Back to the Old Country

"I'm going back to the Old Country..."

I have always heard that phrase, or variation on it, uttered by generally older folks who emigrated, from whatever foreign land, to the United States. It wasn't until today that I realized sometimes the "Old Country" is just a few exits down the freeway, especially if you haven't been there for years and the place seems like a different world than the one you currently call home.

My companions for this trip to the "Old Country" were my friend and fellow food writer/blogger Sarah (known to the food blogging world as The Undercover Caterer...if you haven't visited her blog, go!) and her husband Guido, who is a great cook in his own right as well as a fellow lover of all things pork. It had been a while since we had all shared a meal together to blog about and we were way beyond overdue. I told Sarah that I'd wanted to go eat and write about Filipino food. She knew exactly where to go.

I grew up in South Sac; Valley Hi to be precise; off of Mack Rd & Center Parkway to be exact. To those who make the commute from The Grid (that would be Downtown to all you 'burb dwellers) to Elk Grove, the Mack Road exit off of Hwy. 99 may seem like a hot mess of mishmashed businesses randomly situated next to one other, and to a certain extent it is. It was weird to see what it had become since I hadn't taken the exit for at least 10 years. What was once, 25 years ago, wide open fields filled with potential is now a cluster of gas stations and strip malls on life support. As we took the off-ramp and headed west on Mack, I found myself reminiscing and pointing out to Sarah & Guido places that were there, but no longer there. I pointed out the strip mall behind Mr. Perry's where there used to be a Thrifty's, where I remember going with my grandparents for 25 cent ice cream cones. I remembered when the Food Source was once a gleaming new Jumbo supermarket, with a Longs Drugs next door (now empty) and a Round Table Pizza (still open) between.

Across from that strip mall was the "newer" strip mall, that used to house Lamppost Pizza- the pizza parlor that always had the coolest new arcade games, where every sports team had their end of season pizza party. That place now stands empty, though the Big 5 Sporting Goods store remains after all these years, as does the Denny's in the parking lot. At the other end of the mall stands the building formerly known as Target, which I also remember as being the brand, spanking new place to shop in South Sac until it was supplanted by Super Target just a couple of miles south. However, the reincarnation of business in that building may be more awesome than the original Target that once occupied it.

The building formerly known as Target

What was once a Target is now a way more cooler Seafood City grocery store. I had never heard of this chain before, but according to their website, it is "A unique lifestyle center for Filipinos / Asians in the United States" that was, "established over 20 years ago with the opening of its first store in San Diego in Southern California, Seafood City is recognized as the "home away from home" for Filipino / Asians in the United States." I had no idea that this chain existed. Now I wish I'd known about it sooner.

It was weird when I walked in, because I remember how it used to be laid out when it was a Target. They sure fixed up the place. The place is best described as a town center put under one roof. When you enter the main entrance hall, you are greeted by what is essentially a food court selling Filipino style fast food as well as a bakery.

Did you know ChowKing is an international fast food chain?

I don't got balot, but I do want...

This is a far cry from Safeway or Trader Joes. You will not see the following things at either of those two stores:

Yes...that is both durian ice cream and cheese ice cream!

I guess if the place is called Seafood City, you just have to have the fish out in the open...

Yes, you read that right: Pork Blood

mm...pork blood

Needless to say the place was pretty awesome for no other reason than its existence being a testament to the real diversity we are so lucky to have here in Sacramento. Growing up here you take that diversity for granted.

I picked up a few random items while Sarah and Guido tracked down ingredients for a lemon chutney that was to be made from friends' tree fresh lemons. Incidentally, I've seen the pics of this chutney and it looks delicious.

Having made our purchases we hit a couple of other Filipino businesses that had risen from the ashes of the once thriving strip mall of my Valley Hi youth. The first was a Starbread Bakery, a place that Sarah had visited before where she had tasted Señorita Bread, a light and buttery Filipino sweet bread coated with a dusting of sugar. We got a batch of warm bread that literally melted in our mouths.

(You'll have to visit the Undercover Caterer to see the offerings of Starbread)

Your neighborhood Filipino bakery

We next visited a Filipino butcher shop, TM Meat Market...

(again, please visit the Undercover Caterer for additional pics)

The second we walked in we were welcomed by the delicious scent of spicy marinades and the sight of fresh raw meats. The staff was friendly and eager to answer any questions about their cuts of meat.

Mexicans aren't the only ones who love tripe

Hello pig head

Cute figurines of yummy dead flesh

All of this food sufficiently adding to our already existing hunger, we set out for a meal at a real Filipino restaurant just one exit north off of Florin Road East; a place in the hood called South Villa.

South Villa- seriously in the hood...

Vacant store across the street

Sketchy apartments behind...

Sarah had been here before and knew the place could satisfy my two of my desires: the first being my desire to eat authentic Filipino fare and the second being my desire to devour pork.

The inside had a ramshackle charm about it. There was nothing at all fancy about the place. I always admire this quality about places in the hood that had clearly been in business for a while. It usually is a signal that the place is just about the food. Rather than gussy up the place with meaningless adornments, the decision was made by the proprietors to serve food that kept people from the neighborhood coming back for good food at a good price.

We settled on ordering a diverse selection from the menu. In all we chose four dishes:
-Chicharon Bulaklak
-Bouillabaisse Soup
-Lechon Kawali
-Kare Kare

The first dish to arrive was the Chicharon Bulaklak.


We were a bit scared to order this because of what it was- the lower intestines of a pig. Now being Mexican, my people are not strangers to the delicacies of the digestive tracts of farm animals. I love Menudo, the most wonderful soup in the world with its main ingredient being cow stomach. What Sarah. however, was quick to point out was that though this was part of the digestive system, we had ordered was more the lower intestine, or the "exit route" if you will. Neither Guido nor I were put off by this. One of the essential missions of food adventurists is to dare to tread where others dare not. If that meant nibbling on piggy poop chutes, then so be it.

The Bulaklak came with a vinegar sauce seasoned by a single slice of jalapeño. As you can see it was deeply deep fried. It was as you could guess, very crispy and also surprisingly airy. It tasted greasy and vaguely porky at the same time. Adventurous as we may have tried to be, I think we all had a hard time getting past the fact that it was the pig's posterior. This is not to say it wasn't tasty, but unfortunately the mental block was too much to overcome. I think this is one of those things that if you didn't tell me what it was I'd have sucked up the whole plate, unfortunately I had to ask what it was. I failed myself.

The Bouillabaisse Soup came out next.


This was the surprise hit of the meal. I don't think any of us were expecting to have a French staple at a Filipino restaurant, but sure enough, there it was on the menu listed under "Authentic Filipino Soup". It was delicious. The yellowy broth was thick; not quite chowder thick, but thicker than mere brothy. There was an underlying buttery creaminess to it that mixed perfectly with the fresh shrimp, squid, and humongous mussels. All that was missing was some warm, fresh sourdough bread to sop up every last bit of the soup. I think we all agreed we'd go back just for this soup.

