Ian Anderson 10 a.m., Dec. 20
Ed picks up something round, brown, and with a pepperoni crown.
She looks up. “Anything else? Honestly, whatever you want.”
Ed floats in to Johnny’s Deli; his torta isn’t so lucky.
Just as well you get a plastic knife and fork. It is a mess — a hot mess at that.
Good enough, but Ed may not remember the Alamo.
Scoping the new-old and admiring Wisconsinite appetites at Taco Tuesday.
Ed slurps pork — tender like it’s been through a blender.
Wow. Pointed prow of a big ol’ Navy cruiser knifes right past. In the waters between us and the island of Coronado. It kinda fills the sky. Heading under the bridge and home port. The ...
Vegetarian and vegan heaven on Midway Drive.
Whew. Hot day out here on the La Playa Trail. La Playa Trail? Just the oldest commercial trail in the Western United States. ’Course we know it as Rosecrans Street. I notice this li’l historical ...
Ed’s twitching nostrils give him away at the Fish Co.
“Want some? It’s not on the menu yet. We’re just experimenting for winter.”
Ed fattens up in the front row at Rebecca’s Coffee House.
“When I first met her, I weighed 190 pounds. Now I’m 240,” he says.
An Ed-ucation in cheap, local Thai in IB, nothing tamada allowed.
‘Whu-where are we?” Yes, I’m kinda nervous. Driving with Ria, Carla’s best buddy. I mean, she’s a good driver and all, but this wagon: Volvo, 200,000 miles before the odometer stopped working, heater won’t turn ...
“People would come home from work, shower, then go out…to places like this.”
Tuesday, 8 p.m. What’s this buzz outside Felix’s? People, mostly African-American, are milling around the entrance, some dressed to the nines. Inside you can hear music and see what looks like a party going on. ...
Ed susses out and scarfs Desi’s crunchalicious bargain half-pounder.
Oh, man. This is one desolate little stretch of street. Lytton. Loma Portal. Quarter mile of traffic-crammed blight. Maybe it’s the half light. Whatever, I come to a closed-up, windowless, brick-red-painted concrete building with no ...
Ed’s eyes lock on a knockwurst-on-waffle sandwich.
"Come in, sir,” says this voice. It’s a guy looking through a partition. We’re inside an ancient, 100-year-old building right by the ballpark. I just wandered in here looking for food. We’re in this passage ...