Vegan Los Angeles: Ten Joints Not To Miss

The Hot Knives Mostly Vegan Cheat Sheet:
How to never eat another avocado and sprout sandwich again
Say what you will about the Los Angeles soul, our celebrity culture and poorly planned sprawl — you can find a vegan bacon cheeseburger in nearly any neighborhood in this city, if you just know where to look.
And believe us, we have looked.
Being both broke and picky about what you put in your body is always a double whammy. Add to that a perfectly American lust for double whoppers and shit gets tricky. Still we find most vegans resign themselves, unnecessarily, to grazing at the same veggie-friendly slop troughs meal after predictable meal at the expense of their own taste buds. And not only is it unimaginative; it’s vegan segregation damn it! Which is why we think there’s something to be said for seeking out those vegan or vegetarian dishes that, like a diamond in the rough, sprout out of an otherwise traditional meat-serving kitchen.
So, here’s a shout out to some of the best vegan dishes we’ve found here in L.A., and the restaurants, food trucks, and beach shacks (whether they are strictly vegan or not) that serve them. And if you really love animal-free grease hit up our new blog section at Hot Knives for postmodern, haute vegan fast food recipes “No Drive-thru.†Manja!
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Food and Wining in Los Angeles

“The shallow life!†barked the man next to us in the stall of a Downtown Los Angeles Marriott men’s room. He spilled out of the can chuckling like a beast and scrubbing his crotch, where a stain the shape of Napa Valley was oozing.
“Here’s to the shallow life,†he said while rearranging a stray hair from his nearly vacant scalp, before pushing through the double doors and back out to the feeding frenzy of the Los Angeles Wine and Food Festival’s opening night. The wine tasting had attracted a bizarre crowd: the ubiquitous weekend getaway lovers, thirsty to swill and swoon, locked in endless purple-tongued embrace; whole families from god-knows-where, teetering toward dessert trays like they’d never seen carrot cake before; and of course the winery reps, in full force, out to flaunt their varietals, taste the competition’s pinot, or if nothing else, sleep with it.
Now, Hot Knives are professionals, and we were prepared for wine country—we’d come hopped-up on strong weed, with all manner of business cards, recording devices and reporters’ notebooks to note the nuance of every vintage—but this was a different class of tasting we were clearly unprepared for: that of “convention booty.â€
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