Filed under: Food, West Hollywood | Tags: Blondies, bruschetta, Cheeseboard, Fat Slice, gelato, Los Angeles, Mozza, Nancy Silverton, pizza, Pizza Hut, Pizzeria Mozza, Seattle, Serious Pie
It might be a bit pointless to review Pizzeria Mozza, because it already has had a plethora of stunning, orgasmic reviews since the second before it opened, but I’ll do a brief one anyway. This will have to be without pictures – this meal was on business, the result of what my firm calls a “mentoring lunch” which translates to “good restaurant + uncomfortable topics about my career, or, possibly, lack thereof, with my mentor whose name is several lines higher than mine on the letterhead.”
Pizza is a funny thing. When I was a kid, it was such a treat. We only got pizza from Pizza Hut when: 1) my dad got a bonus, or otherwise came to receive some extra monies; 2) my mom did not want to cook; 3) my dad let my mom not want to cook; and 4) she had a coupon, usually for two large Meat Lovers (trademark) for $9.99, carryout only (my parents adamantly refused to get delivery because they (or my dad) did not believe in tipping). There was never anything else; no hot wings, no breadsticks. We were lucky to get a thin crust instead of the usual pan crust (my dad believed that the thin crust used less bread and therefore, we lost money if we ordered that instead of the thicker pan crust).
In college, I lived in a Pizza Hut black hole in which two Pizza Huts, approximately equidistant from my apartment, each claimed that I was in the delivery area of the other. I ping ponged between the two of them until they both agreed that neither served my area. Didn’t matter too much, though, as the annual issue of the Daily Cal always made sure I should be participating in the Pizza Death War between Fat Slice and Blondie’s. This, I never understood; no one seemed to realize that the Big Secret that: (shh): They tasted the same: gross. Really, the true winner was Cheeseboard Pizza, that lovely, lovely, tiny, jazz-playing, grab-a-slice-and-eat-on-the-median-take-that-Santa-Monica from yet another graduate of Chez Panisse across the street. $2.50/slice; gourmet pizzas with fresh ingredients, always topped off with too much olive oil. Delicious. That’s when I learned that there was more to pizza than gray, sad crusts and greasy pepperoni.
When I visited Seattle, we went to Tom Douglas’s Serious Pie, after an entire day of walking around, first to a famed dyke bar (The Wild Rose – which had an extremely, extremely oddly unorganized Soup Nazi way of ordering drinks at the bar), then to the Space Needle, and then back downtown. We were comple-tely exhausted, didn’t want anything fancy, wanted something that was warm and open. I remembered Serious Pie as the only Tom Douglas restaurant remotely in our price range, and luckily, were just near it. This is, what, weeks? after it had just opened; unlike Pizzeria Mozza, it wasn’t packed to the gills, just cozily filled with people sharing long bench tables, swapping tastes of wines, explaining where they bought their scarf (it is really cold there). They served big gourmet pizzas with fresh, local ingredients and, very importantly, excellent crusty, almost naan-like without being an actual naan, crust. I remember thinking at the time that This is the perfect place to be in Seattle. Something about the easy, natural emphasis on the freshness of very Pacific Northwest ingredients on a simple thing like pizza; something about how it was so efficiently run without relying on any hype – Seattle is a lesson for those MBAs looking to invest in a city – encapsulated Seattle for me, while also reminding me that they really need more good Asian places up there. Actually, they need more Asians, period.
So as I was sitting there thinking about this, it also made me sad that Los Angeles didn’t have better pizzerias.
And along came Pizzeria Mozza.
Filed under: Food | Tags: burrito, kimchi quesadilla, Kogi, Kogi bbq, kogi taco truck, Korean bbq, taco, taco truck, vegetarians
UPDATE 01/16/09: Hoping that I don’t sound too self-referential (what are the rules on this, anyway?), I posted a neat (I can hear Alvy Singer – “‘Neat.’ What are you, 12 years old? That’s one of your Chippewa Falls expressions.”) video that some rabid fans posted over on YouTube on Metblogs. Regarding the super long wait times, Kogi says: 1) Tough beans, we’re making this shit fresh. You want fast food, go to In N Out; and 2) They’re getting more trucks! Huzzah! When that happens, I’ll make good on my promise to Aliiiiiiiiiice and give it another go. Their tacos and burritos are great, but few foods are worth a 20-30 minute wait.
[/end update]
Over the weekend, I had the very good fortune meeting up with a few other foodies at an event generously organized by Abby over at The Pleasure Palate. The event: trying out, all for ourselves, the tacos and burritos and whatnot being produced by a little Korean taco truck that could, Kogi BBQ.
Kogi is a taco truck that currently has a cult following the same way that ice-cream truck outside your high school selling “ice cream” had a cult following amongst certain classmates. Instead of pot straight up, this truck cranks out drugs of another addictive nature: delicious tacos and burritos with Korean ingredients. Its explicit mission is to bring street food (back?) to LA. It has made quite the food scene splash, with its squeaky clean taco truck (someone at the meet stated quite definitively that the truck easily cost upwards of $40k; I don’t know any better to confirm or deny); its twittering of anticipated locations (this reminds me that this is really what twitter should be for; it shouldn’t ask, “What are you doing?”; it should ask “What are you going to do and what will you be eating?” (This idea is mine first, but if someone else wants to execute it, let’s talk.)); its smashup of kimchi and tortillas. I tried to explain all this to my best friend; she just said – twice – “I am so confused.” Maybe you have to eat it to believe it.
The menu:
We had a chance to try everything: 4 tacos, 4 burritos, and one special of the day: kimchi quesadillas (wasn’t kidding about that mashup). We were very full at the end.
The tacos: spicy pork, beef shortribs (their signature flavor, with excellent reason), chicken, and tofu. $2 each, not too bad for tacos.
The tacos are all topped similarly: salsa, lettuce tossed in a Korean-style vinaigrette, relish, toasted sesame seeds. I especially like the slice of orange, as well as lime – gives it a different kind of tasty citrus flavor that goes well with the vinaigrette. The only difference is the choice of meat, and it really does make quite the difference. Honestly, I consumed all of these so fast that I don’t remember too well which was which. I just remember that the “signature” shortribs indeed were the best. If I made these, I’d be stamping my name on the backside of every taco a la the Bible citations stamped on the underside of your hamburger wrapper at In-N-Out. Sweet, juicy, flavorful, grilled, flavorful, flavorful, these were great and totally worth the $2. The spicy pork – which, by the by, totally was not very spicy at all, unless you never, ever eat spicy food and think that one teeny drop of Tabasco is living on the edge – also was really good. Chicken was grilled and charred nicely, but in the end, was just a chicken.
My least favorite, as was everyone else’s, was the tofu taco. It just didn’t have much flavor, and you sort of end up with eating a tortilla with fancy toppings. I get that vegetarians need to eat tacos too; I just wish on their behalf that they always weren’t so restricted to tofu. Also, some people, like my dog, are allergic to soy, or should not be eating soy, or wheat, or corn. Wait, maybe that is for dogs only; dogs generally shouldn’t be eating soy, wheat, or corn. The lesson: check those kibble ingredients. Sigh. My dog eats better than I do.
Filed under: Clicker training, Food | Tags: bun thit nuong, pho, Pho 999, Vietcong, Vietnam, Vietnam War, Vietnamese
I tell you now that this is going to be really long. I have a lot of ground to cover: the Vietnam War, academic stupidity, explanation of why the Vietnamese name their pho restaurants with numbers only, and finally, the review of Pho 999 in Van Nuys. For you convenience, I’ll break it up into sections with headings.
I. INTRODUCTION
I mentioned earlier that I lived in Cerritos growing up. While I didn’t always have ready access to drive-thrus, I did have relatively easy access to the post-war settlement city known as Little Saigon, also known on the Thomas and Google Maps guide as Westminster. The story of Little Saigon probably is the subject of someone’s graduate thesis, but I’m going to pull out the highlights so you don’t have to read all 100 pages of that thing.
