Dirty Socks Hot Spring

The yard, not the spring

Owens Lake in California’s Eastern Sierra mountains was once a lush wetland, but since most of the water was diverted to Los Angeles, it is a dry desert bed. At the southeast edge is a small man-made pool fed from an underground spring called Dirty Socks Hot Spring. The combination of the algae and sulfur in the water give this spring its namesake odor, and these days it is a rest stop for migratory birds. The sign is not for the spring itself (you have to know where to look to find it) but a public works yard in the area. The sign is of more interest than the springs (unless you’re a birder), a bit of humor as you drive by on Highway 190 wondering if you should keep the window rolled up. If you’re looking for the spring it’s about 7 miles past Highway, they’re on Highway 190 just past Highway 395; the sign (if its still there) is somewhere along the way.

Dirty Socks Hot Spring
GPS Coordinates: 36°19’45.87″N 117°56’57.42″W

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Toast’s Best Friend (Or Worst Enemy)

United Kingdom
Marmite

Marmite - Love it or Hate it

Marmite - Love it or Hate it

Over the years, I have had the pleasure and opportunity to savor unusual food from across the globe. I have enjoyed guinea pig at at a table where the other diners didn’t like the way the entree was looking at them; I have delighted in the rich, buttery taste of the spiky and odiferous durian, while others were gagging in the bushes. To this day people wonder what is my kryptonite, my gastronomic achilles heel. Surely, there is some food-like substance that has the power to ruin my breakfast. Your honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, let the record state that for the murder of my taste buds, I find the defendant – Marmite – guilty as charged. I’m sure I am going to catch some flak from some of my British counterparts for this, but this is to be expected. In fact, the official Marmite web site is split into two sections accessed from the home page – one for folks who love it, the other for those who hate it. Hate seems like a harsh term, but it adequately describes those who intensley dislike this crime against nature disguising itself as food. Marmite is a spread for toast that is the by-product of beer production; it is a sludge-like substance made from yeast extract. It has the consistency and stickiness of molasses and the taste of salted crankcase oil from an engine run for 100,000 miles. I don’t really have a point of reference here, never having salted crankcase oil, but I’m willing to bet I’m right.

I give Marmite the old college try

I give Marmite the old college try

Marmite has been a breakfast staple in Her Majesty’s realm since 1902, originally sold in earthenware jars (presumably to keep the evil at bay). Because the source is the same, it is similar to the famous Australian Vegemite (thank you, Men at Work) but with a unique taste (since the manufacturing process is slightly different). When mentioning to my friends in the UK that I have tried Marmite for breakfast I am greeted with either a “Dear God in Heaven, why?” or “Heavenly – I love it!” The conflict between love and hatred of the spread has even prompted a classic commercial for the product that perfectly demonstrates the two sides; I will only say that it needs to be seen to be appreciated. As with any allegedly edible substance, I have given it the old college try numerous times. My first encounter with uni (sea urchin) was less than desirable, but it turns out that sampling sushi in Michigan for the first time may not be the best approach – a second attempt in California was enough to win me over. Sadly, I have tried Marmite approximately 5 times now, each with the same result. Since the traditional application is to slather the goo on toast, I’ve even tried it with artisan breads hoping to improve the experience – ever seen a loaf of bread commit suicide? At each sitting I completely eat the slice of toast, hoping that some subtle undertones or mysterious aftertastes come into play, but the result is always the same. The heady aroma of fermented yeast, paired with the saltiness and glue-like consistency always results in something like an episode of FOX TV’s “When Breakfast Foods Attack”. A freind had sent me a bag of Marmite cashews – roasted cashews lightly coated in Marmite – but for some odd reason the taste was not overwhelming and I was able to finish the bag.

Marmite cashews, a good entry point

Marmite cashews, a good entry point

Whenever I am sampling something for the first time, whether with family members or friends out dining, I always impart the same advice – do not say it’s disgusting until you try it. Have a nibble, a sip, and if you don’t like it, you’ll never have to eat it again. I do not wish to discourage anyone from trying new and unusual foods, and my opinion is just that. To those of you traveling to (or living in) the UK, I advise you to at least try some at breakfast and decide for yourself, but I strongly caution against the investment of a large jar should you decide to make a trip to the market. Personally, I believe in the manifestation of evil on Earth, and for me, Marmite is proof of that.

Marmite
Available at most UK groceries and import stores in the US

See video of Val eating Marmite
See video of Val and friends eating Marmite cashews

See a hilarious commercial for Marmite

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O What A Glorious Sicht

Scotland, UK

Burns Night Supper

The guest of honor - the haggis

The guest of honor - the haggis

Few events celebrate both a famous poet and a national dish quite like the Scottish celebration that is the Burns Supper. The event is traditionally held on the birthday of “Scotland’s favorite son” and national poet, Robert Burns. Burns was born on January 25 in 1759 and on that night it is not uncommon throughout Scotland and other parts of the United Kingdom to gather to memorialize not only Burns, but also haggis, the national dish of Scotland he made famous. The annual Burns Supper generally follows a particular structure, with the dish immortalized in Burns’ “Address to a Haggis” being the guest of honor. A true Scotsman would either be touched by Burbank’s Buchanan Arms holding a Burns Supper, or recoil in horror of having Americans give it a go for olde Rabbie Burns.

