Sasabune

Sasabune used to sit in a house on Sawtelle and Nebraska but was recently relocated to the old Todai all-you-can-freakishly-eat on Wilshire. I’d never been there before but Jeanne said the sushi there would make any other sushi I’d ever eat taste like rubber feet. And, she was right.

We had our fears about how the relocation would affect the quality of the food and service. And, although the capacious space that used to house a buffet wasn’t quite nearly as quaint as a once humble abode, the food and service lacked nothing.

We stepped into the restaurant to be greeted by a sign that read, “We do not serve California rolls or spicy tuna.” I couldn’t decide if the sign was pretentious or funny, but being in LA, my opinion leaned toward the pretension. Was this place really that good and so aware of it that it could post such a sign and be taken seriously?

I found out when the first dish of our omakase meal arrived at our table. It was Alaskan albacore sashimi in soy sauce on an icy cold dish. The rectangles of light pink fish sitting in a pool of light brown soy and topped with thin rings of scallions melted in my mouth. The soft flesh simply vanished like a magic trick on my tongue.

Next came the miso soup, which was sweet and delicate, with tiny bits of mushroom, seaweed, and tofu floating atop the clear broth.

We were also surprised with dishes of baby yellow tail from Australia, sea scallop, tuna topped with a clear seaweed, and toro, all of which sat on top of perfectly shaped mounds of rice. And, the rice was spectacular, soft, chewy, just sticky and sweet enough, and warm. I can’t remember ever having warm rice served with my sushi, and the difference in temperatures between the just-out-of-the-refrigerator fish and the rice-steamer fresh grains was sublime.

The only sad note to the meal was our final dish of crab rolls. Crustacean flesh was mixed with what seemed to be a mayonnaise substance and rolled with a piece of seaweed. The seaweed was chewy and hard to manage without squirting crab meat down my shirt. And the stuffing itself was nothing to write home about.

The waitstaff was also very helpful, telling us where each piece of fish came from and how to eat it. Other highlights of the meal were the fresh wasabe and Kirin on tap that came in frosty glasses. We think we also spotted Muriel Hemingway getting her parking validated.

In the end, I was convinced that Sasabune was good enough to tell diners that if they wanted California rolls and spicy tuna, that they came to the wrong place.

Hipsters unite

George gave me a tour of Echo Park’s hipster hangouts, dive-y bars with twenty-somethings in too-tight jeans. We started at Love Joy’s, on the corner of Sunset and Portia, where I had a vodka gimlet and the bartender had tight, white Levi’s that were just barely long enough and a mustache. I wanted to take him home. We then walked a block to another bar with a hidden name where blondes danced, boys played pool, and the outside smoking alley had a toilet. Our final stop along Sunset was another bar whose name I can’t remember but was a fifty second drive away from the others (really, no one walks in LA). The band that was playing was good except for the lead singer who had too much attitude and a voice that wasn’t his.

Angelino holiday

I spent a week in LA, eating it up almost every minute. If it wasn't Mom's cooking, it was at some restaurant or take out. My dining habits change drastically when I'm in LA. I go into vacation mode. The next several posts are from my LA holiday eating escapade.

Chevy's Fresh Mex?

There are some places I’m reluctant to eat at: McDonald’s, The Olive Garden, Hometown Buffet. Chevy’s is also one of these places but I went there on Friday with some friends because we were going to see the gay cowboy movie at the Embarcadero Center and that was the only restaurant we could think of that was nearby.

And, it wasn’t too bad. Other than the group of Asian teenagers outside who thought it would be funny to cheer as people walked by, the bad music, and sitting in a spot that sent a chilly breeze by every time the door opened, the experience was quite decent.

I filled up on chips and salsa before my entrée came. The chips were thin, warm, crisp, and just salty enough. And, the salsas were fine, nothing spectacular. I ordered their shrimp and crab enchiladas with rice and black beans. The enchiladas weren’t like any enchiladas I’d eaten before, but they were quite tasty though not of shrimp nor crab. The cheese stuffed inside was creamy and so was the green sauce that topped it. I can’t quite describe what it tasted like, but it was creamy and my tongue was happy (there’s something wonderfully satisfying about a layer of fat coating the tongue). The rice and beans mostly just flanked the sides of the enchiladas on the overly large platter.

So, overall, eating at Chevy’s isn’t totally awful. I would, however, recommend ordering one of their ridiculously large “regular”-sized margaritas (I wonder what their “super-size” version looks like).

Happy Blog-iversary

January 31st marks the one year anniversary of Susan’s Daily Eats. To celebrate the momentous event, I’m inviting eaters to send in their food adventures to be posted here.

It would be awesome if you wanted to satiate my need for self-attention and give your take on a meal you had with me. But, I’ll understand if you have too many fabulous dining experiences in my company to recount and decide to write about your own eating escapade, especially if you have a restaurant or recipe recommendation.

Questions and Answers

What if I don’t know you? Can I still send something in to have it posted?
Sure, although I don’t expect too many of these. I still believe that only Jon and Jeanne read my silly little blog, so prove me wrong.

