Gastrologica

Finally, Vindication

2007-10-02T16:40:00.000-07:00

I was reading something Sarah wrote over at The Delicious Life. She wrote it a while ago, but the irony of reading an article about Food Blogging Burnout (one of the signs is not reading food blogs with regularity), made me chuckle then nod affirmitively. So she was addressing me telepathically.

Dan and I decided to shelve Gastrologica, The Podcast, for now. Our reasons are well-documented, all revolving around conflicting schedules. I think the run of audio Gastro was a good one, and now I have an anthology with a beginning and an end...unlike U2, who just won't go away.

That doesn't mean I've been idle. I have been working to develop a direction to take Gastrologica, and it would seem that video is the next evolutionary step. In other words, I'm going to take more traditional routes to build an audience.

Podcasting is a great technology that allows widespread distribution of free speech. Vox populi finally has a viable soapbox, but the arena is oversaturated. Like most speculative content, a podcast is developed at the expense of the producer and is difficult to monetize in a way that would support an active lifestyle.

I made a conscious decision earlier this year that I wouldn't contribute to other commercial outlets without getting compensated. I stopped posting restaurant reviews on other sites, and unintentionally ignored Gastrologica, the Online Magazine.

As it turns out, posting to other sites wasn't a complete waste of time. A lovely woman was reading my review of The Fisherman's Outlet while waiting at that very place for a friend. The friend happened to work for KPCC.

Because of her introduction, I was able to land a gig writing food commentaries for a show called Off-Ramp. It airs on NPR Radio, 89.3, Saturdays at noon.

Keeping with my standard policy and style, I've already received a few complaints.

http://gastrologica.com/complaints.mp3 <-----this is my first audio trophy.

I finally get paid to write things people will complain about. I've made it!

That's Not Yo Gazpacho

2007-09-25T23:59:00.000-07:00

This isn't your grandmother's gazpacho, especially if you're not Andalusian.

I love gazpacho made with heirloom tomatoes. Heirlooms are colorful and charismatic, each one having its own vivid personality. Some are sprightly red, and have a good disposition and like to jump rope. Some look like a mad scientist injected squid ink before mating them with a pumpkin. Others are swirled purple, borderline pornographic, but friendly. Finally, some of the larger cultivars look downright cantankerous.

As such, they are widely considered to be horrifically ugly, scaring the more fragile consumers. Many people probably think they're from stockpiles that have been sitting around Chernobyl for the last 30 years. But they would be wrong.

Don't be fooled by their unkempt appearance. Heirlooms may look like prime candidates for the Tomato Special Olympics but they are intelligent fruits, with blue-blood heritages. Ok, I'm overstating the case.

The idea behind heirlooms is to preserve the unadulterated look and taste of the cultivar, or family line for that particular tomato. They are not hybrids, and rely on open pollentation to be considered true heirlooms. In contrast, mainstream tomatoes like Romas, Hothouse or Beefsteak are bred for the purposes of looking appealing to the consumer's eye, not the greatest advancement of unique flavor.

We all know what happens when you do that. You get a middle-of-the-bell-curve product that neither sucks, nor excels. Remember how weird you felt when you first learned the tomato is a fruit? How about Rock Hudson?

Had you eaten an heirloom, you would have quickly accepted them as fruit. Many heirlooms have a rich and tangy sweetness, similar to grape tomatoes. That sweetness has been bred out of mainstream tomatoes, for the most part.

So, that's why I prefer the heirlooms if they are available. If they are not, use the Hothouse or vine ripened tomato. I avoid Romas and Beefsteaks, as I find them rather meaty, and are more appropriate for a salsa, rather than a gazpacho.

By the lengthy setup I devoted to exotic tomatoes, you probably think the rest of the ingredients will be some eclectic carnival of textures and flavors. Sort of. I like a bright gazpacho, nothing too complex. I want the central flavor to be the tomatoes, and everything else should augment it, not obscure it. The key to working with a vegetable based dish is to not overshoot the goal by incorporating too many flavors.

For example, I never order a pizza with everything. The intent gets lost under the vast pile of junk that suffocates the pizza. If you do it right, you'll have several beautifully orchestrated flavors that would harmonize like the Three Tenors. If you botch the proportions, it will be like the Galludet Choir.

So, I use a proportion of six medium sized heirlooms to two cucumbers. Once you've covered those two, you are free to go ape shit. Just keep it to a controlled ape shit.

Traditionally, gazpacho is for lazy goons. It has only about seven ingredients and they didn't even bother cooking it. It is still coveted for that reason. The remaining ingredients would be onion, garlic, vinegar, olive oil, and pepper of some kind.

How you can get creative with that is mix up the cultivars. There are dozens of onion and pepper varieties that will allow for varying levels of spice and sweetness. Just remember balance. You don't want it tasting like sherbet.

Texture is another subjective quality. You can make a fine dice out of everything, like a pico de gallo. You can blend it smooth like a vichyssoise.

Or you can do both, as I did.

For this, I used:

6 different heirloom cultivars

2 cucumbers, seeded

1 yellow bell pepper

1 red bell pepper

1 shotglass of chopped parsley

1 large shallot

sea salt

Blend the tomatoes, shallots and cucumbers for a long time until you get a smooth puree. It should have a lot of air incorporated to it, evidenced by the blanching of the original color of the vegetables. Salt to taste while it is blending, and if you're technique is bad, watch your ceiling turn into a Jackson Pollock painting.

Meanwhile, fine dice the yellow pepper, red pepper and parsley, this is what people will use to garnish. Hard boiled egg is also traditional, but I didn't serve it.

Frankly, this gazpacho base is solid enough to carry many diced vegetables or garnishes, as long as the garnish doesn't overpower the soup. You could even crisp up chanterells or shittakes (I love how Google spell check suggested "shit takes" as a correction), for a nice texture contrast.

Go insane, I don't care.

Throw diced beets in there with raw ahi. Swizzle truffle oil on it.

Most people are weirded out by a chilled soup, without ever considering the refreshing benefits on a hot day. By mixing in some surprise elements, it just might convert a few die-hards to try a few spoonfulls. Perhaps they will like it enough to give sushi a try.

One step at a time.

Thinkin' 'bout Food

2007-09-24T20:59:00.000-07:00

Well, you would assume a foodwriter would be thinking about food, but you can figure out for yourself I haven't put much effort into writing -let alone thinking- about food.

Until I found my new passion, and my new audience for culinary art. I'm not talking about my radio gig, I'm talking about many of the new friends I've met over the last few months who have become almost as close as family...and they're polite enough to tell me my cooking is superlative.

I'm truly humbled. So, I've actually been doing quite a lot of cooking. And a fair amount of writing, just not for Gastrologica.

Now it's time to blow off the keyboard and oil the spacebar, because I'm going to start posting with more regularity. I'm not shooting for daily posts. I want to reserve what I share with Gastro readers to significant thoughts about food and cooking...or at least something funny.

Daily posting would water down the quality and frankly burn me out before I got out of the gate. Writing about food inherently makes work out of eating, as well as preparing, meals. So, food becomes labor, which is a certified labor of love.

