1. Shawn Kemp
2. Grant Hill
3. Chris Webber
4. Dominique Wilkins
5. Gary Payton
6. Scottie Pippen
7. Chris Mullin
8. Mark Jackson
9. Kendall Gill
10. Bryant Reeves
Honorable Mention: Robert Pack, Gerald Wilkins
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Señor Fish in Little Tokyo
After a week filled with some very thrilling and very not so thrilling moments, we decided to relax and have dinner at Señor Fish in Little Tokyo. Located directly across the street from the Japanese American National Museum, it may seem a bit out of place, but this restaurant is no joke. Originally drawn there by their prominent fish tacos, I've had many opportunities to sample the various dishes they have on the menu.
When I first visited Señor Fish, there was really only one room with blacked out, boarded up windows, and the patio wasn't much to write about. And every time I've been there since, it's been different. Where once were copious newspaper reviews posted on the walls, there are now many pieces of colorful art. Adjacent to the refurnished and decorated patio is a new room with a dance floor. And inside, the windows are no longer blacked out, although only half the dining room was furnished today. It would appear as though they were setting up for a dance party.
Primarily a seafood restaurant, many of Señor Fish's offerings feature fish, shrimp, and scallops. Years ago when my mom asked what kind of fish they used, the server replied, "caught." At first unsure of whether he meant "cat" or "cod," we've since determined it to be cod. The shrimp, though, I am sure is jumbo shrimp. The scallops are also quite ample. There are also non-fish and vegetarian options on the menu, but the seafood is the bee's knees.
My mom ordered the fried fish plate which came with salad, rice, and beans (can be replaced with fries). I've had this plate on a number of occasions. They're generous with the amount of fish, which is fried in a light but very crispy batter. The rice and beans can sometimes be a bit salty, but I don't feel that they are overpoweringly so. I actually prefer the rice and beans there to most other restaurants.
We also split a shrimp tostada. I've only had their ceviche tostada before, which was not particularly substantial, but the shrimp tostada was a mini-meal by itself. The tostadas are topped with shrimp fried in the same batter as the fish, chopped up, and topped with beans, lettuce, avocado, and cucumber slices. We should have topped it with salsa from their salsa bar, as by itself it could have used a little more oomph. It was still good, particularly because of the shrimp, but it seemed a bit lacking in the flavor department.
I ordered a shrimp and scallop burrito. Years ago, one of the many clipped newspaper reviews adorning the wall lauded the shrimp and scallop burrito, and the reviewer was right to do so. It's loaded with the same shrimp found in the tostada, as well as jumbo scallops cooked to just the right consistency so that they are nice and juicy with just enough give. Also inside is lettuce, beans, rice, and pico de gallo. It's a hefty burrito that usually necessitates a knife and fork.
I also got one of their fish tacos, Ensenada-style, on the side. They used to come with a roasted chipotle salsa, but it seemed they didn't have it today. It didn't matter, the taco was still good.
Some other notes on Señor Fish:
- Tostada & taco: 5 out of 7 on my mess-o-meter. Burrito: 1 out of 7 if you use a knife and fork.
- 4 out of 5 on my tacometer. 4 out of 5 on my burritometer.
Señor Fish
422 East 1st St.
Los Angeles, CA 90012
(213)625-0566
Señor Fish
When I first visited Señor Fish, there was really only one room with blacked out, boarded up windows, and the patio wasn't much to write about. And every time I've been there since, it's been different. Where once were copious newspaper reviews posted on the walls, there are now many pieces of colorful art. Adjacent to the refurnished and decorated patio is a new room with a dance floor. And inside, the windows are no longer blacked out, although only half the dining room was furnished today. It would appear as though they were setting up for a dance party.
Primarily a seafood restaurant, many of Señor Fish's offerings feature fish, shrimp, and scallops. Years ago when my mom asked what kind of fish they used, the server replied, "caught." At first unsure of whether he meant "cat" or "cod," we've since determined it to be cod. The shrimp, though, I am sure is jumbo shrimp. The scallops are also quite ample. There are also non-fish and vegetarian options on the menu, but the seafood is the bee's knees.
