Hello, Lover.

I finally got a chance to visit the Kogi truck on Thursday night, after the event I mentioned in my last post.

Wonder of wonders, there was no line at the truck parked behind the Alibi Room, save for a dozen or so Yelpers who were milling about before joining the after party inside. As luck would have it, my loyal minion* EJ was at the front of the non-existent line and asked what I'd like. I asked for one each of the short rib and the spicy pork tacos, sans onions.

Within a few minutes, I was chowing down. I finished what I think was the short rib taco first (it was dark and I'd had a few beers, so forgive me for not knowing which was which). It was tasty and mostly onion free and entered my belly quickly. Alas, I was only able to finish half of the second one (presumably the spicy pork) before I gave in and passed my taco along to EJ's buddy Dave to finish off**.

I dug the tacos, but my mind remained relatively unblown until the fabulous Stephy offered to share her kimchi quesadilla.

HOLY KOREAN MOTHER OF GOD.

I've been dreaming about the single bite I took since that moment. In fact, my stomach is grumbling right now just remembering the cheesey, gooey, perfectly spicy, fermented cabbagey goodness. I lust this quesadilla. I want to marry it and have little half-breed quesadilla babies.

I also find this to be further proof that my yellow fever is justified: nothing melds together better than Korean and Mexican.

* Who is actually neither loyal, nor my minion.

** Wow, that sounds filthy.

You Give Love A Bad Name

So I'm headed to a pre-Valentine shindig tonight for the Yelp Elite Squad*. There'll be free tequila (which, unfortunately, I do not drink) and free Mexican food (three words that normally don't bode well for one's digestive system), along with hundreds of drunken, horny Yelpers.

This would probably play out better for me, romantically** speaking, if I didn't already know most of these people. Who dates their friends? I prefer to date strangers, so that they don't know where I live and it's easy to fake my death to explain my failure to return their calls.

Truthfully, I don't feel the need to hook up with someone because of some arbitrary holiday, mostly because every day for me is an arbitrary holiday if I'm having sex. Despite that, I got a haircut and shaved my legs and will be wearing a dress. Hope and lust spring eternal.

* I feel like a douchebag just typing that.

** And by "romantically," of course, I mean "carnally".

Frosting! My Only Weakness!

I would say I have no idea why I'm eating like a ravenous street dog today, but I know it's PMS-related. Despite a lunchtime pita stuffed with leftover chicken shawerma and rice and slathered thickly with hummus* and garlic paste, I was suffering from a relentless attack of the hungries less than three hours later.

I decided to stop at Polkatots, because nothing is as healthy and nutritious as a cupcake. Actually, I got a mini-cupcake. Or six.

I set aside four to take to work tomorrow and ate two, which, according to my calculations, constitute only half of a regular size cupcake. (I'm using new math here, people.) Unfortunately, the two I tried weren't the good ones. In all fairness, this should justify me eating the ones I was saving for my co-workers for breakfast myself instead of sharing.

I sampled the strawberry with strawberry frosting first: the cupcake itself wasn't bad, but the frosting, which was overly greasy, left a lot to be desired. The sugar sprinkles were also unwelcome; I don't like a toothsome crunch to my cupcakes, thank you very much. Then I tried the chocolate with chocolate frosting, which was actually worse than the strawberry. It had a fake mocha-y taste to it that lingered after I finished, which I wouldn't have enjoyed even if I didn't hate mocha. The dulce de leche, coconut, and carrot cake are definitely the way to go at Polkatots.

I also stopped at Grand Chicken, located in the same shopping center and open for just nine days, to pick up tri-tip shawerma for dinner. While the little nibble I had before I stuck it in the fridge wasn't overwhelmingly flavorful or memorable, in a pinch, meat is meat. (That's my dating theory, anyways.) To their credit, the staff was friendly, the place was spotless, and they accommodated my request for no sides/extra meat at the same price as a regular plate. Still, I think I'll stick with Soumarelo or MC when I'm pheening for Mediterranean food.

* I somehow doubt PMS can explain my penchant for saying "I'm a hummus-sexual" and then giggling, though.