19. Baby's Badass Burgers

Finally. I have been courting Baby’s Badass Burgers since truck #2, but for various reasons I have been continually deterred. Alas, yesterday I saw they were to be in front of the My Space building in Beverly Hills. Chris works in the BH and was leaving town the next day for Thanksgiving-family-times. Perfect. I could meet up with Chris for a goodbye lunch and have a go at Baby’s. Hell, I was craving a burger.

From what I understood Baby’s was the hot pink truck with the scantily clad hot chicks, serving up burgers. I suppose that’s accurate but it seems that the scantily clad, hot chick part has become tiresome (and who can blame them?) and really, more of an afterthought (fine with me) at this point. We did have a cute, young, blond girl in shorts take our order. Note the God light in the picture below.

I asked her what she suggested and I think I got my favorite response to date, “Depends on what you like.” Okay, I’ll try this a different way, “What’s your signature item?” To which I heard, “They’re all good.” Fine. So Chris ordered the Original Beauty (swiss cheese, sautéed mushrooms and Baby’s special sauce, $5), and I went with the - flinch! - Cougar (aged beef, St. André cheese, black truffles, $9). The burgers are served as sliders and you get two per order. Fries. They have curly fries and sweet potato fries. Upon asking which she preferred, our - flinch! - baby replied – and get this – “depends on what you like”. Christ. I ordered the Sweetie Pie Fries ($3).

Our wait was brief and upon receiving our food Chris and I wandered over to a low wall to sit and eat amongst the employees of the building. I will say that I liked this locale: green, shady, residential, clean, quiet, easy parking, and not crowded. Also pretty much the opposite of any place I would normally expect a food truck to be – it felt exclusive, which is pretty much the opposite of what a food truck is supposed to illicit. Anyway…

The burgers, while conceptually inspired, did not do much for either Chris or myself. The thing about sliders is you have a very small amout of meat that is served fairly thin. I mean, it has to fit on that tiny bun, right? So the meat can only be cooked well-done. So you throw all this fancy stuff like truffles on there and there is nothing to compliment them. You just have a standard slider roll and a silver dollar of ground beef. I would prefer to have that particular burger option as a grown-up sized burger, rather than two sliders. The original was fine, but the same thought process applies. WHY SLIDERS? And I might add… $9 for sliders??

Both Chris and I agreed the sweet potato fries were awesome. I couldn’t stop eating them. They were wide but thin, and super crisped on the outside with a slight give in the middle. While I am not exactly a sweet potato fry aficionado, these were pretty amazing.

In short, Baby’s aint bad but Baby’s don’t got back. At least not mine. But who knows, I would certainly never put Baby's in a corner.

Pigeon-y

This is the story about a pigeon that thought she was a guinea pig.

About 6 months ago my mom’s next-door neighbor, Michael, opened his office door to find a wonky, tiny baby bird at his feet. This was a curious little nestling as it had, rather than feathers - yellow, pubic-like hairs and a distorted beak. Presuming she had fallen from her nest prematurely, rendering her tainted and unwanted by her parents, Michael took her home with him.

Michael, his 9 year-old daughter, Ruby, and my mom were utterly perplexed as to what type of bird has no feathers, but rather, hair and such a bizarre look to it. Ruby thought it was a Dodo bird. After some research they realized she was actually a baby pigeon. You see pigeons don’t actually leave their parents until they are fully grown. During their first week of life baby pigeons are fed a high-fat, high-protein diet of crop milk produced by both parents. They grow very fast.

In the case of domestic/feral pigeons, they walk well at about 18 days of age and start exercising their wings about a week later. But because they have been regularly fed by the adults and haven't done much exercising, the babies are often bigger than their parents by the time they start to fly, which is on average 30 to 32 days after hatching.

So Ruby named her Pigeon-y and Michael was her mother.

As Pigeon-y grew into adulthood she became recognizable as a pigeon and had one beautiful, little turquoise spot on her sternum (you can see it in the above photo). Michael would cradle Pigeon-y in his hands and gently thrust her into the air to try to teach her to fly. She would flap her wings wildly and plop back into his hands. Then one day she flew about 10 yards. Eventually she would circle the yard about once a day but she never, ever left the property again.

