The Brief

A woman wearing what can only be described as rags struggles to push something large, round, and yellow up a mountain. She lets out a primal scream. A female comedian’s face appears overhead, shimmering through ominous clouds. This is not the cold open for a wacky alt-comedy web series — it’s an ad for a plant-based cheese company.

The company in question is called Plonts, and the large yellow thing is, of course, a humongous wheel of (plant-based) cheese. From here, things get weirder: The comedian whose face looms large in the sky is Kate Berlant, a performer known for her screwball and self-referential work. As Berlant quibbles with the woman on the mountain, her wry and goofy presence instantly sets the ad’s tone. With this tongue-in-cheek approach, Plonts seems to be saying that this is not a regular plant-based cheese brand — this is a cool plant-based cheese brand, one that doesn’t take itself too seriously and doesn’t want you, the consumer, to either. This ethos is aptly summarized by the ad’s tagline: Buying Plonts “won’t save the planet,” it reads. “But it probably won’t hurt.”

In the plant-based protein space, Plonts is zigging where other brands are zagging. Many plant-based brands — whether it’s oat milk or fake-beef burgers that really bleed — introduced themselves to consumers by hyping up the environmental benefits of a plant-based diet. But as they’ve learned that sustainability isn’t a deciding factor for most customers, alternative protein brands have pivoted in recent years, putting more emphasis on things like taste and nutritional benefits. 

Using humor in climate messaging

Rather than relying too heavily on any of these messages, Plonts’ new ad makes a show of playfully shrugging off its climate advantages — and calling into question whether consumerism can really get us out of the climate crisis.

If nothing else, this tactic makes the company stand out. “The category of plant-based foods, I would say, has had a pretty uniform ethics or party line,” says Jason Moran, creative director on the marketing team at Red Antler, a branding agency.

That line has traditionally been hyper-focused on the environmental benefits of eating more plants and less meat. A vegan diet results in 75 percent fewer greenhouse gas emissions than a diet high in meat. Because animal agriculture tends to require both land for grazing and cropland to grow inputs for animal feed, livestock also uses a disproportionate amount of the Earth’s agricultural land — about 80 percent.

These statistics once seemed like the key to swaying consumers to eat less meat. A decade ago, plant-based protein companies made an earnest case for the environmental benefits of fake meat. When Beyond Meat launched its “beef-free crumbles” in 2014, CEO Ethan Brown told reporters that addressing “all this doom and gloom about climate change” is “as simple as changing what’s at the center of your plate.” At times, plant-based companies doubled down on that rhetoric, practically pleading with audiences to see the writing on the wall. In a 2016 TED Talk introducing the world to Impossible Foods’ hyper-realistic veggie burgers, company founder Pat Brown (no relation) said that the global appetite for meat “is the main reason behind an ongoing wildlife holocaust.” Eliminating animal agriculture might sound like a tall order, Brown said, but it “has to be done.” The oat milk brand Oatly once took out a full-page newspaper ad on “how the pursuit of profit without consideration for the planet should be considered a crime,” according to the company’s creative director.

Now, the same companies are trying different approaches. Market research has shown that consumers are motivated by factors like taste, familiarity, price, and nutrition more than plant-based foods’ “altruistic attributes,” like sustainability. Earlier this year, Impossible Foods announced “a new brand identity inspired by the craveability of meat.” This kind of brand positioning alludes to meat’s climate impact without saying the word “climate” directly — and instead by repeating the word “meat.” (“[W]hy not solve the meat problem with MORE meat?” reads one page on the Impossible Foods website.) Oatly, meanwhile, has continued to highlight the environmental benefits of a plant-based diet, but in surprising, off-the-wall ways. The brand’s cheeky “Help Dad” campaign is aimed at convincing reluctant fathers to make the switch to oat milk, while its recent mock-exposé attacks “the dairy industry’s lack of transparency about the climate impact of its products.”

Rarely, though, has a plant-based protein brand knowingly leaned into the ambiguity around consumerism as a meaningful lever for climate action, as Plonts is doing. In the ad, Berlant suggests that the woman on the mountain needn’t huff and puff on that ragged path upwards — an act meant to symbolize eating a plant-based diet to save the planet. Instead, the woman can buy Plonts. “Fighting climate change is too hard,” the company declares on its website. “Just eat some plant-based cheese instead.”

