THE FERAL VAGABOND: 120 Miles to Turkey

People say one of the great things about living in Los Angeles is that you can get in your car and drive two hours in any direction and suddenly be in a vastly different environment from the one you started in. To the south you have Mexico with its immaculate coast lines and drug laden towns; to the north lies the wine country inviting you to a relaxing day of free booze; to the west, sandy beaches and the wide Pacific; and to the east, the snowcapped mountains of San Bernardino where thousands swoosh downhill in snow pants and ear-flapped hats.

While I’m definitely a lover of beaches, illegal substances, and free booze, this weekend I decided to make my trip to the east. I woke up and had en entire Saturday of freedom ahead of me. I thought to myself, “If I could do anything right now, what would it be?” When I looked deeply within myself, I heard a forgotten desire, whispering from the pit of my loins; I need to taste the Turkey on Focaccia sandwich at Blondie’s Grille in Big Bear Lake, CA once more.

Now, being that I live in Santa Monica, a good 2 ½ hours away from Big Bear Lake, you might be saying to yourself, “How crazy does one have to be to drive such a long distance, roundtrip no less, just to eat a turkey sandwich?” My only retort would be this…Imagine the best tasting food you’ve ever eaten; then multiply that times a thousand and tell me what you’d do to eat it again.
Seeing that my watch already read 10:23am, I knew I needed to get a move on in order to get to my sandwich by lunchtime, as well as get back on the road before the winter sun began to set. I didn’t want to be stuck driving on the icy roads of the San Bernardino mountains in pitch dark, but time was already ticking and I was going to risk it.

I quickly jumped from my bed and threw on a pair of pants and a t-shirt. Time was moving by and I didn’t have a spare second to waste on anything, not even hygiene. Within two minutes I was behind the wheel of my car and sped off towards the freeway. I had only been to Big Bear once before, about six months previous, but had the exact route to Blondie’s embedded in my brain. 10 East to the 30 North to the 330 North to the 18; it was like child’s play how the numbers carelessly danced in my head.

After about forty minutes, the slight outline of the mountains began to emerge from the afghan of smog that consistently covers the Los Angeles metropolitan area. It was a beautiful site and knowing that my tasty prize was waiting somewhere among those rocky land formations made me even more determined to get there quickly. I stepped on the gas and prayed not to get pulled over.

Having been in a rush earlier, I left all of my cds at home and was forced to listen to the radio for the entire trip. Once NPR disappeared through slowly grading static, I mined the dial for something tolerable. As the populations of the towns I passed through shrunk, my choices were limited to mariachi and country music. I soon opted for silence.

Another forty minutes later I began the winding 6,743 foot ascent to beautiful Big Bear Lake. I rolled down my window, letting in not only the frigid 30 degree wind, but the crisp, clean air that my lungs hadn’t consumed in a long time. Dozens of warmly dressed parents and children walked along the side of the road, toboggan in hand, smiling on their way to the snow filled hill where others just like them were already zooming down with screams of joy.

My stomach began to growl when I reached highway 18; it must have known that I was getting close and was upset with me for neglecting it at breakfast. I didn’t want to ruin any bit of my appetite with anything else though. I wanted my virgin stomach to be penetrated by, and only by that first succulent bite of my treasured sandwich.

I passed by a Blondie’s Grille and Bar on highway 18 without a second thought of stopping. Granted, this duplicate restaurant assayed the title of my final destination, but it wasn’t the sacred place where I had first tasted my sandwich. It was merely a chain with a chef who would surely prepare the sandwich differently than the one at the Blondie’s in Big Bear Lake, and I couldn’t risk even the slightest alteration in taste.

My excitement about getting closer was slightly curbed when detour signs began pointing me north. When you finally reach the lake, there is a fork in the road that allows you to take either the south route straight to Big Bear Village, or the north route that takes you there all the way around the lake. Unfortunately for me, the fork now only had one prong and it was forcing me to take the scenic drive instead of just heading straight for my destination.

After an unanticipated extra 25 minutes, I turned left onto Pine Knott Avenue. My stomach could sense our close proximity to the restaurant and began growling louder than ever. Then, there she was; mirror and lipstick in hand, Blondie herself sat atop the sign of the place that housed the reason for my entire trip.

I pulled into the parking lot and noticed that a part of me was actually nervous with excitement. It was as though I was heading out to meet someone on our first date and was so thrilled that slight anxiety overcame my body.

I walked in and sat at the bar. A weathered man in his fifties sat next to me, sipping on an iced tea and paging through a hunting magazine. My waitress, Shandy, walked over and handed me a menu, but I told her I didn’t need it. I placed my order and waited.

Six or seven minutes later I saw Shandy emerge from the kitchen with a plate that was destined for me and she walked over and placed it on the counter in front of me. I almost teared up as I gazed at its beauty. Roast turkey and red pepper blanketed by a slowly melting slice of swiss cheese danced among the Merlot vinaigrette; and all of it resting between two slices of warm focaccia bread. A masterpiece.

Even though I wanted to tear into that sandwich the way a starved wild boar would, I paced each bite, letting it caress my every taste bud. At the last bite, I thanked my sandwich and then swallowed. It was exactly what I had been hoping for and I felt a heavy pride for having driven so far to experience it.

My head held high and my belly full, I paid my bill and headed back out to my car. As I headed West on the 10, bound for home, I saw the 15 North and contemplated the 147 mile trek East to my favorite Greek restaurant in death valley. I knew that by the time I reached it my belly would be hungry again and that a tasty gyro would satisfy me well. Instead, I continued West into the sunset and saved that road trip for another weekend.

Blondie’s Grille and Bar can be found at 625 Pine Knott Avenue in the gorgeous and friendly town of Big Bear Lake, California.