Los Angeles

It’s 4 o’clock on Sunday afternoon, and like any well-adjusted twentysomething, I’m eating breakfast.  More specifically, I’m having brioche french toast and cappuccino at the Little Next Door on 3rd with my friend Gloria.  After living in LA for six months, I have determined that breakfast in the afternoon is exactly the sort of reckless behavior Sundays demand.

Typically in New York, Sundays amounted to consumption of greasy brunch complemented by mimosas and black coffee.  Following brunch was an inevitable headache, followed by more consumption in the form of excessive window-shopping, followed by an indulgent nap upon what appeared to be a laundry pile, but was in fact my bed.

In Persian, Darya means sea

Darya in West L.A. 

I wish my comfort food was as simple as mac and cheese or ice cream with chocolate sauce and gobs of whipped cream.  But I grew up with a Persian mother and nothing makes me feel better than basmati rice with saffron; eggplant and zucchini in a tomato stew with veal; filet mignon kabobs, marinated and then grilled to perfection – the dishes that she raised me on.  Back in high school and even to this day, my friends still invite themselves over for dinner in hopes that my mother will be cooking her legendary rice served with one of her Persian stews.

There’s a new cake in town. Actually, it’s a whole boutique full of cake and it’s here to stay! Lady M, the glorious cake boutique with three locations in New York City opened in LA last August, quietly without much fanfare but with a line out the door. It seems word spread fast among cake connoisseurs.

Coming upon it by accident while taking my daughter, in from NYC, to AOC for lunch, my daughter informed me that although I was at the wrong valet parking spot for AOC, I might be at the right parking spot after all.

“Huh?”

“Parking for AOC is half a block up, Mom, but if the Lady M on that valet sign is the same as the one in NY, we’re skipping lunch and going straight to dessert.”

“Hmmm , that good?”

“Seriously ridiculous.” (Her highest compliment).

Since we’re both over 21, I figured we we’re old enough to go straight to the good stuff.

When I originally conceived of taking a self-led tour of the LA food trucks with some friends it was to see who was trying to capitalize on the success of Kogi BBQ, the crossover Mexican-Korean taco truck, and their use of Twitter to let people know their current location.  Supposedly Kogi is the originator of the hip and cool LA food truck and, as some have told me, has the best food of all the taco trucks. My plan was to find trucks that had just rolled out, are newly popular, or ones that I know nothing about and see if Kogi would hold up against the rest.

My food truck team consisted of seven diverse and discerning palettes including a maitre fromager, a chef, a pastry chef, a hungry stoner and a guy who makes the biggest sandwiches I’ve ever seen, but seems to gain no weight.  We started our glutton-fest at Barbie’s Q who was parked at T-Lofts in Santa Monica (11500 Tennessee) where food trucks hang out every day.  The big green truck has a pin-up girl and the slogan “A Rollin’ BBQ Joint” on the side and is a clear representation of the owner.  John, who insists that the pin-up on the side is not his daughter, takes everyone’s order while standing in front of his truck so he can shake hands and show off his fluffy white mustache.  The St. Louis ribs were sweet, juicy, and did the fall-off-the-bone thing that grosses out my vegetarian girlfriend. It was my favorite dish of the day (out of the two dozen things I tried). We also tried three kinds of deliciously simple sliders (chicken, pork, or beef, sauce, and a bun), potato salad that was thankfully dill heavy and mayo light, and some baked beans that were best consumed when poured over a slider.