Archives for posts with tag: frozen yogurt

I’ve been far too busy looking at Vancouver restaurant reviews and napping to blog, but here we go: I’ve always had a strange dislike of California. More of a distrust maybe, and definitely unfounded, but I’ve never loved the Golden State. Until now. My image of bug-eye sunglass wearing chicks driving convertibles with little dogs in their laps has been replaced by a sunny paradise full of sushi and hip shopping and wide-open beaches. (Mostly sushi.) We started off in San Diego for our dear friend’s wedding (Congrats Lauren Parker!) where we ate awesome Chinese food, delish leftover tapas (benefiting from Uncle Ross’ birthday), and a fair amount of wedding cake. Then on to Santa Monica, where less than an hour after travel partner Logan and I’s arrival, we were eating spicy tuna rolls and salty seaweed salad. The very next day we were being tourists on the pier, slamming sandwiches and awesome, neon orange sweet potato fries.

Then more sushi. Always sushi. Second round was at a tucked-away little spot that L’s aunt and uncle (sushi lovers too!) go to a lot. Sat at the bar like real pros and ate the. best. sushi. First: hand rolls stuffed with crab and spicy tuna and avocado. Dunked in soy sauce and sesame seeds, pure bliss. Then crispy rice squares topped with more spicy tuna and avocado wedges. Crispy, spicy, creamy. Lordy. Rolls started pouring over the bar; rolls filled with fatty tuna, salmon, tempura vegetables… everything good. Excellent sushi experience. A raw fish-less summer in McCall really worked up a craving, this really satisfied it.

Then… frozen yogurt. (We were on vacation, alright) The fun/dangerous self-serve-style frozen yogurt. They only have  gigantic bowls, and every time I go I think, “Wow, that’s a big bowl, I surely won’t fill that up.” A little smidge of pretty much every flavor later, I’ve got a full bowl. Pass by the topping bar, and I’ve got an overflowing bowl. They charge you by the ounce, so you get a numeric rating of your piglet-ness. “13 ounces of fro yo! No way could one girl ever finish that!” Wrong. Can do. Logan was impressed.

Log and I have always sort of known that we’re very different, but this trip confirmed it. We, despite having grown up practically as sisters, are opposite in near every way. Yin an yang style. Except when it comes to food. We share a deep love for sushi and fro yo, and most of all; lox bagels. Our first morning in Santa Monica we walked down the block to the market and got ourselves  bagel provisions and made some pretty decent lox bagels. On our last morning in Santa Monica, Log’s lovely aunt got us a bag of real-live chewy awesome bagels, whipped cream cheese, the beloved lox, and the necessary (I say) capers and red onions. Breakfast bliss. Sushi, sweet potato fries, frozen yogurt gluttony, and lox bagels; I love California.


Once the coffee shop people started giving me the funny “are you homeless or do you really have this much homework” look, I scooped up all my scribbley papers and scuttled across the street to Yume Sushi to meet the other two A’s for dinner. Starving me had (really good) miso soup and (pretty ok) gyoza while everyone else patiently waited for their meals like big kids. Alex had fried rice, Ariana an assortment of pretty rolls, Anne a bunch of little bits and pieces because I like marking a lot of boxes on the fish form. Flying fish roe (which I think I really freaked out Alex by eating), spicy tuna (my favorite), regular maguro, and “sweet shrimp,” which I’d never had before. Usually shrimp sushi is cooked (training wheels sushi), but this was raw and really quite good (and accompanied by a decorative bug-eyed, antennaed tempura-d prawn head, always fun). And the tuna was awesome, I just tried not think about it too much- sorry Greenpeace. Pretty good sushi, pretty good little sushi bar. Full of misplaced Ringling hipsters and confused ancients trying to be cool, eating their sashimi with knife and fork. Even complete with the chatty posse of sushi dudes behind the bar, smacking around knives and rolling up delicate little crazy-named rolls for the masses.

Plate of sushi, boat of sake.

And after dinner, A & A finally agreed to go to White Berry (knock-off Pink Berry, yes) with me, much to my delight. I’ve been wanting to go to the overpriced, mod little yogurt joint all year, and Coldstone always wins out. But at last, I got my plain-and-green tea swirled yogurt with blackberries and fruity pebbles, which I happily  devoured, perched in my little space-age orb chair in the shockingly pink shop.