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The Koreatown Series: Little Bangladesh

February 10, 2012

in eating out,Los Angeles,My story,series,travel

What makes an ethnic neighborhood? Apparently, the local businesses and cold hard cash.

When Koreatown and Little Bangladesh were having a little territorial tiff over a half-mile swath in the heart of Koreatown, that’s what the majority of the media highlighted. It’s all about the money, stupid, several blogs and columnists declared.

Wait, let me back up a bit. It was 2008 when a group of Bangladeshi businessman petitioned to form a Little Bangladesh. Such requests aren’t so surprising and controversial. What was particularly juicy for the media was that the requested Little Bangladesh spot was located right in the middle of Koreatown.

Or so the Koreatown community thought.

Turns out, Koreatown was never formally designated, even though for decades, it had been “recognized” as Koreatown by residents and visitors. That meant Little Bangladesh had dibs. Oops.

Obviously, the Koreatown community couldn’t just sit idly by and watch a key portion of their territory be claimed. So they petitioned for official ethnic neighborhood designation, too. But then came the matter of determining the exact boundaries. Lots of meetings were held. Some voices were raised. The team was divided: Koreatown vs. Little Bangladesh.

The little battle over turf made quite a bit of news in local publications. Although journalism calls for fair objectivity, you could just see the reporters’ minds churning behind their words, trying to spice up the drama and saturate it with typical journalistic cynicism.

And I guess it’s true. Ethnic identities can be commodified. As much as cultural heritage causes warm fuzzies, it’s also a smart and rational way to create a marketing brand.

Securing a unique neighborhood identity means you’ll hear people saying things like “This is Koreatown, the place to get good Korean BBQ and drink Korean soju.” And “Hey, go to Koreatown, that’s where all the best Korean cafes are.” Or even “Dude, you want some sweet Korean ass? Check out xxx nightclub in Koreatown!”

Take the new streetscape project on Koreatown’s Olympic Boulevard, for example. During an interview, a spokesperson from the Community Redevelopment Agency told me, “When  you enhance the neighborhood, it also helps local businesses. [The project] improves the whole area economically.”

So yeah. I guess partially, it is about the money. Money is our means of survival, and everybody needs to survive.

But I don’t know. Yes, a touch of practical cynicism is what makes thorough journalism. Still…call me stupid and idealistic, but I would like to think that as much as the economic factor is present, cultural pride is the dominant factor. At least that’s what I gleaned from a few trips to Little Bangladesh.

Who knew? Apparently the Bangladeshi community in Koreatown has swelled from 157 in 2000 to over 10,000 today—enough population to warrant them their own ethnic enclave of four blocks along Third Street, west of Vermont Avenue.

Some people actually exclaimed stuff like “But there’s already a Little India in Artesia!” when the Bangladeshi group petitioned for Little Bangladesh. Uh…Indians and Bangladeshis? Different. It’s like saying Koreans are Chinese because they share the same East Asia continent. Some cultural traditions are shared, but they boast their own unique identity.

Anyway. In late 2009, the issue was resolved. Both Little Bangladesh and Koreatown made compromises. Boundaries were made. Peace was resumed.

As I’ve mentioned, Little Bangladesh is only four blocks. It is teeny weeny! Although it may be marked by a blue designated neighborhood sign, compared to the densely packed Koreatown, Little Bangladesh still has some ways to go before it truly effuses a Bangladeshi feel.

Still, if you look past the random Thai BBQ restaurants and Korean dumpling houses, you’ll spot signs of a Bangladesh niche. Amidst the rounds and square shapes of Hangul signs, you might notice smatterings of shops that line their windows with the florid squiggle of Bengali script.
There’s also always a small group of Bengali men hanging out mini marts, speaking glibly in their tongue. It was a nice sort of bromance going on.

The first place I visited in Little Bangladesh was Swadesh.
Swadesh is a restaurant/grocery store/ entertainment rental market all in one tight spot.

It was an impromptu decision for me to enter the store; I was on my way home from writing at The Yellow House Cafe. I had just passed by the “Little Bangladesh” sign and had watched the conglomeration of Bangladeshi men with curiosity and before I knew it, I was parking my car.

I guess it’s one of those areas where few foreign feet have entered, because everyone—and I mean every single person—stopped what they were doing/saying to stare at me. I suddenly felt like I had intruded a private event or something. I was so self-conscious of my Asian-ness!
Lugging a camera around and poking my head around didn’t help. The owner stepped down and asked me if I needed something.

“Just looking around, hee hee,” I tittered.

The owner went back to his business and so did everyone else in the store, except I could feel them eyeing me curiously sideways, probably thinking stuff like, What is that strange Asian kid doing now?

