I Toot It 'N Boot It: Big Wangs, Cobbler Mania, & Four Loko

The chicken wing game in LA is FIERCE because there are actually places here that take pride in their wings and understand that wings are an art form. I dare anyone in the LA area to start an artisan chicken wing truck and I will provide you with menu consultation services for a discounted fee. I have a natural talent for chicken wing flavor design and I don't think anyones mastered the craft quite like I have. Okay, enough with whoring out my services and on with the wangs...

So my favorite Big Wangs is on Cahuenga, a block from Hollywood Boulevard. I heard they've opened up more locations, but I have no interest in those because this one is within walking distance from my apartment.


I am pretty positive that their mascot is a lesbian rooster.


"It tastes like Tang and we don't mean poon!" I am in love with this place for very obvious reasons.


"Buy her one and she'll blast you faster." This menu alone deserves three Michelin stars.


This is the HEART ATTACK. The alfredo bacon fries (or tater tots if you are really skeetin' for a beatin') are literally one of the top ten fattest things I have ever eaten. It was exhilarating, disgusting, and I had to reevaluate my lifestyle for several days after the first bite. But overall, I thought they were amazing and I imagine these reduce people to tears when they are inebriated.


The WANGS. They are flavorful, meaty, and everything I could possibly want in a chicken wing. On Wednesdays, they have 50 cent wings when you buy a drink and on Saturdays, they have 25 cent wings from 11 a.m.-4 p.m. Yes, I memorized the wing deal schedule at this establishment.

So I've been here twice within the past three weeks and it only gets better every time. First off, pitchers range between $8-$13 dollars depending on how fancy you're trying to be. Second, the last time I was here, Dennis Rodman sat next to us with his blonde Ed Hardy'd out boo and her matching offspring. Theres nothing more thrilling than eating chicken wings next to Dennis Rodman, while watching a Giants game, and drinking beer.

God bless Big Wangs.

So its summer and that only means one thing--COBBLER. So my shitstain of a friend Steph and I spotted this stand on La Brea and Olympic called Cobbler Mania. We screamed, almost hit several cars trying to park, and accosted the sweet woman working at the stand and forced her to photograph us in front of it. As luck would have it, she was sold out of everything except for a single sweet potato cobbler. I assume Paula Deen's good graces are responsible for this miracle.


I desperately want to try the Strawberry Mango one.


Sweet potato cobbler. Look at that sweet little heart punched out of the top of the crust. I want to shrink myself with a shrink ray and have a tea party inside that little heart and rest my miniature buns on top of the sweet potato filling.

This glorious little cobbler stand inspired me to make a peach cobbler of my own so I googled, "Best Peach Cobbler Recipe In The World" and got this: Southern Peach Cobbler Recipe (Allrecipes.com).


Ingredients

8 fresh peaches - peeled, pitted and sliced into thin wedges
1/4 cup white sugar
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
2 teaspoons cornstarch
*I added a 1/2 cup of Minute Tapioca

1 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup white sugar
1/4 cup brown sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, chilled and cut into small pieces
1/4 cup boiling water

MIX TOGETHER:
3 tablespoons white sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
Directions

Preheat oven to 425 degrees F (220 degrees C).
In a large bowl, combine peaches, 1/4 cup white sugar, 1/4 cup brown sugar, 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon, nutmeg, lemon juice, and cornstarch. Toss to coat evenly, and pour into a 2 quart baking dish. Bake in preheated oven for 10 minutes.
Meanwhile, in a large bowl, combine flour, 1/4 cup white sugar, 1/4 cup brown sugar, baking powder, and salt. Blend in butter with your fingertips, or a pastry blender, until mixture resembles coarse meal. Stir in water until just combined.
Remove peaches from oven, and drop spoonfuls of topping over them. Sprinkle entire cobbler with the sugar and cinnamon mixture. Bake until topping is golden, about 30 minutes.


SLICE DEM SHITS.


BLAP!


UGH!!


LOOK OUT PIMP!!

FUCKING SEXY, RIGHT??? I hope those instructions were useful to you.

Last but not least, I would like to send out a word of caution to today's youth...

THIS IS NOT SODA.

Four Loko is a new alcoholic sensation that is sweeping the nation and I LOVE/HATE it. It looks and tastes just like soda but is 12% alcohol and is less than $3. I had one of these and became possessed by whatever's in it and proceeded to steal another one from the liquor store (God, forgive me) and drank a bucket of beers at a restaurant that I have no recollection of. I woke up next to my mother the next morning and asked her how I got home, which she did not take kindly to.