Here, Plonts takes an honest stab at having it both ways: The company acknowledges the environmental impact of eschewing dairy without overstating the power of individual choice. “It’s really frustrating to be up against this massive problem where, you know, realistically, our individual sacrifices aren’t going to move the needle on climate change,” said Sophie Moscovici-Troyka, brand manager at Plonts, who previously worked at Impossible Foods. “At the same time, you see a lot of mission-driven companies putting the pressure on consumerism as the answer to climate change, which has all sorts of paradoxes within it. We wanted to poke fun at that tension.”

To sidestep the guilt that can come with eating meat or dairy on a warming planet, “We definitely took inspiration from different comedians and brands,” said Moscovici-Troyka. On the comedy side, that includes comic and actor Julio Torres, who has joked that the hardest part of being vegan is all of the apologizing. (“People ask me if I miss meat or dairy,” the joke goes. “I mean, I miss being liked.”) On the brand side, Moscovici-Troyka cites Oatly and the canned water company Liquid Death for their arch, irreverent approaches to marketing.

Making food choices

Plonts also seems to be part of a new wave of plant-based cheese companies promising to compete with dairy milk on taste. Its cheese is made by adding cultures, enzymes, and salt to plant-based milk, in a process similar to making dairy cheese; the resulting product is then aged to enhance its flavor, and additives are introduced to give it the ability to melt. Currently, the vegan cheese is only available to order at restaurants in New York and San Francisco, but the company hopes to break into retail in the future. It may be too soon to tell whether the brand’s messaging is resonating with consumers; just a few weeks out from its launch, the company declined to share sales numbers. Right now, the Plonts ad is appearing on social media and video sharing platforms.

A view of the exterior as Carl's Jr. & Beyond Meat Partner For First-Ever Plant-Based Meat Menu Takeover in Glendale

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One of the best things any brand can do when establishing itself, says Moran, is picking an audience: knowing both who you’re trying to sell to, and who you’re OK not reaching. He suggests that even if Plonts’ approach doesn’t resonate with everyone, it’s on the right track.

If Plonts is speaking “directly” to the people who are “unsure or who are not actively making food choices to save the environment,” said Moran, that may be good business. While only about 4 percent of Americans identify as vegetarian (and even fewer as vegan), a 2020 report found that more than half of Americans would be willing to eat more vegetables and less red meat. A slightly smaller percentage, 46 percent, said they’d be willing to try nondairy alternatives to products like milk and cheese. For many, making environmentally-friendly dietary choices just isn’t top of mind: Two-thirds of survey respondents said no one has ever asked them to eat more plant-based foods. Courting those eaters, said Moran, “I think is powerful.”

Lawmakers on Thursday killed a controversial plan that could have allowed grizzly bears to one day return to California.

The Assembly Appropriations Committee spiked Inglewood Democratic Sen. Laura Richardson’s Senate Bill 1305. The measure would have tasked the California Department of Fish and Wildlife with creating a “roadmap that evaluates whether, and under what conditions, reintroduction of the grizzly bear is feasible and advisable.”

As is typical with the Legislature’s appropriations committees, lawmakers didn’t discuss the bill; nor did they take public testimony before the committee’s chairperson, Democratic Assemblymember Buffy Wicks of Oakland, announced the decision.

Wicks later told reporters that before intentionally reintroducing grizzly bears, the state must figure out how humans can best coexist with predatory wildlife. She pointed to the controversial return of gray wolves to California and the subsequent loss of cattle.

“The state needs to really invest in how we are actually addressing and dealing with those conflicts,” she said.

Grizzlies once lived across most of California. As many as 10,000 may have roamed before the Gold Rush. They were so prevalent that when California settlers tried to form their own nation, they called it the Bear Flag Republic. A grizzly bear is memorialized on California’s flag.

Settlers systematically exterminated the animals. They were gone by the 1920s, leaving the smaller black bear as California’s only surviving native bear species.

Two Native American tribes consponsored the bill, and several animal welfare and environmental groups supported it. They argued that bringing the second largest land predator back to America’s most populated state would right an ecological wrong and help restore California’s degraded ecosystem.

Opponents included ranchers, hunting associations and rural communities. They argued California is far too populated with people to sustain another apex predator. Rural communities are already overwhelmed with conflicts with mountain lions, black bears and wolves that attack livestock and wander into their towns, opponents said.

