I Can't Buy That and I Don't Know How to Make It

Los Angeles, California

Joel and I were trying to decide where to go to dinner. Our default meal is always Mexican, best when he is the cook, though we have found a Mexican restaurant where he will eat without complaining that it is American-Mexican. I remind him that he is also that, having been born in Los Angeles, but he assures me that his forebearers and the years he lived in Mexico City, from the age of 6 to 21, made his soul, and palate, Mexican. And he doesn't like Americanized Mexican food. When I texted him a picture of tofu tamales from Whole Foods, he almost had a stroke.

We often eat in a Mexican restaurant in Pasadena which is not very good. Or at best, not very consistent. But then, we eat there on Monday nights, which is a bad restaurant night anyway. It is a salsa dance venue, so eating is not the purpose of the exercise. In clubs like this, there are always classes at the beginning of the night. That is how I, and many others in the LA salsa community, learned to dance. So, while class is going on we eat dinner, drinking a Dos Equis Amber (Joel) and tequila (me). Our server, Christie, knows us well and makes certain that Joel gets the salsa he likes, not the pico de gallo which is on the table for the chips. He is not a pico de gallo kind of man. She also makes sure I get a generous pour on my tequila, which I appreciate. A little tequila can help loosen you up for salsa dance. Too much makes you wobbly and that's not good. Salsa, like many other forms of dance, requires that each movement be made with intention. Too much tequila makes you waffle in that intention, much as in life, I'm afraid. Later, after a night of dancing, we walk past King Taco, stopping to buy a tamarindo agua fresca. It is something that I have recently discovered is delicious. Especially after a night of dancing when one is dehydrated.

We have found a good Mexican restaurant locally, Sol y Luna. Joel reports that he was gratified to find that both the mole and the chile verde are authentic. And he applauds the preparation of the beans which are creamy and topped with panela cheese. My only complaint is that beer and tequila are served in glasses so heavy you can barely lift them.  But I enjoy watching Joel taste everything and evaluating its authenticity. They have housemade tortillas which is certainly a plus.

We have also found a hole-in-the-wall joint in a strip mall in the heart of Van Nuys which makes cemitas poblanas, which are these killer sandwiches on soft rolls. The restaurant is Cemitas Don Adrian. These fluffy-roll sandwiches contain meat with two kinds of cheese (there is also a salmon and a vegetarian version) and an herb that I have yet to identify or, at least, catagorize. They are huge and delicious. I could only eat half of my pollo adobado. Joel ordered the barbacoa, which he had been talking about since we passed a small storefront advrtising it, near Culver City. I want to go back and try the milanesa that they do with steak, pork or chicken. They didn't have the tamarindo aqua fresca. Joel got his jamaica, a very sweet ruby red drink which is made from hibiscus. He likes that more than the tamarindo. I got horchata, which always reminds me of Christmas as it is slightly reminiscent of egg nog.

But tonight we couldn't nail down where we wanted to eat. When he asked me where I wanted to go, I said I don't know. To that, Joel responded: I can't buy that and I don't know how to make it. I lit up at hearing that, grabbing my phone to make a notation of it on my memo page entitled Writing, and using it three times as soon as I could so I could get it into regular patter rotation. Meanwhile, Joel suggested Italian, but I don't have a decent Italian in my neighborhood. Besides the local Mexican restaurant, there is a good hamburger place with craft beers, and PF Chang's for Chinese, which is where we went. PF Chang's isn't a great chain. And they are wildly inconsistent from one to another. But we have found a good-enough one, which has comfortable booths and provides a healthy pour on my scotch (no small thing). We're big on dumplings and soup. But it was way too hot for soup, so we got spicy chicken, and garlic noodles. He had a Kirin, and I had a Glenlivet. We do Chinese well, but we stay away from dishes with a lot of vegetables, as Joel eats like a twelve-year old when it comes to vegetables. I have gotten him to eat artichokes, and also asparagus, both with lots of aioli. And he will eat salad. Some salads. But he won't even taste the many other vegetables that I enjoy. And he has a real hate on for tomatoes. In spite of that, tonight he had a hankering for Italian food. How is it that a tomato-hater can crave red-sauced, southern Italian food? I don't know! And, I can't buy that and I don't know how to make it...