Saul "sinus clearer" S.'s Profile

Me: you want some of my pulled pork meat *wink*

Wife: nah, there's enough in my side of greens.

Oh man! They pile the meat on like this season of The Biggest Loser ----- soon to be a contestant after the discovery of this joint.  

The brisket and pork is so moist and tender it makes you want to (right after you slap yo mama) grab the attention of the nearest vegetarian within atomic-wedgie distance. *shines pearly canine*

pulled pork sandwich: 7.99  

Smoked Beef Brisket: 8.99  

toasting your dearest's health with a styrofoam cup of bubba sauce: Priceless

Let me get this straight: "HUGE portions" merit the authenticity-stamp for Mexican joints?? *sigh*

This place is as "authentic" as Knott's Berry Farm's Montezuma's Revenge snack-bar.

Maybe I'm spoiled by the regional Piasa joints that don't cater to LA nostalgia but I don't trust any Mexican restaurant that doesn't serve Carne Asada or Pastor meat.

After all the hype from my newly extended East-Los familia and fellow die-hard Dodger fans, Its safe to say I was disappointed by TepeWac's condensed, portion-friendly menu.

I agree, not ALL "authentic" Mexican joints serve the same type of food, but they DO serve a protein other than thawed-out chicken strips and Shredded beef(Machaca)  
   

No trolling. Soon after I ate here, I discovered this place is a joke among un chingo de Mexicanos besides this serote from Long Beach.

Phogetaboutit!

Pho Kimmy's got it right. Fat is something that should define your broth not shank it in the spleen. I can't tell you how often my Pho is ruined by the boiled-tree-sap consistency of hastily heated brisket fat... or any other butchered cut.

Kimmy's not only filled the bitter bowl-shaped-void, a recent closing of a local Vietnamese favorite left, but it has me risking life, limb and inflated gas prices in Lil' Saigon's (Westminster) notorious traffic on a weekly basis.

The adrenaline from dodging Lexus-rickshaws and reckless turn-signal abandonment is quickly subdued by the first great waft of slow simmered brisket generously garnished with cilantro and basil. Their protein phat is soooo tender it gently melts, clouding the transcendent broth, slowly stretching its salty tentacles around transparent noodles keeping you in slurping distance until your nose is touching porcelain.

Where 98% of Pho phails, Kimmy's aces with dancing Hoisin & Siracha colors.

Like a diamond in the rough, gem in a vacuum-cleaner bag, etc, etc.. Thai as good as this convicts the hardened Long Beach neighborhood to -siren blaring- repentance.

Lucky for you, Saul S. is discretion itself, the very soul of discretion. With respect to the wise counsel's near perfect approval of Sri Maya, I'll only disclose this sacred location to a select few (outside of Yelp of course) and swear them to secrecy.

Why the 'hush hush' you ask? Well, my incessant leg-jumping yelpers, the last thing I want to hear -while squinting & slurping my way to the bottom of a spicy Tom Yum Goong bowl- is an impatient mob, waiting to be seated, bitterly clearing their throat at the audacity of me loosening the ol' belt notch while I idly pass the time over the dessert selection. Have you seen their apple cake? Sweet child of Minnie Driver! I still haven't worked up the nerve to taste it... let me know.. will ya!

If the parking lot is full, avoid parking the vespa out of your sights. The local consensus agrees, the area is pretty shady but -IMO-  the bleak landscape just brings out Sri Maya's luster even more.

Watered down gas, stale/expired peanuts, overpriced tea, wailing electro-door chime (it goes up to eleven),
hot-falafel-breathing (too old for a pony tail and too young to claim senility when returning incorrect change) register dude; who sizes up every guy confusing his odorous omnipresence for the beef-jerky shrine. The 'Forests of Lebanon' scented incense ain't working bud.  

Short of a neighborhood snake charmer loitering in the front, it's everything a 4th street 'gas/food mart' should be.

Warning: Don't stare at  Fat Zappa's left eye and avoid paying w/ plastic. I have a feeling the mystery charges described by Meghan O. & Phoenix A. are funding the downtown Beirut mural on his mini-bus.

Don't forget the bag of chips!

You can keep your New-Fusion-fluff and shove that California Roll up your keister. Just gimmie a belly busting Busy Bee's special with a generous stack of paper-towels.  

This sustaining-salty-sauce trough doubles as a modest liquor store --would make a fortune on its marinara sauce alone-- so if you're in the mood for a dinning experience; table, chair or  milk crate to sit down and quickly devour your beloved breaded slop (moist-wipees are a must), it's neither here nor there.

Get on the bus Gus! Equipped with picnic tables, San Pedro's landmark: 'Angels Gate Park' is just up the street. Feel free to (inbetween belches) reenact the 'Usual Suspects' scene made famous next to the Huge Korean Bell.  

Tip:

Busy or Bee won't accept plastic. So unless you want to pay a two dollar withdrawal fee to use their AtM while the locals in line scoff at you... bring some cash.

