This is a bit late, but if K&L Wine can delay their ’13 resolution til the 19th, I figure three weeks is A-OK.
1. Eat No Donuts.
By donuts, I mean “donuts”, not churros, not beignets. I just don’t want any more donuts. It doesn’t matter if the donuts are served in Natalie Portman’s underwear, or if a naked Anne Hathaway is bringing them to me. Repeat after me: I just don’t want any more donuts.
2. Taste no cock.
By cock, of course you all know it’s the wicked sriracha sauce. I almost succeeded in ’12, but again, was foiled by a backyard party. In ’13, I’m going to bring my own hot sauce to backyard parties. I don’t care if they’re hosted by Vietnamese, Chinese, or Mexicans — no more rooster brand sriracha.
3. Don’t fall for stupid fish.
Paiche? No thanks. It tastes like chicken, and hence isn’t wondrous. These river fish has much less omega fat acid than a typical wild mackerel or sardine. Nutritionally, it’s unimpressive. Taste wise, it’s rather bland. Australian King Salmon? Don’t eat that. It’s flown in 6500+ miles. Eat local (or, hell, at least more domestic) salmon up the coast, and only in season. There’s no reason to be constantly demanding salmon. All of LA’s on the farm-to-table localvore by now, there’s no reason not to extend the application towards fishies as well. NB: item number 3 is rather difficult. Nearly all the swai we eat in fish tacos are farmed in Vietnam these days, all the wild mackerel is flown in from Taiwan, sea bass is from South America, ad nausea.
4. There will be no more bone marrow.
A bit of fat tastes good, but a cow’s giant thigh bone’s worth? Not interested. Where’s the love in that? The texture is rather gross, like tasting unrendered suet, and the stink is neither here nor there. Furthermore, you’re driving up the cost of beef bones for the rest of the world properly using it for stock. Stop it.
5. Consume less bacon.
Black Hogg’s battered fried belly? Never again. Besha agrees in her most spectacular review (full of ad hominems) so far.
6. More day time drinking.
I vow to bring more brown liquor into my life, before noon. Why a mimosa when you can have a Hemingway at 10:30 A.M.? Which leads to Resolution 6b: Saturday brunches are awesome. Day time drinking at Saturday brunches will beat all hipster food movement to a pulp in ’13. Forage shit by Runyon on Sunday? Nay, drinking (because you weren’t blitzed like a 23 year old Friday night) half a bottle of wine Sunday morning. Hey, Domaine LA wants to have 4 years of consecutive growth. Support that local effort!
7. Less spendy pop-ups, less food.
$250 truffle dinner at Saam? No man, $25 Burmese dinner for 2 at Yoma. Which brings me to resolution 7b: report on every meal at Yoma. Which allows me to skip ahead to 9b: less blogging without profit.
8. More Mexican food, but less tacos.
Grubstreet LA said it best: [there are] great hordes of ho-hum local Mexican restaurants that basically churn out the same basura. I vow to eat more mariscos trucks, more birria shops, more East Los antojitos shacks, but by god, if I can avoid yet another taco shell, be it soft, hard, made by your grandmother or your hot girlfriend, I will have won the war against ground GMO corn in 2013.
9. Eat less shit I know I’ll hate, regardless of recommendations.
This goes for cuisines from the countries of: Costa Rica, Philippines, and from the occupied nation of Puerto Rico. The rule also applies to crap like $3 puffy tacos, $8 “gourmet” burgers made by folks who know nothing about cooking, $30 lobster roll with charcoal in the bun. In fact, if the last three weeks of restaurant hype is any indication for the rest of the year, we’re in deep regurgitated food doo-doo. Tex-Mex and unseasoned (therefore wasted) Rockers Bros beef are leading indicators of everything that is wrong with L.A. restaurants. Some will undoubtedly label this this as narrow-mindedness but reality is far simpler — none of us are Jonathan Gold. There’s absolutely no need to get all sado-masochistic and eat mofongo for the eighth time when the first three attempted sufficed in a lifelong ruling.
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