When my Vietnamese manicurist recommended Vinh Loi Tofu Factory, I was intrigued. I’m not a vegan, but I was sold when she said that Chef Kevin Tran makes his own fresh tofu and soy milk on the premises every day. Anyone who thinks tofu has no flavor has never had it fresh.

I talked Eric Stone into taking the ride out to the Valley to check it out and man, was it ever worth it.

We both had rice noodle soup, Bun Bo Hue for Eric and the House Special for me. It's hard to say which was better as they were both astoundingly rich and complex. His was a little more sour and sharply flavored whereas mine was thicker with an almost creamy peanut base. Chef Tran isn’t shy with the heat either and when you say “very spicy” he believes you.

Also amazing were the “chicken” nuggets with “french fries.” Everything on the plate was made from tofu. The tofu fries were light and pillowy but a bit bland and unremarkable. The nuggets, on the other hand, were just incredible. The texture was exactly like white meat chicken and the favor addictive. This would make an excellent gateway vegan dish for skeptical carnivores.

Even though we were both stuffed, we still had to try the dessert, a warm, soft, barely set tofu custard flavored with pandan leaf. It came with ginger syrup and coconut milk on the side, the perfect creamy, comforting follow up to our spicy meal.

We both brought home some fresh plain tofu and some of Chef Tran’s special shitake mushroom tofu. I also got some pandan soymilk for my pop. All this insanely good food cost us just over twenty bucks each.

Photos here.

No writing today, just recovering. There were no babies on my flight home and I had Jason Starr’s latest FAKE ID to keep me occupied. I had fun in New York, but I’m very glad to be home.

After the madness of the Edgars was over, I had a swell time just relaxing with friends and family. I ate at some of my favorite restaurants and tried some new places too. Friday I took the ferry out to the Statue of Liberty and then walked around lower Manhattan in the rain. That night I had good greasy NYC pizza with Jason Starr and then we parked ourselves at a Lower East Side bar and marveled at how much things have changed in that area.

Saturday, I started off with lunch at Jean George. None of my photos came out worth a damn, but the meal was absolutely top notch. Here’s what I ate:

Amuse - fresh Mozzarella with pickled rhubarb, crab fritter with mango and 5 spice aioli, and a shot glass containing a bright green herbal broth

1st - Hamachi sashimi and Japanese cucumber served with a soy-basil tea poured over it at tableside.

2nd – Peekytoe crab with asparagus ribbons in a lime-melon broth.

Dessert – chocolate covered coffee-cardamom ice cream pop and roasted pineapple sorbet with caramel curd.

Plus tiny chocolates, tiny macaroons (apricot, caramel and peanut butter and jelly) and fresh marshmallows (ginger, vanilla and rose) cut from long ropes using scissors.

From there, a quick visit to the Museum of Modern Art and then a stroll through Central Park and a ride on the carousel.

As much as I love my adopted city of L.A, I do really miss NYC. I feel at home there in a way I don’t think I ever will anywhere else.

Photos are up on Flickr, one set of general NYC snaps here and another of the Edgar Award banquet here.

Through some miracle of weather, the FOB was not sweltering and unbearably hot as it had been over the past few years. Of course there had to be a downside to the balmy temps and that was very strong wind. Not only could I not use my parasol for shade, (it was turned inside out no less than ten times before I gave up in despair) but my perfect hair quickly became disheveled and not-so-perfect and I had to hold onto my hair flower to keep it from blowing away. The wind was so strong at one point it was knocking over recycling bins. Lucky for me it died down before my signing and I was able to smooth out the tangles and make like I was that perfect the whole time.

Meanwhile, I spent my entire book budget at Hi De Ho Comics on this gorgeous book of vintage fetish art by 50’s comic artist Joe Shuster, co-creator of Superman.

It was great to see all my friends and fans. Thanks to everyone who stopped by the booth.

