‘Mac and Cheese’
A couple of weeks ago, Squidink tossed out a list of the 9 Best Macaroni and Cheese Dishes in LA. Naturally, my mouth was watering profusely as I read through and saw the gooey, holy cheesus. And, while they all looked awesome, there was only one that I felt the need to eat immediately. This was Chef Marilyn’s Soul Food Express, which resides in that fascinating part of west LA on Pico and La Brea.
Here we have a long-awaited new guest blog from none other than @RGspiegel. Catch more of his writing here.
Disclosure I: David Marcus, one of the owners of Smoke Shack, is my second cousin.
Disclosure II: I’m starting a movement such that cousins are classified only as first or second cousins. How much better is that than trying to figure out your exact relationship to your dad’s first cousin’s son with somethingth-cousin-somethingths-removed? A lot.
Disclosure III: Smoke Shack was legitimately awesome.
Now that my and Unvegan’s journalistic integrity are squarely intact, I can begin the review of my glorious Saturday lunch at Smoke Shack, a BBQ restaurant that opened up about a month ago in Milwaukee’s third ward.
Two of the things I love most in this world are beer and my belly. No, I don’t have a beer belly…much, but when a gastropub in Koreatown called Beer Belly opened up, I figured I had to try it out. I was meeting a group of people, and arrived to find the place packed. And this was not a big place. Like about 8 tables and a few bar stools big, and all of them were loaded. Plus, it was first come, first served, so we got to hang around the tables like vultures surrounding a wounded gazelle. It was the tail end of happy hour, though, so I ordered a beer and hoped a table would clear out soon. Fast forward thirty minutes and we’re still waiting when a woman working the place asks if we’re waiting for a table. Uh, no, lady, we’re just standing here awkwardly for the hell of it. She then proceeded to ask us if we wanted to be on the list. This “list” was new to us, and apparently also new to her, as she told us she had just started it. Well, at least we wouldn’t have to stand awkwardly any longer.
To celebrate yet another Dine LA Restaurant Week, we found ourselves at Simon LA in the Sofitel Hotel in Beverly Hills. I’m not usually one for restaurant ambience unless that ambience is dingy and dirty, but I really appreciated the way that Simon LA was decorated. In our little booth, we were seated near the middle of the restaurant, yet felt like we were in our own little world because the booth was half-surrounded by some really cool woodsy decor. Not like backwoodsy, but modern and classy. I looked at both the Dine LA menu and the regular menu, then quickly came to conclusion: Dine LA was dead to me.
Not too long ago, a new bar/grill opened in Culver City called Rocco’s Tavern. If you are at all from my generation, the name Rocco evokes memories of one of the greatest Nicktoons ever: Rocko’s Modern Life. Okay, the name is spelled differently, which may explain why neither wallabies nor turtles were on the menu. Instead, the menu was chock-full of some typical bar food. With the Tigers game on the TVs surrounding the bar, I sat down, ordered a happy hour beer (2 for 1 from 3-7 everyday) and decided what to order.
We all cherish those moments in life where we have the privilege of basking in luxury and feeling like we are rich. Last night, I was extraordinarily lucky to eat with one of my best friends at Smith & Wollensky in Chicago and got to enjoy luxury without any of the drawbacks because, well, he has the hook up.
With seats outside overlooking the Chicago River and downtown skyline on a beautiful night, we were ready to indulge. Immediately after sitting down, our drink orders were taken (I ordered a Diet Coke because I prefer soda paired with food to alcohol), and we were brought a plate of warm, fresh bread. The bread was outstanding, seasoned with salt and garlic, and it took every ounce of our willpower to turn down a second round when we finished the plate. We were voraciously hungry and there for a feast but this would be a marathon, not a sprint. More bread now would come at the expense of stomach room for steak later, so we begrudgingly delayed gratification.
The drive from North Hollywood to Encino on the 101 during a Friday lunch hour is quite possibly the worst 10 mile stretch of road in the nation. Yet, to meet my girlfriend for lunch, I made that drive without seeing nary a Brennan Frasier-shaped caveman. We met at Coral Tree Cafe and after such a terrible drive I was craving some comfort food to counter the traffic blues I was feeling. We walked up to the counter to order and my eyes quickly made contact with their Baked Macaroni and Cheese. It wasn’t what you would consider an ideal food for a 90+ degree day in the Valley, but looked like it would hit the spot.
Thanks to @waldocent for the guest post. Check out his website here.
The last time I was in Chicago, about three years ago, the only thing on my mind was pizza, pizza, and more pizza. However, on my most recent visit it was all about the beef. Burgers, of course.
I arrived in Chicago from Los Angeles at 7 in the morning after no sleep, because this wasn’t some ordinary red-eye. You see, I had a four hour layover in Las Vegas, where I left the airport, watched the fountain show at the Bellagio, placed $20 on black and WON while slurping down a few cocktails before returning to the airport, only to realize that I forgot to do one of the most essential things: EAT. So upon my arrival to Chicago, I declared to the only person listening – my cousin Jesica – that this wasn’t just a trip for me, but also my taste-buds and, to that, Jesica and many others directed me to a burger joint called DMK Burger Bar.
Perched on a corner in downtown Culver City, I have somehow managed to avoid Akasha. “Why?” you ask. Well the answer isn’t so simple. I have no excuse. With a Japanese-sounding name and the knowledge that Akasha wasn’t a sushi place, I should have flocked to Akasha much sooner, but it took a tour of Culver City with my mom to finally come face to face with the place. What I found was truly intriguing. Akasha wasn’t Japanese at all.
A few months ago, a sign appeared in North Hollywood for a soon-to-open restaurant called Otis Jackson’s Soul Dog. The sign claimed “premium hot dogs & soul fixins” and while I wondered who the hell Otis Jackson was, I figured that this place wasn’t just serving the hot dog meat, but also the souls of the animals in the hot dogs. But, with Vicious Dogs just a 3 minute walk down the street, this was going to have to be a damn good hot dog to compete.