Mindi's Kitchen - Torrance

Move over, JuJu Shine, you just got owned. Mindi's Kitchen is right next door, and it is so much better. 

$9 gets you a full meal in a sizeable take-home box. The Pork Belly is a soy-sauce saturation, soaked in five spice and a sprinkle of sugar; the very definition of Asian preparation. Each box also comes with palate-cleansing pickles, a light stir-fry of crisp bean sprouts, and a fluffy slice of egg-omelet. A square of spongy tofu has almost as much flavor as the meat itself.

The 5 Spice Minced Pork scratches a deep Taiwanese itch. Each little buckshot of ground pork is a flavor-burst, and each bite finishes sweet. 

A heaping box of food, a full meal any time of the day. It's as authentic as it is satisfying, and the sides are as good as the main. Sorry all other Taiwanese restaurants, Mindi's Kitchen is now MY main.

Koshiji - Torrance

I got curious. They have rave reviews, and I've been hoping to find a closer izakaya for lazy, no-cook nights. 

Koshiji isn't Torihei, but they'll do in a pinch, and they'll do nicely. They have all the standard skewers: 

The Chicken Hearts are chewy and dense, and the quail eggs make a tender flame-kissed roast.

I would have liked a little more salt on all the skewers, especially the Smelt Roe, but that's a matter of preference. The Chicken Skin is soft and crisp, and the Beef Tongue is sliced thin and juicy.

What's not to love about a Chicken Meatball mashup? It's a soft, meat n' veggie mix.

You also get a little bonus cup of fresh veggies with miso dipping sauce, which is a nice perk, however little.

The skewers can break the bank a little bit, especially if you're hungry, but they have quite a few lunch special rice bowls that lighten your wallet less. The Soboro Don is a definite winner, with sweet grains of ground chicken, tender slabs of teriyaki chargrilled chicken, and savory scrambled eggs over rice. The mix of textures and sauce is unbeatable, and it really hits the spot as a midday comfort food that won't put you into a food coma. 

So many izakayas, so little time. Koshiji remains a nearby option, but I'd rather go to Torihei.

Orleans & York Deli - El Segundo

It's a giant sandwich. A Shrimp Po'boy the size of a Subway footlong that ate another footlong. The shrimp are sizeable and reasonably frozen-fresh. Golden fried as advertised, with lettuce, tomato, and mayo in moderation.

Little Jewel of New Orleans is a gem for Cajun, but Orleans & York is not. The service is brusque at best, and the sandwich hits the spot on the shallow surface.  A lot of volume for the dollars, a large quantity compared to the cost, but expect a mediocre sandwich that is more filling than it is satisfying. 

Pasta Sisters - Los Angeles

A hot summer day, a day in LA. It's too hot for a hike, but it's never too hot for a steaming plate of housemade pasta with awesome sauce. We try two. And both are awesome-sauce.

There's nothing like fluffy pillows of Gnocchi swimming in pesto cream. The gnocchi are dense but airy, so light they almost melt. 

"Is it black truffle or truffle oil?" I ask, raising a skeptical eyebrow. 

"Honey, please! We use real truffle!" she exclaims. Don't insult me, her friendly, furrowed eyebrows say. The truffles are real. They blanket the Tagliatelle with a warm savor-explosion that continues long after the flawless al dente pasta is gone. 

Sfogliatelli for dessert because you can never have enough carbs. It's called a lobster tail because it's the lobster of pastries. Paper-thin, half-soft-half-chewy, crisp pastry layers blanket soft ricotta. The sharp sweetness of candied orange peel accents the delicate delight.

I am so in love with this hole in the wall; even Barrique doesn't come close. There is something so pure and untouched here, a family-run restaurant by a master-chef mom, her daughters, and a token son. You can see them making pasta as you feel the entire kitchen resonating with happiness and love. Just looking at these people will make you smile, and it's impossible not to grin from from ear to ear after you have their pasta.

