What I Ate in L.A.: the best deviled eggs of my life, and a bunch of other delicious shit

holy shit it’s been a long time since I’ve written one of these. I want to think that you, the person ingesting these words, will be like, ‘my god I have been dying to know what she’s been eating’ but I’m going to assume that’s not very likely. Still. You know what? Most anything anyone does is for themselves at the heart— some inner need that is met by a certain act — and that holds true here, as well. I like to investigate what I’ve eaten. I like to write about it. I like to ingest it again, by way of the writing. To paint a picture of what my recent past has looked and felt and tasted like, so that I can return to it when I want. So, I hereby welcome both of us back.

Let’s start by getting out of the way the reason I went to L.A. I went to visit some friends, with whom I had not been in the company of in many years. We were four people who met in a church basement in Chicago, when we were each living tiny personal hells in our own homes. We met in Al Anon. We came together weekly to cuss and cry and talk and try to make sense of the webs we had found ourselves in. After we all made our way out of our webs — all of us got out of those tiny personal hells — we stayed in contact, and this year, decided it was time to be together in space again. Instead of a church basement, we chose an insanely beautiful resort in Palm Springs. A pretty fuckin big upgrade.

I arrived early, so I had some time in L.A. before we drove to the desert. And on my first day in the city, I planned to walk to a concert — a quick four+ mile walk — figuring I would find somewhere to eat on my way, a built-in little pitstop. I mapped a fairly direct route — I merely needed to walk down one street almost the entire time — something I thought would keep my feet and brain focused, and allow me to ogle the landscape and locate someplace charming to stop.

Charm was lacking. I saw a giant fucking orange-red cockroach (I thought a dark brown cockroach was terrifying, but seeing one in shades of fire was maybe worse.) I saw lots of sidewalk taco stands, which intrigued me, but I wanted to sit. At one point, when hunger and heat had taken over, I wandered into a semi-scary place, resigned to eating there — but then saw a sign that they were cash only. I looked up, thanked God for his intervention, and walked on.

Right when I started to believe I would be forced to order a giant pretzel and beer for approximately $40 at the concert, I looked up and saw heaven. I crossed through an intersection and entered a new world. We’re talking outdoor seating, fabric napkins, string lights, fresh flowers. Fuuuuck yes. I was so thirsty at that point (turns out, L.A. is hot in October), so I asked the first pretty place I saw if they had room for one. The hostess played a little hard to get; she was like, ‘‘ummmm not really but okay’. I would have told her I could literally slam my meal while taking hundres of photos of the place and be out in 15 min or less, but I didn’t have to. She sat me in a prime sidewalk spot and I began to sink into the image of myself as a fancy, independent, enthusiastic walker who prides herself on eating well alone.

The menu was written on a giant chalkboard, which the waitress picked up and walked to each table at the time of order-taking. (It was probably 3.5 feet tall and 2 feet wide. She had to like get under it and anchor it with her weight in order to provide the viewer an optimal read. If I were her, I would potentially request paper menus for the tables, but I’m sure her muscles have benefitted as a result of hauling that thing around.)

I saw deviled eggs on the menu and was done. I was a little worried there would be just a couple eggs and nothing else but I wanted them regardless. But per usual, I listened to my heart and it paid off bigtime. The deviled eggs were accompanied by an arugula salad and some crusty, toasted bread. (I thought I knew what I wanted as my last living meal, but this plate is now in the running.)

The dish had everything. Sweetness and acid, heartiness and lightness. It was perfection. The peppery arugula paired beautifully with the eggs, which were topped with dill and mint, and sitting in a little bath of sauce I didn’t ask about but I will always remember. I drank a ‘demi peche’ — which I loosely translated from French into ‘half peach’ — a beer with peach syrup added to it. It was pretty and not too sweet and was something I had never heard of nor had before, which is my favorite thing to have: anything I haven’t had before. Becuase my goal every day is to get to know the world in a way I hadn’t previously. What an absurdly easy and exciting way to do it — by opening my mouth.

**

There were so many other things I had out there. Korean bbq, chilaquiles, avocado toast, black horchata ice cream, a million-dollar date shake, jicama tacos, a pizza covered with green chile chutney, malai rigatoni, a rosemary latte. I hope to get back — to both the city and the resort — but if I don’t, I have no regrets. I literally ate L.A.