We sorely miss chowing down on the occasional half chicken/fried rice combo at a ubiquitous Bronx bulletproof Chinese joint. Now this image of a high priced wing purveyor in our nation’s capitol has us wondering; could variants of the plexi-enclosed hole in the wall take off in LA as a novel  foodie trend? Would make an uber-ironic statement in say Silver Lake. Ain’t seen one since landing here, but let us know if it exists. And for such inspiration our thanks to crack smoking former DC mayor Marion S. Barry, Jr. ‏ @marionbarryjr

 

 We’re back in action, our banged up typing wrists finally recovering after impacting a damned Prius, the entitled driver of which mowed us down in LA traffic. Our fixie is unscathed but the Legman has set aside the bike to recuperate in New York for a while. And it was en route that we came to understand the existential hold of food culture that has gripped the American psyche.
  Seated beside us aboard a satisfying Virgin America flighta gray haired Pasadena couple clinically pored over a thick folder of magazine pages, blog downloads and consulted the Zagat guide every single minute of the trip. I suspected they were researching a book. But no, their intensity was directed towards joylessly planning every one of 26 restaurant meals they deemed necessary to survive in New York for a week.  Neither embraced the hunt for the best slice or burger, they hadn’t the enthusiasm for ethnic cuisine that would drag them to Washington Heights for mofungo, they weren’t motivated by the informed gastro-wordsmithing of Sam Sifton or GQ’s Allan Richman.

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