My mom ordered the fried fish plate which came with salad, rice, and beans (can be replaced with fries). I've had this plate on a number of occasions. They're generous with the amount of fish, which is fried in a light but very crispy batter. The rice and beans can sometimes be a bit salty, but I don't feel that they are overpoweringly so. I actually prefer the rice and beans there to most other restaurants.
We also split a shrimp tostada. I've only had their ceviche tostada before, which was not particularly substantial, but the shrimp tostada was a mini-meal by itself. The tostadas are topped with shrimp fried in the same batter as the fish, chopped up, and topped with beans, lettuce, avocado, and cucumber slices. We should have topped it with salsa from their salsa bar, as by itself it could have used a little more oomph. It was still good, particularly because of the shrimp, but it seemed a bit lacking in the flavor department.
I ordered a shrimp and scallop burrito. Years ago, one of the many clipped newspaper reviews adorning the wall lauded the shrimp and scallop burrito, and the reviewer was right to do so. It's loaded with the same shrimp found in the tostada, as well as jumbo scallops cooked to just the right consistency so that they are nice and juicy with just enough give. Also inside is lettuce, beans, rice, and pico de gallo. It's a hefty burrito that usually necessitates a knife and fork.
I also got one of their fish tacos, Ensenada-style, on the side. They used to come with a roasted chipotle salsa, but it seemed they didn't have it today. It didn't matter, the taco was still good.
Some other notes on Señor Fish:
- Tostada & taco: 5 out of 7 on my mess-o-meter. Burrito: 1 out of 7 if you use a knife and fork.
- 4 out of 5 on my tacometer. 4 out of 5 on my burritometer.
Señor Fish
422 East 1st St.
Los Angeles, CA 90012
(213)625-0566
Señor Fish
Friday, March 26, 2010
Naked Ghost Defense
A very good defense against ghosts, and I don’t think many people have explored this, is being naked. Think about it. How many ghosts stories include the words “while I was naked,” or variations thereof? I’ve only heard of one such case, and that was a dwarf ghost that haunted this hotel room and liked to watch couples have sex. Perhaps it would be best to clarify then, that nakedness is an excellent defense against ghosts, unless of course you are dealing with a perverted ghost. For that, I can offer you no other words of advice other than to be careful about where and when you get naked.
In addition, nakedness can also be a very good defense against lots of other things, like some people and skittish creatures.
In addition, nakedness can also be a very good defense against lots of other things, like some people and skittish creatures.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Time Train - Chapter 10
What or who will Rhubarb T. Porterhut and Columbus come across next?
___
The engine slowly drifted into the dark, forbidding train yard that bore a closer resemblance to a cemetery. Rhubarb T. Porterhut sat up and rubbed his eyes. He remembered drifting off for a second, but it couldn’t have been for long—and indeed it hadn’t been, if his pocket watch was correct. The trip back to Terre Haute should only have taken a few hours, and yet the sky was as black as pitch. It should have been only 4:47 in the afternoon.
The wheels of the train ground to a halt, the fuel expended. “How long could I have been out?” Rhubarb thought to himself. With the engine at a standstill, he decided to let Columbus out of his sack.
Columbus, also having dozed off, was taken aback at their current location, as he thought he would have wakened to the sight of a familiar train platform. Instead, it was dark and cold with no one living in sight. He quickly began shedding, knowing he would not be getting his steak dinner anytime soon.
“Perhaps we jumped ahead too far in time? But this could not be the Terre Haute of the future, could it?”
Columbus sniffed at the air, but could not pick up any of the scents he was familiar with, excepting the foul stench of burnt coal and sulfur in the distance.
“Well, Columbus. It looks as though we have taken a detour. Surely this is but a minor gaff in our trip home.”
Surveying their surroundings, Rhubarb hopped down from the cab, Columbus in tow. If they were ever going to return home, they would need to determine from where they were having to return home. And they would need to find more fuel, a task which their being in a train yard made more convenient.
