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October has long been my favorite month. The stifling heat of September (hopefully) is behind us, cooler days (and nights) are ahead — sweater weather (sort of!) — and the month ends with Halloween, which slides us seamlessly into November, and Thanksgiving — the yummiest day of the year!
All that makes me wonder why more than a few of the food days during October are in, ahem, questionable taste. There’s National Moldy Cheese Day on Oct. 9. National Chocolate Covered Insects Day is Oct. 14. There’s Four Prune Day on Oct. 17, based on a study many years ago that four prunes a day was best for digestive health! National Bologna Day is Oct. 24. National Potato Day is Oct. 27. And perhaps the best of them all is on Oct. 25 — National Greasy Foods Day!
Of course, as ever, every day is a celebration of those culinary excesses. And I figure we’ll all be honoring National Greasy Foods Day in our usual daily fashion — which is to say, by chowing down on some properly messy, sloppy, oil-laden, salt-heavy greasy food. And that brings us to this question: Why does greasy food taste so good?
Not surprisingly, there have been studies — lots of them. The studies demonstrate that, for the most part, we can’t actually taste fat. But that doesn’t stop us, not at all, from craving it.
Fat, it tuns out, is an excellent transport mechanism for, first of all, smell. The molecules that we identify as smell are dissolved and concentrated by fats. When you cook bacon, the flavor molecules travel through the air carried by the fat molecules to which they’re attached. The same is true of taste molecules. When chocolate melts in your mouth, the flavor is carried to your taste buds on a river of fat. The fat fills our mouths with a smooth coating sensation we’ve learned to identify as satisfying and pleasant.
Which brings us to the high concept of “mouth feel.” Think about salad dressing — and how happy that “feel” of Caesar dressing, or blue cheese dressing, can be. Think about the happy mouth feel of Cracker Jack and popcorn and even Ritz crackers. It’s fat that makes them so…happy making.
In a study in the Journal of Lipid Research (to which I do not actually have a subscription; I’m not that obsessed!), researchers found we possess a protein receptor that is especially sensitive to fat. The more of this receptor you have on your tongue, the more pleasure you’ll derive from fatty foods.
And a further government study suggests that, at heart, it’s all about evolution. “Our ancestors used to spend their days gathering food to survive. Out of all the food they could find, fat was the best source of energy.
“Proteins and carbohydrates (sugars) provide about 4 calories per gram, while lipids provide 9.4 calories per gram. From the perspective of hungry cave people, fat is definitely the best choice on the menu.
“Moreover, our bodies absorb fatty foods at a slower pace than proteins or carbohydrates. Fat makes us feel full, and when we feel full, our brains trigger the release of hormones that also make us feel relaxed and content.”
In other words, we can blame evolution for our love of junk food!
“Fat concentrates smells and flavors in food,” the study continues. “It gives foods a smooth creamy texture that most of us enjoy. Since fat gives us more energy than proteins or carbohydrates, it makes us feel full faster. This makes our brains release hormones that makes us feel content.”
Or maybe we love greasy food because, well, it tastes so good. Goodness knows I’ve eaten enough of it over the years — and still do! — to attest to that undeniable truth. French fries may well be the greatest accomplishment of the human race, greater even than sliced bread.
And where do I find some of my favorite dishes to celebrate on National Greasy Foods Day? Well, for starters…
18189 Pioneer Blvd., Artesia; 562-356-8277, www.labrisket.com
L.A. Brisket sits next to the State Bank of India and the Kim Sun Young Beauty Salon. It’s a casual fast-food café that would make more sense…pretty much anywhere else. The specialty here is Texas-style barbecue, and as the name suggests, specifically brisket, and very good brisket at that, served in ways you might not expect brisket to be served.
The place qualifies as a find. And the chow qualifies as…very tasty indeed. Those of us with a taste for brisket — and our numbers are legion — know it as the sine qua non of meats for barbecue of any sort, and for Texas barbecue in particular.
As much, if not more than any other cut of meat, it tastes of beef — it virtually defines beefiness. It has a dark, almost menacing crust, and a juicy (but not fatty!) interior, that makes it not so much a cut of meat, as an exercise in finding a sort of Zen truth on a plate or in a sandwich. Or, in the case of L.A. Brisket, in a bowl or on loaded fries as well.
