Orange County Food Blog

Dave Lieberman

​Remember two weeks ago, when I posted mockingly about 7-Eleven's move into the ultra-budget wine world? I made a snarky comment about not doing one's research about specialty retailers that might also have a decent chunk of the market share for really, really cheap wine, and I threw in some gratuitous French-Canadian slang, namely, cuvée dépanneur ("convenience store blend").

Well, it's time to put my money, or rather the Weekly's money, where my mouth is. For this week's Dueling Dishes segment, I went out and bought two bottles of 7-Eleven's new Yosemite Road wine ($3.99 each) and two bottles of Trader Joe's Charles Shaw wine, better known as "Two Buck Chuck" because it costs $2.00 a bottle.

Faced with a selection of various types of what the French would call vin de table or vin ordinaire, I picked Chardonnay and Cabernet Sauvignon.

​Yeah, I listen religiously to The John & Ken Show on KFI-AM 640, not only because you should know what the Know Nothing nation thinks, but also because they're great radio hosts. And because I've been listening for so long, I can say this with authority: John Kobyalt (the louder, shriller one) is becoming more and more of a bigot.

Over this past year, ever since the rise of Obama, John is prone to more and more ridiculous statements, statements that even leave his on-air partner Ken Chiampou aghast. Most of his bile is directed toward Mexicans, of course, and increasingly Muslims. But he finally crossed the line when he went after goats and the eating of them.

I only caught the tail end of his Monday rant, sparked by the debut of Los Angeles' Gold Line over the weekend. A Los Angeles Times article last week described the culinary finds along the route, which goes from downtown Los Angeles through East Los Angeles. Among them was Birrieria Chalio, a famed place for the great Mexican dish called birria. Kobyalt started by calling East Los Angeles "Illegal Alien Land," which should come as a big surprise to all the military veterans who have come out of there to defend the pendejo's right to be a pendejo. Then he attacked the idea of even eating goat, calling them "dirty" because they eat "trash."

Hey, John: Unless you're eating organic all the time, you think all the meat you eat at other restaurants is clean? Ever read Fast Food Nation?

Hat tip for antagonizing Kobyalt so much goes to Miles Clement Clements, former Weekly intern,  food guy for the District Weekly, contributor to the Times' food pages, a man who seemingly never met an Orange County restaurant I didn't already review...

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I'm with Edwin: Haven Gastropub in Old Towne Orange is uneven. I love their chorizo flatbread, a perfectly toasted plate with oily, spicy chorizo, red peppers out of the Windy City, a tomato sauce that tastes like it came from organic veggies, a reason to justify this overplayed restaurant trend. But the mac-'n'-cheese was just a bit more flavored than mashed potatoes, an order of olives should include a cheese or some bread slices, and what's with getting two dishes at a lukewarm temperature?

That's not Haven's biggest sin, though. I don't drink beer and wasn't in the mood for Jameson, so asked for a glass of water. Ah, that familiar taste: OCWD Varietal, otherwise known as North County Chardonnay. Tap water: stale, nearly metallic, downright nasty. Maybe my senses were failing me? I asked for another glass, and out came a liquid so cloudy it nearly looked like Squirt. Few things are more gastronomically gross than seeing a glass of tap water set, to see its cloudiness dissipate into God-knows-what. You couldn't add a sliver of lemon to at least offset the flavor, Haveners?

Yeah, the economy is tough. But for a place that boasts it's a gastropub, a label that justifies chefs charging twice or three times the average cost of the dish, dontcha think they can at least spring up to Arrowhead?

Will Farrell's soon seel a Purpose-Driven Sundae?

​Apparently, Farrell's Ice Cream Parlour was a pretty big deal in its day, but I wouldn't know--the only ice cream we could afford when I was a kiddie was Otter Pops. But some Orange Countians have been eagerly anticipating its return at the Shops of Mission Viejo, one being Saddleback Church pastor Rick Warren. He was at its opening, wanting to meet owner Bob Farrell because the first date Purpose-Driven® Rick ever went on with his wife was at a Farrell's in Riverside. There was a picture, of course, then the obligatory Facebook posting last night.

