Las Vegas is a city built by breakfast specials. Sex and gambling, too, of course, and divorce and vaudeville and the creative use of neon. But the energy for all that vice had to come from somewhere, and mostly it came from eggs. In the early days, when depositing your savings in machines designed to cheat you still seemed a dubious proposition, the casinos offered cut-rate rooms and airfares. And eggs, always eggs. âThey used to line up down the hall for the ninety-nine-cent special,â a cook from the old Lindyâs cafĂ© in the Flamingo told me. âOne time, so much grease built up in the ceiling that it came down the walls and set fire to the flat-tops. Pretty soon, the hood caught on fire and the extinguishers went off with that chemical that looks like smoke, and then the Fire Department came in. Everybody just kept on eating. They said, âDoes this mean my food will take longer now?â â
The egg cooks at the old Flamingo coffee shop, from 2005.
(Link from the NYTâs Sam Sifton - one of his What to Cook this Week/Weekend columns, which usually contain one or two extra gems.)
@butteredwaffles, Iâve read the truffle piece several times now (it hits most all of my âthings I want to read aboutâ points) - thank you for posting it.
In the 80s, working as a production assistant / interpreter for a film crew working on a never-completed PBS show (some of the footage ended up in The deâMedici Kitchen), I went out with a tartufaio and his dog in that area. He had a chest freezer with a fortune in vacuum-sealed truffles. We visited the Alba truffle market, which was a bunch of shady-looking dudes in overcoats milling around the courtyard of a two-story 60s-style office building like where youâd find a dentistâs office. You didnât see many truffles, but you could smell that they had a shitload. The tartufaio gave me a bag of truffles, which I kept in my hotel room. One night I woke up from a nightmare in which someone was suffocating me with dirty gym socks.
Thatâs everything I imagined the old truffle world to be. Love it
Reminds me of that fortune cookie factory in Oaklands chinatown that turned out to also be a massive weed growing operation ~15 years ago
Wonderful piece.
So much here that I respect:
If you would like to support Drexell & Honeybeeâs, learn more about the place and people, or both, hereâs their site:
Yay!!! Iâm looking forward to learning what you cook from it - hope youâre happy with the investment!
Itâs a small investment for sure -about 20$ IIRC. 6 recipes total, but all good ones. Tortillas, Horchata, 2 salsas, braised beef for their chivichangas & pozole.
I would do it again -now that I know they do eventually come in the mail! They are going to do some books on restaurants in Tokyo as well, to be published in both Japanese & English, so that might be fun.
Thereâs no guarantee. The form explicitly states
- IF pre-order demand is not met, then the site will effectively act as a crowdfunding site and will forward all generated money (minus our $50 listing fee) to the Author/Venue. There are no refunds.
I do understand that. But they did meet their minimum for all their books and i have received the Sonoratown book.
The small price point and small minimum makes it low risk for me. Just wanted to see the first order in from beginning to end to feel comfortable before ordering anything else
iâm gonna order all the LA ones for sure
Iirc Ken said he would order some for the store as well.
Cultural appropriation?
The ultimate drunk/stoned/hungry meal?
Both links originally posted by @bbqboy on HO.
Idk. For me, you canât be mad at that, itâs not Mexican but who cares. I wouldnât go out of my way to eat one but if I was drunk and coming out of the Riv Jazz club in Paris iâd try one
Michelle Zauner has a new memoir which opens with her âCrying in H Martâ essay:
Also part of Japanese Breakfast!
Japanese Breakfast is a solo project.
Mentioned in the NYer article: