Huckleberry - Santa Monica

Huckleberry is an upscale bakery and cafe located back in my old partying grounds of Santa Monica, but being the struggling musician with a taste for dangerous consumables that I was I would have never had the funds to finance such an excursion.

But here I am, a fairly-compensated member of the working class and the threat of a $13 breakfast burrito only pisses me off as I produce the twenty from my wallet. All told I spent $18 when I added the bottle of coke to the mix, and I can't imagine what a burrito would have to do for me to justify this expenditure on the regular.

A grill-pressed burrito, handful of freshly fried chips, cup of salsa, and a cup of sour cream (for dipping?) are arranged nicely for dramatic photo opportunities. Rich golden browns and vibrant greens are the first hints towards the caliber of burrito I am bearing witness to, but my first bite is betrayed by a lack of texture diversity.

The flavor is here. Fresh avocados with well-seasoned potatoes and fluffy organic omelette-style eggs contribute to terrific breakfast goodness, but the almost complete lack of Niman Ranch nitrate-free bacon, which I paid $1 extra for, creates an overall mushy mouth feel. By the end of the burrito the flavors had all blended together. I ended up holding the burrito like a dip container and used the remaining chips' saltiness to help break up the monotony of rich flavors.

I'm not entirely sure if I was just unlucky, but the bacon present was akin to bacon bits and not the roughly chopped strips I am used to. What price point allows for 2 strips of bacon? Do I want to know?

I left Huckleberry a little richer with knowledge and a little poorer with money. $6 at Lucy's or Lucky Boy can buy the Robin Hood of burritos to steal Huckleberry's lunch money and redistribute it to the more efficient, so unless you hate money don't waste your time on this one.

Burritos and Privilege

The amount of sheer joy I derive from living in California in such close proximity to some of the best food America has to offer is often hard to put into words. My town alone has a large population of Latinos, Sikhs, Vietnamese, and a host of various Asian transplants which elevate the local cuisine to delectable heights.

There are mosques and temples, fish markets and panaderias, flea markets, outdoor malls, and a host of experiences to initiate the curious, but I have found the easiest way to learn about a culture is through their food. 

Growing up in Bakersfield there has been no shortage of exposure to Latino culture from quinceaneras, school assemblies with folklorico dancing, weekend swap meets, pinadas, day of the dead celebrations, and the majority of my friends' families who fed and helped raise me into who I am today. 

However, I think a lot of people take for granted this diversity, and some have even come to expect the world to kowtow to their whims. Due to their inherent privilege they assume a level of comfort and respect at all times, and when that is encroached upon they are willing to write off an entire experience.

People sometimes tell me the place I recommended to them had rude service, they were ignored, or they felt like they were being talked down to, and, more often than not, this is a white person entering a predominantly non-white establishment. It is not hard to imagine the same experience is often flipped with non-whites in a white establishment feeling patronized or disrespected by an assumed prejudice employee. Neither side's intent has to be prejudice, but the perception of a new experience can be distorted by ignorance.

Once, I was ordering pizza in the Bronx, and I was confused as to why the guy at the counter would not take my money. He handed me my slices, gave me the drinks, and there was nothing left for me to do but take it to my table and eat. After repeated attempts to hand him money he looked at me with disgust. I paid after I ate and later asked a cab driver why this happened, and he explained that the guy was Italian and most places in New York have more of a "European" way of doing things: you don't pay until you have eaten your food. Here I was righteously indignant when I had been the rude one inadvertently offending him.

This was reinforced at The Algonquin when I waited for a half hour on my check in a not that busy restaurant. I later discovered rushing me out of a table is a faux pas. On both these occasions I thought I was being messed with, but it is just the way things are handled in that culture. In California the server is flipping tables as fast as possible to get the next tip in, but by the end of my stay in New York I was having 1 to 2 hour meals. 

It is no secret America has a rich history of not being kind to others, and those in the privileged class grow used to privileges. When the kitchen tables have turned and said person of privilege finds themselves on the receiving end of discrimination one should chalk it up to an adventure in empathy rather than an excuse to demonize an establishment. Remember that the next time you perceive something off about your service. It is a privilege to get to partake in their culture and have them prepare their food for you. The price of the meal buys so much more than food, but it does not buy you respect. Like anywhere else, respect is earned, so be thankful for the opportunity to earn it. 

Trials and Tribulations in Taft

I went back to Taft. After what happened last time I felt obligated to find something, at the very least, decent, so I asked around and was informed that Vicente's was a supposed local favorite.

When I arrived I was greeted by an eager young man who was all questions about the fine cuisine of Bakersfield. He produced best of lists for me to weigh-in on, and his enthusiasm for food was commendable.

I ordered the "Damn Good Burrito" which normally is served wet, but I asked for the outsides be placed in as to stick with my rules of engagement. What arrived had a dollop of sour cream and guacamole next to a burrito with a meager amount of pre-shredded cheese on top. I scraped the cheese to the side and took my first bite.

Turns out my first bite is closely related to my last bite. I tried to help things out with the "home made" salsa which tasted like novacaine without any of the fun part. The rice is mushy, the beans unseasoned, and the steak did more harm than good. Perhaps if they had put the dollops inside my burrito, the flavorless mess may have been masked in the confusion. Alas, I paid and left the now baffled server to contemplate my new found sense of gtfo.

Not broken nor full I persevered towards a better burrito horizon.

In the parking lot of La Salsa I spied the menu to only have wet burritos, sloppy at that, displayed proudly, so I carried on.

Down the street a lonely taqueria promised food, but the lack of patrons at lunchtime in a pure oil town dissuaded me from making a stop. Until a sea of white trucks materialized around a lone market.