Third up was the Lechon Kawali.


Sarah chose this dish knowing mine and Guido's love for all things pork. This was a simple dish of deep fried, crispy pork belly. This dish was great on a couple of different levels. I love pork and I love fried pork even more. On that basis alone, this dish delivered. What made this dish even better was the immediate sense memory that I got with the first bite. It immediately took me back to my youth when my dad would cook pork for the family. He would lightly batter it with peppery flour and deep fry it until the outsides were crispy and just on the edge of burnt while managing to keep the inside white and relatively moist. This dish tasted exactly like that pork my dad used to cook. All that was missing was the Mexican requisite of lime to squirt on top of. This dish made me very happy.

The final dish was the Kare Kare.


This was an ox tail stew with bok choy and eggplant. The gravy was a peanut based sauce that wasn't to thick or too peanutty. I'd never had ox tail before and loved it in this incarnation. The dark looking and flavored meat melted away from the bone and melted in my mouth. Having eaten this, I am going to make it a mission of mine to experience ox tail in its various forms. In fact I was kicking myself for having not experienced this part of the cow sooner. This dish delivered.

And thus my trip to the "Old Country" was over. Like with most trips for people who make that visit, the place is never quite how it was or how you remember it. The Valley Hi of my youth is long gone and likely long forgotten, people like me having moved away long ago to the "New World" filled with new experiences and opportunities. I am happy to see the place still fighting to stay alive, occupied now with a new generation of people who have made my "Old Country" their "New World". And I have no doubt, twenty years from now, one of the present day adolescents will look back at the home of their youth and find that the more things have changed in the "Old Country", the more they remain the same.

Seafood City is located at:
6051 Mack Road
Sacramento, CA 95823
(916) 393-8900
in the Southpointe Plaza

Starbread Bakery is located at:
6127 Mack Road
Sacramento, CA 95823
(916) 427-8598
in the Southpointe Plaza

TM Meat Market is located at:

6181 Mack Rd
Sacramento, CA 95823
(916) 393-3050
in the Southpointe Plaza

South Villa Restaurant is located at:
7223 55th Street
Sacramento, CA 95823
(916) 429-1949

When The Student Met The Master

***NOTE- This is an EXTREMELY overdue entry. I pledge to try being more consistent with writing...I promise***

***WARNING- Due to strong language, parental discretion is advised for this post...if you don't agree that sometimes "fuck" is the right word in that certain sentence, then fuck you and go read something else***

So I was very fortunate over this past 12 months, for a lot of reasons. Putting the heavy stuff aside (which I've alluded to in previous entries), my biggest score in this period involved meeting my food writing inspiration- Anthony Bourdain.

It's always kind of scary interacting with people that you look up to who are celebrities, especially those who do the same things you do, or aspire to emulate. Whether you are a "small time" writer, actor, musician, or athlete who meets a "big time" writer, actor, musician, or athlete, there is always the danger that Mr. or Ms. "Big Time" will be a royal prick and shatter the myth you have built up in your mind about this person. We've all heard stories from friends who ran into certain celebrities only to find that they were total douchebags.

I've been lucky enough over the years, in my various adventures where I've traveled around playing music, pretending to be a rock star, to meet some of my musical heroes. On the whole, I've been lucky enough to discover that they were all cool- at least to me. There was one notable exception where one of the great blues guitarists of all time was an all time prick, which I won't dwell on. Suffice it to say, you never know what you're going to get when you happen to come across some of these folks.

I will say this, without seeming like a name dropping starfucker, I do want to point out that the following "famous people" were pretty darn cool: BB King, Rosario Dawson, Los Lobos.

(As an aside about Ms. Dawson...she is even hotter in person and has (god this is going to sound perverted, but I'm a male and I notice these things) one of the prettiest mouths ever...(and, yes...that sounded pretty perverted...sorry))

Me and the lovely Ms. Dawson

With all of this in mind, I was kind of apprehensive about any interaction with Mr. Bourdain, for fear that he might be, dare I say...douchey. I was lucky enough to catch him twice on his speaking tour in support of his latest book Medium Raw.

The first time I caught him on tour was in my home town of Sacramento at the Memorial Auditorium. The show was great and surprisingly well attended by a crowd of foodies who really appreciated his writing, his humor, and his opinions about food, travel, and the more famous food writers and t.v. personalities. His show was basically a condensed version of his book done over the course of a couple of hours. It was pretty impressive for a couple of reasons: his riffing for that long without notes and how clear it was that his written voice was the same as his speaking voice. He really came across as a guy you could seriously just hang out and drink beers with while discussing anything, food or not. The show was great, that is up until the Q & A.

Before it all went off the rails...

Now having been a performer for a long time, I have learned one thing that remains true: the microphone is one of the most powerful weapons known to man. Whoever controls the mic, controls the crowd, and when you give it up, things can go incredibly wrong or, in this case, incredibly boring. I was really pulling for my people to come through with questions that were probing, original, and/or insightful.

Don't ask him about eating oysters in France. He wrote about that in previous books and has discussed that on his t.v. show. Don't ask him about the sickest he's ever gotten. That's been covered too. And here's a tip for future Q & A-ers: Don't go on for two minutes about yourself, creating a barely constructed question where you ask the person on stage to agree with an opinion or world view of yours. If you want to talk about yourself, get your own G-D blog or write your own book...(oops, did I just insult myself? hm...dammit!!!)

There was a palpable sense of astonished embarrassment from folks in the crowd, many of whom were some of my fellow food bloggers and writers. It was a conundrum though. Did we dare risk our coolness and become sycophantic fan boys and girls in an effort to save our city's Q & A reputation? Or did we sit there, being too cool for school, praying Bourdain wouldn't call his wife at home later that evening, bemoaning the lack of any originality from the good people of Sacramento? I think the answer is clear...writers are pretty much too cool for school. We all ran into each other after and commiserated, incredulous at the fuckery that was perpetrated by the food Q & A-ers of Sacramento that night. A malaise came over me and I felt as though something had to be done to make this right. I wasn't sure what, exactly, but I knew there was something. Well a couple of months later that something came along...

My friend Byron is a Nevada "High Roller"...literally. He gets all kinds of things comped to him by the good people at Harrah's Casinos for having the intestinal fortitude to sit at a blackjack table and push little round, black pieces of plastic back and forth on the green felt for hours and hours. Suites, epic surf & turf meals at the finest casino restaurants, spa treatments, top top shelf liquors and much more can be yours when you do what Byron does. My inner degenerate lives vicariously through him when I watch him play blackjack. It is a thing of twisted beauty, trust me.