II. MY MOM, ACADEMICS, AND THE VIETNAM WAR
My mom is a writer in the community, an ardent ex-pat who writes scathing criticism of Communist-planted “authors” who encourage the Stateside Vietnamese to reach out to the country formerly known as South Vietnam. She also absolutely hates liberal academics who write horrific books that patronizingly, naively and romantically rally behind the Vietcong because these little group of Asians “beat” the United States and oh-how-they-suffered-at-our-imperialist-hands all the while completely missing the facts that: (1) the Vietcong exported their brand of imperalism first by refusing to abide by the North-South division and launching attacks to take over the country; and (2) the Vietcong “beat” the United States in order to obliterate a country and its people. The US “lost” the war (hurrah Vietcong!); the Southern Vietnamese lost their country (…chirp chirp …) Much like how people don’t realize that the state has its own Constitution, separate from the federal Constitution – and that amending it is a bigger deal than merely passing a law – people here just do not get that it was not Vietnam vs. The United States; it was North Vietnam (with the support of China) vs. South Vietnam (with the support of the United States).
The lesson here: don’t listen to liberal academics who get off on expounding on racist and imperialistic interpretations of other country’s civil wars.
The upshot of all this, of course, is that the US felt badly enough about the whole affair that they gave automatic amnesty to any Vietnamese person who managed to get the fuck out of the South before Saigon fell in 1975. My mom and her family left Saigon that night. At the port where they managed to jump on an American ship, she saw families breaking up – some wanted to stay, others wanted to leave; still others were contemplating what to leave behind, as if they were choosing between the blue and red undies at a Black Friday sale at the Gap. My mom’s reaction was the same as mine on Black Friday: grab a decision before someone else does.
They jumped on that boat and haven’t been back to their country, last seen dying in flames. They ended up Camp Pendleton, learning what bars of soap were (“We thought they were cheese! We didn’t understand how the Americans could eat something so gross.”), English, and how to grow bean sprouts in the dirt (“almost impossible [my mom's accent makes it sound like she's saying "almost impassable!!"], but someone in another camp somewhere else figured it out, and she told someone, and eventually one person in our camp found out about it, and then we all knew.” And this was before the internets!!) A large group of Vietnamese settled permanently a little further up in Westminster, opened up a few businesses; someone must have patented that bean sprout recipe; and there you have a shortened version of Little Saigon.
III. DRIVING IN ASIAN COMMUNITIES
You see a lot of this history in the driving nightmare that is Little Saigon (before any of you start going, “Oh stop with the stereotypes of bad Asian drivers!!!” I say to you: you have not been to Little Saigon and you have not been to the parking lot of a Ranch 99. Do both before telling me that stereotype is not true, because it is.). Excellent example: the names of pho restaurants.
IV. “LET’S GET PHO AT PHO [INSERT NUMBER HERE]” “NO, PHO [INSERT ANOTHER NUMBER HERE] IS BETTER.”
Pho restaurants are almost always named in one of two ways: with a number or with a woman’s name (although I have to say that one of the best, if not the best, pho restaurants in Little Saigon is named after a man, Pho Nguyen Hue. Incidentally, this place is so famous that Vietnamese from all Little Saigons nationwide make a California trip specifically to visit this place. I met a guy who drove from Houston once.).
My parents used to bicker about which pho place to go to. I never could remember; it was always a death match between Pho 79 and Pho 18. Pho 1 was in the valley at the time, too far. Here comes the eternal quandary: what is with those damned numbers?
There are a lot of reasons for this. First, perhaps the most obvious explanation: lucky numbers. 9 is a lucky number; you’ll get a lot of 9’s and variations on 8+1’s. The place I will get around to reviewing, for example, is called Pho 999. This also explains Ranch 99.
There also are a lot of bad numbers, too, like 0; you’ll never see a place called Pho 0; or, if you do, run the other way, because bad luck will be cursed upon you for life.
Second, a less obvious explanation: a lot of these places are intentionally named after restaurants left behind in Vietnam, either as a direct descendant or as a doppelganger helmed by a restauranter hoping to cash in on immigrants already familiar with the name.
Third, my mom claims that numbered restaurants are easier to remember and/or that it is “just our mentality” to number their restaurants. I told her that there is a place on La Cienega called “Absolutely Pho-bulous.” She was silent for a second and then said, “That’s terrible. Don’t go there.”
V. YOU KNOW YOU’RE IN A GOOD VIETNAMESE PLACE WHEN …
So, if I can’t go to Absolutely Phobulous, where to go? Living in LA means I am out of the close range to Westminster. With the exception of a few, very few, places in Chinatown, there really is no decent Vietnamese option in Los Angeles, likely because there is no region of the city that has a big population of Asians. The valley, on the other hand, is a different story. Lots of Asians, lots of delicious Asian cuisine.