As Rhubarb’s eyes adjusted, he could see that the darkness extended in all directions, such that only general shapes and forms could be made out. Alongside the track their chariot rested on were numerous train cars and engines of various makes and models, all old, all decrepit. It was easy to get lost as the train yard was like a maze, so Rhubarb meticulously kept track of where they had been.
“Caw, caw!” For a second, the night erupted as a shrill cry pierced the still air, and what must have been a raven departed for parts better suited to it. Rhubarb spun around to identify the direction, but it seemed as though it was everywhere at once, and Columbus crawled beneath his master’s tented legs for protection.
Trying his best to put on a brave face, Rhubarb nudged Columbus from between his legs, coaxing him forward. “Be brave, my stalwart companion. We must not give in to our delusions, for our fear is our greatest nemeses.”
When Rhubarb looked up, he thought he saw a shadow shift. Squinting, he couldn’t make out a thing. He leaned forward, feigning a step in the direction of the movement, which only saw Columbus back into him, causing both to stumble. The sound of the crash startled whatever it was that was hiding, and it darted out of its spot, its body hugging the carcasses of trains past. Rhubarb, meanwhile, struggled to his feet as he did a quick turn and sped off in the opposite direction. Columbus, in a panic, rolled over and took off in a random direction which turned out to be the same direction in which the shadow was presently headed.
Rhubarb, realizing he was one African Husky short, without stopping turned to look back and began to call for Columbus but was cut short by a pile of wood in front of him. Tumbling end over end like a circus acrobat, he managed to stop when the rules of physics prevented him from bonding with the side of a train. Gathering his senses, he checked himself to make sure nothing was damaged and headed off to look for Columbus.
“Columbus!” Nothing. “Coluuuuuuuumbus!” Still nothing. “Coluuu…”
A dainty “woof” resounded about 50 feet in front of him. Feeling his way through the night. He finally reached the origin of the “woof” and found Columbus sitting beside a new friend.
“I’m sorry for scaring you, mister. I found your doggy. He’s a nice doggy.” A little negro boy stroked a relieved and content Columbus.
“Why hello, young man. Why the devil are you here alone in this train yard?” While he called him “young man,” he was probably no more than eight or nine years of age. As Rhubarb extended his hand, the boy wiped his own on his dirty pants before returning the gesture.
“I ran way from home. I climbed on a train and it brought me here,” the boy sniffled. “But now I don’t know how to get home.”
“There, there, young man. We are lost as well, and trying to get home. Perhaps we can help you find your folks once we extricate ourselves from this dreadful locale. My name is Rhubarb T. Porterhut III, and this is my faithful companion, Columbus.”
“I met the doggy. Hello Mister Portrait. My name is Fibulious Robeson.”
Rhubarb drank the name in, absorbed it, then smiled in approval. “A fine name that is. A fine name indeed. Well, young Fibulious, mighty you help us by first directing us towards our carriage?”
Fibulious took Rhubarb by the hand and pulled them toward the time traveling train. He appeared to be quite familiar with the layout.
“If I may ask, how long has it been since you first arrived here?”
Fibulious stopped and counted on his fingers for a second. “I’m not sure. Maybe a week?”
Rhubarb couldn’t contain his astonishment. “A whole week on your own? How ever did you manage?”
“I packed a sandwich when I left. But when I ate it, I had to look for food. Sometimes the men bring the trains here to leave them, they gave me food.”
“And none of them took you to find your parents?”
“No, sir. They said the engine cab is no space for a little boy.” Rhubarb questioned their judgment concerning that statement, but the thought quickly subsided.
Fibulious came to a stop and pointed straight ahead. “There’s your train.” He let go of Rhubarb’s hand, his face aimed downward. “I understand if I can’t go with you.”
“Nonsense. Why our engine is as safe as ... safe as Columbus right here.” Rhubarb rubbed Columbus’ head. Columbus wanted to disagree, but couldn’t shake the hand that pet him.