Some of the things I've been working on lately have been: osso buco (4 stars)
fried Old Amsterdam cheese crisps (19 stars)
grilled lamb with mushroom cream truffle sauce (4 stars)
macaroni and cheese (4 stars, for the kids)
vanilla cream crab on fried wonton crisps with sauteed Bartlett pears (34 stars).

For the first time, I will also pass along a wine recommendation. If you can afford it, pick up some Lindemans Cask 45 Cab Sav 2005. The 2006 is good, but the 2005 has a rich, buttery flavor with a mellow bite at the end. It costs as much as the GDP of Tanzania, about five dollars and fifty cents.

Go Meaten!

2007-09-24T20:57:00.001-07:00

I realize when I say Go Meaten you may likely view me as a beer-guzzling cornpone blurting the contrarian position of embracing poor health, and eating meat solely for pleasure’s sake. Meaties -excuse me- Meataunds are viewed as consumptive libertines grinding our way through a limitless battlefield of dead animals and rended carcasses.

It is no secret that vegetarians and their vacuous cult brethren vegans shudder when a person asserts their love of meat or animal products. Chances are this is not you. If you are enjoying this site or any other food media outlet, then I’m most likely preaching to the choir.

Yet, someone besides Larry the Cable Guy has to counterbalance the discordant shriek of the Veggie mob. Everyone expects a Meataund to carry a shotgun and speak like Ted Nugent. This is because the Veggie contingent has done its best to politicize Meataunds.

They want to characterize us as gun-toting, truck driving NRA cowboys that vote for whatever Republican statue is running for office. Which is why it is so important for a moderate voice to champion our cause.

And that moderate voice is me. I’m addressing the Veggies and I want you Go Meaten.

It is vital to have a moderate voice because reasonable people rarely sound an alarmist note, pick up a sign, take to the streets, or get in someone’s face while they’re trying to get to work. Fringe elements like Veggies are eternally shoving pamphlets in our hands, scowling when we order a hamburger, and otherwise carry on a nauseatingly relentless campaign to convert the entire world to Veggies.

How many times have I sat with a Veggie friend (that I met in college, and yet still tolerate their intolerance), ordered eggs benedict only to watch their face contort with disgust as they self-righteously proclaim “I would never eat anything with a face. I would not use anything that exploits an animal,” or some similar quote they memorized off a bumper sticker.

Of course they aren't content to broadcast what they would do. The conversation inevitably becomes how I should give up meat, or try an alternative protein substitute.

That’s when I lose it. Friend or no, its bad enough to listen to someone proselytize how I should change my beliefs so I can enjoy salvation after I die. Now I have to listen to someone lecture me on how I should live before I die. If they had their way. Fundamentalists and Veggies would successfully vacuum every last atom of enjoyment out of life.

I’ve heard all the aruments before. Don't bother revving up your propaganda machine. I know you will frame your arguments in the most dishonest terms, like the hemp crowd...and don't think there isn't widespread crossover between the two.

Just as the hemp crowd uses the overriding cultural necessity of making rope as the foundation for legalizing marijuana, the Veggie cult is forever broadcasting the false argument that vegetarianism is the singular healthy lifestyle. The hidden message is that animals should be held in higher esteem than humans.

So Veggies, we have endured your shameful finger wagging for long enough. It’s time to sit back in your bean bag, take a hit of whatever it is you’re smoking, and listen to why a Meaten World is better.

1. If we relied solely on meat, we would cut illegal immigration to a fraction of what it is today. The amount of migrant workers it takes to harvest crops for US consumption is exponentially greater than the amount of hands it takes to man a ranch or slaughterhouse. With no vegetables, there would be no fields of illegal immigrants, taking jobs away from Americans who don’t want the jobs.

2. It would immediately reduce obesity by cutting out most all of the naturally occurring carbohydrates found laden in unhealthy vegetables, fruits and grains.

3. I don’t love this idea, but it would eradicate alcoholism. Without starches and grains, alcohol production would be negligible. Until they breed a cat that can be used in the fermentation process.

4. It would immediately handle the overpopulation of many wild game animals such as White Tail Deer. While many of you cringe at thought of eating Bambi (thank you, Walt Disney, for tainting venison for all time), left unchecked, White Tail breed faster than rabbits on infertility drugs. Their population can explode so rapidly that within two seasons there is not enough foliage to sustain them. Bucks fight each other for territory, and the scratching of bark with their antlers kills the trees. Your precious trees. Disease spreads throughout the scavengers who eat the meat.

5. Why target and brutalize an entire race of plant life? Veggies are complicit in genocide, as they singularly target their chlorolust on defenseless plants. At least animals can defend themselves.

6. Vegetables are treated in the cruelest manner. Stuck in the ground, enduring inhospitable weather during long winters with no shelter. Tortured in hothouses, many plants nearly suffocate in the tropical moisture and heat. As children, we played into this sick ideas as we were given mini-vegetable concentration camps, euphemistically called terrariums, so we could grow poor sprouts in captivity, only to watch them wither from lack of growing room.

No, a Meaten Planet is a vastly more desirable place to live. And you know why? Because it would never happen. Anyone who is predisposed to being a Meaten has such a passion for eating that they would never consider removing an entire food group from their menu. Meatens are reasonable enough, and secure enough to acknowledge their steak would be nothing without a potato, chicken without asparagus, or quail without a side of Harry Whittington.

Meatens recognize the radical incredulity of removing a vital source of nutrition. They realize that Veggies are not skinny because they are healthy, they are bony because of malnutrition. They remember the last time they had to nurse a Veggie co-worker for a half hour after getting a paper cut, because they were anaemic from lack of vitamin K.

On the contrary, Veggies would be content shipping all the animals to another planet where they would be safe…and useless.

Red Robin, and Others Like It

2007-09-03T03:32:00.000-07:00

Red Robin is yet another institution that celebrates the banality of Average Desires.

Shakes.

Infinite Fries.

Several Cliche Burgers.

Wraps, for the dietarily unconscious who believe a wrap is healthier because the burger is wrapped in na'an bread.

Random shit nailed to a wall. It's true. If you nail random shit to a wall, like a 1963 sepia of five jubilant lesbians embracing after a marathon, or the high speed shot of a sailor reeling in a lungfish, rednecks and corporate drones will eat there. I have the paperwork to prove it.

RR ain't bad, it's just cut from the oily bowels of the same mountain that Applebee's, Bennigan's, Ruby Tuesday and T.G.I. Friday's were extracted from.

The food will technically sustain life, and on rare occasions might even deliver a couple milligrams of diversion from our sucky lives.

I'm writing about it because I've been condemned to eat there at least once a week, and I long for the release that death will bring.

The Genesis of Modern Gluttony

2007-08-31T01:58:00.001-07:00

At this point in time, we are confronted with the Claim Jumperization of American restaurant portioning. It is then no wonder that people make fun of the miniscule portions of haute cuisine, not realizing they are getting six three-ounce portions of varied creations, instead of one 48 foot obelisk of ribs, served on a plate that could be mistaken for the Arecibo telescope.

For those who aren't familiar with the mastodonic portions of Claim Jumper, they are the new barometer for Huge Food. Average plates weigh in at a scale-shattering 3-4 pounds, and that's just the appetizer.