I was stoked when he called and asked me if he wanted to go to Tahoe for a food & wine festival put on by Harrah's. Bourdain was going to be the Saturday night headliner in the South Shore Room with comped tickets. I mean, how could I say no to this? More important than a comped weekend in Tahoe was my newly formed mission that came to me when Byron extended the invitation. I was going to make up (at least in my mind) for the shitty questions that were asked in Sacramento by asking a good question in Tahoe!

This was going to be a great opportunity to ask away without seeming like a fan boy in my own hometown. I wouldn't say I agonized over this, but I really put some thought into what I would ask. The criteria was relatively simple. No questions about food. I mean seriously...do you think he wants to be asked about eating at the French Laundry for the 5,000th time? How many times do you think he's recounted the story of that drunken wedding reception with his nutjob, Russian drinking partner Zamir? It's like being a musician on the road. It's real easy to get sick of a song if you have to play it every. single. night...night after night. You need something to break up the monotony.

Saturday night had arrived. The trip was notable as well, because it happened to be the first time going to Nevada since quitting the drinking and stuff. It was the first time I had ever woken up in the Silver State without a hangover. As with everything I've done for the first time since getting sober, it was amazing and again made me wonder why I hadn't done it sooner. But I digress...Byron had arranged, through his casino host (yes...he really is a high roller) to get a private booth for us and our buddies Chris and Tony (my friend who really encouraged me to start this blog) to watch the show.

This show had the potential to go bad for a bunch of other reasons-the main one being a room full of middle aged douchebags in Tommy Bahama gear with one too many tumblers of Glenlivet in their systems...because we all know how much more clever you are when you are slurring drunk and trying to be the funny one. Nobody came to see you fail at funny, Tommy Bahama. Just shut the fuck up and do less blow next time, so you're not as jittery and talkative, ok?

The show came to it's inevitable conclusion and the part that I dreaded even more due to the presence of so many Tommy Bahamas: Drunken Q & A. I knew I had to mobilize quickly. Since I'd seen the show before, I knew when his talk was ending and when to start making my way down to where the microphones would appear. Sober and nimble I managed to snag one of the mics well before Tommy Bahama could get his fat, stubby, sweaty fingers on it. I was not to be denied.

My turn came and there I was...face to face with Mr. Big Time Writer; The Master and inspiration for my writing about food. It was time to put up or shut up. I was going to make up, unbeknownst to him or anyone else, for the bad questions he got in Sacramento. And so it went:

Vindication!

I got in two questions, both non-food related, and I know it may have just been me, but I really did feel as though he was relieved to hear questions, that were seemingly from from left field that were neither drunkenly slurred, nor retread of questions asked at the show before, before, before, before, and before. I got some good answers and even figured if Bourdain could quit the sweet Marlboros then so could I, though I used the nicotine patch.

So through all of this, I was so relieved that he was actually a cool guy during our brief interaction and I am determined to meet him again, this time in some dive bar, to ask him his favorite live music venue...who knows?

I mean who'd have thought I would ever meet Rosario Dawson, number 2 on my personal "Hottest Woman In The World List"?

The Universe has a twisted sense of humor...

Where the heart is...

They say that home is where the heart is, and I would agree 100% when it comes to a real home cooked meal. Now, I'm not talking about just any meal that happens to be cooked at home. Not all meals cooked at home are home cooked meals, and conversely, not all home cooked meals are cooked at home. Real home cooked meals convey love an affection; a nearly indescribable soulfulness. You know it the minute it touches your lips and tongue. The time and effort and attention to little details unfolds as your senses take in every bit of yummy goodness that enters your body. There is an intimacy there that is as intense as any loving hug from your parents or grandparents; or a passionate embrace from a lover. It all depends on where the food is coming from.

So, you all may or may not know by now that I am a musician, amongst other things. It certainly has its perks. I've gotten a lot of free stuff over the years just for being able to make a guitar sound good- free travel, free booze, free lodging, free...uh...let's call them "party favors"...you get the picture. I'm not going to lie. All of those things were fun once upon a time, but I've gone legit and enjoy stability these days. However, the one thing that I have always gotten and continue to get for free, and will never tire of, is: Food.

It's not often I have a home cooked meal these days. I'll admit it. I'm just lazy sometimes. Also, I rationalize my inability to cook at home by pointing out that my stove has an electric range. I mean, how can one properly cook without a gas range? Needless to say, I have to rely on others to provide me with the home cooked meal experience.

This is where my friend Esther comes in.

Esther and her husband Ernie are amazing people. Hailing from Yolo, California, they are real fans of music and regularly make the half-our trek to Downtown Sacramento in order to support the Blues at the Torch Club. I'm always glad to see them, for many reasons, not the least of which is the home cooked food they bring. Be it tamales, or burritos, or salsa, they bring the real home cooked Mexican food. Even better is when they send me home with a care package of said home cooked goodness to tide me over for a few days. It's seriously the best musician perk ever.

Now, with New Year's Day comes assorted food traditions, most of them revolving around curing the dreaded hangover that comes along with New Year's Eve. For Mexicans, the magical cure for the New Year's hangover is either menudo or pozole. I'm assuming that most of you know what these magical soups are, but for those who are not well versed in Mexican cuisine, I'll let wikipedia handle the explanation:

Menudo is a traditional Mexican dish, made with beef stomach and hominy in a clear broth or with a red chili base (this variation is called menudo colorado). Usually, lime, chopped onions, and chopped cilantro are added, as well as crushed oregano and crushed red chili peppers. Boiled tripe has a tough chewy texture very similar to calamari, but with a completely unique flavor and smell.

Pozole is essentially the same soup, but with pork instead of tripe. It's usually served to those who are less adventurous and fear the tripe in menudo. I mean there's no real reason to fear tripe. People shouldn't let the fact that it's cow stomach freak them out. If you've eaten a hot dog, I assure you, you've eaten worse. Tripe is yummy, but has to be cooked right. Cooked to long and it becomes too gelatinous. Not cooked long enough and it is too tough to eat. It's for this reason that you should only have menudo cooked at home by real Mexicans.

Anyhow, as has become a tradition down at the Torch Club, there is a Hangover Party every New Year's Day with music and food and a Bloody Mary bar. It's a way to take the edge off if you partied too hard the night before. Now, I don't drink anymore, so I'd have neither the need, nor desire to be at a bar with a bunch of hungover people...save for one thing: Esther's Pozole!

She'd been telling me well in advance that I needed to be there for it. It's not too often that I get the chance to have home cooked menudo and pozole. The timing was perfect, in a way, because I happened to have a bit of a cold on New Year's Day and the hot and spicy of the soups is a perfect antidote.

I got there early. I was going to be the first in line to get at the pozole...

It was unassuming enough, arriving in a large white crock pot. After a few minutes to get it back to the right temperature, I got the first of three servings. Yes, THREE, servings. People were shocked that I would have that much, but what can I say? It was GOOD! Epic good!

