The Best Dishes Eater Editors Ate This Week: June 9
Over the past year, I've determined that Nam Kitchen has become the South Bay's best overall casual Vietnamese restaurant thanks to stellar pho and a handful of creative dishes like this Vietnamese-Peruvian fusion lomo saltado. The kitchen takes slightly sweet soy flavors of bo luc lac and tosses them with classic lomo saltado ingredients of red onion, tomato, and French fries, topping them with cilantro and serving with a side of creamy aji verde and a mound of white rice. The tenderloin pieces are as easy to eat as marshmallows, savory and covered with black pepper. Frankly, this could be one of the best lomo saltado preparations anywhere in the city, and it'll be something I crave. Nam Kitchen's other fusion dishes are worth exploring, but even the pho đặc biệt is top-notch, piled high with quality beef and a spice-laden broth. 1530 Artesia Boulevard, Gardena, CA 90248. — Matthew Kang, lead editor, Eater Southern California/Southwest Steak tacos from MidEast Tacos in Silver Lake
Silver Lake is lucky to be the home of MidEast Tacos, an Armenian-Mexican taco restaurant from Mini Kabob's Armen Martirosyan. Operating out of a brick-lined corner space along Sunset Boulevard, right across from the former 99 Cent store, the restaurant serves up toum-topped tacos, crispy potatoes with Aleppo pepper, and burritos stuffed with marinated chicken. But for me, the best way to experience MidEast Tacos is with the simple steak taco, with a corn tortilla instead of the flour tortilla it comes with. The steak is reminiscent of the flavors of Mini Kabob's own beef, with a slightly smoky and well-spiced profile. The meat is chopped to a size reminiscent of a street taco, just large enough to get the entire flavor without it being overwhelming. A size of crispy papas brings the entire meal home, which is best enjoyed at one of the tables on the sidewalk. 3536 W. Sunset Boulevard, Los Angeles, CA 90026. — Rebecca Roland, editor, Eater Southern California/Southwest Spicy salami pie from Little Goat Pizza House in Glendale
As a Northeast LA resident who loves grubbing on pizza from the comfort of my home, my options are often limited. Especially when comparing neighborhoods that are flush with celebrated pizza spots, I frequent the same restaurants more often than I care to admit. That doesn't serve my job very well, so after branching out into Glendale, I took home two pies from the Little Goat Pizza House. The results were worthy of a return, particularly the spicy salami pie. Though the margherita was respectable, the combination of the Neapolitan-style crust covered in San Marzano tomatoes, mozzarella, salami, garlic, tarragon, and a respectable amount of spicy honey made my day. I assumed my patented pizza-consuming position next to the low coffee table, opened the box, and dug in. I was impressed by the consistency of the beautifully leavened sourdough placed in a wood-fired oven. I will happily sit down on-site and consume it hot out of the oven next time. It tasted perfect the following morning for breakfast. 942 N. Brand Boulevard, Glendale, CA, 91202. — Mona Holmes, editor, Eater Southern California/Southwest Whole grilled branzino from Zinqué in Century City
Of all the homegrown restaurants in Los Angeles, I didn't peg stylish French hangout Zinqué to become a fast-growing chain. Armed with key locations in West Hollywood, Downtown, and more recently in Century City, the restaurant has grown to Scottsdale, Westlake Village, and even its spiritual homeland of Paris, France. Given its prime locations, I'm starting to see Zinqué as a viable alternative to places like Cheesecake Factory or Houston's, serving reliable if sometimes predictable food with generous portions. Zinqué's strength isn't in innovation, but rather in serving high-quality ingredients without much fuss. Their charcuterie board is ample and quite good, while their mushroom bucatini could've used a touch more salt. The bistro burger is delightful and satisfying for meat-and-potato types. The whole-grilled branzino gets a gorgeous golden brown interior and a hefty pile of shaved fennel and arugula. For $45, they serve a fish big enough for the table to share. And the branzino was juicy, fresh, and nicely seasoned, the dry-herb chimichurri bringing a vegetal punch when needed. You could see why Zinqué has mass appeal, an easy option for fussy palates and large groups. 10250 Santa Monica Boulevard, Los Angeles, CA 90067. — Matthew Kang, lead editor, Eater Southern California/Southwest