Big mistake!

Already, there are over 150 comments on the post, most of them outraged that Farrell would allow Warren in his shop. A couple of them:

"yeah, getting a hatemonger like Rick Warren for a store opening is a sure way to FAIL as a business. good luck with all that..."

"I'm glad there's a Farrell's again. But please don't use a creationist homophobe, who calls atheists and medical doctors "Nazis," to promote the restaurant."

"I have great memories of going to Farrell's as a child; the one on Tustin Avenue. We always had fun there. But using a homophobic, narrow-minded figure to promote the new place is a bad sign...I would think more than twice about going back if I risked being treated to Rick Warren's presence along with my banana split sundae. Farrell's - pay attention. This is not the way to promote family values."

Us? We weren't going whether or not Farrell's seeks Saddleback Church's faithful. Its only attributes seem to be guys dressed on flat hats and vests and disgustingly big sundaes.

It's what's for dinner!

​Some of us can still recall the 1970s, when the economy was in the toilet, joblessness was the No. 1 concern and distrust of anything coming out of Washington, D.C., was at an all-time high.

Sound familiar?

The media is those days were filled with stories about the dire measures the suddenly new poor were undertaking merely to survive. This was especially true of senior citizens and those tossed out of work. Turns out Iggy Pop was not the only one living on dog food. And so, a tinge of nostalgia shot through former Disco Dans who caught the following headline on ocregister.com: "Free Pet Food for Jobless and Seniors."

Let's hope it's the moist variety 'cause grammy and home-builder Bob choke on the dry.

​Fair is fair, folks. A couple of weeks ago, I blasted the Orange County Register's "Best of Orange County" for the horrible selections readers picked as the best representation of a culinary category (Peppino's as best Italian! Subway as best Sandwich! Daphne's as best Greek!). Our Best of OC issue is out this week, with Edwin and I taking responsibility for virtually all the picks. But one part that we completely wipe our hands of is our Reader's Poll, and I'll repeat the same point I made with the Reg readers: WTF?

Gentle readers: are you marginally better than the Reg's collection of coffin-dodgers and Mexican-bashers? Javier's as the BEST FOOKIN' RESTAURANT?!?! If you want to snatch some siliconed hag, perhaps. Panama Joe's as best Mexican restaurant? ¿Qué chingada 'tan tomando? Best late-night dining being Denny's? Not even Norm's? Have my years of reviewing restaurants taught ustedes NOTHING? And Chipotle has the best burrito in OC the way I'm a CCIR supporter. And guess what? Both Weekly and Reg readers picked P.F. Chang's as best Chinese restaurant. I might as well take over Yvette Cabrera's job.

Best dessert at Cheesecake Factory? Kill me.

​BROOKINGS, S.D.--I'm speaking tonight at South Dakota State University, a day after having spent the week eating my way through Tex-Mex heaven in San Antonio. Quite a difference from the land of Flaco Jimenez to that of Laura Ingalls Wilder--and then there's the Mexican food.

In San Antonio, I ate puffy tacos, chile con carne, breakfast tacos, and the beautiful breakfast called migas (not the Argentine white-bread sandwich but a type of chilaquiles where the cooks don't fry the tortilla strips and substitute potatoes for rice. Here? The homegrown food is the Taco John's chain, a chain almost exclusively limited to places where wabs haven't historically lived--the Midwest. Can you believe it's been around since the late 1960s, started by gabachos in Wyoming, and has over 425 locations? Man, the Reconquista gets around!

Usually, I avoid Mexican food when away the safe regions of the country, but I always wanted to taste the Taco John's experience. It didn't disappoint. From finding out that they sell West-Mex® cuisine (hey, Californians and foodies: have you EVER heard this term before? West according to what geographic standard?) to their logo (a Jaliscan charro dressed in a Western handkerchief and silver-button shirt), Taco John's is a comedy of earnest-but-wrong intentions. The tragedy of this is that they could've one-upped Taco Bell in the burrito game if they didn't try to pretend to be so damn Mexican.

