The Best Raspados in Los Angeles

This is the BEST, I mean ABSOLUTELY THE BEST, raspado vendor in Los Angeles. My favorite flavors, Tamarindo and Nance, are served with pulp and even the seeds. Handmade Tamarindo syrup and pulp over ice shavings, there is no better way to overcome the L.A. summer heat.

Back in the day, I used to take him the fast food souvenir cups; the ones they give away when super duper sizing your combo, to fill for $1!!! I know he hated that, but he filled it anyway.

This is the google maps print screen of 2nd / Mariposa. It's very fitting that he's on Google, because that's the spot he's posted up at most often. The google maps image is pretty darn close to the view out of the window in my mom's apartment. I think I was his best customer for a few years. Him posting up there definitely helped that cause.



Selling a raspado to a Virgil Middle School student, obvious by the grey and maroon uniform... Thank goodness for me going to Emerson MS instead, that's and ugly combination!

Needless to say, this post also receives the "You know you live in the ghetto when..."

To Live and Die in L.A. - Santa Monica Pier

My current home doesn't offer many options for entertainment; I miss being able to run away somewhere, even if only for a few hours. In Los Angeles, The Santa Monica Pier is a perfect place for a little distraction. You can find anything from fine dining, fast food, shopping, and even an amusement park (ON THE PIER!!!). In the amusement park, you can board a roller coaster, Ferris wheel (the world's only solar powered Ferris wheel), and a sea dragon.

Not your cup of tea you say? If amusement park rides and eating out isn't your thing, go fish... You can also fish off the end of the pier (and it's not $50 an hour). I once caught a small Tiger Shark there (at 3 AM)! People fish from there at ALL hours of the day.

Still not your "thang"? Then just chill out on the beach or go enjoy the waves (we don't even have waves here!).

Still not enough... Well, the 3rd Street Promenade is only blocks away!

To Live and Die in L.A. - Murals II

Elvis (or so I thought. Who the hell is this guy?) mural off the 101 freeway

Selena and Jim Morrison here!!!

To Live and Die in L.A. - Murals

These are two of my favorite landmarks in Los Angeles: The Jim Morrison tribute in a Venice Beach alley and The Selena tribute near MacArthur Park in Downtown Los Angeles. These are some of the few images that were recovered after my hard drive crashed! I'm still upset at myself for never taking the time to back up my files.

To Live and Die in L.A. - Aroma Sports and Spa Driving Range

I've decided to dedicate a label to things I miss about L.A. The label will be "To Live and Die in L.A."

I hope you enjoy!

I miss the Aroma Sports and Spa Driving Range in Wilshire Center. This was the best way to kill time. When I needed to get away from home or blow off some steam, I would go to the driving range for a distraction.

The golf balls are reloaded on automated tees after every swing, with a foot/ club control that lowers or raises the tee. They also have a bar service with the press of a button!

Rosa was way better than me...

Food Review: Mariela's Taco - Los Angeles, CA

View Marielas in a larger map

I had to do a review to make up for the "You know you live in the ghetto when..." post!

I have to begin by clearly stating that I'm not a food critic, or even have refined taste. It wasn't until a few years back that the creamy, delectable garbanzo substance that is hummus stopped tasting like vomit to me.

Mariela's Taco serve's the best Mexican Food in L.A. (outside of Rosa's family of course). I don't mean "Mexican" food like La Salsa or Baja Fresh, I'm talking about Quincianera style Mexican food. No Mango salsa here.

As you walk in you are bombarded with all the colors, I'm not referring to the dozens and dozens of "Jesus Loves You" stickers, I'm referring to the colors of an authentic Latino kitchen creating an image similar to a Diego Rivera piece. The Mariela's staff works in a Jackson Pollack nature as some frantically peel and dice veggies, cook and chop the meats you love and the ones you should probably eat before learning what they really are, stir beans, soups, and natural drinks like horchata with immense ladles while others use smooth deliberate movements to fold burritos (an art not yet mastered in Honduras), dollop the perfect amount of salsa on tacos or sprinkle cilantro on your plate as the finishing touch. The staff has ample opportunity to display their talents in the artistic assembly line with the countless other Mexican staples that are on display behind a glass barrier for everyone to gawk at. Whatever you want, they've got, from sopes to sopa marinera, it's all there.


