From the droopy frozen examples you can score at the local carnival to the upscale, art nouveau sticks to be found at, I’m an equal lover of all. Don’t worry gentle reader, I can hear you asking “but which is the best churro of all?” First of all, don’t ever interrupt me again. It’s rude. Secondly, I’m here to tell you…

How would you describe dense pieces of pound cake, solid as a Minnesota woman, soaked in what can only be pure nectar, then fried to a crispy shell and judiciously rolled in the perfect blend of cinnamon and sugar. I’ll tell you how I describe it – The Best God Damn Churro I’ve Ever Had. Especially since it is served with a side of, get this, chocolate malted milk with a scoop of vanilla ice cream in it. That’s right, it’s thick chocolate milk, made thicker with malt, and made thicker still by a melting vanilla iceberg. That’s your dipping sauce. Like I said, The Best God Damn Churro.

And where do you find this delicious concoction? LA’s A-Frame is your destination. The modern pale wood building is the outpost of Roy Choi, otherwise known as the owner of the Kogi Truck and the father of the food truck craze in general. Take a trip to this spot, enjoy the southern fried chicken or Asian ribs, but know that you’re really just there for that sweet sweet churro goodness.

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Like many of our LA stops, Randy’s is an institution both because it is well-loved by the locals and because it has been featured in all sorts of movies and photo shoots. The giant donut on the roof is a landmark of the city. And while they could likely remain famous just for having a big fiberglass pastry up top, the donuts at Randy’s are indeed the best in this wide city. Far from just a tourist attraction, Randy’s serves up soft and fluffy goodness on a daily basis. Buying one will never be enough, and its hard to go wrong with any of the options. We tried them all (for science!), and were hard pressed to pick out a favorite.

Full of enough calories to put down Rosie O’Donnell, we find ourselves in the South-West corner of Los Angeles with a hankering to head downtown and check out its burgeoning street art scene. Between downtown and us lies the storied area of South Central LA, so rather than take the freeways, we steer our CLA AMG onto the surface streets and explore this much-maligned area for ourselves.

We detoured over to the most (in)famous South Central neighborhoods of Compton and Lynwood, popularized in many early gangsta rap songs. But South Central has come a long way since ’88, and it couldn’t have been more welcoming to two pasty white guys. We met some of the nicest people of our entire LA trip here.  It’s still an absolute tragedy that the neighborhoods and streets are in the condition they are in, and we didn’t see a single police officer there (unlike Santa Monica, where they are on every corner), but you can forget all about the urban legend nonsense that you’ll be shot just for wearing the wrong colors while driving through.

Now if you want a really sketchy neighborhood, you want downtown LA’s skid row. That is where we are headed, but not for the stabbings and homeless encampments but for the exploding and vibrant street art scene. We’re trading in tags and simple “bombs” for full blown murals and commissioned wall pieces. The arts and fashion districts of downtown are undergoing a bit of a renaissance as of late, and the gentrifying hipsters have begun moving in and doing up old warehouses as upscale condos and coffee shops. That’s not to say its a particularly nice area. There are many LA residents who would rather walk the midnight streets of Compton than head downtown. Bu it’s at this juxtaposition that street art has found its home – between the indifferent poor and the appreciative yuppies.

Shepard Fairey cut his teeth here (there are still original Fairey’s to be found around too), Banksy and Space Invader have made their presence known, and of course the litany of local artists who are turning the downtown wasteland into an outdoor art gallery. From stickers and wheat pastes to full building walls, downtown is a riot of color and imagination.  Turn any corner and you’ll be confronted with some style of expression and message. It turns this ghostly part of Los Angeles into a truly cultural heartbeat of the city.

The same fashion district that is home to much of this art is also ground zero for the local garment industry, and for crazy good shopping. The area is full of bodegas and open-air shopping centers full of the strangest knick-knacks, wholesale fabrics, and retail suits and shoes. This is a tourist-free zone to get great deals on clothes and mingle with the real locals of this beautiful city. I couldn’t resist picking up a pair of caramel monkstrap shoes that were only $25 in one of the stalls. If these only lasted one weekend they’d be worth it at that price, but they are actually holding up great and are in regular rotation. Chalk it up to buying your clothes from the original source wholesalers.

