As the weather got progressively stickier along the Eastern sea board, I began to count down the days until our annual trip to California.  There may be heat in the sunshine state, and thick smog hanging over the San Fernando Valley, but there is one thing there is not– swampy humidity.  I can handle a little bit of dry heat any day!

When we touched down in Los Angeles about one week ago, I already was dreaming about the food destinations we would visit.  The Santa Monica Farmer’s Market, with its numerous vendors hocking summer stone fruit, and perfect heirloom tomatoes, Susan Feniger’s newest restaurant, Street, a culinary homage to street foods around the globe, and who can ignore, one of my favorite old standbys, Philipe’s, for a classic French dip.

Philipe’s is the supposed originator of the French dip sandwich– a traditional roasted meat sandwich where the bread is dipped in a scrumptious, salty jus– and has been at it current location in downtown LA since 1951.  That’s the equivalent to Revolutionary War times in LA years!  And the sandwich, well, it’s pretty great.  I like the standard roast beef, but Brian has ordered both the lamb and the pork, which were very good as well.  But it is the jus that steals the show.  It is clear, meaty, and salty; the perfect accompaniment to this simple masterpiece.  You order your sandwich, specifying a single, or double dip (both pieces of bread dipped), and the sandwich is slung across the counter to you.  It is not dripping, just lightly submerged, and with a side of non-mayonnaisey coleslaw, a perfect lunch is had.

Then it was off to the funicular, just a mile away, near the LA Times building.  A funicular to nowhere, just the way I like it.  The tracks of this street car are about 300 feet long.  There are stairs along the perimeter, and I’m almost sure that you could climb the incline quicker than you can ride it.  But then you would miss out on the lore of riding in this trolley that has been around since 1901.

On my alliterative outing the cutest surprise was to be found.  Hundred of goats, had been “hired” by the city to clear the hillside of brush, and dried grass, near the funicular.  We sat at the top of the hill, watching the goats eat a hardy lunch with our own bellies full of French dip sandwiches.  I thought to myself– I love LA!

Next, we’re off to the Bay Area, where more food awaits…