The $10.40 breakfast burrito

The other day I noted here that Claremont’s Back Abbey has a $13 hamburger, one that may actually be worth the money.

At ONT I discovered the $10.40 breakfast burrito.

That would be at El Paseo, the Mexican restaurant in the concourse. I was there around 5 a.m. (yawn) before my flight to New Orleans, hoping to grab a bite. El Paseo at that point seemed to be the only restaurant open. The juice place next door, my usual stop before a flight, is out of business.

I saw the price for the burrito at El Paseo and decided I didn’t need food that badly.

(I’m going to presume that rent at the airport is sky-high and that the prices reflect that. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to pay it.)

It could be an amazing breakfast burrito, of course. And is there a reason I would pay $13 for a burger, but not $10.40 for a breakfast burrito? I guess it does sound strange.

My reasoning is, I don’t really like breakfast burritos — my hazy, pre-dawn recollection is that that was the only breakfast-ish item on the menu, hence the only reason I considered it — and I didn’t want that much food. Whereas I like a good hamburger and for the ambience at The Back Abbey, I was willing to pay. Seeking a quick meal at the airport, I wasn’t.

Thankfully, ONT’s Carl’s Jr. opened before my flight and I had a breakfast sandwich and OJ for under $5. Their breakfast burritos were all around $3. You could probably get three for $10.40.

Anyone want to share tips or memories of meals at ONT? Hungry passengers will thank you.

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‘GTO’

You know the 1964 song “GTO” by Ronny and the Daytonas? The one with the lyric about how Ronny is going to buy a Pontiac GTO, “take it out to Pomona and let ’em know that I’m the coolest thing around”?

I was walking along Canal Street in New Orleans one evening of my visit, passing by Harrah’s Casino, which was on the other side of the street, as its sound system blasted “GTO.”

My ears perked up and I paused on the sidewalk a moment, waiting for the Pomona line. Once it came, I resumed walking, a smile on my face, feeling a little closer to home.

You can watch a video here with the complete song plus photos of vintage GTOs.

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Fats Domino’s house

I’ve got a few more notes from my New Orleans trip that I’ll get out of the way in the next couple of days. Here’s one.

On our bus tour of the Lower 9th Ward on June 21, we passed by Fats Domino’s house. Yes, the famous house from whose roof Fats was rescued after Katrina. He lives at Caffin and Marais streets, in a low-slung house right there on the corner. No gate, no nothin’.

Next door is the modest office for his music publishing company, which I recognized from a photo included in Fats’ latest CD (more on that below). I had no idea it was next door to his residence.

Let me say, I am a Fats Domino fan. I own the four-disc boxed set and the later replacement 4-CD boxed set, two greatest hits CDs, a CD of his early R&B material, an import LP of same and the ’70s Legendary Masters double-LP. I’ve debated buying the 8-disc Bear Family boxed set of all his Imperial Records tracks.

Fats, needless to say, is fabulous is my book. I’ll even recommend his most recent CD, “Alive and Kickin’.” It took me months to find a copy because it’s on some dinky label and received poor distribution. It has one of the most hideous covers you’ll ever see, one that appears to have been put together by a friend whose qualification is that he has Photoshop. The music, I was surprised to learn, was recorded in 2000 but unreleased until now because no labels were interested.

And yet the music is quite good — not as prime as the ’50s material, of course, but much better than we had any right to expect. The songs are catchy and the minimalist piano playing very compelling. One of the songs has a three-note (I think) repeating pattern that is simplicity itself, and for days afterward the figure was on repeat in my brain.

You’d think, after Katrina, some record label would mount a Fats Domino reclamation project and put the man in a studio, or even give “Alive and Kickin'” a push. If they’ll do it for Jerry Lee Lewis, they could do it for Fats.

Anyway: I found my thrill, not on Blueberry Hill, but in a glimpse of the great one’s home. If he was home, I hope he was taking a nap, sitting at the piano, cooking or doing something else he loves.

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Hands free

The new cell phone law goes into effect today, but while many of you are rushing around shopping for headsets, yours truly is unconcerned. (So is Captain Hook, who’s been hands-free for years.)

I’m one of those holdouts who has yet to embrace cell phones. Never owned one.

Historically, so few people needed to get hold of me that owning a cell phone seemed like an act of vanity. The inevitable rebuke would be day after day of silence, akin to the disappointment of coming home from vacation to find a big red zero on the answering machine, except the cell phone’s zero would always travel with me.

It’s likely I’ll have a phone before the end of 2008 because now, there are enough times when it would come in handy that it’s probably worth the trouble. Also, not having a cell phone is an increasingly untenable, not to mention eccentric, position. At this point it’s almost like not having electricity. In the meantime, I’m savoring the freedom.

Not that I would expect to ever talk on a cell phone while driving anyway. I don’t know how anyone does it, honestly. Driving is difficult enough. So is conversing, for that matter.

Cell phones are something of a mystery to me, as you can imagine. I watch with curiosity as friends use them. A part of me would like a BlackBerry because of the Internet connection; plenty of times I’ve been on the road and wished I could look up the address or cross street of a business, for instance. If you’re going to get a cell phone, just go for it.

On the other hand, maybe a half-step would be less overwhelming.

I was at a Dodger game last week with a group of dozen friends. The friend next to me (I was at the far right end of our row) kept getting text messages from friends further to the left and responding. One of those people was getting drinks and food for the group, which was quite nice of her.

And yet my friend’s phone kept buzzing, and he would read the message, reply by typing with his two thumbs and hit send. Must have been eight or 10 messages throughout the game. Would you like a drink? What about food? I’m in line, ask so-and-so what she wants because she’s not responding. I’m in line and forgot what you wanted. Etc.

After a while, the allure of the device kind of wore off. It was pleasant to sit there unencumbered, thumbs relaxed, and enjoy the game.

Although I did relay a drink order.

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