Éric "Bacon Bear" T.'s Profile

A couple of friends of mine went down to San Diego to watch the Dodgers play the Padres and I decided to tag along for the lolz. While they sat through what I call a $40 nap, I decided to explore the Downtown area and on a whim, to get my septum pierced.

I walked from the hotel we were staying at in the Gaslamp to this shop and had my nose penetrated (like the filthy whore it is) with a 12g retainer in less then 30 minutes. They answered all the questions I had, gave me a price quote ($60 including tip) and made it as relatively painless as possible.  Fernando, my piercer, was pretty cool. We spoke Spanish since it was easier for the two of us to communicate. And I also appreciate that he didn't sock me in the face for being such a pansy. I'm a virgin to any kind of piercing and, while I knew that being poked with something the size of a knitting needle wasn't exactly going to be pleasurable, I didn't expect to be tearing up buckets. From what I know now, it's a natural reaction for sinus stress but it wasn't pretty.

We also talked about the aftercare. He gave me some pretty good suggestions. No aftercare kit, but honestly, most of us have sea salt at home anyway.

Caveat for those thinking about getting a septum piercing:
Shit gets real crusty real fast. I soak my piercing two to three times a day and it's always crusty with boogers. I stopped bleeding about five days after the piercing but flipping my piercing up or down hurts like holy hell if you've got snot encrusted on the retainer. For now, I'll only attempt to do that after I soak it in salt water or in the shower before I hit the streets.

I'm a total whore for pork and poutine in any of its incarnations and when I heard there was a place in San Diego close to my favorite boy that featured a pork poutine, I damn near had a conniption.

I was disappointed to find out they didn't have it that night, because of their rotating menu. I don't get it. Rotating menus are fine for food trucks but the second you lay down some mortar and take out permits from the city to start construction, you need to nail down a set menu. But if it works for them, more power to them.

I ended up settling on their carnitas torta. Man oh man. It was a HUGE sandwich and, for my buck, they gave me extra bang. Nice, buttery authentic telera bread with all the delicious fixings and a good solid inch and a half of crispy tender carnitas. The only disappointment was the guacamole, whose blandness kinda messed up my carnitas and made the sandwich a tad too soggy. They score one extra star for having San Pellegrino's Aranciata.

But it's all good. When your other dining options are a janky 7-11 and generic Mexican food, this place is a must.

I've never been a fan of Domino's Pizza.
For me, their pies are vile, sulfurous  concoctions baked in some infernal hell pit, second only to Little Caesars or Pizza Loca. I'm almost certain that at some point in their existence, Domino's pizzas must begin as cardboard boxes but by providing acts of kindness (sheltering hobos against inclement weather or being forts for obese children with overactive imaginations), they're able to incarnate as sub par pies for suburban families.

What I am a fan of, however, is that this particular Domino's is open at midnight on a weeknight.

On Valentines Day, when the rest of the world is rushing out to Target or the Hallmark store to buy the same mass-fabricated love cards and boxes of chocolates to fuel a weeknight pump and dump mattress session, the roommies and I went out to drink. And, boy, did I drink. There's nothing that arouses me than a bucket of whiskey in my gut and boys with few hindrances when it comes to fornicating. Having arranged a hook-up that left me feeling dirty and hungry, I scouted a place that would provide something starchy enough soak up as much alcohol as possible before I started work in 8 hours. Domino's came to the rescue.

I know un-sexy and a disheveled guy walking down Obispo carrying a box of jalapeno bacon cheesey bread has got to be the epitome of sexy failure. But, can I please say, that cheesey bread was amazing. The ads aren't lying when they say they pump that bread full of cheese. It's obscene. In my neck of the woods, this cheesey bread is called a calzone, but I'm not one to complain.  Make sure they don't skimp out on the bacon or the jalapenos. You'll need something in there to cut through all that bland mozzarella cheese.

This location is also perilously close to the Silvefox. If you are going to patronize that establishment, I would recommend Domino's being your pit stop before landing home.

I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to venture back to this place, but the memories are golden.

I'm extremely grateful for the Ex and everything he ever did and introduced me to, and this is one of those things. I had written 4th Street and its many establishments off as hipster nonsense (The Coffee Cup, The Vine,  Portfolio, Number 9), but this place blew my socks off. Its menu, although it features good solid food, was no more different than that of any other breakfast joint anywhere else in Long Beach. Its crown jewel, however, has to be the Super Browns.

Egg Heaven takes par-boiled potatoes and passes them through a grinder, producing something that resembles small, gnarled shoestring fries. They throw these on their griddle while they fire up some onions and mushrooms. We always had them add chorizo to our order to give them the appearance of an acceptable breakfast item. This all got topped with sour cream, fresh avocado and cheddar cheese, because only more fat can top this carbtastic behemoth. You'll want to pass on their vinegar-y pico de gallo and top this off with two over-medium eggs and some of that hot sauce they have on their tables.

I'm not sure if it was the giddy excitement of throwing back a week's allotment of carbs in one sitting or the scintillating conversation that always bordered on inappropriate in a room full of breeders, but they were always happy times.

The service is quick and efficient. After our second time there, the wait staff knew our "usuals" by heart. Breakfast during the week is never usually an issue. If you're planning on coming during the weekend, we always tried to come in before 9 otherwise you have to write your name down and wait for a table to clear up or eat at the counter.