Visible cooking and preparation areas are almost mandatory for me while eating out. I like to think of myself as picky, my fiancee Rosa would call it more along the lines of fastidious or capricious. In the end, I let my personal experience working in food service (once and never more!) create my irks and quirks with where I eat (Although that's changed drastically since living in Honduras). Ever since working at a cafe / sandwich restaurant I've become paranoid about who serves me. I need to be able to see my food, more kudos if I can see it being cooked too! I'm also real picky about the people that serve me. I love the service at Marielas, the people there are nice and more patient that the people on the other side of the glass. The worst food service employees are disgruntled white people, you can't get any nastier than them. Where I come from playing with peoples food, money and women can get you killed. We don't play around like that. I'm traumatized over my experience. I always had a bad feeling about eating at places like the Cheesecake Factory or P.F. Chang's (although I love Chang's!) because they have too many white people in waiting positions. I used to always be concerned about whether the white boy serving me just had a bad audition or if he's mad at his parents for grounding him at the age of 25. Rosa finally set me straight when she pointed out that I can't be that picky while going everywhere in basketball shorts and sandals.

Mariela's is so good that the local gangs have agreed on designating rotating days they can visit to avoid conflict while waiting for an order. I've seen people take advantage of fights breaking out by running to the front of the line while everyone else scrambles in fear of the possible presence of firearms. This is the only time I've seen a Latino try to act like he was already within the scene of a crime just so he can get in there and order. This place is so bomb that if any of your neighbors saw you come home with a white paper bag turning transparent to reveal Mexican food wrapped in yellow, you could expect dirty looks... for days. If you plan on walking back home with some Mariela's, you inevitably have to buy extra tacos in case you run into a cholo or friend on the way home or get caught sneaking into your apartment building - take the stairs, ditch the elevator.

Cholo: (appears out of nowhere) "Ey whatchu got in that bag ese?"

Me: (startled looking around for possible hiding places) "Damn Fuzzy?!?!? Where the fuck did you just jump out off? Were you in the tree?

Cholo: "Don't ac estupid, whatchu got in the bag?"

Me: "I went to get some Mariela's for my moms man, she's real sick dude. Coughing and hurting all over. I gotta get back quick!"

Cholo: (not buying it and creeping closer and closer to me) "Oh you went to Mariela's and you didn't call me huh? I see how it is. Why you always gotta act like you don't know nobody?"

Me: "Don't even trip foo! You know I got you a taco homie"

Cholo: "Dispensa little homie, dispensa. Why didn't you say something earlier? I was about to fuck you up ey."

Me (mumbling as I walk away): "You're welcome asshole. Who the fuck does this guy think he is "DEBO"? That dude needs to get shot or something!"

after about 10 paces I stop, turn around to face fuzzy while crossing my hands and connecting them at the thumbs to mimic a butterfly flapping it's wing.

I shout: "Hey Fuzzy! Mariposa St. Gang FORRRRREVERRRRRRRRR HOMMMMEEES!"

I turn back around and sprint home at full speed hoping I can get there before he catches up to me.

Mariposa St. is the street I lived on, I used to tell the gangsters that hung out on my block that was the name of their gang too.

OTHER NOTES:
Call you order in! This will cut the wait time. If you choose to do this, make sure you make yourself recognizable because some people have called with prank orders. You have to stand out like Thurgood Jenkins in a bodega. I used to always call and pretend to be a Korean. If you don't do this, they will only write your order down and wait for you to arrive and ask for it before they begin putting it together.

Mariela's taco is easily accessible by various forms of transportation; two DASH Routes (one isn't listed , two MTA Routes, 5 - 10 minutes from the 10 and 101 freeways, and downhill in almost every direction allowing you to easily cruise there on a skateboard.