Justin in China - Dalian & Jinzhou

This trip has been a trip. We've seen a lot of places I've already seen and done a lot of stuff I've already done, but it never gets old. Seeing it with a new set of eyes has been both enlightening and entertaining, amazing and amusing.

Justin had to do some acclimating in Dalian. He loved my favorite zoo, and the fresh seafood has no equal, but he did have some difficulty with people watching him shower. 

He had no problem soaking in the Dalian's newly-built medicinal hot springs, though. The tiny swim trunks worn by all Chinese men were cute, and he swims the way he drinks...like a fish. 

The best thing about Dalian was seeing him bond with my uncle. No common language, but men will be men. I’ve never seen my uncle so excited about any family member, and whether they were silently eating or wordless playing the same guitar, they seemed to understand each other just fine. 

Hanging with my aunt and uncle was like the double date you never wanted, only to realize it's what you've always wanted. it was like they saw us as adults for the first time, and suddenly we were just two couples, hanging out. I love them because they don't patronize, and they don't try to spout any wisdom despite having plenty to share. They just want us to have a good time while they're along for the ride, but they still do the parent thing and buy us keychains to commemorate this park with gorgeous cliffs that look a lot like Palos Verdes.

Jinzhou is a lot more suffocating, but my mother is determined to show us a good time. We go see all the attractions, even Bie Jia Mountain, which sits far on the Jinzhou outskirts. Literally named for the penholder it resembles, the mountain is hardly a trek for avid hikers. But the sea walk to get there is probably worth the entire trip; The ocean parts at low tide to reveal a rocky path straight to the mountain. Any other time, you pay a motor boat to ferry you back and forth.

They say this is where Pangu created the world, and the Taoist temples are worth the well-paved climb.

Off the mountain and into the cave, the Thousand-Buddha Cave to be exact, a new attraction for me. Situated within the cliffs of Huludao, they are a mere 20 minutes outside my original hometown for Yixian, but somehow we never ventured quite that far. The caves are beautiful, the preservation incredible. Some of the caves are modern-made, but the originals are worth the hot, dusty trip.

At every temple, there's a bell you can ring for luck. Justin can ring my bell any day.

My favorite is still Fengguo Temple in Yixian, probably because I used to live in the front yard. That one-room hut with the straw roof and dirt floor are long gone, but the seven Buddhas still persist. They're breathtaking in their preservation, majestic in their proportions. Legend has it that a bomb was dropped on the main hall. It crashed through the roof and lodged in the rafters, refusing to detonate, leaving the Buddhas untouched. There is an undeniable, spiritual tranquility here, and it's so far off the beaten path, the roads aren't even paved.

Justin never hesitates to remind me, "Most people don't grow up in a straw hut in rural China to become a doctor in Redondo Beach". I am better because of where I came from, and my ambition, my constant willingness to claw my way up stems from wanting something more than a straw roof that leaked in the rain. I'll never forget where I came from, but I'm grateful to have advanced so far.  I hope Justin had a good time this trip, and I hope that he now understands me a little bit more, but next time, we'll be soul searching under the Hong Kong city lights.

Lamb – Dalian, China

There is a ramshackle lamb shack off the side of the highway on my aunt’s way to work. I’ve only been there once, but I’ve waited two years to go back.

The Lamb Soup is still a must, and you can customize your pot with any combination of ingredients. The “lamb scraps” have the most flavor, but even my adventurous man can’t be asked to stomach bits of stomach, intestine, liver, and brain. We opt for the one with cubes of floating muscle-meat instead, chunks so stewed and tender that they melt in your mouth.

We pass on the lamb guts, but we do enjoy a plate of sautéed Lamb Cheek. I expected it to be fatty and full of soft meat like pork, but the meat is rubbery and firm instead, savory with the gamey lamb-flavor amplified.