So kids, DON'T DO IT. Or do, if you have limits/self-control and only have $3.

WTF: Blind Lemon Jefferson, 10 lb Pancakes, and Korean Tacos

I would like to start this post off by informing you all that I now have proper furniture and am no longer sleeping on floatation devices. I appreciate everyone’s concern and no, I am not squatting in an abandoned building.

But of course, I have managed to make my living situation uncomfortable by convincing myself that my apartment houses poltergeists. I had a situation where my vintage JC Penney television turned on by itself. Or I accidentally hit the power button with my knee…I don’t know. All I know is I haven’t slept properly since because I am convinced that my Blind Lemon Jefferson poster is haunting me.


I swear I saw the poster vibrate the other day.

To alleviate my fear, I have been professionally victimizing Korean taco trucks. It's daunting to my mid-section but someone has to do it. Behold the Calbi BBQ truck...


Found this bad boy parked on La Brea and 3rd. Me and my pal, Mimi came here after hiking up Runyon Canyon in our alligator shoes because we decided that we should treat ourselves to some traditional Korean delicacies.


When I say "traditional Korean delicacies", I mean beef and shrimp tacos. Their kimchi quesadillas were off the hook too.

Our lady friend Jizzo came down to visit and so we took her Chinese ass to The Griddle Cafe on Sunset because that is what you do when a Chinese person travels great distances to see you.


WAFFLES. I personally have never had a bad experience with a waffle and this one is no exception. It was a bit over the top but when has that ever stopped me from putting something in my mouth? Not never.


The Hoagie Omelette with italian sausage, mozzarella, bell peppers, and onions in it. Pure 100% Full Grown Ecstasy. Shit had me cross-eyed and grinding my teefs.


Alas, the Golden Ticket. Brown sugar bananas inside a buttermilk pancake with caramel, walnuts, and streusel. It wasn't so much a pancake as much as it was a three-tier birthday cake for a cavity-ridden, silver-toothed toddler. Seriously, these pancakes are as big as my comforter and its downright wasteful to serve something so large to a single person. It was delicious, but we would have been okay just ordering this and a side of bacon for 3 people.

I make it a priority in my life to avoid the Hollywood night life at all costs because I need to retain the little dignity that I do have and I don't enjoy men in blouses. Thus, I prefer to go to bars downtown or anything else low-key and not infested with douche lords. Went to a whiskey bar called Seven Grand and they are the shit because they have about 90 moose heads mounted on the walls.


I have learned that whiskey that is not Jack Daniels or Jameson has the potential to not make me barf. Thus, I am a man now.

Fuckyoubye

Jollibee, Versailles, and Bootleg Sangrias

Terrorizing the streets of Los Angeles has been going quite well. I have already been approached by several Koreatown gangs about possible membership and I have accomplished more than half of the stuff on the official "You Are Persian If..." list. Impressive since it has been less than a week and I have already made this town my bitch.

The other day, I went to visit my pal Chris, mainly because he lives a few blocks from Jollibee. Jollibee is a Filipino fast food joint that has made its way to America and has been successfully confusing the shit out of non-Filipinos ever since. I have had several people confront me about how alarming and uninviting their menu is. All I can say about that is, stay away from the spaghetti and burgers and stick with the Chicken Joy. Their Chicken Joy fried chicken is incredible because its crispy, succulent and is served with a side of rice and gravy.


This is where they make the food of my people. Take note of the young man in the "I <3 DC" shirt. DC does not stand for District of Columbia when a Filipino wears it, it stands for "Daly City."


Whoever designed the entrance/exits and parking situation for Jollibee ought to be shot. I ended up parking across several handicap spots because the whole thing is just bullshit and too confusing to deal with.




Hit up Versailles on La Cienega for some Cuban loving and copped their world famous Garlic Roast Pork and Roasted Chicken. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you have not lived until you have slathered your face with that garlic sauce. Not to mention the rice and beans and platanos. This place is an institution here in LA and if you want some serious Cuban noms, you gotta hit up Versailles and cop for the low-low.




Went to The Counter on Sunset in West Hollywood. It's a build-your-own burger place and it's pretty damn good. We got some parmesan fries that reeked of rosemary (in a good way) and I got a burger with brie, aioli, guacamole, roasted green chiles, and a mix of greens. This place is freakin dangerous because you just want to pile everything onto your burger and it becomes a huge life decision when you have all those ingredients to choose from. If you go overboard like I did, you will end up with a mess of shit in your cleave and no friends.


