage wrong. The best bet is to try it near the coast, or at least in a restaurant where they take them out of the tank and open them up prior to eating. The roe (egg sacs/ovaries) are the desirable parts of the urchin (an animal that looks like a highly inedible pin cushion). Since my horrific Michigan experience I have had uni on several occasions at restaurants in the Southern California area and have fallen in love with the cool, creamy and slightly salty sea paste. Uni is fun to work with since its bright orange color makes it almost ornamental; it is mostly served sitting atop a rice and seaweed disk. We’ll come back to uni in an over-the-top presentation in a bit.

Delicious creamy monkfish liver

Another overlooked aquatic delicacy is monkfish liver. I know what you’re thinking (since graduating from psychic school): liver and fish are a bad combination, but here it works on a grand scale. The flesh is also edible, and is nicknamed “poor man’s lobster” because of the similar texture and flavor, but the monkfish has to be the ugliest thing that ever sat on the bottom of the ocean. It looks like a placenta with fins and a huge, tooth-filled gaping jaw. The liver is delicate and exquisite – it has a buttery, pate-like flavor with the texture of liverwurst (damn, I’m making myself hungry). Monkfish liver is usually served sashimi-style on rice, sliced into thin ovals.

What’s that? “OK, Val, sounds interesting but we want the hard core stuff”. Well so do I, and that’s why I couldn’t pass up the offer to join friend, blogger, author and radio personality Eddie Lin for a visit to one of southern California’s meccas of sushi, The Hump in Santa Monica. Recently The Hump has been in the national news for being caught in a sting operation by the crew who filmed the Oscar-winning documentary, “The Cove”; they had sold sei whale meat to patrons with hidden cameras. The restaurant has decided to voluntarily and permanently close their doors after the incident, meaning that you’ll have to go elsewhere to enjoy the sushi extravaganza I am about to describe. And before you ask, no. I did not eat, nor was I offered whale during the feast.  Chef Kiyoshiro Yamamoto pulled out all the stops – the first course was a work of art. A Japanese cucumber was skinned and then cut into thin long and narrow strips. On the flat surface, Chef  Yamamoto added some orange rind, black truffle and honey, which was daubed onto the cuke with a king bee that was doing the dead-man’s float in the jar. Once rolled, Japanese uni was placed on top, along with some slivers of truffle, a tiny cooked shrimp and a dusting of gold flakes. An individual piece was served on a dish that looked like stone – the preparation and presentation was incredible. I didn’t know if I should eat it or put it in a glass case, but eat it I did, an explosion of flavors and textures doing a ballet in my mouth. I was ready to go home and never eat again, when the second course was presented.

Braised shiraco (cod sperm sacs)

For round 2, a pair of cod shiraco were braised and presented on an ornamental plate, adorned with some shaved green onion and several dipping sauces. The initial reaction to looking at the shiraco was to wonder – is that the fish’s brain? Well, being that these are from a male fish it is from the part that does the thinking in the spring time; shiraco is the Japanese name for the cod’s sperm sac. I’ve eaten Rocky Mountain Oysters, lamb fries and chicken nuts, but this was one for the books. The shiraco were actually quite tasty, with a nutty (oops, how did that slip in) and protein-rich taste not unlike a knockwurst.

Round 3 looked like the one with the T.K.O. – Chef  Yamamoto prepared live lobster sashimi. There are no words descriptive enough to put you in the orchestra seats for this one but I’ll give it my best shot. With deft knife work, he quickly dispatched the aquatic spider, neatly severing the tail from the body. He worked quickly, opening the tail and removing the meat. Some pieces were left in big chunks, while other pieces were chopped fine and combined with soy sauce and other ingredients to make a topping. On top of the raw lobster meat, uni was added, along with more truffles and gold disco glitter. The tail was presented on a tray with unusual tempura vegetables (including fiddleheads) and in the middle – the front end of the still-moving lobster. It was a little unsettling, like eating chicken drumsticks while the bird’s live torso is looking at you, but the lobster was indeed dead. Its complex nervous system caused it to continue to move after its demise. While eating the sweet lobster sashimi, the torso was whisked away to prepare a miso soup that was brought out afterwards.

Lobster sashimi is served while the lobster watches

Stop the presses, because the champ pulled out a stunning 1-2 punch for the finale. A live, wriggling eel was placed on the counter, and Chef Yamamoto crowned him with a spike right through his head… right through his head (sorry Mick). The fish died instantly, but someone forgot to tell him that. After its head was severed, a sharp knife neatly butterflied the fish length wise. With a quick hand, Chef  Yamamoto removed all the internal organs, yet the eel continued to wriggle. The spine was removed completely and I witnessed something that to this day continues to inspire awe – the spine was still moving. The eel was lightly fried, and the spine was fried so that the small brittle bones mate a tasty, crunchy snack.

It would trivialize the event to simply say I went out for sushi. The presentation, the arrangement, the art of preparation all made for a spectacular evening that culminated in a delicious and exotic meal. I think I can now explain that dream about falling asleep on the beach and hearing knives being sharpened.

NOTE: This meal was part of a promotional event

See more images of Val eating sushi

The chef at The Hump prepares live eel (not for the squeamish)

See the TV spot from when Val joined Eddie Lin at The Hump for live sushi

Machine Project, Los Angeles, California

Cooking the wriggling superworms

Miriam-Webster’s Dictionary defines a worm as “any of numerous relatively small elongated usually naked and soft-bodied animals (as a grub, pinworm, tapeworm, shipworm, or slowworm)”. In my mind, I picture the night crawlers I used to get to go fishing in Barton Creek, but since the term applies to the shape of these invertebrates, it also covers the creepy crawly larval stage of beetles, butterflies and moths. When I heard that Machine Project (a storefront space that experiments in technology, science, and the arts) was holding an event entitled “Eat Bug Eat”, I was intrigued. Although it sounds like the title of a Japanese monster movie, the event was held to educate people in the culture and custom of eating insects. Although I’d eaten insects many times before, from the crunchy snack-like hormigas culonas to the grassy-tasting silkworm pupae, I succumbed to the come-hither of wax moth larvae tacos.

Machine Project in L.A., host of Eat Bug Eat

The space is well lit and sparse, a good place for shows, events and installations. Several tables were topped with insect displays, a two-burner hotplate, a food preparation area, insect “farms” and bowls of glistening mead. For those who aren’t familiar with mead, it is an alcoholic beverage made with honey (sometimes leaning towards wine, other times towards beer). The event featured Chaucer’s and Rabbit’s Foot mead, both light and white wine flavored, but close enough to being an insect product to be an acceptable beverage for the event. In various plastic tubs and steel bowls were the evening’s appetizers and entrees – live, wriggling insect larvae. There were three kinds of worms on the menu: mealworms (the larval stage of the mealworm beetle), superworms (darkling beetle larvae) and the larvae form of the Greater Wax Moth. Some bowls of the fried worms were prepared earlier to munch on while waiting on the tacos, but one of the folks staging the event demonstrated the preparation. This involved simply pouring the writhing insects into frying pans with a little oil, and let me tell you, like me and just about any other life form I can think of they do not like to be cooked. The chef explained that they die rather quickly, but the heat applied to their bodies flexes them, which makes it look like they’re still moving around. Although a few diners felt that this was somewhat cruel, the thought of what happens to a cow or pig when it gets butchered made this look like a mercy killing. There were also some locally made chapulines on hand, but they weren’t made on the premises.

Tearing into a worm-filled taco

While waiting on the tacos, some of the patrons decided to try the critters live; some did so on a dare, but others like the woman who goes by the name Aurora (a self-confessed insectivore and sideshow performer) ate the little wigglers with gusto. Patron Matt Hartwell also tried several handfuls of the live insects, but preferred the wax moth larvae to the superworm. Never having intentionally eaten live insects I had to give it a go, and I came to the following conclusion: the quality of experience is drastically improved with frying. I don’t say this from a taste standpoint; the children of the wax moth have a buttery, nutty flavor that is diminished with cooking, but because these insects wear their skeletons on the outside, it is equivalent to the difference between eating fried and boiled shrimp. Frying crisps the “shell”, making the worm easier to eat, but when eaten live they require considerable chewing. The tacos were made with fresh ingredients and handmade tortillas, but somehow the assembled thing buried the taste of the fried bugs. Most of the attendees resorted to snacking on the fried worms right out of the bowl, making them a great happy hour bar snack. I enjoyed the superworms fried – the taste was reminiscent of smoky chicharrón. The flavor of the fried wax moth larvae almost reminded me of French’s Potato Sticks, and it occurred to me that these would be a great high protein substitute for bacon bits on a baked potato.