What can I write about?
Write about anything you want, as long as it’s food-related.

Can I write about dirt?
Um, okay, sure, I guess, as long as you ate it.

How long can it be?
I think back to my high school English teacher’s advice: writing should be like a girl’s skirt—short enough to be interesting but long enough to cover the essentials.

Can I attach photos?
Yup, but I can’t promise that they’ll get posted—I’m not too savvy about some things. Also, please don’t send me dirty photos. I’m not a “Debbie Does Salad” kinda gal.

Will all submissions get posted?
Submissions that pass my approval will get posted.

What is your approval system?
It’s pretty lax and hard to define. But, remember the tenants of all decent writing: have a point (although sometimes I know I don’t), edit and proofread (you don’t want to get me annoyed with fragments, run-ons, and misspellings—I get enough of that at work), and have fun with it.

What if my submission doesn’t pass your approval system, is there an appeal process?
I haven’t really thought about it, but I suppose I’ll consider it if you have a strong argument and send me cookies.

Will you tinker with my submission before you post it?
I’ll probably fix grammar stuff, maybe add some links, but your ideas will be all yours.

When do I have to send my submission in by?
Um, let’s say Friday, January 20th but you can send it in before then. So, if you’re super excited and want to send me something today, that’s totally cool.

When will submissions get posted?
On the day of the anniversary, Tuesday, January 31st.

Where do I send my submission?
Send submissions to susansdailyeats at gmail dot com.

What should I include with my submission?
If you want, let me know your name, where you’re from, maybe a one-sentence biography or a picture of your favorite food depicted using only the symbols found on your keyboard. I can’t promise that any of it will get posted though.

Will there be a prize for the best submission?
The writer of the best submission will forever live in awe in my heart.

Eating nostalgia

Going home to LA has its comforts and charms. As much as I am convinced that I’d never move back to the smoggy San Gabriel Valley or any part of the vast expanse of land that can be referred to as Los Angeles, there are things that just feel like home: seeing the mountains crisp and purple on a smog-free day, driving along the freeways that lead to the Pacific, eating fries outside underneath the warm winter sun.

And, I couldn’t leave LA without going to In-N-Out. For the sake of my tight dress, I skipped the airplane-to-In-N-Out-to-home ritual, and saved the #2 animal style with extra pickles and a Lemon-Up for my last day in LA. After waking up hung over and trying to remember the events of the previous night, Karen, Jeanne, and I got ourselves looking decent enough to venture over to the In-N-Out across the street from the high school just a little after 10:30 in the morning for a burger and fries breakfast. It was nice to eat outside under the red plastic umbrella, watching the marquee of the high school where we each spent four years of our teenage lives scroll “Happy Holidays” by, and contemplate how the Measure Y money was used for new bleachers.

Continuing my yearning for greasy reminiscence, Jeanne and I went to Jim’s later that afternoon for more fries and fried zucchini. Jim’s physical appearance had changed. It used to be an outside diner that invoked a different era, one when Kevin Arnold and his Wonder Years friends readily rode their bicycles to the neighborhood hangout. Jim’s was a reminder of American wholesomeness amongst the neon lights of Mr. Baguette and boba tea cafes. But, it was now becoming frighteningly similar to the other restaurants that lined Valley Boulevard--something completely housed within walls and minus the order window and arcade games. I was afraid that the physical changes to the restaurant’s façade would change the food and people within, but, nope, that wasn’t the case. The man behind the counter was the same man who called me “Smiley” during previous visits and the fried food was still some of the best fried vegetables I’ve ever had.

Homecoming diet bust

After about a week of carrots and hummus, I went on an all out eating splurge this weekend. It’s the thing to do at a traditional Chinese wedding hosted by my parents for their oldest daughter. And, it’s inevitable when about a dozen Chinese relatives are asking whether or not I’ve eaten yet, if I’d like an egg roll, maybe some noodle soup, or how about some fried shrimp?

Traditionally, the night before the wedding the bride’s family hosts a large dinner party. My parents throw large dinner parties all the time, so it wasn’t anything particularly special, except that this time I didn’t have to clean up and do dishes.

Aunts, uncles, godparents, grandparents, cousins, and my parents friends who through time became family showed up to congratulate my parents, catch up on years of not seeing each other, dance, sing karaoke, help with the cooking, and, of course, eat. And, the eating went on for days.

Friday
It was a buffet bonanza with lots of good eats: egg rolls, roasted duck, roast pork, fried scallops, salt and pepper shrimp, bok choy with shitake mushroom and abalone, wintermelon soup, fried noodles, rice, pickled mustard greens with squid and scallions, and so much more I can’t recall.

Saturday morning
Breakfast was rice porridge with leftover pickled mustard greens. There’s something very satisfying and familiar with this countryside dish that’s both sour and salty, and it was just the perfect thing to fill my stomach with warmth after an early morning hair session.

Saturday afternoon
A bowl of chicken noodle soup standing up in a circle in our parent’s driveway with Jeanne, Darren, and Karen—the girls in fancy dresses and heels (Jeanne also had a napkin tucked into the top of her dress) and the boy in a suit jacket with tuxedo pants. And then more lunch at the in-laws: fried rice, fried noodles, pot stickers, and roast pork.

