One of my family’s great Christmastime traditions is what we call “Tacky Patrol,” in which we hop in the car and drive around nearby neighborhoods looking for incredibly tacky displays of Christmas lights and decorations. Since we’re from Illinois, we’ve always enjoyed great success.

I’ve been in Los Angeles long enough that I figured it’s time to bring the tradition here. It’s a little trickier in inner-city Los Angeles than in the exurban fringes of Chicagoland: for one thing, the most elaborate displays here are actually pretty tasteful. I suspect that this is related to the proliferation of professional holiday decoration services, which are disheartening but unsurprising in a city where the gentry cannot so much as wipe their own asses without an immigrant laborer (armed with a green card purchased in MacArthur Park) handing them the toilet paper.

We begin our tour on Harvard Boulevard in lovely, historic West Adams. Why not?

»continue reading Mid-City Tacky Tour 2007

Between March 2004 and April 2006, I lived in a cozy 1950s fourplex in western Palms, just up the street from Cafe Brasil. Life was good: I had my own garage, the rent was cheap, and I was never more than 30 minutes from USC, where I’m a grad student. I do miss the old nabe sometimes so let’s take a tour of ye olde stomping grounds.

Our journey begins at one of Palms’ landmarks. What’s so special about this boring-ass little Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf? Well, it was on TV. Ooh! Yes, this was the diner on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the show that allowed the nation’s geeks, dweebs, and spazzes the chance–if only for an hour a week–to imagine a world in which weirdos were actually good-looking. The sign for the Long’s and the TJ’s thankfully covers up the “JAMDAT” sign on the ugly 1980s office building in the background. Anyone who’s ever been stuck on the northbound 405–which, if I’m not mistaken, is at least 78% of the human race–should recognize it.

The next stop is right across the parking lot. Guelaguetza is, dollar for dollar, probably the best restaurant on the Westside. The fact that it shares a building with a dry cleaner and a water store makes it that much more awesome. The Día de los Muertos paraphernalia on the walls is also a nice touch. Gustavo Arellano says that there’s a Oaxacan place in Orange County that blows Guelaguetza out of the water, but I refuse to believe him.

Here’s Ryan’s favorite intersection! Notice how I deftly navigated to the correct lane continuing eastbound on National, rather than dumping myself onto the Santa Monica Freeway at 4 PM. »continue reading Rosy Palms

It was about 1 AM on a Saturday in September. I was ravenously hungry after a mind-blowing set by Bloomington, Indiana’s legendary John Wilkes Booze at a hole-in-the-wall in north Koreatown/south Hollywood called Il Corral. I needed a burrito like a USC sorostitute needs coke. Driving east on Melrose, I saw what could only be a 24-hour taqueria come into view. I was Brigham Young cresting the Wasatch Range and seeing the Great Salt Lake. THIS IS THE PLACE. DRIVE ON.

I parked in a strip mall’s lot, where a toothless bum sat rocking himself in place like Bizarro Bill Gates. I went to the counter. The menu helpfully explained to me what burritos and tacos were, since I obviously had never eaten them before. No matter: I needed pig, and I needed it fast. “Burrito al pastor, with everything, for here, and a small Mountain Dew.” I greedily unwrapped it and bit down. It was like Trainspotting or Requiem for a Dream, this pastor. The flavors of the marinated pork and a hint of salsa roja combined to induce transsubstantiation in my mouth. For a brief moment, I was creator of worlds beyond number. Entire galaxies were at my command. Subatomic forces were my playthings.

I did a 24-hour hour, midnight-to-midnight fast this past Sunday. By 11:55, I was famished. I
knew exactly where to go, though: I hopped on the 10, took the 110 north, emerged from the womb of the Four-Level onto the 101 north, and got off at Vermont. I didn’t need pig this time, though. “Birria burrito, for here. Con todo.” I smiled as the zesty, gamey, tender
slow-cooked goat and the beans, rice, onions, and cilantro mingled on my tongue with the first bite. There is a God in heaven, and He truly loves me.

Qué Ricos is at 712 N. Vermont Avenue (just north of Melrose), Los Angeles. It is open 24/7.