I will remember Los Angeles, in part, by its food—I’ve had some of the most memorable meals of my life in this city. Here are a few highlights, strange and unexpected and delicious:

Taco Stand —

After the Alumni Party at the Paley Center, the five of us who aren’t on our way to Wisconsin walk to find food and land at a small corner taco shop. A stand out front holds dozens of salsas, but it’s dark and I mostly guess and scoop several kinds into Dixie cups. We sit at a wooden picnic table and eat under a streetlamp. I devour my cow tongue taco—it cost three dollars but is worth a million.

Roscoe’s House of Chicken & Waffles —

The restaurant is windowless, and from the outside, it appears like a fortress. We have to fight through a crowd out front to get our name on the list. Fifteen minutes later, we’re called inside. It’s loud and illuminated in low red light. The place seems like it was originally set up as a cover for something illegal, but the cover—chicken & waffles, naturally—was so successful that the illegal business was given up altogether and the chain exploded. All of us get the same thing: a fried chicken thigh and a waffle.

I thought about Mildred Pierce as we dug into our meal. Our class had seen the film earlier in the block; the story is, among other things, of a single mother who finds financial success starting a chicken and waffle restaurant. I imagined Joan Crawford spinning around Roscoe’s. I imagined her flickering like black and white celluloid, waiting on the late night club-goers.

NBC Seafood Restaurant —

Thirteen of us fit around a round table—the ten of us students, our professors, Dylan and Clay, and Esther’s father who was joining us for the night. A massive lazy Susan sat in the center. We turned it back and forth to dole out dishes and cups of hot tea. A platter of pork, chicken, ham, and jellyfish arrived first. This was only an appetizer. Over the next two hours we ate scallops, steamed bok choy, spongy mushrooms, fried halibut, red bean soup, creamy tofu, fish stomach soup, and crispy duck skin and plenty of Hoisin sauce. It was truly a feast. And I was appreciative for the chance to regroup and be reminded of how special this block has been. I couldn’t have asked for better fellow LA adventurers, in food and in film.

The offices of Creative Artists Agency are all marble and glass. Every surface reflects. Jordan Peele sits across from our class in the lobby—gray hoodie, hood up, and candy-colored Reeboks. Someone’s assistant walks over to him, heels clicking, and shakes his hand. I cannot tell if this is the first time they have met, or if this routine has been performed many times before. They enter one of the elevators; each elevator has a glass back so that you can see every level you rise above fall down below you. A couple minutes later, our class takes the same elevator several floors up to meet with an agent at CAA. We meet in a beautiful conference room that looks onto skyscrapers reflecting sky.

Then, an hour or so later, our class is at an In N’ Out. There’s a massive line and half of it hangs out the front door. Outside, I watch a spilled milkshake melt in the sun and run towards the trashcan, pooling around some french fries and pieces of lettuce. I’m not entirely sure why, but I find this incredibly comforting.

Days later, I keep returning to that day, when we visited sparkling CAA and followed it up with a sloppy fast-food lunch. I came to Los Angeles knowing only what I’d heard from friends and prepared mostly by what I saw in the movies. I wanted LA demystified. But it’s a complicated place, and the fraction of it that I have seen has given me no easy answer. Parts of it have reinforced the glamour and mythology of Hollywood. Other parts have revealed something more ordinary and uninspiring. It’s kind of like whiplash, between the decidedly dressed-up CAA offices and the greasiness of the In N’ Out. I have found this both intimidating and reassuring—kind of like the term ‘business casual’.

However, I have been most surprised by and thankful for the kind people we meet. Yesterday, our class met several Foley artists at Warner Bros.—they are responsible for creating sounds and soundscapes for films from scratch. They were hesitant to talk to us at first. But once we piled into their studio, they were like kids, excitedly showing us how old handbags and broken tables pressed and pulled in the right ways sounded like a creaking ship’s mast. Just this afternoon, my Uber driver was an actor who had small parts in The Walking Dead Ep. 602 and the upcoming film about Anita Hill. He insisted we become Facebook friends when he told us he was from Denver and discovered we went to school in the Springs. It’s these people I meet who will leave more of an impression on me than any serene corporate lobby or messy fast-food joint. They are the reason this sprawling city breathes, and the reason I might come back.