Waiter! -- This Food Is Too Fresh!

First, apologies for infrequent posts of late. I'm scribbling about food when my novel is being uncooperative, but I've had a good few weeks of writing -- which means less time for foodblogging. This is a good thing.

But you know, I've had something gnawing at me for awhile. My plan in this space was to write only about places I like, places that I think you should check out. I've had some pretty awful meals as research that you'll never hear about. But I have a little bit of rant for today that was inspired by my visit to Hot's Cantina in Northridge.

I read about Hot's when it came up #1 in an AOL Citysearch poll of L.A.'s top five Mexican restaurants, beating out places like La Serenata de Garibaldi and El Cholo. Not that I don't think anyplace could beat El Cholo for Mex food, but I'd never even heard of "Hot's." So I made the Conrad-like journey up the 405 to the Deep Valley to visit its shopping mall location.

Now over the years, I've been a fan of "Fresh Mex" joints. I loved the fish burritos at Poquito Mas, the shrimp tacos at Baja Fresh, and when you could finally get decent carne asada at the Beverly Center thanks to La Salsa, I was overjoyed. I still love the lobster burrito at Rubio's, but that's a topic for another post.

But you know what? I'm bored with the whole genre, and Hot's was the straw that broke the charbroiled chicken's back. The decor is fabulous, all tropical Mexican indoor thatch. There's groovy '70's deep tracks playing on the sound system. The waitresses are hotties of the type that only exist in that part of the Valley. The chips were delicious, greasy and stuck together three-thick the way I like 'em. The salsa bar had the usual array of mild green, hot red, and smoky chipotle sauces, fresh lime and onion/cilantro mix. My food was, indeed, fresh, and it comes on those faux-vintage metal beer trays.
But the recommended "BBQ Chicken Taco" was as bland as could be: a flour tortilla with a skewer of chicken breast covered with an utterly lame BBQ sauce. The fresh mex salad, boring. And the special board freaked me out. Sushi Burritos? Shrimp Tempura Tacos with Mango Salsa? Give me a freakin' break.

It was this day I decided: I'm sick of "Fresh Mex." I'm sick of that same salsa bar, the same tender grilled chicken, the watery salsas, the underseasoned pinto beans, the soggy burritos, the whole I-can-make-this-spicy-if-I-drown-it-in-Tapatio rigmarole. To hell with "fresh." When I go for tacos or a burrito or a plate of chile verde, the last thing I want is "fresh."

The Mexican food I love is poor people's food, a couple pieces of pork and beef stretched by a thrifty old matriarch into a week's worth of meals. I want chile colorado that's been stewing in that abuela's pot for days. I want pork that's been marinating for the adobado for a week. I want the crispy, caramelized edges of slightly burned barbacoa. I want bits of blackened carne asada, scraped from the same overworked grill that also gives the tortillas a bit of meat flavor when heated. I want thick smoky salsas that have congealed a little to concentrate the texture and flavor. I want moles that take months to prepare and taste like every ingredient in a barren cupboard was used. And every now and again, I want lard in my beans. I want my Mexican food down, amigo, and yes, I want it a little bit dirty.

Sure, I'll go to Poquito Mas if it's there, have a couple of tacos and some pasty black beans, and it'll be fine. But whereas a few years ago I couldn't wait for a Baja Fresh or La Salsa in my neighborhood, now that they're there I find myself wishing that just one of them had an abuela behind the counter, her chile verde getting just a little crispy in the bottom of the pot.

For now, I drive past those places, and go to Yuca's.

Walking the Walk -- Taquito Talk

Cielito Lindo
23 Olvera St. E
Los Angeles, CA 90012

(213) 687-4391

Juanita Cafe (Juanita's)
20 Olvera St. E
Los Angeles, CA 90012

(213) 628-1013

La Noche Buena
12 Olvera St. E
Los Angeles, CA 90012

(213) 628-2078

See links below for further information.

The very first restaurant I remember visiting, at age 3, was the venerable Lupe's in Thousand Oaks. I was three years old. I had a hamburger. On my next visit I had taquitos, and I've been hooked ever since. Lupe's waitresses used to wager on how many taquitos I could down during a meal. They usually lost. Not long after, my culinarily-challenged mom discovered the frozen Mar-kes brand taquitos (before they became "Marquez" and changed their recipe much to the worse) that came six to a box, complete with a frozen baggie of the unique creamy avocado puree that seems only to appear on taquitos. I was perfectly happy to have 'em for dinner three times a week, and mom was happy to fry and oblige.

