Last November (2012) I went to California for one week. Principally for a beautiful wedding, secondly to eat. During that week, we (my lovely friends Jodie and Nick...a couple...it was an interesting time) watched the sunset on Venice beach (all holding hands), drove up the coast from Santa Monica to to San Fransisco, met a lovely lesbian called Kathy, nearly died of fear in 'The Tenderloin' (look it up), saw more old Chinese women hanging out of bins than I'd care to mention, gazed upon the (somewhat disappointingly small) Hollywood sign 'in the flesh', got ID'd more times in 24 hours than in the last 10 years put together, saw some things in a sex shop on The Castro that will remain burned into our souls forever, fell in love with American Beer, and ate 50+ of the hottest chicken wings EVER. I ate a lot of hot chicken wings. A very lot. Every day. At every meal. In fact, wherever we went, if there were chicken wings on offer, we ordered some. And God they were good. Some better than others, but all very, very good.
I am slightly dubious about the 'chicken wing' description bandied about on the menus, because if these wings come from actual chickens, they must be the biggest chickens known to humanity. All of them were at least double the size of any chicken wing I have ever seen in the UK. I understand that in 'The States' everything is bigger. The cars, the roads, the portions, the people...but my God, these wings were something else. I can only imagine the horror of the steroids and the factory farming, but we were only there for a week. And as they say, when in Rome. By way of some kind of penance, when I got home I bought a vegan cookbook and tried coconut milk yogurt for the first time ever. Have you ever tried coconut milk yogurt? If you haven't, don't. I've tried it for you. It's fucking horrible.
(FYI, this is me eating the hottest ones we found. It was a special moment, and one that I'm glad we captured. Thank you Jodie. Note how red my lips are and the concentrated frown. I can still feel the burn)
If I try and put my finger on why the chicken wings were all so amazing, I think it was a combination of factors. Firstly, as I've just gone on about at length, they were all massive, which really helps. Secondly, they were all, I am quite certain, deep fried after being coated in some sort of heavily seasoned flour, making the outside fantastically crispy. Thirdly, they were all finished in a variation of hot sauce and butter, and then brought straight out to you with a bowl of blue cheese sauce and some celery. For me, the last two items are unnecessary. You can keep your offensive garnish and creamy sauce thanks Uncle Sam, just give me the good stuff. I imagine I'm on my own here as the whole blue sauce thing is a bit of an institution, but it's just not for me.
I cannot imagine a better accompaniment to a few cold beers. Yes, you get covered in sauce and your hands get sticky and it's not pleasant to watch or be watched while getting stuck in, but who cares? Oooooh Matron! (I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Every now and then my Inner Kenneth Williams flares up and I just can't help myself).
Anyway, I spent most of the journey up to San Fransisco when I should have been admiring the breath taking scenery from the back of the car, day dreaming about how I was going to open a pub in Finsbury Park in North London on my return to Blighty that only serves a vast selection of independent top quality beers, and chicken wings. That's it. You want cocktails? Fuck off down Upper Street. Do we do crisps? I think you'll find Tesco have shelves of them. Tomato Juice? WHO ORDERS TOMATO JUICE IN A PUB? EVER? GET OUT MORON. I'm not sure how far that sort of attitude would get me during a time where pubs in the UK are closing at a rate of about 2,000 a day (or something), but I recon I could make it work.
Other than the chicken wings, we ate some spectacular food, and I took photos of pretty much everything. I behaved at every opportunity like the worst possible sort of tourist cum food blogger imaginable (I don't actually apply that title to myself). Snapping away whenever it took my fancy, at both my food, and my dining companions. As you can see from just a couple of shots, they were well happy about it:
I think that this particular face came about at the end of a week of eating high calorie, carbohydrate and fat rich food, by which point we were all just screaming internally for a salad. Incidentally, this was the place where I ate the best macaroni cheese ever. Ever. Fair play it was enough to feed about four people, and by then I should have known that my body was on the ropes, screaming for something green and steamed, but it was our last night, and I HAD to have macaroni cheese before we flew back to the UK. I'd gone on about it all week, and this was my last opportunity (who has macaroni cheese for breakfast?)
I won't include everything in tedious detail, so I've picked a few of my favourites. Like the prawn omelette. And the deep fried Twinky - the wrongest thing ever created for human consumption. You think Findus Crispy Pancakes aren't right? You've got no idea.
Sandwiches
This was THE BEST fish sandwich I have ever eaten. Swordfish it was, and probably the only piece of fish I ate all week.
'The Big Steve'. Meat, cheese, salad, mayo, chutney, rye bread, sandwich heaven.
Chicken Wings
(mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm)
Breakfast in Alcatraz
(doesn't look that bad to me)
Deep Fried Twinky
(Seriously)
Best Omelette In The World
(Grilled tiger prawns, fresh goat cheese, oven roasted tomatoes, spinach. In Downtown Hollywood, in the trendiest restaurant we were lucky enough to stumble across. So trendy they had a crazy bath in the middle of the floor, suspended above which were many bottles of honey. Very cool.)
Amazing Sushi
(Santa Monica, night 2. Notable not only for the quality of the fish, nor the amount that we spent, but for the beauty of our waiter. I would have got a picture of him, but I was too embarrassed to take one after he overheard me saying something inappropriate regarding what I actually wanted for dessert.
Hot Sauce
(Found on every table of every bar. Why can't it be like this in Britain?)
And Finally, THANK YOU
(To Jodie and Nick, who put up with me all week preventing any sort of romance happening. I couldn't have asked for two better travelling companions. Love you both)
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