Actually, it’s the same look I’ll give a tourist blundering around a Korean supermarket with a DSLR looking too eager and earnest. The look that goes: Oh golly. Another foreign devil has come to “discover” us. Let’s just humor her.
I took a very brief look around. The whole place was like a forbidden candy house to me. I wanted to explore, but I didn’t want anyone to think I was! I could have asked a few questions, chatted the people there up, but I had long lost my chutzpah.

I meekly went up to the deli case, where they were serving hot food. Then I ran into my next problem: there was no menu! I was staring at all these wonderful-smelling dishes, and I had little idea what they were.
Well, if anything could get me talking, it was hunger. I pointed at different items in the case, asking the owner for their descriptions. The owner turned out to be pretty nice, despite donning a stern expression. He patiently answered all my questions and didn’t laugh or even grimace at my awful pronunciations.

No price was written, either, but it turned out I didn’t really need to worry about that. Everything was pretty cheap!

I ordered a goat Kacchi Biryani (goat mixed rice), Shorshe Ilish (fish curry), and Begun Bhaja (eggplant fry):
The goat in the biryani was so tender!! It was really well-cooked. I thought the rice was a tad on the mushy side, but for its price, I had no complaints.
The Shorshe Ilish (fish curry) was super good. It really reminded me of the Southern Indian food I used to eat in Singapore: oily, no cream, lots of turmeric. Despite the tiny bones in the fish, the flesh was incredibly flaky and a pleasure to eat.

The eggplant curry though…hm. It got a bit too greasy for me. The first bite was heavenly, but the third bite? Not so much…

And also four kind of pakoras (fritters):
(from top left, clockwise: Chicken, cabbage, potato and lentil.

I liked the cabbage one the most because cabbage is such a thirsty absorber of flavors. Every bite was saturated with spices, and despite the crunchy exterior, the cabbage released a flow of sweet and spicy juices.

I think the whole thing cost me just a bit over $10. Freaking bargain.

My second venture to Little Bangladesh was a bit less awkward, primarily because I was mentally prepared to be the odd one out again. This time, I visited yet another similar multi-purpose market call Aladin Sweets & Market:
It’s situated at the edges of Little Bangladesh facing the busy traffic on Vermont Avenue and overlooking a giant Filipino supermarket. Only in Los Angeles, baby.

I didn’t shy away into the corner this time. I strutted in and brightly announced to them my intention as a writer. The owner was only too happy to show me around, even though I didn’t ask him to. In fact, this time, the owner and customers were the one who were eager!
It was actually freaking interesting, and I found myself warming up to them quickly. They crowded around me, pointed out to me some key Bengali dishes and films, and even showed me a kids Bengali picture book.
“That’s our national fish,” one of them said proudly, pointing to a fish called Hilsa. And then he directed me to the real ones:
A whole case of fresh-frozen hilsas, imported from Bangladesh.

Like Swadesh, Aladin also has a backroom stocked with key cooking ingredients:
Towards the counter, it stocks entertainment like Bangladeshi movies, music, games and books:
And like Swadesh, Aladin also had a prepared foods counter, including a full kitchen.
You can order to enjoy your meal at a small, bare dining corner, but I think most people take-out.

That day, I was more interested in snacks and sweets.

For savories, I got a puff pastry and a samosa:
  Look at the gorgeous box they packaged them in!
Love that they smartly lined the box with aluminum foil so that the grease doesn’t soak through. It’s always a turn-off to see a grease-stained food container.

The puff pastry was filled with spicy ground beef, cabbage, onions, carrot and probably some other vegetables I couldn’t detect.
The outer shell was really light and flaky. It was actually quite a messy pie to eat, with all the paper-wisp buttery flakes scattering all over the place.

The samosa was awesome!
It was also filled with beef crumbles, with chunkier pieces of carrots and potato. The spicing was slightly different; I think there were more cumin in there.

The star was the dessert, though.
You know, when I was a kid, I’ve always dreamed of making the “perfect” dessert. And I think the answer was to go to Bangladesh.

First of all, it’s a big, roundish BALL of sweetness. There’s something immensely satisfying about chomping into a dense fist-sized object weighing into your palm.

Second, they are SO rich! The richness and the syruppy sweetness shoots up your tongue and jolts your brain in a rush. Every lick and bite brings a flood of saliva into your tongue.
(Top left) Kala jamun: oblong cake similar to chom chom but darker brown in color with a scarlet coconut filling.

(Top right) Rasgulla: sticky, deep-fried creamy ball of fresh curd cheese and semolina flour soaked in rose water syrup.

(Bottom left and right) Chom chom: dense, intensely sweet log of boiled-down cream and milk mixed with flour, sugar and a touch of saffron. Then steamed, soaked in more syrup and sometimes rolled in coconut flakes.