You just had to be there

I have to say, the picture doesn't do it justice. What you see is my second serving. The soup itself has the chunks of pork and hominy. The bits of green you see are oregano, which, along with lime, onions, and hot sauce (Tapatio for my soups), are used to enhance the flavor of the soup. What you can't know about this soup from the photo, is its amazing consistency.

If you've had menudo or pozole, you might know what I'm talking about. Sometimes, the soup itself is just too watery. Not to say it doesn't taste good, but it just isn't filling or fully satisfying. I suppose this is the case with any soup. This soup was amazing in that it was thick, but not too thick. Imagine the creamy consistency of a clam chowder and imagine the wateriness of your run-of-the-mill chicken noodle soup from a can. Now imagine a spot in the middle, but just towards the chowder. Got it? THAT was the consistency of the soup. If you didn't get a chunk of pork or hominy in a spoonful, there were very thin, nearly microscopic bits of pork and corn in the liquid. How do I know? Well, I couldn't see them, but I certainly tasted them and felt them along my tongue as I slurped. The soup was awesome.

I asked Esther how she accomplished such a feat. She responded simply, by saying she cooked it slowly, over the course of two days, letting it reduce to just the right consistency and flavor. Let me tell you, I could taste the time and effort and care and love that went into this soup. I know I wasn't the only one who appreciated the deep soulfulness of this truly home cooked meal. This food win was only compounded by the fact that I was sent home with a huge container of it, which will be my dinner for the next two nights. To-go food win!

So thank you Esther for the truly amazing food you make and your continued friendship. I'm looking forward to your barbecue this summer. Maybe make a little batch of pozole?

The King and I (and the Zombie Apocalypse)

I always liked Rodgers and Hart better than Rodgers and Hammerstein. Then again, Rodgers was the one who came up with the music, so naturally I gravitate towards the composer since I'm a much better composer than songwriter...

Let me back up for a moment...

For those who don't know, the aforementioned duos were Broadway Musical songwriter/lyricist teams. Between the 3 of them, they basically wrote all the musicals...seriously, they wrote all the musicals ever written for Broadway from about the mid-1930s to the mid-1950s...

Well, ok, so I'm exaggerating, but it's kind of true. Between these three fellows you got musicals like Oklahoma, The Sound of Music, South Pacific, and my personal favorite: Jumbo.

[For The Record: I'm not a fan of musicals...but why do I care about them? Because they are the source for many of the jazz standards I enjoy trying to play on my blues gigs. Sometimes 3 the three chord repetition of blues bores me and I need other chords to play through and around.]

Now, I've never seen Jumbo, and I probably never will. I know nothing about it, save for the fact that it revolves around an elephant and a circus, which I don't really care about. I do, however, know it produced one of my favorite jazz standards: The Most Beautiful Girl In The World.

No, not the Prince song. And not the Charlie Rich song either.

It's this one, done here by Sonny Rollins on his epic album Tenor Madness. It's the last cut on the record and features my favorite drum solo on record, done by Philly Joe Jones.



Such pretty, logical and bluesy changes with a great melody. I'll sometimes quote it if I'm playing a gig and I see a beautiful woman walk by. Granted the reference is never caught, but one day it will be and I will know that she is the raddest woman ever...I reckon hope springs eternal, or something.

So, where was I? Oh, yeah...Rodgers happened to hook up with Hammerstein to do the music and lyrics for the musical The King and I. You may, or (more likely) may not remember the movie of the same name starring Yul Brenner and Deborah Kerr.



(Stay with me...the food is on its way)

The King and I is...uh, I'll let Wikipedia get this:

A musical by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II based on the book Anna and the King of Siam by Margaret Landon. The plot comes from the memoirs of Anna Leonowens, who became school teacher to the children of King Mongkut of Siam in the early 1860s. Leonowens' story, The English Governess at the Siamese Court, was autobiographical, although her biographer, Susan Morgan, author of the 2008 biography Bombay Anna has discovered numerous inaccuracies and fabrications.

Now, you know, you can't technically go to Siam anymore, much like you can't technically go to Ceylon, Rhodesia, or Zaire. You can, however, go to Thailand, Sri Lanka, Zimbabwe or the Democratic Republic of The Congo.

Ooh, wait! I take that back...you still can go to Siam and you don't have to fly across the Pacific to do it. You just need to drive down Franklin Boulevard, in the heart of The Hood...

There it is...Siam

Let me just begin by saying this: I LOVE Thai food. I don't know how it started. I remember even as a kid I loved Asian food and my dad would always say, "You're Mexican! Where did you even learn to like Asian food?"

Well, I don't know how I learned to like it, but I always have and I always will...and Thai is my favorite of all. To me (and some of you may disagree) it has the widest range of flavors- from fresh to sweet to spicy hot. It also seems to be the healthiest, outside of Japanese, but then again I'm no nutritionist.

We are really blessed to have a lot of great Thai restaurants in and around Sacramento. But honestly, who would ever expect to look for one on Franklin Boulevard, across the street from an epic torta shop (El Abuelo) and an amazing panaderia (La Esperanza)?

Thai food on Franklin? Huh?

It's not just Thai food you'll find on Franklin. It's great Thai food you'll find.

I was accompanied by my friend Krista and we got out Thai feast on while discussing, oddly enough, the finer points of how to survive the coming Zombie Apocalypse.

The unassuming entrance common to restaurants in the hood...

So this is another one of those places that (a) has been there as long as I can remember and (b) I've always driven by but never been to. More than anything, I'd always wondered what the place looked like inside. In my mind, I always pictured it as being kind of plain and slightly funky with a down home charm that you find in many of the fine dining establishments in The Hood. What I didn't factor in, though, was the fact that this was a Thai restaurant and that no matter what, Thai restaurants are always decked out with dark wood and bronze figurines.

The cashier/kitchen entrance just inside the front door

This place is really cool looking inside. Not that it has a necessarily nicer decor than other Thai places around town, it's just surprising that such a nondescript place in The Hood would have such, dare I say, ambiance...

Yet another place with a mural reminder of "home"

Meditate...

Our server came, attentive and prompt, with waters and Krista and I got down to the business of deciding what we were going to be feasting on this evening. It was one of those situations where everything looked and sounded good. We'd been anticipating this Thai feast for so long that when we finally got there, we were a bit overwhelmed by choices and paralyzed by indecision. After some discussions that involved arm wrestling, ro-sham-bo, and the flip of a coin we chose the following items for consumption:

Pad Thai (I know, typical...but it's just yummy and simple)
Green Curry (Medium Spicy with chicken)
Larb w/Duck (Spicy Thai salad with mint, chili and lime juice)

While we waited for our food and I blissed out on a Thai iced coffee (mm...condensed milk!), the conversation somehow turned towards survival of the Zombie Apocalypse.