After the signing I kidnapped Victor Gischler and dragged him off for dinner. I pride myself in being up on where to eat and I know dozens of great places on the east side. But put me west of La Brea and I’m as lost as Gisch, chow-wise. So we drove aimlessly, headed towards the ocean and looking for inspiration. It wasn’t until the last minute that I remembered Chez Jay’s. A classic old-school dive that seemed like just the ticket, and it was.

Later that night, I finally had a chance to catch up on Strikeforce. The whole card was good, but I really wanted to see the Cyborg vs. Akano fight. It was kind of like watching a cute little woodland creature get hit by a truck. Don’t get me wrong, Akano really gave it everything. She had a lot of guts and heart and she didn’t just cover up and run, but she was outweighed by nearly 10 pounds and keep in mind, this is after Akano had to gain just to make 145.

That being said, I can’t wait for Cyborg vs. Carano.

Still have lots of items left on the to-do list. I fly to NYC first thing tomorrow morning.

Edited to add: Photo here. (Scroll down!)

Because I’m totally stressed out with travel plans and deadlines and way too much other stuff that isn’t writing, I’m currently incapable of crafting a thoughtful, intelligent post. So instead, I give you an utterly irrelevant food poll.

Cilantro. Love it or hate it?

I’m pretty firmly in the tastes-like-dishwashing-liquid camp when it's served up in large doses, but don't think one tiny leaf will ruin a whole meal either. In fact, I may be the world's only cilantro moderate. I still have no desire to fight the Fuck Yeah Cilantro guy.

I generally ignore Easter, since it has the least appealing color scheme of all holidays, but I love Vosges Amalfi Bunnies. White chocolate, lemon zest and pink peppercorn. Seriously lustworthy. The bunnies also come in Barcelona (Milk w/ smoked almonds and grey sea salt) and Red Fire (Dark w/ Mexican chilies and Ceylon cinnamon,) but those flavors are available year-round in bar form and the Amalfi isn’t.

Must... have... bunnies...

My first question, when did Xtreme Couture take over the planet? I went up the Space Needle and was both stunned and amazed to find more than half of the tourist t-shirts for sale in the gift shop employed that ubiquitous curly, goth-girly wrought-iron looking type of design that’s somehow inexplicably become macho. What I love about the Space Needle is its retro 60 futuristic style. A reminder of the imaginary Jetsonesque future we were supposed to have by now, full of flying bubble cars, plastic clothes and space age beehives. Nothing goth-grungy or Xtreme about it. But hey, if that’s what the flyover people want, who am I to get in the way of their consumer satisfaction?

Other that the Xtreme factor, the trip up the Needle was great. It was a rare blue and perfect day and the view really is breathtaking. My grandmother lives in Gig Harbor and she used to take me to the Needle and the nearby Science museum so even though I’m a New Yorker, I still have a lot of nostalgia for the Needle.

In my tourist travels, I also hit Gas Works Park, which I didn’t even know about until now. I don’t know how I could have missed out on a chance to play on giant industrial machinery as a child but I’m sure glad I had a chance to make up for lost time.

Also on the tourist hit list was tons of great food (Spur, Matt's in the Marketplace, Zoe,) a trip out to Gig Harbor to see Grandma, a tour through the Underground and cocktails with Vince and Rosemarie Keenan at the Zig Zag Cafe. I’m not a drinker, but the gracious proprietor hooked me up with the most astounding “mocktail” I’ve ever tasted. Homebrewed ginger beer and fresh lime and who knows what other mysterious ingredients. Now I’m tortured because I want one of those every single day.

Oh yeah, and the promised pix can be found here.

It’s been a stressful fortnight of multiple deadline madness. All have been met, but the big one, the next book for June, still looms large. I’m trying to stay frosty, with mixed results.

In dental news, I had one of my strangest experiences in the ongoing implant process yesterday. I had the usual x-rays and impressions, including one where he removed the temp caps and their screws and stuck what can only be described as industrial Dracula fangs in the empty holes. These were shaped like squared off bullets, green metal with protruding threaded screws so long I couldn’t shut my mouth. But that’s not the strange part.

