June 2010
5 posts
Food In LA
So we saw Anthony Bourdain speak last night at Royce Hall thanks to extraordinarily good luck, good connections and good friends. He was witty, charming, full of smart spite for the celebrity “foodie” culture, grateful for this bonus round of living he’s getting to do. We all acknowledge that he’s got the best job in the world, the best life most of us could wish for, even if he does occasionally have to eat disgusting things under the guise of being a good guest.
He said a few things that struck me as essential: that being a good guest always trumps food politics; that you need to be brave, be bold, risk a little discomfort in favor of discover; that cooking is control, eating is submission.
But he also has yet to really try LA food culture. Yes, I know, the truck culture is cool, a genius combo of LA iconography - meals on wheels, the roach coach elevated, car culture taken to the extreme. And yes, I understand that In n’ Out is a fucking icon. Whatever. Ethnic food? Yeah, we do that super well by virtue of our far-reaching neighborhoods, populations, and travelers.
But here’s the thing, we also embrace food, embrace the new: pop up restaurants, chilis and spices, sushi and sauerkraut, molecular cuisine and the overwhelming abundance of a city that benefits from great produce all year round. We rock our fresh cocktails, we have killer Mexican food, we have know our cheese, we know our greens, and we know what it means to take pleasure in what we eat. So Tony, come back to LA and eat somewhere new! Eat at Grace, at Animal, at Pure Luck, at Scoops. Drink at the Roosevelt and Copa D’Oro, get Oysters at the Hungry Cat or Blue Plate Oysterette, eat brunch at Square One, and if you have to have a hamburger, for the love of all that is holy, try some of our other beloved places. In N’ Out will survive without you.
Crawdaddy Archive →
crawdaddy.com
I was talking to my dad about music the other day, and he wanted to know how I discovered new music these days. I told him friends, music blogs, etc. He mentioned that his favorite music magazine was called “Crawdaddy” when he was younger and that it had persuaded him to buy two of his all-time favorite albums (one of which was “Rust Never Sleeps”, so thanks Crawdaddy for that because I know every note on that album, and by thanks, I might actually mean thanks, but there’s an ironic tinge, don’t you forget it). I kind of thought he might be making up the name, but as with many astonishing things about my dad and his brain damage, he was right. Man can’t add and subtract anymore, but he can remember and obscure music magazine.
And it turns out that not only do they have a pretty swell website incarnation, but they’ve got archives of their printed work from the 1960s. I know what I’ll be doing this afternoon.