I usually don't care for lolcats, but this one...

​For 16 years, the Orange County Register's annual Best of Orange County has mystified county eaters with this simple question: are the paper's readers really that stupid and tasteless to continue calling the Olive Garden the best place in Orange County for Italian food?

The answer this year: they're getting better, because the Olive Garden merely ranked number two. The somewhat edible Peppino's chain, according to the Reg, is the best Italian restaurant in Orange County.

Hoo boy.

The restaurant choices for the Best Of span the breadth, depth, and everything else of Orange County dining in being ultimately clueless about it, and always stands as a damning condemnation of how out of touch with the present Reg readers are. Best brunch? El Torito. Best business lunch? Nothing against Knowlwood, but it's hardly the best place to talk shop. Best subway shop: Subway. Best coffee--Starbucks? Sundried Tomato Cafe as third-best new restaurant in Orange County? Ruth's Chris as best steakhouse? Best Chinese--P.F. Chang's? Really? A chain created by some guy from Phoenix? Best Greek is Daphne's? Blech.

And where the hell are the ethnic restaurants, the places that make this damn terrain livable?

I'll stop torturing the intellect of ustedes gentle SaFII readers and cease from listing any more "winners." But the Reg's Best of Orange County didn't fuck it all up.

​Two episodes into the latest season of Top Chef, and most of the chefs have already established personalities and tics that will only grow and annoy as the season progresses. I appreciated the stab for marriage equality by the lesbian from Seattle in Episode 2, but really: are we to believe she would pass up a catering opportunity for breeders in the future?

But that wasn't the most offensive part of this young season. Twice already, separate contestants have prepared ceviches that impressed the judges (and forgive me for blanking on names, but both were women). Problem is, they pronounced the Latin American seafood staple in a way I've never heard anyone say it: by dropping the e at the end so it sounds like cevich.

A cha cha girl costume. Does this look Mexican to you (disregard fake-blond Mexicans, por favor)?

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I've yet to see the menu at ChaCha's Tacos and Tequila in Brea, let alone taste the entrees of the recently opened restaurant, but I can unequivocally say that the man behind it is a pendejo with no knowledge whatsoever of Mexican anything.

In an interview with the Orange County Register, Don Meyers--the same genius who opened that paragon of high cuisine called El Torito Grill--told the reporter, "We can't wait to bring excitement back to Mexican food."

The arrogance of this man! Either this is PR drivel or Meyers is wacky. Guarantee there's more excitement in one sip of the green pozole at Las Brisas de Apatzingan, one crunch of a tostada topped with Mariscos Licenciado #2's aguachile, a spoonful of Taleo's flan, than the entirety of ChaCha's existence will ever imagine it can do.

Oh, and why the name "ChaCha"? It either derives from the cha-cha-cha or the slur cha-cha girl, both which pertain to the Caribbean, not Mexico. Idiot. Want good Brean Mexican? Try Durango Mexican Grill.

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But now it appears that they're trying to hide them with cashews.

The harrowing original tale here.

IMPORTANT NOTE: The king-sized Kit-Kats, clearly visible in the picture, do not appear to be expired; at least, it's not visually obvious either way due to the lack of Batmans (I will check for sure next time I'm there). The expired ones are further down on the aisle (and thus more hidden by the cashews).

​Yes, the title of this blog is a serious charge. I realize that. But it's one that I'm able to back up.

Last week, I went to the ampm (that's the "official" way to spell the name of the place, I know it looks weird all lower-case, but take it up with them) on the corner of Bristol and Red Hill on Costa Mesa to get a bag of Hot 'n Spicy Chex Mix--a surprisingly hard to find thing these days, especially since the introduction of the greatly inferior "Jalapeno Cheddar" Chex Mix (seriously, it might sound tempting, but so gross).

Once there, I texted our receptionist, Becky, to ask her if she wanted anything from "ampm." She said sure, a Kit-Kat or a 100 Grand. Not finding any of the latter, I grabbed a Kit-Kat, despite one big reservation: the Dark Knight contest promoted on the wrapper. The date of this purchase was Monday, August 10, 2009. The Dark Knight premiered in theaters on July 18, 2008.