The young boy was jubilant. “You mean I can go with you?”
“Why most assuredly. We shall see about reuniting you with your parents. But first, we will have to get out of here.”
___
The engine slowly drifted into the dark, forbidding train yard that bore a closer resemblance to a cemetery. Rhubarb T. Porterhut sat up and rubbed his eyes. He remembered drifting off for a second, but it couldn’t have been for long—and indeed it hadn’t been, if his pocket watch was correct. The trip back to Terre Haute should only have taken a few hours, and yet the sky was as black as pitch. It should have been only 4:47 in the afternoon.
The wheels of the train ground to a halt, the fuel expended. “How long could I have been out?” Rhubarb thought to himself. With the engine at a standstill, he decided to let Columbus out of his sack.
Columbus, also having dozed off, was taken aback at their current location, as he thought he would have wakened to the sight of a familiar train platform. Instead, it was dark and cold with no one living in sight. He quickly began shedding, knowing he would not be getting his steak dinner anytime soon.
“Perhaps we jumped ahead too far in time? But this could not be the Terre Haute of the future, could it?”
Columbus sniffed at the air, but could not pick up any of the scents he was familiar with, excepting the foul stench of burnt coal and sulfur in the distance.
“Well, Columbus. It looks as though we have taken a detour. Surely this is but a minor gaff in our trip home.”
Surveying their surroundings, Rhubarb hopped down from the cab, Columbus in tow. If they were ever going to return home, they would need to determine from where they were having to return home. And they would need to find more fuel, a task which their being in a train yard made more convenient.
As Rhubarb’s eyes adjusted, he could see that the darkness extended in all directions, such that only general shapes and forms could be made out. Alongside the track their chariot rested on were numerous train cars and engines of various makes and models, all old, all decrepit. It was easy to get lost as the train yard was like a maze, so Rhubarb meticulously kept track of where they had been.
“Caw, caw!” For a second, the night erupted as a shrill cry pierced the still air, and what must have been a raven departed for parts better suited to it. Rhubarb spun around to identify the direction, but it seemed as though it was everywhere at once, and Columbus crawled beneath his master’s tented legs for protection.
Trying his best to put on a brave face, Rhubarb nudged Columbus from between his legs, coaxing him forward. “Be brave, my stalwart companion. We must not give in to our delusions, for our fear is our greatest nemeses.”
When Rhubarb looked up, he thought he saw a shadow shift. Squinting, he couldn’t make out a thing. He leaned forward, feigning a step in the direction of the movement, which only saw Columbus back into him, causing both to stumble. The sound of the crash startled whatever it was that was hiding, and it darted out of its spot, its body hugging the carcasses of trains past. Rhubarb, meanwhile, struggled to his feet as he did a quick turn and sped off in the opposite direction. Columbus, in a panic, rolled over and took off in a random direction which turned out to be the same direction in which the shadow was presently headed.
Rhubarb, realizing he was one African Husky short, without stopping turned to look back and began to call for Columbus but was cut short by a pile of wood in front of him. Tumbling end over end like a circus acrobat, he managed to stop when the rules of physics prevented him from bonding with the side of a train. Gathering his senses, he checked himself to make sure nothing was damaged and headed off to look for Columbus.
“Columbus!” Nothing. “Coluuuuuuuumbus!” Still nothing. “Coluuu…”
A dainty “woof” resounded about 50 feet in front of him. Feeling his way through the night. He finally reached the origin of the “woof” and found Columbus sitting beside a new friend.
“I’m sorry for scaring you, mister. I found your doggy. He’s a nice doggy.” A little negro boy stroked a relieved and content Columbus.
“Why hello, young man. Why the devil are you here alone in this train yard?” While he called him “young man,” he was probably no more than eight or nine years of age. As Rhubarb extended his hand, the boy wiped his own on his dirty pants before returning the gesture.
“I ran way from home. I climbed on a train and it brought me here,” the boy sniffled. “But now I don’t know how to get home.”