It’s a wonderful brisket, tender and sweet, with a hint of spice, and enough schmaltz to keep it moist, without making it greasy. It would do the delis of New York proud — or at least, the delis of Houston. Though you score your brisket in a space that’s a world apart from either delis, or classic barbecue shacks.
L.A. Brisket is a classic storefront, with rough wood tables that wouldn’t be out of place in a park, and a counter where you place your order from a blackboard menu overhead. They offer utensils and napkins, which they don’t do in Texas. And frankly, they’re much appreciated.
The food arrives on metal trays, in baskets, wrapped in lots of paper, with a sundry of sauces. But before you drench it in something sweet and spicy, give the brisket a bite. Enjoy the way the meat breaks down into bits and pieces in your mouth, almost melting away, as gedempte fleisch (long-cooked meat) does in the best of dishes. Luxuriate in the flavor, drown yourself in the juices. And then, lose yourself in the experience of meat uber alles.
There are five sandwiches, ranging from the minimalist, to the somewhat over-the-top. The most basic is the 710 (they’re all named for freeways), which is just barbecue sauce and crispy onions, on a somewhat puffy roll. The 5 is gridlocked with salsa verde, cotija cheese, a chipotle cream, onions, tomatoes and pepperoncini — arguably a Mexican take on a brisket sandwich. The 10 has horseradish cream and gruyere cheese; the 101 uses garlic aioli, gruyere and a crunchy slaw; the 405 gets down to sautéed mushroom, baby arugula and blue cheese. There may be a commentary here — or perhaps not.
You can substitute pulled pork or chicken for the brisket, not bad choices. But then, the place is called L.A. Brisket, not L.A. Pulled Pork.
The brisket, the pulled pork and the chicken come over rice in bowls, which actually allows you to focus in more tightly on the meat, than in the busy-ness of some of the sandwiches. The fries come loaded with either of the meats, along with a cheesy sauce, and blue cheese, caramelized onions, sautéed mushrooms and slaw. “Loaded” is definitely the word.
There are truffle fries too, which seem a bit too L.A. for the brisket. I don’t think they eat truffle fries in Texas. But then, L.A. Brisket isn’t in Texas. It’s between an Indian enclave, and a Chinese one. It marches to the beat of a different drum. And feeds us well in the process.
Artesia Oasis Plaza, 18001 Pioneer Blvd., Artesia; 562-219-5401, www.tribosperiperi.com
“Peri peri” is a pepper cultivated by Portuguese colonialists in Mozambique — a pretty name that probably comes from the Swahili pilipili, which translates simply as “pepper.”
These days, if you eat your way through Southeast Asia, Africa, even the ethnic enclaves of London, it’s hard to miss the ubiquity of peri peri. What jalapeños are to Latino cooking, peri peri is to the rest of the world.
At Tribos Peri Peri, they pay homage to the peri peri with a variety of options — ranging from “extra hot” down to “mild” and a “lemon and herb” alternative for those who fear the burn, which at the high end can be considerable. But once you get past the burn, Tribos is all about the flavor of the chicken. And the sundry other dishes, which work well with the sauce…or without the sauce, as you wish.
But first, to the chicken, which is tender and moist, nicely cooked, and sold in all sorts of sizes — from a simple quarter chicken, dark meat or white, with a regular side, or a large side, up through a half chicken and a whole chicken (including a whole bird made up of white meat parts). All come with a choice of sauces.
There are chicken wings as well, both fried and flame-grilled — which is rarer than you might think. Ditto chicken tenders, which are flame grilled and not breaded. Which means they taste like chicken — and not greasy breading!
And how about those sides, which are the backup singers for the chicken? The corn is slathered with a creamy cotija cheese, and comes as a delicious surprise, far more fun than the standard issue corn on the cob — though a splash of the peri peri sauce on corn brings it to levels not previously imagined.
Indeed, the sauce is friendly to all the sides — the rice, the coleslaw, the house-made potato chips, the nifty red skin potato salad. And it does wonders for the small plates too — you can create quite a meal working your way through this menu.
I’m not sure the hummus and pita is ethnically consistent with the sauce — and I’m sure it doesn’t matter.