Still in denial =(

I've heard amputees describe an occasional phantom tingling of their missing limb.. It must feel like my aimless driving by this taunting structure  -knowing full well it's closed-  hoping, it was all some mixup.

They'll be open tomorrow.. heHe. We'll sit at our usual booth and start with those delicious eggrolls:  the one's with teh flakyness no one comes close to duplicating. I think I'll finally ask our gracious owner/host his secret. God forbid the place close down without ever tasting that unique crust with the little air pocket craters I like to marvel at before dipping' em into the fish sauce. *sigh*  

They just took a short vacation, hunting exotic pho spices, to places I cant pronounce.

The "closed" sign is just a crafty marketing scheme. They're just getting back at my opting for tacos that one Thursday night...         IM SORRY!!!

*sobs hysterically*

Taco bell is like a trip to the voting booth. We don't really care for our limited options; we'll eventually suffer the consequence of our choice, but their commercial ads are so inciting to our depraved society of disappointment.  

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Pretty starved for some methane producing goodness before it melts to cardboard; I approach the counter relieved that the place is empty and there's no line.

Me: I'd like the combo #4, for here please

Register kid who's blown out of his mind with puffy pug-like eyes (we'll call him CRACK HEAD):  *long pause*

Me: soooo.. I'll have a number four..?

Pug eyes: oh... o - k

Making up for the shroom-induced register-apathy, the grub is quickly prepared and my order number is called by what looks like pug-eye's manager/babysitter.

Me (upon seeing my order mistakenly bagged): excuse me, I think I ordered this for here.

Manager (who seems to live for these moments): would jeww like a tray?

Me: sure, why not.

Taking a seat next to a nice plant to remind me of other life forms, I unwrap my taco to find no sour cream.

I walk back to the  --empty-- counter with my neglected taco and patiently wait for a pulse coming from something other than me or a plant..

I wait.

CRACK HEAD: Can I hepp you?

Me (pointing to the autopsied taco): don't taco 'supremes' normally come with sour-cream?

CRACK HEAD: Oh yea! (without looking, he motions to three food preps behind his back) .. she'll help you. (and resumes his gimpish texting)        


I wait.

Manager/mom observes me waiting and grins.

I wait.

I consider calling the manager's attention with my spork to Crackie's neck.

I wait.

The food prep girl finally waddles over

Manatee: Can I help you?

Me: Yes, my taco supreme would taste better with sour cream *point to soggy mess*

Her: Didn't you order a  #6?

I swallow my pride like cement mixture down a searing throat and reexamine the menu to confirm my sanity.

Me: No, I ordered a number #4

Girl pauses and gives me a look like there's no way she or the other extremely detail-oriented preps could've missed a condiment on my taco while flirting with CRACK HEAD and yapping about American Idol.

Girl: You sure?

Me (in Buffalo-Bill snarl): JUST GIMMIE  A  *#@$*&^ TACO SUPREME!

*crickets chirp*

On a rainy Friday night we set about a brisk 4th street walk to inhale the fresh mineral air and take advantage of Kafe Neo's recent doorstep promotion along our sinus-clearing way.

It's one of those nights where nothing warms the blood like stepping out of the rain and into a dimly lit; generously heated, brick layered sanctuary with huge, wooly plush booths to nest in until the staff politely asks you to lock up the joint. Which is exactly what we passed up on the way here but it was a nice light shower to continue walking and we had a coupon for Greek... *finger twirl*

Finally sopping our way up Neo's front paved lot, at first glance behind the elongated stucco face and energy efficient plexiglas, I'm reminded how Greeks tactfully furnish and decorate their abode like Amy Winehouse balances her checkbook.

I "get" their industrial look, but the former reconstructed auto shop was too brightly lit for my fugliness. *hisss*

With one of three LCD screens loosely looming over our table, there were just enough uv rays to observe the sweaty beads trickle down the fat of my lightly seared lamb just in time for Passover.

Food, I can't complain. My chops were perfectly braised and with a little garlic hummus I was able to tune out the espn highlights reflecting off the hive of patron's lenses.

Seems like a nice summer spot to chill and sip a sparkling Zagori.

Rainy nights.... not so much.

We latinos/chicanos/hispanics, etc etc.. have our own term of endearment for those FOBs (fresh off the boat)

They're called Choont(s). And you'll notice any self-respecting Choont wont be found anywhere near here. Let alone caught drowning a King Taco burrito in tapatio sauce to compensate for their meat's  -charred grill-bits-  dryness.

Nope, they are laughing their nalgas off whenever they see a fellow Mestizo, so disconnected from their mami's pueblo that they think these tacos are the chit. You'll most likely find them scoffing at the same boiled tree-sap consistency "asada", over at Tacos Mexico' as well.  

Too my fellow Pochos http://en.wikipedia.or... with a faint choont whisper in their heart:     beware the franchised taquero.