So when I heard a few years ago about the "world-famous" taquito joint at the bottom of Olvera Street, I had to check it out. And Cielito Lindo is certainly famous. Their website claims Orson Welles, Rita Hayworth, and Marlon Brando as enthusiastic -- albeit dead -- regulars. There's almost always a line there, and while there are some token other items on the miniscule menu, everyone's ordering taquitos, including me. But after years of performing quick "drop me off and drive around the block" maneuvers with my wife to procure them anytime we were within three blocks of the place, I got curious about the other taquito joints that line the East side of Olvera Street. Last week, I decided it was time for a taquito walk, just to make sure I was really addicted to the best taquitos on the block.

I love Olvera Street, for shopping, food, the swirl of mexican trinkets and clothes, the competing mariachi bands, and the genuine history at the heart of the city. Starting at the bottom of the hill, on the corner of Alameda and Cesar Chavez, is Cielito Lindo itself. A shack, a decaying sign, a counter, dudes rolling up piles of shredded beef machaca into fresh tortillas and dropping 'em into two big, wok-like deep fryers, a couple dozen at a time, serving 'em up fresh, hot, and perfectly crispy at the edges. There are two or three indoor tables, but this is street food, best eaten sitting on the brick planter wall right across from the shop. The taquito is like a mexican hot dog in that it has only three ingredients: meat, container, and sauce. But the sum is greater than its parts. Cielito Lindo's are undeniably delicious, and frankly closer in vibe to my old Mar-kes frozen favorites than what you'll get if you order a taquito at a restaurant. These have no salsa fresca, no chunky guac, no finely grated white cheese, and certainly no fuckin' sour cream. If you must taint your taquito, get the "combo" that comes with beans and cheese, and put a little of the smoky red salsa picante on your paper plate.

The Cielito Lindo taquito itself is almost chewy. The meat is sinewy and subtly seasoned. The sauce is tangy, and so thin that it's hard to believe it came from an avocado. It coats the slender golden-brown taquitos like hot green candle wax on a supermodel's fingers. You can't eat just two; I prefer them the way Mar-kes used to dish 'em up: by the half-dozen.

But on this day, I settle for two, and move on up the street.

Juanita Cafe, a few doors up, has people buying stuff besides taquitos, but taquitos are still the top item on their menu. As they should be. The differences between Cielito Lindo's and the fried rolls of goodness here are subtle, but noticeable. The machaca is a little more adventurously seasoned, and simultaneously fluffier and more substantial. The fried tortilla fights back a little, but isn't as downright leathery as the one down the road. And the sauce, the all-important sauce, is a scoche tangier, slightly thicker, with a little more of a kick. And a fiery salsa rojo similar to CL's is available for you heat-seekers.

I'm here to tell you that Juanita's makes the best taquito on Olvera Street.

Next up the street is El Rancho Grande. Same deal here: a wider range of menu items, but taquitos still get prime billing. Now to non-taquito lovers, no doubt all taquitos taste alike. But for me, this one just kinda sucked. Flavorless tortilla, average beef, and sauce that was over-whipped into a sort of avocado meringue. Not unlike the knockoff crap from those companies whose frozen taquitos, sadly, replaced Mar-kes.

Next up, La Noche Buena (ah, remember the delicious and festive Christmas beer of the same name from Dos Equis? No longer available in this country... I've asked) showed real promise. The taquito shell fried up a little bit flakier that the others... not chewy at all, but light, almost reminiscent of an eggroll skin. Nice. The sauce, too, was more complex: closer to guacamole, with visible bits of cilantro swimming in it. Add a little salsa verde with big chunks of onion and cilantro from the giant bowl on the counter, and you've got an attractive set of taquitos indeed.. But the final result was disappointing. The slightly acrid taste of overtaxed cooking oil -- or perhaps less-than-fresh machaca -- spoiled what was the best-looking taquito of the bunch.

Then there's Rodolfo's, the last taquitoria at the top of the street. And here, humble reader, I've let you down. I miscalculated my taquito intake on the way up the street, and was just plain too full to sample their deep-fried tubes of glory.

The waitresses at Lupe's would be very, very disappointed in me.

But perhaps it's a boon for you. You don't want to hear my take on EVERY taquito joint on Olvera street do you?

