StreetVerse

Peruvian Food and the Vagrant

Posted By: Sally Vox
Filed Under: Comedy, Food on March 9, 2010

I woke up hungry. Maybe it was the drinking binge I had the night before, or maybe it was the purging that followed. Regardless of why, I knew one thing. Lomo Saltado. I had to have it. That sautéed beef served with my two favorite starches: rice and French fries, covered with this savory meat juice which marinated the red onion and tomato that flavored the dish. It’s a dish that was made for me by some dirty wizard psychic years ago, who had divined my favorite foods from a bloodied chicken and spat out words then foreign to me: lomo saltado. It was the first dish that threw me into the delightfully diverse world of Peruvian cuisine. I picked up my phone and called Mario’s, who deliver. Turns out their delivery driver got carjacked by some crazy “Chinaman” as he so plainly put it. He had struck from behind with some blunt instrument, then got in the car and drove off. That’s too bad, I said. About what? The Chinaman, I reminded him. Oh, don’t worry we got a good look at him. Eyes rolled. Lemme guess, narrow eyes, black hair, toothy grin, kinda short, grabbing a math book? Yeah, how’d you know? He must have heard a dial tone. Let’s go to the non-racist place today. So I grabbed my backpack and headed off to Los Balcones, located a stone’s throw from the Hollywood area.

I figure, hey I’ll take the subway, it’ll be quicker. So I walk into Union Station and notice, hey, it smells a little less uriney today, it’s a good sign. They must be using a new cleaner. I wait for the train by a guy talking to his invisible dog. It must have been a bad dog because he kept yelling at him, telling him to fucking sit, or I’ll take you back to the fucking pound, you mutt. The 3 feet between us became 6 feet. Fuck where’s the train? I look at my watch which isn’t there. His name is Loki, the man was smiling a single digit grin. Oh, heh, Loki, Trickster God of Norse mythology, nice. Look at your watch, look at it! God where is the train. No, that’s Lo-ki. His name is Low-Key. Like a single 5K HMI on a scene. He’s very dramatic. Double take. What did you say? He was rambling again, saying something about Xenu and midichlorians. Train is here, finally.

I sat impatiently, dreaming of my lovely lomo saltado, my mouth salivating in anticipation. Pavlov’s dogs had a bell, I had the loud rustle and shaking of a subway car. The vagrant was in the car, thankfully on the other side, kicking the side of the car with his boots singing an offtune rendition of Manfred Mann. Doowah ditty ditty dummm ditty do…apparently his dog was singing too, he petted him. This guy is completely psychotic, I thought. I spotted where each exit was. Vrrrr…the brakes jolted the car, as it eased into my station. One step out of the car I realized that new cleaner wasn’t being used here. I ran up the steps, leaving crazy homeless guy to play Frisbee with his dog. I don’t think the dog ever brought back the Frisbee.

It was cold outside, but it didn’t matter, soon I would have good food in my stomach, and a smile on my face. Maybe the Arclight after..what was playing? Busted out the phone. Valentine’s Day? No, I wanted to keep the food in, thank you. I heard a twig snap. I turned around, fucking terrified out of my mind. Gunshots, sirens, girl screaming rape in the alley, that’s fucking normal. There are no trees in LA. A twig snapping is fucking out of place. No one there. But then…off in the distance…was that crazy homeless guy? Yes. Ah, better pick up the pace, I don’t want a confrontation. Just get the food, just get the food. I walked briskly, at the pace you would go when you need to take a shit but you don’t want anyone to know. He’s still following me isn’t he. Yep, he’s even closer now…though he did stop to fix his dog’s collar. Alright make a break for it. So I start jogging. I look back, and the crazy homeless guy is running, full on at me! I fucking take off like a mule coming out of a stable (I’m out of shape) and started hoofing it as fast as I can. I think he sent his invisible dog after me, he was shouting orders at it. Kill, Lowkey, Kill! The restaurant is so close! I can see it! BAM, Something knocks me down, I eat pavement. I scream for help! FIRE! FUCKING FIRE! I heard somewhere you call for fire when you need help, please be right. He started stomping me with his untied dirty white Nike Vandals. These are the things I notice when I’m getting assaulted. Stomp, my chest was getting crushed! I should have fucken wasted that homeless motherfucker when I had the chance, then I’d be stomping on his chest.

I ready my feet for some ball kicking action when I see my assailant: A short asian guy, black hair, holding a big fat fucking book in his hand. Are you kidding me dawg, seriously? A book? The stomping stops. I see my savior—crazy homeless guy! He’s fucking unleashing on this mother fucker, kicking the shit out of him. It’s wild  ‘cause he doesn’t even punch the fool, he just kicks like a motherfucking Rockette. The asian goes down and I get up and help the homeless guy stomp the fool. It’s Payback time, bitch! The crazy mofo was just stomping on the guy’s nuts like it was Christmas. After the Asian guy stopped moving (maybe 5 minutes later), we take a breather. I thank crazy homeless guy profusely. He stole my dog’s bone, I had to get it back. Right, still psychotic, but a hero nonetheless. I look up and the homeless guy is stomping the asian again. This dude’s got issues, man. A big fat fire engine pulls up, and I explain the situation to some very confused firemen, who call in the proper authorities. Apparently the assailant, a Kwot-san Ming, was responsible for a series of muggings in the area recently, they had been looking for him for weeks.

He was still unconscious as they drove him away in the squad car, leaving just me, crazy homeless guy, and Low-Key sitting on the sidewalk. I thank the guy once again, but he seems preoccupied with his dog. For some reason I remember a film I had seen recently and mutter “…Have you ever heard the expression Let sleeping dogs lie? Sometimes your better not knowing..” Ah, one of my favorite movies.

Jack Nicholson. The homeless guy muttered. Excuse me? I replied. That was Jack Nicholson. We had to do that take eighteen times because of his damn method. I was perplexed. Did you work on Chinatown? I asked. Yes indeed, I worked as assistant gaffer on that film, working that damn 5k all fucking day. Oh well, that’s where I found low-key here. We’ve never parted since. I smiled. You want to get some Peruvian food?

It was the best lomo saltado I’ve ever had.

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