Serenity & Spice

When I got to Camp Taco , I didn’t know what to expect. It was my first night away from home, but luckily I had my friend Christie with me. We were both totally stoked for the start of summer camp, and it's finally here in October.  It was 5:30 on a Sunday, but the camp was full of campers. The counselors were all super cool. We managed to get a bunk at the bar. And that’s when the head counselor Biff told us about the Ghoul of East Village.  Last Summer, he went on a rampage, killing everyone in his path. No one knew who he was, but the camp was left abandoned ever since. Recently, it had been leased by a local businessman, but the plans to reopen kept being rescheduled until now. Rumor has it, the first group of counselors mysteriously vanished.  That was so long ago we weren’t going to let it spoil our fun. Christie and I were ready to start our rad summer adventure. With what else, the white poblano cheese dip with housemade tortilla chips. The cheese dip was tasty bu...

                        It has occurred to me that I should include an article about a local establishment and give my review or praise in some sort of way.   Here it goes.                         Yesterday, I decided I wanted spicy wonton soup.    As it hasn’t been necessarily cold, it has been rainy.   I wanted the feel of the warm broth and the unique taste of Szechwan peppercorns on my lips.   One of my new favorite culinary treasures in the city right now is Chi’s Dim Sum and Bistro’s Traditional Menu.   So much Chinese food in the west is watered down Americanized gloop that adds sugar and corn starch to every dish contributing to the US obesity epidemic.   The Asian fusion restaurants such as Southern Gourmasian and Kemuri a...

I have a habit of stumbling upon memories while cooking. On an ordinary weeknight, I will throw together something quick for dinner. Usually it’s pasta of some kind. On occasion, I will start a roux and add some milk, basil, and garlic. With that first taste, I am eight years old. In a dark corner of an ordinary shopping center in Casa Linda, there existed a tiny restaurant called Frankie’s Little Europe. Frankie, the owner, would greet every guest who walked through the door. He knew who his regulars were and treated them like royalty. My parents and I had been regular customers there for years. Because of how expensive it could be, my father would limit taking us there only on special occasions which ended up being at least once month. Frankie would drop what he would be doing, rush over and kiss my mother’s hand as soon as we stepped through the door. Regardless of how busy they were I never remember waiting. At places three times their size, we would wait for over an h...