Finger Lickin' Larkin's

On Thurday, while thousands of Angelenos glued their eyeballs to their TVs to watch the season premieres of "The Office," "My Name Is Earl" and other series during premiere week, two pals and I trekked to Larkin's in Eagle Rock for some Southern cooking. Having spent nearly half of my life living south of the Mason-Dixon line, first in South Carolina and then in Virginia, I'm a big snob when it comes to fried chicken, okra, BBQ and cobbler. After all, my palate was formed in the school cafeterias where lard, pinto beans, cornmeal and collard greens constituted fundamental ingredients. But I was pleasantly surprised when I plopped down on one of the mismatched chairs in the cozy Craftsman that previously housed an auto parts shop before becoming the dream restaurant come true for cute couple Larkin and Joshua. Before I start raving about the food, I must apologize in advance for the return to ghetto photojournalism on The Food and Music Club. My Lumix has been wigging out on me, so I have to send it to the shop for repair.

My friend Ernae arrived before Max and I came with two bottles of Kalmuck's Gruner Veltliner that we bought at Colorado Wine Co. down the street. (Larkin's is BYOB.) Because of Ernae's early arrival as the third patron in the restaurant, service was swift. A bowl of spicy beans and pita chips were already placed on the table, greeting our growling stomachs.

I've always been amazed by the similarities in Vietnamese and Southern U.S. cooking. In addition to fresh seafood and rice, the two culinary traditions also use a lot of okra, tomatoes, chili sauce and pork. I rarely find okra on restaurant menus in arugula-obsessed Los Angeles. So I had to order the fried okra and heirloom tomato salad. While I liked the pairing of the high brow tomatoes with the white trash okra, I was disappointed that the fried okra was cold. Considering how empty the restaurant was, I didn't understand why the cook couldn't just deep-fry me some fried okra on demand.

The corn muffins were't anything special, other than that they were little and you could eat two without filling up.

The waitress freaked me out when she told me the pork chop I ordered would be cooked medium rare. I did not want a case of Southern salmonella. But she assured me that the meat would be cooked to the required temperature. In other words, Larkin wouldn't be overcooking the meat. Smothered in gravy, the pork chop was tender, thick and juicy. There was plenty for me to slice off big chunks for Ernae and Max. The red beans poured over the white rice were spicy and sweet. I didn't recall ever eating beans like this in the South. They reminded me of a reintrepretation of Boston baked beans, sans bacon.

Ernae got the fried catfish. The cornmeal batter was a perfectly crunchy armor for the sweet fish. The collard greens were too spicy for Ernae's preference, so Max and I traded our sides with her. I never got why people would dip cornmeal-battered catfish in tartar sauce. Tabasco is all you need to spice up the bottom feeder.

One reason why Max and I get along so well is that we both like to eat good food and plan our meals in advance. Because he had been to Larkin's before and was buddies with the owners, he knew that the fried chicken was a must-have. He let me have a drumstick, which was crispy on the outside and tender on the inside. The mashed potatoes were yummy, too.

Stuffed from our meal, the three of us decided to order only one dessert: the banana pudding with Nilla wafers. The fruit was so ripe and sweet that the Nilla wafers tasted like water crackers.

While the others couldn't handle another bite, I had to wave my true Southern colors by ordering the sweet potato pie. The filling was gooey and dense that I suspected the sweet potatoes were baked rather than boiled. The whipped cream was also thick, nicely neutralizing the nutmeg in the sweet potato filling. But if the boy in the kitchen was a true Southerner, he would have slipped a tablespoon or two of bourbon in the cream while whipping it.

No Comment

A source of pride for many bloggers isn't the discovery that someone other than their mother reads their online journal. Actually, it's having a reader who is moved enough by the blog entry -- which, let's face it, is the digital version of talking aloud to yourself -- to leave a comment. A friend once overheard two other bloggers complain that none of their friends ever wrote comments on their site. But they probably didn't have DaShiv, LolCait and other cleverly nicknamed readers check out their blog. DaShiv et al. are the creme de la creme among people who post comments and photos on other folks' blogs, according to the NYT.

But getting comments on a blog can pose a dilemma. Do you feel compelled to respond to every comment? Do you write future entries in anticipation of the comments that you hope to amass? Do you want to sully the style and correct grammar and pronunciation on your blog with typo-infested comments? If you wanted to have some sort of interaction with someone, even if it's online and with a delayed reaction, wouldn't you just call up a friend, in lieu of sitting alone in front of a computer to type out your thoughts?

It's a tough call. I think that instead of comments I'd rather get recipes.

Scrumptious San Diego

I was in San Diego last weekend to cover a trade show. But as soon as I arrived at my hotel in the port city, I had to hunker down in my hotel room and interview a couple of denim designers for a late-breaking story. Just before I had to balance a cell phone on my shoulder to conduct the interview, room service arrived with my lunch of seared tuna salad, seasoned cole slaw and green tea.

Later that night, I joined a couple of other writers and a source for dinner at Red Pearl. The fusion food at Red Pearl isn't anything to write home about, although the yuzu lemon drop is something worth straggling home drunk for. What made our meal special was that we sat at the table set inches away from the fire-breathing stove and sous chefs who were busily chopping vegetables. I concede that service was a little faster at the kitchen table in comparison to the pick-up joint-cum-dining room. But it was a little weird sitting between the cooks and the pedestrians peering through the large glass window. At least I had on a photogenic top made by Lemon Twist that I bought at least five years ago but will still be in vogue next spring when geometric prints become all the rage. My dinnermate also got the memo about wearing some colorful blocks on her shirt.