Ruby has 2 guinea pigs that live in a large, open pen in the front yard during the day and in a crate, inside at night. Pigeon-y’s days were spent in the pen with the guinea pigs, and at night in a little cardboard box in the house. 

After some time everyone began to realize that Pigeon-y thought she was a guinea pig. She would play with them, chase them, and protect them. In fact, if other birds came close Pigeon-y would scare them away. The 2 guinea pigs liked to cram into a small plastic dome, which Pigeon-y would perch on top of. Then the guinea pigs would walk around in the dome, causing it to move across the pen with Pigeon-y on top – like she was on a float in a parade.

Pigeon-y even started sleeping in the cage at night with the guinea pigs and decided she preferred their food and grass to her bird seed.

And Pigeon-y loved her mother, Michael. She would perch on top of his shoulder or head as proud as a peacock.

When Michael would go out of town my mom watched over the guinea pigs and Pigeon-y. She was in awe of this bird’s moxie and spirit. Pigeon-y became a beacon, a port in the storm for my mom. She embodied so much courage, strength and beauty. Her cooing sounds were so rich, smooth and delicate, my mom wanted to just swallow them. Pigeon-y sang the song of the canyon.

Over the past few months I have heard many tales of Pigeon-y’s adventures and antics from my mother, told with a song in her voice and a twinkle in her eye. I have even watched, in awe, Pigeon-y playing with and protecting her guinea pigs. And you have to admit it’s a pretty amazing story that speaks volumes about determination and love across species.

As you all know, we live in the canyon, which is where the wild things are. Sadly, a couple of nights ago, Pigeon-y was taken from her family, her guinea pigs and her yard by, what we believe to be, a hawk. These things happen. But with the holidays upon us, I felt it apt to share with you the story of one abandoned pigeon that found her friends and family and whose resilience, character, serenity and magnificence changed a number of lives forever.

Here we have a soup that has a surprising amount of delicate yet bold flavors, and elements that I never would have thought would have complimented each other in such symphonic unison. It starts out thick and hearty, but somehow finishes wispy and soft – almost ethereal. 
It is vegetarian.

Buttermilk Corn Soup with Curry & Mint

Serves 4

2 tbsp butter

1 shallot, finely chopped

2 cups yellow corn kernels

2 cups vegetable stock

1 ½ cups buttermilk

1/2 tsp dried mint

1 tsp fresh mint, chopped

1/2 tsp hot curry

1/2 tsp coriander

½ tsp cumin

salt & pepper to taste

crème fraiche

In a heavy saucepan sauté shallot in butter until translucent (approximately 5-7 minutes. Add corn and mix to coat corn with shallots and butter. Add vegetable stock and simmer for about 20 minutes. Add dried mint, curry, coriander and cumin. Let simmer to allow flavors to marry.

Blend using an immersion wand.

Add buttermilk, fresh mint and salt & pepper to taste. Cook down for about 30 minutes on low heat.

Garnish with a dollop of crème fraiche and serve.

Printable Recipe

Boba Fett and The Matterhorn

  
My mom and Susan have known each other since elementary school and still disagree whether they were in first or second grade together. Regardless, they are dear, dear friends. They got married around the same time and got pregnant around the same time. Susan’s son, Ben, and I were born 4 days apart. I'm older! 

Ben and I were like siblings throughout our early childhood. We were always at each other’s houses; we built forts, had sleepovers, pulled each other’s hair, had food fights, and even took baths together. Ben taught me to just get the soap wet to fool our moms that we had actually cleaned ourselves. He also peed in the tub to create a “fountain effect”. One time at the state fair Ben had a total and complete freak out on the Matterhorn. It’s far from being a scary ride – at any age, and I took great pleasure in mocking him for that for quite a few years following. I'm sure I got bubble gum in my hair for that.

I remember Ben’s cherished Star Wars figures, watching Top Gun (for the 78^th time) together, playing the Super Mario game thing, slinging spaghetti noodles (with sauce) at the wall from the dinner table, playing hide and seek, and often having chicken fricassee for dinner at his house. Ben and I fought like Scotsmen but we did share a love for chicken fricassee. I don’t recall us throwing that stuff onto the walls.

