Isaan Station - Los Angeles

I love the South Bay, but man, the beach gets boring sometimes. The piers are pealing and the beaches are buzzing...just not on a Tuesday night. I live for my weekends, but the residents of Redondo seem to rest by 9 for school-night slumber. 

I do love my seaside suburban sublet when I'm so sleep-deprived I can only crash, but when I'm wide-awake on a Tuesday, it's time to get down in Thai Town. Isaan Station will always hit the spot with authentic northern Thai. It's cash-only with less than ten tables total but can still afford its Hollywood overhead, so you know it's gotta be legit.

Papaya salads don't get more legit than the Som Dtom Goong Sod. The green papaya salad is a sweet, chili-soaked burn with a hint of savory peanuts on juicy, jumbo shrimp for a cold synergy of spicy and sweet.

The Nahm Dtok Mhu is a decent spicy grilled pork in a grainy-textured, slightly under-seasoned signature sour-sauce of fermented rice. Dip a little shell of Sticky Rice, and boom! Party in your mouth.

Sorry Redondo Beach, I love ya, but on a random weekday, I'll see ya 'cause I wouldn't wanna be ya. But don't try to miss me - I'll be right back for bed when I'm done with my Thai Town Tuesday night.

Unfailing Fritto Misto - Hermosa Beach

There is no other way to say it; we are facing uncertain times. In a world where iPhones bend without breaking, the New England Patriots are accused of deflating their footballs for an extra edge, and Hello Kitty is not a cat, I feel like I can't count on anything anymore.

But I know I can count on Fritto Misto. No matter what changes this crazy world sees, their mind-blowing pasta-that's-so-much-more-than-pasta is my only constant in the face of change, my only source of consistency in a dynamic world.

I'm pretty scared by all this change, and the Jumbo Ravioli stays steadfast when the urge to eat my feelings strikes. Soft squares stuffed with sweeter cheese highlights salty slices of proscuitto. Add gooey caramelized onions and chunks of bacon-for-rich-people pancetta in a lingering garlic cream sauce, and you'll be licking the plate when you're done.

The iBend has caused quite the panic for those devoted to a company that supposedly has no equal. But I never saw what all the fuss was about. Unlike Fritto Misto's gnocchi, Apple products are totally incompatible with anything anyone else has ever made, turning installing software essentials into a nightmare of overrides. Fritto Misto can combine anything with anything and make it taste amazing. Their soft Gnocchi melts in the mouth like fluffy pillows of potato. A cream sauce coats the gnocchi with savory chicken and a touch of tart tomato for a palate-pleasing plate.

But it's just as good with a sharper spin on sauteed spinach and slightly-sour artichoke.

When you've already had the phenomenal pasta, the crispy Calamari seems almost as deflating as the Patriots' game balls. But unlike the notorious P.A.T.s., no one argues about the ability of this simple appetizer to stand on its own. The calamari is perfectly battered and fried without even the slightest hint of grease.

Even the vegetarian dishes don't need to cheat to win. The Goat Cheese Fettuccini shows zesty character with lemon pepper fettuccini and sundried tomatoes, topped with creamy-crumbly goat cheese.

Like the Pats, Fritto Misto's merits are meant to amaze. I honestly don't think they're capable of cooking anything less than stellar. Even their seafood is top-notch, and these Crab Cakes were no exception.

A lot of shocking things have happened this year, but none have shaken me to my very core like the news that Hello Kitty, despite her pointed ears, whiskers, and button tail, is indeed not a cat. Very few foods have shocked me more than Fritto Misto's Stuffed Chicken Breast. To think a notoriously-bland white meat chicken doused in luxurious herb ricotta, with fresh pesto over a bed of linguini could be my favorite dish is a concept that blows my mind.

After all those entrees, I figured dessert would be pretty anticlimactic. The menu looked pretty run-of-the-mill, and Tiramisu isn't exactly new for me. The thing is, I've mascarpone cream before, but never something so rich and dense it was practically a solid. But unlike the over-the- top sugary assault I had grown accustomed to, the cream was just slightly sweet, a soak for the soft, subtle ladyfingers and a contrast for a more potent espresso.

Fritto Misto may look like a nondescript little Italian place, dwarfed by the elaborate storefronts of Hermosa Beach and its buzzing pier, but it's the one constant in the face of all sorts of scary change. In a world where restaurants come and go, and nothing is for certain, at least I can sit down at Fritto Misto and expect them to deliver every time.

High Standards at Second Empire - Raleigh, NC

People often ask me if I was raised in a barn. They usually ask me that while I'm cursing and waving a plastic gun with one hand while holding a beer in the other at Dave & Buster's so it's not entirely unjustified... But the answer is always the same: No, I was not raised in a barn, I was raised in a den. The den of tiger mom, to be exact, and what an adventure that has been.

When you cross your eyes as a child, your mother would warn you that they will stay like that. I think that's what happened to tiger moms, too. They kept thier eyes critical for too long, and now they're permanently stuck on scrutinize. 