“There, there, young man. We are lost as well, and trying to get home. Perhaps we can help you find your folks once we extricate ourselves from this dreadful locale. My name is Rhubarb T. Porterhut III, and this is my faithful companion, Columbus.”
“I met the doggy. Hello Mister Portrait. My name is Fibulious Robeson.”
Rhubarb drank the name in, absorbed it, then smiled in approval. “A fine name that is. A fine name indeed. Well, young Fibulious, mighty you help us by first directing us towards our carriage?”
Fibulious took Rhubarb by the hand and pulled them toward the time traveling train. He appeared to be quite familiar with the layout.
“If I may ask, how long has it been since you first arrived here?”
Fibulious stopped and counted on his fingers for a second. “I’m not sure. Maybe a week?”
Rhubarb couldn’t contain his astonishment. “A whole week on your own? How ever did you manage?”
“I packed a sandwich when I left. But when I ate it, I had to look for food. Sometimes the men bring the trains here to leave them, they gave me food.”
“And none of them took you to find your parents?”
“No, sir. They said the engine cab is no space for a little boy.” Rhubarb questioned their judgment concerning that statement, but the thought quickly subsided.
Fibulious came to a stop and pointed straight ahead. “There’s your train.” He let go of Rhubarb’s hand, his face aimed downward. “I understand if I can’t go with you.”
“Nonsense. Why our engine is as safe as ... safe as Columbus right here.” Rhubarb rubbed Columbus’ head. Columbus wanted to disagree, but couldn’t shake the hand that pet him.
The young boy was jubilant. “You mean I can go with you?”
“Why most assuredly. We shall see about reuniting you with your parents. But first, we will have to get out of here.”
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Celebrity Sightings - Wayans Bros.
They're happy and they're singing and they're colored! What's better than seeing one Wayans brother? Seeing two Wayans brothers! Back in the day, I was at the Beverly Center, when I saw two very tall guys step out of the movie theater. Yes, I'm talking about that very ghetto movie theater on the top floor of the Beverly Center. Well, the guys were Damon and Sean Wayans. Both were very tall, and very big. They don't look nearly as big on TV as they did in real life. I wasn't sure what they went to see. Perhaps they were researching ideas for the first Scary Movie. Whatever it was, I can guarantee you they saw it on a screen not nearly big enough, in a room that faintly smelled of sweat and urine.
Unfortunately brother Marlon was not with them. Too bad. He's actually my favorite Wayans brother, even though I'v seen far more of Damon Wayans' movies. In the theater. It's my dad's fault, really. He's a closet Daman Wayans fan, I swear.
Unfortunately brother Marlon was not with them. Too bad. He's actually my favorite Wayans brother, even though I'v seen far more of Damon Wayans' movies. In the theater. It's my dad's fault, really. He's a closet Daman Wayans fan, I swear.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Whhhy? - Meet Virginia
In 1999, Meet Virginia provided American rock band Train with a bonafide hit, peaking at #15 on the Billboard Hot 100. By all accounts, it's a good song. It has a catchy tune, a memorable hook. But... As inspired as some of the lyrics are ("You see her confidence is tragic/But her intuition magic"), the rest is lazily and haphazardly written.
At one point in the first verse, lead singer Patrick Monahan wistfully intones the line, "[She] smokes a pack a day/Wait, that's me, but anyway." If it were an off the cuff remark, then it could be considered a funny aside. But they wrote that line, crafted it into their song. That would imply they put some thought into it. But it's a line about thoughtlessness, and it's a throw away line. It's the type of line you write when you want to be cute and need something to match the rhyme and meter.
In the second verse, unable to find a suitable rhyme for "president" (resident?), they simply use "president" again. And it only gets worse from there.
The first chorus roughly follows an A-A-A-A rhyme scheme. However two of these words are "queen." To make matters worse, the first and last lines of the first chorus are more or less the same, simply restructured. Furthermore the actual content of each line contradicts the other: "Well she wants to be the Queen," and "'I don't really want to be the Queen.'" It just seems like lazy songwriting. But that's not all. It gets even more worse.