Nothing goes together like shopping and eating, so it was time for lunch at one of downtown’s many street vendors. With the high proportion of Latino garment workers living or working downtown, the street food here is not watered down or prepared by chef hat wearing posers; they are the real deal here. Most of the carts don’t event have a single english word written on them. It is this subtle cue that tells your stomach – “Prepare thyself for some awesome f@&$ing food.” Oh and it was. Going authentic will do that. I couldn’t tell you the name of the cart, or even remember what we ordered, but it doesn’t matter. Just find the truck with the a large group of middle-aged latino women eating there (those would be your garment workers), and queue up for a fantastic lunch. Get what everyone else is getting, and chow down. You’re welcome.

With a hearty meal in our overstuffed bellies, it is time to depart this metropolis we have so fallen in love with. That means it is also time to say goodbye to our Mercedes CLA AMG. From Beverly Hills and Malibu to dowtown and Lynwood, we’ve driven to as many corners of this city as we could cram into 72 hours. Los Angeles is too big to be knowable, but that is what makes it great. It is ever evolving and changing. It actually CAN be everything to everyone. And while the CLA AMG can’t pull off that trick, it wasn’t designed to. If you want a boulevard crushing slice of luxury, you won’t go wrong with the CLA. And if you want a city that is less hussle-and-bussle and more live-and-let-live, Los Angeles is the place for you.

As we make our way to LAX, we travel through some of the same neighborhoods we’ve already visited. Downtown, Koreatown, and West LA bring back memories that we can’t believe are only 48 hours old. We know we didn’t scratch the surface of this town, but there are some locals who could say the same thing. We’re happy that this will always be more to see and discover here, and we can’t wait for the opportunity to do so. Until next time LA.

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Day two on our LA adventure dawns and we’re itching to get on the road. We’re excited because the particular roads we’re not waiting to get on happen to be two of the most storied roads in the auto enthusiasts lexicon. Today we use the excellent CLA AMG to tame the epic Mulholland Highway. And to get there, we taking the irreplaceable Pacific Coast Highway. So what I’m saying is that it’s going to be a good day.

After a hearty home-cooked egg and bacon breakfast, to fortify our bodies and courage of course, we expectantly plopped ourselves down into our Merc’s firm sport seats. A touch of the starter button, a fiddle with the mirrors, and we’re off to meet our California road destiny. Or so we thought. We all know LA is known for its traffic. It’s freeways are some of the most congested in the nation, but that’s why we’re avoiding them and taking the famous PCH. But someone forgot to tell the locals, because the Coast Highway was just as slammed and slow as the much-cursed 405 freeway. Stop and go. For miles. Our 355 horses under the hood trapped behind an endless beige sea of Priuses and Range Rovers. The PCH is a great road that perfectly winds around some truly breathtaking ocean views. But anywhere within the Los Angeles County line, it’s just another congested road to crawl along. We were solely disappointed. That said, further North away from the city the traffic vanishes and the PCH can be one of the best coastal drives in these United States.

But up North we are not, so we are thankful when we finally spot the sign we’ve been aching for – Topanga Canyon. With a frustration-venting mash of the loud pedal, we catapult off the Coast Highway and onto Malibu’s infamous canyon roads. Mulholland has played host to automotive antics of everyone from James Dean and Steve McQueen, to racers like Richard Petty and Mario Andretti, to the everyday garage monkeys like you and me. It is first and foremost the people’s road. An equal opportunity joy-giver and fender-denter. And most importantly after the disappointment of the PCH, it lives up to its hype.

The CLA AMG is all-too happy to tackle this icon. It positively paws at the pavement below as it rockets from apex to apex. I’m giving the 4Matic all wheel drive – and bucket seats – a workout and they are proving very capable of holding up. This AMG is not a super car or purpose-built sports car; it’s a tarted up commuter sedan. It has limits. But I’ll be damned if I found them during our day in the high desert canyons.

Mulholland has a bit of everything. Long straights, gentle sweepers, and a treacherous length of impossibly narrow hairpins affectionately called The Snake by the locals. The Snake is where the posers stop short. It is a highly demanding and technical. It is also constantly populated with fully-armored motorcyclists pushing their Ducatis and Aprilias  insanely close to your fenders. The Snake is for real, and we threw the CLA AMG into it by the scruff of its neck. I’d love to tell you all about the tire smoke and sideways drama we got into. But I can’t. From perfectly executed hairpins to completely botched switchbacks, the AMG handled it all the same – it tightened up, made a terrific noise, and accelerated out with as much speed as I could coax out of it.