This may be the only restaurant in the world to offer jalapeño poppers with peri peri. Ditto mac and cheese bites. Mac and cheese bites with peri peri sauce? Where in the culinary world am I? (Oh yeah…on Pioneer Boulevard in Artesia, that’s where! And nothing should really surprise me! Much…)
Once you move past the chicken, there are unexpected dishes everywhere. There’s a section of peri peri lamb chops. There are beef burgers, and chicken wraps. There’s a Caesar salad, rice bowls, and a choice of vegetarian dishes — all with peri peri sauce to make them that much better.
And for those who can’t make up their minds, there’s the Chef’s Platter (a whole chicken, four lamb chops, two large sides). And there’s the Village Feast (two whole chickens, eight lamb chops, four large salads). And lots of peri peri sauce, enough to bathe in. Though what that might do to your skin, is hard to imagine.
5800 E. 2nd St., Naples (Long Beach); 562-439-7427, www.ribcompany.com
This is a sprawling room with a sprawling menu, that’s both ‘que-heavy and also filled with options for those who don’t feel like lifting brontosaurus-sized hunks of meat to their mouths for gnawing. This is a menu that also offers pasta primavera, and blackened Cajun chicken fettuccine; a quartet of prime ribs, and a foursome of steaks; and sundry chicken and seafood dishes.
You want a 2nd Street Spinach Salad — a kitchen sink of a dish with spinach, chicken, blue cheese, oranges, green apples, dried cherries, scallions, candied pecans and cornbread croutons in a sweet & sour dressing — well, there it is between the barbecue chopped southwest salad, and the Cobb salad.
As for me, I go here for ‘que, served in big portions, messy and tasty and very good. At least, after I’ve had the Onion Brick.
Now, I’ve always thought of the Onion Brick as the creation of Tony Roma’s, where they call it the Onion Loaf. Basically, it’s a solid block of onion rings, cleverly deep-fried so the rings become one. It’s a cousin of the Bloomin’ Onion served at Outback. It winds up on lots of Nanny State lists of “Things You Should Never Eat.”
Well, sure, I mean, you wouldn’t confuse it for steamed kale. But then, you also can’t stop eating the darned thing — it’s an addiction. Just like the Buffalo chicken wings, and the cheese and bacon filled potato skins, and the deep-fried mozzarella and deep-fried zucchini. And the Basket of Sliders — can you imagine? Served on sweet Hawaiian rolls.
At Naples Rib, life is good, if not exactly dietetic. And then, there are the ribs. And, as you’d expect at Naples Rib, they’re the house’s pride and joy. The baby backs come half, three-quarters, full, or Hawaiian luau style — they’re a bit sweeter than I prefer, but that didn’t keep me from inhaling the meat, which really does fall off the bone.
The St. Louis style ribs are spareribs, versus the loin ribs used in baby backs. There are folks who are loudly biased toward one or the other; honestly, I’m fine with either. And I do like pork ribs more than beef ribs; nothing’s wrong with beef, but the meat does tend to be chewier.
If you want to taste a bit of all three, get the Rib Sampler — baby backs, St. Louis and beef. Or The Combo, of ribs, chicken brisket and Louisiana sausage — some good balance there. They go well with the barbecue beans, the coleslaw (which could be chopped a bit less) and the mac and cheese.
If you can still breath, there’s a Hershey Peanut Butter Ice Cream Pie. And a Double Chocolate “Suicide” Cake — a name I do hope is more darkly whimsical than based on reality. And outside, there are the waterways of Naples — in case you need a stroll to help your well-fed self-fit into your car.
190 La Verne Ave., Long Beach; 562-434-1977, www.angelositaliandelis.com
This is Italian soul food, with some oil and vinegar sprinkled on for good measure. Angelo’s Italian Deli is a bit of a hybrid — with a very casual fast-food café in the front, where you order your food at the counter, and a proper Italian deli in the back, where you can browse, consider, sniff, and get a good sandwich or some pasta to go.
If you step into the back, into the market proper, you may find yourself not leaving too quickly. This is a wonderful assortment of rare pasta shapes, brands little found on this side of the Atlantic, shelves of olive oil, and a very affable counter staff, glad to discuss the subtleties of soppressata versus salami.
Contrary to the mountainous sandwiches made at a number of Italian delis, the Angelo’s model is manageable — not so big you can’t pick it up with your hands. (The muffuletta sandwich made at the Central Grocery in New Orleans is famously so large, a good deal of the sandwich winds up on your lap. And I can say, from experience, that the oil from the olive salad will never come out.)