The oddly named cocky leeky soup

The oddly named cocky leeky soup

The event appeared to be advertised primarily by word of mouth – it was nearly impossible to get in. Buchanan Arms have been staging the event for years, and the proprietor mentioned that they get the same people in attendance year after year. It was difficult finding a Scottish accent in the place, but many of the men in attendance favored a kilt over pants. Friend and fellow blogger Eddie Lin wondered if a Catholic school uniform skirt could pass for a kilt, but I believe it would only give the impression that one was planning a night out in San Francisco’s Castro District. I opted for a green plaid scarf, hoping I wasn’t going to start a brawl for wearing a tartan pattern from a disgraced clan, figuring I could excuse my ignorance by stating I was cold. The event was standing room only, and I had negotiated seats at the bar, which actually gave me a good vantage point for the festivities. Traditionally a grace is given (usually the Selkirk Grace), but at this shindig the food was served without fanfare. The meal started with either a salad or cocky leeky soup. There was no way I was about to turn down a dish with a name like that, so I requested the soup. Cocky leeky (alternately cocka-a-leekie) is a simple soup made with chicken, leeks and rice. The rice was cooked down to a porridge-like consistency, which made it hard to identify, but the soup was flavorful and satisfying.

My second go at haggis

My second go at haggis

For the main course, guests could choose from five options: fish and chips, chicken, bangers and mash, roast supper with Yorkshire pudding or haggis. Being a party in celebration of said haggis, this was my obvious choice, although Claudia selected the fish and chips. She stated that it held up to the standard of what she had in England, but I noticed it was served with whole peas rather than mushy peas (which she preferred since she likened mushy peas to baby food). At a true Burns Supper, the haggis is served as the main course after the address, but since everyone else was eating, I wasn’t complaining. The haggis was served in traditional style, with tatties and neeps (mashed potato and parsnips respectively). It was quite a departure from the store-bought haggis I wrote about in a previous blog article – since haggis still cannot be imported into the United States, Buchanan Arms made their own from sheep offal and cooked it in a synthetic substitute for the lamb stomach. The taste was remarkably different than Macweens – the sheep parts outnumbered the oats, imparting a very strong, earthy flavor with less of the sweetness. Claudia compared her small bite to a cross between ground beef and liver. The strong taste was cut considerably when mixing forkfuls with the potatoes and turnips, but the trio perfectly complemented each other.

After the plates were cleared away, the pomp and circumstance began (actually “Scotland the Brave”) as a bagpiper lead the procession in true form, a massive two foot-long haggis on a silver tray taking up the rear (wow, that sounds wrong). The mini-parade wound its way through the pub to the stage, where the thick-brogued Moira Stewart addressed the haggis to a hushed crowd. In dramatic fashion, she read Burns’ “Address to a Haggis” aloud, slicing the behemoth open on queue like a Scottish Jason Vorhees. The traditional toast of Scotch whiskey followed the address; for the toast I had the barkeep supply me with a wee dram of Glenmoranie Original (which she “guessed” was 12 years old). She initially suggested Crown Royal, but it didn’t have the appropriate ring to it. Dessert (trifle) was brought out; there are an endless variety of ingredients and methods to make it. Buchanan Arms had prepared theirs with Jell-O, blancmange and some sort of crumbly cake, topped with whipped cream and a cherry. It was every bit as sweet as it sounds. The band (The Ploughboys) continued to play Irish and Scottish songs for the remainder of the evening until the revelers began to filter out.

I believe you should accept every opportunity to try a new dish coinciding with a celebration, and a Burns Supper is a good way to do both and participate in age-old tradition at the same time. Just don’t do imitations of Star Trek’s Scotty or you’re likely to end up in the haggis.

