Highways and byways: to Laramie via Laguna.

Old signs have intrinsic appeal for me. They suggest that a particular life has happened in a given place. They remind you of graphic and font styles that came and went, or that were never really here to begin with. I like the idea of one-of's, the no-franchising-likely-with-that-kind of-signage, but if you stop on by, we'll provide you with a service of one sort or another kind of places. Heck, I like that you can still get gas at Sinclair gas pumps, and that sometimes there's an actual model of a rather beaten-up green dinosaur. I know it's a corporation, but those gas stations are still old school.

Perhaps I like old signs most of all because they remind me of the kinds of road trips that involve more time on the secondary roads than the numbing major highways. If that sounds like it's your way to travel, here's where I strongly recommend William Least Heat-Moon's transcendent Blue Highways, for serious dreaming and escaping in the comfort of your shabbiest armchair. His book may even occasion a shift in how you view the United States.

This latest trip was limited in scope, though I did have time to recharge my vitamin D levels on the coastline (for a emptier beach, like the one above, try Crystal Cove State Park, just to the north of Laguna Beach), and to people- and seagull-watch on various boardwalks and piers.

How I'd love to take you up the coastline north of LA; that'll have to wait for another trip. Can you see how much affection I have for all the microclimates--coastline, desert, deep forest, mountain range--that make up the state of California? Too soon, it was time to head north (by plane, darn the pesky constraints of real life). Upon my arrival in the snow-stung state of Wyoming, the hotel clerk asked "business or pleasure" and looked at me in mild disbelief when I declared the latter.

The winter months aren't exactly high season in Wyoming (population 550,000, give or take) where until recently the pronghorn antelope outnumbered the people. It's the emptiest state in the nation (which is perhaps why it teems with wildlife); in the winter, you basically only go to Wyoming if you dig snowmobiles. That, or if your sister has just had her first baby. (Wyoming summers, on the other hand, while brief, are incredible).

Laramie is home for my sister--and the University of Wyoming. The presence of students may help explain why it is a liberal oasis in an immense, solidly conservative state (aka Dick Cheney Territory). At 29,000, the town isn't that small. Just up the way, Centennial proudly stands at 110 residents. Down the highway, the metropolis of Buford wins. Its population? One. I kid you not.I strolled through the well-stocked organic co-op (you can grind your own flours on the spot!), browsed for books in the independently owned, immensely welcoming Second Story. Perhaps its past as a thriving brothel and dance hall (located strategically next to the train tracks) explains its openness. I was pointed to the "best coffee in town"--Coal Creek Coffee Co.--just past the "massage therapy & oxygen bar". From their extensive (for a coffeshop) menu you can order a "Hot Snow", which is a hot chocolate made with almond extract and--you guessed it--white chocolate.

The people are friendly in Laramie. Very friendly. They make the French locals where I live seem nearly surly in comparison, which they actually (almost) never are. There were chats left and right and unsolicited offers of help for the duration of my Wyoming visit.

6-foot high snowbreak, to limit the drift of snow.

Maybe you get friendlier when you live where it's winter more than half the year--and a stranger rolls into town.

Rooms with a view and a bit more.

A table for two, with a view of the San Gabriel mountains.

The J. Paul Getty Trust, with its $4.2 billion endowment (from oil--what else?), is the world's richest art institution and the one the other museums love to hate due to its ability to outbid anyone, inflating art world prices along the way. The Getty Center is its $1 billion+ Richard Meier-designed showpiece, which serenely watches over Los Angeles and the Pacific Ocean from its 110-acre hillside perch. How does one go about spending that kind of money? For starters, while there is a charge for parking, there's no entrance fee (in 2008 they welcomed 1.8 million visitors) in this museum that houses a large collection of Western art and decorative arts (like the amazing French clock below--see that clambering monkey?). The pieces date from the Middle Ages to the present. There are the Caravaggios, the Rembrandts, the Renoirs, the Picassos, just to name-drop a bit. Then there are the series of pavilions themselves, built using more than 16,00 tons of Italian Travertine marble and the white metal panel cladding favored by Meier. This is the antithesis of Frank Gehry's effervescent Bilbao Guggenheim. While grand by virtue of sheer scale, long sightlines and the measured balance of its curves and straight lines, the Getty Center is above all serene. You slow down, your eyes have room to travel.