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American Press
a day ago
- American Press
SW La. school lunch menus Aug. 11-15
The following menus for Aug. 11-15 for area schools have been submitted by supervisors of food services. Menus are subject to change. Allen Lunch MONDAY: No school. TUESDAY: Pizza, tater tots or corn, sweet peas, pineapple rings with cherries, dried cranberries, honey graham snacks. WEDNESDAY: Chicken spaghetti, steamed broccoli, mixed vegetables, homemade roll, peaches, Mandarin oranges, yogurt with granola. THURSDAY: Nachos with jalapeno peppers and salsa, Mexican-seasoned pinto beans, garden salad or corn, pears, pineapple tidbits. FRIDAY: Potato coup with ham, mozzarella bread sticks, green beans, wheat crackers, frozen strawberry cups, raisins. Breakfast MONDAY: No school. TUESDAY: Toast with jelly and butter, cereal bar, apricots, applesauce. WEDNESDAY: Biscuit and jelly, sausage patty, pears, pineapple tidbits. THURSDAY: Muffin, yogurt with granola, peaches, fruit cocktail. FRIDAY: Strawberry and cream cheese bagel, string cheese stick, applesauce, orange wedges. Beauregard Lunch MONDAY: Chicken nuggets, mac and cheese, corn, green beans, apple. TUESDAY: Crunchy beef taco, Spanish rice, red beans, taco salad cup, frozen fruit cup. WEDNESDAY: Ham and cheese stromboli, broccoli and cauliflower, garden salad, peaches, pudding. THURSDAY: Chicken alfredo, sweet peas, steamed carrots, fruit cup, roll. FRIDAY: Barbecue pulled pork burger, baked beans, sweet potato crinkle fries, pears. Breakfast MONDAY: Toast pastries, orange wedges. TUESDAY: Blueberry muffins, mixed fruit. WEDNESDAY: Oatmeal, whole-grain toast, apple. THURSDAY: French toast sticks, pears. FRIDAY: Breakfast pizza, mixed fruit. Calcasieu Lunch MONDAY: Corn dogs, roasted potato wedges, side salad, tomatoes, fruit mix. TUESDAY: Crunchy beef tacos, Texas ranchero beans, salsa, pineapples. WEDNESDAY: Lasagna roll-ups, side salad, baby carrots, seasoned green beans, cantaloupe. THURSDAY: Meatballs with rice and gravy, mustard greens, black-eyed peas, honey wheat rolls, grapes. FRIDAY: Loaded baked potato soup, grilled cheese, mixed vegetables, celery sticks, sweet peaches Breakfast MONDAY: Glazed donut holes, yogurt, apples. TUESDAY: Brown sugar and cinnamon oatmeal, hot toast, apple slices. WEDNESDAY: Waffles, Mandarin oranges. THURSDAY: Country breakfast, scrambled eggs, hash brown bites, toast, blueberries. FRIDAY: Assorted cereals, bananas. Cameron Lunch MONDAY: Cheeseburger, crinkle cut French fries, sandwich cup, fruit fluff. TUESDAY: Chicken nuggets, green beans, mashed potatoes, diced pears. WEDNESDAY: Chili mac, yeast rolls, broccoli, black-eyed peas, red apple. THURSDAY: Hot ham and cheese on a bun, sandwich cup, sweet potato fries, diced peaches. Breakfast MONDAY: Assorted cereals, diced peaches. TUESDAY: French toast sticks, mixed fruit cup. WEDNESDAY: Scrambled eggs, bacon, buttermilk biscuit, Mandarin oranges. THURSDAY: Honey bun, pears. Jeff Davis Lunch MONDAY: Meatball stew, rice, peas, buttered carrots, peaches. TUESDAY: Beef quesadillas, red beans, salsa, fruit. WEDNESDAY: Hot dog, baked beans, cucumbers, fruit. THURSDAY: Salisbury steak, gravy, rice, yams, green beans, roll, fruit. FRIDAY: Pizza, corn, salad mix, cookie, fruit. Breakfast MONDAY: Waffle chicken sandwich, fruit cup. TUESDAY: French toast, applesauce. WEDNESDAY: Pancake on a stick, raisins/craisins. THURSDAY: Breakfast pizza, sliced apples. FRIDAY: Powdered donut holes, fruit. Vernon Lunch MONDAY: Hamburger, French fries, ranch-style beans, orange . TUESDAY: Chicken nuggets, mac attack and cheese, green beans, chilled pear halves, whole wheat roll. WEDNESDAY: Whole-grain spaghetti, meat sauce, steamed corn, tossed salad cup, whole wheat garlic bread, watermelon. THURSDAY: Sloppy Joe, potato rounds, green lima beans, fruit. FRIDAY: Chicken taco salad, whole grain chips, Mexicana corn, taco salad cup, corn, raisin bread. Breakfast MONDAY: Grits, sausage patty, fruit. TUESDAY: Pancake sausage on a stick, pear halves. WEDNESDAY: Assorted cereals, buttered toast, pineapple tidbits. THURSDAY: Breakfast wrap, grapes. FRIDAY: French toast sticks, sliced ham, banana.
Los Angeles Times
a day ago
- Los Angeles Times
When the going gets tough for L.A., our city rallies like no other