Buchanan Arms
2013 W. Burbank Blvd.
Burbank, CA 91506
(818) 845-0692
GPS coordinates: 34°10’49.83″N 118°19’59.96″W

See more images of Val attending a Burns Supper

Val attends a Burns Supper and enjoys haggis after the address:

The Address to the Haggis:

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Ice Water In Their Veins

Wall, South Dakota
Wall Drug

The sprawling cluster of buildings that make up Wall Drug

The sprawling cluster of buildings that make up Wall Drug

Have you ever been in traffic, maybe in Boston, Chicago or Atlanta and noticed a Wall Drug bumper sticker on one of the cars in front of you? Perhaps you’ve wondered, “What is this Wall Drug, and why does a drug store have bumper stickers?” The fact of the matter is that Wall Drug is a variety of things, least of which is a drug store. Part of its mystery and allure may come from the fact that it’s pretty far from anywhere. To find Wall Drug you’d have to either plan a trip out through the badlands of South Dakota or just happen to be passing through on Interstate 90. It’s impossible to ignore the signs along the highway for hundreds of miles in either direction, beckoning like The Thing on Interstate 10 in Arizona. Since there’s really nothing else around for miles, it almost makes sense to stop, which is exactly what Nebraskan pharmacist Ted Hustead and his wife Dorothy realized when they bought a little drug store in Wall, South Dakota back in 1931. What took a little time was to figure out how to get the lines of people heading down Interstate 90 to see the relatively new Mount Rushmore to stop in their little town. It was Dorothy who hit upon the idea to offer travelers free ice water, and as the saying goes, if you build it they will come. Billboards on the highway attracted travelers and business got so good that they grew from a storefront drug store to what amounts to a rustic, western-themed mall and entertainment complex encompassing an entire city block. Continue reading

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In Defense Of The Twinkie

Deep fried Twinkies

The taste sensation sweeping the nation - fried Twinkie

The taste sensation sweeping the nation – fried Twinkie

How can something so wrong be so right? Just the thought of eating a Twinkie sends a chemically-induced sugar rush up the back of my spine, so what would prompt me to brave the cellophane-wrapped snack that looks like Sponge Bob’s coffin? The opportunity to have it deep-fried. There was still a high degree of risk, but I wanted to see what the frying process did to make this foam brick from Hell edible (or more inedible). The invention of the deep fried Twinkie in 1992 is said to be attributed Shea Apple, a transplant from Great Britain who opened a chip shop in Brooklyn, New York (appropriately named “The Chip Shop”). Unlike your neighborhood chip shop (or “chippy” in the UK), The Chip Shop batters and fries everything that will survive the Frialator including pizza, macaroni and cheese, and Mars Bars. After experimenting with various snack items, he found the Twinkie to fry up quite nicely. They use the same batter used for frying fish (for the fish and chips); it is served sliced lengthwise, dusted with powdered sugar, sitting on a berry sauce-drizzled plate.

Golden goodness right out of the fryer

Golden goodness right out of the fryer

Since the initial hot oil bath in 1992, the deep fried Twinkie has grown in popularity to take its place beside its corn dog cousin as standard county and state fair food. Apparently following John B. L. Soule’s sage advice, a take on the deep fried Twinkie found a home on the west coast at no less an appropriate location than The Rose Bowl. On a recent trip there (for the swap meet – football and I don’t understand one another), I happened upon a food booth (The Dessert Factory) with the magical words “Fried Twinkie” on their sign; they also advertised fried cupcakes, but the Twinkie is the item that had piqued my curiosity. The preparation is slightly different than The Chip Shop’s – the Twinkie is unwrapped and dipped unfrozen in funnel cake batter (making it the perfect carnival food), then held in the fryer with a pair of tongs. Straight out of the fryer, it is placed on a paper plate where it gets a light flurry of powdered sugar snow and then a choice of sauce toppings (including strawberry, berry and chocolate). I opted for the strawberry, applied in spin art fashion. Unlike its photo on the web page, the Twinkie did not have a wooden stake through its sugary little heart.

Fried Twinkie-on-a-stick at Monkee's in Venice CA

Fried Twinkie-on-a-stick at Monkee’s in Venice CA

3 dollars later, I was poised to sample the hot confectionary dish knowing that it would probably taste better because I was outside. Anyone who has bought a pretzel, hot dog or bag of chestnuts from a New York City street vendor or a burrito off an L.A. taco truck will back me up on this. The plastic spoon went in and I tasted my first bite in utter amazement. Everything that I hate about Twinkies was purged through the miracle of hot oil. The cellulose sponge quality was gone – the batter was soaked up into it and fried into a light crispy texture that wasn’t greasy. The sugary center, usually having a grainy, paste-like quality was just at the gooey, melted stage without being liquid. Although not as sweet as baklava, it is still a dessert you wouldn’t want more than one of – it is a major sugar rush. This qualifies as a fun dessert to eat when out at an event, but it’s not going to have me running into the nearest 7-11 for a Twinkie fix or even tempt me to try making it at home – I’ll leave that to the trained professionals.

The Dessert Factory (at The Rose Bowl)
1001 Rose Bowl Dr.
Pasadena, CA 91103
GPS coordinates: 34°9’35.19″N 118°10’2.04″W

The Chip Shop
383 Fifth Ave. (at 6th St.)
Brooklyn, NY 11215
GPS coordinates: 40°40’14.90″N 73°59’5.07″W

See more images of Val eating a deep-fried Twinkie

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