IRWINDALE, Calif. — Another gorgeous and sunny fall Southern California afternoon — the smog, apparently, is taking the weekend off — and here I am in a traffic jam deep in the industrial heart of the San Gabriel Valley.
To my left on Azusa Canyon Road is a huge gravel pit, a moonscape-like crater covering at least three square blocks. To my right is the boxy, beige concrete facade of one of this city’s largest and most controversial businesses, Huy Fong Foods, where this conga line of cars is trying to squeeze into the company parking lot built to accommodate only about a hundred vehicles. Men in reflective vests wave orange flags semaphorically, as drivers jockey to get a coveted spot, park and then briskly walk to the ever-expanding line at the entrance, as if rushing the stage at a rock concert.
As I inch along, I stare into the gaping maw of the pit and think, I’m giving up my Saturday for this? I’m heading to an outpost in L.A.’s vast sprawl east of downtown, an area people usually flee from on the weekend, to check out a condiment? I’m going to don a hair net with other visitors and watch factory workers grind chilies, mix them with sugar, salt, garlic, distilled vinegar, potassium sorbate, sodium bisulfite and xantham gum (that always popular viscous polysaccharide) for an hour or so? I’m going to pour adoration on a humble sauce that scores of diners squirt on, well, anything that needs a bit of spicing up?
Yes, reader, I am. And, by the end of the day, so will have 2,400 other people.