worst coochie, best sausage
Wurstkuche is a bar in Downtown L.A. that has beer and sausages. It also has an umlaut, but I'm not sure how to insert one, or how to pronounce "Wurstkuche." AK said, "I think the technical German pronunciation is 'worst coochie.'" We went on Saturday night. I did not have beer, because I had a cocktail called an Old Boy Friday night at Good Luck Bar with Nicole and friends and, somewhat embarrassingly, its effects lingered (I got happily drunk and subsequently sick from one drink--I am that much of a lightweight, and Good Luck Bar's drinks are that strong. At least I got my $10 worth).
AK has a birthday this week, and the part of me that channels the Jewish great grandmother I never met believes that feeding people is the best way to show love. According to my dad, she was a phenomenal cook who never met a stick of butter she didn't want to melt in a saucepan. Me, my mantras are more along the lines of "I don't do pie crust" and "It's cheaper than going out."
Nevertheless, I attempted a lemon meringue pie (with pre-made crust, of course), because lemon meringue is a miraculous thing, a transformation from recognizable ingredients (eggs, sugar, lemons from the tree in our backyard) to a gooey gel that seems like it must have been made in a lab. Even though it follows Michael Pollan's five-ingredient rule, it defies his "eat food" rule in delicious ways.
Egg yolk flower. I was pretty impressed with myself.
Ta-dah! The only bummer was that I had to buy a box from Yum Yum Donuts to transport it in. Two bucks! I could have gotten a bottle of wine for that price.
My look that night was "snow bunny in L.A." (I was wearing a short skirt with nothing so practical as tights).
Check out all that mustard. If you order the apple sage veggie sausage, you'll need a lot of it. Because, while tasty, the apple sage is a little dry and tastes like neither apple nor sage. I recommend the Italian veggie, which sounds less exciting but is moist and full of things like fennel. AK, who'd had veggie sausages on her first two Wurstkuche pilgrimages, had meat this time. "I hate to be the one to tell you," she said, "but meat is so much better." I think she liked being the one to tell me.
Amy and Lori.
AK and McSweeney's #36, a lit mag in the form of a head. Available at a Time Travel Mart near you.
AK has a birthday this week, and the part of me that channels the Jewish great grandmother I never met believes that feeding people is the best way to show love. According to my dad, she was a phenomenal cook who never met a stick of butter she didn't want to melt in a saucepan. Me, my mantras are more along the lines of "I don't do pie crust" and "It's cheaper than going out."
Nevertheless, I attempted a lemon meringue pie (with pre-made crust, of course), because lemon meringue is a miraculous thing, a transformation from recognizable ingredients (eggs, sugar, lemons from the tree in our backyard) to a gooey gel that seems like it must have been made in a lab. Even though it follows Michael Pollan's five-ingredient rule, it defies his "eat food" rule in delicious ways.
Egg yolk flower. I was pretty impressed with myself.
Ta-dah! The only bummer was that I had to buy a box from Yum Yum Donuts to transport it in. Two bucks! I could have gotten a bottle of wine for that price.
My look that night was "snow bunny in L.A." (I was wearing a short skirt with nothing so practical as tights).
Check out all that mustard. If you order the apple sage veggie sausage, you'll need a lot of it. Because, while tasty, the apple sage is a little dry and tastes like neither apple nor sage. I recommend the Italian veggie, which sounds less exciting but is moist and full of things like fennel. AK, who'd had veggie sausages on her first two Wurstkuche pilgrimages, had meat this time. "I hate to be the one to tell you," she said, "but meat is so much better." I think she liked being the one to tell me.
Amy and Lori.
AK and McSweeney's #36, a lit mag in the form of a head. Available at a Time Travel Mart near you.
Comments
Also, brava on the pie.
My mom has a long history of "I hate to tell you, but..." but I think I've protested so much to the phrase last year that she has actually cut back. Feel like I should be throwing salt over shoulders, spinning, spitting, who knows what to cover the jinx. OK, knocked some wood, fingers crossed for good measure. ;)