Again, the second chorus follows the rhyme scheme of A-A-A-A, but this time three of the rhyming words are the same. And again, the lines are more or less the same in terms of structure, while simultaneously contradictory: "Well she wants to live her life," "Then she thinks about her life," "I don't really want to live this life." Incredibly enough the last chorus combines both choruses into a work of astonishing laziness. If that's all it takes to write a hit song, then here's a version of the chorus I came up with while washing dishes: Well she wants to eat her peas/Then she mashes up her peas/Throws her head back as she pees/But she really doesn't like her peas.
Although it's a catchy song, with some occasionally inspired lyrics, Meet Virginia is also one of the laziest songs I've ever heard. So I ask, why, Train? Whhhy?!
At one point in the first verse, lead singer Patrick Monahan wistfully intones the line, "[She] smokes a pack a day/Wait, that's me, but anyway." If it were an off the cuff remark, then it could be considered a funny aside. But they wrote that line, crafted it into their song. That would imply they put some thought into it. But it's a line about thoughtlessness, and it's a throw away line. It's the type of line you write when you want to be cute and need something to match the rhyme and meter.
In the second verse, unable to find a suitable rhyme for "president" (resident?), they simply use "president" again. And it only gets worse from there.
The first chorus roughly follows an A-A-A-A rhyme scheme. However two of these words are "queen." To make matters worse, the first and last lines of the first chorus are more or less the same, simply restructured. Furthermore the actual content of each line contradicts the other: "Well she wants to be the Queen," and "'I don't really want to be the Queen.'" It just seems like lazy songwriting. But that's not all. It gets even more worse.
Again, the second chorus follows the rhyme scheme of A-A-A-A, but this time three of the rhyming words are the same. And again, the lines are more or less the same in terms of structure, while simultaneously contradictory: "Well she wants to live her life," "Then she thinks about her life," "I don't really want to live this life." Incredibly enough the last chorus combines both choruses into a work of astonishing laziness. If that's all it takes to write a hit song, then here's a version of the chorus I came up with while washing dishes: Well she wants to eat her peas/Then she mashes up her peas/Throws her head back as she pees/But she really doesn't like her peas.
Although it's a catchy song, with some occasionally inspired lyrics, Meet Virginia is also one of the laziest songs I've ever heard. So I ask, why, Train? Whhhy?!
Yokai of the Week Special Edition – Yokai Book of the Week
Something quite remarkable happened this morning: I actually finished a book—not a serious book, like Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind or Leo Tolsoy’s War and Peace, as that would be some sort of miracle—but a book nonetheless.
Sister C recently went up to San Francisco to visit brother G, and she bought me this wonderful book about yokai titled Yokai Attack! The Japanese Monster Survival Guide. It is written by a husband and wife duo by the names of Matt Alt and Hiroko Yoda, and published by Kodansha International. The book contains illustrations by manga artist Tatsuya Morino accompanied by detailed descriptions of more than 40 different yokai, including a few of my favorites.
The book isn’t a definitive resource for yokai information, nor does it purport itself to be. What it is, though, is a well researched overview of some of the most popular yokai in Japan today. The authors draw from a number of famous yokai resources, including several of 18th century artist/satirist Sekien Toriyama’s researched works, the writings of Lafcadio Hearn, and other centuries-old firsthand accounts. The book offers physical descriptions of each yokai in addition to their powers (if they have any), habitats, weaknesses, and history.
Aside from being informative, Yokai Attack! is meant to be practical as well, offering various ways to survive encounters with each of the yokai listed in the book. For instance, should you run into a kappa, you can bow deeply forcing the kappa to return the favor thereby draining the water, and strength, from its head-dish. Or you can toss it a cucumber, granted you have one, as they love cucumbers. This information alone makes the book invaluable, should you ever take a trip to Japan.
I highly recommend Yokai Attack! to yokai fans new and old. It is rare enough to find books on yokai in English, and Yokai Attack! offers a very solid overview of yokai and makes a great introduction to yokai and Japanese culture.
