Burnt Lumpia

Milk 'n Sugar

Last week, the wife and I had the good fortune to again meet up with another fantastic food blogger. Mark, from No Special Effects, was in L.A. from the Philippines for a few days so we decided to snatch him away from his hotel in El Segundo and take him to one of our favorite watering holes: Father's Office.

Although F.O. is known for its burgers (some say the best in Los Angeles), I'm drawn there for the semi-hard-to-find microbrewed beers and cocktails (there are two F.O. locations: one in Santa Monica and one in Culver City/Los Angeles, and only the L.A. locale serves the cocktails). In fact, we live about an hour from F.O. but the wife and I manage to go there a few times a year just to wet our whistles.

Even though F.O. boasts a highly regarded burger, I still prefer that of ol' reliable In-N-Out or even the burgers at Apple Pan. Don't get me wrong, the Office Burger is a great burger, but I'm more of an old-fashioned simple burger type, whereas the Office Burger is somewhat of an upscale gourmet sandwich that features a patty of great quality ground beef topped with arugula, gruyere and maytag bleu cheeses, and a compote of onions and bacon, all pressed between a kaiser roll.

With that said, no matter how much I tell myself "I'll try something else this time" whenever I step into F.O., I still find myself always ordering their burger--I feel like I'm missing out if I don't order it. This time around, the wife and I split a burger, some sweet potato fries, and a wonderful heirloom tomato salad that was dressed with ricotta cheese, herbs and microgreens, and a cucumber vinaigrette. Mark had himself an Office Burger of his own (which he seemed to enjoy) and some regular fries.

During the course of a Negroni cocktail and 2 or 3 or 4 beers (I lost count), we discussed things like Saturday Night Live, The Office, rampant STDs at USC, and the strictness of Filipino parents. The range of this conversation was perhaps due in large part to the aforementioned beverages that I consumed, so I'm not totally sure that Mark completely followed my ramblings. Luckily, my wife was in tow to keep me and my liver in check.

Good Food, Better Company

Earlier this year, I received an email from a blogger in the Philippines named Mila. After reading one of my adobo posts, Mila (who writes the blog, Watergirl) kindly offered to send me a cookbook comprised of nothing but adobo recipes. I replied to Mila and, of course, accepted her generous offer so that I could further my research into the salty and tangy subject of adobo cookery.

After exchanging a couple more emails, Mila informed me that she and some of her friends (other Pinoy food bloggers and readers of my blog) happened to be chatting one night and decided that they all would like to meet me if I ever made my way to Manila during my trip to the Philippines.

Upon reading this bit of information, I was initially excited at the prospect of meeting people that I had become acquainted with via their own wonderful blogs and through their helpful comments left here on my own blog. But then my ego slowly started to deflate as my inherent sense of suspicion kicked into high gear. Personal experience dictates that when a group of women talk about me when I'm out of earshot, the conversation usually revolves around how huge of a dork I am, followed by giggling, more conversation about my dorkiness, and then ending with uproarious side-splitting laughter while fingers are pointed at me from afar (sigh, high school sucked).

In spite of (or maybe because of) my dubiousness and low self-esteem, I cautiously wrote Mila back, said it would be wonderful for all of us to meet, then closed my eyes and hit the SEND button. Because this was still a few months before my trip to the Philippines, I promptly forgot about this whole exchange no more than 30 seconds after hitting said SEND button (my short-term memory is lacking in, I forget).

A couple months later though, I received "The Adobo Book" in the mail. Inside the book was a short note from Mila reminding me that everyone would still like to meet me and my wife for dinner in Manila.

By now, I had come to grips with the fact that perhaps there does exist a type of person who would actually want to take the time and meet other human beings in a friendly atmosphere rather than incessantly mocking them. These people are called "normal", whereas people like myself are referred to as "anti-social," "paranoid," or "surly hermits". Despite my usual status as a "surly hermit," I was again excited at the prospect of meeting other bloggers and lovers of Filipino food.

So, after much planning and organizing on Mila's part (thanks again, Mila), I was able to wine and dine with a wonderful group of people on one of my last nights in the Philippines.