Tacos Y Mariscos Casa Tabares in big black letters on an even bigger white sign is beacon for all weak and weary seeking sustenance. I walked in and asked the first patron I saw, "is this the place?" And without hesitation he answered a resounding, "Yup!"

The blue collars matched my own as they lined up past the salsa bar. The tables were full, and a variety of standards were being consumed leading me to believe this place knows what they are doing.

A couple rig hands asked if I liked spicy, and told me that it might be too much for me but I should try the orange salsa. My pride wanted to shout "YOU DON'T KNOW ME!" but I took it in stride and poured myself a cup of this fabled salsa. One hand starts listing off a bunch of home applications for this particular salsa. He keeps a bottle on hand for when he gets tired, or when he gets a cold, or when he runs out of gas... The list of things this salsa can do is mighty impressive if he is to be believed.

I order the asada burrito and grab a cup of the orange. My first bite was fantastic as the simple beans, rice, and steak mix stood on its own, but when I poured out the orange puree on to a single bite I was in awe. The amount of heat was the perfect flavor enhancer while giving a solid warning to those who may venture too liberal with the application. Not too hot as my my salsa steward would have me believe, but a damn good salsa.

I have found a good burrito in Taft! Not only good, but exceptional with one of my new favorite salsas. I never thought I would actually be excited to head back out to Taft, but Casa Tabares is a beacon of promise in the desert.

Panda Gordo - Bakersfield, CA

One of my favorite people to take out on the town is myself. I'll put on something nice, pick a direction, and head that way ready for whatever the world has for me. This particular Saturday night was all about Niles on the East Side. 

Growing up Niles was the cruising street where everyone would gather their tricked out cars and drive 15mph past the burger joints, arcades, bars, and food shops blasting music. Nowadays that aspect is all but gone, but the neighborhood is dotted with taco trucks, food carts, and 24 hour taquerias for the bleary-eyed late night traveler.

On my way to treat myself I passed a truck set up on Mt. Vernon just before Niles with a sign displaying a chubby bespectacled nerdy fellow squaring off with Kung Fu Panda bordered with color cycling neon LED lights. It was then I knew I was in for a good night. 

I decided to start simple with an Asada burrito, but the they threw in an arrachera taco as a free sample. Never having arrachera before I am pleased to say it was wonderful. So tender it fell apart in my mouth and seasoned much like the asada. Arrachera style utilizes the same cuts of meat as asada, but the meat is tenderized and then marinated to remove any toughness while imbuing tons of flavor. 

The burrito wrap was a handmade tortilla thick and fluffy almost like a gordita with a nice golden brown coloring. It gave a great chew to coincide with the chunky thick-cut steak. Lots of melted cheese mixed with the refried beans and rice, and yet the whole thing somehow felt light and airy as I munched down. 

The night continued with tacos from a handful of trucks as I made my way down Niles. Scratch-made, hand-sized beauties from Lonches Marlene, and freshly sliced off the spit al pastor tacos from the outside grills of Tacolandia. 

I returned home fatter and happier than I had left strengthening the bonds with who I am and what I love. Don't forget to love yourself, and what better way to say "I love you" than with good food. 

Señor Fish - Eagle Rock

Longtime fans of Burrito Life may already have picked up on Jimmy’s lack of personal enthusiasm for seafood, which I know he’s been vocal about on more than one occasion. These tendencies, naturally, have never prevented our overlord from fully appreciating a deftly seasoned Cajun-style lobster burrito, or more gravely assessing a disastrously runny (but still tasty) shrimp conglomeration.

Since my own tastes lean more sharply in the direction of slimy, bottom-dwelling sea creatures, however, I figured I’d jump in and volunteer for the privilege of reviewing Eagle Rock’s notorious mariscos staple, Senor Fish.

My fish preferences, in daily lived experienced, run more toward nigiri than fish tacos, but good scallops inspire both love and respect, regardless of context. Cooking a scallop without screwing it up is nearly damn impossible – overheating a scallop for even a few seconds causes its supple flesh to instantly transform into a phlegm-like, inedible mass of rubber. Even a correctly prepared scallop is so overpoweringly rich, it was difficult to imagine as a burrito filling – how could it possibly mesh viably with the other ingredients? A scallop burrito (especially a relatively cheap one, just shy of $7.50) sounded like a great gimmick for pulling in customers, but despite high hopes and promising Yelp reviews, I felt intensely skeptical.

To my pleasant surprise, Senor Fish’s scallop burrito was as gloriously well crafted as I had dared to fantasize. Whoever conceived of this burrito was smart enough to go light on the main ingredient, allowing the scallops to shine through distinctively without drowning out their supporting elements. The buttery flavor and texture melt seamlessly into the fresh medley of rice, beans, corn, fresh cilantro, and diced onion.

They also nailed the consistency – not only for the scallop burrito, which I had feared might be slimy, but for their vegetarian burrito, which I also got a chance to sample.This veggie burrito went far above and beyond the call of duty, with stewed tomatoes, fresh guacamole, and brilliantly verdant baby spinach providing most of the flavor. The grilled zucchini, though, was the ingredient that stood out most for me thanks to the springy, chewy texture it imparted.

Senor Fish was really a great eating experience overall. I couldn't believe how satisfied I felt as I was leaving. Aside from the food, I fell completely in love with their gorgeously kitschy outdoor patio with its rough-cut, varnished wood countertops, and the giant stone fireplace filling up the main dining room. Eagle Rock is a forty-five minute drive from my apartment, but ten minutes into my meal, I already knew I would be back.