Mulholland’s famous twisties proved no match for our Merc, as we tired out well before our Teutonic chariot did. If you’re visiting Mulholland, its obligatory that you make a stop at The Rock Store. Believe it or not, we did not see a geode, crystal, or any other kind of rock for sale there. The Rock Store is the go-to stopping place for the bikers, cyclists, and drivers who claim The Snake every weekend. The food’s not brilliant and its always crowded, but everyone is friendly and there are always plenty of fun rides to check out.

After a full day attempting to get in as much trouble as possible on these narrow roads, we point the Merc West and ride out the remainder of Mulholland back to it’s exit on the PCH – a full 39 miles North from where we entered the canyons. We get to enjoy a few miles of un-trafficked PCH, then it’s back to the grind. You always know you’re near Los Angeles when you hit bumper-to-bumper traffic.

It has been a long and sweaty day, and the FactoryTwoFour crew marches on its stomach. Before getting back to our base at Venice Beach, we detour East to Santa Monica’s Sawtelle Blvd. For about 1.5 miles this strip of pavement is West LA’s Little Osaka. We have come here for some of the best ramen this side of Tokyo. Situated on the far edge of the street right where Sawtelle’s Japanese-ness peters out and returns to burger joints and Best Buys sits Daikoku Ramen. Smack dab in-between a Panda Express (for the unadventurous tourists) and a Marshall’s discount store, this tiny restaurant serves up hearty bowls of happiness. With an interior done up to perfectly mimic a Japanese side street, and a pork broth that is cooked and simmered over 24 hours, Daikoku is legit. Salt is the killer of good ramen. You can spot an inferior product right away if it tastes salty. Next up are the noodles. They should still be al dente even after sitting in the piping hot broth during the coarse of your meal. If your noodles lose their slight bite or you’re tasting more salt than pork, you’re eating like a chump. Daikoku has no worries on either front.

After slurping our way to and past satisfaction, we are well and truly stuffed. We knock off the evening with an enourmous bowl of Hawaiian shaved ice down the block and head home to plan our last day in this town we’ve come to love, Los Angeles. Our final day is going to be a doozy too – with street art, taco stands, open-air markets, and a few hundred miles of criss-crossing this crazy cities neighborhoods. Can’t wait.

Read part three of our Los Angeles Adventure here!

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With a town this size and all the best spots hopelessly spread out, you need a chariot capable of getting in and out of tight situations, one that carries ample speed to get you to and fro, and has the right amount of je ne sais qua to fit in from Beverly Hills down to the barrio. Enter the CLA AMG we’ve got for the weekend. This 2014 Mercedes is bathed in brilliant Jupiter Red to announce your arrival to anyone that can see it, and has an addictive exhaust bark to relay the message to all those who don’t. This thing is so LA it probably has an agent. With the right steed in hand, we’re off to capture the magic of this city in one action-packed weekend.

LA’s series of neighborhoods are microcosms unto themselves. Each is formed around some racial, ethnic, economic, or spiritual commonality. These groups and areas are ever-shifting and morphing, making LA truly unknowable. But we’re still gonna try our damnedest this weekend!

The city takes up the area between the San Gabriel Mountains in the East all the way to the ocean 40+ miles to the West. When most of us picture LA, the image is one of palm trees and sandy beaches. It’s certainly not a bad image. Locals call the area pictured in this mental image the West Side, and it is where FactoryTwoFour has set up our base camp. Venice Beach is still a neighborhood of lingering ill-repute for being on the sketchier side of ‘hoods, but it is in fact heavily gentrified and getting more so every day. It is still brimming with character though, and we’re glad to call it home for the weekend.

After arriving, jettisoning our luggage, and freshening up our first stop is the Venice Board Walk and the beach. ‘Natch. Rounding the corner onto the boardwalk is like leaving the United States and entering Tijuana if it was run by a pot smoking street artist Willy Wonka. It is a truly wonderful place full of strange and frightening sights and sounds. Marijuana dispensaries every 50ft or so, homeless people dressed up as mountain men wearing roller blades, or tacky t-shirts with inappropriate messages or cleverly re-worked corporate logos – all this can be yours and much much more on the Venice Board Walk.

Just steps away, the beach offers us needed respite from the crazies and the tourists. It’s always 70 degrees here. Always. But it’s still LA, so the water is neither clear nor particularly clean. Swim on, we certainly did, but take a shower afterward.

On to lunch and Abbot Kinney – a street recently declared The Coolest Block in America by GQ Magazine. Abbot Kinney is a simple stretch of asphalt less than a mile long flanked on either side by upscale boutiques and holier-than-thou restaurants and bars. Several top chefs have outposts here, but our destination is Chop Daddy’s. This unpretentious BBQ joint offers up killer grub to the hipsters of Venice without falling victim to their ways. No dried flowers in whimsical vases, no strange food pairings or unpronounceable ingredients. Just damn good BBQ sandwiches and fried pickles. Get on it.