Paul Gauguin also sculpted.

The art has room to breathe--and plenty of gorgeous natural light. Photos are allowed (!), without flash--except of photos on exhibit (?). The architect used a lot of white, somewhat broken up by pools of water and when you move from one building to another, the brightness really startles. It must be simply blinding in summer. If it rains, there are umbrellas at the ready door-side. If you become hungry (this easily becomes a day-long visit), the food options are good, but bringing a picnic seems only natural given the space and seating options.

Detail of a painting by Franz Winterhalter.

I didn't have the kind of time I would have liked to explore the gardens, but as you can see in the well-illustrated and described post by the Intercontinental Gardener, they are sumptuous and original.

If old paintings leave you cold, there are the buildings. If architecture isn't your deal, there are the gardens. If gardens don't rock your world, there is the view, from innumerable vantage points, indoors and out. If I had to do it over, I would have stayed for the sunset; on Saturdays after 5 pm there is no fee for parking. How the sprawling LA nightscape must glitter.

Southern California with a Vietnamese twist.

This is my great-grandfather on my mother's side, in 1941. He was the owner of a large ceramics factory in Vietnam.

Between then and now, a whole, messy chain of events slid into place. The Communists took over Vietnam, appropriating all private industry, including of course, the prosperous family business. Then came the grim and precarious years in concentration camps for various uncles, the forced labor for many aunts and the eventual flight to America, with not much more than the clothes on their backs. The immigrant tale redux.

Multiply my family's story exponentially, give or take a few details, add the bare-knuckle efforts of the first generation and the open arms of the second, and you get Little Saigon, in Westminster, California. Of the approximately 160,000 overseas Vietnamese living in Orange County, some 60,000 are clustered in the Westminster/Garden Grove area, a cultural epicenter for the Vietnamese diaspora, according to census records, although Vietnamese Americans put the number far higher. If you're interested in how and why Little Saigon came to be, you can find an excellent historical explanation at Wandering Chopsticks.

A culture is often accessed--and assessed--by the kitchen door. If you find yourself in Los Angeles or Orange County, there are very many such "kitchen doors" to try; the Vietnamese cuisine available today in Little Saigon often rivals the best to be found in Vietnam.

Here are a few places where you won't go wrong, where the food is mouth-wateringly authentic, the bill is easy on the wallet (helpful in these recessionary times) and the atmosphere is pleasant.

For a steaming bowl of star anise-scented Phở, go to Pho Thang Long Restaurant, located within a strip mall at 9550 Bolsa Ave., in Westminster (tel: 714 839-4955). If you aren't familiar with what is practically the dish of Vietnam--and which as Andrea Nguyen puts it, rhymes with "duh"--then check out her comprehensive description of this (inexpensive) body-and-soul food.

As you can see, the restaurant has a more upscale atmosphere than the typical "ethnic" restaurant (even though a huge bowl still goes for $5-8), and I kind of fell in love with the orange walls. Please don't blame me if you find yourself with long-term cravings for this soup. It happens to nearly everyone, which explains its immense popularity among Vietnamese and non-Vietnamese alike.

If you're looking for a more crunchy addiction, opt for the nem nướng cuốn at the rather hidden but always bustling, well-loved Brodards on Westminster Avenue in Garden Grove. It's the main reason diners come to the large restaurant, judging by their tables.

