Fox here. Unknown banned me from posting. But the Lakers won, and now Unknown’s passed out on the floor after drinking a sixer of Old Milwaukee and two Caramel Frappés. So, I’m back.
As insurance, I just took some David Hasselhoff-style blackmail photos of Unknown to make sure I return again.
Tonight’s a good night to share one of my favorite places to eat in Los Angeles on weekends. You won’t find this carnivore’s paradise in Zagat’s or any tour guide. It’s a local’s-only place in the San Fernando Valley called Jim’s Market.
You don’t actually eat at the market. They sell the meat to the catering guys, who cook it up in the parking lot using the bad-ass BBQ you see to the left in the photo above and in the photo below. They serve the food from a catering truck.
The wheel on the BBQ lowers the meat to the charcoals for the perfect level of heat.
I order the tri-tip sandwich, which is smoky, tender and tastes nothing like raw squirrel. No need to hunt when you have cash.
It’s all good. Sitting in the sun, drinking Schlitz, eating cow on a bun.
And, when you’re kicking it, there’s even some urban artwork to contemplate.
From a distance, it looks pretty nice – ice truck delivers ice to kids. Kids play with ice. But when you look closer, things get spooky.
I look at this mural and think WTF is going on here? I almost don’t want to ask. A twisted game of something?
What’s up with the boy in brown pants? It’s ice, you dunce, not a Popsicle. Who peacocks to eat an ice cube?
I’m not sure what the leprechaun in the straw hat is feeding the dog, but I’m thinking you make it with chemicals and serve 5 to 7 years in prison for selling it. The eyes on the pup are a dead giveaway – dilated cartoon eyes whacked out on meth.
See what I mean? It’s best not to ask questions. It’s freaky. But the meat at Jim’s makes up for it.
So, if you’re around on the weekends, stop by. I’m the only fox eating there. We’ll kick back and discuss life, beer and ice.