Now, I had always been of the mind to get out of town and head for high ground where you can stay out of their sight and, if they do find you, see them coming a mile away. This is actually not practical as Krista rightly pointed out that there would be traffic jams as people tried desperately to escape the urban centers where zombies are more likely to gather. She even noted that a car wouldn't be the best vehicle to use; that a motorcycle would be better in terms of speed and mobility. Needless to say, I was amazed and in awe of the thought that had gone into this. I even found out where the ideal place to seek shelter during the Zombie Apocalypse. I will not, however, disclose that at this time. I want to be able to stake my claim on the place without having to fight people over it. Let's just say this: When and if the Zombie Apocalypse is ever upon us, text me. I'll be with Krista, because she's like the Eisenhower of Zombie Apocalypse strategy.

Our first plate arrived as the discussion turned to the type of zombie the coming apocalypse would likely bring- the slow 50s style ones or the more modern crazy/fast ones.

Larb...Quack Quack...

So, I had to be convinced to get the duck. I've never been a big fan. It's always tasted a little to gamey and greasy to me. That being said, if I could get duck like this all the time, I would be eating duck all the time. This dish was SO good! It looks simple, but trust me, there's a lot going on here. Foremost was the duck itself.

I remember my mom would cook turkey legs in the oven when we were kids. The way they came out, the outer parts and the edges of the leg were a little drier and barely crispy, but so flavorful as they seemed to suck in all of the flavor in the pan they were cooked in. The duck had that same quality- very, very slightly crispy on the outside and moist, but not too oily on the inside. The duck itself was spicy, but not overpowering. The dish was like an amazing balancing act with the spice of the duck and chilis being balanced perfectly by the sweet and fresh of the mint and lime.

[As a side note, I've been reading about the latest taco fusion trend where clever foodies are attempting to combine Asian food with the venerable street taco. I don't get Japanese tacos and Korean tacos kind of make sense. THIS, however would be perfect in a taco...maybe with some onions and a little green salsa. You're welcome in advance food truck people!]

Next up: Green curry w/chicken and vegetables

It may not seem so with the lighting, but trust me, it's green curry

The green curry was very good. My only mistake was that I ordered it medium spicy. This is not to say that it took away from the dish. It's just that we were trying to err on the side of caution here, and never having been here, we had no point of reference as to what the degrees of hot meant. When I go back I will definitely try the next level- Hot, before I decide whether or not to attempt the highest level on the menu- Thai Hot.

Again, this dish was all about balance. Each bite was an amazing mix of sweet and heat (albeit medium heat). The curry sauce was almost creamy and felt (this may or not make any sense, but go with me on this) pillowy. Also, the veggies weren't soggy, as sometimes can happen when they arrive swimming in soups. I was liking the whole thing.

Finally: Pad Thai

Who doesn't love Pad Thai?

The final dish was the classic Pad Thai. What can I say about this dish that hasn't been said already, probably millions of times? It was what it was. It was good and done right. I will point out a detail that I appreciated. There was no noodle clumpage (at least this night) that sometimes can happen to Pad Thai. As with the other dishes, the veggies retained their crisp and added nice texture to the dish as a whole.

I am going back to Siam. I may even invite my vegetarian friends (yes, I am a supporter of alternative lifestyles), because they really do veggies well and offer tofu as an option with their dishes. When I do, I will also order things one level spicier, because...well...I'm Mexican and I like spicy foods.

As for the Zombie Apocalypse, I'm calling Krista, because she's the woman with the plan, and she's not afraid to kick ass...literally. But like I said, I can't disclose the location just yet, unless you make me a very lucrative offer, of course.

Siam Restaurant
5100 Franklin Boulevard
Sacramento, California 95820
(916) 452-8382

350,632.511 minutes

No, not 525,600 minutes. I really hate that song, but it can't be that bad if it gets stuck in your head- which is one of the marks of a good song...

I'm talking about 350,632.511 minutes, give or take. This is the number of minutes that exist in the span of 8 months, the span which, as of today, I have not put any alcohol (or any other substance) in my mind and body. I know 8 months seems like such a non-event in terms of being sober. I know people that have been sober for years, decades even. I'm only at the beginning of a path that has been well worn by others before me and will be followed by many after me. For some reason, however, something struck me about this milestone that made me want to write about it today.

It was on January 7, 2010 that I woke up feeling terrible, yet again, after another in the long line of epic drinking binges that I was simply incapable of avoiding. My problem wasn't so much that I would drink every day (although it was starting to get close to that). My problem was that once I started I couldn't stop. I am incapable of having one drink. What would begin as an innocent evening at the bar after work on a friday would lead to an out of control freight train of drunk that wouldn't end until sometimes saturday morning, sometimes hundreds of dollars later. I was overwhelmed by the guilt and shame that this weakness and its results would leave me with. My marriage was beyond repair. My mental health was shaky, at best. My physical health was visibly bad. Things were getting worse with each day, each minute that I continued to deny the fact that I was, and still am, an alcoholic.

I will never forget how I felt that morning- mentally and physically. After a few hours of restless sleep, I creaked out of bed filled with nausea; my skin feeling like taut, dry parchment over my bones; eyes hurting regardless of being opened or closed; my head feeling awkward on my spine, clearly attached, but feeling barely so. The universe tilted on its axis as I walked into the bathroom, deciding whether or not I would vomit out the remains of the previous night.

It was a walk of shame as I passed from the spare bedroom, where I had been sleeping for the previous months, to the bathroom past the main bedroom where my soon-to-be-ex wife slept. No doubt she saw the shadow passing across the doorway, shameful footsteps that I had long since tried to hide. She knew I was a failure. I knew I was a failure. It didn't even need to be said by this point. She was tired of it months earlier and had no fight left in her. In fact, I'm surprised she had kept the fight up that long. She was just another in a line of failed attempts at domesticity, one more relationship, one more love, inevitably ruined by a desire to drink and get high and have a good time that far exceeded a desire to love.

In the mirror, I saw a mess. My eyes stared back at me- puffy, red, and empty. I splashed water over my grey, bloated and ugly unshaven face in an aborted effort to keep the nausea at bay. It didn't work. I found myself, within minutes, on my knees, face in the toilet bowl, knuckles white, gripping the sides as I vomited nothing but bile. The bottle had finally let me down.

The words floated closer to the top of my head, like they had so many times before when I felt like this. This time, though, I stopped trying to drown them. I said it to myself, looking into my bloodshot eyes, "I am an alcoholic."

And I said it again, this time to my then-wife, as I curled into a fetal position and wept. It didn't change the fact that she was leaving me, but I am grateful for her comfort in that time of complete vulnerability and humility. After I told her, I called two of my closest friends who had been down this road years before, and I told them. Each time I said it, I felt the weights of guilt and shame lifted from my shoulders, my heart coming out from under what had been a long and slow grind.