This is what it looks like:

This is what it tastes like: fresh (with its translucent rice paper casing and green herbs), crunchy (thanks to the rolled and fried green onion within) and oh so savory (that due to an ultra-delish pork pattie utterly unlike Western style sausage and the secret sauce that you dip it in).
Brodards also serves a eye-wideningly good bánh hỏi chạo tôm (Angel vermicelli "cake", served under shrimp patties grilled on sugar cane sticks then sliced and served with peanuts, browned shallots and fresh scallions). Tuck it into the accompanying lettuce, add cilantro , basil and other herbs...and you've your own bit of heaven. Crunch, sweetness, saltiness, an explosion of fresh herbs--as savory and delightful as the pork pattie rolls, but then on a seafood riff.

There are other restaurants I'd also recommend, such as the well-established Van restaurant (Nha Hang Van, 14122 Brookhurst St, Garden Grove, tel: 714 530-6858). Aficionados come not for the atmosphere (there isn't really any, per se) but rather for its top-notch bánh xèo (a crispy stuffed crepe) and bánh khọt (melt in your mouth fried "open-face" cakes with shrimp in the middle). It is a favorite of my aunts and uncles who live in Little Saigon, but you can also read a review and see nicer photos than I took (I guess I was too busy scarfing down food that time!) by the always-engaging Hong and Kim at Ravenous Couple.

In case you're wondering, I did do more than eat my way through Southern California. Honest. I'll write about it soon, but I have to stop for lunch; writing this has made me hungry.

Half of me is here.

What heavenly weather in very sunny California, what a lovely time with family whom I haven't seen in more years than I am willing to admit, what a pity my internet connection will continue to be inconstant at best. Trust me, the story isn't worth the telling. Suffice it to say I am limited by circumstance to writing to you, and photos will likely only be added after March 1. [Photos now added...as you can see.]
It has been a bright whirlwind of dragon dances, incense, firecrackers, parades, hugs and catching up with family. And the FOOD, a whole separate post is the least I can give it. There are also all the hallmarks of the US: vintage shop signs; pristine public spaces (the Getty is a must-see--and be sure to give it the time it deserves); bumper stickers; a distressingly large number of very overweight people dressed in exercise clothes; bumper stickers; message T-shirts ("Fathers Impart Destiny"...); and the Goodyear blimp floating placidly above it all. Here, all the last names (on salespeoples' name tags) sing of places far away, the air is full of the bird-like sounds of languages only vaguely familiar: Spanish, Vietnamese...Too many businesses are shuttered, too many people seem over-qualified for the jobs they have, and yet the optimism is still (mostly) here.

Hybrid vigor.

n.
Increased vigor or other superior qualities arising from the crossbreeding of genetically different plants or animals. Also called heterosis. (taken from The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language)

Perhaps this can also occur at the human level.

Having an American-born father and a mother of Vietnamese descent means many things, among these a number of benefits--certainly so in the culinary department. I'm leaving the south of France for a while: boarding in a few hours to feast and celebrate Tết, or Vietnamese lunar new year, which lands on February 14th this year. As you may have noticed, I'm using the subject of this post as an excuse to share with you a bit of what I saw during the time I spent in Vietnam some two years ago. Tết is the most significant time of the year to visit family, which is what I will be doing--this time not in Vietnam, but rather in Little Saigon, located in Orange County, California (about an hour's freeway drive from Los Angeles). This particular Little Saigon--like Chinatowns, there are many--has one of (if not the) largest concentrations of Vietnamese in the diaspora. Thus the celebration of Tết is entered into with real spirit, including the preparation of special foods and cleaning house, metaphorically and physically. In the ten or so days leading up to Tết debts are paid off and homes are scrubbed from floor to ceiling, with particular attention given to the family altar. The Kitchen Gods are sent off with charm, ceremony and hope.

I'm not sure what the Kitchen Gods would make of my own multi-culti kitchen. Perhaps in my cooking they would occasionally recognize a certain looking back and longing for a background that isn't as familiar to me as I would like it to be. In the coming week, I will be trying to make up for lost time.