Ice Cream Orgasm

Dear Lord,

Please do grace me with fame, fortune, and an endless supply of Scoops Ice Cream.

This I Pray,

Patrick

PS- Seriously God, its the best. And its no frills. No crowd. (At least when I was there) No fancy storefront. No uniforms. No cute cups and colored spoons. This place is all about the ice cream. Different flavors are available in soy and dairy and both are delightful. I began with a dairy brown bread scoop-- crisp grape nuts, creamy ice cream, and a sweetness provided by a hint of swirled maple syrup and brown sugar. What I was pleasantly surprised by-- the ice cream was the perfect texture and temperature because I hate staring at my dessert, waiting for it to melt. My next scoop was soy Cinnamon-Walnut. The texture was slightly different than the dairy-- a bit icier but the flavors were rich and authentic. The fat kid inside me ran out and ordered a pistachio-orange pint to go. It was gone before I got home.

Carlos and Mickeys-- And the End of My 6-Pack

Every winter I venture to a happy, sunny, warm place full of rustic charm, good, cheap food, and great margheritas. No, its not Cabo, Cancun, or even Rocky Point. I go to El Paso, Texas, a town that borders Juarez Mexico and features some of the best damned rock climbing in the United States. My group of friends typically spends an evening or two in Juarez at an absolutely incredible Mexican restaurant with some of the finest tequila you have never heard of, a small dining room, and a chef that has been there for a decade (who loves to share his unheard of tequila with you). Alas, recent beheadings and copious amounts of rape and other activities that we generally "poo-poo" have rendered the culinary journey to Juarez a bit too risky to attempt. So today's piece is about Carlos and Mickeys, a big, loud, fun Mexican food spot in El Paso. We arrive thirsty, starving, and sunburnt after a day of climbing and as usual, have to wait for a table (its Thursday night). We head to the roudy bar to grab a margherita. One of the girls in the group wants to reminisce on her nights in the frat house I guess, and orders the "Texas" size margherita, which combines all the goodness of my standard margherita in a serving that would satisfy all the participants on "Dance Your A$$ Off." (A show which will likely be reviewed in the future due to its inspiring title.)

We make it to dinner and someone orders nachos, at which point peer pressure sets in and I decide to say "fuck it" to the health menu and order "Tacos al Pastor" which I learned about via an Anthony Bourdaine episode on authentic Mexican street food.

Feeling positively buzzed and having already thrown my health consciousness out the window, I order a flan, which was no afterthought. Then just as the check arrives that damned Rosa comes wheeling around from the kitchen with a tray full of sopapillas for the neighboring table, and I give in, ordering my own, with a scoop of vanilla ice-cream as a fitting side dish. The fat little kid inside me springs free, and I proceed to eat all three sops and half the ice-cream.

It Gonna Rain!

Somebody made it rain, so I spent most of the day checking out the Aroma Cafe in Studio City. I needed some relaxation after the cattle call at Central Casting. Everyone wants to be the next STAR!!!! Annnyway, a neon sign and some really big old trees (good work on the curb appeal) welcome to a crowded foyer/counter area where you better know what you are doing. Otherwise you get NEXTED. Once you order you can either dine on the noisy but lush patio or the "library"-- a really cool little room with antique and new books for purchase as well as a fireplace. It took awhile, but I eventually made my way to a charmingly worn in purple valour chair in the corner, and I didn't want to leave… until this sleepy looking girl from the bookstore told me the power-cord to my laptop was a "hazard" (yeah, maybe if we were in middle America and too fat to see our feet, but this is LA?!) I played calm, unplugged, and absorbed the Frou Frou tunes emanating from the patio speakers. Then, shortly after I plugged in to a corner, my power cord seemingly out of harms way, I was informed by an employee that plugging in is "not allowed" (something about an old house and circuits frying) and that wifi is DEFINITELY not available. I packed up, sprinted through the rain to the comforts of my vehicle. Rogue puddle created a swamp in my new Tod's on the way. F my life and this place. The Aroma was all but pleasing today.

Aroma Cafe

4360 Tujunga Avenue
Studio City, CA 91604-2751
(818) 508-6505

www.aromacoffeeandtea.com

I've Got the Conch!

A trip a few weekends ago took me to the Turks and Caicos. Never been to the Islands before, but being committed to bringing you all good content, I had to make the trek. Someone has to make sacrifices for the greater good of the blog. The top local flavor on my list-- the CONCH, which is pronounced like a blend between words that describe the male and female anatomy. I felt like Ralph… or Piggy… from that childhood read, "Lord of the Flies" The end-all, be-all for conch is of course, "The Conch Shack" a ramshackle open air beach outpost with white wooden walls and lazy ceiling fans. And conch in all its glorious forms-- sashimi, carpaccio, sauteed, baked, and of course, fried. The shellfish is versatile, holding its own well in all these preparations whether pickled, sweet, or savory. Where can you get this in LA?!