The J.R.S. #6 - Homestate, Running a 5k, & Drinking a shot of Vermouth
Happy Birthday Samuel L. Jackson! He doesn’t read this, but if he ever becomes a reader, I want him to feel like I was looking out for him. Welcome to all my other readers, new and old, who aren’t Samuel L. Jackson! I’m so honored to have your eyeballs for the next few minutes. We only have two more editions of The J.R.S. before 2018, so settle in for written words by me that review things so you don't have to.
Homestate
"Shabby Chic Tacos in the Worst Way"
There are only a few places in the world that I feel like I've “lived” in. I use the metric of understanding the culture, the community, and most importantly, the cuisine as a deciding factor in what makes it into the “lived” column as opposed to the “extended stay” column.
I’ve lived in California, Texas, Italy, and Thailand. I've had extended stays in Pennsylvania and Montana.
This level of distinction is important, because this review covers something near and dear to my heart, and I want to qualify my credentials before we do a deep dive into the topic at hand, which on the surface is a Tex-Mex restaurant that opened up in Los Feliz a few years ago, but is really about breakfast tacos and Texas.
Growing up and living in LA, I was dead-set in my opinions on the supreme breakfast menu order - that being a breakfast burrito. Having a steady diet of eggs, bacon, and hash browns (not breakfast potatoes, damn you) all throughout high school, I considered myself a knowledgeable expert in the best breakfast menu item.
Oh, the folly of youth.
When I decided to go to Trinity University in San Antonio for college, I arrived in the Lone Star state ready to combat all haters of California and everything that came along with the beloved Bear Republic, including breakfast burritos.
My sister had whispered tales of the fabled breakfast tacos in San Antonio, to which I openly dismissed as breakfast burritos but worse. Why would I want a smaller tortilla with fewer ingredients when I had a self-contained delicious delivery vehicle that could also be as used an object of defense if thrown hard enough?
Tacos were for lunch and dinner, and they only came in small corn tortillas, had toppings of onions and cilantro, and were to be (deliciously) gobbled in three bites at most. Nay, tacos were not to be served for breakfast.
Texas was rough for me in the beginning. The marijuana was sub-par, it was a humid swampland most of the time, and I almost failed a class my first semester that was completely focused on emerging digital storytelling media.
Yup. I didn't see the value of writing online or podcasting in 2005. The irony of my career path does not escape me.
In a flip-flop that rivaled George Bush's “No New Taxes” pledge, Texas swiftly won over my heart with their mythical breakfast. Forget The Alamo - Remember the Tacos!
Like any piece of great architecture, the foundation of the building is critical. When it comes to breakfast tacos, the cornerstone is the large, hot, and fresh flour tortilla that, like Atlas, carries a world of flavor and deliciousness to your waiting maw.
Feel free to mix and match ingredients, but when ordering a round of Brekky Brekky Tac Tacs, be sure to have one consist of egg, bacon and cheese. Other great options are the bean and cheese, or a personal favorite - a Migas taco, which has bits and pieces of tortillas scrambled into the egg.
The beauty (and superiority) of breakfast tacos over breakfast burritos is the affordable variety of culinary adventures that one can easily embark upon. Order two breakfast tacos and maybe even a lunch taco! This is America baby, there are no rules - as long as it has eggs, you're still in the breakfast zone.
Breakfast burritos confine you - even if you order dual meats, the burrito becomes large and unwieldy. Now I haven't abandoned my hometown - just conceding the tortilla, egg, and fixings champion to be tacos.
Taco shacks are ubiquitous throughout Texas. Go to any town, and you'll find a shack that will serve delicious staples, for around a dollar and change each. Breakfast is the great equalizer - rich man, poor man, everyone loves tacos.
When I learned that a breakfast taco joint was opening across the street from my apartment in Los Feliz, I was elated. Similar to the feeling I get when I enter a bookstore knowing that I'm going to spend money, it was pure joy. Even more, I learned that a woman from Austin started Homestate - I would be feasting on authenticity.
I entered the store with true giddiness. I ordered a plate of three breakfast tacos, and to my utter delight, I saw that Homestate had my beloved Topo Chico in stock. I exclaimed with glee and told the cashier how I was obsessed with Topo, and begged to know where they had procured it in Los Angeles.
The cashier went to go ask the manager, returned, and told me that he couldn't tell me. It was a secret.
Like the Hindenburg, my internal balloon of bliss burst. My hopes and dreams of finding a breakfast taco and Topo homefront were destroyed in an instant.
For three tacos and a Topo Chico (after tip), I paid close to $20. The tacos were adequate, but didn't possess the taste, quality or care of true breakfast tacos from Texas. Also, I understand LA prices are expensive, but I just can't mentally justify spending $3.50 on a taco that lasts three bites.
