Lisa Ling on why Asian food in Los Angeles matters.
A black cod goes from the Pacific to Shibumi.
Keeping cool when the kitchen gets hot.
One restaurant’s many pandemic pivots.
Two different takes on Indian food.
Every day’s a hustle at Woon.
From Asian farms to Los Angeles restaurants.
Why in L.A. they’re not boring.
Three restaurants breaking boundaries.
Mastering values at Yang’s Kitchen.
Two chefs go behind the blade.
Omakase and ramen join the neighborhood.
The coronation of soju and makgeolli.
Three women open the bar they want to walk into.
Indonesian community through cuisine.
On working with Mom and Dad at Anajak Thai.
Los Angeles before sushi.
Inside the staff ritual of eating together.
Three Vietnamese restaurants expand the city’s palate.
One chef has some thoughts.
Waking up Los Angeles to Burmese cuisine.
The couple behind Shiku goes with the flow.
An ode to those who keep them going.
Michelle Bernstein embraces the competition.
One restaurant’s epic journey from debt to success.
The couple behind Boia De and Walrus Rodeo play by their own rules.
Vermouth gets a bar of its own.
On the business of BBQ in Miami.
Recipes for navigating an uncertain economy.
The secret to never getting old in a town obsessed with what’s new.
How two pioneers of omakase introduced Miami to a new way of dining out.
Chasing a childhood memory one arepa at a time.
Why Miami’s mainstays of Middle Eastern food aren’t phased by the influx of glossy newcomers.
David Foulquier on his shapeshifting ambitions.
The Black chefs behind a vegan movement in Miami.
Two Cuban sandwich masters talk shop.
A new generation’s take on the classic Jewish deli.
Miami’s mavericks of sustainable growing and dining.
An intimate glimpse inside restaurants after the last customer leaves.
Creating a culture where employees stick around.
A new kind of bottle service takes root in Miami.
The art of staying put in a changing city.
The city’s ventanitas created a culture all their own.
Philadelphia Magazine’s food critic on the irrepressible attitude that is the key ingredient of the city’s restaurants.
How one restaurant gave birth to many.
The cheesesteak may be the global mascot of Philly. But a contingent of pioneering chefs and restaurateurs have made the city a hub of vegetarian innovation.
The city’s Eritrean-Ethiopian restaurants serve up more—way more—than delicious food.
How Juan Carlos Aparicio baked his way to running a restaurant (that isn’t a bakery).
How Alex Tewfik went from being a food editor in Philly to owning one of the best restaurants in town.
Two restaurants that share a belief in how cooking can be force for change.
How Chutatip Suntaranon channeled her upbringing in Thailand—and life spent flying around the world—into one of Philly’s most singular restaurants.
Stopping by the warehouses in Kensington where artisan upstarts are breathing new life into the city’s food scene.
The Ongoing Evolution of Philly’s Classic Sandwiches.
Chloé Grigri, Amanda Shulman, and Ellen Yin on upending the rules of the game.
Mike Solomonov takes stock of his journey.
When a customer becomes a friend.
Ange Branca was forced to close her beloved restaurant in 2020. That was just the beginning.
How do you build a restaurant in a space that was never meant for a restaurant? In Philly, a city of Revolutionary Warera buildings and colonial row houses and ancient warehouses, it can be a bit like playing Tetris with Benjamin Franklin.
Three Philly couples get frank and intimate in sharing their recipes for romance.
Inside the world of homespun pop-ups and unexpected collaborations that have made Philly’s dining scene like nowhere else.
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The city has long been a vibrant hub of Vietnamese food. Today, a new generation is striking a balance all their own—between creativity and tradition, innovation and memory.
An ode to the unsung heroes of restaurant kitchens from a comedy writer who couldn’t take the heat.
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Building a loyal following around a lesser-known cuisine in one of America’s foodiest cities is not for the faint of heart. At Jasmine Market & Deli, a mainstay of Burmese comfort food, they make it look easy.
Kyaw Than and Mimi Win first met at Jasmine Market & Deli, a staple for the Westside’s Muslim Burmese population, back in 2008, when Kyaw wandered in for some food. He noticed Mimi, who was then working in the kitchen of the Culver City restaurant, and soon they were a couple. A year later, they became husband and wife. Not long after marrying, when the family that founded Jasmine decided to retire, Kyaw and Mimi both had the same thought: “Why don’t we just take it over?” Mimi, who learned to cook from her parents, was still working there part time, and Kyaw grew up with his parents running a teahouse back home in Mawlamyine, along the southeastern coast of Burma. It all seemed to make sense, their dream of running a business together becoming a reality where their romance took root—a history that, today, infuses Jasmine with its singular and infectious warmth. The first time you walk through the doors you feel like you’ve been going for ages.
I discovered Jasmine on an early date with my now husband, Ian, when he asked me if I wanted to try a Burmese spot near his house. Looking back on it, this may be the main reason why I continued to date Ian. His knowledge of good food made by good people had my interest piqued. Having grown up in Los Angeles with a love of all kinds of food, I was surprised that I couldn’t think of a single signature Burmese dish. There were familiar sounding platters (beef curry, chicken tikka kebabs) and ingredients (ginger, turmeric) that I knew from Burma’s neighboring countries of Thailand, China, and India, but I soon came to realize that the variations in spices gave Burmese food a savory depth of flavor all its own.
Before Kyaw and Mimi took over Jasmine, the restaurant served Burmese cuisine only on weekends, with the weekday menu focusing more on betterknown Indian dishes. The couple changed this, believing that Los Angeles was ready to fully embrace dishes like mohinga, the funky lemongrass fish stew that is Burma’s national dish, and pan tay kau swe, a fried noodle with chicken curry sauce. All of Jasmine’s food is served to be shared, from the chicken biryani to the beef-filled, crispy keema, the spice level always memorable but never overbearing. Though most Burmese families cook at home, Jasmine has fostered a community of regulars, many from Burma who come knowing that the same dishes they may make in their own kitchens come out at Jasmine’s feeling special. But where does that special feeling come from? It doesn’t hurt that the naan is made fresh in a tandoor—but, for me, it’s the joy of having good food made for you knowing the recipes were passed down through generations.
Before Kyaw and Mimi took over, Jasmine served Burmese cuisine only on weekends, with the weekday menu focusing more on better-known Indian dishes. The couple believed Los Angeles was ready to fully embrace their country’s flavors.
Along with running their restaurant, where Kyaw works the front of house and Mimi is the head chef, they recently bought an Asian market in Alhambra, aptly named Asia Supermarket, all while raising three well-mannered boys aged 12, 10, and six. “It’s fun, but we have long hours,” says Kyaw. “The two big kids usually go to their friends’ houses now and the little one is usually here.” Home and work life blend together to keep everything running. All of the boys have taken to cooking and can manage to make dishes on their own. Still, even with this natural inclination, Kyaw doesn’t think the boys should take over the family business, at least not in a way that mimics what he and Mimi juggle daily. “They can run it as the owner, but I’m not really into them working in the kitchen,” he says. “It’s hard work, especially when you have a family.”
Seeing this family-run business is deeply familiar, transporting me back to my childhood, when I spent countless hours trying to entertain myself, and not cause trouble, in the upholstery shop run by my parents, who immigrated from Korea. Different countries, different stories, yet a relatable foundation that for me—and, I’d imagine, others like me—is as nourishing as their peas and naan, the one dish, exquisite in its simplicity, that I refuse to share, and turn to when I’m feeling unmoored.
Kyaw believes that when you’re feeling a heaviness inside of you the solution is to eat something that gives you contentment. And Jasmine does just that.
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