The T. Family has been through some tough times. I've written about it in the past, but y'all don't wanna believe me. I'm talking about eating breakfast foods for dinner (pancakes, eggs and chorizo) multiple nights a week and, once I started venturing into the kitchen, meals from a box. My parents are simple country folk that were used to slaughtering a calf on the weekend for fresh meat and foraging in the woods for wild spinach and cactus paddles. The thought of making a meal from a box was not only foreign, but to my father's bougie sensibilities, it was tantamount to blowing carnival-goers for nickles.

Needless to say, when someone is willing to treat us out to a meal, we ain't never gonna say no. That was the case this weekend when my older sister and some of my aunts invited us out for Chinese food. This place is fucking far from Paramount and in hindsight, not really worth the schlep but there were some highlights.

We ordered the classics: Kung Pao Chicken, Mongolian Beef, Special Chow Mein and Salt & Pepper Shrimp. The first three options were very much edible and good but, again, not worth the schlep to the South Bay. The Salt & Pepper Shrimp, however, were amazing.

Scratch that. They were FUCKING AMAZING.
Like, face-down, ass-up, ungreased backdoor bangin' good.

The preparation is simple. They took shrimp (we had them pealed and the heads removed because my family's not hip yet to sucking on delicious bloody shrimp brain), battered and fried them, then buried a whole plateful of these skrimps with thinly sliced jalapenos and fried garlic. The garlic permeated the shrimp and infused them with this intoxication deliciousness that, despite being stuffed to the gills, we ordered a second plate.

A couple of things for people venturing to this joint:
It gets awful crowded during lunch hours, especially on the weekend. On my way to pay, I got caught up in a squabble between two Asian ladies that ended ugly. Do yourself a favor and get there early.

Albertita's is this tiny, unassuming little Mexican food joint, across the street from a strip mall featuring a scary-looking Korean BBQ restaurant that looks like a compound for North Korean recruiters and a non-descript  bakery. Down the road is a vacant lot that houses what used to be a ramen house and if you head down the opposite direction, you'll hit the mecca of all things deliciously Japanese: Marukai.

The tacos are amazing. They're a little pricier than what I'm used to shelling out for something so pedestrian,but they're worth it. They re huge and saucy, like yours truly. I love that they're not skimpy with the meat or guacamole. Where other joints want to pass off a tortilla stuffed with onions and the faintest trace of meat substance as a legitimate taco, these guys hook you up.

My boo and I order about 4 tacos a piece. He's a carnitas man and I'm all about my al pastor meats.  If you're the type that gets stuffed eating a Lean Cuisine, A) Fuck you  and B) You'll probably only need 2 tacos. I've never tried their carnitas but my homeslice tells me they're good. The al pastor could use a little more vinegar in the adobo but then it might compromise their texture. I've had many a pork taco but their meat is juicy and tender and the chili is RED. I had their tacos a week ago and my toilet water is still a light shade of magenta.

For a little corner stand in Gardena, this place is a gem. You'll probably find a better taco stand but for a city awash in fast food joints and sushi restaurants, you can't go wrong with a taco from here.

Can we please talk about the chalkboard walls in the bathroom and the batshit insane light fixture they have hanging off the ceiling? What are they, christmas lights? And is that a bike up there?! They have light fixtures with chains attached to them that the bartenders encourage you to swing while you order a drink at the bar and those electrostatic orbs that you see in those lab-fantasy porn flicks....classy.

I had a blast. I wasn't even trying to be cute and I had two dudes buy me a drink. One of them even shared his stash with me and served as our guide for other bear bars in the area. Granted, the clientele here isn't a s pretty as your Castro bars, but dudes here are fucking REAL. They're not clones or drones or Imperial Guards, but they'll do.

Scope out a good spot in the bar and enjoy the people watching, cuz it'll be a doozy. Also, enjoy this bar because unlike its neighbors, there's no cover charge. Holla!

I love Pistons in my hometown of Long Beach and The Eagle in Silver Lake/LA holds a special place in my heart but they can't hold a candle to the awesomeness that is Chaps 2: Electric Boogaloo.

Take it from a professional drunk: I'm the cause of and perpetuation of getting fucked up. I love booze so damn much I enema with Jim Beam and sweat Jack when I'm working out and these fuckers pour STRONG. Their drinks are cheap and the patrons are cute. The bathrooms are surprisingly clean for a burly bar and came equipped with thich link chains for all kinds of naughty deliciousness.

Also worth mentioning are the hot bartenders. I'm not sure what his name was or if he's a regular bartender there but the cute, thick scruffy white boy in the leather boy short panties had me on rock-rock.

If you're an out-of-towner like I was, you gotta go during uniform night. It'll make your boy snatch holla.

I'm almost certain the expression "Hot Tranny Mess" originated from this joint. It reminds me of a sadder, scarier version of Le Barcitos in Silver Lake.

Key points of interest include the bathrooms which are painted a psychotic shade of black and stalls that are kept closed by an iron gate. There's a pool table smack-dab in the middle of the bar and a small stage where the travesty they call a "drag show" must transpire. For a Latin bar, their beer selection is predictable and the tequilas could use a little more variety.  I'm awarding extra stars for being a pretty chill place to commiserate on a chilly Sunday afternoon after a failed trip to Dolores Park and for being the only Latin gay bar I've ever seen in The City.

Who travels 400 miles to buy a pair of Skinny Fit jeans from a colossal megastore of bastardized Gap clothes?

I do!