After a few hours the guests began fluttering out into the night, and I was tempted to ask for a doggie bag, but I imagine the fried worms don’t have much of a shelf life. There’s not much to the preparation and the insects are easy to get online – in no time you can have yourself a worm ranch, providing you with a steady supply of protein. I wonder how small they make saddles…

San Diego Wax Worms
Mason Rd
Vista, Ca 92084
(you can get mealworms and superworms at larger pet stores)

Machine Project
1200 North Alvarado Street
Los Angeles, CA 90026-3127
GPS coordinates: 34°4’41.59″N 118°15’46.50″W

See more images of Val’s insect adventure at Machine Project in Los Angeles
Val attends a bug eating event at Machine Project in L.A.:

United States, Great Britain and Asia

Coffee jello at Durgin Park in Boston

Oh, poor misunderstood gelatin! Anything resembling gelatin has been given the name “jello” by Americans (“jelly” by the British), although Jell-O is actually a trademark of one brand of commercially available gelatin. Gelatin in its pure form is clear and practically tasteless; it is typically manufactured by boiling down the bones, connective tissues, organs and the hides of cattle, pigs and/or horses in order to extract the collagen (sounds tasty, doesn’t it?). Surely you remember as a kid when mom boiled that ham for a New England boiled dinner, popping the remains into the fridge – when that door swung open the next day, voila! – gelatin. Serving just the gelatin became popular way back in the late 1800s, although it required the aforementioned cooking down process or buying dried gelatin sheets and purifying and reconstituting them, which quite frankly was a pain in the gluteus maximus. Commercially available powdered gelatin made dessert preparation easier because of two men – Peter Cooper who patented the process of powdering gelatin, and Charles Knox who created and marketed a pre-granulated gelatin. Pearle Wait (who bought Peter Cooper’s patent) added flavoring to the powdered gelatin in 1897 and began marketing it as Jell-O; Knox became known for his unflavored variety. To this day Jell-O (which was manufactured by General Foods) and Knox are both Kraft Foods brands, with Jell-O so popular that the governor of Utah declared it to be the state snack (take that, Illinois, with your stinkin’ popcorn).

Cold or hot, you cannot beat coffee

Gelatin on its own hardly seems like a trippy food (at least to Americans and the British), but ingenuity has taken this simple food to a whole new level. Boston’s Durgin Park has been operating as a restaurant since the 1830s (named by John Durgin and Eldridge Park who bought it in 1827). Through the 1980s the restaurant had the reputation of being rude to the customers, which customers assumed was a gimmick much like Ed Debevic’s in Chicago or Dick’s Last Resort, but when I remarked to the waitress that she was actually quite polite, she stated that the former wait staff were “just plain grouchy”. The story goes that sometime during mid-1900s, frugal proprietor James Hallett got tired of seeing the day’s coffee being poured down the drain and hit upon the idea of creating a desert from it, namely “coffee jello.” The desert is served topped with real whipped cream, which adds just the right amount of sweetness (the gelatin and coffee combination is unsweetened). The coffee component tastes homemade using a good quality brew, and the black, shiny cubes topped with the frothy, white whipped cream makes it a sight to behold.

Jellied eel - yummy!

Jellied eels are a British specialty that dates back to 1700s London. Freshwater eels (traditionally right out of the Thames) are boiled with nutmeg, lemon juice and diced vegetables like onions and carrots, then cooled creating a gelatin in the same manner as with the pork or beef variety with the cooking process releasing the collagen. The cooked eels have a similar consistency and taste to herring (perhaps a bit firmer) with tiny brittle bones like sardines. Jellied eels are generally available at pie and mash shops in London’s East End, but I tried them at a small alleyway stand in Greenwich. The eel was served cold and delicious, requiring some deft tongue work (one of my hidden talents) to work the flesh off the bones. As long as I was there, I had a small cup of whelks with vinegar, which were chewy but flavorful, and pie (meat) and mash. I won’t spend much time on them since the article is about gelatin, and quite frankly the pie and mash were substandard; a fellow patron stated that the flat, soggy and chewy pie tasted like it was frozen and then microwaved. I’ll have proper pie and mash on my next visit to London.

A hand made gelatin flower

The recently popular trend of artistic gelatin is producing deserts that look like flowers in Lucite but are completely edible. The Wilton School offers classes specific to this culinary art, which requires patience, concentration, and a variety of syringes, with the output almost too beautiful to eat. A friend has started producing these, bringing one to a recent party. The dish is a treat for multiple senses, especially since the multiple colors used have different complementary flavors that blend together perfectly. At the aforementioned party, we asked her to serve it for us as none of us wanted to be responsible for ruining her masterpiece.

Grass jelly is a special Asian treat that is included here even though it is not technically gelatin. It is traditionally made by boiling stalks of the mesona chinensis plant (a variety of mint, also called xiancao, sian-chháu, or leung fan cao) with potassium carbonate and some starch and then refrigerating. The result looks like a lighter version of Durgin Park’s coffee jello, with a refreshing taste similar to an unsweetened mint tea. It is sometimes served as a gelatinous drink by itself or mixed with soy or evaporated milk, although for me it makes a nice dessert after cramming my bowl filled with whatever is available at the local Mongolian BBQ.