The sandwiches here are resolutely old school, served on good, thick, crusty bread, topped (in most cases) with tomato, arugula, basil, mozzarella and a garlic spread. A simple caprese sandwich — a sandwich with tomato and mozzarella within — is a joy in its earthy joyousness. It’s nothing fancy, just good.
The roast turkey is always reliable, and somewhat less salty than the cured meats. The eggplant and mozzarella sandwich is just right for those who are taking a pass on meat. And the hot sandwiches do take me back to the Feast of San Gennaro and Saint Anthony in New York’s Little Italy. Especially the Italian sausage and pepper sandwich, which I’d consume in industrial quantities during the feast, a messy creation that has to be eaten with care, and offers amazing amounts of satisfaction in every bite.
The version at Angelo’s does not disappoint. Nor does their meatball sandwich, or the eggplant parmigiana sandwich — amazing how many memories there are in every bite!
And though the dine-in food at Angelo’s is mostly about sandwiches, there are a handful of other options: a proper salad caprese, along with seven pastas (all with a good taste of the way things used to be; the spaghetti with meatballs may make you feel like a kid all over again). The lasagna is good, thick, warming, very satisfying. The penne with meat sauce is a great dish for a cold day, a rainy night.
This is Little Italy, Belmont Shore style. It does the trick.
2054 E. Pacific Coast Hwy., Long Beach; 562-856-5800, www.littlelalune.com
Little La Lune is a Cambodian restaurant with a big local following, far enough from the Little Phnom Penh of Anaheim Street, to not be in Cambodia Town at all. It sits in a corner mini-mall, next to the inevitable nail shop, dog grooming parlor, and smoke shop.
It’s a culinary surprise, on any number of levels. And it’s also very good. Though it is an adventure. Show up with a party of two during lunch, and you’ll have to wait for one of the few two-tops — while watching almost ridiculously large amounts of food head for tables of families who have arrived with every generation there is.
There’s a great neighborhood/family/ex-pat feeling at Little La Lune. There’s also a surprisingly recognizable quality to the food. Not to all the ingredients, some of which are exotic enough to demand smartphone research. But to the end products — a number of which come with a bit of culinary déjà vu.
Let’s begin with the sweet sesame bread called cha wai, which bears a striking resemblance to Mexican churros. Not a little resemblance, but a lot. They’re served in a basket, hot and a bit oily — and those in the know seem to dip the bread in the soup and stews. They’re also very filling — much like churros. And hard to stop eating.
Despite the handsome look of Little La Lune — with its bright red walls, tablecloths (under glass), tchotchkes on shelves and art works on the walls — this is a restaurant for happily messy eating. Order any of the noodle dishes — the Phnom Penh noodles (with ground pork and fish balls), the Thai noodles (with beef stew, beef balls and the vague “beef insides”), and the beef noodles (made with beef tripe) — and chances are good you’ll drip some noodles on the table, and on yourself. It comes with the territory.
You feel like trying the Cambodian take on rice porridge (what in China they’d call jook or congee)? The pork porridge is a tasty hodgepodge of a dish — with pork bits, pork lung, pork tongue, fish balls and dried baby shrimp. Roasted garlic, green onions and cilantro too. And lime juice.
There’s chicken porridge as well, and fish porridge made with catfish. The most exotic the porridge I grew up eating was when my folks put some cinnamon sugar on top. Roasted garlic? Not even close.
The menu rolls from there through sundry rice dishes — the XO Sauce Fried Rice is pretty great, flavored with scallions and jalapeños, and a choice of proteins. The panfried noodle dishes are made with “big rice noodles” and “small rice noodles.” I like the big noodles for their chewier texture. And I like the appetizer of beef sticks for the intensity of the lemongrass and lemon leaves that flavor it — and for the papaya salad served on the side, a classic combination of spices and textures.
If you have a taste for the bitter sdao leaf, there’s a salad made with it, tossed with fish and pork. Sdao is an acquired taste — when they say bitter, they mean bitter. Eating it, you have a feeling of approaching the culinary edge. Less of a challenge is the ginger chicken, which does not stint on the ginger. I like ginger — so I say bring it on. But it is intense.
Merrill Shindler is a Los Angeles-based freelance dining critic. Email mreats@aol.com.
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