It could very well be a form of gastric cleansing.
And so Ms. Muse I decided to try a deli in San Gabriel. For brisket of all things.
Thankfully the brisket at Golden deli is not prepared the way my grandmother used to. With canned carrots. Canned peas. Canned gravy. And a smattering of cigarette ashes from the Pall Mall dangling between her wrinkly lips.
This was something different.
In fact, it was the first time Ms. Muse and I had ever stepped foot in a Pho place. Suggested by the trusty food critics at the LA times, we decided to venture out of our comfort zones, and the self imposed 8.3 mile radius that encircles her house in bucolic Sierra Madre.
And boy were we glad we did. We arrived early on a sunny Sunday late afternoon and found the parking lot teeming with hungry "deli-goers." Always a good sign when people are lined up outside eager to escape the 71 degree early evening chill.
We were seated in about 15 minutes, which comes close to the end of my restaurant-waiting patience. My daughters, committed foodies since the dawn of Top Chef and other assorted food-adjacent TV shows, will wait up to 3 hours for what they deem a "special meal." I'm looking at you Tartine in San Francisco.
In between awkwardly stuffing our faces with exceedingly long white noodles and delicious, paper thin strips of brisket, Ms. Muse had an idea. As well, she should. It is, after all, her self-appointed job.
"You know how you do the Thursday Photo Funnies? You should also do a series like Monday Restaurant Reviews," she mused.
I told her, that was an interesting idea. Particularly if I can make it interesting enough that fancy-schmancy restaurateurs would want me to come their places. Sample the fare. And comp the whole meal.
"That's genius," I wanted to say but not let her ego run wild, I thought silently.
"And I could go with you on all these comestible journeys," she added, "You know, to help. Maybe take notes."
Mmmm...I see how it is.
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