Clear Channel Stadium: Quakes @ Jethawks

For three summers I have wanted to catch Quakes away games at the various  California League stadiums throughout the state, but I never have. Something has always gotten in the way. By "something" I guess I mean laziness. Three years ago I was on my way up to Adelanto to see the Quakes at the High Desert Mavericks when a major windstorm in the Devore Pass slowed traffic to 15 mph. I didn't feel like dealing with it so I went home. Two years ago I was going to see the Quakes at Lake Elsinore. I decided to go wine tasting instead.

Last year I purchased tickets weeks in advance to see the Quakes at Inland Empire. Then Manny Ramirez was suspended for 50 games, came back to to do some "rehab" with the 66ers the weekend my tickets were for, and I sold my two $12 tickets for $45 each. The biggest part of the beauty of minor league baseball is that the fans are true fans of the game of baseball; they aren't front-runners or starf**kers who go to games to see particular players. I knew there were going to be many of those types at the game, so if I could skip that - and make $75 in the process - I was just fine with that.

But this year I have awaited the arrival of baseball season more than any I can remember. There hasn't been much else to keep me entertained in the last few months. UCLA football had another of its par-for-the-course-these-days .500 seasons. UCLA basketball was atrocious, as they have finally stopped practicing offense all together. The Lakers had the best record in the West, but they are still my least favorite Lakers team ever. 

Baseball is the transfusion I needed to get those other teams out of my blood. I decided this should be the season I follow the Quakes to other venues. Saturday night Elizabeth and I went up to Lancaster to see the Quakes at the Jethawks.

I drove through Lancaster pretty much every year when I was a kid - on the way to Mammoth with my family. There was never much to see. Over the years the population tripled. The last time we went to Mammoth as a family, the summer after I graduated high school, there was a new minor league baseball park. A minor league team, the Pilots, had moved from Riverside and were now the Lancaster Jethawks. 

We headed up to Lancaster in the afternoon to have lunch, play miniature golf, and visit the California Poppy Reserve. In the afternoon, about an hour and half before game time, I suggested we go to the stadium and hang out for a while. I figured there wouldn't be too many people at that hour and we could play catch in the parking lot or something. But when we got to the scene of the crime, there were hundreds of people in line already. I was not expecting this: Lancaster was 1-8, the worst team in the California League. (And, until Rancho Cuc swept the first three games of the series, the Quakes had the second-worst record.) Apparently they were giving away a fleece blanket to the first 1500 fans and, according to the Jethawks' website, it was "one of the most anticipated giveaway nights of the season." Well, then.

We took our place at the back of one of the lines, a couple hundred people deep, under the NASA F/A-18. We waited in line for about 20 minutes but it was a nice warm desert day so we didn't mind. Once inside we walked around for a while, taking pictures of the stadium. We bought a churro. A few weeks ago there was some discussion on the other blog about churros after a post on Olvera Street. That was one of the best churros I have ever had in my life. This one was perhaps the worst. It was hard enough for one of the players to use as a bat. 

Since this stadium is north of the San Gabriel Mountains, there isn't much of a view; you're just looking out onto the high desert. That's fine with me, I don't mind concentrating on the game. But it's a far cry from sitting right beneath the mountains in Rancho Cucamonga. 

My main complaint with the game, once it started, was the annoying trend of the sound system playing songs and making noises after every pitch. Now, I love the silliness of minor league ball as much as anyone. Whether it's the baby races at the Staten Island Yankees or the "free car wash for the dirtiest car in the parking lot" at the Great Falls Dodgers (my friend Tom and I had driven 500 miles through Montana that day and my car was crusted with dead bugs; I still fail to see how we lost, other than perhaps because I had California plates on my car) I love the informal atmosphere of minor league games. And I am in favor of anything silly between the innings. But once the game is being played, I find the huge ruckus distracting. But then again most people at the ballpark seemed to be enjoying it, so maybe I'm wrong. 

The Jethawks got out to a several run lead but the Quakes pitcher settled down and finished the last 4 and 1/3 innings perfectly, and the Quakes were able to come back and win. When we got home we unwrapped the fleece blanket. I gotta admit, it's pretty nice, much more comfortable than I was expecting. With all the giveaways I have picked up at baseball games over the years, there is only one that I truly used for a long time: the beach towel I got at a Padres game I went to with my dad when I was 15, a double-header that turned out to include Tony Gwynn's 2000th hit. But I have a feeling this blanket is going to last a long time as well.

As I have written before, minor league games are the way to go if you love baseball. They are much cheaper (these tickets, which as you can see were very good) were $8 each, the game only lasted a little more than a couple hours, and the fans were really into the game. I don't like Clear Channel as much as the Epicenter, but it is still a great place to catch a game. 

Perdue's Pulled Pork (With My Own Sauce)

The other day I was asked a question by someone on one of my favorite blogs: if I knew any place around these parts for Carolina-style barbecue. There are many different things that are covered by the title "Carolina" barbecue, but the one thing they all have in common is that pork is the star of the show. The short answer to that question is no, I don't know of any place that I would call classic Carolina-style barbecue. The longer answer is that some places come pretty close to hitting certain aspects of Carolina barbecue... some of the time.