When dwelling in the den, be prepared for unrealistic expectations. Expecting a six year-old to do long division was almost as "reasonable" as California's former ban on foie gras. After two years in a Golden State of deprivation, I was craving foie gras almost as much as six year-old me craved a playdate where I didn't have to do math. Each piece of Foie Gras is perfectly seared and bursts in the mouth, spreading a savor that smothers the tastebuds even more than helicopter parents. When contrasted with a Sauternes that tastes as sweet as five fleeting minutes in front of the TV, the combination is unstoppable.

The den of the tiger mom is never quiet. If the sound of scratching pencils and rustling paper isn't there, expect to hear the crucial chords of the sixth symphony by [insert name of famous composer here] because, obviously, you've mastered the other five. You will do what everyone else's kids do, but you will do it better. And while plenty of kids do quail, Second Empire does it better. The Pan-Roasted Moroccan Spice Georgia Quail is tender with a capital "T", tempered by moisture-locking crispy skin topping a manic mix of pickled turnips, grainy hummus, and a smooth Greek yogurt sauce.

I don't always like my tiger mom, but I do love my tiger mom. Her methods weren't ideal, but her heart was always in the right place. A lot of people crack under tiger-mom pressure, but if you can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen. I don't always like swordfish either but I do love the Citrus Grilled Latin Spice Swordfish at Second Empire.  Swordfish is often bland and possesses a propensity to turn to rubber with even the slightest sear, it's rarely my first choice. But this swordfish can clearly take the heat. The fish was firm but still soft and seamlessly seasoned, a salty spackle with a little sass.

It's easy to complain about having a tiger mom, but it isn't always a bad thing. The inability to accept compliments will plague you for the entirety of your adult life, but while you're starved for praise, you'll never hunger for food. When my mother cooks, her portions put Second Empire to shame. And believe me, that's really saying something. We shared everything at dinner, and all of my packed-plate photos are actually only halves. Just imagine what a full portion of the melt-in-your-mouth-medium-rare Cajun Seasoned Grilled Ribeye must look like. Better yet, imagine what it tastes like; bite after bite of perfect medium rare in a bed of soft potato ragout and sweet butternut squash compote with greens and a potent cherry port.

The ultimate upside of having a tiger mom is the genes you inherit, and my tiger mom is timeless. She may spend as much time on her skin as the Empire Chocolate Souffle takes to be baked-to-order, but a porcelain complexion as smooth as the chantilly cream is worth every extra minute.

The inability to age isn't the only thing I inherited from my mother. We're fierce and we're fighters and we're temperamental but we're fair. We are forever our own harshest critics, and we don't know how to fail. We laugh at the same shared jokes, we can't say no to a sale, and not a single person questions our impeccable fashion sense when we flash our matching flats. But trends will come and go, and food is almost as fickle as fashion. It's hard for a restaurant to grace a the top of the list for any longer than a year, but I feel like the food at Second Empire will be fabulous forever.

The Parlour - Durham, NC

I'm always freezing while other people sweat. In my messed-up mind, 75 is comfortable, 70 is borderline, and 68 is an arctic chill. You'd think that the last thing I'd want to do is walk a few freezing blocks to have ice cream at The Parlour, but on a brisk November afternoon, I just had to give it try.

If I'm going to risk turning into a giant pillar of ice a la Anna from Frozen (spoiler alert!), my ice cream better be a creamy, caloric nightmare. The Vegan Devil's Food, a dense, somewhat bittersweet bite of flourless cake in liquid form did the trick. 

The Salted Butter Caramel was pure sugar in several different strains, a buttery vanilla based laced with gooey strands of caramel. 

When it comes to ice cream, I like the caramel classics best, but I dig this crazy-creative Coconut Curry with Candied Cashew. The sweet, crunchy cashews caress a smooth coconut curry like a sweetened version of Massaman for a taste Thai on the tongue.

I was visibly shivering in The Parlour despite the central heating, and I was freezing my gluttonous gluts off for the entire walk back to my car. But nothing was going to get between me and my homemade ice cream that day, come hell or high wind chill, and I think my parlay with The Parlour was worth freezing for.

Classic Rue Cler - Durham, NC

I love southern food, but after 5 straight days of Bojangles, I might have needed a break. After last year's mind-blowing dinner at Saint-Jacques, I figured I couldn't go wrong with a brunch a la French.

I love my southern buttermilk biscuits, but I'm never above begging for Beignets. These lightly-fried, sugar-sprinkled delights didn't disappoint.

The theme here is frite, and the Moules Frites were well-frite in a fine white winewith a side of crispy pommes.

Rue Cler knows how to frite, but they don't bake nearly as well. I was in no way gratinee for ordering the Soupe a L'oignon Gratinee. The baguette had barely soaked, the beef consomme was barely there, and the gruyere hadn't been broiled. 

La soupe was la fail-beyond-repair, but redemption came in the form of the Oeufs Rue Cler. The poached egg yolks flow over the salty ham and soft asparagus to soften the toast, and add a savory note to the sweeter Bearnaise.

I de-duck-ed that I couldn't go wrong with the Duck Confit Crepe, and there was definitely no ducking the flavor-explosion of fatty duck encased in a textbook crepe.

After those oof-free oeufs and a delectable duck, I wasn't about to drown a lovely brunch experience in one unfortunate crock. Next time I want a break from my biscuits, I'll be clinking mimosas at Rue Cler.