I'm an east coast girl. Always have been, possibly always will be.

But for a couple ill-advised years, I lived in LA. And I have to admit, I talk a lot about living there, given that it was only two years -- and that was three years ago.  (Meaning I've now been back for far longer than I was ever there.) Now, in my defense, they were two very long years, as time tends to slow down when you're miserable. 

Not to mention that while the 'Isn't it just crazy how different life is on the west coast' ground has been pretty well covered by a variety of essayists and stand-up comedians and freshman roommates, I feel it still has a certain gee-whiz factor. Especially at dinner parties when we've run out of all other conversation. (Of course, this is coming from the girl who's still blown away by the fact that the game I and all my Philadelphia friends called "Whisper Down the Lane" is known as "Telephone" everywhere else in the country -- even though, as I'm required to point out every time the subject comes up, calling it Telephone MAKES NO FREAKING SENSE.)

Anyway, my time in LA was rather memorable, and as the years pass, I'm prone to cultivating the memory of its high points, holding fast to things I miss about the city in case I ever find myself forced to move back. (Look: If JJ Abrams calls me up and invites me to join the writing staff of Lost, what am I supposed to say, "Love to, JJ, but I'm not so into the whole LA thing?"  I don't think so.)

And one of the things I miss about LA is the Mexican food.  Specifically, the probably not-particularly-authentic Mexican restaurant El Cholo.  Now, I know this place is a chain.  And it served a pretty generic menu of standard tex mex, as opposed to all the uber-authentic oaxacan stuff that most of my friends preferred.  But it had huge margaritas, it was close to my house, and of the handful of happy memories I have from those days, a big chunk of them take place at El Cholo.

Which means I spent a lot of time staring at the menu, which told the tale of how an El Cholo waitress basically invented nachos and single-handedly turned them into the delicious commonplace treat we know and love. I assumed this was the kind of cheesy crap you always find on the menus at cheesy crap restaurants.  Then today I saw this:

"RIP: Carmen Rocha, the El Cholo restaurant waitress who was credited with bringing nachos to Los Angeles in 1959, died in her home in Los Angeles on October 9. She brought the recipe with her from San Antonio, Texas where she learned how to layer tortilla wedges with shredded cheddar cheese and slices of jalapeño pepper."

It seems, counter to my view of the world, it is possible to be too skeptical.

So RIP, Carmen Rocha, and thanks for the memories!

*****
Special message to the one person I know who often reads this blog and joined me for many of those El Cholo evenings: Feel free to weigh in, since as I recall you found the food there somewhat less than edible.