My ride or die bitches Jizzo and Mimi came with me to Malibu and we decided to bring along a little treat for the beach. We made some classy, boss bitch sangrias. I put them in these Avelox cups my mom gave me and apparently Avelox is some sort of antibiotic. I'm gonna assume these cups are coated with antibiotics and this is my mom's way of dealing with my questionable lifestyle.


Went to Pavilions and got that Carlo Rossi sangria, Ditto (bootleg 7-Up), and pre-cut fruit packages. I believe this is how they make sangrias in Spain.

A friend who shall remain nameless had one of these and proceeded to vomit all over UCLA. Luckily, I had these pool floaties that I have been using as beds, for her to pass out in fetal on. And yes, I did inflate them with my mouth.


LIVIN THE LIFE

Yadidathizz: The Bay to LA (Like Amoeba, Player)

I am sitting at a Peet's Coffee in LA and am on the verge of pissing myself but am in a huge pickle because I can't leave my laptop and go to the bathroom because I am sitting next to a person of questionable gender with a heinous bowlcut and we all know those are the sorts that cannot be trusted around unattended electronics. So I'm just gonna sit here and blog until I piss my shorts and get kicked out.

As you can see, I have relocated my ass to LA because I like to surround myself with people more delusional than I am. Needless to say, I miss San Francisco and all of it's freakish glory. Before I left, I stuffed myself with some the Bay's finest nom's and said my farewells to my various lovers.


Of course I had to bid farewell to my Giants. A proper goodbye meant smuggling in Safeway fried chicken, Firefly Sweet Tea Vodka, and lemonades into AT&T Park. Shout out to the people at the gate for overlooking the questionable liquids in my purse and platter of fried chicken in Tee Tee's sweatshirt.


The popcorn carts come equipped with the finest of flavored dusts. My favorites were obviously the RANCH and GARLIC PARMESAN. I brought my crab sandwich to the popcorn dust cart and dusted it with a delicate layer of ranch. The person at the stand really appreciated my aggressive use ranch powder.


This is where I like to sit and try to proposition Travis Ishikawa for sex with my bullhorn.


My homie, Joe brought me to this magical place on 16th and Valencia called Ti Couz. I was sexcited because their buckwheat crepes are on the 7x7 100 Things Eat Before You Die in SF list. This bowl of coffee did wonders for my digestive tract.


Sea creature salad popped off.


I am skeptical of anything that has the word "wheat" attached to it but these buckwheat crepes were off the hook! This one had sausage and a mushroom sauce, which completely cancelled out the wheatness going on. Yeah, fuck wheat but this shit banged.


GOOD LORD. I cannot remember what this is called but its got chocolate mousse, chantilly cream, and vanilla ice cream in it. Basically, I want to die and be reincarnated as this dessert and eat myself alive. I died a thousand times eating this bad boy.


We also hit up this crackin Ethiopian spot called Massawa on Haight Street. I have never really had Ethiopian food except for when I stole the Ethiopian foreign exchange students lunch in high school once and almost burst into flames. We started off with this veggie hot pocket-esque thing that was similar to a samusa.


I felt what the clouds of heaven must feel like when I touched this injera bread. It's so soft and luscious, its porous texture felt amazing against my sweaty palms. I molested it for what seemed like an eternity and as embarrassing as it was for my pal, I could not stop because it was just so inviting. I desperately want to lay atop a slate countertop naked and cover my body in injera for an entire week. Maybe for my birthday?


An enormous platter of beefs, chicken, lentils, and a yogurty substance that rivals Mexican crema. I officially love Ethiopian cuisine ten thousand times more than I love myself.


Gabby aka Little Brown put me onto this spot on Mission called Mi Lindo Peru, which is duh, Peruvian food. My absolute favorite part of this place is a little thing on the menu called "Salchipapa," which is french fries and cut up hot dog. BRILLIANT. I did not order it but the name and ingredients alone make it a winner in my book.


The halea, which is a fried platter of scrimps, calamari, fish, and yucca. GREAZY mothafucka.


I had the snapper with the garlic butter on it. I dare someone to eat this, make out with someone, and see if they survive because the garlic on this is fuckin BANGIN.


God, what I wouldn't do to walk up and down the streets of San Francisco with a tall boy and Mexican popsicle one last time.