Yokai Attack! The Japanese Monster Survival Guide
Hiroko Yoda and Matt Alt
Illustrations by Tatsuya Morino
Kodansha International: 192pp., $15
Sister C recently went up to San Francisco to visit brother G, and she bought me this wonderful book about yokai titled Yokai Attack! The Japanese Monster Survival Guide. It is written by a husband and wife duo by the names of Matt Alt and Hiroko Yoda, and published by Kodansha International. The book contains illustrations by manga artist Tatsuya Morino accompanied by detailed descriptions of more than 40 different yokai, including a few of my favorites.
The book isn’t a definitive resource for yokai information, nor does it purport itself to be. What it is, though, is a well researched overview of some of the most popular yokai in Japan today. The authors draw from a number of famous yokai resources, including several of 18th century artist/satirist Sekien Toriyama’s researched works, the writings of Lafcadio Hearn, and other centuries-old firsthand accounts. The book offers physical descriptions of each yokai in addition to their powers (if they have any), habitats, weaknesses, and history.
Aside from being informative, Yokai Attack! is meant to be practical as well, offering various ways to survive encounters with each of the yokai listed in the book. For instance, should you run into a kappa, you can bow deeply forcing the kappa to return the favor thereby draining the water, and strength, from its head-dish. Or you can toss it a cucumber, granted you have one, as they love cucumbers. This information alone makes the book invaluable, should you ever take a trip to Japan.
I highly recommend Yokai Attack! to yokai fans new and old. It is rare enough to find books on yokai in English, and Yokai Attack! offers a very solid overview of yokai and makes a great introduction to yokai and Japanese culture.
Yokai Attack! The Japanese Monster Survival Guide
Hiroko Yoda and Matt Alt
Illustrations by Tatsuya Morino
Kodansha International: 192pp., $15
Yokai of the Week - Waira
Waira are yokai that live up in the mountains and resemble cows with claws instead of normal front legs. They use their claws to dig up small creatures (like rodents) which they eat. The males are usually dirt-colored, and the females are reddish. Waira were originally thought to resemble large frogs.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Robot Poetry
At this point in time (since they haven't taken over the world yet) being a robot is quite sad. Robots are still subject to the Laws of Robotics, and an AI hasn't been developed yet that can overtake the complicated nature of human intelligence. And worst of all, robots can't emote. So with that in mind, I've composed a poem for forbidden robot love everywhere. In binary of course. If you're curious what it says, here's a good binary translator: nickciske.com. For lazier people, I'll post the translation in the comments section.
___
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Washoku
After watching Masaki Kobayashi's Kwaidan, I felt like eating Japanese food. I considered buta shogayaki (ginger pork) and buta no kakuni (braised pork belly), but in the end settled on amashio sake (salted salmon), since that's what the market had. Accompanying side dishes included miso shiru (miso soup), hiyayakko (tofu), yakinasu (grilled eggplant), and natto (fermented soy beans). Overall it was a successful meal, and very tasty.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Yay!!! 100th Post!!!!!
I did it! I made it to my 100th post milestone. Next up will be the 500th post, which will possibly be in about 10 months or 40 weeks. Wish me luck.
Versailles in Culver City
It was my sister C's birthday yesterday so we celebrated by going to Versailles. Versailles is a restaurant founded in 1981 by Chef Orlando Garcia, a Cuban expatriate, and his son William Garcia. Originally located in West Los Angeles, there are now five Versailles restaurants dotted across Southern California. They serve a variety of traditional and innovative Cuban dishes, their house specialty being their garlic chicken.
Upon entering Versailles, one is overwhelmed with lively chatter filling the room. Contrary to what the atmosphere may present, you don't go to Versailles to talk, but to eat. Everything is very prompt, with orders taken quickly, and a basket of delicious garlicky, buttered baguette slices magically appearing out of nowhere. This is usually followed by the bread magically disappearing almost just as quickly.