Every once in a while at Robin's you will get a sandwich of chopped pork that is close to perfect, and indeed they call it the "Carolina Chopped Pork Sandwich." Unfortunately, those sandwiches are few and far between. (Their consistency has improved a lot in the last three years, however it's still not enough to guarantee great barbecue.) Zeke's Smokehouse serves chopped pork where greatness is the rule rather than the exception, but then, in a move that frustrates and confounds me every time, they serve the pork on a dense, distracting bun that always tastes a day or two past being fresh. 

The best pork I have consistently had in L.A. County in the last year is from Perdue's. (Bludso's and Big Mista's were every bit Perdue's equal - the latter even surpassing it - but I have only had them each one time.) However, their sauce, while not bad, is nothing special, and they use too much of it. Carolina-style barbecue sauce usually means one of three things: 

1) South Carolina mustard sauce, which is usually some variation of mustard and vinegar. Zeke's has a very good version of this, although I prefer the Big Bob Gibson's mustard sauce for sale at Barbeques Galore. 

2) Eastern North Carolina sauce, which is basically just vinegar and a few spices. Sometimes, like at Baby Blues, it is only cider vinegar and chili flakes. This is my favorite kind of sauce for good pork.

3) Western North Carolina sauce, which, while still not being particularly thick, usually has ketchup and a few more ingredients in it, like brown sugar or Worcestershire sauce. 

So I got an idea: order a pulled pork sandwich at Perdue's and request it with no sauce, so I could add my own. Saturday I mixed up a small container of three things: cider vinegar, chili flakes, and a couple slugs of hot sauce. 

"What are you doing?" Elizabeth asked me. 

"I'm making my own barbecue sauce to take to Perdue's with me," I replied, naively thinking this would make perfect sense to anyone.

"Oh my God, you are a dork."

It was noon on Saturday and I was worried there might be a lot of people at Perdue's and the always-constant wait would be even longer than usual. There was no one there. We would be there about 45 minutes and not a single other person would enter the restaurant. Of course, it still took twenty minutes to get our two sandwiches. But they sat mine down in front of me, with slaw on the sandwich and no sauce, and I had no complaints.

I took a photo of it without sauce, then lifted the bun, doused it with a healthy amount of sauce, and took a bite. It was spectacular. A tender and juicy piece of smoked pork is already sweet enough; it doesn't need a sugary sauce to complement it. A slightly tart, slightly spicy vinegar sauce is perfect, especially when there is a cooling slaw on the sandwich. 

I'm not saying I'm going to do this every time I go to Perdue's, but I'm glad I tried it once. I think my next project should be a trip to Zeke's with a couple slices of white bread (and perhaps this sauce) to alter one of their sandwiches. That could be an even better sandwich than this.

Bigmista's Barbecue

Bigmista's Barbecue is a place I have heard about for a while now, a catering company whose barbecue stand, set up a few times a week at different farmers markets throughout the Southland, has been described to me with adjectives ranging from "awesome" to "the truth." But I never made it over to the Atwater Village farmers market on Sundays to try it out. A few times I intended to, but something always came up. "Am I the last person to visit Bigmista's Barbecue at the Atwater farmers market?" Jonathan Gold wrote in his review of the stand a couple months ago. No, Mr. Gold, you're not.  

Yesterday I woke up and looked out the window, unsurprised to find it was a beautiful day. Is it just me or is the day of the spring time change always close to perfect? It's like nature's way of saying: "Sorry you lost an hour of sleep, but check out this day." So, while we had plenty of housecleaning to do, I suggested going for a drive for a while, which was met with enthusiasm.

After driving around for half an hour with no particular destination in mind, I suggested checking out the Atwater farmers market. It was, not surprisingly, crowded, but we were able to park relatively close by. After walking through the market and admiring the strawberries (that was Elizabeth), selection of pies (also Elizabeth), and the two girls wearing the smallest shorts I have ever seen (that was mostly me), we came to Bigmista's stand. There were only three people in line so I figured they had to be out of everything. (They were not; it was just one of those fluke things. After we had been in line for a couple minutes at least a dozen people were lined up behind me.)

I wasn't famished - I had just eaten breakfast an hour earlier - so I only ordered a pulled pork sandwich. It was ready in about thirty seconds, I paid and walked a few feet away to eat it. The thing was gorgeous when I unwrapped it: served on a soft bun with several pieces of pork having fallen out. I took a bite of the sandwich at the same time Elizabeth ate one of the stray pieces. We both looked at each other. It was awesome.

I had requested the "hot" sauce, and it was exactly what hot barbecue sauce should be: spicy enough to complement the pork but not so ridiculously hot that it takes away from the enjoyment of the sandwich. 

"Have more," I said to Elizabeth.

"I'm good," she said, but then took a few more pieces. I did not blame her one bit.

Was this as good as Bludso's? No, probably not. But it was damn close, and it was, without question, the best barbecue sandwich I have ever eaten from a stand, which includes somewhere between forty and fifty sandwiches. I will absolutely be going back and sampling some of everything they make. 

