Bella’s Snack Shop

I second Justine’s five star rating. We had several weeks of worth of document review to do at the Los Angeles Housing Authority and were more than happy to eat at Bella’s every single day for lunch– I’m talking five days a week, baby.
That’s because Bella’s is run by the cutest mom-​and-​pop Korean duo and b/​c their always-​changing menu is unfailingly good. It’s simple diner-​ish food but the small touches like homemade deeeeelish Asian salad dressing and immaculate teriyaki chicken make me all sentimental again. oh, and don’t even get me started on the super cheap prices!

I have a relationship with the Chinese Chicken Salad here. And not in the way that you think – that I just really like it (although that is true). No, our relationship runs much deeper than lust and gluttony. We’re talkin’ Gollum-​esque here.
Bella’s Snack Shop is not your average café. It’s in the parking garage of the Los Angeles Housing Authority. And unless you either work for the Housing Authority or want to stand in line with people who either (1) want to file complaints; (2) need housing; or (3) are just plain crazy and then go through security in order to get a visitor’s pass, you’ll need to sneak in through the parking garage entrance to reach Bella’s. (If you do, the entrance is on Rampart, FYI.)
Not that I’ve had to sneak in. Oh no. Mama had her own government I.D. because I had the pleasure of practically living in this building for a few months while I was on a heinous document review assignment for work. And it wasn’t the run of the mill document review, with nice files, nicely organized by nice people. Nope, my team and I had to tredge in the archives.
And by archives I mean the basement of the Housing Authority. Any of you out there in Unilocal land who have ever worked for a government entity know what I’m talkin’ about. The basements of government entities are not places you want to spend your time. Hot, sweaty, dirty (not just dusty, we’re talking years of archives here – i.e., we found some shit from 1941), disorganized (the «files» were shoved in cages that also housed old dishwashers, broken chairs and the occasional critter) and smell like car exhaust and crunched transmissions.
Ahhh, being an attorney is so glamorous.
My colleagues who came on the assignment after I did asked me what it was like. I told them this: «Well, lemme put it this way. I bought my first pair of flats specifically for this job.» They knew they were in for it.
Our client jokingly donned our efforts as «being in the trenches» and bought us painters’ masks and gloves. Fuck yeah I used that shit.
I’m sure many of you can relate – we’ve all endured a less than appealing situation, and in order to get by, we fixate on a particular joyful moment. For me, it was lunch time at Bella’s.
Because I didn’t want to spend one minute longer in the cages of the basement than I really had to, I began eating here because it was convenient, cheap, and run by the most adorable old Korean couple. They make everything daily from scratch. Everything is always fresh. They are always cute. And you can buy a fly handbag at the same time if you want, cuz beyond meals and snacks, they sell those, too.
I tried a couple of sandwiches, some of their daily specials (Mon: chicken & broccoli; Tues: Korean BBQ; Wed: tacos or taco salad; Thurs: spaghetti & meatballs; Fri: salmon), but then I discovered the Chinese chicken salad and never looked back.
It’s nothing really special (but only I can say that bitches) – tons of romaine lettuce, red cabbage, carrots, crispy wontons (true playas sub avocado for the wontons), grilled chicken, black sesame seeds – until you get to the dressing.
Beware: there IS crack in this dressing.
I dreamt about it. I fiended for it. I would practically tackle my colleagues for the last drop of it. If it was ever running low, everyone knew that mama got to order THE salad and all the other suckas had to get something different or face mama’s wrath (never a good idea).
I thought I had weened myself off of THE salad. But, looking back, I think it was more likely that the sheer joy of completing the heinous doc review masked my addiction.
I had a relapse this week.
I had to go back for some client meetings and my schedule was really tight, so my colleague kindly got me some lunch while I prepped for a meeting. He came back with THE salad.
He walked into the conference room. I instinctively knew what was in the bag. Plastic and styrofoam doesn’t fool a true crackhead. My colleague looked at me with a glint in his eye and sang to me «I got your faaaavorite…»
I dropped my pen, scrambled over the mounds of discovery requests I was barrelling through and lunged at the bag. Thank god our client had «stepped out» for a bit. Or maybe that would have been a good thing for them to see my «killer instincts.»
It was just as good as I had remembered. It was like coming home. It was like snuggling in a comfy chair by a roaring fire. It was like a foot massage with essential oils given by a strong, hot man. It was like… One. Last. Hit.
I could swear to you that I’ll give it up, but who am I kidding? I’ll always find my precious.