Filed under: Uncategorized
“We are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not.”
—Joan Didion, Slouching Toward Bethlehem
Summer on the move. A month back east and south. Driving around the old places, like reading a story you forgot you wrote. Back to the house with the grand piano and the porch swing. The bar where you heard Jeff Buckley play just before he drowned. The church steps your friend crashed into trying to get someone to notice he was dying of love.
I’d had enough reminiscing for one summer, I wanted to go someplace new. So for my birthday we packed up the dogs and headed to LA. The city had been on my mind–I’d just read Amy Wilenz’ essays about Southern California water, wealth, and celebrity in the Schwarzenegger age. Before that, this novel set in an East LA barrio among wildfires, orchids, prophetic/murderous women and seductive small-hearted men.
Also I like bungalows and palm trees and I wanted to eat a manta ray taco. And knife-cut noodles in snail broth. And what is supposedly the best tres leches cake in America.
LA is a city of countries: Thai Town, Taiwanese Town, Koreatown, Ethiopia Town, Little Armenia, Little India, Little Saigon. And others, it’s practically a continent. It takes so long to get around it may as well have multiple time zones. You can’t eat everything there that you want in four days.
People told me I’d hate it. And true, sitting for a loud hot hazy hour and a half on the 405 did not give me a sense of well-being. But there are cozy neighborhoods tucked into the hills, gardens of plumeria and hibiscus, the smell of the ocean, brilliant barbershop signs, and an incredible diversity of ethnic food.
Every cuisine is a story of what people somewhere didn’t have and what they found and made. LA is brimming with stories. And it’s no longer a blank slate for me. It’s fiery fish ball curry from southern Thailand, and caramelized pork belly in Little Tokyo, and the huge blazing view of the city from a balcony at the Getty, and families huddled in their towels at Santa Monica Beach. Waiting at a taco truck in the cold night air and waiting out a hangover in a Oaxacan banquet hall and waiting to turn 38 over camarones borrachos and smoky crispy whole grilled snook from Mazatlan. And countless other tastes and smells and sights to trigger the heart, to go down in the old story.
Frankie contemplates mid-century modern
pork belly rice bowl in Little Tokyo
mouth-numbing "big balls" in green curry ( ground fish with duck egg centers), softshell crab with sator beans
Breakfast in the shadows...
...but can't you see my thetan shining through?
Getty Center gardens
J and J
Sinaloan/Nayarit seafood in Mar Vista
shrimp in tequila sauce
Crispy moist pescado zarandeado. Asian influence on Western Mexico--the fish are marinated in a soy-based chile sauce before grilling.
cukes for candles and a Tecate toast
Leave a Comment so far
Leave a comment
