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Summer Girl, by Family Of The Year

Christmas is next week.

I was never really big on Christmas, so this post won’t be as emotionally invested* as the Thanksgiving post. I guess my faith in Christmas ended when my faith in Santa Claus ended. And that was in first grade when I wrote a letter to Santa asking for a Gameboy and Pokemon: Blue Version. But my brother called me over, and there it was on my computer. Santa was no match for ROM emulation. So I guess my love for Christmas ended when my love for piracy started. How fitting.

And I’m just not a gift giver. I don’t want to give what I don’t want to receive. And all of the “true spirit of Christmas” …that spirit was all spent on Thanksgiving, a holiday that still has a heart, and more importantly, a pulse. The best words I heard all week were from a friend who was considering giving me sourdough bread for Christmas so I can start using my panini maker.

And in recent years, the Christmas season has meant a card, of sorts, made of black construction paper with a three-dimensional signature, written in black ink, speaking of nothing, if not the lingering fate that would succeed for a few more years. A wasted expedition to conquer the giraffe of loneliness, where I handed out free coupons, only to realize that giraffes don’t see coupons. They see brightly colored leaves. And coupons are just pieces of paper, unless it’s a step towards what you really want. And I didn’t want a pink idiot, spiraling into an abyss. And it has meant a lifeless lunch at Denny’s. I tried CPR. But I cracked the ribs. I guess I punctured something.

I don’t like the winter. I don’t like Christmas. The menu seems to be a half-assed rehash of what made Thanksgiving so glorious. As a basketball fan, I could come up with myriad reasons to love Christmas. Because the focus of Christmas, after the frenzy of providing gifts for others, is to watch.  To watch, in retrospect, your life, during the last full week of the year. And that gets old. You hardly ever relish in what an amazing person you’ve grown into. Just how ugly you’ve become.

And therein lies the precise reason why I even started this blog. Because life sucks. And the only cure I’ve found is an adventure with friends, which almost always leads to the entrance sign of a restaurant. And within, you find the most perfect compliment to the day and night that is, was, and will be. That alternate plane where there is nothing but what you want and need. That is why I love food. Because I temporarily have a key to utopia. With the key, I evade the slights of time. And for an hour or so, I can stop being a perpetual malcontent, and just be me.

It doesn’t look like this winter is shaping up to be any better. But I won’t be crucified by misery. And so I will find my Eden. El Dorado. Utopia. Because the concept of freedom is ingrained in our blood. And we do what we need to do to escape. That’s all we ever do.

* – clearly that was a lie.

Swiss Miss is great on study nights. But just an observation. They come with miniature marshmallows. This has got to be the dumbest idea ever. If you pour a hot enough liquid over them, they just dissolve into the drink.

…I was looking forward for a little bite sized surprise, too.

As it is the dreaded Finals week, I am afraid eats the universe will not be updated much in the upcoming week. In my feeble attempts at graduating summa cum laude, I deem memorizing words that have already materialized will, at least for the week, be more important that materializing a few of my own.

Happy eating, everyone.

And for the soldiers out on the fronts of academia, I stand beside you, and I salute.

As sure as there is day and night. As sure there is time being squandered by the likely majority of leaders and rebels of tomorrow. That is how sure I am when I say I can’t live; I can’t love without Jello.

It is a process of brutalized beautification. To cook, raw bone and tissue, essentially pulverizing any sense of entitlement, any namesake, any identity these past living units held onto. To take something, with a clear and present role, and eliminate everything except its existence. Something like a reverse stem-cell. I’ll reserve the intimate details for those who actually give a shit about chemistry.

But what is left is a sight to behold. Something borne from an animal, yet bears no resemblance, in physical or chemical characteristics. It no longer shares lineage with our most conjunctive foundation, but to speak it in the same breath as Victor Frankenstein’s creature would be tantamount to saying Seal is just as attractive as Heidi Klum. A more apt understanding would be to imagine Frankenstein’s creature, essentially a bolted figurine of corpses, burning at the stake. As the flames subside, what emerges looks like a mannequin from H&M. …Made sense to me.

But focusing on Jello’s rather disgusting properties only values one side of its beauty. As you can see, I am infinitely intrigued by the beauty of deconstruction, but the mass of Jello’s beauty is in its tabula rosa. Having a blank slate, capable of taking on flavors you’d never think a descendant of flesh and bone could possess.

Best flavor? There is no best flavor. Best combination? Easy. Mix a box of Jell-O Wild Strawberry and a box of Jell-O Black Cherry. Alone, Wild Strawberry is too tart. Black Cherry, too sweet. Together, creates an indistinguishable melding of generic berry flavor, with impeccable balance. And always serve with whipped cream. Or else you’re cheating yourself.

Gelatin is the closest mankind will get to turning flesh into diamond. And the closest we’ll get to cows that produce chocolate milk from their udders.

