adventureish

80mph+ on the 405, your neck muscles tensed taut as you push against and through the wind with your helmeted head.  A glistening new black Mercedes moves in to the lane you were changing to.  As you are passing bunkered and buried underground munitions stored along the freeway in Seal Beach, you make a quick mental check of the cars you saw around you as you sped by them, and decide to open up the throttle fast and hard: steer the motorcycle quickly left (to avoid hitting the rear of the vehicle in front) and your body is now at a 45 degree angle to the careening road in front of you.  Then quickly steer right (to get around the front of the vehicle) to let him know you’re there, and your body is now 45 degrees the other way.  Then quickly upright and speed ahead of the motorist.  Three seconds have passed.  You realize you’re in 4th gear.  Change gears in to 5th.  95mph+.  Late to dinner.  Eight minutes have passed in your commute to Koreatown.  35 miles and 20 more minutes to go.  You’ll be there…with time to spare.  

The streets of Koreatown glow an antelope auburn brown in the late afternoon afterglow of an overcast morning.  And dinner was a mysterious delight of Korean American fusion unlike, probably most if anyone else, has ever tasted before.  

I’m hungry.  And the first course is a mix of flavors, with a deep taste of chicken stock like Dara’s Mom’s used to make, I can taste that Matzah Ball soup now.  Although the only Matzah Ball soup I’ve had is from Jerry’s Dehli.  But really, how far off can it be?  Everytime I was sick while I lived in Westwood and was at University, I’d have that soup, go for a mid-afternoon run, shower, nap, and I’d be healthy as a newborn buck by next day.  Anyway, we ate this.  Custard soup.  Yum.  

(Note, this tasted nothing like Matzah ball soup)

There was plenty of wine, and we imbibed generously.  At which point Rudy and I decided to turn our smoking conversation to more robust matters.  Or, to put it bluntly as I overheard Michael state, “Humans are built to do two things: fuck and eat.”  Dude loves Bourdain.  

Who the fuck brought flowers?

Like Jules from Pulp Fiction, I’m the Foot Fucking Master.  Except, replace “foot” with something good, like a front high hipbone, or inner thigh, or the nape of the neck on a lovely woman. Like Jules, Rudy says he’s got his technique down and everything.  Although Rudy’s technique, I find out, is advanced.  We exchanged notes.  Added noted critiques.  And finished our cigarettes.  

Half the cars in this strip mall are parked in their stalls, by being backed in, and we’re in Koreatown.  At this point, I realize we haven’t eaten enough food, but have drank enough wine to cover all 5 dinner courses, and we’re still on the 2nd or so.  Where’s the kimchi?  (I know this paragraph made no sense.  I said we we’re drunk)  

Listen, the rest of the food was rad.  But I’m not gonna tell you about it.  Take my word for it.  I was there.  I ate it.  You didn’t.  It was a private underground deal.  And you’re quite unfortunate for not knowing about it.  I think that’s how you’re supposed to feel about it, you know, the way you feel now: unsatiated.  But buck up, because this next place, you can go to.  

Coles is where someone manlier than you or I goes to drink

Just like the rad food that was coming out of the kitchen while we were eating at RnD Table, the drinks here are made to order for you.  But here, you don’t need a special invitation.  And yet everytime, you get a tasty beverage, specially tailored to your taste, by a real bartender who knows his craft, knows his liquor, and doesn’t pretend to know more than any other bartender.  Hey, there’s always someone who knows more, or some different twist on some drink.  But here, its all good, and always made to your specification.  

Max: ice sculpting.  Also, check out his tools of the trade, nice

Not just libations are served up around here.  You can get some pickled eggs, and spicy pickled cucumbers.  And apparently they’re known (since 1908) for their French Dip.  So if you thought Downtown was lacking in eatable drinkable fair, with airs to go with it, not so much.  Although the neighborhood is still shady as fuck.  To its credit, the times they are a-changin’ though, as Bob Dylan said — or as I heard it in the movie version of Watchmen.  

In order of appearance from left to right: a good hefeweizen, to go with the pickled eggs and my Kentucky Colonel (a derivation on an Old Fashioned, with Carpano Antica)

Other fresh ingredients 

The customers at this locale are an interestingly garish bunch.  I don’t even know if there’s correct terminology for them anymore, since they’re getting older, and blending in, almost becoming yuppies at this point; but there’s hipster types with long beards, clean shaven indie mod boys with horn rimmed glasses, and gals dressed cutely like Betty Boop.  And 80% of them are outside smoking.  And not looking too apathetic, so maybe the existentialist viewpoint has moved on in their minds to other matters in this winding down economy.  

To the young lady at the bar, you’re sweet and cute, also you look five years over your age, you openly declared your favorite brand of shoes are Nine West, left a bit to be desired on the conversation end, and told me flat out when you saw my jacket that you hate motorcycles.  But you did order and drink a Sazerac, followed by a Side Car.  The former I’m not sure what it is, but Max the bartender looked impressed, so kudos.  But for now, it’s late, and I got a thirty minute ride home on the moto.  We ate well, we drank good wine, its a warm balmy night, perfect for the ride home on the dark downtown streets and freeways of LA.  

To paraphrase Nietzsche: ride dangerous kids.  

—ish.  

Nietzsche: “For believe me! — the secret for harvesting from existence the greatest fruitfulness and the greatest enjoyment is: to live dangerously! Build your cities on the slopes of Vesuvius! Send your ships into uncharted seas! Live at war with your peers and yourselves! Be robbers and conquerors as long as you cannot be rulers and possessors, you seekers of knowledge! Soon the age will be past when you could be content to live hidden in forests like shy deer! At long last the search for knowledge will reach out for its due: — it will want to rule and possess, and you with it!”