Strange Times, and Pigging Out at The Oinkster

Delightfully unexpected things I thought I would never see in my lifetime:

• The arrival of a grizzly Spaniard bringing new hope to La La land.
• Portman and Johansson in the same movie at the same time. (woohoo!)
• A black dude and a white chick making a case for themselves as the next possible U.S. president.
• Ube prominently featured in a non-Pinoy restaurant.

Strange, no? But, inexplicably, all of these things seemed to simultaneously materialize as I read the newspaper while lunching on the outside patio at The Oinkster today.

The Oinkster is a pastrami joint in Eagle Rock that I've been meaning to check out for the last year or so. But, thanks to a general lack of geographical knowledge (I had no idea it was so close to where I work) it's taken me quite a while to make a pilgrimage to this piggy purveyor.

Although I've heard good things about The Oinkster's pastrami sandwiches and pulled-pork sandwiches and Belgian-style fries, hearing about something else on The Oinkster's menu was what initially piqued my interest:

Ube Milkshakes.

Yes, milkshakes. Made from sweet Filipino purple yams. At a pastrami joint no less!  Learning this bit of information had me perplexed. But, it turned out that this wasn't such a strange occurrence after all. After consulting with The Goog, I found out that the owner of The Oinkster is Filipino American. Now I really had to try this place out.

Pointing in the Right Direction

Filipino-Americans are the second largest Asian-American group in the United States behind the Chinese (damn those Chinese!).  More specifically though, we're THE largest group in the United States hailing from Southeast Asia.

Whoohoo! We're #1! In your face Thailand, Vietnam, and whoever else Wikipedia says is in SE Asia! In your face!

Ahem. Uh, sorry for the seeming hostilities. I mean no disrespect. That is a foam finger of peace! I love all my Asian-American brethren. I really do. I'm just, just, jealous.  That's right, I can admit jealousy.  You see, in spite of having a very large presence here in the U.S., Filipinos still lag behind our Asian homies when it comes to the dining scene.  Good Filipino restaurants are few and far between here.

That isn't to say there aren't any, but relatively speaking, there aren't many Filipino restaurants. All around the cities and from coast to coast, there are countless Chinese and Japanese restaurants. And the delicious cuisines of India, Vietnam, and Thailand (among others) are growing in popularity as well. You see how that can make a brother envious?

I'm sure there are a number of reasons why Filipino food hasn't caught on in much the same way as the Curries, Phos, and Pad Thais of our Asian compatriots. For the public at large, there's probably an apprehension to try new and different things. With that said though, there was also a time in this country when sushi was seen as strange and foreign.

For me however, I don't frequent Filipino restaurants very often because I'm constantly comparing everything to my mother's cooking and therefore, find myself being overly critical of perfectly fine food. I do realize the hypocrisy in all of this--I want to promote Filipino food, but I've yet to review a Filipino restaurant on this blog.

So, to keep from talking out of both sides of my mouth (and out of my ass for that matter), I'm glad to say that I've serendipitously discovered a very good Filipino restaurant.

30's the New 20

Urasawa is a restaurant that you wouldn't know was there, unless you knew it was there. It's located on the corner of Wilshire and Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills, but its lack of exterior signage keeps it relatively hidden within its prime location.

Luckily for me, I've known about Urasawa's whereabouts for quite some time, reading about the restaurant in various magazines and food blogs over the last couple of years. But because of the insanely high tab at Urasawa (the most expensive in Los Angeles), I've been able to only lustfully daydream that I might someday afford to dine on the Japanese offerings of its now legendary namesake chef, Hiroyuki Urasawa.

Well, after a year of planning and saving, my wife and I amassed enough coin for us to eat at Urasawa. And besides, it was my 30th birthday.

Osteria Mozza: A Review

As far as Hollywood starlets and their inane nicknames go, I'd have to rank OsMo and PizMo ahead of Brit-Brit, J-Lo and LiLo. 

Who the hell are OsMo and PizMo you ask?

Oh, they are a couple of sisters that work the corner of Melrose and Highland everynight in Los Angeles—both sisters bringing in hot and brisk business.

Ok, that probably wasn't the best description of these lovely ladies. Let me try that again.