The next time Aunt Millie brings out the Jell-O mold with embalmed fruit bits suspended in it, explain to her how gelatin is made and it may get you a bye at having to eat it. Just don’t expect a nice knitted tie at Christmas…

Durgin Park
340 Faneuil Hall Marketplace
Boston, MA 02109
GPS coordinates: 42°21’37.38″N 71°3’18.57″W

G. Kelly’s Eel and Pie
526 Roman Road
Bow, London, UK E3 5ES
GPS coordinates: 51°31’57.48″N 0°1’48.65″W

See images of Val eating gelatin-based foods

Mon Land Hot Pot City, San Gabriel, CA

Fresh rooster testicles

Although I’ve never seen a rooster strutting around the barnyard “balls-out”, I was surprised to learn that they actually have testicles. As a food adventurer, it occurred to me that after having had just about every part of the chicken, I was missing out on this delicacy. Desperate to find them locally, I turned to friend, writer and fellow blogger Eddie Lin who had the balls to suggest Mon Land Hot Pot City in San Gabriel, California (and no, this is not the last of the puns). I enlisted Josh (Trippy Food’s webmaster and usual partner in crime), as well as a few friends to join me in San Gabriel for a sack lunch (I warned you).

Mon Land Hot Pot City - we sat outside

Since it was a warm, sunny day we opted for the patio and were seated at a table with a stone top, a circular opening neatly cut into it (reminding me of a Korean BBQ). Instead of the familiar grill, our waitress placed a heating unit under the table and into the hole a huge metal bowl partitioned in the middle in the “ying/yang” style of Yunnan Province. One side was filled with a milky, beige broth and the other with a menacingly red one. These were heated to a rolling boil, and the steam coming off the liquid was pure, intoxicating, aromatic bliss. The red broth was spicy, with what appeared to be Tien Tsin chilies drowning in the oily abyss; both sides were flavored liberally with garlic, cloves, ginseng, ginger, goji berries and other unidentified spices. We had ordered our dishes from a pick list, and I was transfixed by the vapor when our food started to arrive.

Mild on the right, spicy on the left

We had ordered fish balls and shrimp balls (the shape, not the sexual organs), which were dumped readily into the pot. Plates of beef and chicken (frozen so that it could be shaved to almost translucent slices) were brought out and we dunked them in the broth with our chopsticks, cooking them almost immediately. Chunks of pork kidney and rings of pig intestines were brought out next, which cooked up beautifully – the kidney was mild, with hardly a hint of pungent taste usually associated with it. The scallion pancake was like a thin, crispy pizza, and the lamb dumpling reminded me of a juicy lamb burger encased in a dough overcoat. There were three sauces for dipping (a pinkish sauce made from fermented tofu, a spicy brown oily sauce, and a bland, light colored sauce – these could be mixed to add a combination sweetness, spiciness and saltiness). As captivating as all this food was, all activity came to a halt when the guest of honor arrived at the table – the chicken fertilizer. These were listed on the menu as “chicken nuts” (most likely to avoid confusion with the shrimp and fish balls), although they looked more like tiny, pale kidneys. At the waiter’s suggestion, these got dumped into the broth, although we had to drag the river for them since they declined to rise to the occasion as our waiter informed us they would. The scalding broth turned the flesh white and swelled them so that they looked like tiny hard-boiled eggs (possibly the source of their nickname, “rooster eggs”). If your weren’t aware of what they were, the image wouldn’t be even slightly disturbing.

The first attempt at rooster testicles

So what of the taste? Well, I daintily maneuvered one of the little guys into my mouth with the chopsticks, took a bite and experienced the Mount St. Helens of testicles. Scalding hot liquid filled my mouth, but since it wasn’t blistering I took the time to examine the taste. It was creamy and smooth, with a taste like egg mixed with a dash of chicken liver – it didn’t taste like chicken, but like it came from a chicken. I learned a valuable lesson after the first one, and allowed each subsequent one to cool slightly on the plate. Since only one or two of the six lunch guests cared to try one (and only one), the task of finishing off the last of them was left to yours truly. The broth was so amazing that I had them pack it up for me to take home and use for cooking, knowing that I would be better off straining it first to get rid of the twigs and seeds.

Chicken testicles aren’t everyone’s cup of tea, but as part of a greater feast are a nice touch. In some places they’re deep fried, but I recommend them in hot pot for a full appreciation of their flavor. Call me nuts, but I could handle grabbing testicles for lunch at least once a week. OK, now I’m done.

Mon Land Hot Pot City
251 W. Bencamp Street
San Gabriel, CA 91776
GPS coordinants: 34°4’43.82″N 118°6’10.34″W

See more images from Val’s trip to Mon Land Hot Pot City

Video of Val and friends enjoying rooster testicles in hot pot