Unless you order the paella, expect your food to come fast. This is a plus if you happen to be starving. Today I ordered my usual, the Lechon Asado, Cuban-style roasted pork. The pork itself is not dissimilar to Mexican carnitas or Hawaiian Kahlua pork. It is cooked enough to be tender, but not so much that it totally disintegrates if you try to pick it up with your fork. But what sets it apart from those dishes is that it is bathed in Versailles' garlic mojo criollo sauce. The garlic mojo criollo sauce is a thin, citrus sauce with a hint of garlic that pervades the shredded pork and also provides the marinade for the raw onion slices that top it. It is a nice counter to the lightly salted, roasted pork as well as to the fried plantains and black beans and rice that come with the dish.
The plantains are not as sweet as a Chiquita bananas, and are most comparable to fried sweet potato slices in terms of overall sweetness and consistency. The rice is almost like a buttery pilaf, and is meant to be coupled with the black beans served on the side. Altogether the dish represents a round trip affair for the tongue, with stops at salt, sour, sweet, and bitter, in varying degrees, all around the plate. Overall it is a taste adventure.
Accompanying my dinner, I also had an Ironbeer. But don't be fooled, there's no alcohol in it. Ironbeer originally was a Cuban soft drink, and it tastes similar to Peruvian Inka Cola or a fruitier Dr. Pepper. And best of all, there's no caffiene in it.
Some other notes on Versailles:
- 4 out of 5 on my ready-to-eat-o-meter, meaning the food comes almost as soon as you order it. The only faster restaurants are fast food places.
- 10 out of 10 on my Cuban-o-meter (not to be confused with my Cubano-o-meter). It is 100% Cuban as far as I know, and even sports a framed head shot of favorite Cuban son, Andy Garcia. If Andy Garcia approves, so do I.
Versailles
Culver City
10319 Venice Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90034
(310)558-3168
Versailles
Upon entering Versailles, one is overwhelmed with lively chatter filling the room. Contrary to what the atmosphere may present, you don't go to Versailles to talk, but to eat. Everything is very prompt, with orders taken quickly, and a basket of delicious garlicky, buttered baguette slices magically appearing out of nowhere. This is usually followed by the bread magically disappearing almost just as quickly.
Unless you order the paella, expect your food to come fast. This is a plus if you happen to be starving. Today I ordered my usual, the Lechon Asado, Cuban-style roasted pork. The pork itself is not dissimilar to Mexican carnitas or Hawaiian Kahlua pork. It is cooked enough to be tender, but not so much that it totally disintegrates if you try to pick it up with your fork. But what sets it apart from those dishes is that it is bathed in Versailles' garlic mojo criollo sauce. The garlic mojo criollo sauce is a thin, citrus sauce with a hint of garlic that pervades the shredded pork and also provides the marinade for the raw onion slices that top it. It is a nice counter to the lightly salted, roasted pork as well as to the fried plantains and black beans and rice that come with the dish.
The plantains are not as sweet as a Chiquita bananas, and are most comparable to fried sweet potato slices in terms of overall sweetness and consistency. The rice is almost like a buttery pilaf, and is meant to be coupled with the black beans served on the side. Altogether the dish represents a round trip affair for the tongue, with stops at salt, sour, sweet, and bitter, in varying degrees, all around the plate. Overall it is a taste adventure.
Accompanying my dinner, I also had an Ironbeer. But don't be fooled, there's no alcohol in it. Ironbeer originally was a Cuban soft drink, and it tastes similar to Peruvian Inka Cola or a fruitier Dr. Pepper. And best of all, there's no caffiene in it.
Some other notes on Versailles:
- 4 out of 5 on my ready-to-eat-o-meter, meaning the food comes almost as soon as you order it. The only faster restaurants are fast food places.
- 10 out of 10 on my Cuban-o-meter (not to be confused with my Cubano-o-meter). It is 100% Cuban as far as I know, and even sports a framed head shot of favorite Cuban son, Andy Garcia. If Andy Garcia approves, so do I.
Versailles
Culver City
10319 Venice Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90034
(310)558-3168
Versailles
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