The Mozza sisters are the much-heralded restaurant ventures between superchefs Nancy Silverton and Mario Batali.  I sang the praises of the older sister, Pizzeria Mozza (PizMo), earlier this year.  And as soon as word got out that Pizzeria Mozza's new sister restaurant, Osteria Mozza (OsMo), was open for business, I got on the blower ASAP to snag a meeting with this young up and comer.

It took me about 10 tries, but I finally bypassed busy signals and got through to one of OsMo's representatives.  Surprisingly enough (starlets and their handlers are so unpredictable), I was able to get reservations at OsMo for my wife and myself just two weeks after OsMo's name went up in lights on opening night.

Pinkberry Pandemic Hits Rancho Cucamonga

I first heard of Pinkberry when I was perusing the LA Times last year and came upon the following headline:

"The taste that launched 1000 parking tickets: Pinkberry addicts cramp the style of one neighborhood"

My first thoughts before reading the entire article, "Hmmm, a new strip club?  Why are they always sticking strip clubs near innocent neighborhoods?  Why don't they ever put any strip clubs near my neighborhood?"

Turns out that Pinkberry was not the name of a new nudie bar. Pinkberry was a frozen yogurt joint that reportedly served the most bestest and tastiest frozen yogurt imaginable, frozen yogurt that was topped with everything from Cap'n Crunch to fresh berries.

My first thoughts after reading the article, "Dude, it's just frozen yogurt with toppings, how good can it be?  That's definitely not Cuttino!"

[A quick aside. You're probably wondering what the hell "not Cuttino" is.  You're not?  Oh, well, I'll tell you anyways.  My good buddy Matt happens to be a sports writer for the Riverside Press Enterprise.  Sometime last year, Matt interviewed Clippers guard Cuttino Mobley about Lakers fans and Clippers fans.  Mobley pretty much said Clippers fans were true sports fans and Lakers fans were a bunch of followers. Mobley then ended the interview by saying, "That's not Cuttino!" about the trendiness of Lakers fans.  Ever since then, me and Matt refer to everything trendy as "Not Cuttino"€.]

That really wasn't a quick aside was it?  I am a terribly slow storyteller!

Where was I? Oh, yes. Pinkberry. After that initial article, I didn't give much thought to the frozen yogurt eatery (froyogurtery?).  But then the buzz hit Chow, and it hit other food blogs, and then I heard Pinkberry namedropped on The Hills (You brought my roses to Audrina at Pinkberry!!).  Uh, not that I watch that show or anything.  I'm a grown-ass man.  Watching The Hills is NOT CUTTINO!

A Pinkberry Pandemic was spreading across the land as more and more of these "trendy"€ frozen yogurt shops were popping up across SoCal and even into New York.  I had to try this stuff out.  It had to be tasty right?  Alas, no Pinkberries (or gentleman's clubs for that matter) were open near the Burnt Lumpia World Wide Headquarters in the Inland Empire.  Until last week that is.

Pizzeria Mozza: A Review

Under normal circumstances, a Friday drive from the Inland Empire to Los Angeles would be an ill-advised journey.  Even more so when the intended destination is an incredibly popular restaurant for which you have no reservations.  But sometimes, a leap of faith (or at least a couple of wasted hours in Southern California traffic) is required for a good meal.  Such was the case for me and my wife as we decided to drive 50 miles from our home to Pizzeria Mozza.

Pizzeria Mozza is the much-talked-about venture between Nancy Silverton and Mario Batali.  Just four months ago, it was fairly easy for me to secure a reservation there as my wife and I visited Mozza for the first time last December.  But that was before all the hype began.  As such, for the last few weeks I’ve tried in vain to land another dinner reservation.

So, since both my wife and I had the day off last Friday, we decided to take our chances and drive to Mozza for lunch and hope to be seated without reservations.  Although we arrived 10 minutes before the restaurant opened at noon, there was already a line of eaters more eager than I underneath the bright orange awning outside of the pizzeria.

Then, precisely at noon, the doors opened and the line of hipsters, grandmothers, young couples, and at least one idiot food blogger (ahem), swarmed into the restaurant.  It seemed that none of these early birds had reservations and the hostess allowed seating on a first-come-first-serve basis.  Joy and hunger immediately nudged from my mind any memories of an earlier 50-mile trek.