The Rubix Cubewich: Cubes of pastrami, kielbasa, pork fat, salami and two types of cheddar

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Hey, did you eat lunch yet? Need any ideas? Check out these photos of our ten favorite "insanewiches"--which are exactly what they sound like--gross, kinda fun, but definitely entertaining. Brought to you by the master chefs behind Insanewiches.com, scroll through our photo slideshow of our top picks... we're kind of torn, which is better, the Green Eggs n' Clam or Breakfast Club waffle sammie? 

I try to visit any restaurant in Orange County that sells pupusas, not because I'm obsessed with the Salvadoran staple (although they're muy bueno) but because I've reviewed basically every Salvi restaurant in la naranja. A new, disturbing trend is spreading among Mexican restaurants: the selling of pupusas. And it is my grand conclusion after trying a couple that, while Salvadorans can prepare so-so Mexican food, Mexicans cannot cook Salvadoran cuisine worth madre.

The worst example is Tacos y Pupusa in Anaheim, in a section of the city not far from Disneyland that we'll call the Damned Kingdom. It's nestled on a sad strip mall wedged between the 5 Freeway and a no-tell motel, and the clientele is among the saddest, most-worn down I've ever seen: methed-out gabachos, cholos, old African-American ladies who look as if life dealt them a haymaker decades ago. I once saw a convention-goer walk in, get a bewildered look on his face from all the human misery around him, and glumly take a chair next to a Mexican mom who kept yelling at her poor kids. Child Services? You should park an employee at this restaurant nightly--I'm just saying.

The food? Expensive ($2 for tacos made from cold tortillas), bland (horchata that tastes like caulk), and simply mysterious: when the convention-goer asked what were those meats sitting under heat lamps and in a pool of liquid, the lady at the counter couldn't answer. The service is non-existent, the floors dirty, and they won't clear the dishes off the table until you sit down. This just might be the worst restaurant in Orange County--STAY AWAY. The Del Taco across the street is better.

Tacos y Pupusas, 214 E. Katella Ave. Anaheim, (714) 535-6863.

And you thought robots were just for vacuuming? Turns out they have other uses too, namely:

1. Cooking pancakes. Japanese savory pancakes (okonomiyaki), that is. These robots are high-tech and classy, remember.

2. Serving sushi (check out the weird fake hand!)

3. Slicing cucumbers. Really fast.

4. Bringing beer and snacks to you, on a tray, by voice recognition. Read that again. The future is here!

Here's a short video of the robots at work, at Tokyo's International Food Machinery and Technology Expo, which has just finished.

Apparently, the robots are designed to replace humans by taking over stressful, menial tasks. But how about the stress of losing your job to a robot, eh?

From the great SanTana blog zauberhour.wordpress.com

Just came back from eating the chilaquiles at Anepalco's Cafe in Orange, and I can see the promise but can't yet give it hosannas. The chilaquiles purist in me cannot stand manifestations of the dish as masa mush, and these were softer than a pancake. My inner gourmand enjoyed a perfect cuatro-layer of cotija cheese, eggs over-easy, avocado mousse and crema fresca: salty, sweet and salty-sweet, oh my! So the deciding factor was the chef's unique "salsa" for the dish: an orange pool of what looked like the halfway point between chorizo grease and Chinese hot oil sauce.

The verdict? No. This sauce had a flavor, but nothing that complemented the other ingredients in the meal. Worse, its after-effects consisted of a wasabi-like nose singe, a chili belly, yet no heat on the palate to savor. It's not a dish I'll try again, but I might return to Anepalco's due to an eclectic menu (cochinita pibil, crepes, AND gourmet sandwiches? Interesting...). But work on that salsa, owners: I appreciate creativity, but bad is bad.

And the orange juice? Stale.

Anepalco's Cafe, 415 S. Main St., Orange, (714) 771-2333; www.anepalcoscafe.com. Their coffee is supposedly great, but I don't drink caffeine.