Apparently, you also need the valley if you need to get to Lowe’s. We needed a new rug and the girlfriend liked one at Lowe’s. With the closest Lowe’s being in Northridge, we decided to make a good trip out of it and go to Pho 999.
Now, people always ask: “How do you know a good Vietnamese place from a bad Vietnamese place? They’re all the same!” This is not true. This is how you can tell.
1: A fish tank with too many fish for the size of the tank.
Here: 6 fish, with more off-screen, squished into 1 medium-sized tank.
2: Stringent re-fill policies.
3: A framed newspaper article.
Pho 999 has been featured in the Los Angeles Daily News.
4: Numbered tables.
Usually they will sticker the numbers on the napkin boxes. Some places sticker it on the table itself.
VI. PHO 999: FINALLY, THE REVIEW
In Van Nuys, there is some heated competition between Pho 999 and Pho So 1, which is across the street and, conveniently, next to a Ranch 99. My theory is that if Pho 999 was next to Ranch 99, it would explode all the good luck in the world and we would end up with Pho 000 and Ranch 00. Sucks, though, because we think Pho 999 is better than Pho So 1. But there is only the slightest of edges; reasonable tastes, needs for Ranch 99 convenience, and ability to deal with a parking lot full of Asians going to Pho So 1, Ranch 99 and/or Sam Woo BBQ (in the same complex) may differ.
I think we like Pho 999 based not on the pho – I think they’re really comparable – but on the other foods. On really, really cold days, nothing beats a big bowl of pho for breakfast, lunch, and/or dinner. On most other days, my standby is vermicelli noodles with grilled or charboiled pork and, depending on the location, egg rolls. For those wishing to learn Vietnamese, I’m talking about bun (vermicelli) thit heo nuong (grilled pork) cha gio (egg rolls) ($6.75; never should be more than $7.00 – if it is, that is another sign that you are in the wrong place). Everyone else: rely on the English translation and hope it’s right. The meat at Pho 999 is a little more generous and little less fatty. But, as I said, try them both; they’re both good.
At either place, if you order just bun thit nuong, you will end up with deliciously grilled or charbroiled pork, marinated in something with fish sauce, I’m sure; room temperature or cold white thin noodles called vermicelli that have a neutral taste, like rice; all sitting atop a “salad” that consists of some greens and lots of carrot and cucumber sticks. You top it all off with the fish sauce that accompanies your bowl. The fish sauce usually is very sweet and very diluted (fish sauce straight from the bottle is incredibly strong, pungent, and you will never get it out of your clothes if you spill it, believe you me), and you really need it to raise the level of almost every Vietnamese food.
Egg rolls (cha gia). I absolutely hate Chinese egg rolls, with their huge portions of cabbage and meat, and usually too much soy sauce. If you end up in a “Vietnamese” place that is serving egg rolls Chinese-style, you are in the wrong place. You are looking for a mulch – carrots, mushrooms, fish sauce, and onions, painstakingly pulverized into tiny pieces separately and then mixed together with ground pork. When you bite into the egg roll, it’s a clean break; no loose cabbage patches hanging, no big sticks of carrots being displaced. You can look inside and see everything is holding together nicely, and you can barely tell the ingredients apart.
Now, no one beats my mom’s egg rolls, but a few places come close. Here, Pho 999 does a very decent egg roll; the wrapper itself is a little too thick, but that’s fine. You also get the equivalent of 2 egg rolls in this dish here, which is pretty good; some places only give you one, but they cut it up in small pieces to make you think that you’re getting a lot more.
So, now you know how one ends up with bun thit heo nuong cha gia. At Pho 999, you are looking at menu item number 49. My mom is right about this point: the numbers are easier to remember than the names.
The girlfriend decided she wanted something hot that was not pho, so she ended up with a seafood soup with bbq pork. ($6.75, I think?) The broth was good, very seafoody, but also a bit bland. I don’t think she would get this again.
Overall, a really great night: A nice rug at Lowe’s that is now completely covered in fur because Idgie is blowing coat and a more than complete, fulfilling, happy, healthy meal for way under $20, including tip!