Saturday evening
Fancy wedding banquet at Harbor Empress Restaurant.

Sunday
More rice porridge and pickled vegetables for breakfast, and a day full of nostalgic greasy gorging.

Sister's wedding banquet

Olivia got married this past weekend and I was in LA for the event, which was, honestly, painful to be a part of. In order to make it through the evening’s wedding banquet, Jeanne, Karen, and I decided we needed to have a drink and keep drinking, which made the evening much more amusing.

The banquet was held at Empress Harbor. For a Chinese restaurant, it was beautifully decorated, and guests were greeted by a large framed photograph of the newlyweds. They guests too got their chance to be photographed with the newly married couple. The procedure was something quite similar to waiting in line at Disneyland for your turn in front of the camera with Donald Duck.

The meal consisted of the standard Chinese wedding banquet fare: appetizer course of Chinese cold cuts, fried shrimp in a mayonnaise sauce with walnuts, mustard greens with shitake mushroom and abalone, Peking duck, bok choy with scallops, steamed fish, soup, fried rice, lobster, red bean dessert. And, there was wedding cake, which was a larger, multi-tiered version of the birthday cakes our parents would buy us as kids and that I wouldn’t enjoy eating even then.

The highlight of the evening was when Karen, Jeanne, Darren, and I took the stage to dedicate a karaoke version of George Michael’s “Last Christmas” to the newlyweds. We were off key, ignorant of the lyrics, more drunk than our parents should have seen us, but looked gorgeous in our outfits. Apparently, our antics stole the show, left our grandmother in tears of laughter, and our parent’s friends trying to set their single, tall, and well-educated sons up with us. Fun times.

Dieting

Gasp. I’m on a diet, the first one in probably forever (the time I tried to be a vegetarian in high school doesn’t count). I had envisioned this diet as a crash one, where I’d refrain from any food, but knew how unlikely that would be (I’ve seen enough after school specials and watched enough Oprah to know about unhealthy ramifications). It was the only thing I could imagine being able to do, short of pulling off some crazy I-Love-Lucy-inspired stunt, to squeeze into my bridesmaid dress.

I have now been obsessing about my food in a new way: how many calories is in that beer, can I really have a slice of deep dish pizza and still be on a diet, how many sit-ups do I have to do to work off the sour cream in my burrito? And, it is not fun. So, after a final night with a beer (Harp) and a burrito (carne asada with everything) with Eleanor, Colin, and Colin’s friend Wes at the often-frequented Mission duo, The Phoenix and Cancun, I’m scaling back the calories.

Sunday, December 4
I started the day with my usual late morning breakfast of Smart Start and non-fat milk. After an afternoon of holiday shopping and elbowing people who don’t know how to cross the street, I was famished and had a plate of carrots, hummus, cheese, and some crackers with a glass of orange juice.

Monday, December 05
The day started with a bowl of non-fat vanilla yogurt sprinkled with a handful of Kashi Go Lean Crunch. For lunch, more carrots, hummus, cheese, and crackers. I splurged and had a watermelon flavored Jolly Rancher (leftover Halloween candy hiding in my desk). And dinner was a green salad with carrots, cucumber, egg, and garbanzo beans. After dinner, Scott asked me if I wanted any ice cream, and when I said no, he asked if it would be mean if he ate it in front of me.

Swanky happy hour

San Francisco has way too many places for one gal with a non-profit salary to eat and drink at. Trying to eat at all the places within a five-block radius of my house has even proved to be challenge. But, I was able to cross two more off my list.

We had a workplace happy hour at Jade Bar on Gough. This was one of those places I walk by all the time but never venture into. For some reason (possibly the neon green sign), I always thought this bar to be too swanky for my faux-Mission-hipster tastes.

It was nicer than the places I usually frequent and, with it, came all the nice amenities: waterfall/pond thing with lights, a clean and well-lighted bathroom, and fruity cocktails. I ordered the Sumo-Jito, which is their version of a mojito, and it tasted like a Sprite with a touch of mint. It was much too gooey sweet and not nearly strong enough. I thought I’d try again with another one of the special cocktails and ordered something with mango that came in an oversized martini class (apparently, the Sumo-Jito was strong enough for me to not remember names) on the next round. The mango drink was stronger than the first but still sticky sweet.

We were forced to leave earlier than we had planned, so we moved our drinking to Soluna. It’s a lounge-y restaurant with an impressive-looking menu, but I wanted to keep things simple this time and stuck to what I know and love: vodka gimlets (just typing that made me salivate). I like my drinks tart and strong, and this one was a bit too much of both. The drink was so acidic that I could feel the enamel on my teeth start to wear. I began to feel wobbly after a few sips, craved fried carbohydrates, and applauded the arrival of our garlic fries, which were spectacular. The fries were so crisp that you could hear your teeth bite into them, thick cut, flaky hot inside, and covered with so much freshly chopped garlic that I was surprised we could still stand talking to each other in such close proximity. Those fries made everything perfect.