two burgers and some fillings in between
Land of the Freeaky
I repeated a trip to the EE. UU. much of a muchness to last yearses, but instead of Portland, OR, and Seattle, WA, I saw Santa Barbara and then visited New York City (next post) for the first time in over half a decade. I did almost no research this time other than saving unsolicited recommendations, and some asked-for ones from London residents (Feroz, Evan…). A quick search for where an office lunch might lead minutes after landing in Los Angeles led to finding LA-Taco-approved ‘ban-ban’ burger, which seemed to be the kind of thing that was very common in Big American City but would do bits in stylish London and (certainly other Alpha + or lower ones). In Tehrangeles (Sawtelle), we sat alongside some vocal-fried SoCal ABCs and luxuriated in the evergreen 2010s Thaimerican-Diner format, pandan milkshakes and curry-powder dusted fries, or maybe it was curry-ketchup.
BanBan
The rest of my time in Los Angeles was largely inoffensive and forgettable, repetitive Ubers to Erewhon, the same ‘Nozie’ 7-roll order at Kazunori (the spicy yamaimo remains great), the best of the protein shakes came from an undesigned truck outside of THE MECCA of bodybuilding; coconut milk accented cold brew with a macadamia foam or milk felt refreshing but needlessly Angeleno.
Coconut Cold Brew - Little Lunch
@Amarilis_Bowl_And_Juicebar
Golds Venice.
Walking through during the tail-end of the UCLA encampments and arrests, I wondered how the out-of-place Westwood Yemeni Mandi spot was doing; it sat across the road from the campus period cinema and handroll bar location; I expensed an UberBlack to Original Matsuhisa, where we sat in a dingy covid-patio/tent and had New Style Sashimi, and ‘off-menu’ New Style Sashimi with crispy shallots, scallops with kiwi and black garlic, crispy tuna - essentially every Nikkei item invented by NB and amongst ourselves we traded stories about recent celebrities that we heard passed through the location - our friend John had refreshingly never heard of Matsuhisa, which lead to some ‘nigiri is eaten with your fingers’ style of conversation. I took a pair of chopsticks home and thought about how the crispy rice cost the same in Erwehon.
I'm sittin' in Matsuhisa, restaurant's old, but the sauce incredible
Lamenting the lack of an invite to Chateau Marmot (West LA Chiltern Firehouse), I went instead to Burgette, the new opening by Bar Monette. The smashed-salmon burger served Millenial style (steak knife stuck down the middle) was forgettable, as was the charged-for Bordier-butter and tradition. But the hot chocolate coated cold-vanilla filled croissant was a hit - something to trek through needle-filled downtown santa monica at night for even.
But first, le burger.
Directed by a new-London acquaintance, I went to Bé Ù - Vietnamese Street Food & Comfort Food, we took-away some summer rolls and walked to a calisthenics park nearby. The cafe-suda was fine, all the portions seemed huge. EaHo its probably not called.
HW Being H(imself)
Gargantuan portions and horrendously loud 2024 hip-hop soundtrack over a conversation about ‘Rap-Beef’ at Little Fatty turned out to be the most unpleasant meal across 3 weeks. Little original is left to be said about Urthh Caffee (Aboods etc .. the inventor of the spanish latte.. etc ) - except that i tried actually eating in it for the first time, and wished I got the matcha tiramisu instead of the ‘Urthh Salad’ - which seemed to have that uniquely Ameircan quality of being plausibly healthy on paper but somehow still having the effected of a flamin’hotmala on the body in practice - feeling weary and unfibrous in the hours after imbibement.
An overdue trip to the San Gabriel Valley / 626 was crammed in before the drive to Santa Barbara, and I coincidentally saw the Gold-standard Chong Qing Special Noodles. I remembered Nunn’s words and read Golds’ and delighted myself in ordering the you po before i saw its last-paragraph mention in the 2018 Counter Intelligence piece printed behind the menu and plastered on the door. We spoke about Chinese politics for some reason, and whether or not the CCP had roving surveillance units outside of the 99 Ranch Markets. One of which we visited in a decaying strip mall that only had the supermarket left, was about the size of the ExCel centre.
‘thick hand-cut you po noodles tossed with vinegar, herbs and frangant oil
After a drive up a congested PCH and through Malibu, we arrived at foggy and mystical Santa Barbara, a movie-set town ran through some of the stricest building-regulations on the continent, all so it can look like a Cote d’Azur town in Spanish Colonial Revival style. The town theatre and courthouse exemplified the sort of tasteful cowboy architecture. At McConnel’s, I now learn is a SoCal institution, across two visits I would have horchata frozen yoghurt, and something with peppermint and cheesecake. Only two people were allowed to stand in the store at a time. All the parents looked like old-Hollywood actors (not really old, like Montecito resident Julia Louis-Dreyfus aged), tanned and trim. The Barberenos gave me a complex so I couldn’t take any real photos.
One at a time. please.
At Julia Child’s favourite La-Superica, the tacos seemed about as good as those at the shiny new time-out market style Santa Barbara food-hall. Revealing more about my knowledge of Mexican cuisine than a comment about the minutiae of Santa Barberan taco execution. I’d order my fourth horchata of the trip and needlessly a Mexican Coke, showing off to no one in particular.
La Superica
During a trip to Isla Vista, I’d try recommendations from the born and raised SBean, commentary included on when the best or usual time to have certain items were - peanut butters at Blenders in the Grass (where they served a ginger shot to us in a small plastic sauce pot - the sort you might get a takeaway of salsa in), gainer bowl or some similar name at Backyard Bowls, and the onion rings at Habit (local in-n-out rival) which were some of the best fast-food sides this side of the bicoastal divide. We’d walk and swim and spectate a sunset on the University of California, Santa Barbara campus and deeply mourn a late-teenagehood that wasn’t had. The layout of the town and its frathouses seemed like the platonic ideal of university life in the west - little to do and nature’s bounty to explore at your doorstep.
UCSB campanile
Ode to an ocean
At 6.30 AM, Handlebar opened - Santa Barbara’s only ‘third-wave’ ‘speciality’ coffee shop where we went two or three times. A strange man sat in the corner all day from day to night, less reading his magazine stack and more entertaining/bothering the locals, we would see him later on at a bookstore in Montecito. Like the entire country, the coffee was verging on awful but only remained ignorable instead. I didn’t get any merchandise, but wondered what made American coffee.