The really strange part was this weird metal torture device that looked like something dreamed up by a sadistic Phrenologist. It had a metal bite plate smeared with blue goo that went in my mouth, plugs that went in my ears and various adjustable metal struts around my face that the dentist tightened with a screwdriver. Apparently it was measuring my jaws and the angles of my bite. After less than a minute of wearing this apparatus, I felt like someone was driving nails into the hinges of my jaw. I’m still achy today from that and from all that screwing (get your mind out of the gutter, I mean the implant screws) but the good news is, the next step is the last, the placement of the real permanent teeth. I love my dentist, but I’m really ready to be done with all this.

And, in other teeth-related news, it looks like the Kogi BBQ team is finally going brick-and-mortar. This doesn’t mean the end of the beloved Kogi trucks (there are two now, with rumors of a third in the works) just an addition to the Mangueras’ mobile empire of Korean/Mexican fusion street-chow.

There’s been a lot of sour grumbling about the “hype” surrounding Kogi BBQ, the long lines, their use of Twitter to announce their locations, and the inevitable hipster-factor. The way I see it, the word hype, defined as “exaggerated or extravagant claims made especially in advertising or promotional material” implies all jerk and no squirt. The truth is, buzz notwithstanding, Kogi’s food is flat out fantastic. Great flavors, high quality ingredients and fearless creativity. And, hey, any chow that gets Angelinos to wait on line IN THE RAIN can’t be discounted as nothing but hollow hype.

¡Viva Bulgogi Taco-A-Go-Go!

Also, speaking of internet hype, I wanted to remind all you Faustketeers to follow me, faustfatale, on Twitter. I find it pretty damn hilarious that, after all my curmudgeonly grumbling about “microblogging” I’ve recently been posting more over there than here, because it’s short and sweet. On deadline, short is definitely sweeter.

I just had a surreal lunch with my friend Lisa. Lisa (aka Hotwheels because of her wheelchair) finally got her hubby’s car tricked out with hand controls so she’s been a lot more independent lately and wanted to get out of the house and go out for lunch. I’m working way too hard and figured I needed a short break from the grind, so I agreed. She picked me up and we headed over to my favorite local Vietnamese joint.

The Viet joint is jumping, as usual, and when we pull into the lot there’s a crowd of hipster fucksticks standing in the handicapped spot. Lisa pulls up and motions for them to step out of the way and one of them asks, in the most supercilious tone possible, “Are you handicapped?”

No, genius, this handicapped license plate and the wheelchair in the passenger seat are just for decoration.

So after shaming and herding the fucksticks out of our way, we go in and get a table. Once we settle in and order, I notice a pregnant woman in a tight black dress standing by the door, presumably waiting for a table. There’s something really weird about her belly. It’s very low and almost square. When she hugs it lovingly, it crumples. I point her out to Lisa and we realize that the pregnant belly is fake, a particularly unrealistic fake at that.

We are amused and speculate on why she is pretending to be pregnant, but are soon distracted by our delicious food. The fake pregnant chick goes to wait outside with her friends, the hipster fucksticks.

Several minutes later, the faker returns with a second woman, a taller brunette wearing the exact same black dress and also sporting a fake pregnant belly. They say they aren’t waiting for a table, they "just want to use the bathroom” and promptly disappear together.

We are baffled. This is bizarre even for Silver Lake. We figured some kind of film shoot or play must be involved. As annoyed as I often get with my fellow Silverlaquenos, I must admit, there’s never a dull moment.

First of all, the photographic evidence.

The expo was HUGE and jam packed with silicone and slavering fans. When I arrived, I was disappointed to find that the Christian protesters were gone. I took tons of notes and think I have a pretty good handle on the scene I need to write that takes place in the middle of the expo.

From there, I met up with my galpals for our early dinner at Bouchon. I’d never been to the Venetian before and found it fit perfectly into the porno theme of the weekend. It was as expensive, over the top and tacky as a Vivid contract star. A plastic Vegas construct of faux class for flyover country tourists who have none. I killed my camera battery at the Expo, or I would have taken a lot more photos.

