Food Heals (When It’s Really Fucking Good)

The last seven weeks have sucked. Here’s what made me feel better.

The fires were the fires.

What they don’t tell you is that after the flames are out, after the manic energy on Instagram dissipates, after the AQI seems to have improved, that’s when the deep sadness starts to seep in. That’s when the future reads foggy, and the uncertainty becomes unbearable. That’s when you try, but actually this time, to wrap your head around what it means to live in L.A. When you remember, with a wet quiver in your eye sockets, that you’re not even from here. When you let yourself ask, should I stay? Can I stay? Do I even want to stay? You’re driving on the Glendale Freeway, and tears are now streaming down your face.

The last two months have been difficult. I am lucky, of course, in that I did not lose my home or my neighborhood. But all of us in Los Angeles have lost something. For those like me, who are newer here and more naive, it’s a sense of security. It’s the belief that it’s enough that a city, a lifestyle, a food scene, a beat, a community makes you happy. It’s the ability to choose L.A. confidently.

I love it here, I’ve not been shy about that. This newsletter is called The Angel. It covers the Los Angeles food scene because that’s what I wanted to do with my time. Every Saturday morning, I run a love letter to Los Angeles from a different L.A. resident.

And yet, I’m from New York. My parents are there and so are my siblings. David’s brother is there, and our aunts and uncles and cousins are, too. We want to have a family someday, somewhat soon. Does it feel right to raise kids in a city that burns? Does it make sense to put down roots where an impending major earthquake is a real and actual threat? Not really. But I’m here for now, and I still love L.A.

I’m saying this because it’s the truth. Producing The Angel over the last two months has been more challenging than ever. My heart is hurting. I’m tired of thinking about the future, of strategizing, of feeling sure and unsure at the same time, constantly. But there have been moments of unadulterated joy throughout this rough patch, too. There is something to be said for mood lifters in the form of a brilliantly composed sandwich shared with a new friend, an ice cream flavor that never gets old, a dessert wine so good and unlike anything you’ve had before.

Food heals when it’s really fucking good. When it moves your palette, gets you out of your head, and enables you to be in the moment. This post is an ode to that.

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I was skeptical that there could be a better bagel than Courage, and frankly, there still isn’t, as far as I know. But Mustard’s Bagels, a new weekend pop-up in Highland Park from the Go Get Em Tiger founders, comes close. As a purist, I didn’t think I’d be into a nori everything bagel, yet I really was. I love how they cake the entire exterior in a seasoning that includes sesame oil and MSG. Bonus points for the smart miso-scallion schmear and house-smoking nova. Treat yourself to a luxury cup of coffee while you’re there.

If you know, you know, and if you don’t, now you do: The pancakes from the long-closed, excellent Abbott Kinney daytime spot AXE are unparalleled, and you can still buy their batter at General Store in Venice. (For timeline reference, I once saw Reese Witherspoon and Jake Gyllenhaal on a date there.) The AXE pancake is a multigrain phenom made with brown rice, whole wheat flour, millet, and oats, and it will fill your entire morning with glee. We like to add frozen blueberries and sliced bananas, duh. The batter freezes well. You want this batter in your freezer.

A slice of Sarah Durning’s citrus pie to finish dinner at Dunsmoor Bar with June. We also had a burger. The burger is very good. But, damn, I know it’s hard to find room for dessert at Dunsmoor. It’s also a shame to miss out on this citrus pie—custardy, punchy, and the color of American cheese with a thick, buttery crust and a generous dollop of whipped cream.

The passionfruit ice cream (cut off, left) was tops, too.

My favorite part about going to Psychic Wines is getting to taste cheese. Tasting cheese at the counter with Reilly is how I came to understand the power of Le Gruyère AOP surchoix, made by the Swiss cheesemakers Gourmino. It’s herbaceous, nutty, round, and slightly sweet, balanced and exquisite. No wonder it was named the World's Best Cheese.

It’s special when a friend tells you to order something you never had at a place you always go to, and it hits. Like how Joseph told me about the housemade sparkling lemonade at Zhengyalov Hatz—essentially an iced virgin mojito, as the lady behind the counter told me. I ordered it on a rainy day, and it tasted even more refreshing than it would on a scalding one.

A salad opus sneak preview: I cannot stop thinking about the tea leaf salad at Jasmine Market. I crave it every day.

Priyanka Mattoo

knows what’s up (but we knew that). I will describe said salad in further detail when the time comes… soon.

The skirt steak at Sam’s Place is cooked to perfection. No notes. It cemented this notion for me: Sam’s Place is where you go when you want a straightforward, home-cooked meal but don’t want to do it yourself (and no one has invited you over).

I love how even though I repeatedly recommend Echigo as my favorite sushi spot in L.A., no one ever seems to go besides David and me and my parents, when they’re in town. (Tessa did go, though, and loved it, naturally). It’s probably because Echigo is in West L.A., and most of my friends live east. This just makes it more mine, the place I want to go when I’m feeling down. Finishing with uni and ikura never fails to lift my spirits. Have I ever mentioned that Echigo is basically a glass box in the sky?

The squash blossom and burrata pie at Pizzeria Mozza still slaps, and that’s worth celebrating. Consistency is king. Nancy deserves her pedestal.

Thank you, Mackenzie, for introducing me to Valentin Morel’s Macvin du Jura, a dessert wine so good I actually need to buy a bottle for my next dinner party. I won’t even try to describe it because wine tasting notes aren’t my thing, but I implore you to go to Stir Crazy and have it with dessert.

You want this (dessert) wine.

I haven’t made ice cream in months. Am I depressed? Probably! Graeter’s Black Raspberry Chip is an iconic flavor that can fill the gaping hole in your heart, if only for ten minutes. The Cincinnati-based ice cream maker ships nationwide and swiftly, too.

The New York attention towards French fries will not let up, and thank God for that. Zimmi’s is a new entry, serving creamy-inside, crispy-outside bistro frites that are a tad thicker than a McNally fry. They were the highlight of my meal.

The food at Ha’s Snack Bar is off the charts. My eyes literally widened after I popped an escargot drowned in tamarind butter into my mouth. And again, after I swiped blood “pudding” onto a small, warm baguette. Go out of your way to eat here.

Is anything more comforting than a plate of cavatelli with hot sausage and browned sage butter at Frankies Spuntino? Not for me. Weekend lunch here is a salve.

Much has been said about Zoë Kanan’s EB BB sandwich at Elbow Bread: walnut praline butter, dates, and cream cheese on black bread. Rightfully so.

Christine Muhlke

advised me to pick one up for my flight out, saying it holds up well the next day (a tip I’m now passing on to you). I couldn’t resist one straight out the gate on my first morning in New York last week. Sharing it with a new friend was a joyous experience.

The EB BB, shared with the chef Sam Lawrence at Bridges.

Dinner at Le Veau d’Or with really good industry friends was the most fun I’ve had in a restaurant in years. As stated in my just-updated New York City guide: The team is ace. The drinks are stellar. The room is magnetic. The food is fantastic. It’s old, it’s new, it’s why restaurants matter, and why New York is the restauarant capital of the world. For the best time, book a four-top.

I returned from New York and immediately baked granola for

Julia Sherman

’s Great American Granola Exchange: oats, hazelnuts, dried cherries, shredded coconut, sesame seeds, cinnamon, cardamom, vanilla, maple syrup, and olive oil. A heavenly aroma filled my entire house and lasted through the next day. On Friday, I packed up a batch for a stranger in Portland, another for a wildfire victim in L.A., and a third for our neighbor. The experience was so much more healing than I expected it to be. I’m excited to receive a granola care package of my own this week.