Published May 1, 2009 on LA2DAY.com

I have a little secret…I hate grilled cheese.

Even as a kid I couldn’t stand it. Warm, oily goo oozing out of slices of limp bread, charred in creamy liquid fat. Really. I’d rather eat pond scum.

But you’d be surprised how many loyal grilled cheese fanatics there are out there. “How can you hate grilled cheese!” they roar. I hem and haw, and postulate that it has something to do with the quality of the ingredients. But the reality is, bread was meant to be airy and thick, not fried and flattened.

Now that I’ve detailed my aversion to this lame attempt at a sandwich, feel free to have a WTF moment as I disclose the following: last Saturday i spent the entire afternoon in the belly of the beast, the 1st 7th Annual Grilled Cheese Invitational.

Believe me, it wasn’t an easy decision. I passed on the event last year, but my fascination with obscure festivals and celebrations of the mundane outweighed my taste buds. And it was worth every voyeuristic moment.

I was greeted by the cheese princess, who rocked a tiara and a cheddar-colored, form-fitting gown. She snatched up my five dollars and stuffed it into her brassiere. In return, I got a cool little bracelet and entry into the mysterious world of bread, butter, and milk curd.

On the inside everything was chaos. People milled about aimlessly. Some had picnics and children. Some had tattoos and hangovers. But everyone seemed to be having fun. I wandered toward the loudest noise, which turned out to be the Mayor of Cheese MC’ing the festivities. He introduced poets and musicians who read sonnets and sang ballads about first loves named Brie and Kaseri, Gouda and Ricotta.

And then the competitors took their places at the grills. There were three different sandwich styles, each with it’s own heat. The “Missionary” sandwich consisted of bread, butter, and cheese. The “Kama Sutra” allowed for any kind of bread, butter, and cheese, plus any additional ingredients. For dessert, the “Honeypot” — sweeter than Missionary, smoother than Sutra.

I’d like to think that by now, I know what I like and don’t like. But I’m willing to try new things. And I was there anyway. So, I elbowed my way up to the grilling station and latched onto a Kama Sutra. It was called “The Bourbon BBQ Porky.” Tender barbeque pulled pork with melted fontina and a little southern slaw on sourdough, lightly browned. If this was grilled cheese, I was ready to revoke my vow of celibacy.

I sampled another sammich. This one was nameless, but mouth-watering. Three types of cheese, two meats, lightly-toasted rye, a pickle, and a roast beef shaving neatly pinned together with a toothpick. And on the side, a thimbleful of Vernors to sweeten the deal.

After about two hours of worshiping the gods of grilled cheese, I was ready to move on. My curiosity and appetite had been satisfied, and I left with a smile on my face. Though I have yet to meet a Missionary I liked, it was fun to dabble in the deviant versions of this cult-classic food.

Story for LA2DAY by Nicole Davenport

Published March 16, 2009 on LA2DAY.com

VENICE, March 7, 2009. Teams gathered at the starting shoot, fresh and eager for the trail. Mushers made last-minute adjustments to their sleds. Dogs took their fill of food and drink, knowing instinctively that proper hydration was imperative to peak performance.

The bark of a bullhorn signaled the beginning of the race. Finally unleashed, hundreds of bodies careened toward checkpoint number one, Baja Cantina by Washington and Pacific Ave.

Using shopping carts in place of sleds and donning costumes instead of parkas, the pack intermittently ran and walked down the Venice Boardwalk stopping at various checkpoints to refuel on cheap beer and boxed wine. A teammate and I took advantage of one of the rest periods to pose for an “action photo.”

Though no one actually wins this Iditarod, Made Of Win (see title photo) made a good case for being crowned race champion. Any team who’s ballsy enough to wear gold lame spandex onesies wins by default in my book.

Partying at the Iditarod is a Dogtown right of passage that may soon become co-opted, if not extinct. Details aren’t released until close to race day and only registered team leaders are privy to the information. But the Venice police got wind of the event much sooner than last year. They escorted us through the course, making sure to let us know when we’d overstayed our welcome. So if you’re like me and you love day-drinking, costumes and athletics, make sure to get in on the action next March before this party gets iced.

THE DETAILS: Urban Iditarod

The 3rd annual Urban Iditarod, which took place last Saturday, March 7, attracted Angelenos of every borough to the colorful streets of Venice Beach. The event was held in tandem with (and in celebration of) the start of the Iditarod, a 17-day-long sled dog race covering 1,150 miles of Alaskan wilderness.

Photos Courtesy VenicePaparazzi.com

Photo: LosAnjealous.com

Roller derby is a mythological sport of sorts. It exists on vintage t-shirts and trucker hats. It aired on TV in the 70′s. But the game was a hoax, doctored with fake fights and other gimmicks to pump up ratings.

You can imagine my surprise when a friend suggested we spend a Saturday night hanging out at the “Doll House” near downtown Los Angeles, home to the amateur all-girls roller derby league, the Derby Dolls. I was skeptical, but my friend assured me that the derby does in fact exist.

The costumes may be outlandish and skaters assume campy identities, but the hits are real. It’s like football on skates.

I cheered with delight as Krissy Krash of the Tough Cookies clothes-lined Kung POW Tina of the Sirens, bouncing her off the track.

Most skaters are blockers and they travel around 6 mph. Jammers, like Kung POW Tina, can top 30 mph. The object of the game is to help your team’s jammer lap members of the other team while simultaneously trying to knock the other jammer flat on her keister.

The jammers that really stood out were those who were agile enough to change direction at high speeds. The coolest tactic I saw occurred when a blocker grabbed her jammer and whipped her forward, creating an instant burst of speed that propelled the jammer past the other team. This maneuver is rare, but it’s no myth.

Games last for 60 minutes, which makes roller derby great for both cardio and strength training. Athletes inevitably burn tons of calories, without even thinking about it. But it’s insane. I’m an extreme sports nut, but none of my hobbies require me to carry extra insurance. Though I’d like to think of myself as hardcore, I’ll leave the derby to the Dolls.