I lerve you. I lo-ove you. I luff you.

Happy Birfdee Mr. M

death becomes

When i saw the car coming at us as we made that left hand turn, i knew it would hit us. My mind fluttered images of the oncoming car crushing the driver-side door mangling Mr. M legs, glass shattering and destroying his face. Then impact. That sound was everything. I closed my eyes to brace myself for whatever came next. Then a loud pop and smoke and terrible tasting powder filled the car. I yelled his name, he did not respond, i looked at him with panic and fear. He was okay. No glass, no mangled legs. Little Perlita took the brunt of the crash on the side front end of the car. I had no idea she was such a solid little car. We walked away from it with bruises and scraps and a lot of soreness. I am worried about what will happen now. What the other guy, a junkie Okie with seemingly expired insurance will do, what the insurance company will say. But mostly i cant stay away from Mr. M. He calls me to ask me to come over so we can just be together. and the need for closeness is mutual. It is as if this event made us both feel that we could be gone at any moment and we are desperately holding on for now. (at least i am)
As i drove johnny B home i began to think about how detached we are from the reality of death. I know people that buy and save items for a house they will eventually move into that they have never even seen. People who collect baby clothes for a child they don't even have. Notebooks filled with pictures of dresses for a wedding that is not even a reality yet. But we don't plan to die. Death is really the only sure thing we all have in common, yet we put off planning for it till we are old or infirmed. My drivers licence says i am an organ donor, so why cant the DMV keep a record of what i want to happen to my body after my death as well? Instructions for handling, nothing complicated, just the basics, like bury or cremate.
This all sound so morbid, but i would feel liberated and unencumbered by the knowledge that those arrangements have already been made, letting me focus on living my life everyday fully aware of its temporal nature. enjoying and living and being and loving, celebrating life, fully.

our taco

6300 York Blvd #4, Highland Park,CA 90042

I like to tackle the hardest of hard hitting issues. Serious earth shattering, globally conscious shit like, does Diet Dr. Pepper REALLY taste like regular Dr. Pepper? And whether or not ‘My Taco’ is “authentic” or “white people” Mexican food.

To truly put the matter to rest we first have to dissect what “authentic” and what “white people” encompasses. Naturally, I take authentic to mean a representation of something that is in close proximity to the original inception. Where as what “white people” means is a matter worthy of some graduate school dissertation. That being said, I will naively conclude, for the purpose of this analysis that “white people” refers to the watering down, or commercialization of whathaveyou: in this case Mexican food. (Not that there is anything necessarily and automatically wrong with that as i will explore later.)

‘My Taco’ is one of my favorite neighborhood haunts. The décor is a cross between the set of some silly telenovella and pee wee’s playhouse with Frida-like chotchkies hanging all over the walls. The restaurant is always cleans and well ventilated: a great place to escape the heat and enjoy your meal. The staff is friendly; the menu is vast and affordable. I don’t remember where I first read about ‘My Taco’, I do however remember a reviewer raving about steak fries, which mystified me and filled me with intrigue. But much to my chagrin the steak fries were nothing more than thick crispy fries covered with carne asada, sour cream, guacamole and cheese. Not necessarily a Mexican delicacy, but more of a delicious hybrid of America conception, likes deep dish pizza. My initial disappointment was put at bay when I dug deep and attacked my mountain of cheese steak fries ($5.99) definitely a dish you may consider sharing, or not.

{authentic steak fries ;o) }

Since that first day I’ve ordered several things from the menu, usually restricting myself to the basics, quesadillas ($2.75), tortas ($4.75), and potato tacos ($1.49). But this time in an effort to delve deep into the issue of “authentic” food, I ordered the house specialty, BARBACOA DE BORREGO/marinated lamb ($5.99 small). I only remember eating this particular dish as a kid when the families got together for a quinceanera or Christmas, stuff like that. I was a little apprehensive, but when the plate came to the table, there could be nothing unauthentic about it. The slow cooked meat was tender and full of flavor, served with a cup of consume, and corn tortillas. The fixin’s come on the pate, but you can get more from the condiment station. No question in my mind that I will be ordering this dish again.

(Barbacoa de Borrego)

So, is MY TACO white people food or authentic Mexican food? 1.) Does it really matter? And 2.) Who really cares! It’s delicious, why are we so hesitant to welcome food evolutions? The important thing to remember is that in the depths of the kitchen we will probably find some Mexican cook, and how can we begin to say that he is not adding authentic flair to the dishes? I’ll tell you what is white people Mexican food, meat marinated in pasta sauce and basil stuffed in a cold tortilla, but what did I expect when I ordered a burrito in Germany!?!
P.S. I ordered a large horchata ($2.25) @ 'My Taco' and it was perfect sweet!

No Room for the Blues

O.P.I is my favorite nail polish. Their product lasts longer without chipping compared to most other lacquers and comes in the most amazing colors. The only problem I encounter is finding this brand in my local stores. Sometimes i can find it at some beauty supply stores or CVS, but they never have the whole line. (Target has a sister opi brand called Nicole, and Sephora also carries an opi line.) The website is a great point of reference to identify what jean-creaming color will be the object of your latest desire. Sadly, the website does not offer the option to buy. So, you are left to scouring the Internet for those must have shades that will make your day complete. I found this one on Amazon, it came from an independent vendor. Normally an OPI polish will run you about $8. I paid $6.49 plus $2.99 s&h and i have absolutely no regrets!

(this is how i see all the other nail polish blogs format the pictures...and i realize now why they always take the pictures outside in the day light...)