As Ben and I got older and discovered our own personalities, styles, and friends - went to different schools and listened to different music (he the Grateful Dead and me, Public Enemy), we drifted apart. However, we have always been apprised of the broad strokes of each others' lives through our moms. Ben is married and living in San Francisco with a really cool job as head brewer at Magnolia Pub. His beer is sold at Chez Panisse!

Mom and Susan share a history.  After all of these years, many moves away from and back to Richmond, us kids, marriages, divorces, hardship and beauty, Susan and my mom remain dear, special friends. Susan visited mom out here in LA just a few months ago. The three of us went to the Conan O’Brien Show. Ben and I are Facebook friends. I think he has a moustache now.

Perhaps it’s the cooler temperatures or perhaps it was my recent trip home and the memories getting all stirred up, but lately I can’t stop thinking about that fricassee. I can only really remember having it at Susan’s house, so I emailed her for the recipe. Here’s something wild, look at her response to me, “I'm honored you asked me, since I learned this from your mother. I used to make it all the time because Ben liked it so much (your mom made it first, as I remember).”  

Well hush my mouth. How adorable is that?!

So I just finished making a batch of the stuff. It was my second try. The first one was solely from taste memory and, while good, it resembled nothing either in look or taste to what I recall as a child. The second go was with Susan’s (my mom’s) recipe, and I’ll be a monkey’s uncle – I got it! 

While devouring my heaping platter of the stuff I could see Susan and Ben’s house on Roseneath Road vivdly - like I was just there yesterday, down to the cereal boxes (Ben was allowed to eat Cap’n Crunch, unlike SOME people) in the kitchen and the clown art on the walls. I wonder if Ben still has his Boba Fett figurine. I always coveted it.

This is the recipe exactly as Susan sent it. While it is bare bones, if I could suss it out, I imagine you can do the same. I did add a dash of sherry (sherry makes everything better, right?) and some chopped, Italian parsley (for the pretty picture).

As a child this dish was probably paired with, well, milk. These days it goes beautifully with the Ridge Vineyards, “Three Valleys” Zinfandel.

Mom & Susan’s Chicken Fricassee

Serves 6-8

Boil a small chicken reserving the stock (I like to boil it with celery, onion and a little sage)

Pick the meat off the bones when it cools.

Make a roux with butter and flour. While it is doing its thing (watching for the right point), add a little lemon juice and small amount of chopped garlic.

Add reserved chicken broth.

What you're doing now is seasoning the liquid to get a nice, creamy, tasty, somewhat thickened broth.

When you like the taste of the broth, add the shredded chicken.

Add salt and pepper as needed.

Serve over rice or noodles.

18. The Buttermilk Truck

Oh joy! Today was special in two ways: I finally got my hands on the Buttermilk Truck’s goods, and Dixon was there to join me! It has been some time since I’ve had good ole Dixon with me in fun food land. And it was the perfect truck for us to hit together as breakfast is his most favoritest of meals (and I owed him a birthday treat, so I paid). 

The Buttermilk Truck is all breakfast, all the time. They have two menus: a daytime breakfast menu and a late night breakfast menu. The truck is owned by the former pastry chef at Bin 8945, Gigi Pascual, who uses upscale ingredients and makes all of her pastries and batters fresh daily.

They were Tweeted to be on Cole at Sunset from 12-2pm today. We met right at Noon. The line was occupied by only a handful of folks so we got up to order pretty fast. Dixon ordered the Buttermilk Biscuit Breakfast Sandwich served on house-made buttermilk biscuit with cheese and fried egg (with a choice of applewood smoked bacon, tocino, or chicken apple sausage). He wanted bacon, but they were out (at Noon???), so he decided to be adventurous and try the tocino. He added an order of rosemary, garlic hashbrowns and topped it all off with, what else, a cup of coffee. 

I ordered the Hawaiian Bread Breakfast Sliders with Portuguese sausage, sauteed onions and shoyu scrambled eggs on Hawaiian bread and a bottle of water. The grand total: $11.50 (sweet!). I will say that considering the scant few people about, the wait for the food was a bit much – I’d say a solid 10-15 minutes.
 