All of them needs to be refrigerated, and in my opinion, best eaten cold with a bitter cup of coffee. A little goes a long way; they are so intense and rich that you only need a few nibbles to get your sugar fixing for the day. Or hour. Either way, they keep pretty well in the fridge.

Long and delicious story short, I did give these Little Bangaldesh small businesses my money. But nobody who walks in and gets into a small conversation with these warm people are going to think, “Ha! Ethnic neighborhoods are a commodity! A marketing tool!”

Nope. I think like me, they’re going to walk out tingling with warm fuzzies for an unfamiliar culture that they have now grown somewhat of an affection and curiosity. You really can’t deny the throbbing sense of cultural pride and American sense of belonging from people who would proudly talk about the different ways of preparing their national fish.

Am I being too young and romantic about this? Maybe, but please let me be. I don’t wanna grow up just yet.

More cultural gems in and around Koreatown:

• Little Oaxaca
• Korean-Chinese restaurant
• Goat meat stew
• Traditional Korean tea house
• Guatemalan bakery/diner

Question of the Day: Ever tried Bangladeshi cuisine?

Tagged as: Aladin, Bangladesh, biryani, curry, deep-fried, dessert, goat, koreatown, Little Bangladesh, pastry, samosa, Swadesh

{ 4 comments }

The Koreatown Series: Little Oaxaca

February 7, 2012

in eating out,Los Angeles,series,travel

You might already know that I live in Koreatown.

Well, actually, I don’t. I live in at the outer edges of Koreatown, but it’s (almost) literally a stone’s throw away. I prefer to say I live in Koreatown though, because it’s better known and otherwise I’ll have to get into geographically depth, thus losing the interest of my companions.

These last few days, I’ve been getting to know a little bit more about Koreatown.

(Dude, do you see it? The sign has “Olympic” written in Korean, too!)

You see, I’m writing an article for one of my internships about the new streetscape erected on Olympic Boulevard, which is said to be the artery of Koreatown’s heart because that’s where the first Korean business (a supermarket) in Koreatown opened up in 1968.

Check out the new gorgeous architecture built on the street:

On each end of Koreatown’s Olympic Blvd, a set of gateway structures with the welcome sign: “KOREATOWN” will greet you as you enter:
Anyone with some rudimentary knowledge on East Asian art should recognize the cultural identity of these pillars. The roof tiles, the vermillion color of the pole, the lantern, the stone-studded base…they are all typical Korean architecture.
That little gold-painted bird on top? I asked the landscape architect if it was a rooster, and she burst out laughing. Turns out it was a statue of a Bong Hwang—an ancient, mythical female creature that is said to have the head of a golden pheasant, the body of a mandarin duck, the tail of a peacock, the mouth of a parrot, the legs of a crane and the wings of a swallow. I hadn’t known there was such a thing as Bong Hwang (aka Chinese Phoenix)…the things I need to learn about my own culture!

For people who don’t really know much about the Koreatown and Korean American history, there’s a peripheral tube of images detailing historical figures and historical events below the post:
Some new aesthetics added to the street is less obvious, but still planned out with meticulate purposes. The new jacaranda trees blooming on the sidewalks and median islands, for example:
The reddish/blueish tones of the flowers are meant to represent the red and blue colors of the Taegukgi, Korea’s national flag. The landscape architect told me it was a practical move too; she had to choose a tree that didn’t need intensive gardening care.

My favorite part of this project (which is formally called the Olympic Boulevard Streetscape Project) is the decorative crosswalks:
Five set of these bright red and lime green patterns are webbed out across major intersections. You can’t miss it—just look at how the colors pop out from the black background.
Again, strong Korean symbolisms: the geometric patterns reflect those on traditional Korean door frames; the flower is mugunghwa, South Korea’s national flower; and the building is an image of the Koreatown pavilion, modeled after a traditional one in the mother country.

It’s really fascinating how so many factors come into play just for a simple aesthetic street construction in a neighborhood. I had no idea how much money, time and effort were needed to create these public amenities.

$4.7 million of public and federal funding for such renovations? And it took five years of planning, petitioning and investing to complete the project? Wow. It just made me appreciate the effort and project even more.

The interesting thing, however, is that as much as it is a signal of cultural pride and identity in a foreign land, the intensive, multi-team project was also economic. When  you beautify the landscape, you jet up the attractive quality of the neighborhood to future tourists, investors and businesses. It’s all a whole package of multiple wins.
But Koreatown’s demographic doesn’t exactly reflect that of its designation. Just like Chinatown, Little Tokyo, Little Armenia, Little Ethiopia and numerous other ethnic neighborhoods, Koreatown is a wide mix of ethnicities. It’s over 60 percent Latinos and only 20-something percent Asians—which includes Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, Filipinos, North Koreans, etc.