The measure set aside no funding for the study, but it allowed for a future Legislature or an outside group to do so.

Yue Stella Yu contributed reporting.

Irvine opened a new pedestrian bridge this week that lets you pedal, scoot, or walk over the 5 Freeway.

I threw my bike in the car and went to check it out.

I parked at Cypress Community Park in Irvine and was soon biking over the 5. The bridge is only for pedestrians, bikes, and scooters — so no cars to worry about.

A new bridge in Irvine opened this week. It stretches across the 5 Freeway and connects to other trails in the city.

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The bridge, which opened on Aug. 11, is a key link in Orange County’s network of trails that can take cyclists and pedestrians all the way from the hills to the Pacific Ocean.

“It looks like they nailed it. This is great," said James Connolly, who was on a scouting trip from his home in Costa Mesa.

“ I wanna take my e-board, which can go about 30 miles, and go all the way to here and then turn around and go back, you know? It looks like that's feasible now," he continued.

The new bridge in Irvine opened this week.

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Sadia Kahn was trying to keep up with her two young boys, who were on scooters.

“ It's our first time here. We've been watching the construction for a while, so yeah, we're excited," she said.

Khan said she has come to really appreciate Irvine's network of parks and trails.

“Prior to having kids, it would just give me like the heebie-jeebies by how like manicured it is and then you have kids and you're like, "Oh, I get the hype," she said. "We've drank the Kool-Aid is what I'm trying to say.” 

There’re plenty of skate parks in the region — skateboarding, after all, got its start in Southern California. But a skate park of another kind has risen on the banks of the L.A. River.

It’s for fingerboarding.

The L.A. River Fingerboard Skatepark is four feet tall and sits atop a bank of dirt barriers installed by the Army Corps of Engineers about a decade ago to control floods.

The view from the back end of the L.A. River Fingerboard Skatepark.

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If you know, you know

There’s no exact address, finding it for yourself is part of the experience.

A group photo of fingerboarders at the the L.A. River Fingerboard Skatepark.

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“ The whole purpose of it is for you to get out and to use your brain and to discover the world, it just makes things fun,” said Ryan Diaz, who manages social media accounts dedicated to the fingerboard skatepark.

No one knows who built it or when it was built, but videos of people doing tricks on miniature ramps and rails started showing up on social media in March.

Diaz instantly recognized the location and decided to check it out. At that time, it was six by six feet — that’s before he started to add to it.

Others joined in and Diaz began documenting the expansion.

The park is about 90 feet long.

“Everyone does say if it wasn't for me, none of this would be happening,” Diaz said. “I was just happy to motivate people, bring out their creativity.”

Skate therapy

Levi Hernandez and his fingerboard.

Levi Hernandez performs a trick with his fingerboard.

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Levi Hernandez shows off his fingerboard.

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Levi Hernandez is from El Monte. It was his fourth time visiting on a recent Wednesday in July, but he’s been fingerboarding for nearly a decade, including at local events like ShredderMania.

He said he’s learning something new at the park.

“ It actually almost feels like real skateboarding in a way," Hernandez said. "Where your fingers end up sliding and where you're popping, it's just a lot of practice.”

Jimmy Tran of Chinatown is a regular that stops by the park on his way home from work every day. He used to skateboard – the real kind – regularly but had to stop after a bad injury.

Jimmy Tran performs a trick with his fingerboard.

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“ I could do the same tricks as skateboarding, but I don't have to get hurt at all, honestly. And I still have the satisfaction of landing a really clean trick,” Tran said.

Tran says it’s a place he can relax, be himself, and feel like a kid again.

Saturdays are for building

Gilbert Medrano (left) and Ryan Diaz (right) co-manages the park.

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Ryan Diaz

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Build days to expand the park are on Saturdays.

“We have kids that come from the neighborhood, and we teach them how to pour concrete and stuff like that, kind of like a big brother role,” Diaz said.

Besides the usual skatepark obstacles like ramps and rails, the crew also add art, including a large “LA” sign in Dodger Blue and requisite graffiti like the shark Diaz painted as a tribute to Jaws on a quarter pipe ramp.

Darren Mojica performs a trick on the quarter pipe ramp.

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Diaz’s dream is for the park to be recognized by the city as a local landmark.

“I want the spot to last, and for years to come for people to come and visit,” Diaz said.

Saturday build days include decorating the park with graffiti and art.