Los Angeles has portals to its future sprinkled across the city: Silicon Beach. Hollywood. Public schools. The ruins of Pacific Palisades. What goes on inside at City Hall and the Hall of Administration. But why go to those obvious choices when trying to figure out which way L.A. is going when the best answer is right in front of Platinum Showgirls LA? I parked next to the downtown gentleman's club on a recent weekday morning to do just that. A hulking security guard stood outside the entrance, the 101 Freeway buzzing nearby. So were the street vendors setting up for another day of business, damn the migra agents driving in and out of the Metropolitan Detention Center just up Commercial Street. But I wasn't there for the sights or sounds — or what was going on inside Platinum Showgirls. I was there to scour the sidewalk for a plaque dedicated to a tree. For centuries, a six-story-tall sycamore stood near this slice of land and saw empires come and go. Indigenous people from across Southern California and beyond gathered under its shade for special councils and to meet with its caretakers, the residents of the village of Yaanga. It was an awe-inspiring sight for the pobladores who came from Mexico in 1789 and set up El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles in the name of the Spanish crown. The sycamore — now bearing the name El Aliso — appears as a towering black splotch in the first known photo of Los Angeles, shot in the early 1860s when the city was in the process of turning from a Mexican village into an American town. When El Aliso was finally chopped down in 1895, felled by brewery owners who inadvertently killed the giant after cutting off too many limbs and paving over its roots, residents took chips from it as a memento mori of sorts. But El Aliso never truly died. It lived on in the history books but especially in the memory of the descendants of the people who had seen the sycamore grow from a seed to a giant. In 2019, members of the Kizh-Gabrieleño Band of Mission Indians were present as representatives from the city of Los Angeles laid a bronze plaque on the sidewalk at the northeast corner of Commercial and Vignes streets — in the shadow of what was then a different strip club — to commemorate El Aliso. 'While its physical presence is gone,' the plaque stated, 'the oral history handed down through the generations has kept its beauty and story alive in the Kizh people.' I was looking to read those words for myself, to touch them and the etching of El Aliso that hovered above the dedication. To take inspiration from this fundamental part of L.A.'s past in hopes of divining its future. But when I finally figured out where the plaque was supposed to be, I found a shallow slot strewn with trash and the remnants of the adhesive that once kept the plaque in its place. Leave it to 2025 for thieves to make off with a memorial to L.A.'s mother tree. The fires. The raids. Housing inequality. Homelessness. Cost of living. Trump's never-ending war against L.A. anything. Is the Big One around the corner? Probably. Nothing seems to be going right in Lost Angeles right now. Trump says it. Too many residents feel it. Too many former Angelenos scream it. How can one possibly even think about a better future when the present is so bad? How can one even think about any future when the current outlook seems so bleak? But as I walked back to my car, an answer occurred to me that I wasn't expecting to be so hopeful. Before I joined The Times in 2019, I never had any real interest or investment in L.A. Oh, I visited family and friends and paid some attention to the political scene from my native Anaheim. Went to UCLA for graduate school, haunted the Sunset Strip and Thai Town for rock en español shows in my cub reporter days. But L.A. was just … L.A. Huge. Cool. Really diverse. But special? No more so than any other great world city. I never felt the metropolis up the 5 to be a den of grossness like too many of my fellow Orange Countians still think it is. It also never called to me as a promised land like it did to my creative O.C. friends, either. I generally rooted for L.A., but its future meant nothing to me. My opinion obviously changed as I began to cover it as a columnist starting in 2020 and tried to commit the layout and vibe of the city to my mind. One of the first things that struck me in a way I never anticipated was how precarious everyone felt their lives to be. Oh, I had