The green sauce is the bomb!!! I used to take home extra to pour over my spinach omelets.

Here is a little back and forth between myself and a youtuber that did an inaccurate review on Mariela's Taco. I have to say that he sent a nice email to end this banter, good thing too because I can go on forever.

kalitoz1 (2 days ago) Show Hide
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Obviously poor taste in tacos. This is the best Mexican food in L.A.!!!! Gangs have to rotate days so they can visit this place. Reference, I grew up eating there. 213 even after 323
rdub520 (2 days ago) Show Hide
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What do you think is good about burnt and fatty pieces of meat? You saw the video--the carne was horrible. How is that poor taste??? That's reality son.
kalitoz1 (28 seconds ago) Show Hide
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They gave you all the stuff that falls between the grills. A white guy doing an unannounced review with a handycam is ok, but poking over the GLASS trying to see what they're doing is unacceptable. When someone within the neighborhood placed an order on the phone, you had to go ask everyone but the Koreans in your building if they wanted to order something too. Next time, get a glass of the best horchata in L.A. and chill out. Don't get on their bad side, they do the graff in the bathroom.

Other people's reviews:

Yelp Review
1. Why don't you take Credit Card?
2. Why am I waiting 20-30 minutes for 2 tacos and 1 burrito?
3. Why didn't I order more food? This shit is GOOD. Love that you add cilantro to your burritos.

Will be back soon, Marielas. :)

Digilounge.net
Overall, I can see why this place is crowded all the time. Bonus, it’s open till 2am on Friday and Saturday.

Yelp
This place is SO BOMB!! I usually get the carne asada tacos and burritos and man, I am in HEAVEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's in a ghetto, little strip mall but it's usually safe. I mean, I'm a 5'4 Korean chick with no muscle, and I've always made it out alright ;)

This place reminds me of the taco places in the Mission district back in S.F. when my mom and I would go every weekend when I was a little girl...

I have settled for King Taco in LB nowadays, or Tacos Los Toritos in Canyon Country when I'm visiting my family... but Marielas... sigh. This place is the one in I hold dear to my heart.

Yelp
Mariela's carne asada burritos are probably one of my fav. foods.

They marinate the meat really well and they make the burritos pretty f'ing big.

I've been coming here for about 7 years and some times I crave it as if it's crack.

The only thing that could make it any better would be a carne asada burrito with some King Taco's hot sauce!

Socks for Christmas - Don't do it

Nothing disappoints like unwrapping a bundle of socks for a Christmas or birthday present. If the only other option you have for a gift is a hug and kind words, go with that. If you give socks, expect the reaction to look like this:

This reaction will also precede an Alllen Iverson type rant: "Socks?!?! Socks!! I was born on this date and I get socks! Not even ankles socks, which I prefer, but tube socks?!?! Phack mein! I got socks. You know what Hassan got? A car! I get socks. Not even Hanes socks, these are the socks you get from the callejones in Downtown L.A.!! I'm talking about Socks..."

My mother raised me as a single mother for many years. I know we didn't have much money for gifts and celebrations, but socks? I would have been satisfied with a burrito from Marielas. I'm Honduran, but I don't even play soccer. Why do I need these socks? Sometimes it was socks and more, but some years it was just socks. One of the most depressing childhood memories is unwrapping what I believed was a shoe box containing a new pair of shoes. Why would I think anything to the contrary? As I began unwrapping the gift, my mother calmly (cough, cough) reminds me to be careful so she can reuse the wrapper, "Si rompes el papel te quito el regalo". I noticed this was one of my old shoe boxes and thought she got the shoes downtown or something. That's cool, I don't mind shoes from downtown. I was so surprised I even folded the wrapping paper back up for her. I removed the top portion of the box and there they were; a bundle of tube socks.

Not even a bag of tube socks like Kmart sells, just a bunch of socks bundled together by a string. I should have torn the wrapping paper.

