Tuesday, June 30, 2009
New York and Chicago may like to battle it out for supremacy over pizza, but Southern California is well established as the birthplace of the cheeseburger, as well as the area that perfected it. After having a 2.0somethings outpost here for nearly nine months, we finally feel qualified to start declaring some winners in the ultimate battle for gooey-cheesy-moist-n-meaty perfection.
Best Cheap Burger
In-N-Out Burger
In-N-Out Burger has reached legendary status, whether it’s Tom Hanks extolling the virtues on national TV or drunk frat guys getting 100×100′s in Vegas. For what it’s worth, our preferred In-N-Out order is a double-double animal style (mustard-cooked patty, grilled onions, extra spread), hold the pickles. Throw in a neapolitan shake and you are pretty set for under five bucks.
Best Exotic Burger
Umami Burger
850 S La Brea Ave, Los Angeles
Umami Burger claims to bring you the “fifth taste,” which if I remember my Captain Planet correctly, means the taste of heart. Asian flavors mix and match throughout the beef, with a toasty baked slice of parmesan and a pile of grilled veggies on top. Be warned, however, the triple-pork burger lives up to its name, and is far more pork than anyone has ever wanted or asked for in a sitting.
Best Overall Burger
Father’s Office
3229 Helms Ave, Culver City; 1018 Montana Ave, Santa Monica
The champion Office Burger features perfectly seasoned ground rib eye and chuck, fresh arugula, caramelized onions and a mix of gruyere and bleu cheeses, all resting on a sturdy French roll. No substitutions or ketchup allowed, but doing so would only desecrate a masterpiece. Throw in some thin fries and something from FO’s extensive selection of great beer, and you have a recipe for success. Culver City location recommended for ease of parking and outdoor seating.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Here in good, old LA, there are two types of days I have: fun and not so much fun. The fun days usually involve going to a meeting or, even better, an interview in some industry stronghold. On these days I feel connected and encouraged. I return home, enthused, and bang out a script, outline or revision. Sometimes the fun days even involve hiking and/or running through pretty wilderness. The fun days also involve sun light and typically end with the preparation of a delicious family meal. The not so much fun days make up the rest of the time in between fun days (and the third kind of day: sensory depravation days spent watching entire seasons of The Wire on DVD). Not so much fun days usually involve me sitting near my phone (even though it’s a cell phone there is still something to be said for the sedentary lifestyle of waiting by the phone) waiting for it to ring. The phone calls I am waiting for are typically the people that I had met with earlier during the fun days. Not so much fun days typically occur on overcast days.
As I type this in my apartment in Los Angeles, the strike is over and done with but even though I’ve been here for over a month, this new post-strike environment is basically like starting over. Starting over in the same way that if you were the kind of person who really enjoyed watching elephants run and you move to Africa to pursue this hobby, and while you’re about to disembark en route to the tusk and trunk laden planes, a bunch of harmless but mischievous poachers pop out and pump the elephants full of tranquilizer darts. So now here you are, with the stub of your one way ticket to Africa getting soggy from your palm sweat (it’s hot in the desert) waiting for the sleeping behemoths to finally wake up and gore the poachers. That’s what things are like right now: waiting for the the industry to kick up some dirt and go charging up to full speed once more, giant, dripping penis flopping about in the arid, dusty wind. Eventually the current television season will collide with pilot season, causing a thundercrack of opportunities (or phrased differently, a solar flare of work, or a human spontaneous combustion of employment). And even now, in the still smoldering wake of the strike, options are beginning to shyly show themselves, like coy elves selling arboreal patchwork to humans on the roadside.
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Thursday, February 21, 2008
Editor’s Note: Greg has been contributing to the site for a little while now, building up to the day when he would emerge as a beautiful butterfly…err… columnist. He will be balancing out Chris by providing us with insight as to what it is like to be young and broke in Los Angeles (apparently it is not like Entourage). That is why his first column is about New York. It will all make sense in time.
When you’re raised in and around the east coast, specifically the tri-state area (which in all fairness should be referred to as the bi-state area because Connecticut is just…), you tend to develop a very love-hate sort of relationship with your surroundings. Take, for example, the first city I ever knew, the city that I still refer to as “the city” even when I’m 3,000 miles away from it, the first place I had ever traveled to outside of New Jersey: New York.
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