The chicken tikka masala at the Olde Ship in SanTana? Two moist, slightly grilled chicken skewers coated with a thick tikka masala sauce. On top of a large mound of succulent jasmine rice with peas. Ramekins of a curry sauce that worked this time and yogurt more sour cream than raita. As good as you'll get with Indian food in a stateside English restaurant.

But...the naan. The menu stated that a buck extra would get me some of the subcontinental bread standard. What the nice waiter brought out though wasn't naan--it was pita bread. I didn't expect the Olde Ship to keep a tandoor oven among the Guiness and Newcastle, but pinche pita bread??? You can go down to Trader Joe's, buy a bunch and reheat actual naan for eaters instead of buying pita bread and reheating it. Or do the Brits call pita bread naan, kind of how they call Indians and Pakistanis Asians and East Asians Orientals?

A candidate for Stuff White People Like...

Of all of America's wonderful ethnic cuisines, the New York Times understands Vietnamese creations the least. Last month or so, the Gray Lady published a piece on how Vietnamese-American chefs in New York were reinventing the bánh mì, an article that appeared a couple of months after the paper declared 2009 was "the year" of the bánh mi. As I noted in my review of Garden Grove's Nhu Lan Bakery, the Vietnamese sandwich is so 2002--always a delight, yes, but too ubiquitous nowadays to warrant further attention.

You know what's even more common than bánh mìs? Sriracha Hot Sauce, known by non-foodies as rooster sauce due to the bottle's logo of a strutting cock. Guess who just discovered this garlicky sweet sauce existed? It's a good story, but even I knew about Sriracha back in the days when the only ethnic food he dared try was pizza, Cup o' Noodles, and Mos II. On that note, one of my first food articles was a taste test involving Tapatio and Sriracha to see whether Vietnamese and Mexican condiments went well with each others food. Come on, Times: if a wab knows his Viet food, why can't ustedes?

Don't let them get dry. In the morning, soaking in broth, glistening with promise, they fulfill any expectations eaters may have about the Caribbean legume. In the afternoon, dried-out, dusty, no longer in its nourishing lagoon, it's as dry as taking a bite out of the Great Sphinx. 

I've eaten at restaurants where the bill came to more than $300 for two (the late, great Dining Room at the Ritz-Carlton, Laguna Niguel). Where the buffet cost $100 for two (Ritz-Carlton, Laguna Niguel again). Over $100 for omakase for one (Hanamori). Many other places too expensive and too superfluous to remember. But never have I gasped at the final bill until visiting Geisha House in SanTana.

Of course I wasn't expecting much, especially considering the idiocy that is their valet service and the fact Ashton Kutcher funds other Geisha House locations in Los Angeles and Atlanta. Geisha House is built for...I'm not sure. Definitely not the SanTana hipsters who flock to Lola Gaspar. Certainly not the middle-aged folks from nearby Floral Park and Park Santiago seeking a quiet meal. But no one who likes good food should step within 50 feet of this place, as they are as likely to find it here as the folks who bought lofts at the hosting City Place development have of getting a refund on their hyperinflated purchase from evil developer Robert Bisno.

My chica and I ate at lunch, when the number of servers outnumbered customers. We asked our friendly waiter how he was doing. "Bored," he replied with a smile--a prophet of the palate.

Break of Dawn in Laguna Niguel is one of the few redeeming factors of that city, and one of the best breakfast joints in Orange County. Their sausage and eggs--linguiça, green papaya and a scallion puree--is the greatest version of the dish you'll ever try, and I recently enjoyed a French toast with the crispy top and creamy middle of the best creme brulees. But avoid at all costs their chilaquiles.

I want to know when chilaquiles became a Mexican desayuno for gabachos on the same level as the breakfast burrito--but that's an aside. A great chilaquiles dish is simple--beans, rice, hot (temperature- and spice-wise) tortilla chips, with a bit of queso fresco and just-fried chips. You can add eggs, but that's not essential. But crispy tortilla chips, even if a couple of days old, is a mandatory.