This is called, appropriately enough, The Widowmaker.

This is one thing I will call uniquely American. Like the internet, phone, and everything else in God's field of omniscience, we are the supreme leader in innovation, and Huge Food is here to conquer the world, or at least the industrial world. While in other parts of the world people are scampering around in the arid climate, scraping their hands and knees on dead ground for a dung beetle or poisonous weed to chew on, we complain if the side bucket of ranch dressing wasn't filled to the rim.

Behold vast arrays of Infinite Justice Whole Fried Onion with distilled La Brea Tar-Honey dipping sauce. Marvel at Capt'n Pike's Whole Boneless Buffalo Chicken with side troughs of Roquefort bleu cheese bowling balls. These are the things we've come to expect from our dining out experience.

Gradient Approximation is a physical theory dealing with the angular spin, and its correlation of magnetic fields on the atomic level. I also use the term Theory of Gradient Approximation to describe attitude shift, such that if you have an agreed upon Truth that you want to change, you can slowly pull people over by nudging the absurd conclusion further away from the accepted norm. For instance, if people are used to paying 99 cents for a gallon of gas, the best way to get them to accept paying $1.50 is to make the gas $2.50 for the summer. Then, when 'peak driving season' comes to an end, the price goes back down to $1.50, people forget they used to pay 99 cents, and gladly accept the new, lower-threshold of gas prices. Sounds familiar, right? It's also the same principle governing the economics behind budgeting $50 for a pair of jeans, then seeing all the incremental upgrades at Bloomingdales. With each successive jean you see a slightly higher price, until you talk yourself into buying the $350 pair of Chip and Pepper's because the riveting and stiching are so ginchy.

The same is true for almost everything else in life. In this case, Gradient Approximation has reversed itself. People demand more bang (or lard, trans-fat, lad na, urchin) for their dollar, or in this case, the 99 cent menu at fast food restaurants. 99 cents can get you a whole baked potato with all the free toppings you can balance on top. 99 cents can get you a junior version of the fully-loaded gargantuan burger. The only thing 99 cents cannot get you is a gallon of gas or movie ticket.

This viscious circle started in the early 80's, given the respectless and accurate title 'Decade of Greed.' Product tie-ins with movie promotions, product placement, fierce competition and bad blood, bred an all-out war between fast food companies that trickled over to restaurant chains.

It may, indeed, have its genesis in the Coke-Pepsi battle, where the only other hostility rivaling that long standing feud would have been between the US and USSR. Their version of the Cuban Missile Crisis manifested itself in two ways: first, both released clothing lines and second, Pepsi snatched up fast food restaurants like they were playing jacks, on five-sees.

Whether or not you think Coke Clothes or Pepsi Apparel was a dumb idea or not, it was the singular earmark of the mid-eighties until the rumor that wearing a Coke shirt meant you were looking for gay sex killed the fad almost overnight. It was most likely started by a Pepsi employee. On the second note, by Pepsi funding Pizza Hut, KFC and Taco Bell, allowed those chains to offer more food at less cost. McDonalds, which has always had a long-standing affair with Coke, retaliated by lowering the cost of its already human-inedible industrial grade beef by-product to lows that even an unemployed Somali could afford.

Then the expansion began. The Soviet Union Crumbled and, like the AIDS virus, with no defenses to fend it off, both McDonalds and Pizza Hut infected Moskba. For 600 rubles you could wait hours for a Big Mac. Expedient, by Russian standards.

Back here in the States, it was clear the only way to win the hearts and minds of the consuming public wasn't to offer better food, just gobs more of it. 2 for $2 Tuesdays came in vogue, and that's not referring to the local Irish-Mexican cantina that leverages its name to attract St. Patrick's day and Cinco de Mayo crowds, that's talking about McDonald's cheeseburgers and Egg McMuffins. Slowly, and some say insidiously, fast food joints with an undeniable lower-income family in its crosshairs, started to market Huge Food at low prices to that very audience.

Not that college educated people don't eat at fast food places. In fact, the majority of college students recovering from a weekend bender of Sports-Bar hopping, Strip Jointing, Face-Down-in-the-Quad-From-Ice-Shot-Vodka-Bonging and Pretending-To-Be-Refined-Wine-Tasting, need some sort of fatty bulk to absorb the alcoholic poison racing around their cardiovascular system faster than a tricked-out Lancer Evolution from Fast and the Furious IV, Tokyo Drift II: Tokyo Drifter (filmed at the same time as Fast and the Furious V: Bangkok Rickshaw Jam)

Whether or not fast food destroys the fat lives of rednecks and their loved ones is beyond the scope of this article. It merely serves as the example of how that marketing mentality overflowed into the mainstream mall-restaurants the rest of us enjoy (and middle class rednecks, as well).

Pre-1980s, restaurant chains were few and far between, having started from one-off local restaurants that enjoyed the dubious expansion of culinary manifest destiny, spurred on by a symbiotic relationship with the eating public wanting more varied and tasty meals of greater quantity at Depression-Era prices. This had a positive, and simultaneously pernicious effect. Applying what I said above about reverse Gradient Approximation, the more we ate out, the more we wanted, the more they shoveled our way...like fueling a coal fired steam engine.

A basket of bread and a couple pats of butter were no longer adequate, we now demand three types of bread: banana, poppy seed cumin rolls, parmesan crisp, pats of real butter, semi-soft room temperature butter, unsalted tin, cup of margarine, honey butter and apple-mango chutney. Now bread products don't even cut it as middle tier amuse bouche. The latest wave of altered breadbasket items are bite sized samosas, riblets, Navajo fry-bread, saltlick statuettes of Lot's wife, the list is endless.

And who can finish all that food? Andre the Giant? He's dead. The days of heroes and giants have dissolved into the mist of failed memory. The only one capable of this pointless feat is Takeru Kobayashi. As we demand larger portions for less money, we invariably assist in the evolution to the absurd natural conclusion of our mislaid wishes: Claim Jumper.

All other concerns aside, methamphetamine...Jihadist terrorism...gout, there is a very real residual erosion of our health due to overconsumption. Not erosion in terms of weight -that skyrockets- but erosion in overall wellness of the population. Claim Jumper has come to represent the silly implications of unfettered demands to be fed enormous quantities of food.

I'm scapegoating Claim Jumper because of the complete absurdity of their portion size. Bennigan's, Ruby Tuesday, Olive Garden [ed note: blech], Buca di Beppo, Maggiano's are all guilty of overfeeding us. A single plate of Six Pound Meatloaf Taco Salad Pasta Party could feed an African village of 1000...which I think happened last year in a well orchestrated press junket.

Mons Olympus of Hot Wings Saves Senegalese Population - The National Republican Shrill Voice.

Bucket of Ahi Ginger Burritos the Size of Ayres Rock lands on African Village in Senegal, Saves 1000 From Starvation, Kills 1,000,000 From Impact. - World Village Democatic Screamer.