Bludso's B-B-Q

Bludso's BBQ

811 South Long Beach Blvd. 

Compton, CA 90221

For months I have read reviews about Bludso's, always with a mix of skepticism and excitement. Reviews were, quite simply, the best of any new barbecue place I have seen in Southern California. Part of me was reluctant to head down there, afraid that the restaurant could not possibly live up to the hype. (Another part of me felt no need to go down there, perfectly content with eating every barbecue meal from now on at Perdue's - the most authentically Southern BBQ joint I have found in the San Gabriel Valley.)

And, as evidenced by the fact I have not posted in three months, I don't usually eat barbecue in the winter. It's not that I enjoy it any less, it's just not what comes to mind when I'm considering what to eat. But there was a bit of a break in the rain, pitchers and catchers report in less than a week, and my thoughts started turning to spring, to baseball and barbecue and Bludso's.

Last week was the final straw: Jonathan Gold reviewed Bludso's, calling it (in an article entitled Monet's Briskets): "what all of us imagine a Los Angeles barbecue joint should be." I emailed the review to my friend Zach, who I knew was going to be up this way for a few days, and he immediately suggested we go there. 

We headed out on the early side, getting down to Compton about a quarter after 11. (We were the only ones there while we waited for our food; by the time we left a half hour later there was a line spilling out of the building and down the street.) The look of the place was simple and familiar, an unintentional copy of many of my favorite unpretentious barbecue joints around the country: a narrow hallway, a window for ordering and another for picking up, and a simple menu board above the windows. 

We considered getting the Texas Sampler - all of their meats with a couple of sides, but Zach remarked that he'd read it was way too much food. So I ordered a pulled pork sandwich with a side of cole slaw, and Zach went for the chopped beef sandwich. We both requested hot sauce rather than mild. The food was ready in fifteen minutes. There is a tiny counter inside but it was a nice day so we opted to take the food and sit in the bed of Zach's truck.

"I'm sticking in some forks and lots of napkins," the friendly woman behind the window said. "You guys will need them."

I pulled my foil-wrapped sandwich out and sat it on the bedliner. It was roughly the size of the plush football I keep next to the couch to toss around while watching sports (or hurl at the wall while watching Lamar Odom brick layups.) I unwrapped it carefully and studied it, trying to decide how to approach it. The sandwich was massive and sauce and stray pieces of pork poked out of the sides. I picked it up delicately although it made no difference: I dripped the innards of the sandwich everywhere, a perfect porcine piñata. 

The pork was beautiful - tender and juicy with almost no fat. I'd read several reviews complimenting the beef and brisket and disparaging the pork, calling it dry. But this was certainly not the case with this sandwich. The sauce was great. Although it is thicker than I usually like (I am a big fan of vinegar and chili flakes with nothing else added) it was the perfect amount of heat: plenty spicy, but not so much that it stings your lips for the next half hour (my one complaint about Perdue's.) 

The cole slaw was unremarkable. There was almost no dressing on it, which I suppose is preferable to being drenched in dressing, but it mostly tasted like cabbage and nothing else. I added some to my last few bites of the sandwich. 

I tried some of Zach's chopped beef. It was even better than the pork. Smoky and tender and almost melting on the tongue. While I am from the Carolina school of barbecue - only pork, very little sauce - Zach prefers the Texas style: beef. He was very pleased with this.

If the line hadn't been so long I absolutely would have ventured back and tried a couple hot links. Oh well, there is always next time. There most definitely will be a next time.

Back to Perdue's

After my last trip to Perdue's, in July, I wanted to make it back soon and try their chopped beef sandwich. I'd loved both the pork sandwich I'd eaten and the brisket that my mom ordered, so I was anxious to try the chopped beef. Of course, things happen, new restaurants open, and once summer ends I don't crave barbecue quite as much. So it took me three months to make it back. 

I walked in at about 12:30 in the afternoon and I was the only person there. I stayed for about 35 minutes and the whole time I remained the only customer. I hope they are doing OK, because once again I had a fantastic meal and I would hate for this place to disappear while Barn Burner marches on, serving up mediocre food at high prices in a marketing consultant's vision of what a barbecue joint should look like.

The chopped beef sandwich was on the menu for $2.99. That is not a misprint. I ordered that with some fries, cole slaw and a Diet Coke. The total was nine dollars. I cannot remember the last time I got a barbecue sandwich for three bucks. Maybe at the River Market on President Clinton Ave. in Little Rock. 

The sandwich was great. There was hardly any fat on the meat and it melted in my mouth. The bun was just a plain white hamburger bun. In other words, exactly what you want with good barbecue. I again ordered the "hot" barbecue sauce and it was again really hot. I put some of my cole slaw in the sandwich to cool it down.

The fries were great, too - freshly cut and battered potatoes. These blow the Popeye's "cajun battered fries" out of the water. 

I'm going to go back soon and try their pastrami sandwich and write about it on the other blog. I am pretty sure it will not take me three months to make it back.