Oinkster

I work in advertising, where everyone talks about "effective reach", meaning the number of times a person has to be exposed to a brand or product to make a purchase. The prevailing wisdom is "3 plus", so if I hear about, say, a penis enlargement pill brand at least three times I'm likely to purchase that brand when the time arises (it's just an example people!).

That being the case, our trip to Oinkster was long overdue. I've heard about their sandwiches from at least eight different sources over the past few years. Problem is they're in Eagle Rock, which to someone on the other side of the 5 seems like the Inland Empire (dumbest name ever, right?). Of course, it's really not that far - like 15 minutes from Los Feliz.

Best of all, Jacquie and I finally remembered to bring a camera so we can post pictures of things like their outdoor bathrooms.


Oinkster is a diner with plenty of outside seating. I spent a few minutes looking at the sandwich menu before noticing a sub-menu featuring specials, including a big daddy burger that sounded like it could crush a small asian man. Unfortunately I don't remember what it was called - their online menu only lists the standard items. It was something like The Oinkster Special.

It did not disappoint.


You are staring at a 1/3 pound burger, a fist size mass of pastrami, half a cup of chili and a sauce infused with pure testosterone. This is a Man's Sandwich. Jacquie looked at it and grew back hair.

Upon lifting it I discovered it had the same heft as a small toddler. Now this I could get into!

Meanwhile, Jacquie balanced our caloric intake with a veggie burger and "frites", aka "fries" served with mayo instead of ketchup.


I am not a fan of such nomenclature. The dip doesn't change the entree - chicken nuggets with bbq sauce don't suddenly become "le chicken tots" when you use sweet n sour.

Back to me. It's literally the size of my head.

Pictured: Gettysburg aftermath or Oinkster special?

Needless to say it was pretty damn good. Jacquie liked hers as well - especially the garlic mayonnaise.

There's not much more to say. I mean look at the pictures, you know exactly what you're getting into when you go to Oinkster. There is no pretension, you're getting meat and fried food and it is going to taste good. Crushing that burger was more an act of heroic machismo than it was a culinary experience (and a mighty impressive act at that).

Our score for Oinkster: 13 bronze palm fronds.

Our First Post - The Santa Fe Burger at Laurelwood Brewing Co.

Portland International Airport is shaped like an H. I know this because I walked through every damn branch looking for this burger. It's one of the best I've ever had.

My first taste was this past October, during my second trip to Portland. My coworker and I reached our gate early, the Laurelwood Brewery happened to be nearby, and I decided a Santa Fe burger - festooned with black beans, guacamole, jack cheese and an entire green chile - might help pass the time. Then my head exploded.

I spent the 10 minutes it took to eat the thing lauding its virtues to my coworker. It's haunted my dreams ever since.

I missed out on a chance for round two just one month later, when I was late getting to the airport. That set up the fateful June 8 meeting. I made sure to arrive with plenty of time to spare. I went through security, then turned left to find my gate for reconnaissance, I had to see how long it would take me to get back there should I go for two (or more) burgers.

I didn't know the name of the brewery at the time, I just knew there were several others in the airport. There was one right next to my gate. But I knew the one I wanted was to the right of security, at the very end of the next concourse. Off I went. All the way back up mine, all the way down the next.

It wasn't there.

Had I been dreaming? Had it moved? Was I in the wrong part of the airport? I suffered through the 15 minutes ordeal of booting up my laptop to jump on the airport wi-fi to see. Time was starting to dwindle. Yep, I was on the wrong side of the airport. It's a damn H. I found a brewery, Laurelwood Brewery, in the exact location I remembered, as far away as humanly possible.

I damn near sprinted. The rest is not so dramatic - I propped up at the bar, ordered my precious burger with a Hooligan Ale and watched the hated Lakers-Boston matchup. And then there she was. My sweet burger, black beans spilling onto the plate, the chile laying stoically as the foundation for culinary greatness. You almost forget about the smooth guacamole until you take your first bite and it sneak attacks your tongue. Damn. That thing is good. One of the best burgers I've ever eaten.

I made it back to my gate with a few minutes to spare. As I did I glanced at the brewery next door.

It was another Laurelwood.