Again, the balance between hot and cold. Cucumber and Lily Flower provides a cool-down in a place that doesn’t have AC. Coated lightly with a thin layer of vinegar-laced liquid, it’s so easy but you can’t stop eating. Something about the tart tones of vinegar adds spunk to a neutral cucumber, and the flowers cast an earthy aura, like a mushroom in the woods.

The server instructs us to order the Cabbage with a veracity that forces us to comply. It’s just cabbage, right? Maybe their cabbage is about to go bad and they want to get rid of it? No. No, he’s just trying to help. Their cabbage is the best cabbage I have ever tasted in my entire life, and it may be the best-tasting dish on the table. The cabbage itself is flawlessly-cooked, on the cusp of crispy and soft. It still holds a satisfying smack, under a thick layer of soy-based sauce that’s clearly been laced with luscious fat of lamb. Say what you want, and judge as you will, but cooking with animal fat is genius.

Toothpick Lamb, ending with a dish we recognize. Stupid-simple but stupid-good. Each piece of lamb is crispy on the outside and soft inside, each bite releasing a runny, fatty juice.

I call it the lamb shack because that’s what it is on the outside, but the inside is so much more. The lot is unpaved. There’s nothing next to it, nothing around it, and definitely nothing behind it. But never judge a book by its cover because it’s lunchtime on a weekday and the place is packed. They may look like a shack to skip, but this “shack” makes the best lamb I’ve ever had. 

Dough Drop Soup - Dalian, China

Chinese people don’t just eat; they EAT. You haven’t seen a person EAT until you see a Chinese person digging in. Chopsticks become a shovel, and the bowl becomes a dignified trough, and they devour without spilling a single drop. And Chinese people don’t discriminate. They can cook anything into something exceptional, and it doesn’t matter what meal they’re eating. They’ll eat any meal and they’ll eat every meal with the same heartwarming enthusiasm, and I’ve never seen anyone bask in the pure joy of living nearly as much as a Chinese person eating.

Dough Drop Soup is one of those foods you can EAT. I may not remember the name of this restaurant, but I can assure you everyone else in Dalian does. It is known for its seaweed preparations, and one claim to fame is their tender little knobs of flour-and-water, flavored with marbled threads of interwoven green kelp and egg. The broth is thin, but the kelp and egg cling to the knotty balls of dough, which some have described as “Chinese gnocchi”.

On the side, we have a local favorite. A whole buttery, flaky fish deep-fried to golden perfection. Justin doesn’t even like Fried Fish, and here he is, learning to sever small strips of meat from prickly, abundant bones. Fried Turnip Balls are birds’ nests of julienned carrots and turnip, a crisp, earthy breath of roots. They tie with the fried fish for best dish, these crunchy, munchy chunks.

The Pork Juicy Dumplings are totally random, but I’ll never turn these down. The wrappers are thin enough, and the inside is full of pork-y broth.

There are also Kelp Dumplings, a famous filling, another star on the map. These dumplings are a bit bigger, and the chewy, rubbery-but-softer brown seaweed makes a lasting impressing between your teeth. I’ve never been a fan of seaweed, and I didn’t even care for nori until I finished college, but there is something special about these dumplings. The kelp is a vegetable of the briny deep with a texture that releases an irresistible salty-savory burst that makes you want to keep on chewing.

The soup is hot, and the dumplings are hotter. The Jelly Noodles are another Dalian delicacy, and they are a welcome cool-down between the sweaty bites. Gelatinous-yet-firm, French fry-sized strips are coated in a thick layer of bitter sesame sauce with pungent garlic. They refresh, they refine, and they wake up a sleepy palate slathered in seaweed and meat.

It’s not a Chinese meal if you’re not sweating from the heat of a steaming hot bowl, and the table is unbalanced without a vegetable (even if it’s deep-fried). There must be at least one dish that's hot and at least one dish that’s cold. You expect each dish at every meal, but it’s a rare gift to get every dish so perfectly crafted, so that each bite just blows your mind. It’s so much, and it’s too much, but it’s so hard to stop. The world is my oyster and I can’t slurp it fast enough.