What Break of Dawn advertises as their chilaquiles simply isn't. Read the menu closely: amongst the ingredients listed is "corn tortilla," but what they call a corn tortilla is just a roll of masa. It's not a disgusting dish--I scarfed it down, but that might've been because I was hungover from the night before--but that masa tasted exactly like the soggy tortilla chips in a proper chilaquiles dish. I'll still recommend Break of Dawn to all, but the chef should either get some crispiness into his dish pronto or leave Mexican food in South County to the Surfin' Chicken.

Break of Dawn, 24351 Ave. de la Carlota, Ste. N-6, Laguna Hills, (949) 587-9418; www.breakofdawnrestaurant.com. Seriously: get that sausage-and-eggs; it's one of la naranja's breakfast gems.

More distressing news related to the economy has reached us here at OC Weekly.

Häagen-Dazs recently reduced the size of its pints of ice-cream from 16oz to 14oz, and now, this month, it's shrinking its 32oz cartons to 28 oz.

The official reason given by HD is that the cost of high-end natural ingredients such as eggs, raspberries and Madagascar vanilla has increased by a quarter in recent months. In addition, the energy required to make and deliver the finished product has also gone up.

Surely Dreyer's, which owns the HD brand, can afford it? Other manufacturers have had to bite the bullet and swallow the higher production and transportation costs without screwing us out of product.

Nevertheless, let me play devil's advocate for just a second.

Here are the reasons why the reduction in size could be seen as a good idea:
1.    We may each lose a pound, tops.
2.    HD will stay in business. At least for now. Which is a good thing for a company that has a dedicated "Help The Honey Bees" campaign.

Here are the reasons why it's a bad idea:
1.    We need our comfort food now more than ever.
2.    HD is a luxury. Granted, in the case of severe addictions, like mine, it could be seen as a necessity. But either way, if we're choosing to spend our precious greenbacks on HD, we deserve the full amount of the frozen nectar.

While I'm all in favor of cutting down on massive portions of mediocre food in restaurants, this seems different. Ice-cream is a national, nay, global, institution. No one feels bad when eating good ice-cream, and the high should last as long as possible.
 
I even have a smidgen of respect for Ronald Reagan because of ice-cream: One of the few good things he ever did was decree, in 1984, that July would henceforth be National Ice-Cream Month.

Apparently, it was a "difficult decision" for execs at HD's HQ. Well, how about an easy one--we all switch to Ben & Jerry's?

B&J have been quick to respond to the news, quipping on their website "A Pint's not a Pint unless It's a Pint".
 
Couldn't have put it better myself.

I ask this question as I celebrated a special occasion at Marché Moderne on Saturday night, having booked the table at least a week previously, and then had to wait 20 minutes to be seated. Only then did that happen after a bit of (polite) nudging on my part. OK, we were able to sit at the bar--and order drinks, of course--but at 8.45 at night I'd like something to nibble along with my vino.

We were initially told our table would soon be free as the couple at it were paying up. Five minutes later, we were informed they were having dessert. What? Were they working backwards? Would we have to wait another hour while they chomped through their entrées and appetizers?

Within five minutes of me asking one of the waitresses why there was a table for two going begging right in front of us, we were seated at it. (Apparently the table was destined to be part of a table for six, but that need must've evaporated).
 
In any case, at least we didn't have to wait as long as the group of four who eventually sat down at the table next to us--an hour and a quarter after they arrived. Seemingly, the blustery guy who had 'very important clients' with him failed in his attempt to be heard. Still, an hour and a quarter? No one should have to sit at the bar that long, not even Captain Bigshot.

The truth be told, the food was worth the wait (and then some). But the point is: if a restaurant can't cater to the number of people who make reservations, then maybe they should cut back on the number of bookings they take. No doubt having an open-plan kitchen doesn't help, especially when it's run by a chef--Florent Marneau--who diners like to interact with.

Have you had a similar experience in the OC? If so, where was it, how long before you were seated, what (if any) reasons were given, and did the food compensate? I'm curious.