read enough Joan Didion, Mike Davis, Nathaneal West and other writers to not be too surprised by this. But seeing it manifested was something else, and it made a lot of things about the city finally click. From the Westside to the Eastside, from Wilmington through South L.A. and all the way to the San Fernando Valley, I met person after person who acted and lived as if what they had scraped for themselves was at risk of disappearing in an instant, in the most disastrous fashion imaginable. I initially thought this betrayed an insecurity in the Angeleno soul, but then I realized it was something worse. If anyone's L.A. dream could crumble at any moment, that meant you had to defend it at any cost — and especially at the expense of everyone else. The more I talked to people and studied L.A. history, the more this outsider felt that the idea of fighting for the dream was what created a famously segregated city that too often erupts, whether electorally or otherwise. In an era where stratification is worse than ever and the federal government has declared war on various fronts — legal, psychological, financial — the L.A. of the past can't be the guiding light for the L.A. of the future. The city might have grown and operated as 19 suburbs in search of a metropolis — as Aldous Huxley infamously wrote — through most of the 20th century, but it's time to act like a united front if we're going to successfully navigate the rest of the 21st. And the rallying cry should be what we're going through right now, what L.A. has weathered again and again: Disaster. Because when the going gets tough for L.A., the city rallies like only it can. Americans should see this resilience and the subsequent spur of creativity and hope as a blueprint on how to fight back and not just survive, but thrive better than ever. Nothing has proved this more than our current year, with two catastrophes that would have buckled, if not outright destroyed, other cities. The Palisades and Eaton fires in January were infernos of biblical dimensions. People died, houses were incinerated, neighborhoods were eradicated. The suffering will continue for years, if not decades. Residents know their past can never be recaptured — and yet they continue to rebuild for whatever's next. Angelenos could've stayed to themselves in the aftermath, but they chose not to. They choose not to. The rest of L.A. has stood up to help survivors through financial donations and clothing and food drives and benefits that continue and whatever folks in the Palisades and Altadena need. At one of the city's darkest hours, Los Angeles shone brighter than ever. I write this columna during a long deportation summer unleashed on L.A. and beyond by a native son of Santa Monica in what amounts to a racist revanchist snit. Even a generation ago, large swaths of L.A. would have been cheering on the raids. But today's L.A. isn't having it. As with the fires, fundraisers and mutual aid societies and neighborhood watch groups have sprouted. The city, from Mayor Karen Bass to street vendors, knows that it's up against an Orwellian apparatus that wants us to collapse — and that L.A. will win. Because L.A. always wins. We might not know how the victory will look, but we know it'll happen. See how I use 'we'? Because while I plan to forever live in Orange County, I want to be a part of this future L.A. — an area, a people that teaches the rest of the United States how we'll triumph as calamities of all types seem to crash down on this country with increasing regularity. All of the stories and columns in this package are about that, from housing to fires, disasters to palm trees, transportation to climate change and beyond. No one thinks it's going to be easy — if anything, it's probably going to be harder than ever. But everyone expects victory. The miracle of L.A. has gone too far for it to fail. Which takes me back to El Aliso. I haven't read anything about the theft of its plaque, so I'm not sure when it happened. But people will read this and be upset. People will do something to mark El Aliso's existence in front of a gentleman's club near the 101 Freeway once more. That means El Aliso will continue to live — maybe as a plaque, maybe as a hologram, maybe as something even grander. It can't die, because that means we will. It must live, because that means so will the rest of us. L.A. is frequently seen as a place of destruction, where the past is bulldozed and forgotten and then trivialized and romanticized. But the Native American tribes that the Spaniards tried to eradicate are still here. The Latinos that Manifest Destiny tried to vanquish are now nearly half of the population of this most American of cities. L.A. will survive whatever happens next. We will figure it out. We always do. There's no other way. There's no other option.