VII. EXPECT TERRIBLE SERVICE AND I HAVE ONE LAST ANGRY SENTENCE
Oh, and a forewarning for those who don’t know any better: The service is minimalist to the extreme, and you are absolutely allowed to tip accordingly. They waive you vaguely to sit down somewhere when you walk in; they expect to take your order within 5 minutes of you sitting down; they impatiently answer your questions; and the service stops the second you receive your food. Sometimes you’re lucky and can catch someone to ask them for more water or another round of egg rolls, but more likely you will be sitting helplessly without any water except the pho broth until you decide to just ask the cashier if he could could refill your glass. You’re not being catered to here; just don’t expect it and you’ll be fine. I mean, they lost their country. What more could you want?
Pho 999
6411 Sepulveda
Van Nuys
Daily: 9am – 10pm
Filed under: Food | Tags: burger, burgers, Cerritos, drive-thru, Five Guys, fries, In-N-Out, Krispy Kreme
First, I have to make a disclaimer and apologize to my dearest friend who went to Cerritos High with me. What I am about to say, I say out of love, but also much out of hatred for our more-sheltered-than-Jodie-Foster’s-panic-room of a hometown.
Cerritos is my hometown. I grew up in Cerritos. I went to Wittmann Elementary, Carmenita Junior High, and then briefly to Gahr High School before transferring to Cerritos High School, home of the Dons, a mascot no one understood or impersonated. I grew up as the city cashed in on the massive Auto Square and Ernest P. Worrell and his cross-dressing ad-skits. Cerritos is a planned community that strives to be like Pasadena, but because of its scary Big Brother tendencies and its humble middle class background, it will never quite have the austere, old money shine of the red rose that is Pasadena.
Cerritos has insane PTA mother-type rules. For example, you may or may not have ever noticed that, despite having more big box stores per square foot than most towns I can think of, Cerritos does not have any drive-thrus (except for the former Krispy Kreme, which I’ll get to in a second). Why you might (not) ask? Because under Chapter 5.08 of the city Municipal Code, a fast food restaurant or other eatery cannot operate a drive-thru or take-out stand without first obtaining a permit from the city manager. My (high school) civics teacher (who would take the day off the same day that grades were due, every semester – super mean) told us that this was because the city patronizingly wanted to encourage (force) families to dine together.
Obtaining this permit must be next to impossible, because it was 2002 and I was nearly 21 when the first drive-thru opened in Cerritos. This first drive-thru was Krispy Kreme. I guess Krispy Kreme convinced them that gathering around the donut table was not something that did not need to be discouraged. Incidentally, this Krispy Kreme closed a year or two ago. As such, it has the dubious distinction of being both the first drive thru to open and the first to close. Womp womp. Chick-Fil-A took over the Krispy Kreme location, and retained the drive thru, so I guess it too convinced the city manager that its strong family values, including the one where they actually are pretty nice and close on Sundays to give their employees a day off, would not threaten the American narrative of the rustic family gathering around the table for all meals after a hard day’s of work and/or school and/or dog training.
Speaking of the city being patronizing, here is another one: as a patron of the arts, the city mandates that all new business developments, with limited exception, either contribute to a general arts fund or, subject to city approval, install some piece of art work on their grounds as part of the project development. (See “Art in Public Places Program, Ch. 22.04 of the City of Cerritos Municipal Code). This is why you will see some sort of gaudy ass bronze statue scattered throughout the city, the pinnacle being a “Sculpture Garden” in the aesthetic assault on the senses location known as the library and city hall.
Krispy Kreme was the Most Exciting Thing To Happen To Cerritos, Ever. A very close second may be the decision to locate only one of two of the East Coast’s Five Guys burgers and fries joint in the ever-increasingly huge Cerritos Promenade, itself the home of a Target Greatland (which is like a Super Target if you can imagine that, which is hard to do, given that Target already is pretty Super). It is right off of the 405 and a stone’s throw from the nearest In-N-Out, which is located not in Cerritos (despite their strong Christian values and being well-versed in select Biblical citations, I guess they still couldn’t get a permit) (although the In-N-Out on Fisherman’s Wharf doesn’t have a drive-thru, so really In-N-Out, what was the hold-up? I really needed a good job in high school; you think the Don pays well? Well, he doesn’t.). Having heard about Five Guys, I skipped over this In-N-Out on the way back from a conference in Costa Mesa and took the 605 to South Street.
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