I'm probably way too interested in trying to "blog" (There's got to be a better verb for this than that) from interesting places. We're coming to you at this moment from the world famous Farmers Market in Los Angeles, a touristy assemblage of stores, eateries and markets that I've only been visiting since I was around three. Back then, the strict "moral" sensibilities of the Gilmore Family (They own the place) were reportedly what prevented it from selling alcohol or Playboy or even being open on Sundays. But time moves inexorably in a liberal direction and you could almost tell when some elder Gilmore passed away and the rest of the family had the chance to increase profits by easing up on another taboo. One year, they started opening on Sundays but only during the pre-Christmas shopping season. The world did not end and before long, it was every Sunday. At some point, beer and wine and men's magazines quietly appeared…and now there are a couple of full bars and the newsstands carry Hustler.
But not everything's changed. Magee's still carves a great corned beef sandwich, Patsy's Pizza still serves great spaghetti and meat sauce and Bob's Doughnuts can still sell you the best apple fritter in town. This last is a reasonable assumption by someone who no longer eats much sugar. But sometimes, you can look at an apple fritter and you know. You just know.
I'm typing this on a portable keyboard connected to my iPAQ Pocket PC. The Wi-Fi hotspots here are quite unforgiving and sporadic. I couldn't connect on the south side of the Market, near where the Starbucks is supposed to have the best access and couldn't connect for long on the west side. Then I moved over here to a table near the Pampas Grill, fiddled with my settings and — Voila! — I'm in!
The Pampas Grill is a Brazilian churrasco. Skewers of garlicky chicken legs and huge slabs of rare beef rotate over a fire and whisper to you as you walk past. Between paragraphs here, I'm chewing on a thin slice of Alcatra, which is a cut of beef that is somehow different from Picanha, another cut from the same cow. It all tastes the same to me…all great. In an odd way, writing this helps my digestion. Since my surgery, I'm supposed to take longer between bites so the rhythm of writing while I dine agrees with me. It's like blog / eat / blog / eat / blog…
Getting back to how the Market has changed and not changed in half a century: All around are stalls that sell lovely things to eat…but this is not exactly a food court. For one thing, there are no real chains here…no Sbarro's, no Panda Express, no Wendy's, etc. They're almost all one-of-a-kind operations, usually of the mom-and-pop variety. Some have been here as long as I've been around and they're all pretty good. Oh, every now and then, one of the stalls takes a serious nosedive in quality, usually as the result of new management. Because Farmers Market gets so much tourist trade, the lousy eateries have sometimes been able to hang in there and stay in business longer than they deserve. The locals learn to steer clear of certain businesses but the tourists don't know any better.
Eventually though, a rep for serving lousy food will catch up with the bad places and they'll go away, always to be replaced by something wonderful. For years, there was a terrible Japanese stand called Tokyo House where they served a dish I'd swear was Teriyaki Styrofoam. The Pampas Grill is now where Tokyo House used to be. Over on the west side of the market, there was a little seafood broiler where no one ate more than once. Now residing in that retail space is The Gumbo Pot. I don't know from Cajun food but a lot of prominent food mavens say it serves the best creole jambalaya beignets (or whatever that stuff is) in town.
Okay, my lunch is gone and there are people with full trays hovering about, hoping I am soon to vacate this table. It's time I did. Stay tuned for more Farmers Market Blogging the next time I have the opportunity to get over here. Might be a week or so with my schedule.