This nerdy rap song pretty much encompasses my geographical situation:

Move Over Farmar: Ron Artest Loves Filipino Treats

There are times when I want to kick Ron Artest in the face and then there are times I want to cradle him in my arms and bottle-feed him Hennessy at halftime in the back of my Impala. I believe he blew me completely away with his Game 7 post-game interview when he thanked his hood, his psychiatrist, and proceeded to promote his rap single, "Champions" on live television. Precisely the move I would have made had I just won the NBA Finals.

I did a little Wikipedia research on him because I had a feeling it would be highly entertaining and as expected, I was right. Here is an excerpt from the section called "Controversy":

During his rookie season in Chicago, he was criticized for applying for a job at Circuit City in order to get an employee discount.[30][31] He once attended a practice with the Indiana Pacers in a bath robe.[32] He was suspended for two games in the early 2004–05 season by Pacers coach Rick Carlisle after he allegedly asked for a month off because he was tired from promoting an R&B album for the group Allure on his production label.

SIMPLY MAGNIFICENT. It rivals ODB's Wikipedia page for sure and that is no easy task my friends. I honestly didn't think Ron could impress me more until I found the following videos of Ron Artest enjoying a Filipino dessert called Halo-Halo.



Apparently he has a Filipino son, which means there is a 98% chance that I could be related to his son or anyone else in this video for that matter. Thus, RON ARTEST AND I ARE OFFICIALLY (PROBABLY) COUSINS!



This one is my absolute favorite. He is indiscriminately getting down on a cup of Halo-Halo, surrounded by teenagers, and is playing Monopoly. Mind you, Halo-Halo is not a normal dessert--it's shaved ice, beans, corn, jackfruit, assorted jelly crap, condensed milk and ice cream. To be honest, I can barely stomach all that shit (I am not proud of that) and I am Filipino. So, hats off to you Ron Artest for being such a strong advocate of Filipino treats.


Ron Ron shaking hands with our national treasure, Manny Pacquiao. I feel like supersonic shockwaves were exchanged during this handshake.

Looks like Jordan Farmar's got a lot of catching up to do to get back on my good side.

*Like my new layout?? The old one looked like shit. If you think the old layout looked better, check yourself cause it was not crackin.

Kinda Hot In These Rhinos!

This has absolutely nothing to do with SHIT except that I absolutely love Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls and nothing puts a smile on my face quite like the scene where Ace ejects himself from a mechanical rhinoceroses ass. That is all.




And off I go now, to look for a life...

Looks Like Anotha Love TKO: Bouchon Bakery

Today, my small-handed, pastry-molesting friend Gabby busted through my unlocked door and I almost slammed my baseball bat into her face because I thought she was a sex offender (which she is in her own special way.) I'm glad I didn't knock her ass out because she was holding a box of pastries from the BOUCHON BAKERY. In case you are retarded and don't know what that is, it's Thomas Keller's bakery in Yountville, CA. Thomas Keller is the culinary mastermind responsible for French Laundry, Per Se, Bouchon, Ad Hoc, and trillions of boners all around the world. Being that I am a brokeass hoodrat, touching food from his bakery is a big deal and putting it in my mouth has caused temporary blindness and I wish I wore a diaper today.

I tried the greatest chocolate anything I've ever had today. It is called the TKO cookie, which stands for the "Thomas Keller Oreo." I think. It's basically his interpretation of an oreo, made with a chocolate sable dough and white chocolate ganache filling. Whatever the hell chocolate sable dough is, it crumbles in my mouf ever so tenderly and I so desperately long for it.


We called the Las Vegas location to confirm with them that the Bouchon Bakery kiosk at the Venetian Hotel had these. THEY DO! (We're going to Vegas in August.) I have a fantasy of filling our hot tub with these, lighting candles, poppin' champagne, and having my way with a tub full of TKO's.




BEST macarons I've ever had. They were rather large and the chocolate tasted like a chocolate cake mixed with a brownie mixed with straight crack.


This croissant was a work of art. Light, buttery, flakey, and had a light crunch. Gabby and I always said that you know a croissant is good when you don't need to butter it. I ate it completely NUDE and loved every minute of it. We were both nude, the croissant and I.


We had to stop ourselves from eating the Nutter Butter that Gabs got for her boyfriend. It would be mean to eat someone elses gift from Bouchon. In fact, that's fucked up. But that did not stop us from placing our nostrils on it and attempting to snort it in hopes that crumbs flew into our mouths somehow.


Someone remind me to FedEx Thomas Keller a pair of my soiled panties with a post-it attached that says, "HURRY UP WITH THE BEVERLY HILLS BAKERY!!!!"