Now it’s back in the righteous CLA and up to Santa Monica. This town is akin to Venice’s older, responsible brother. The strange and unique are not welcome here. It is a very safe and predictable place. And very boring. Santa Monica is the outpost of the Old White Person. If worldwide chain restaurants and brands are your thing, and you enjoy paying $16 for an “artisan cupcake,” you’ll fit right in. What Santa Monica has that is of interest to us is a world-class farmer’s market. Chefs from across the city descend on the Santa Monica Farmer’s Market to grab the freshest produce to bring back to their Michelin-starred restaurants. And of course to talk some shop with their chef buddies who they invariably run into. Hosted on the 3rd Street Promenade ever Wednesday and Saturday, there is no better place to pick up the freshest California fruit, OR find a very fresh Californian date to join you for dinner. Browse around, try a sample of the best strawberries you’ll ever eat. Grab a fresh baguette and some flowers. Just don’t be surprised if you start fighting over the last bunch of spinach with Chef Sang Yoon.

Pro tip: avoid the Santa Monica Pier. It’s an overcrowded tourist trap brimming with lame carnival rides, terrible food, and worse street vendors hawking shot glasses and neon-colored visors. Everyone goes to the pier because they think its a must-see Westside attraction. Don’t be everyone. You can see it plenty well from the great bluffs overlooking the ocean, and there you will avoid being bunched in with fat mid-westerners who sweat too much and shower too little.

So after samples the local ware and partaking in all the good and bad the Westside of Los Angeles has to offer, it’s time for…………….a nap. But after that, it’s time for dinner! Why yes, our city excursions do revolve around food stuffing our faces. What of it?

Tonight we’re rocketing in our svelte Mercedes to A-Frame, Roy Choi’s joint in Culver City that is on our go-to list for LA. The atmosphere is fresh, the beautiful people are right, and the plates of Korean-American mashups are wholly unique anywhere in the world. We pig out on perfectly crisp Beer Can Chicken, seaweed covered popcorn, sublime duck, Asian ribs, and one of our party even hogged the enormous burger all to themselves. And you know we didn’t leave without getting the epic pound cake churro. Damn good.

Since Chef Choi’s just treated us so well, we’re off to cap our first day in Los Angeles at his Abbot Kinney bar The Brig. It’s small, modern, and incredibly loud when a band is shoe-horned in there, but there’s a pool table in the back and more beautiful people to be enjoyed. After hustling a group off the billiards table, we camped out on it for the rest of night, getting tipsy on Manhattens and reflecting on the adventures behind us and those still in front of us. When we call it a night, our minds are filled with the big day ahead. Tomorrow, we stretch the CLA AMG’s legs in the Malibu Canyons…

Read part two of our Los Angeles Adventure here!

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Day 2 & 3

I know movies, I know TV and I know way more about pop culture than most, but I know nothing about LA. Don’t believe me? It took numerous attempts at trying “Las Angeles” in the navigation before giving up and typing in West Hollywood. That’s right; we didn’t even attempt Los Angeles (the correct spelling in case there are more of us out there). However, we made it to LA now with an IQ worthy of our own Bravo show.

I’d previously spent one night in West Hollywood and knew two things: it’s trendy and celebrities. Friends of LA laughed at my choice, but with a limited time in LA that’s the lifestyle I wanted to see. So, we bar hopped our first night from the trendy overpriced bars of the Sunset Tower, The Standard and finished our night at Bar Marmont. And while only one local friend reluctantly agreed to meet us I enjoyed every second: great views, drinks, and food. Plus, it reminded me of that feeling I used to have when I first moved to New York where anyone could be somebody important and while they still could, reality of the city has set in and now I just want to drink more than I care.

Having two nights in LA we checked out Santa Monica for lunch and then drove through Beverly Hills. Beverly Hills has big homes which are always cool to see, but the shopping area and Rodeo Dr. were quite a letdown. Sure, there were expensive stores and I’m sure good restaurants, but the whole area had the charm and character of a suburban strip mall.

Having been privilege to a heat wave we were pretty burnt out by night fall and retired early to rest up for the drive to Santa Barbara. I also had to tend to my burns I obtained driving to LA in my effort to achieve a “base tan.” I guess you could say it worked.

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