I chose life.

It was awkward at first. As much as I was advised to go to "meetings" at least at the start of this journey, I resisted. The Program just wasn't for me. Instead, I chose to confide in my closest friends. Thank you to all of you, and you know who you are. Thank you for not judging me with endless "I told you so."

The changes came almost immediately. I began to dream again. I'll never forget how good it felt to wake up and just be tired- as opposed to tired and hungover. It took a lot to keep everything together when both tired and hungover. The mental and physical stress of it was taking its toll. The further I entered sobriety, the more my moods stabilized. I was nearly manic-depressive from my chemicals being out of whack for so long. This clarity was a new thing, and the more I felt of it, the more I wanted.

The physical changes came next. People told me I looked different, which I didn't notice at first. I'd look in the mirror and just see me. But sure enough, I dropped 15 pounds. Gone was the puffy gray of my face, replaced by a healthy, slim glow with eyes that actually had life and desire in them. When I told my friend that I finally noticed the color returning to my face, she said, "duh...it's because your liver is working again."

Was I really that far gone?

Yes. I was. I was just blind to it.

It was kind of ironic when people saw the post-sobriety me, having lost the weight on my body and face. If they hadn't seen me in a while they'd ask me if I was ok, if I had any health issues. I would tell them that, if anything, the weight loss was a sign of good health (there goes the universe being ironic again).

The other huge difference came in my guitar playing. I was blessed (if you want to put it that way) with the ability to consume large amounts of booze and...uh...stuff...and still play the guitar better than many (arrogant as that may sound, it's true). When I stopped, it took only weeks before I was able to execute musical ideas that had escaped me for years. I was coherent and able to string together musical thoughts from places that had long since been dulled by what I was putting in my body. When people asked what had gotten into me, I told them it was what I had gotten out of me. I was, and still am, playing with a fire and intensity I hadn't known in years. I am so blessed to have found that place of fearless expression again.

Perhaps the thing for which I am most grateful is the ability to be fully in the moment. When you're drunk, or hungover, or both, the world just passes you by. Everything is a blur. I was incapable of fully seeing and feeling the little details that life is made of. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I can feel again. I sometimes stop and just take it all in. The smells. The sights. The sensations on my skin. The tastes. I can honestly say, I am happy. Whereas I had been fooling myself into believing this before. I really am now. I actually smile and laugh...and I mean it and it means so much.

How amazing it's been to do the first sober vacation, party, night at a club, wedding, gig...you get the picture. I had been doing all of these things, but not living them or fully experiencing them. I was there for all of those things in the past, but not present. How lucky am I to have a chance to do these things again with a clear head.

Some aren't so lucky.

Why write about this here?

Well, this project came out of the desire to find an expression that came out of a new presence. I certainly couldn't have done this if I was still a drunk. I'd be too caught up in the vicious cycle of substance abuse to have any time to write anything...and I wouldn't have had the ability to experience these culinary delights fully in the moment. This blog is an expression of my new, and clear, mind- one that wants to really feel new things and remember them and share them.

Being a drunk is the most selfish thing you can do. I guess, in a way, this is one tiny part of being less selfish, at least with myself. I want to give, because I didn't for so long.

So, again, thank you to (insert the names of those who know who they are). Your faith and forgiveness continues to humble and inspire me. Know that every day I relish the opportunity to be a better human being that is capable of real feelings, real love, real friendship, real life. I'm not quite there yet, but I really feel like I'm getting closer with each of those minutes that have, and will continue to pass.

But then again, it's really all about the journey, not the destination, isn't it?

Heart & Soul

Love is all about timing.

You could meet the perfect person, but if the stars aren't properly aligned, no amount of effort or longing will make it work. Sometimes you just have to be at the right place at the right time; when the unseen hand of the universe nudges your orbit into the orbit of another and a sort of magical collision happens when you see that person and just know, sometimes against all reason, that you've met someone who will leave you forever changed. It really is a wonderful feeling, even if you have it and can share it for only a few, fleeting moments. Like the old saying goes, "Better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all."

I fell in love last week as we aimlessly wandered the neighborhoods of South Sacramento last Sunday afternoon. We really had no destination as we made our way down Fruitridge Road and on to Stockton Boulevard, reminiscing about the past and lamenting about the unsure future, trying to stay in the moment as long as possible. The only real plan we had was to stop at a few thrift stores to look for some kitsch, which we did. At a place on Fruitridge, near 65th Avenue, I managed to find some cool prints to hang on my walls along with some old 78 records and she scored some cool old souvenir plates from five different states to add to her collection of travel memories from places she'd never been.

Heading towards another thrift store, we turned left instead of right on Stockton and to no avail, ended up looking for a massage, then a psychic in an Asian strip mall...trust me, it made sense at the time...though it was a little funny seeing the confused reactions of the proprietors of those two places at the sight of a Mexican and blue eyed white girl asking for some deep tissue and a palm reading on a hot, lazy Sunday afternoon. We eventually made our way back north up Stockton and back across Fruitridge to Thrift Town, the place we were looking for all along. We were still giggling about our aborted efforts to see our future and have a "happy ending" when we got out of the car and headed into the store...

Then it just happened...Looking up as she walked ahead of me, toward the entrance...I fell in love with what I saw in front of me...

SOUL FOOD CUISINE

I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw these words and made a beeline to the little strip mall where that sign was mounted on the side of the building, next to the parking lot of the thrift store.

I called out to her, "Go ahead, I'll catch up with you..."

I think at this point, a little background is needed.

From the authors of the Harlem Renaissance to the blues and jazz artists of the 50s & 60s, so much of what I have become, at least artistically, has been influenced by Black culture. I don't know what it is, exactly, that drew me in that direction. All I do know is that it's always felt right to me and moved me in ways that are so hard to really articulate. So while all the poser hipsters try to out-obscure each other with the latest new band from the latest and hottest indie city on the map, I am stoked to find an old soul tune from Junior Parker or Little Richard.



Over the years, I've been blessed to cross paths and play with many older blues musicians who have shared their music and life stories to help make me both the person and musician I am today. Inevitably, some of those stories have occurred while sharing a meal; and on more than one occasion, it's been over a soul food meal which would inevitably unlock memories from these folks in a way only food can. So it goes without saying: I really love soul food.

I'd been looking for a soul food place for quite a while, and as it often is with love, found it by accident when I wasn't even looking for it.

It may be tiny, but look for Oh Taste & See on the top left...

