It’s Chinatown, Son, and I Love It
Finding French Dips and Community on the Gold Line
It should have been a quiet, forgettable Tuesday night at home. That’s all I wanted it to be. My wife was out of town. I had to pick up both of my boys—4 and nearly 2—from two different child-care locations, which, for very complicated, very L.A. reasons, are 40 minutes apart. I just wanted to get Ben and Tom fed and to bed early, so I could catch up on some work.
But my 4-year-old wouldn’t have it. I’d gotten to his school late, nearly 6 p.m., making him the last …