I want to highlight a little portion of Koreatown that I personally call: Little Oaxaca.
It’s on 8th Street, between Western and Vermont Avenues. Okay, the above is a super boring picture, but the nature of my lens refused to let me take a wider shot.

The reason I call it “Little Oaxaca” is because it’s a strip that is short but densely packed with Oaxacan markets, eateries, food trucks and businesses. When you walk it at night, the street is packed. You see and hear crowds of people kind of loitering about as the Mexican music trails out from unknown sources. There are random street vendors on the streets selling trinkets, CDs, clothing, sweets and savory snacks. It’s like a giant Oaxacan flea market, and it’s awesome.

When I walked past, I was the only Korean and people shouted out to me, “An nyeong ha sae yo!” and I smiled back, “Hola!”

It’s a little quieter in the early evenings though. The sun is just setting, and people are trudging back home from work or school, some picking up bolillos from panaderias, some chatting up the food truck vendors.

It was such a day on this particular day when I invited my friend Tracy and her mom to dine Oaxacan food with me. The venue I picked was Sabores Oaxaquenos:
I’ve always wanted to visit this place. Actually, I did once in year 2010, when the place was a Pueblan restaurant called Pal Cabron. I got a big-ass honkin “pizza” that day that was delicious.

Although the management has changed since then, I really wanted to give this place a shot again. I finally did, and I’m glad I did!
The set-up was similar with the light green walls, but I think they got rid of the gary pink tones. There was a flowery altar dedicated to what I think it is the Lady of Guadalupe. Please correct me if I’m wrong.

Okay, on to the food. But we started out with drinks first.

Mexican drinks (the non-alcoholic kind) are the BEST. They’re super interesting, wholesome and colorful. Just check this horchata out:
A vibrant, double-layer of pink and ivory, with chunks of fresh fruit and chopped nuts. I think the pink tones are from pear cactus syrup.
Horchata is the most popular Mexican drink, a refreshing blend of rice and other flavorings like cinnamon and brown sugar. This one was with pear cactus syrup. It was cool, milky and refreshing in a hearty way.

And then we had another drink that I hadn’t heard before until that day: Agua Fresca de Chilacayota.
“Chilacayota” means “spaghetti squash.” How interesting is that? You can actually feel the squash strands gliding up into your mouth and down your throat in husky sweet smoothness.

Apparently it’s a drink special to Oaxaca, a native favorite drink whisked with fresh spaghetti squash, pineapple, lime and a Mexican brown sugar called panela.

They were a great start to our savories. Warm fried tortilla chips…
To crush into our lentil and potato soup:

And then Tracy’s mom got the classic chile rellenos:
It was really good! The chile was stuffed with chicken and other vegetables, battered lightly, fried, then doused with a zingingly spicy salsa.
The chicken was pre-shredded and soaked up all the flavors inside the chile.

Tracy got the tlayuda with vegetarian toppings:
Big-ass tortilla slathered with black mole and topped with mushrooms, grilled cactus, peppers, tomatoes, onions and Oaxacan cheese.
Amazing. I had already written a post about the beautiful, heavenly Mexican sauce called mole. I hope you’ve tried it. It’s the best. Especially topped on a crispy tortilla and topped liberally with stringy, creamy cheese.

My dish was the chicken mole tamales, which was served with rice and beans:
Oh God it was beautiful. Tenderly steamed in a banana leaf. A package filled with luscious cornmeal stuffed with black mole and chicken. You gingerly open up the fragrant leaves, and there’s a little curl of steam unfurling out.
It was super moist and super smoky and brilliantly packed with savory and sweet flavors. Love, love, love.

Even the sides were wonderful.
The beans were just chock-ful of meaty flavors, and so was the rice. I’m pretty sure there’s some kind of pig in there. And I love that the beans were sprinkled with just a touch of tangy cojita cheese or something.

And of course, we all had a basket of warm tortillas to nibble on:
I asked for an extra bowl of mole, just for dipping.
So dark. So sexy.

At the end of the meal, the server surprised us with a complimentary dessert:

It was flan! Not just any flan though—this one of stuffed with real shredded coconut so that there was a bit of texture to each bite.
I love the sheer, sticky coating of caramel dripping all over into a golden pool. I always tell myself I want to make flan at home, but I never do because I just know it won’t measure up to those made by the true experts.

And thus concluded my beautiful gastronomy night at where I call Little Oaxaca. And begins my Koreatown Series. I think I’ve been inspired to write delve a little more and feature the cool cultural gems within my neighborhood.

More cultural gems in and around Koreatown:

• Korean-Chinese restaurant
• Goat meat stew
• Traditional Korean tea house
• Guatemalan bakery/diner

Tagged as: chile relleno, dessert, dinner, flan, koreatown, mole, oaxacan, Sabores Oaxaquenos, tamale, tlayuda, tortilla

{ 27 comments }

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