Despite the silly décor, our meal at Bouchon was superb. My pork belly appetizer was so transcendently delicious, I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. A thick slab that was brown and crispy on the surface but buttery and luscious inside, so tender it fell apart the moment I touched it with my fork. My entrée of scallops and root veggies in a lobster reduction was good but my friend Patty’s whole pan-roasted trout with potato confit turned out to be the knock-out of the night. Instead of having dessert there, we decided to check out the separate Bouchon Bakery downstairs. Lemon whore that I am, I went for the lemon tart with a pine nut crust. It was lip-puckeringly tart and ultra lemony, just the way I like. I came away from the meal more determined than ever to make the pilgrimage up to The French Laundry.

From there it was back to the hotel to get decked out for the award ceremony. Again, no camera, so I’ll have to make do with the thousand words instead.

I wore a mock-turtleneck black top and a knee length pencil skirt with a thick, black patent leather belt and matching flats. Everything tight-fitting but relatively modest. I figured I’d better leave the sluttiness to the professionals.

The event took place in the huge arena at Mandalay Bay. There was an amazing gauntlet of eager fans lining the way in, like a Hollywood red carpet. We were seated on the first level up from the floor, right beside the stairs, which turned out to be the best seat in the house, at least for me. All night long, I was treated to a parade of drunk and/or chemically enhanced tramps in ten inch platform stripper heels and micro-mini skirts staggering up and down the steep cement steps, falling off their shoes and flashing their chonies (or lack-thereof.) I’ve always had a bit of a fetish for girls tripping.

The show itself was as bloated and silly as any award show but still pretty entertaining. The short film of porn stars asking congress for bailout money and the infomercial for “Cock WOW!” were both hilarious. Predictably the pirates plundered nearly every award. I thought Roxy Deville was robbed for Best Actress and Jim’s Powers’ Little Runaway 2 really should have won Most Outrageous Sex Scene for the astounding punk rock bus bang. However I was happy for the always suave Mr. Marcus, who took Best Couples along with Monique Alexander.

Getting away from Mandalay Bay was an adventure in and of itself. The taxi line was a mile long so we wound up shanghai-ing Mr. Rotten and hiring a limo bus to make our escape.

Even though I was sick as a dog all weekend, I still managed to have a great time.

Check out luchaninjakeith's video of Kogi Taco Madness in Silver Lake, featuring my dog Butch, dogsitter Lili Chin and her dog Boogie, with a cameo by nathan_long.



I'm so jealous!

I'm here in Vegas, getting ready to head over to the expo. Still sick, I'm sorry to report. I guess I won't be making out with Aria Giovanni after all.

I understand there have been xtian protesters at the expo, fighting against evil heathen smut. That should be entertaining.

I'm also hearing reports that the Kogi BBQ truck got busted last night in Silverlake. Gotta dig up the dope on that action.

I’m headed out to Vegas this weekend, to cheer for all my friends who have been nominated for AVN Awards, take a bunch of notes and photos for the new book, and eat at Bouchon.

Meanwhile, check out this (softcore and relatively worksafe) trailer for Rob Rotten’s Texas Vibrator Massacre, nominated for 12 awards.

I’ve been dying to try the Kogi BBQ truck for ages now, and only finally caught up with them tonight in Little Tokyo.

Lili, Wes and I (and Lili’s Boston Boogie, of course) arrived at 1st and San Pedro at six on the dot to find a restless, milling crowd but no truck. Lots of speculation was taking place as to where the truck would drop anchor. When it finally appeared, driving south on 1st street, the youngest kids (the crowd was mostly teens and twentysomethings) immediately went tearing after the moving truck like dogs, chasing down the block until they could no longer keep up. When the truck disappeared around the corner, more fervent speculation occurred. Were they turning around? Circling the block? Where would they park? That’s when we ran into luchaninjakeith, who had his own ideas about the truck’s ultimate parking spot. Eventually the truck reappeared, driving in the opposite direction and then slowed, pulling in to a slot about halfway down 1st street, near Suehiro.