The restaurant was named Oh Taste & See. I walked in and it just felt right. The place was small with a few booths and tables. I went to the counter and asked for a menu and was greeted by the owner, a small woman named Brenda. I gave her my spiel- that I was a food blogger who specialized in hood food and that I had been in search and need of a good soul food restaurant. We hit it off immediately talking about the difference between soul food joints & BBQ joints and how soul food wasn't just Black food, but any food that told a story and meant something. She went on, enthusiastically telling me how she'd just passed the six month mark of being in business, using her grandmother's recipes and working in the kitchen every day to prep and cook the food that was served. I knew, just by the way she talked about her food, that this place was the real deal. I told her I'd be back and that I couldn't wait to experience her food.

Fittingly enough, my eating companion today was my longtime friend Marina, owner and proprietor of The Torch Club, home of the blues in Sacramento. She'd been wanting to come along on one of my little jaunts down to South Sac and when I told her about this place, she absolutely committed to go.

The modest storefront

We were literally welcomed with open arms. Brenda, sure enough, was working and came outside when she saw me clicking pictures, remembering me and our conversation from the previous week. She greeted Marina and I with hugs and thanked us for coming. After they shared stories about the difficulties of being small business owners, we got in and got to the business at hand.

The place itself was nondescript, with the exception of some artwork on the walls featuring gospel music artists.

Brenda loves her gospel music!

Even Marina "got" this place when we walked in. Between my description of my initial encounter with this restaurant and her actually walking in and seeing it, she just knew we were about to experience something really special.

As if the gospel artists featured on the walls weren't a give away, the menu left no doubt- Brenda is a woman of God. Nearly all of the items on the menu featured names of biblical characters along with a page dedicated to quotes from scripture. Fitting as this place is clearly a reflection of Brenda's love of her fellow human beings. What better way to nourish the soul than with lovingly prepared food...

My personal favorite names: Adams Ribs & Abraham Gumbo

Bible food quotes...

There was so much good stuff on the menu...oxtails, neck bones, meatloaf...In a way it was overwhelming, especially since we were both starving and the menu was so appealing. After some deliberation, we had our plan. Marina ordered the chicken fried steak with a side of mac & cheese and green beans. I went for red snapper with black eyed peas and potato salad.

Here's the food:

Chicken fried steak with mac & cheese

Green beans

Red snapper with black eyed peas & potato salad

mm...cornbread!!!

Where to begin...I'll just start out by saying this: I loved this food! So, forgive me for gushing, but sometimes when you fall in love, you just want the whole world to know.

First, Marina's food:

This was the best chicken fried steak I, or Marina, have ever tasted. This was unlike any other I had ever had. To begin with, it actually looked like pieces of fried chicken. What made it amazing was the battered outside layer. Most chicken fried steak comes with a thin layer of batter that is somewhat soggy & greasy. This, however was light and airy, and crispy, just like fried chicken. And the gravy...it was actually alive...brown and juicy, unlike the gray and dead looking gravy that often accompanies most chicken fried steak. The steak itself was tender and juicy. The whole thing was great.

Her sides were just as good. The mac & cheese was creamy and actually cheesy, not some coagulated scoop of yellowish mass that resembles mac & cheese. The green beans were great as well. They seem so simple to cook, but a lot of places will serve them to you over cooked & limp. These came with some life left to them, neither over cooked, nor over seasoned.

My Plate:

This was some of the best red snapper I've ever had. Marina and I were both impressed with the fact that it wasn't greasy and soggy, as is the case with many a battered red snapper. Although the batter was different from the chicken fried steak, it shared the same quality of being light and crispy on the outside while maintaining the moisture and flavor of the meat inside. Topped with some Tabasco sauce that I drizzled on, it made me very happy.

My sides were awesome as well. I liked the potato salad because it had just a slight hint of sweet to it. And as with everything else, the black eyed peas came out not-too-soggy and actually reminded my a bit of my dad's pinto beans.

Yes Officer...I killed this plate of food...

Marina's stomach isn't as big as mine, but trust me, if she could have killed the plate, she would have...

By the end of the meal, Marina and I were totally stuffed and feeling good. Not only was this soul food, but soulful food. It was as if I'd gone to grandma's house for a nice home cooked meal...if my grandma were Black and from the south. I am aware of the latest trend toward comfort food. Let me tell you...this is serious comfort food.

Brenda Moore, the owner of Oh Taste & See in the kitchen where she works every day preparing all of her grandmother's recipes from scratch

As we were leaving and thanking Brenda for her hospitality she told us about her latest effort with the restaurant...something I just had to share in closing. On Friday and Saturday nights, she now serves a limited to-go menu from midnight to 4am. So if you're out and about partying and have a designated driver (don't drink & drive) and need something greasy to absorb all the booze you drank earlier in the night and you have the courage to venture south of Broadway on late into the early morning...go and see Brenda...seriously, the food is that good...

The late night to-go menu

So I fell in love down on Stockton Boulevard, of all places. I never thought it would happen the way it did, but it feels good and I want the world to know, no matter how cheesy it may seem...and I'm hoping this is a love that will actually last...

Go out & see Brenda. It is well worth the drive down Stockton.

Oh Taste & See is located at:
5015 Stockton Blvd (just north of Fruitridge Rd.)
Sacramento, Ca

The Mexican

I am, by no means, an expert on anything. In the words of the old jazz standard, "I know a little bit about a lot of things, but..."

Dig the bubbly guitar...

In all reality, I think I know just enough about many things to hurt myself, though you'd think I'd have learned enough about enough not to hurt myself. I'd like to think I've been leaning that way more often, but I'm such a glutton for metaphysical punishment, that I think on some sort of subconscious level I actually seek out the pain to feel more alive. It's kind of twisted, I know, but I've been more mentally healthy with that pain. It means I'm alive, as opposed to a period where I felt nothing...which isn't a good thing, because that inevitably leads to more self-abuse.

OK...I know this isn't a therapy session, but I'm trying a stream of consciousness thing in my writing, for better or worse.

So back the concept of expertise:

As I've been the first to readily admit, I'm no expert on Mexican food, despite being Mexican all of my life. Actually, if you want to get down to it, I'm not really an expert on being Mexican. My Spanish is a few steps above "tourist quality". I don't make annual pilgrimages down to the Motherland to visit la familia. I listen to, and play, black music. My favorite cuisine is Asian. I do what I can, however, and leave the rest to the "experts". With my parents being in Arizona, the responsibility of expert on all things Mexican has fallen to my friend and co-worker Ariana.

Ariana is a real Mexican. Hailing from Jalisco, Guadalajara to be specific, she is a wealth of knowledge on the all things Mexican. To be honest, I get a little nervous when I go to work the morning after I post some writing about an eating experience about Mexican food, out of fear that I have somehow gotten something horribly wrong. Fortunately, I have not completely embarrassed myself with my writing. In fact, she has been supportive of my writing in the sense that she appreciates me getting in touch with my Mexicanness through my writing about the food. For a while now, she'd been wanting to accompany me on a jaunt out to the hood to go eat some Mexican food. Since she lives in Davis, she's not really familiar with the restaurants that inhabit the Franklin Boulevard corridor and had been wanting to sample some of the food down there to see if it passes her test of authenticity. I was kind of nervous at the prospect of having her come along for fear that she would be disappointed in my choice of eatery. I felt as though I was on the spot and had to really deliver.

