Los Angeles is one hundred percent a magnificent food city, which is ironic because nobody here eats. Eighty pound actresses teeter about on 4″ stiletto heels while beefy actors stay in ketosis. I have no idea how such a food metropolis sprung up under such conditions.
Oh, right, the rest of us. We chubby slobs who do all the writing or cleaning or retail work or secretarial duties or nursing (sometimes all of the above) while actors move amongst us like those tiny little silver fish — we’re the ones lining up at taco trucks and craving shawarma.
But me? I’m that white lady freaking you out at the Mediterranean market.
“You have ground lamb? Who has ground lamb anywhere?! OMG look how cheap the mint is! And what is this? SAFFRON ICE CREAM? With weird flavourless chunks in it? Is it gluten free?! Give me two of those!”
I’m like a slovenly hurricane with a basket and a reusable shopping bag loading in things I can’t pronounce and can’t wait to make even though I have no idea what I am doing.
And it always comes out DELICIOUS!
Last week I made some sort of weird lamb meatloaf with green lentils and some kind of sauce that had fresh figs and whatever thing I sprinkled in there. I had rosewater cardamom ice cream for dessert while binge watching Live PD.
My church has a large Latinx population that just randomly brings food…or rather my Spanish is so bad that it seems random to me. I have learned about pupusas and curtido and I will slap down all kinds of fundraising dollars for a homemade tamale, by Jorge.
No, literally by Jorge.
Indian food is everywhere, which is great because Indian food is the Mexican food of England. But we also have Mexican food in LA. You can’t lose!
And now it seems like the Indian places are trying to outdo each other not only on selection, but price. It’s not enough to stuff yourself dead, but you must also have a glass of champagne AND an authentic chai with your limitless buffet…for $15.
In a land where a good cocktail can be $18, this is magical.
Add on the Korean barbecue places and the Korean Chilean fusion trucks and the Ethiopian Swedish waffle houses, and you could easily weigh 300 pounds — if you didn’t have a trainer (who is also an actor who was in that one Netflix show) telling you to squeeze your buns during your 75 squats.
(I made up the Ethiopian Swedish waffle house…I think.)
I love the Korean supermarket! Seaweed and spinach in sesame oil and garlic, next to tiny dried guppies, kimchi, and whatever the hell those little squid things are (turns out, they’re little squid). Pastries made of…I have no idea. It’s in Korean. Wonderfully handy little kitchen doodads that nobody in the West has ever though of!
And this amazing product.
You can’t sell that in the American supermarket! There’ll be LETTERS.
I enjoy giving what little money the state of California allows me to keep on authentic (and, yes, fusion) food experiences. I am sorry that there is no food left for the people of your homeland, everyone.
That was on me. My bad.
Okay, so this entire piece is a long apology to the lady I beat out for the last pound of ground lamb. I didn’t realize. Sorry.
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I am your counterpart a few hundred miles north of you who loves one of my local Mediterranean markets. The kalamata olives are $6.00 a pound cheaper than the local chain markets and that alone is worth the trip. I continue to find new and wonderful things to try there. And then there is Ethiopian food, if more people knew how wonderful it is, it might be as popular as Thai food is now. I have been to that market also so I have the spices to make some at home!