These other dinnermates decided to be more graphically laid back. Don't they remind you of dolphins waiting for their fishy snack at Sea World?

As I've noted previously on my blog, I always drop by Cafe Chloe whenever I'm in San Diego. On this trip, I went there twice. I had to return the second time because of the dessert. But I also wanted to try every single item on the menu. For a solo Sunday lunch, I had the croque madame with a glass of lavender lemonade at the bar.

The frisee salad was softened with a couple of roasted tomatoes. The gnarly leaves are usually too bitter. But Cafe Chloe picked a mellow bunch, which was perfect for sopping up the bechamel sauce that drenched the ham and fried egg on brioche toast.

But the real reason for my return was the creme fraiche ice cream. It was sour and sweet at the same time. On the previous day, I shared a rosemary-tinged pear galette with a scoop of creme fraiche ice cream. I loved the frozen dessert so much that on my second visit I asked for two scoops of the ice cream alone. Delish!

Cook's Captions

Summer rolled into Los Angeles on a breeze but left in a hurry. Trade shows, late-breaking stories and desperation to cool off in the recent heat wave fried my brain to the point that I can barely cobble together a coherent sentence. Hence, I'm channeling my energy into captions. Besides, I know you just want the food porn.

Matty M. shows off how the cool moves that help him dominate the dance floor serve him well in the kitchen.

Jackson Pollock inspired my dinner plate topped with a juicy burger, grilled peach, roasted potatoes and sweet corn dusted with cayenne pepper.

After halving the peaches, I dumped a big spoonful of brown sugar into the hollow and sprinkled ground ginger on top. Matty M. grilled them on the top rack of his BBQ until the brown sugar syrup started bubbling.

JP said he wanted to cook at home more. He's got the Monday-Tuesday shift and I've got the Wednesday-Thursday shift. The deal is that we have to cook only for one night during our shifts. For a recent turn, I marinated duck breast in balsamic vinegar and fried it in a pan with sliced onions. I also roasted julienned parsnips and carrots and sweetened couscous with dried cranberries and cashews. JP's light and bubbly prosecco paired perfectly with the summer meal.

A closeup of the duck

Before embarking on a road trip to Las Vegas, where I was scheduled to cover a week-long series of trade shows, JP and I stopped by Cafe Tropicale for a quick lunch. I ordered the restaurant's special, a Cuban sandwich stuffed with ham, beef, pickles and a gooey sauce. I saved half of the sandwich for the a stop at the California-Nevada border.

I love bathrooms with his-and-hers sections. Here, I am photographing the sinks in my room at the Red Rock Casino, Resort & Spa.

Located more than 10 miles northwest of the Vegas Strip, in a planned community called Summerlin near the nature retreat that inspired its name and decor, Red Rock has plenty of land to use. The rooms were the most modern and spacious of all the hotels I've stayed at in Sin City. Since the W Hotel recently scrapped plans to open an outpost there, Red Rock will be the only game in town with its straight-lined aesthetics, somber colors and mixture of natural resources and man-made materials. Although the light burned out in the toilet room, the flat-panel TV seemed to work fine above the marble bathtub.

Triple George Grill has a clubby feel that lets you forget you're eating next door to the rowdy Hogs & Heifers bar.

This is the beefsteak tomato salad, dressed with a balsamic vinaigrette and chopped red onions.

My petit filet was hardly little.

Medium rare, just how I like it.

JP reflects while we gaze at his reflection sipping wine.

The baked mac and cheese was soo gooey and yummy. Most restaurants these days opt for white cheeses like gruyere and raclette to transform the white trash pasta dish into a gourmet treat. Triple George Grill wisely stuck with basic cheddar.

Neither JP nor I finished our steaks. So we asked for a takeout box. Realizing that we didn't have cutlery in the hotel room, I sliced my steak into strips before packing it. JP laughed at me. But I laughed at him the next morning when he grabbed his chunk of leftover stuck and bit into it as if it were an apple.

The view from the Wynn's 18th floor

I liked Red Rock's his-and-hers bathroom better. My room reminded me of an upscale Golden Girls resort.

JP dressed for the sorbet colors and Pop Art flowers decorating the room. Here, he's taking a photo of me snapping a shot of him.

The table setting for Thomas Keller's Bouchon in the Venetian Resort Casino

The tools for the seafood appetizer

This is the petit plateau. Imagine what the grand plateau would look like. We did add a half dozen oysters to our order.

Oysters, clams and boiled shrimp make my plate smile.

JP had the trout.

I had the gigot d'agneau. Half of our table ordered the lamb. It figures that we're reporters who like wolfing down cute, furry creatures.

JP treated me to a snack of oysters at Joe's in the Caesars Forum Shops after I finished an afternoon of reporting.

The peanut butter pie was insanely fluffy. Nothing stuck to the roof of my mouth. The Oreo pie crust added enough weight for the delicious mousse-like filling.

I saw this table setting three times during my stay at the Wynn. I'm not a big fan of Chinese food because it's so similar to Vietnamese food. And if I'm going to eat Chinese, I might as well dine on my peeps' cooking. But I love dim sum. Red 8 in the Wynn offered a curtailed but scrumptious list of dim sum treats.

JP said he is a pork bun man. So we got him some.

From left to right, Chinese broccoli sauteed in garlic, deep-fried yuba crepe stuffed with mushrooms, plump and shrimpy har gow and a bun filled with BBQ pork

Sticky rice steamed in a lotus leaf