After some thought, I knew where we'd be going. It was a place I'd been before, and really liked, but not written about as my initial visit to the place was pre-blog. Deep down Franklin, outside of the city limits, past Fruitridge and across the street from the Campbell Soup factory was where we were headed...to Carniceria Lopez #2.

Hm...Now where can I go and have a taco while I wait for my taxes to get done?

There's the Campbell Soup factory, a reoccurring landmark in this blog

It certainly looks innocent enough

It was an early Wednesday evening when we walked in. The place was empty except for two men speaking in Spanish as they watched banda videos on a large flat screen television. Now for those who aren't familiar with it, banda is a type of Mexican music that typically hails from the northern border states and has strong polka influences as a result of the many Germans who settled in Texas and Northern Mexico, bringing their music and their instruments with them. Rather than try to explain it, feel the banda for yourselves:

Their outfits are kind of awesome!

I had to rib Ariana a bit, because banda is not her favorite kind of music. Being from Guadalajara, her musical blood flows with the sounds of mariachi music, which originated in her home state of Jalisco. We did, however, have a fun time sitting in awe of the huge belt buckles and loudly colored, gaudy outfits worn by the musicians in the videos. Some of the music was so bad it was good in the way that bad casino lounge bands are sometimes so bad they're good.

Random cheesetastic art on the wall

After getting settled in and being washed over by the banda, the very friendly waitress came by with menus, chips, and salsa. I deferred to Ariana to do all the talking as the default language being used here was Spanish, and I get enough of a hard time from her at work about my bad accent. I sat nervously as I could tell she was sizing the place up. I had actually talked this place up a bit before we came and felt like my credibility was somewhat on the line. I was relieved when Ariana opened up the menu and began to sing the praises of what she saw, ticking off the origins of this dish or that dish, impressed by the mere presence of certain menu items. With so many choices, I thought she would pick something obscure, but she took the route of simplicity, opting for a simple plate of flautas with rice and beans with agua de jamaica (hibiscus flavored drink).

I decided to get a little more adventurous. I've had their tacos. I've had tacos at a lot of places. In fact, a lot of people have had a lot of tacos at a lot of different places....and many of those same people have written about said tacos, many of them much better than me. So I'll say this, their tacos are good...seriously good, but who wants to read another description of a taco? There are only so many adjectives in my little brain to describe tacos. I mean, I will probably write about tacos again, but with so many choices on the menu, I opted to take the route less traveled...and you'll have to keep reading to get there...

Yes, I ordered both a Coke and a Sidral

Ariana kind of looked at me like I was crazy when I ordered both a Coke and a Sidral. Alas, there was a method behind my madness. See, the salsa here is addictively painful, but in a good way.

It looks innocuous enough, but it will cut you

Heated with glorious little jalapeño seeds, this salsa is a gift that keeps on giving if you like spicy like I do. I went through a whole basket of chips and two of these mini bowls of salsa (I hadn't eaten all day and I was effing hungry). The reason for the two drinks was simple. The Coke was to wash down the salsa. The Sidral was to wash down the...nope, not going to tell you yet...

So, out came the food:

Flautas topped with crema fresca and rice &beans

The earlier nervousness that had subsided about Ariana's take on the menu quickly returned. It was the moment of truth. What would I do if the Mexican didn't like the Mexican food I had been singing the praises of? Would she revoke my Mexican Card? Would she cut me? There was this odd moment of silence as we both understood what was on the line here.

nom nom nom...

"This is actually really good..."

That sound you're not hearing is the sigh of relief I let out when she actually liked the food. She was impressed that the flautas came with crema fresca (literally, sweet cream) instead of the usual sour cream that tops many a Mexican meal. Even more importantly, she liked the rice and beans. It may seem to be a no-brainer to many, but much like haiku, rice and beans are easy to do, but also very easy to make bad or mediocre. There is a lot more bad haiku written than great haiku.

After Ariana's food arrived, mine soon followed:

Taco al pastor...served on a Chinese plate??? Huh???

OK...so I know I went on earlier about how I wasn't going to eat tacos and that I was going to take the road less travelled, but the tacos here are really good and it's al pastor. How could I pass up the opportunity to have one? A little lime juice and I'm in a state of mini-bliss. Besides, I needed to stretch me stomach a little bit to accomodate the real meal...

Still wondering?

I'll bet you want to know what is so damn out of the ordinary that I haven't mentioned it yet...

Well...prepare yourself...

Parental Discretion is Advised...

BOOM!

Yes...that is a whole fish (side one)

I couldn't resist. It looked so good pictured on the menu and it looked even better in person. Behold...whole deep fried tilapia!

[A little side note here...maybe it's just me, but I think it's kind of awesome that all of the plates are mismatched. If you look at all of the food, it all comes served on different styles of plates (including the previously noted Chinese plate). It's like going to your abuelita's house...a little funky, but with a lot of soul.]

...and the b-side

So, let me begin by saying this: Yes, it is as good as it looks.

Now I know most people are used to "nice" fish. I mean this in the sense that it's prepared as a nice filet, presented nice and white and clean looking. Not to say that this is dirty, but you won't find this at a high end restaurant...at least the ones I've been to.

The preparation was simple and amazing. The scales were removed from the edible parts of the fish and the whole thing seemed to be lightly sprinkled with what I would guess is a simple dusting of flour, salt and pepper. After that, it's just a matter of frying.

I loved this fish. Though simple in it's preparation, there was more going on here than the sight of it would let on. What struck me most was the texures involved. The skin was left on and absorbed the salt and pepper flavor, getting crispy in the fryer. This provided a nice contrast to the light and surprisingly not-too-greasy meat of the fish. Even better, the meat still had that fishy taste to it, which some may not like, but I think is awesome. I love tasting the ocean. As good as the whole thing was, the best part was the meat from the head of the fish. A bit more greasy than the rest, it had a bit stronger taste of salty and peppery and just melted on my tongue. This was truly some epic seafood, even more so when you consider where it was served. Most people woudn't think to go down to Franklin Boulevard for a great fish plate.

Remains of the day...

Mr. Fish saying goodbye!!!

All and all, this mission was a resounding success. We got out of there with all of that food and drink for under $30, leaving stuffed and satisfied. More importantly, the place got the Mexican's seal of approval and my Mexican food credibility remains intact...at least for now. If you do decide to go here, seriously, try the tilapia. So good!

Carniceria Lopez #2 is located at
6201 Franklin Blvd
Sacramento, CA 95824
(916) 393-5957