A title like this feels a little lazy and, to be fair, it is. But it has been a very long time since I last wrote something that wasn’t a work email, so I’m treating it as a loosener to get me back into the swing of things.
La Jalisciense (Santa Maria California)
In America, a car bonnet is called a “hood” and a boot is called a “trunk”, and as I was in America and no one understood what the hell I was talking about 90% of the time anyway, I resorted to telling people that I used the car hood as my dinner table, not the bonnet.
To my mind, eating food off the “hood” of your car is as quintessentially American as those red cups you throw ping pong balls into before drinking an insubstantial amount of weak beer. This was news to my (American) wife and (American) friends, who expressed surprise that anyone would even attempt this and professed never to have done so before. Perhaps they weren’t sufficiently American.
Anyway, to break up a long drive from Nowhere to Somewhere Else we pinpointed a taco truck off the highway next to a gas station with some promising Google reviews and hoped for the best. We were richly rewarded with a smorgasbord of sublime tacos. Step aside sour cream, pasty guac and grated cheddar cheese. Hello incredible salsa, melt in the mouth meat and soft juicy tortillas. Why anyone would ever want to put a wall between America and a land that produces incredible flavours like this is totally beyond me. Viva Mexico.
Fruit + chamoy on the side of the road (Lots of places in California)
Despite the activity of sprinkling Tajin (a dehydrated Mexican lime and chilli mixture you buy in bottles) on fruit being old hat to mango connoisseurs like myself, there was still a missing flavour bomb that had, up to now, evaded my tastebuds. That flavour bomb is an acidic, sweet, bright red mixture called chamoy. It is Mexico’s answer to those who say “my exotic fruit is not delicious enough”, and it is dolloped liberally on freshly chopped cups of mango, pineapple, cucumber, coconut and pretty much whatever else the street vendor has, along with a little Tajin and fresh lime juice. I got a cup of this whenever I could, often leading to some fairly abrupt and dangerous exits from the highways of California as I spotted a willing vendor at short notice. Again, viva bloody Mexico.
Brenda’s French Soul Food (Tenderloin, San Francisco)
Sometimes the best things come from the worst places. And this really was one of the worst area codes in SF. My parents and I cowered in the car, doors locked, eyes darting around for trouble, while my fiancée (now, miraculously unscathed wife) dodged flashers, drunkards and odd smells to rescue our takeout order from this SF institution.
Driving home I had the feeling of a getaway driver who had made out with a rich bounty by the merest of margins. And what a bounty it was. Crayfish beignets (basically, doughnuts stuffed with crayfish and spices) were a pleasing and gut busting intro, but the main event was a selection of tasty mains that made the mouth water. Gumbo, cheesy grits, catfish andouille and fried chicken were off the charts. For someone who’s experience of “Southern” food was limited to KFC, this felt like a revelation. Not since my first visit to Singapore had I been assaulted with flavours, at once familiar and comforting, but also an uncovering of a deep well of exotic new treasure.
Waterbar (San Francisco)
I liked this because happy hour oysters are $1, the drinks are cold, the service is prompt, the views of the bay bridge are spectacular and because the happy hour oysters are $1. We had three dozen before deciding that eating that many bivalves in a short space of time was like playing Russian roulette one hand too long. Still, I left wanting more.
Vietnamese chicken wings (San Jose)
Probably deserving of a post in itself, so I won’t give away much here I case I ever get to it, but it involved chicken wings, a brother-in-law, avocado smoothies, some very attentive service, a lot of Vietnamese men smoking cigarettes and a vague sense of unease.
Theme Park Food (Various)
Whatever your views on captive whales, I dare you to eat a hotdog at SeaWorld and feel disappointed. As always, you benefit from not knowing what is in it, but very enjoyable nonetheless.
Legoland San Diego also has “apple fries” (reconstituted apple in the shape of fries, deep fried, coated in cinnamon sugar). Much better than it sounds. And it sounds pretty good.
The giant turkey leg at Harry Potter world in Universal Studios was a classic case of looks better than it tastes. Oily, humungous and basically 50% turkey cartilage. Disgusting. Made slightly better if washed down with butter beer, which I think can be made by melting butter into cream soda, by the taste of it.
Carousel Restaurant (Little Armenia, Los Angeles)
I ate Armenian food outside at this famous LA joint whilst struggling heavily with illness and barely able to taste. It was still banging. Would like to return when I am less of a superspreader to confirm this.
Splash Café (Pismo Beach)
“Famous” for its clam chowder. It was awful. Gloopy, tasteless, and left you full of bloating and regret (although that might have been all the bread I ate to cleanse my sadness).
Best Friend (Las Vegas)
I dislike Roy Choi as a TV personality intensely. I’m not sure why, I just do. Regardless, his food is epic. If I were to bet, this is probably where we caught COVID, but it was totally worth it. In a city where everything feels set up to callously take your money whilst simultaneously doing as little as possible to justify the transaction, the US$69pp tasting menu was delicious, plentiful, good value and wildly better than it needed to be in a city where the food offerings rarely live up to the hype.
Little Lucas (South San Francisco)
A sandwich shop for sandwich lovers. A fellow sandwich enthusiast showed me this place which has a special place in his heart (and belly), and I can see why. These things are HUGE. They are also very tasty, slathered in garlic mayo and roughly the size of my wife’s two-year-old nephew. While I typically like my sandwiches on the drier side of greasebomb, this one hit the mark and was big enough for two. Whoever Luca is, he didn’t stay little for long.