Homestate is great for lots of people, but it breaks my heart. It’s a reminder of all the potential it could have delivered (for me) and how it fell short. In essence, the name reminds me just how away we are from the Lone Star State.
Homestate - 1 out of 5 Stars
Running a 5K
"Not serious like a Half Marathon, but still sucks"
I'm not super great at exercise. It's not because I dislike working out or being active - I love being outdoors and doing all sorts of physical activities.
However, the act of working out to “work out” has always been mentally difficult for me to summit. Gyms are bizarre places to me, because everyone is making really funny sounds and staring at themselves in the mirror, and no one is acknowledging this.
Also, due to the intensity of sounds and gazes, I feel uncomfortable with gym culture because I don't know how to work the machines, and I don't want to make eye contact or ask anyone, betraying my gymnorance, so that's the main gripe I have with gyms.
Swimming, Hiking, Paddle Tennis, Volleyball, Softball - these are all things I enjoy and try to do often. But I've never been able to get into the groove of being a “runner.”
Luckily, my family has a tradition that makes it easy to trick yourself into running, and that is the “Run Drink Run.” Basically, some of the more ambitious and athletic members of the family sign up for a half-marathon. However, only a few decide to partake in the full 13.1.
The rest of them run a 5k, hop in a car and join the rest of the family at a bar near the finish line, and then join up with true athletes for the last mile to grab their medal.
Booze, exercise, and the feeling of being a champion - the true trifecta of success.
After being on the sidelines for the last RDR, I decided to do the Venice Christmas 5k with my cousin and my girlfriend. It was an easily achievable distance and an excellent motivational goal.
Now, I know it's silly to “train” for a 5k, but train I did. Nearly every day for three weeks I would run on the Venice Bike Path, and then when I had hit a mental halfway mark, I would turn tail and bob and weave through the crowds, kooks, and snake charmers who clog the boardwalk.
I've been making strides to be happier, and turns out, taking a few thousand literal strides a day releases these magical brain pills called endorphins - which in turn make you feel good.
My girlfriend has been touting the joy of exercise since we started dating, and now I think I know what she's talking about. I take great delight in discussing how running is making me happier in a calm and even tone, and watch as she tries not to yell "I told you so" every time.
Three weeks of training resulted in me being able to run 2.5 miles in 21 minutes, which I led me to feel confident for the 5k. The day of the race came and there we were, three people in a group of nearly 5,000 dressed in Christmas garb. Santa was there, and it must be mentioned, the young woman who sang the Star Spangled Banner was exceptionally good - better than you hear at professional ballparks.
We did a combination of running and walking that resulted in all three of us finishing in 37 minutes. The best thing was that we're not normally awake at 8 am on a Saturday morning, so we were able to grab brunch and booze at our favorite spot on Abbot Kinney with no wait.
Now that the race is over, I find myself in search of my next running milestone. Who knows, maybe 2018 will see me being a prestigious member of the Run Drink Run club.
Running a 5k - 4 out of 5 Stars
Drinking Vermouth Straight
"The opposite of class"
Early on in my drinking career, freshman year of college, I joined a fraternity. After I discovered breakfast tacos, college turned into a great experience for me; I stumbled upon my love of travel, writing, and art, and also realized that true friends were ones who supported you through a culture of positivity, not negativity.
My friends in high school drank, but due to my paranoia of getting a DUI, I never really imbibed to comical levels. Now I was in a city with no car, drinking opportunities within walking distance with no real consequences, and a penchant for tomfoolery that only groups of young men can encourage in one another.
During one blurry Sunday morning, A Cajun compadre of mine suggested that we do a shot of vermouth. I raised concern that I didn't think that it was for shots, and more of a mixing alcohol, but he insisted that it had alcohol in it, so it couldn't be bad.
In a rare case of instant regret, we both took the shot, made horrified faces, and then he drawled out at me "That was bad. That was a bad idea."
For almost a decade since the Sunday incident, I've been wary of vermouth in any form. It drove me to despise martinis on principle, and cautiously back away from any mixed drink with vermouth.
Then I started making martinis at home for my girlfriend. At first, they were just for her, and I felt like a fancy bartender - then I tasted one and realized that when not taken as a lukewarm shot on a hungover Sunday morning, vermouth isn't half bad.
Also, martinis get you ripped – the deep and dark secret of high society everywhere.
Taking a shot of vermouth - 2 out of 5 stars
That's a full lid on this version of The J.R.S. Happy Birthday Atticus! I’m sorry I have such extreme feelings about Homestate. Don’t hesitate to telegram me at JRSdiaries@gmail.com and let me know your thoughts, opinions, or your favorite breakfast taco order. Like most wedding DJs, I do take review requests.
Finally, if you like what you read, tell your friends - trying to get internet famous y'all.
Love you, miss you!
Joey