American Conspiracy to Inflict Destructive Influence on Defenseless Starving Blacks in a Racist Plot to Destroy and Possibly Fatten Poor Africans Confirmed - Federal Guardian Independent Foreign Press

Ok, so a million people will have a million different stories, I can't control them all. The fact is, while starvation inflicts its ugly fangs on the rest of the developing world, we enjoy unrestrained access to every consumable good on the planet.

If the trend doesn't stave itself, we will soon be confronted with a public health crisis of immeasurable consequences. The mere fact that a person's waistline couldn't be gauged with a standard tape measure for starters. If you don't care about the fattening of Middle America, think about the financial burden with which it will saddle us. Childhood obiesety immediately sets up that person for a lifetime of health problems, and since Huge Food is targeted at lower-income earners, guess who will be supplementing that bill when Dad loses his job at the marital prosthetics warehouse and subsequently his insurance. Fat dad, two fat boys and their fat daughter will all be sucking -a lot- off of welfare and foodstamps. Fat mom has already been doing that since the divorce, and her tax supplemented rehab at the methadone clinic has already cost each taxpayer so much, they could have had their own heroin addiction for years if they had wanted. At least she was thin while she was using.

"Aww, but Steve, it's not the restaurant industry's fault. It's the people's fault for not being able to control their uncontrollable desires." True, true. But I didn't ask for Huge Food, and when confronted with a pile of fries the size of Mt. Kilimanjaro, my guilty Jewish upbringing comes into play, and I feel compelled to finish what is put before me, or at least take it in a doggy bag (hereafter referred to as horsie bag).

You see, it is because there are starving people in Africa dodging huge bags of fatal food falling from the sky that I -and many others- force ourselves to eat much more than we otherwise would have. Food that can be seen, must be eaten.

There are also cultural influences at play here. In many cultures, it is vilely offensive to leave food on the plate, it means you either didn't like the food, or you are dying of cancer. They would rather eat until their stomachs explode all over the rest of the table rather than suffer the shame of wasting food. Even then, if your stomach explodes all over your guests, you've just wasted your food, but it might be interpreted as a very generous act.

What does this all mean? Nothing. The trend is irreversible. We will get fatter as a nation and revert back to obiesety becoming a status symbol. The tribal King being the largest, because he has the most. All parts of America are being crushed by the epidemic of obiesety (myself included). As portion size continues to grow unchecked, and we lead increasingly sedintary lifestyles stuck in front of a TV or behind a joystick (or for some other outcasts, on top of one), there will be nothing to combat the assimilation of the new attitude that fat is acceptable.

Never trust our government to do anything except maintain a military and levy taxes, so there is no reason another nutritional guideline or federal sponsored program will help us in the least. Pamphlets the fed publishes are as interesting as congressional budget reports: they are unintelligible and excrutiatingly dull. Public service announcements have as much effect on changing someone's mind as a religious bumper sticker.

But advertising, slick, well produced advertising soundtracked with hip-hop and big boobs will sell burgers. Lots of burgers. The general public cannot compete with the onslaught of images of chipper cooks tapping away with their stainless steel tongs like a barbershop quartet: "I want my babyback babyback babyback" while some big-assed ho is swinging her crack in the camera. Or near hardcore-lesbian hot tub commercials that make even Coors look appealing.

It has to start in the home. It can only be combated by parents who give a damn, raising their children with healthy food and shunning fast food and chain restaurants. Believe me, I'm right there in the madness, but I've oft heard tales that once people geek out and drink only diet Coke, regular Coke seems oversweetened and intolerable to drink. Would I suffer this sort of deprivation? It's hard to say. Like a drug addict, they never see the harmful effects until they've been off the crank for a while. During the binge, everything seems great, colorful, they couldn't imagine everyone not shooting up bliss into their armpit. Not until they stand back and get clean, does the stark horror of what they were doing to their body come into focus.

So yes, while I am a Coke addict, I can project myself into a future where Diet Coke is preferable, and through the fog of unreason I can see where knocking out 160 calories at a time would do me some good. I don't go to places like Claim Jumper right now, and when I do end up at a Cape Disappointment Booze 'n' Food McStravaganza, I get the chicken sandwich and tell them to hold the hickory-honey sauce, chipotle remuloude, extra crispy fried avocado, thick cut butter sauteed bacon, four slices of imported processed cheese, and Crisco dipping sauce. I ask for a side salad instead of fried yucca wedges with triple-cream ranch spread. I never eat dessert, just not my thing.

For now, listen to the reports of American Obiesety and despair. Huge Food is here, and its here to stay. It will be very interesting to see to what brink it takes us.

Tiki Ti

2007-08-29T19:46:00.000-07:00

It was established in 1961, just as America was transitioning from the innocent 50's to the turbulent 60's. I guess you could have figured that out for yourself, but I thought I'd be obvious by emphasizing that 1961 is just one year after the transition. It would be another nine years before the Age of Polyester would be ushered in, smothering tie dyed hippes under its synthetic fabric.

Tiki Ti has over 85 drinks, which is more variety than Baskin Robins, with the added advantage that you'll NEVER get laid at a Baskin Robins unless you order the Everclear Peanut Butter swirled Dolce de Leche. That makes Tiki Ti 57...things...better than Baskin Robins.

Their smoking policy will either elate you or disgust you. LA city ordinance allows for owner operated bars under a certain patron limit to choose thier smoking policy, and they enourage smoking of everything except weed, crack, crystal meth, coke and Newport Menthols.

You might have to wait a bit outside, the space is smaller than Carney's, but once you enter, you are swept back to Bikini Atoll before nuclear testing destroyed the island and all surrounding life within 20 miles.

Drinks aren't cheap, but they are more than generous. If you want to get hammered more than Jimmy Page, Eddie Van Halen, Richard Burton, Dean Martin, WC fields, Andy Capp, Otis, Arthur, and Captain Jack Sparrow combined, order the Blood and Sand, their signature drink. Funny enough it's the Dresen's signature dirnk, not two miles away. Dresen's are totally faggy girl drinks, and save your emails -you know what I mean.

Tiki Ti's Blood and Sand is a hardcore double fisted drink that even Lindsay Lohan would find potent. Two of these would find her panties around her ankles as she was doing cartwheels across the bar.

If you order a B&S, the wide mouth schooner will be topped off with tequila, and Mike will lead the whole bar in a howl of "Toroooooooooooooooooooooooo
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo"

...the entire time pouring tequila into the drink. It will be the best drug you've ever bought for $12 outside of fake Ecstasy.

Tiki is owned by Michael and his son Mike. The tiny confessional is crammed with Polynesian junk and nostalgic paraphenalia. It truly sweeps you away to a remote island, while you're really partying in the shadow of KCRW and Circuit City.

It is colorful and neighborly. There is no way to hang without meeting someone, downing a few Zombies or sharing a table or bar space. Just like a Russian hospital.

The Rainbow Bar and Grill

2007-08-28T19:57:00.000-07:00

Reprinted from earlier, as a homage to laziness.

I'm not gay, and the Rainbow Bar isn't a gay bar, even though it's located in West Hollywood. The Rainbow Bar is the most important and identifiable bar, post-concert hang out, and Rock 'n' Roll demolition derby in the history of hard rock. Every major rock band from the 70's and 80's who hit Los Angeles has stumbled and groped their way through the Rainbow, from Led Zeppelin's infamous drunken orgies to Lemmy playing a tabletop Ms. Pacman in the corner of the bar.