So do me a favor. Go to Rodolfo's. Let me know how it is.

Meet Okonomiyaki -- Haru Ulala

Haru Ulala

368 E. 2nd Street
Los Angeles, CA 90012
(213) 620--1120

Google Local Info, including map, directions, and more reviews

My friend Kent spent a lot of time in Japan a few years ago. When I launched LA Food Crazy, he immediately e-mailed to ask if I had come across anyplace that serves okonomiyaki. I'd never heard of okonomiyaki. It was, he said, his favorite meal in Japan.

For Kent's birthday, he demanded okonomiyaki. He sent me the results of a Google search which had turned up four places that serve it in the LA area, and asked if I'd finish up the research and pick a place.

I said sure. After a full morning's research I had discovered... that there are only four places in LA county that serve okonomiyaki. Two are in Torrance (sorry, not driving there on a Saturday), one is in Westwood (Korean-operated... not necessarily bad, but not likely to be very authentic either).

And then there was a place I'd never heard of, Haru Ulala, near the south end of Little Tokyo. We were going downtown to visit the display of Oscar-consideration costumes at Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandise (an extraordinary yearly event, btw. Anyone into movies, costumes, or both should check it out), so Little Tokyo it was.

Turns out Okonomiyaki is worth the search, and Haru Ulala is my new fave J-town destination.

The place is just a half dozen banquettes, configurable into different sizes by clever sliding room dividers. Perfect for large-sized groups. Interestingly, though okonomiyaki is listed on their website, it doesn't appear on any of their confusing array of three different menus.

This is Izakaya-style Japanese food... which is to say, bar food. The Japanese equivalent of chicken wings, potato skins, nachos, and fried calamari, or perhaps more accurately, of Spanish tapas. All the items on the three menus are inexpensive, small plates of snack food.

We were totally stabbing in the dark with our order, but did pretty well once we got past the slimy "shredded yams," which dripped with a snotty goo; a decidedly un-Western aesthetic that the mild, jicama-like flavor failed to overcome.

Everything after that was fantastic. The grilled calamari with shiitake mushroom, thin strips of squid browned in butter with small, delicate shiitakes, was still being discussed days later. A small stewed pork rib was fall-off-the-bone tender. Fried soft shell crab served with ponzu dipping sauce was as light and tender as I've ever had. Fried cheese was as far from the mozzarella fingers at TGIFriday's as you can imagine.

But we were here for the okonomiyaki. In a couple of the other local places it's a make-it-yourself-at-the-table operation at, like shabu shabu or Korean BBQ. Going DIY would terrify me with this recipe. You can get an idea of how the operation should go here. To see how it can go horribly wrong, scroll about 2/3 down the page at this delicious-looking archive of Daily Gluttony -- a terrific food blog, btw. At Haru Ulala, okonomiyaki is mercifully prepared in the kitchen. We ordered two, one for the vegetarians at the table, and one seafood version.

How to describe okonomiyaki? It's somewhere between a pizza, a pupusa, an omelette and a latke. Shredded yam, cabbage, egg, flour, and your choice of ingredients get mixed up, grilled, flipped like an omelette, then slathered with a sweet brown sauce and drizzled with mayonnaise. One came with writhing bonito flakes on top -- a subtle flavor but a freaky image. Don't try eating this on acid. (Or... do. ) The fluffy eggs, crisp cabbage, and julienned Chinese yam (slimy goo thankfully cooked away in this version) provide a variety of textures that still doesn't overwhelm the ingredients you choose for your "pizza." The brown sauce and mayo help pull all the different textures and flavors together into a savory, creamy goodness.



Sound like hangover food? It is. It's rich, sweet, comfort cuisine perfect for a rainy night (if we ever have one of those again in L.A.), yet leaves you feeling surprisingly light and healthy. Wash it back with beverages from their extensive list of beer ($8.00 pitchers of Kirin) and soju (including an array of Japanese sojus, which are much more intense than their light, slightly sweet Korean counterparts), and it's hard to imagine a more satisfying and fun group meal.

I have read one or two mentions in other reviews of uneven service. Not for us! Our server Sayuko, aside from being take-her-home-and-keep-her adorable, gave us some of the best service I've had in recent memory.

And seriously, somebody out there needs to capitalize on the untapped okonomiyaki market. A stand specializing in this stuff next to a popular dive bar in Koreatown would make a fortune.