Exit-Stential Shopping

By Mike Osborne

The Los Angeles Times is in the heart of downtown. It is a venerable and massive institutional construct, built in the late 1940's and occupies a whole city block between 1st and 2nd Street. It's across from City Hall and about a block from LAPD Headquarters. Look uphill and you'll see the iconic titanium arches of the concert hall and the art museum. The physicality of the Times building reflects a very different era in the history of this country. It was a period when the majority of American inhabitants got their daily dose of news and information by reading inked words and gazing at fuzzy but compelling photos that were actually printed on multiple sheets of cheap paper. I know some of you have seen this for yourselves. Major newspapers wielded enormous power--still do to some degree. But times are changing, have changed, and will continue to do so at a rapid pace despite protestations and the longing for simpler, kinder days. I suppose resistance to change could be ranked near the top of mankind's less desirable trait list. We definitely tend and trend toward resistance rather than embracing what is inevitable. Welcome to the 21st Century, the brief shining radar blip on the screen of human history that will prove to be the make it or break it for our species. I don't have to tell you that the outlook is bleak. You see that for yourself every time you glance at a headline, catch a snippet of news on the radio, turn on the computer, use your cell phone, or flip on the boob tube.

So, instead of delving into the Pandora's Box of society's ills that we're all sick of hearing about 24/7/365, let me tell you about grocery shopping in downtown El-Lay. See, that's been part of my job description working for the Food Section--designated shopper. About two blocks away in one direction is a big open air affair called Grand Central Market. It's on Broadway. This place is like any mercado you'd expect to find in any Mexican city of any size. Produce, bakery, meat counters, seafood, get and go restaurants, liquor--it's all there. When the kitchen needs Latin American ingredients I hoof it to Grand Central Market and grab the goodies. The prices are hard to beat, too. Blueberries, for example, cost around five bucks for four ounces in regular grocery stores. At Grand Central you'll get eight ounces for a dollar. The meat prices are much lower, too. The space of the place is filled with independent vendors. These are all small businesses that have no real buying power compared to grocery chains, and yet they beat the pants off of them on price. I don't know how they do it, but the place has been in business and thriving since the 1920's. One of the food vendors there is always stacked up with customers waiting for soft tacos and other typical Mexican street foods. I usually order the slow-simmered pork soft tacos. Juicy, tender, shreds of pig adorned with diced white onion, cilantro, and two hot sauces, red and green, make for a potent mid-day munch. I roll up mounds of flesh in fresh corn tortillas, squeeze on a bit of lime, and feel guilty that they only charged me $2.50. It's a helluva deal. Horchata on the rocks washes the spicy stuff down in a most delightful way.

Japan town is two blocks away in the opposite direction, also within walking distance. Whenever I need Asian ingredients that regular grocery stores don't stock, I stroll over to Marukai Market. The produce is beautiful, usually of higher quality, and less expensive than what the big chains charge. The people who shop there and work there are mostly Japanese with limited English, and none of them speak Texan. Experience has taught me that it pays to learn the Japanese names of unfamiliar items. Outside the store is a multi-tiered plaza filled with shops and restaurants. On the third level is a hole-in-the-wall Japanese noodle joint called Orochon which I like to frequent. I think the name translates roughly as courage or bravery. The menu is both limited and interesting, but hey--it's a ramen house so I just order noodles. They offer godzilla-size bowls of three different savory broths--soy, miso, and salty, with various garnishes and seven heat levels. Level four has my bald noggin sweating beaded bullets after two or three sips. It burns, but it's a good burn that quickly dissipates. If you're a big enough jackass to slurp down a whole serving of heat level seven they take your picture and post it on the Orochon wall of bravery. I order the miso broth with some extra pork and don't worry about my manliness. I never noodle now how much I liked ramen though I haven't been able to finish the whole bowl. The broth is very umami rich and takes the term, savory, to a whole different planet. It's really good stuff that teases and tantalizes the taste buds in a deeply meaningful, Zen-like way, while assuaging the growling tummy dragons to a long lasting point of quiet, reflective satiation, if you know when to quit. The guy that does the Man vs. Food show has visited Orochon with his camera crew in tow. In his photo he looks about as brave as anyone could who was about to explode. I'm pretty sure I could see whisps of smoke snaking skyward from his updo.

For the more mundane items on the perpetual shopping list I drive a few blocks to the downtown Ralph's, which is a lot like a typical HEB. It's on 9th between Flower and Hope Street. I park in an underground garage and have to make myself remember to get my parking ticket validated. As I leave with my groceries heading back to the test kitchen I am faced with two choices. I can exit to Flower Street or I can exit to Hope. For some reason I always exit to Hope. I take a left on 9th toward the fashion district and looking up see the words, Apparel Mart, emblazoned across the top of a tall building several blocks ahead. As I drive on, buildings in the foreground obstruct all but three of those letters--ART. I exit to Hope, look up, and ART is what I see. Hmmmm. There's probably a life lesson lurking behind a simple trip to the grocery store.

Taking off for culinary school at this juncture in life was an exit to Hope. My internship at the LA Times was another. In troubling times we must choose our turns and exits well. I say pick hope whenever you can, don't forget to look up, and be ready to witness the art that thrives in the unlikliest places. You're bound to have taken some exits, too. I want to hear about them. As we say in the bidness, Chow!

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