While we waited a food truck friend shared with us bites of his House-made Cake Donuts (“fried to golden brown and dusted with powdered sugar and glazed with cinnamon vanilla glaze”). Dixon and I agreed that they were very tasty and reminded us of the state fair. They were crunchy on the outside and warm, soft and billowy on the inside - rich with flavor and oily delicious.
 
Dixon’s food came out first, so he grabbed some napkins and some packets of Tapatio(!!!), and went to his car to set up the tailgate - no curb for us. Dixon can be pretty cool sometimes. I met him moments later when my food was up. 

We both enjoyed our orders. It was an unusually hot day and we were smack under the sun making heavy breakfast and coffee slightly, well, wrong - but whaddaya do? Dixon housed most of his before I reminded him that I wanted to taste everything. The hashbrowns were gone. But he said it was his favorite thing that we ordered and that the rosemary was prominent and well seasoned. His biscuit was good, if dense and not very biscuity looking. Again, I wasn’t able to really get a grasp of the tocino, but it sounded real nice…

My sliders were alright. They were a bit intimidating to look at. I ate two and Dixon had one. They were certainly enhanced by the Tapatio, but were big and bold on their own. I loved the sweet, Hawaiian rolls and the Portuguese sausage. The eggs seemed an afterthought and other than an in color, I sensed little to no shoyu. Caramelized onions? Barely. 

Honestly, I was a little bit underwhelmed with the Buttermilk Truck. Perhaps it's just growing pains, but the wait was too long, they were already out of bacon (a breakfast staple, without a doubt), and they also ran out of biscuits while we were there. And all of this without a mass influx of people ordering them out of inventory. Regardless, Dixon and I agreed that it would be fun to try their late-night breakfast menu after some drinks some time. The Fried Chicken with House-made Cinnamon Waffles with butter and syrup looks amazing.
 
Perhaps we shall meet again, Buttermilk Truck. Perhaps we shall.

17. The Dosa Truck

Yesterday I was headed to Miracle Mile to finally try Baby’s Badass Burgers and found myself in a sea of food trucks. I quite seriously have never seen this many of them in the same place, at the same time. I get to say it: Food-Truck-O-Rama!!

And, of course, my indecision attacked my resolve. I ended up at The Dosa Truck. Well, they had all the pretty, dangly, colorful, streamers and lanterns and pretties adorning the truck! I’m a sucker for packaging. I also had not stumbled upon the Dosa Truck yet and I see Baby’s Badass around quite a bit.

Probably as a result of the galaxy of trucks in one location (or perhaps their karma), there was almost no line in dosa land. I asked for suggestions and was told to either go with the Shiva Shatki (1/2 sweet potato, 1/2 masala dosa) or the Slumdog (Indian “pesto” rubbed inside the dosa with paneer, fresh spinach and masala dosa potatoes). I went with the Slumdog and a homemade ginger limeade, totaling $8. The wait seemed a hair lengthy, but I never got too antsy. Plus, entertainment factor - the owner, Brooklyn-born Leena Deneroff, was frenetically scurrying about making sure everyone knew about her HOMEMADE ginger limeade. She’s in the top picture in the white shirt.

So, for those of you as yet unaware, a dosa is South Indian street food. It’s a crispy, sourdough crepe made from rice and lentil flour, stuffed with regional and gourmet ingredients, then rolled long and thin. Paru’s on Sunset makes a damn good one.

I liked this. It appeared to be a lot of food at first, but after bite #1 I knew it was going to be the perfect portion. The dosa itself retained a bit more of the oil’s taste than I would prefer, but was light, airy and nutty. The stuffing, however, was inspired, fresh and delicious. The fresh spinach was a surprising touch that lent itself beautifully to the paneer and potatoes. And the pesto was an ideal accent, and one I would have never expected! The limeade was zingy and refreshing and also a model element in enriching the meal.

As sure as the truck reads, “Ooooom good”. I finished everything in under 5 minutes and yes, I’ll be back.