Life is funny though. This year my father offered me a "professional style" camera, I requested socks instead. I don't want to walk around with a big bulky camera, and I need socks.

You know you live in the ghetto when...

The bathroom at your favorite restaurant looks like this...






WATCH THE REVIEW HERE - This guy has poor taste in food though

My First Job - Carpet Cleaning Apprentice

GIT UP, GIT OUT and GET SOMETHIN' - Outkast

Although my first taste of employment wasn't fun, sanitary or voluntary, I learned valuable lessons during my tenure as a carpet cleaning apprentice. My stepfather Antonio, or "Toño", owned carpet cleaning equipment that almost materialized his American Dream and at the same time created nightmares for me. Since I was the oldest child in the home, I was expected to assist with any jobs that didn't coincide with school hours. Although I wasn't thrilled to help or bond with my stepfather, I always tried to do a good job. After all, I was getting paid. Peanuts, but it's the lessons learned that count at that age.

We traveled in his pick up and I awaited our arrival impatiently like Hussein Bolt waiting to burst out of the blocks. After helping unload the cleaning equipment and supplies I scurried into the work site and meticulously scanned the carpet for any small objects that may damage the equipment and pretreated stains. The main targets were staples, coins, nails (both kind, I'm gagging and the memories), and everything else that isn't dust or hair. At the same time Toño assembled his spin brush machine like someone putting a Harley Davidson back together. Milliseconds after the machine was put together he would always ask, "No has terminado?" and before that last tone in a sentence that identifies a question came out, he would proceed to shout in typical Honduran fashion "HEH!!! NO'MBE, NO ESTAS EN NADA! SI NO ESTUVIERAS ABRIENDO LA JETA YA HUBIERAS TERMINADO!" I don't know how you read "HEH!!!", but a million exclamation marks aren't enough to express his emphasis on that. I used to cringe at that sound. Every time he would burst one out I knew that was a penalty on my compensation.

Image from jccarpet.com

The following hour or so became pretty uneventful for me, I blankly followed Toño around trying to keep the electric cord off the carpet behind him. When the brushing was finished I hurried over to the vacuum machine and connected the hose and head piece, filled it with water rolled it into the room where the carpet was brushed last. Since the vacuum absorbs the fluids that were emitted from both the spin brush and vacuum (final treatment), it will require emptying a few times before the objective was completed. Alone at the bottom of the latter, I had to shoulder this responsibility. This led me to despise any customers opting for dwelling in apartments higher than the first floor in buildings without elevators. The dirty water aspirated was like yoo-hoo. I could barely carry the five gallon bucket to the street without resting along the way. On more than one occasion, I spilled the filthy water on already cleaned carpet.

The compensation was a slap in the face. My "allowance" was $5 a week (no I didn't grow up in the 50's, we were po' folks), but if I worked I didn't get an allowance. I only got what I earned. How much you ask? $5 bucks... If I complained, then I got a slap in the face, literally.

Antonio would always promise to leave his equipment to me so I can carry on with the "family business". I would always think to myself, "The moment you look away, I'm rolling these things off a cliff." I always pictured the machines being blown up by dynamite, or falling of the back of the pick up and rolling until they collided with a train. I remember being really embarrassed by having to work, unlike my school friends. I also dreaded being seen carrying the carpet cleaning equipment. I laugh at young vanity, I'm now proud to have worked all these odd jobs in my early years.

I don't remember how long I had to help with this, but it was longer than I would have preferred. This job sucked, but you have to start somewhere. A few years after this dude separated from my mom he put a little business together. He set up a computers, ads (fliers), and a dedicated phone line for it. He didn't know how to use a computer, or even what he would use it for so he called me up to help. I became his "office manager" at the age of 16. I guess that was my first "office" gig. I didn't know what to do either, so I began setting up a schedule from the phone calls, and making fliers on paint. I didn't like the guy much, but now I have a deep appreciation for him because he taught me how to work hard. It was his lessons that lead me to believe that it's better to "work smart, not hard".

Image from extracta.co.uk