Oh thin crust! So was it a good portrayal of an authentic Italian pizza?
Were the flavors like ‘BAM!’ ? ‘Cause I heard that’s how Italians do.
Was it like “Whoa, totally being all food critic and fancy and stuff!” ?
Was it classy? Classy pizzas seem so classy.
Was it good?

Yeah. It was alright.

Corn and Bacon Pie

(photo courtesy of Bon Appetit magazine)

Corn. Bacon. Pie. Three of my favorite words. It’s more of a quiche, but holy hell, this is going to be made in the near future.

Bacon Oatmeal Cookie Sandwiches

(photo courtesy of Amanda Clarke of Serious Eats)

I’ve actually been wanting to make these for about 7 months now. I don’t think anything will stop me this time around.

Just a look towards the future. Another essay coming shortly.

My kind of comic.

That article was alternatively titled, “Characters.” And I think that’s how a lot of AYCE sushi restaurants have groomed themselves into. These establishments find themselves in a middle ground between the sushi restaurants that aspire to reach the busido code, and the sushi restaurants owned by Chinese people. They are not necessarily looking to reach a level of zen. They are looking to get their customers to a level of full unfathomable. With the application of sushi, no less.

And in that area, east of Eden, I suppose, of blissful mediocrity, you find different selling points for your craft. Because eating “AYCE” brings a new connotation to eating. Because it is literally a physical and mental immersion into food. But like any food that is too fattening, too rich, too good, you need something to balance it out. To provide a worthy distraction.

And that’s where you meet wonderful people like Kim. Kim is (as it seems) the only waitress at Katana Sushi and Ramen in Hacienda Heights. She is the definition of character. Don’t let her accent fool you. Her mastery of the English language is quite good, and she uses every bit of it to deliver her signature sass and spunk. She is the alpha female, and once you step beyond the gates of Katana, you are instantly subordinated. But it’s definitely not a bad thing. When you go on this metaphorical voyage into the deep blue sea, the surroundings can be a bit intimidating. Luckily, she is your captain.  And luckily, she knows what she’s talking about.

She will recommend. She will look at your order, and cross off some stuff she deems unworthy for your tastebuds. But as long as your arms and legs are within the ship at all times, you will be immersed. I wasn’t expecting quality. Because you don’t expect quality at any AYCE establishment. It is simply not a requisite. The only requisite is massive quantities of whatever you choose to ingest. But boy, when you can have quality along with quantity, it’s easy for everything to go over your head.

The fish quality is really good. Really good. So good, I only ordered one roll. The rest of the night was all nigiri. And that is what got me. Usually at an AYCE sushi place, you go for the rolls, because the flavors of the individual fish is not necessarily on par, so you get multiple flavors together, usually that california roll flavor, and establish filler, essentially. But there was absolutely no need here. I’m not necessarily a purist, but what I love most about sushi is the highlighting of individuality. Each fish offering a unique, yet equally tantalizing reason for you to come back for seconds, thirds, fourths, or fifths.

And yet a rose is not without its thorns. But oddly, the flaws I see in Katana actually add to it’s odd charm and spunk. The rice they use is so clearly not sushi rice. It’s just regular rice. It doesn’t have any extra starch to hold it together. And part of me, while eating, thought it was just an ongoing show of wit. A practical joke utilized in succession. They know their fish is of a high standard. They know that is why people come. And they know that most people, if given the opportunity, would omit the rice all together. So why not just use regular white rice? They won’t care. And sure enough, I really didn’t. I just laughed every time I picked up a piece of nigiri with my chopstick, the rice would just crumble before it hit my plate.

Oh, and ask for their iced green tea. It’s a very smooth matcha blend.

But back to Kim, she does her best to recognize your face. She always remembers someone familiar. My brother goes very often, and I’m known as the little brother that is always brought up in conversations. So it is indeed, a special experience, knowing that you will be recognized every time you walk in.

And when you go to an AYCE place, you know you’re never alone. And sometimes, when the food is piled on, it’s easy to lose touch with what’s going on around you, especially if the restaurant does not foster a feeling of hospitality. But when you dine at places like this, you realize that the personalities around you act like a pallete cleanser. Their antics, their traits. Something to talk about. Something to provide engagement outside of food. Because there will always be food at an AYCE. It is really almost a duty to find balance between food and company. And I admit, I do have trouble sometimes when I’m seduced with excess.

But that is exactly what places like this champion. The joy of excess. The excess of food. The excess of company +1. That 1 being the company of excitable people like Kim, a new friend. A new captain, if only temporarily, in the endless quest for unknown pleasures.

Clipse  ft. Cam’ron & Pharrell- Popular Demand (Popeyes)

This song should make a lot of sense. If not, welcome to Eats The Universe! Read more.