I’ll be in LA in the 2^nd week of April and I am both excited and worried about my coming trip.

Excited because I can check out their farmers market and perhaps try traditional immigrant cuisine in their side of town. Likewise, I can see my friends and hang out with them for almost a week.

Worried because I can already feel the pull of one of the best burgers I’ve had  in my past fast food life: In N’ Out.

Oh, the Animal fries– it’s called animal because people eat it like an animal. They don’t even have the civility to wipe the grease off their faces. And of course, the Double-Double Burger! What could possible go wrong?

Well, a lot.

One, there is no In N’ Out here in the New York area, and that is a clear path to something wrong because I might indulge. Oh heaven have mercy! I have withdrawn from that unhealthy past life and am trying my very best to avoid CAFO meat and spaceship food.

But I am confident I would be able to avoid the In N’ Out trap as long as I keep my eyes fixated on the magnificent shinny tans of Los Angeleans.

Here’s a place I do want to visit: Birrierria.

It is in East LA and they serve traditional Mexican food. No, there are no nachos, fajitas, or margaritas that you drink in oversized Mexican sombreros in this place.

What they serve is roasted farm-raised goat on freshly made tortillas topped with queso fresco and salsa. How about that!  You could order chopped parts or the entire animal roasted to perfection.

I am pretty sure, I’m getting it whole–with horns and goatee.

The place was festive as usual. Bright colored balloons hovered overhead and kids played around with reckless abandon–tumbling on trampolines, throwing light rubber balls, shrieking with unfathomable delight and gliding down a big plastic tube slide. It was a wonderland in a restaurant–Heaven on earth.

Amid the happy chaos and happy meals, there I was, all grown up, jumping for joy with a balloon tied on my left wrist and a juicy, aromatic triple decker burger with cheese and mayo in my right hand. I gave the signature burger one hard stare and attacked with full rigor and sincerity. When I emerged from my purposeful first bite on that greasy treasure of a sandwich, my face was decorated by colorful condiments of yellow, red, and white like I was a citizen of the United Colors of Benneton.

And oh, that first bite! As my teeth sank into that multi-layered food, the 100% all-beef patty gave a cute little resistance like a young girl playing hard to get. When it gave in, it exploded with all the goodness only a legendary fast food item could provide. It was delicious.

But that’s not all. There was another set of combo moves that could top that first bite experience. Expert fast food regulars like me referred to this as the Sick Choke Combo.

Let me explain.

The idea was to eat the burger and the French fries in alternating modes. Take a bite on the burger, and then stuff a handful of fries in your mouth. This would go on until the burger and the fries were no more– and there was no drinking–yet.

To complete this combo, you had to push the stagnant food in your mouth and throat down to your tummy with the ice-cold sugary innovation of man that is called soda. Regular Coke was the hardcore choice, of course. And then, as the food slowly traveled down your esophagus, a spoonful of hot fudge sundae would seal the deal. In today’s lingo: FTW!

We admired fellow junkies who could accomplish this combo with style. One favorite of mine, a friend named Toto, grooved to the complex rhythms of Antonio Carlos Jobim’s One Note Samba while performing the trick. Really smooth!

There was nothing better than this for us fast food junkies.

You see, even back then, I adored food–in a wrong kind of way. Not to mention that the food I romanced then is now universally known as junk. I could be in denial about this for as long as I can– or until my first stroke or my first symptoms of blindness due to diabetes. I knew all along that what I was putting in my body were unhealthy. But I could not accept it. I was like loving the wrong girl for all the wrong reasons.

Now I am taking steps to accept this truth and change my lifestyle. That is why I am posting these stories out to the vast cyber universe– to remind me where I was and where I am going.

If I don’t remind myself, heaven help me, I am scared I might  go full circle and live the fast food junkie’s life all over again.

Last night I made French onion soup for the first time using a classic recipe. It was a lot of work but totally worth the sweat.

For two medium crock bowls, I did these:

• Roasted beef shin bones (I saved the bones from an earlier beef recipe) until it browned, which was quite a while.

• Placed the roasted bones and bits in a pot with some carrots, celery, parsley, salt, pepper. Added water until it was covered then simmered the thing until all the goodies came out. One hour? Even two perhaps?

•After the simmering, I strained the bones and bits and collected the stock from it, then reduced the liquid until it became concentrated.

• While reducing the stock, I browned some onions in a skillet filled with raw butter for 30 minutes. Added minced garlic, thyme, bay leaves and a bit of dry white wine.

• Then I combined the stock and the caramelized onion (onions browned this way is indeed sweeter than love) in the two crock bowls. Then  topped  with slices of baguettes, added grated gruyere, then shoved the bowls into a 350 degree broiler until the cheese bubbled.

• Finally, I took the bowls out of the broiler and garnished the soup with chopped parsley.

I started the process at 7:30 PM, and was slurping my soup at 12:34 AM. Five hours and four minutes all in all.

Before my search for real food commenced, I would have driven through my nearest fast food joint, or better yet, called my favorite Chinese take out dive and ordered item number 55 with soda, egg drop soup, and a complimentary fortune cookie. Or even more convenient, I would have opened a can of soup.

But I guess convenience is not really what I am after for this time. I believe convenience does not go well with eating well. Convenient food does not mean quality food. It just means quick and easy.

I think, like our ancestors, we have to work for our food. The amount of work I put in dicing, slicing, roasting, simmering, reducing, broiling and plating the soup does not equal the amount of food I produced, which is considerably less–as I said, two bowls.

However, the quality of the thing was beyond words. It was rich, sweet, succulent, and clean. In fact,  I spent another two hours after my very late soup dinner mentally savoring the final product like I was mentally ill.

The meal was even more special because I  chose the ingredients myself and knew every step of the way from the market to my table. And the meal was not expensive at all. Remember that I used bones that I saved and some loose veggies to make it. If there was a pricey ingredient, it would be the Gruyere, but I did not use all of my Gruyere. I still have a lot left.

Labor wise, yes, it was expensive. Five hours of work. But I felt good doing it.

If I had chosen to take the fast and convenient way, I would have spent those five hours sitting on my couch, stuffing myself with mystery food from God knows where while improving my rankings in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2.

To toil for your food is good. Perhaps that is why most people from other nations are healthier than us. Most of them sweat for their food while we get spoon-fed by the fast food nation. Perhaps that is why they don’t get fat and sickly because they shed more calories in preparing their food than what they get eating it. Plus the privilege of knowing all about the food you eat and even participating in its processing is priceless.

More so, cooking for people you care for makes tremendous  sense.