Time Magazine
4 days ago
- Time Magazine
Hamada Sho: I Can No Longer Feed Kids in Gaza
Bombs rattled in the distance, and debris lay scattered across the empty corridors of Gaza's hospitals. I stood just outside, heart racing, aware that my wife could go into labor at any moment. Seven months into the war, with hospitals crumbling and doctors improvising under dire circumstances, I felt a paralyzing fear for my newborn's arrival. What sort of world would he enter when basic resources had vanished? I never imagined our first child, Nizar, would be born amid the roar of missiles and the stench of scarcity. Before the war I was Hamada Shaqura, known to many as Hamada Sho, a food blogger and digital marketer who celebrated Gaza's vibrant culinary culture. I shared recipes, restaurant stories, and the joy of good food online. But when our home was destroyed, our studio lost, and the war displaced us to Khanyounis's tent camps, cooking became less about flavor and more about survival. Humanitarian rations offered bare sustenance, canned beans, preserved meats, powdered milk, but they lacked any taste or meaning. I could not bear seeing children eat only to live, not to enjoy. In those early weeks I began cooking only for my family, but I could not ignore the children around me. They were surviving on whatever kept them alive, eating the same bland rations every day. I remembered how much food had once meant to me and how it had always been a source of joy and connection. I wanted these children to feel that again, even in the middle of war. Read More: We Can Stop Gazans From Dying of Starvation Right Now. Here's How We Do It Using my background as a food blogger I began experimenting with the limited ingredients available. I tested different recipes and looked for ways to create flavors with what little I had, trying to make each meal feel special. At first the portions were tiny, but the reactions from the children changed everything. They would take a hesitant first bite, their faces still heavy with the trauma of war, and then break into smiles. They started asking for seconds, and sometimes they would ask when I would return with more. That response gave me hope and purpose. I realized I could do more than just cook for a handful of children. I could create something larger that might bring a moment of happiness and comfort to thousands of children who had been deprived of both. As demand grew it became clear I could not do this alone. I reached out to local organizations that were already helping displaced families and many of them welcomed the idea immediately. With their support I was able to secure larger quantities of ingredients and space to cook for hundreds of children at a time. Over time I crafted dishes like chicken curry, pizza wraps made from tortilla crusts, Gazan‑style tacos, burgers, croissants, and even caramel apples or popsicles, all from basic aid‑package items. Watching children line up patiently, their faces lighting up when they tasted something familiar but special, reminded me why this mission mattered. I was no longer just a food blogger documenting life. I had become a cook with a purpose. Their gratitude was overwhelming. Parents told me through tears that these meals were the first time their children had smiled in weeks. Despite the constant danger and scarcity we were creating moments of normalcy and dignity in the middle of chaos. As the months went by the blockade tightened even further. Aid trucks stopped coming and ingredients that had once been scarce became almost impossible to find. The little flour we had left skyrocketed in price. Even something as basic as a bag of flour could cost $1,000. Cooking large quantities of food was becoming unthinkable and I could feel the weight of that reality every day. The most painful part was the children. They would still come to me hoping for a meal or a treat. I remember once going to a camp to distribute food and a boy came up to me holding a small medal with the Palestinian flag on it. He told me that he followed all