In exchange for driving him to Alhambra, Calif., and treating him to pho noodle soup last week (I advised him to request the raw beef on the side), Max bought me lunch yesterday at Oinkster in Eagle Rock. Oinkster's slogan is "slow fast food." Its hamburgers are patted by hand from ground Angus beef; its Belgian fries are cooked in hot oil twice for extra crispiness and then served with garlic aioli; its shakes are made with ube, which is the Filipino version of taro. While nostalgia for my Charleston, S.C., elementary school lunches made me order the pulled pork sandwich instead of the burger, I couldn't think of a better tribute to growing up a Southeast Asian, born under the pig sign, in the Deep South than BBQ and ube shakes at Oinkster.
I don't have to remind people how much I like ube. The last time I had it was in August at an ice cream shop in Cardiff-by-the-Sea, Calif. This time, I didn't have to worry about Oinkster's shake melting in my hands. But I had to pace myself lest I slurped my yummy shake too quickly and didn't save my appetite for the pulled pork sandwich.
I ordered the BBQ sandwich based on Pulitzer Prize-winning Jonathan Gold's recent review of Oinkster in the LA Weekly. As A.O. Scott and Anthony Lane do in their film criticism, Gold's food writing always makes me giggle and nod my head in "uh-huh" agreement. I've always liked how he thinks outside the four-star restaurant box that imprisons most food critics. Plus, for a white boy, he's got no fear of rolling into the ethnic eats. Like him, I loved Oinkster's ube shake and garlic aioli (I think the fries were just there so that I didn't have to embarrass myself by dipping my fingers into the creamy yet kicky sauce). Unlike him, I thought the pork sandwich was too salty and dry. Also, I prefer my BBQ sauce to be thicker and sweeter, unlike the runny vinegar that Oinkster offered in a plastic squeeze bottle. Perhaps I couldn't appreciate the pulled pork that much because I grew up in South Carolina, and Oinkster's version was supposed to pay tribute to North Carolina cooks. Still, the sandwich didn't do justice to the ube shake.
After lunch, Max and I returned to his place to watch the Tivo-ed finale of "Ugly Betty." I couldn't believe how telenovela the very last episode was. There was a murder, unplanned pregnancy, singing, drug overdose, champagne and, of course, great clothes. Afterward, I met my pal Erin and we went to a pool party in the Hollywood Hills, where there was none of the above except for champagne. But after having enough fashion drama for the day, we drove in a caravan to Beverly Hills for some tea and chit-chat.
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