Ducked into Bourbon Street in downtown Fullerton during the John and Ken Tax Revolt this weekend, and the guy who said this was a great restaurant had it partially right. I went in before the masses invaded the parking lot outside, yet the service was slooooow (the waitress was apologetic, however). Wanted to try a po'boy, but $14 for a sandwich when Lee's Sandwiches is just down Harbor? PASS. $10 for a sandwich is also a bit much, but where else can you try a muffuletta sandwich except a bad version at my beloved Memphis Cafe? Don't bother with the one at Bourbon Street: dry bread loaves that crumbled easily, cold cuts that tasted straight from Ralph's prepackaged deli section, weak provolone slice, and a olive salad spread better suited to grease up a bodybuilder than feed a chap.

But those beignets! They came five big hunks of fried dough for $8, dusted with all the powdered sugar your body needs for a year. I nearly choked too many times when putting one in my mouth, but the sugar quickly turned into sweet frosting upon meeting the warmth of my mouth. Bourbon Street should've added some chicory to the vanilla ice cream to truly N'Awlins-ize the dessert, but no complaints from me. The other entrees cost too much, but Bourbon Street deserves a visit just for those great beignets; after that, visit Lee's.

Bourbn Street, Bar and Grill, 110 E. Commonwealth Ave., Fullerton, (714) 626-0050; www.bourbonstreetfullerton.com

This ain't News of the Weird: KFI-AM 640 megamouths John & Ken will hold a mass tax revolt rally outside Slidebar Cafe in Fullerton this Saturday afternoon. Which begs the question: which of the Slidebar's owners holds the same populist-nativist politics as the two? The Lit guy who co-owns the bar, whose music is rancid but whose food at his place is surprisingly swell? Downtown Fullerton wizard Sean Francis, who's another owner? Both? Neither? Or do each hold some appreciation of The John and Ken Show like myself but can't stand the other parts? And, if so, which are the kosher and haram parts? Either way, expect history this Saturday afternoon. Everyone invited, but if you're a wab, better act like Lupe Moreno.

Slidebar Cafe, 122 E. Commonwealth Ave., Fullerton, (714) 871-7469. The rally starts at 3 p.m., but show up early!

My sources are legion, and my sources are hilarious, so check out the following dispatch from one of them involving SanTana Mayor-for-Vida Don Papi Pulido. First person to guess the restaurant and city where the below incident took place gets a $20 gift certificate to said place, or a copy of Orange County: A Personal History. Both answers must be in the same comment; only one full guess per comment. And now, the Don Papi Pulido Dance-a-Thon!:

"We took your advice about (RESTAURANT), and it was pretty good. Our bill ended up huge; too many Black and Tans! Anyways, when we went, Pulido was there, surrounded by white people. I don't know if he was drunk or not, but I remember him surrounded by those white people, and he was dancing all goofy, kind of like a white guy.

At this point, my source throws his hands down at an angle and snaps. He does this three times, switching angles each time.

Me: You mean like Carlton in The Fresh Prince of Bel Air?

Source: YES.

Must've looked something like this:

 

No, not that one. I'm talking about Champagne. Or, rather, the lack of it. Picture it: Cedar Creek Inn, Brea, Valentine's Day dinner. I was already mentally black-marking the restaurant for informing me just the day before, when confirming the reservation, that there was a "strict two-hour table time limit." My irritation was heightened further when we arrived, bang on time, only to be told there was a 20-minute waiting time. Gee, maybe that strict time limit wasn't so strict after all. (As it turned out, we only had to wait five minutes.)

In any case, I thought, as I settled into the comfy booth with my significant other, admiring the upscale dining room and breathing a sigh of contentment, a nice glass of Champagne will calm me down.

But it was not to be.

The interaction with the waitress went something like this:
Me: Do you have a wine list?
Waitress: Yes, it's there--on the table.
Me (confused). Oh, this--you mean the wines by the glass and cocktail list?
Waitress: Yes.
Time to cut to the chase. I asked if they had Champagne. Another look of confusion--this time from her. OK, how about Champagne by the glass? Surely, if they offered wines by the glass, this wasn't such a stretch?