What happened next was like a scene out of a fast zombie movie. People started running like mad. Before the truck had come to full stop, it was mobbed. We followed along and wound up about twenty deep behind the line. Mark Manguera, the smiling, genial ringleader of the Kogi BBQ show, appeared from the window and told us they would need a few minutes to get set up. During those few minutes, the line quadrupled in length.

It took over 40 minutes for us to get our food, but to say it was worth the wait would be a criminal understatement. I ordered a plate of four tacos, one of each type including beef short rib, spicy pork, chicken and tofu. I also had the special, pork belly with spicy kimchi salad. Everything was superb. The surprise standout favorite of the night was the chicken, although I couldn’t exactly put my finger on why. The tofu was a dark horse second, savory and full of sharp, tangy flavor. But the truth was, there wasn’t a bad dish in bunch. Lili thought the pork belly was a bit too crisp for her taste, but I really enjoyed it.

The only downside of the evening was losing the rest of my cracked temporary implant in a chunk of pork belly. I had cracked it the day before and it was only a matter of time before the rest of the fake tooth broke off. Of course the dentist is on vacation until Monday.

Photographic evidence of bulgogi taco madness here.

edited to add: Here's Wes and Lili's photos. I particularly like the one of me with a full mouth and an empty paper plate.

New stove!!!



When I fire up this bad boy, I hear Ride of the Valkyries by Wagner. Five burners, two normal, one “power boil” (!) one smaller simmer burner and a big double length oval burner in the center with a removable griddle, plus a massive crematorium-sized oven and a warming drawer. This thing is bigger than my bathroom. I want to have sex on it. Best Thanksgiving gift EVER!

(Note: Even the prospect of turkey scraps cannot cheer up Radar Dog.)

When I first moved to Los Angeles, I saw a hand lettered sign in a crappy little mini-mall coffee shop that read “Comida China y Donuts.” Chinese food and donuts is a standard fast food combo out here, but that homemade Spanglish sign somehow summed up the culinary soul of LA better than an army of clever foodbloggers. Humble or haut cuisine, we love our ethnic fusion chow out here.

So in the spirit of that mix-and-match dining philosophy, the intrepid Eric Stone, his pal Bill and I set out last night on a quest for Bulgogi tacos. That would be MexiKorean fast food composed of traditional, thinly sliced Korean beef in a sweet soy marinade but served carne asada style in a soft corn tortilla, with or without kimchi.

Sadly, when we arrived at Bab Jip, the South LaBrea joint on which we’d pinned our hungry hopes, we found we were out of luck. Despite the large gaudy banner advertising their grand opening (cruelly illustrated with photos of the Bulgogi tacos and sliders and kimchi fried rice that we would not be enjoying that night) the place was inexplicably closed down. I should have known we were destined for failure when I started feeling the onset of the same annoyingly persistent inner ear problem that has felled me several times in the past. It starts with a shrill tinnitus, followed by nausea and eventually killing vertigo. I’ve got no health insurance, so I mostly try to control the worst of the symptoms with prescription strength Dramamine and hope for the best. Last night, the Dramamine just wasn’t cutting it and by the time we got to Bab Jip, I wasn’t feeling much like eating. I had no choice but to tap out on the evening, leave Eric and Bill to hit the al pastor wheel on Fletcher and go lay flat on my back staring at a fixed point on the ceiling. Not fun.

Today, I’m still a little unsteady, but better, although my right ear is still ringing and partially deaf. With any luck, we’ll run take two on the Bulgogi taco experience after the holiday week has passed. Meanwhile I need to keep soldiering through my daily word count. No rest for the wicked.

Well, Timmy, when an indescribable horror and a lemon tree really love each other…





Buddha’s Hand Citrons, at the Von’s supermarket on Sunset Blvd, for chefcdb

My place is crawling with plumbers today. They started making ungodly noise at 7am sharp. Complete repiping. The pets are terrified, I’m cranky and I seriously doubt I’m gonna get a goddamn word written today, but I’m stuck here in the house until 5pm because I don’t trust these guys not to let the dogs loose in the alley or smash things.

