Why I Love Costco Part 1: The Costco Diet

Where to start. Okay, let’s start with the samples.

If I were homeless*, which could still happen – I have goals you know - I’d find myself a popular freeway off-ramp, design a really nice cardboard sign (I have art director friends, so….) and be the best gosh, darn homeless person asking for money so I could get enough to buy a Costco membership.

Then, I’d go on the Costco diet.

The Costco diet consists of walking up one big aisle in Costco and down the other, sampling all the foods they offer along the way. Yesterday two of the offerings were Hormel Chili (“Not too watery, not too salty...”) and fresh-baked Costco pumpkin pies which, as my friend Phil says, are the size of manhole covers.

The beauty of the Costco diet is the randomness of it. One day it’s frozen cheescake and Hansens Nectar. The next its Louisiana Hot Links and chicken soup.

Sampling food at Costco always reminds me of Woody Allen’s line from Annie Hall, “This food is terrible. And such small portions.” The samples are small, but the good news is the people handing them out aren’t paid nearly enough to care how many times you go back.

Especially if you wear your sweatshirt hood up the second time around. Or so I hear.

If you’re really hungry, go back a lot. If you’re on a strict “I don’t know what kind of cheese that is but they’re handing it out so I’ll try it” diet, then just make one pass through the store.

I know, you’re probably thinking virtually endless free samples of preservative-laden, packaged and canned food is its own reward. And you're right. That alone would make the visit worth the trip. But there’s also a hidden benefit: since the stores are so ginormous, not only are you getting a free meal, you’re also getting in a ton of exercise with all the walking you're doing.

At least that's what I tell myself.

Maybe their new tagline should be “Costco. It works on so many levels.”

I don’t want to give anyone the wrong idea. I mentioned the Costco diet is what I’d do if I were homeless. The truth is I occasionally do it now, although not out of necessity. And not every day. I try to stick to weekends between 10 and 3 when the number of sample hander-outers and variety is the greatest.

There are many things to love about Costco (Modern Family even devoted part of an episode to it). Sampling is just one of them.

I’ll discuss more in the next installment of what I just now decided to call The Costco Files.

*I realize homelessness is a serious problem. It is not my intention to diminish it or make fun of anyone in that situation. If you’re homeless and reading this blog on your laptop, I’m sorry.

Pink's goes south

There's nothing like a Pink's chili dog at 8:30 in the morning. I should know. That's where my Fairfax High friends and I went when we'd ditch P.E. at second period (sorry Mr. Stone).

The thing that made it great - besides the radioactive chili and great tasting, specially made Hoffy hot dogs since 1939 - was that Pink's was a one of a kind experience. Well, sadly, they're not one of a kind anymore. Another Pink's is opening in Orange County. At Knott's Berry Farm. And while I'm sure the chili dog loving residents of the OC will be happy they don't have to drive to the big, bad city to experience Pink's, the reality is it won't be the same.

Part of the Pink's experience is waiting in line for at least forty minutes with the colorful cross section of L.A. you find there almost any time of day or night. Movie stars, millionaires, down-and-outers, teens, seniors, people in drag, people who are a drag. All excitedly waiting for the same culinary experience. Pink's levels the playing field. Yes we can all get along. Over a chili dog.

Want to know how to insult a great chili dog? Sell it between cotton candy and jars of grape jelly. It's just wrong.

When The Original Tommy's opened stands everywhere, the experience wasn't anything near the same as waiting in a line of 500 people at the downtown stand at eleven at night after a concert at the Sports Arena or Staples Center.

But times are tough, and I suppose it's an understandable move.

Still, some places manage to hang on to their uniqueness. The Apple Pan has had many, many offers over the years to expand, franchise and relocate. None of which they've done. Their 27 seat counter is full most of the time, and the same employees that served me those awesome Hickory burgers when I was a kid are still serving them. There's something extremely comforting about that.

Philippe's downtown is another singular L.A. dining landmark. Screw French dip for the masses. You want it, you go downtown.

So while it makes me sad there won't be just one Pink's anymore, I suppose in the end broadening the fan base is a good thing.

Almost as good as thinking about those diners at Knott's getting tossed around on Montezooma's Revenge after their first chili dog.