Turns out they did indeed have splits of Champagne. Fine. After all, I didn't want to get loaded--all I needed was a few bubbles on the tongue and to feel a hint of glamour, excitement and, dare I say it, romance--all the things that come with drinking Champagne on Valentine's Day.

944 Magazine is what Riviera would've been if it were run out of the Phoenix area by people whose portrayal of life makes Sex and the City look like an Italian Neo-Realism flick. I write about it here, however, because of two interesting items in their latest issue. The first is a full-page pick for Bodega Chocolates. The Fountain Valley confectioner does make article-worthy treats, although I still prefer those from C. Salt Gourmet. But the only reason to remember Bodega is that the Virgin Mary appeared here in 2006 via the form of a chocolate lump. 944 doesn't mention this at all--not surprising, given that the only paranormal incident its readership probably cares about is how their housekeepers can survive cleaning houses.

An even funnier food blurb, however, is about another great restaurant: Orange's Manhattan Supper Club. Everyone should go eat their steaks at this great establishment, but don't follow 944's advice and try looking for it in "Orange's historic downtown district"; Manhattan Supper Club is far away on Main Street.

Bodega Chocolates, 17290 Newhope St., Fountain Valley, www.bodegachocolates.com; Manhattan Supper Club, 202 S. Main St., Orange, (714) 978-6161; www.manhattansupperclub.com.

Last week, after quite the active back-and-forth on a post about how Filling Station owner John Hughes accused Edwin and I of payola, Hughes finally responded. Did he give the apology he owes us for his serious accusation? Is his food a bargain? Here's Hughes' note:

It appears the touchy one is you!

There is no need to use defamatory language while representing the OC Weekly.

It seems reasonable to point out to a reviewer who states "I thoroughly enjoyed my turkey chili cheese omelette" and "The food quality doesn't match the Filling Stations high prices" to be potentially contradicting statements. Whereas, your response above shows a lack of maturity expected from a "professional".

When we first opened we were constantly approached by OC Weekly to advertise and in return we would receive a good review. That is just a simple fact.

Damn straight I'm touchy on this subject, John. Payola, along with plagiarism, is the worst sin a reporter can commit, one so grave I'd be rightfully fired for immediately. And what you pointed out above isn't the original charge you made, which was, "I always found it funny that OCweekly [sic] gives great reviews for people who advertise." (bold mine, for a reason)

I have little to no idea what the advertising side of our paper does. It's designed that way--you know, editorial independence so readers know what we write about can stand on its own and isn't dictated by ad dollars. I know that the ad folks come and go, are almost always much better-looking than us editorial schlubs, and rarely read what we write. I don't know what black magic they cant on potential advertisers, but it wouldn't surprise me if they promise the moon and the stars. Doesn't matter: what they sell and say have no influence whatsoever on what we write.

Saying this is not mere flapping lips on my part; I already proved my point. You, the non-film John Hughes, on the other hand, has been shown to be talking out of his ass. Don't fight it, John: just admit you have no idea what you were talking about.

My chica had never eaten at Cowgirl's Café, a SanTana breakfast institution located in the city's industrial area. We ate there yesterday, one of only a couple of customers on a Monday morning--damn recession. She ordered French toast; I wanted a Santa Fe omelet. Both impressed--a long serrano accompanied my omelet, while her French toast sweetened the rest of our day.

But the service! As ustedes know, that's usually the last box on my checklist of what makes a restaurant great. What we encountered at Cowgirl's, however, bordered on ridiculous. The young hostess that sat us never bothered to check to refill our drinks; my chica had to approach her twice. Our meal took about 15 minutes to prepare--this, in a diner where I've eaten many times before, during much-busier hours, where I grew to expect my meal to arrive within minutes. Four waitresses were working, yet only one acknowledged our existence. Even when she did, however, she was cackling with the young hostess about how much texts she received from random guys. Since the hostess had a big stud sticking out of her lip, I'll leave it to you folks to divine whether they were discussing homework or who schtupped who this past weekend.

Cowgirl's Cafe, 1720 S. Grand Ave., Santa Ana, (714) 542-8877. I liked the food, but get better workers!