Stay tuned: next week a special paint-job birfdee surprise for Mr. M! (i will take that picture outside)

BYOBB

The extra B is for Burgers. I know what you're thinking, "For $5 bucks I can get 5 burgers at McDowell's", but we all know that fast food burgers generally lack the texture, and distinct flavor of those found in the backyard variety. Also, if you throw in a 32 of your favorite malt liquor and the company of your two favorite foodies, this can work out to be a pretty good deal.

Wednesday nights at the Echo Park restaurant, 'the PARK' is "$5 Burger Night" which includes a burger and a side. One of my two dining companions had eaten at 'the Park' once before and remembered it being BYOB. I checked the website and although i found the letters BYOB on certain nights, it was unclear if that was their general policy. Being the classy, respectful, upstanding citizen that i am, and given the lack of clarity on the matter, i smuggled in my own hooch and its a good thing i did. Apparently, the news of the "$5 Burger Night" has spread to all corners of Hipsterville and characters straight out of the latest Urban Outfitters catalog swarmed the narrow entrance to be seated. We had to wait about 35 minutes for a table. There was no list to put my name down on, and the hostess seemed aggravated and bothered. I mentioned to her that we would be outside waiting and she apathetically responded, "oh". Come to think of it, she did not even come out to fetch us when the table was ready, we just happen to be hovering around the patio and saw that one of the tables had opened up.

The decor of the establishment seemed nice from what i could ascertain from my skewed vantage perspective. Service was lax: it took a long time to take our order and bring out our food. Not to mention they were out of fries. But the wait was made bearable thanks to the 32oz I was nursing. As for the sides, i was glad they were out of fries, because the other two side options: potato salad and cole slaw were far better than i expected. The slaw was sweet and crisp and the potato salad-made with red potatoes (skins on) was not laden with mayonnaise and included fresh crisp celery.

The catch is that the introductory $5 price only includes the plain burger. You can build your own by choosing from a 6oz. sirloin burger or a veggie burger. Any fixins' are gonna run you an extra $1 for: cheddar, gruyere or blue cheese, mushrooms & garlic, caramelized onion, crispy onions or home-made aioli. Add for $1.50 for: applewood bacon. And add $2 for avocado.

(example of build your own with Avocado and Cheddar w/ potato salad)

They also have some pre-fabricated choices, like the "Who Shot J. R?"(pictured below left)which comes with bacon, cheddar, BBQ sauce & caramelized onions for $8. OR you can get a vegetarian option for $7 called,"The Club Med" (below right) which includes olive relish, crispy onions and gruyere.

I made the mistake of ordering my "J.R" medium well. The avocado Cheddar burger was ordered medium, and that was definitely the tastier burger. The bread was excellent, and the "club med" was absolutely exquisite. All the ingredients were fresh and of the highest quality. Too bad the same cannot be said about the service. Overall a great dining experience soiled only by lackluster service. But I should not be surprised, in true Hispster tradition, they are too cool for this planet and are doing me a favor by letting me eat at their restaurant. Which is why i did not feel bad pulling a Rachel Ray-$40 a day, and stiffing them on the tip.

At prices like this, I almost did not mind picking up the tab. ALMOST.

The Park Restaurant

1400 Sunset Blvd at the corner of Douglas in Echo Park

Dinner hours:Wed/Thurs/Sat/Sun 5:30-10:00

Lunch hours:Tues - Fri 11:00-2:30

Brunch hours: Sat / Sun 10:00-2:00

Part 1 of: te quiero mucho mame

Over a decade ago i left a little love note on the fridge for my mother in which i spelled "Mom" in Spanish wrong. I wrote, "no estes tan triste mame, yo te quiero mucho" with a forward stash accent above the last 'e'. (Don't be so sad mome, i love you very much) The misspelled "mom" made her smile and laugh and she instantly forgot all about what was making her so sad. (so i like to think) That note with its yellowed upturned edges, was on the fridge for a very long time. I know she still has it squirreled away somewhere, she is sentimental like that.

As time goes by i; like i assume all people who have mothers do, have gone through a range of emotional stages. When i was younger; a small child, i adored her. She was my world. I was madly in love with her. She was young and beautiful and when she walked, it was as if in slow motion. All the other children at school wanted my pretty mother to be theirs. But as my formative years drew on i began to feel the disappointment. She was less a fantastic unicorn in a slow moving meadow and much more a young, single, hardworking, immigrant parent: struggling. I respected her strength and admired her fortitude, but i longed to please her and like most children, longed for her approval, affection and attention. As young adulthood set in, i grew to resent her. I was filled with anger for all the things she did not understand, or things that she did, or did not do, or did wrong. Then after a couple of years away at college i forgot and/or accepted all the glorified and implicit hardship imposed on me, or so i thought.

A couple of years went by, i was now in my early 20's and the choices that my mother made, which i deemed selfish caused me to renounce her. Years of silence between us passed and she sent many letters. I wrote many, but sent none. I was stubborn. I felt hurt and betrayed, abandoned and angry. But she continued to send letters and little gifts. After 3 years elapsed i began to feel guilt. I was no longer angry and it seemed selfish to hurt my mother. We made a date at the Huntington Library. I dressed up because my mother is proper and elegant in that way and i knew it would make her proud to see me "presentable." She cried, and then i cried, and we talked. She looked beautiful, like always. But she was different, softened by time, not as curt. It was as if my absence had warmed her. Her hair was more peppered and magnificent and she had gradually lost the hearing in her left ear. I instantly felt terrible, for my thoughts automatically went to the Cosmic Power: that which guides, arranges and makes everything right in the Universe, and i felt shame for thinking that maybe she had lost her hearing because she never listened...