my videos and was sure I would visit his camp one day so he made this gift for me. Moments like that gave me strength but also broke my heart because I could see the hunger in their faces. After the first ceasefire we returned to the North hoping to find some trace of our old lives. What we found instead was total destruction. There were no homes left standing and no infrastructure to support even the most basic needs. We had to return to the south simply to have a roof over our heads even though it was not home. That short moment of hope quickly gave way to a new and even harsher reality. When the bombing resumed everything became harder. We had no stable shelter and the place we found to rent in the north was barely livable but it was better than staying in a tent. My wife was pregnant again by then and I wanted her to be somewhere clean and safe—far from the heat, dust, and diseases spreading through the camps. But the situation kept worsening. There was no clean water and barely any food. Diapers and baby formula for Nizar disappeared from the market and if we ever found any they were sold at impossible prices. Even when relatives abroad tried to help, the money often lost half its value before we could touch it. To get $50 in cash we had to send someone $100 through the Bank of Palestine mobile banking app. Every part of survival became a tradeoff and a struggle. In the middle of all of this, my father became seriously ill. As he experienced heart problems, he was admitted to the intensive care unit in a hospital with almost no equipment or resources. We tried everything to get him out of Gaza for treatment abroad. He even has an official referral from the World Health Organization but it has been four months and he is still waiting to be allowed to leave. Knowing he is suffering, and I can do nothing to help, has been devastating. I tried to keep cooking simple things when I could. I baked what I could afford and shared it when possible. But eventually even that stopped. I no longer had access to any ingredients. I began helping distribute clean drinking water because that was all I could still do. People would see me on the street and ask when I would cook again. They told me they were hungry. But then they would pause and look at me and say you look so thin. You lost weight too. That hurt What is happening in Gaza today is bigger than my personal story. Hunger has become a weapon. Entire neighborhoods are living on scraps or going whole days without eating. Children are fainting in overcrowded shelters because they have no food. Parents are skipping meals so their children can eat a little more. People are boiling weeds and animal feed to stay alive. Read More: The Malnutrition Crisis in Gaza Will Outlive the War, Experts Warn The mental toll is as heavy as the physical one. When you cannot feed your child you begin to lose hope. I have seen the despair in parents' eyes and the fear in children who no longer believe a real meal will come. Cooking for them was never only about filling their stomachs. It was about giving them dignity and a small moment of joy in a world that has taken almost everything else. I remind myself of this now that I can no longer cook the way I used to. Every plate of food we served meant more than we could measure. It was a way to say we are still here. We are alive and we refuse to be forgotten. In recent weeks, I have spent most of my time helping distribute clean drinking water because it is the only thing I can still do. The children I used to cook for still come to me asking when I will make food again and it breaks my heart to tell them I cannot. But I hold on to the hope that one day soon I will be able to cook for them again and see their faces light up the way they used to. I still believe that small acts of care can change lives. Cooking a meal for a child who has nothing is about more than food. It is about telling them that they matter and that they are not forgotten. Even now, when I feel weaker than I have ever felt, I know that this work must continue. I hope the world does not look away from Gaza's children. They are enduring unimaginable hunger and suffering but they are still here and they still have dreams. All we ask is a chance to live and to rebuild our lives. I want my son Nizar and my unborn daughter to grow up in a place where they can thrive instead of just survive. I want every child in Gaza to feel that same hope.