What Hard Rock Cafe lacks in authenticity, The Rainbow exudes in gravitas. Even so, it has lost much of its lustre since opening in 1973, now attracting aging rockers who are still clinging onto a faint dream of hitting it big as a Hair Band, even though most of it is gone toward the back of the skull. It's a place where old groupies go to relive their hazy dazys of debauchery, and maybe give an aging rocker a blowjob in the upstairs hallway. To put it short, it looks like a Spinal Tap convention.

It's a place like an aging headbanger like me can remember what it was like back in high school, with dreams of my own. One day, being the next Dimebag Darrell, not realizing I didn't have a shred of talent. And now poor Dimebag's dead.

Don't skip over that so quickly to get to the food review. Abbott Darrell was one of the greatest metal -or any genre- guitar players ever to pick up an instrument. He just had the honor of shoving it up your ass and lighting it on fire. He was gunned down onstage at a Damageplan concert, with his brother and drummer, Vinnie Abbott, witnessing the horrible tragedy.

As a great aside: Some months before his murder, Darrell had found out from one of his industry contacts that Eddie Van Halen and Charvel guitars were going to produce a limited-edition series of guitars bearing Van Halen's trademark tape-striping. Van Halen himself would be individually taping each guitar and they would also come with a picture of him doing so and a certificate of authenticity. According to Eddie, Darrell called him on the phone and asked if he could purchase one before they became available. Eddie replied that the next time he saw Darrell, he would have one of the guitars with him and would stripe it in Darrell's presence as a gift. Before they could meet again, Darrell was murdered. Eddie recounted this story when he spoke at Darrell's funeral, then, to the surprise of those in attendance, he brought out the black and yellow tape-striped guitar seen on the back cover of Van Halen II (which Darrell had said was his favorite guitar of Eddie's) and laid it in Darrell's casket to be buried with him. [this paragraph plagurized from wikipedia.org]

Yes, I was a metalhead, so the Rainbow Bar means a lot to me, and its history.

But, admittedly, nowadays, it's kind of a laughable scene. People who used to exemplify cool on the Sunset Strip -getting tanked before a Van Halen concert or getting laid in the bathroom after a Motley Crue show- now look way out of place in our Hip Hop dominated time and city.

My interest in Metal waned once I got into college, as this white guitar player started listening to a band his black hallmate turned me on to called Niggaz With Attitudes. Not only were all my metal friends baffled at this noise I was listening to, but I predicted they would eventually merge. Thank you Anthrax.

This isn't Anthrax

But this is NWA, when Cube went through 9 bottles of activator a day. In this picture, it looks like Ren stole his supply.

So the Rainbow only serves to relive a time before that, when I really didn't have a care in the world, and thought music and video games were all life was about. Funny enough, 80 million kids have now adopted that same philosophy. It's nice to be a trendsetter.

So why go there? Well, first of all, its fun. It's a blast, even if you're not posing. Especially when you spill out of the Roxy, which is an icon all its own, the place where Sargeant Stedenko got stoned while Cheech and Chong won the battle of the bands inside. Good times.

Secondly, since they also cater to a moderate tourist crowd, they charge you $10 cover, but you get two tickets, each good for a drink or $5 towards food. Not a bad deal. Of course, they hope you get drunk and forget to use them, but I've gone back at later dates and they only use two colors, so you can easily use them in the future.

Last, and most obvious, since this is a food site, is the food. Bet you were wondering when I'd get to that. The food is better than you'd expect from an institution on the verge of selling franchise licenses, because they've already opened up a new branch in Las Vegas. The scene is entirely different.

See, that's the Rainbow Bar in Vegas. Quite a difference.

The food is straight up American food, well executed and in large portions. Let's face it, you don't go to the Rainbow Bar, you end up at the Rainbow, so chances are you're gonna have big-time munchies. Nevertheless, I've been there drunk and sober, and the food is good. Couple that with the atmosphere, its a great place to either wind down the evening, or get into some serious trouble fueling a two-fisted bender as you're about to drive that SUV down Sunset Strip. The good news is, there's a high probability you'll get to share the drunk tank with Paris Hilton.

Even though I don't have the pictures to prove it, their escargot (yeah, escargot) is well made, with garlic butter spiked heavily with garlic. Sop it up with a side of bread and you've bought yourself a one way ticket to Palpatationsville on the Drunk Express.

Again, Vegas.

The pizzas are amazing. No, they're not as good as Grotto or Ledo on the East coast, but they are strong contendors. Seriously heavy, laden with cheese and sauce, and a crust to support a heap of toppings. A party of four still has to try to give away the last piece, because everyone is stuffed at the end of the night.

While you're eating, take a look around you. Ok, so it looks like a Hard Rock with all the rock pictures, autographed headshots, gold albums and iconic posters hanging on the wall. But, at least here you know a guitar god or inveterate drunken lead singer puked on a table somewhere. The crowd compliments the surroundings, not looking nearly as incongruous as a family of hawaiian shirt wearing tourists eating baby back ribs next to Kerry King's autographed BC Rich axe at Hard Rock, Key West.

The burgers will make you sweat. Huge and lovingly piled with bacon, cheese, tomato, lettuce, onion, tuning pegs, sweaty bra and patch cable, the burger is satisfying and hard to finish. The food is hard to finish because you'll usually load up on appetizers. My favorite, besides the escargot, are the fried cheese balls (next stop, The Village of Defribulation) with a side of marinara for dumping.

Beers, beers and more beers. Decent well drinks. Loose, drunk women with big, partially sagging racks. What more could a guy want? Well, he would want a bathroom on the first floor, but that's not going to happen. Inevitably, when you have to stagger to the bathroom, you'll be doing it up a flight of stairs, which can make for some exciting incidental contact with a girl's spandex. A girl, as far as you can tell from behind.

So, sure, the Rainbow is a little worn like a groupie with 25 years of wear and tear between her thighs, and a methadone habit she's been trying to kick for the 19th time, but it still remains an icon. No longer the hub of Sunset Strip's vibrant 70's scene or 80's metal resurgence, it still appeals to rock fans old and new, even those of us who now think our faded idols like Iron Maiden or Richie Blackmore sound a little silly, look a little funny, and actually came up with those lyrics as grown adults.

It also revives respect for them as musicians, no longer shrouded in swirling controversy of whatever album they happened to desecrate an icon, or slander an ideal. They were just talented people like you and me, who struck the right combination of aggression, rebellion, virtuosity, immaturity, alcoholism and drug addiction. There were gods in those days.

The Corner Place, Gil Mok, Cerritos to Re-open 5/1/07

2007-04-30T18:15:00.000-07:00

Yes, tomorrow, Gil Mok (The Corner Place) will re-open tomorrow under new management. I'm wringing my hands and furrowing my brow at this very cautious re-opening. Will they still have the dongchimi? Will it be as good? Will the Kalbi be just as tender? Will they keep the same shredded onion and cabbage salad?

All these things will be revealed at their Grand Opening.