So, since I suddenly find myself stuck at the desk with way too much free time, here’s a completely gratuitous post about vegetables. After last night’s H8-related Cali-bashing, I feel the need to mention one of the many things I love about my adopted state.

I’ve always been a produce whore. I don’t feel any desire for bling, fancy cars or designer handbags, but the one thing I’m always tempted to splurge on is produce. Lucky for me, (and not so lucky for my wallet,) California grows some of the best fruits and veggies in the country.

When I found out about the organic produce delivery service from Auntie Em’s in Eagle Rock, I was instantly infatuated. I was intrigued by the randomness, kind of like a tasting menu but with just the raw potential. It seemed like a delicious challenge. Iron Chef: Whatever’s-Fresh-This-Week Battle. In a way, it’s like the culinary equivalent of writing novelizations. You don’t get to pick the characters but you can make them do pretty much anything that fits their nature.

I like to think I’m doing my part to support local merchants and farmers and stimulate the spavined economy, but really I’m just feeding my addiction. And I’m fine with that.

For my peeps in da hood who are produce whores like me, I cannot recommend this service highly enough. If you’re still not sold, check out this photo set of green loveliness. Just in case anyone out there still thinks I’m some kind of glamorous goddess, here’s even more proof of what a total nerd I really am.

I'm in NYC now, all set to hop a train down to Baltimore tomorrow noon.

Dinner at Jean George was amazing. I had the autumn tasting menu. I don't have time to post a full rundown but everything was delicious, complex and intriguing. My only (very minor) criticism is the kumamoto oyster amuse wasn't quite as transcendentally perfect as Chef Damon's kumamotos with ginger and cracked pepper granita. Or maybe I'm just spoiled. But I really enjoyed the meal, and I can now add "tasting menu at a 3 Michelin star restaurant" to my Omnivore's Hundred list.

I really do miss New York. No matter how long I live in LA or how much I've grown to love my adopted city, I always feel a profound sense of home here.

But alas, I'm off.

Check out this great interview with Jennifer McLagan, Author of FAT: An appreciation of a misunderstood ingredient.

News Flash: Fat is good. Hell, I could have told you that. But McLagan claims it's actually good for you, too. So toss that Crisco and bring on the lard!

Bone Marrow Tacos, anyone?

Also, in other taco-related news, there will be a debate on politics and tacos at Yuca's on Hillhurst in Los Feliz tonight 9/26 from 6-8pm.

I noticed something interesting while doing the Omnivore’s Hundred in my last post. When it comes to fermented food, I seem to have a weirdly Asian bias. I’m only willing to eat the mildest forms of cheese, but unlike most of my fellow Americans, I’ll happily chow down on miso, prahok and kimchi all day long. Natto, on the other hand, I wouldn’t eat at gunpoint. Go figure.

Sadly, I’m going to have to give the classic double bill of The Fly and Return of the Fly (scroll down) at the Egyptian tonight a miss because I’ll be pissing off on Saturday to see the The Fly, the opera. Deadlines loom and I’m way behind.

In other news, my cat has herpes. (This revelation has me in an amazingly foul mood, but I can’t stop laughing at the previous sentence. It’s either laugh or go on a kill crazy rampage.) Who even knew cats could get herpes? My Persian Reggie was rescued from a horrific, filthy hoarding situation, and clearly his unsavory past has caught up with him. Apparently cats get herpes infections primarily in their eyes, sort of like a cold sore on the cornea. Poor Reggie’s been walking around half-squinting like the proverbial one eyed cat peeping in a seafood store. He had to have the surface of his eye “debrided,” meaning scrubbed with a tiny brillo pad, to remove all the ragged edges around the ulcerated area. 500 dollars later…

I’m going in for the next round of my ongoing dental torture next week, but at least I don’t have to have my eye debrided.