THE REAL EASY FUN THING
THE REAL EASY FUN THING
By Arty Nelson
Now it's late at night, and I'm way too tired to give you the pearly white or even mostly beige vision of what I'm feeling about much of anything I've seen since our last illicit foray into the somethingness, much less an accurate account of anything genuine I've done recently. At least, foodwise.
When you head into an establishment that advertises the prospects of a meal well done, a kind of calorie-based reprieve, a certain alliance has been formed. A pact. A treaty between you and it – and maybe even me, but who's keeping track of how much I really care about all of you, or even to what extent? So what I'm saying is, Sharky's Mexican Grill can take you to a place that's hard to get to in a pinch without some sort of finely ground plant from South America. (Although, damn, I dropped a few more bucks there than I thought I would.) In Los Angeles, Mexican food in one form or another runs rampant in the streets in a way that makes even the wealthy bounce around like rare arctic birds. But if you're at all like me – and I suspect you might be, if you're still hanging on this far down the page – then what really makes you go oh-yeah oh-my-a in the worst hours of the sweaty middle portion of the dead of night are the trendy, shallow, and often quite respectable versions of all the things our forefathers truly suffered for.
What I'm trying to say is, when it comes to food, a gimmick can be a quite pleasant diversion from the mundane torture that is The Classic. These days, far too much emphasis is put on the Alleged Authentic. Everyone's running around claiming they're the Real Thing. And what I'm saying now and forever is, the real thing is highly and truly overrated. Too much hassle and, really, not that relevant. Who fucking cares? What's so great about all that? What I'm searching for is the Easy Fun Thing. The thing that does unspeakable things to the termites eating the wood out from under this very seat. The thing that will lie when the appropriate situation presents itself. What's any of it
really mean when the bombs are falling planetwide? Which brings me to this dark and lonely evening's topic: You guessed it, girlie … Sharky's!
I go to the one on Cahuenga, just north of Hollywood, but you do what you have to do. Just make sure you get the tempura mahi mahi tacos and a side of guacamole. After that, you're free to do as you wish or, if you'd like, more of what I'd wish for you. Shrimp, grilled or fried? Steak? Save your money … trust me. But beyond that, godspeed. The year's winding down, cash is harder to hold onto than that junkie stripper you've been trying all fall to save, and, basically, the truth is, it wouldn't hurt to make one smart choice before the ball falls southward in Times Square. Oh, man, if only a taco with the right kind of roasted tomato and garlic salsa could do all the things I need it to do for me. It's tough, though. So much of what's needed can't be played out like that. So much of what has to happen between Now and The End requires so much more than what any tortilla-based food can bring to the party. It's over so quickly, really – all of this. And the food, too, if you chew without breathing like I do.
But then The Unspeakable happens, and this is the part I really don't like, the part when none of it actually figures out exactly how to end. Because, let's be honest, so little ever really does. It all starts with the sun managing to rise again and a bunch of other unseemly stuff, like phones ringing, bills showing up in the mail, and old friends you haven't seen in years turning up on your doorstep with devastation in their eyes. And the next thing you know, you're knee-deep in the middle of a life that's much messier than you ever imagined. Yet – and this is the weirdest part of all – at the eye of your particular little hurricane, it's really pretty boring. I don't know, but I do know Sharky's will get you a tasty version of a meal for less than $10, and that's something worth shouting from the shack tops about. Live it, people. Ciao.Published: 11/25/2004
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