I don't work for The Corner Place, and I'm not affiliated with them, but I go there damn near every week for at least one lunch. That's a 15 minute shot down the 91 and another one back. I drove by today and saw the Grand Opening sign for tomorrow and knew I'd have to make the trek back...hopefully it won't be too crowded!

New Show Dropping Today or Tomorrow

2007-04-23T18:30:00.000-07:00

In my endearing inconsistent publishing schedule, the lastest Gastrologica will drop sometime in the indeterminate next 24 hours. I need to cut a warning to insert before the porn segment, then it can be released.

The parts that I actually let Lew talk, I found fascinating. The adult industry is a money making juggernaut, and I was particularly interested in getting a peek into this rather obscured industry.

It has nothing to do with food, but sex is like food so I say "close enough." The interview does contain persistent and graphic descriptions of sex and sexual activity, and the business of filming and producing sex, so it is not for anyone who might be offended by that subject matter. I've included it as an addendum to our regular show this week because I personally found the business interesting, and I think many of you might too. When I allowed him to speak, that is...

So What?

2007-04-23T18:28:00.000-07:00

I know the pictures are hanging over the edge below! I would reduce them, but then you wouldn't get the full-face afterburner effect of the torched mackarel.

It tasted great, by the way.

Food Porn

2007-04-13T19:14:00.000-07:00

Everyone knows the term, and I think some of my childish pictures have turned up on some food porn sites.

But the upcoming Gastro isn't about that. A friend of ours who runs Damaged Pictures drops by and we have a blast talking about the adult video industry. We cover everything from lighting, to psyche, to myth and of course a raw discourse on sex as a business.

Don't be a prude! You know you want to check it out. This episode of Gastro will drop in a couple of weeks, don't miss it!

What do we have here?

2007-04-11T22:56:00.000-07:00

I like keeping things loose and fast, and I think that's reflected in my work ethic. Dan and I banged out a few shows last week, and are grinding out a few loose dialogs tomorrow night. It looks like everything is churning up (thank god for Prilosec).

This week's Gastro is the actual resurrection of Gastro. That's sort of like the Grand Opening that occurs 3 months after the actual store opening.

Why? Due to technical difficulties from wine, we realized our topical show [I know, that sounded pretty gay] should be the Passover/Easter for the first episode, and this frothing chunk of nuclear powered food talk should be dropped afterwards.

But hey, we're just nappy headed hoes. So, download this week's episode to be disappointed and left with a sort of hollow feeling because there's really no secret or drama. My current distraction is taxes...are taxes.

Some of the upcoming articles, which I think I'll rename to Broken Literary Promises, will be reviews of Providence, Mesa Grill, Joe's Seafood and a smattering of South Bay Asian joints where I experience the lush texture and sensuous form of pig ear. Ok, they're a little chewy, but I dig pig ears. This did not appear on my seder table.

Wolfgang Puck, a Chef-Whore whom I totally admire, is hopping on the foie gras ban-dwagon as well as other cruelty-free production methods. This is a noble cause, and I respect his position.

However, I'm a sociopath. I don't care or understand about the feelings or suffering of others, so I'll truly miss the Foie Gras Three Ways. It was my favorite dish.

There are still a few retail sources of foie gras accessible to consumers like us, and frankly, it is so easy to prepare you don't need to pay a chef 375% markup for 2.5 grams of seared foie gras glazed with Welch's Apricot Jam.

I've decided not to tell you about those sources so I could horde it all for myself, but Monsieur Mercel and Bristol Farm's in West Hollywood are good places to start. Take out a small business loan.

I reluctantly accept this as the inevitable outcome of the Animal Equality Movement. Even though our experience as people is eroded when a tradition or technique fades into the obscurity of history, its not necessarily a bad thing to have been able to experience it, but rationally decide it's better to think in those terms, even if it sometimes results in absurd conclusions.

For me, the sociopath, I realize it's probably not the nicest thing you can do to a goose, but it does put Pavlov to shame.

The Kobe Fraud

2007-04-01T10:55:00.000-07:00

It's true. Like the Angus Beef Markup Conspiracy that tore through the restaurant world during the 90's, 'Kobe Beef' has now infiltrated even midrange and 99 cent Wendy's menus.

So what is Kobe beef? What is the great mystique about this meat that commands such a garish pricetag? What has The National Cattlemen's Beef Association found that makes this a perfect product for hyper-markup?

It begins with the Japanese production and raising of the cattle, and pretty much ends there. What is sold to us as 'Kobe Beef' is no more Japanese than Jackie Chan. The problem is, our Beef Industry has pulled a bait and switch on us, so we believe we're getting this extravagantly pampered meat, but we're really getting American raised Waygu beef, which isn't produced in the same way.

True Kobe beef, from the Hyogo prefecture of which Kobe is the capital, is rasied in under strict conditions of treatment. The better known practices are being beer fed and massaged by hand daily. They're so pampered, if you put one next to Elizabeth Taylor in a spa, you couldn't tell the difference.

American Kobe beef is produced from cattle imported from Japan in 1976 and 1993, but isn't raised in conformity to the Hyogo method, so much of the extreme cost of the beef isn't really reflected in the intense labor it takes to produce real Kobe beef. The assumption being the exhorbitant cost of the beef is due to the rarity and painstaking attention it takes to produce such tender, well marbled beef.

It all depends on whether you, as an educated consumer, are willing to pay upwards of $100 for 8oz of American Raised Kobe beef. Does it matter to you? You would have had to have eaten true Japanese Kobe beef in order to make a comparison, so if the beef tastes better than other breeds (say, Black Angus), then is it worth it?

This ambiguity also exists at a time where most mutually reciprocal US-Japan beef bans have been lifted. Unless a restaurant specifically calls it Japanese Kobe, chances are you're eating American Kobe.

Many restaurants propery identify the product as Waygu, or American Waygu. Some even identify it as American Kobe.

If you're wonering whats the big deal, it's because the term Kobe is associated with a premium price point. For example, a two ounce tin of Beluga caviar ran run upwards of $200. The same tin produced from American Sturgeon runs about half that because the market assumption is, although the caviar is almost indistinguishable from the Russian product, it's not Russian. Its the origin and expertise people pay the money for, not simply the food itself.

This sort of regional protection is evident in France's protection of the name 'Champagne' or Italy protecting names like Reggiano and Parma. The premium value comes from where and how it's produced, not simply quality of the product.

So, should the Beef Industry be forced to distinguish Japanese vs. American Waygu? The point may be moot. A large percent of Kobe beef is raised right here in America, produced the American way, and shipped back to Japan for consumption.

Just like Toyotas that are built in Kentucky using Mexican parts, neither country has total ownership of the product anymore. American produced Kobe may eventually obscure 'real' Kobe beef after all.

Get the new show!

2007-03-30T17:41:00.000-07:00

That's right, fools! The new show has dropped.

See, we ain't liars!

Gastro is Back...

Backlog

2007-03-29T11:31:00.000-07:00

Look at the page, not a lot of white space. If you look closer, each dense block of words is preceded with a date, and these dates are far apart from each other. Same with the show. If you look on iTunes, the last earnest effort to crank out a show was back in December or before.