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A hardware store isn't where you’d expect to find a drawing class, a matcha pop-up or plant sales. Unless you're at Anzen Hardware, an 80-year-old staple that nearly disappeared from Little Tokyo in 2023.

The business reopened in November, and it’s been trying to find its groove in a neighborhood where legacy businesses are moving out — such as Suehiro Cafe and Rafu Shimpo — while navigating a different world from when it first opened.

“We're noticing the need for hardware tools is declining,” said Philip Hirose.

Jo Ann Maehara Hirose, along with her son Philip Hirose, are the new owners of Anzen Hardware. They are also the daughter and grandson of the founder.

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Philip Hirose is bringing new programming, from matcha pop-ups to drawing classes, to the reopened Anzen.

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Hirose and his mom, Jo Ann Maehara Hirose, are the new owners — the grandson and daughter of the founder. With the help of trusted family friend Rockett Ito Wong, Anzen is carrying on its legacy as it becomes something new.

"None of the three of us have that much experience with running retail stores," said Wong, a college student. "It's been quite a bit of trial and error."

Eight decades on First Street

Tsutomu Maehara opened Anzen Hotel Supply, a precursor to Anzen Hardware, after being incarcerated at Tule Lake during World War II.

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Tsutomu Maehara — Jo Ann Maehara Hirose’s father — settled in Los Angeles after being incarcerated at Tule Lake during World War II.

In 1946, he founded Anzen Hotel Supply on First Street to sell provisions to nearby single-room hotels.

Anzen Hardware from its early days in Little Tokyo.

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"As soon as I could hold a broom, we were sweeping the streets or the sidewalks outside," Maehara Hirose said.

Anzen eventually pivoted to selling American hardware and imported Japanese tools and goods — including bamboo garden rakes and handcrafted knives from a company that once made samurai swords.

Twenty-year-old Rockett Ito Wong is a longtime family friend and runs the floor.

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“It's always a discovery,” said Mike Okamura, president of the Little Tokyo Historical Society and a patron since Maehara was behind the cash register.

Maehara Hirose remembered Anzen imported one of the first rice cookers from Japan. “A National. That one-button one,” she said. “They were flying off the shelves.”

These days, tariffs are making it harder to keep and find suppliers. Still, Wong has just brought in a shipment of knives and chisels.

“I don't even think it's been a question that we would source any of this stuff not from Japan,” he said.

The shop still sharpens knives. In fact, Wong is the guy responsible for the job.

A reluctant homecoming

In 2023, then-owner Nori Takatani, a distant relative of Maehara who had worked at Anzen since he was a teen, put the store up for sale. He was in ill health and asked Maehara Hirose and her husband to take over.

She was hesitant, having opened the restaurant Azay several years earlier. She worried about taking on a second business. Besides, there were two prospective buyers, both invested in preserving Anzen's legacy.

But one day, Takatani told her the deals fell through because the landlord was jacking up rent.

Wong was able to find a new supplier from Japan for an order of new wood chisels.

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“You gotta buy it,” he told her.

Anzen Hardware returned two years later at one of its previous locations, 200 E. First Street.

“It was great news and great joy,” Okamura said when the community found out who the new owners were.

More than a hardware store 

On a July evening, about a dozen people, pencils and paper in hand, were at Anzen to learn how to draw.

Their subjects were Patty and Carrie — friends in their 70s — who ended up regaling the participants, some decades younger, with stories of their lives and community advocacy work.

The “Memory Capsule Drawing” class was taught by Kris Chau, an artist and loyal patron. She still brings in the knife she bought a decade ago for sharpening.

In July, Philip and artist Kris Chau organized a drawing class at Anzen Hardware. The models were two 70-something community activists.

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She said she was inspired to start the drawing class after Hirose said he was noticing that some elders were losing confidence and purpose.

"Even though you could see the light within Carrie and Patty, they were like, 'Why would anybody wanna draw us?'" Chau said. "The young students were just, like, in tears at the end of class."

That, along with the store’s matcha pop-ups, plant sales and artist collaborations, may just be what a legacy neighborhood business needs to survive.

“Philip [Hirose] is taking it forward, but keeping in mind the history and paying tribute to it,” said Okamura, who has been helping out at both Anzen and Azay since he retired as a banker.

“I see the old Anzen — the same counters and some of the hardware too,” he continued. “But then I see other things — the programming inside the store, which has never been done before.”