Note from Editor
Happy Wednesday—thank you for allowing me into your inbox on another Wednesday. Today, we have a beautiful essay from Eva talking about eating her way through Los Angeles with her friends in her 20s. The descriptions of food in this piece are stunning—from the glossy buns to the juice from every bite at The Boiling Group evokes our tastebuds in delicious ways. One of my favorite parts of this piece is how much of a character the city is throughout the writing. Eva does this through lines such as “the smell of meat mixed in with car exhaust, a familiar city perfume,” This is a coming-of-age story told through food in different forms—and the personalities of the people and the place. I also love the interactions with strangers—whether it’s complimenting a passerby on their outfit or the detail about sitting knee-to-knee with strangers to Tatsu Ramen.
I have grown up with many cities through food. First, my birthplace Dhaka, from fuchka stalls outside school, to spinning shwarma on spits in New Market, to running up the stairs at Rifles Square to get two pieces of Helvatia chicken. Then, I moved across the world to New York, where I have eaten through all of the world’s cuisines because such is the beauty of NYC and its boroughs. Currently, I live in New Haven and food feels even more intimate because of how much smaller it is. I need my doses of lemongrass chicken at September in Bangkok, and the spiciest sandwich from Haven Hot Chicken, and my favorite, bowls of miso ramen from Mecha Noodle Bar. Experiences of food are enhanced with people we love and cities we love. I hope you enjoy joining Eva through her LA eating journey.
Until next week!
Padya
Eva Recinos
Eva Recinos is an arts and culture journalist and creative non-fiction writer based in Los Angeles.
Her reviews, features, and profiles have been featured in the Los Angeles Times, KCET, The Guardian, Hyperallergic, Art21, Aperture, Poets & Writers Magazine, The Creative Independent and more. She was a 2019 nominee for the LA Press Club Awards in the category of Arts & Entertainment Feature (Online). Her essays have appeared in Refinery29, PANK, Blood Orange Review, Air/Light, Electric Literature and more.
She was a 2021 finalist in the PEN America Emerging Voices Fellowship and a 2023 Tin House Winter Workshop attendee.
When My Friends and I Ate this City
Picture us: a group of stumbling 20-somethings in club outfits walking into King Taco. The sweat on our bodies had cooled and suddenly, we were ravenous. We watched as girls in stilettos and bandage dresses raised their voices, ready to fight. The guys behind the counter just wanted to go home, snatching receipt after receipt from the laundry line of orders.
Other nights, squeezed lime onto our carne asada tacos and poured generously from the salsa containers. We teetered on plastic stools or leaned against the sun-bleached hood of a friend’s car as the smell of meat mixed in with car exhaust, a familiar city perfume.
We consumed the fumes of the bacon-wrapped hot dog stands nearby. The caramelized onions drooping next to charred peppers, lined next to glossy buns and fatty links challenged you not to drool. We threw our heads back in laughter, complimented a stranger on their outfit as they walked past us.
After petty heartbreaks or drunken tirades, we cried openly into our tofu soup at BCD Tofu House and slurped up our drunken sadness. We sat knee-to-knee with strangers at Tatsu Ramen, slurping up noodles until we saw the bottom of the bowl. The TV showed footage of Tokyo’s streets, and we dreamed of going one day.
We ate in the twilight hours and deep into the night. We dunked our Del Taco waffle fries into hot sauce, sitting in the passenger seat of someone’s car. Each drive-thru was our confession box, where we could name every craving we had.
We got home just in time to not get yelled at by our parents — most of the time. We were finally legal drinking age, with keys to our own cars. The city was ours for the taking.
We were unbound — no kids, no marriages, no thoughts about disappointed mothers or absent fathers (for now). We had our first-ever credit cards and at least one of us inched closer to the limit each month.
But that time was running out. We were starting new jobs and some of us would move to different cities. In the meantime, we sunk our teeth into glazed donuts in the Krispy Kremes parking lot and put our bibs on before sucking the juice from every bite at Boiling Crab.
Across Los Angeles, we spotted a new Instagram-ready breakfast place here, an up-scale fusion restaurant there. People loved hidden bars, we noticed, as if the city was more exciting when you tucked it away.
Our hunger was never truly satisfied. If left to our own devices, we would’ve used fallen palm tree fronds as plates, loading them with delicacies from street vendors: tamales, elote loco, blue tortilla quesadillas from the lady in Echo Park.
The Downtown L.A. skyline always looked so alluring, glittering against the smoggy night. We would’ve taken a bite right out of it, if we could, and washed it down with an agua fresca or a bottle of soju.
It was such a sight — when my friends and I ate the city.
We’re so sorry, but we didn’t leave you any.