But I haven't sat idle, and I'm no liar. There is a backlog of half completed reviews and recipes I'm finishing up. Don't believe me? Here's a short list:

Joe's Seafood and Steakhouse - Las Vegas
Mesa Grill (owned by the Fabulous Asshole Bobby Flay) - Las Vegas
Commentary on Wolfgang and BK going 'animal friendly'
Providence - Hollywood (I've been sitting on this one for more than a month)

And Ch-Check it out, another vague promise of shows. Seriously. I have the set list in my hands, and barring any traffic catastrophes, we'll have a whole keg full of shows after tonight.

Corner Place Sold

2007-03-20T09:45:00.000-07:00

The Cerritos location of Korean BBQ joint The Corner Place, known for its dongchimi guksu (cold noodle soup in radish water), has been sold to a new owner. I don't have specifics as to the new management, but I did talk briefly with the new owner who was polling me on various aspects of my lunch. It does seem like she cares a great deal to bring over the goodwill of business and make the transition as seamless as possible.

I'm holding off on any particular details, as the transition period will take place over the next month while she is learning the ropes of running this location. I usually eat there about once a week, so I'll be able to report on any quality changes in food or service.

Of course, the overriding question on my mind, which I'll ask next time I see her, is: does she have a solid supply line of the dongchimi? I've read on one one other site that the owners do not have the recipe. Rather, it is made by a reclusive lady who sells the pre-made soup to The Corner Place so that even the owners do not know what the recipe is.

Of course, The Corner Place is also famous for not allowing you to take the soup home with you, lest some reverse engineering take place. Like figuring out the correct ratio of 7-Up to water radish pickling liquid...

Stay Tuned!

LA Times Mention

2007-02-15T15:04:00.000-08:00

Would never have known this if someone hadn't pointed it out. Apparently we were mentioned in a list of food writers in the LA Times. Can't really decide if this is complimentary or not...

gastrologica.com By two guys, self-described as a gourmand and a chef. Strong though sometimes voluminous writing, with lots of pictures and a podcast.

There you go. Voluminous? Is that a long word for verbose?

The Greatest Instrument for Food Photographers. EVER.

2007-02-11T21:08:00.000-08:00

People, this little device will revolutionize food photography for us dilettantes who don't do this for a true living, just the love of it.

Let me tease you a bit on the buildup to this fantastic development. Bottom line, I shelled out a fair sum of money on a camera I ended up not being thrilled with. The HP photosmart R960 is a competent camera, but it wasn't the best for my needs as a compact, all purpose, low-light camera.

I handed that down to Nayan and bought a Canon SD630 before going to Providence last night (more on that in another article). The SD630 is near the top of Canon's line of ultra-thin camera lines. Each year they seem to cram more functionality in a smaller profile. I wanted something that would allow me to turn off all the automation and utilize my own poor judgment and meager talent.

Based on Bel Air Camera's unimpeachable reputation, I literally walked in 15 minutes before closing, gave the dude my criteria, and he promptly tossed me the 630.

We took a couple of test shots and I was sold. Of course, what appears on the 3" screen and what transfers to computer are two different things. Everything, frankly, looks good on a 3" screen, except porn. But I'll leave that for the iPod engineers to solve.

This article isn't about the camera, actually. Canon products are ubiquitous throughout the amateur food photography world, so they are a solid choice. I had no doubt it would serve me well.

What is a sticking point (which started me on this fool's errant) is a steady shot in low light with minimal noise (or grain).

Enter Joby's Gorillapod. This is the thing that will revolutionize macro-shot, no-flash, low-light, food photography for the amateur...like our stalwart confederacy of Los Angeles Food Bloggers.

Looks like a toy? Sure. But this thing will flex into unbelievable positions that even Jenna Jameson would be hard pressed to do. It's tiny, light, durable and eminently portable. I don't even know what eminently portable means, but the Gorilla is it.

I'll never have to hold a flashless, shaky camera in a fine dining establishment again. What I will have to do is answer an endless stream of questions, because everyone wants to be a part of this weird contraption's infamy.

The Gorillapod is $22 at Best Buy. In addition to being a tripod, it can also be configured to be stable on rugged terrain, wrap around posts and poles or, as someone noted in another blog, wrapped around a chick's ankle for hot first person amateur porn action.

New Season of Gastrologica in the Works

2007-02-04T11:01:00.000-08:00

Hey everyone! First of all, I want to publicly apologize to Jeni and Dylan and the rest of the foodwriting community for not making the Dim Sum Extravaganza. I know the energy level was only about 1/3 of what it would have been if I had attended. I heard it was a blast, so I am a true loser. There I said it on National Internet.

Dan and I are tending the new crop of shows, and I'm frantically forcing myself to write more, mostly to keep my hits up. Dwindling activity, I am told, can lead to a catastrophic loss of audience with no possibility of recovery. This may have happened already, but I'm oblivious to these things.

There will be at least one more week before any true activity, since there is an Office viewing get together this week, and I don't want to mar that or kill the energy in the room by trying to pit my humorous food talk against Steve Colbert and his zany on-screen presence. Of course, I would never want to steal Bob Vance's thunder, especially on his big day. So this will just be a non-working get together. I know I know, contain your desire to riot.

Having a 10 Megapixel camera has been the biggest disappointment since discovering the McRib has no real bones in it. That's right. The bones are pressed and formed meat.

People, don't be fooled by the bright orange emblem stamped on the box 10 MEGAPIXEL. It will stun your friends, and blow away your relatives. It makes your dick bigger than driving a Corvette.

It doesn't mean shit. It means your pictures will be gimongohunormous, which means if you publish them on a site like mine, you won't get any better picture quality and you'll have to take two extra steps to resize your pictures. What a burn. I used to have a Kodak 110 Instamatic that took better pictures than this piece of crap. But you know what? You people forced me to do this, so its on your head. Live with it. This is what you get when you push someone too much.

Finally, but not lastly, I'm doing a Superbowl menu that includes gumbo, cheese, soju, salmon roe, foie gras, wine and pigs in a blanket. All in the same pot.

Gaze on my horde of cheese and despair! I am the MuthaFuckin' OG Cheese Pimp

Men, if there is one thing we can learn from food porn, is wrap your cheese!

Finally, and I really mean it this time, I'm reading a great book that serves as a cautionary tale and meager inspiration for being a perfect host. I Like You by Amy Sedaris is a frightful look into hosting parties and bad cooking by the twisted mind of the woman who created Strangers With Candy. Buy it. I think you'll glean a lot of valuable information from this sage tome.

Rustoleum, Neglect, Polish and Reformation

2007-01-31T00:27:00.000-08:00

Well, it seems I've spent the last month and a half making campaign promises as to the future of Gastrologica and the relative inactivity of both outlets. While my tepid reassurances that "We'll be back, and nastier than ever!" or "I promise to write more" in the intervening weeks have resonated as false as Donald Rumsfeld retiring to 'spend more time with his family,' the fact is, we do intend to crank up the food-o-meter and re-invigorate the site (now that I've missed out on the revolution).

I'd like to say a lot has happened. New developments, insurmountable projects ram-rodded to fruition, a wild and challenging new work environment that has made me question my passion for food, and what was I was wasting my time on this fool's errand in the first place.

Surprisingly, I can't. If I sound like a whiney blogger it's because I've turned into one. I've devoted so much energy the last month and a half to a job that has monopolized so much of my time, that I found myself astonished at my palpable dissatisfaction.

I'm hoping the challenges pay off in the long run, and I mean that in all the popular ways you'd think. Actually, the new crew is very cool. With limited, but notable exceptions, for the most part, I have found the challenge to be mitigated by some good and helpful people.

Now, this may seem it has little to do with food, but I've eaten out almost every day, and I get home so late I order out every night. It has given me an opportunity to get reacquainted with the disappointingly narrow choices the Greater Torrance Area doesn't have to offer.

In fact, for an industrial ghetto, there are a pretty decent variety of choices if you know where to look. You can't be afraid of running the gamut of ethnic food, including Chili's. There is German, Japanese, Chinese, Peruvian, Seafood, Burger Joints, even a Quiznos. Ok, so its not a culinary mecca, but it'll do for now.

I've got a cool couple of lunch buddies, Jenn and Whitney, who have been good enough to indulge my itinerant tastebuds. I think the only prohibition is the Spearmint Rhino two industrial parks down. Personally, I think it should be illegal to serve food within 10 miles of a strip club. Other than that, they've been good sports about my oddball tastes.

There is a whole Korean/Vietnamese strip I've only scratched down Rosecrans Avenue in Gardena. Another lunch crew, Ellen & Co., have exposed me to some of the better Asian joints I may have driven by a couple of thousand times before.

So, while I hope the monopolization of my time will be limited, it has given me a watershed of lunches to write about. For those of you who think I'm posting periodic bullshit to keep you on the hook, I'm not. Dan and I intend on planning out several shows and getting them on mp3. I have a whole new slew of places to write about, and I'm just now making time to start cooking again.

Hang in there....I know I am.

Still Alive And Kicking

2007-01-23T02:02:00.000-08:00

Tired of hearing lame excuses why we haven't recorded or written? Sorry, it's the same excuse. 12 hour days and no energy at night. Look at me, I'm posting this at 2am!

Rest assured, I'm still eating, but you would be appalled at the junk I've been ordering and eating out.

I'm also testing out a new HP 10 megapixel camera, that has had some rather disappointing results. I'm hoping its because I'm getting used to the manual settings, but the pix have been coming out grainy, and the long ISO mode is..well...a little too long.

I've written about Typhoon before, but I'll post something quickly soon so you can see some of the Scorpion shrimp toast I had.

Burbon and Broken Noses

2007-01-12T00:39:00.000-08:00

Alright, things are settling down at work, at least, I know what is going to blindside me on a daily basis, so I'm better prepared. But what about food related items? Well, I'm working back in Bore-ance, so there's not much exciting going on...even after a two year reprieve.

In fact, there were always good places in Torrance and Gardena, but they are all Asian, so that fits my criteria. We went to Koji Buffet this week, and it was much better than I remember. It's a mix of pan-Asian food styles featuring Chinese, Japanese, Korean and some vaguely Thai. There is also Toyo Sushi, which wasn't all that bad, even though it occupies a serile nook next to a Wal-Mart. Even the Wal-Mart has some very affordable spicy teriyaki salmon jerkey.

I have made it a point to visit Mitsuwa grocery store at least once a week. I missed the affordable and nearly instant packaged sushi. The Panda Express closed, and although it is an overused title, it had the best #1 spicy I've ever had. Didn't know exactly what it was, but it was a red, fiery broth with noodles and seafood. I knew it as #1 spicy, and that's the only way the ladies would reference it. Being next to Mitsuwa, I can also score my fix of salmon eggs on a whim. Mmmm, salty balls.

Dan hasn't had such great luck. He broke his nose on a particularly rough foul during a pick-up game of ball, so his broadcast voice is a bit off and muffled. Outside of that, the holiday season came and went, and he survived intact. If he keeps this up, his nose will be as enormous as mine.

It's been a while and I'm honestly getting restless to write more on my cooking and getting back into getting drunk with Dan and Rob and cranking out Gastrologicas. We've probably fallen off the charts, but that don't make me no never mind. I'm glad to see a lot of our fans have been keeping tabs on us, and some have even read Gastro and emailed. It's hard to be fans of apparitions -mere specters- but we are alive and eating.

I almost forgot, I stopped by the Alpine Village this week for a hearty German lunch (yeah, I've gained about 5 pounds...). It was prefaced with an ultracreamy cream of califlour soup, and the entree was a pile of dense mashed potatoes and a log of beef roulade. Beef roulade is beef wrapped around bacon and pickes. Yeah Germans, they gave us the V2, Jaegermeister and The Scorpions.

Because I found a swath of saran wrap in my potatoes, they gave me a free slice of black forest cake. Woah, that's something to bury my face in.

I also stopped by the small market they have, and grabbed some meat and sausage from the deli. There, I gained even more weight. The overworked and overwhelmed ladies behind the counter couldn't keep up with the demands of the elderly Germans, so it took about a half hour to get my variety of ground guts and scraps, but they did put samples on the counter with impunity. That was another 10,000 calories.

Happy New Year!

2006-12-31T11:52:00.000-08:00

Yes, we're alive and well at Gastrologica, but taking a well deserved break from all the media exposure. I'm sure it hasn't gone unnoticed that we haven't recorded a damn thing in about a month, and the only articles I've written are restaurant reviews.

As I've posted everywhere (but ironically not on my own site), I have been ebbing my time away at my new job, which has resulted in devoting inhuman efforts to getting things straightened out and up and running. I now run an MIS department which has a lot of work on our plate and very little staff. That staff would be me.

So, until I hire a couple of techs, it's all up to me to keep everything running like a well oiled network. And if know anything, you know oil should never be anywhere near a network. Maybe that's my problem.

I want to thank everyone for making 2006 a downright blast! Our podcast took off and opened up some great opportunities for both myself and Dan, and now we're going to squander it by gliding along inertially until all interest fades.

No, seriously, we will be recording our next shows after the New Year when things settle down for both of us. I would also like to announce the semi-permanent addition to Gastro: Rob Schaffer aka Bob Vance, Vance Refrigeration aka Psycho Cop. But please don't tell him because he doesn't know. I usually just pour him a few drinks and he integrates his way into the show just like a natural born Gastro Host.

Thank you also for being loyal readers and bearing with me and my capricious lifestyle, I look forward to giving you food for thought in the new year. And more crappy puns like that!

Things and Stuff (and Junk)

2006-12-17T19:48:00.000-08:00

So I had been looking for a job, and now I have a new job which has been another significant commitment of time. Dan has been ramping up for the holiday season, and tonight he catered a Hanukkah dinner for 150. I was proud he used my noodle kugel recipe, so that's cool. From what I understand, nobody died and that is a positive development.

We'll, of course, be covering Christmas food and other hearty fare to stave off the frigid LA winters. Rob has become a semi-permanent fixture for the shows, so that means there's three unworkable schedules that will conspire against us.