So this is something. Apparently the Michelin Guides won't be publishing either a Los Angeles or a Las Vegas guide for 2010.
I think this is a good thing. In the short time that Michelin's been active in these markets, very little has happened. The fine dining market in these two money-above-all-centric cities has been absolutely stagnant. The list of Michelin-starred LA-restaurants reads like a who's-who of bland and dull. When your biggest openings are fifth or twelfth efforts from non-indigenous chefs like Michael Mina and Gordon Ramsey, you know your city's shit just isn't straight. And from watching the Lowell Ganz & Babaloo Mandel penned classic "Multiplicity," we know what happens by the third or fourth iteration--you end up with a retard who still gets to fuck Andie McDowell.
LA's neighborhood dining has flourished, don't get me wrong--Animal, Street, Palate, Barbrix, Father's Office, all pretty exciting stuff. But LA's $100 a plate restaurants are a list of dreary Cal-Med retreads and fusion endeavors that reak of the late 1980's. Why isn't Los Angeles nurturing its local chef-owners to produce stand-alone restaurants of a destination calibre? Where are the restaurants like SPQR, Range, Redd, and Cyrus in the SF Bay Area? (Meaning restaurants that have opened in the last five years or so that are innovative and appealing and not backed by giant restaurant groups).
Money can't buy honesty and it definitely can't buy class. Thanks Michelin for taking a temporary hike.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Kogi - Los Angeles, Ca
There're trends. There're innovations. There's novelty. There's quality. Often, a restaurant achieving two of those four benchmarks will enjoy fabulous success. A novel concept will retain its clientele if the quality is good. A trendy restaurant can endure if it continues to innovate. A restaurant with a quality product can persevere without any of the other three criteria but it can't hurt to throw in a bit of novelty and innovation here and there, at least to please a prick like me (c.f. Chez Panisse Cafe).
So it's kinda surprising that a weird little quirky taco truck mastered all of those benchmarks, did it quickly, and capitalized on it vigorously.
I'm no fan of trends or bandwagons. I'm a skeptic to the very core. You really have to prove to me why you're so freakin' awesome, I'm not just going to accept it. Point is, I never sought out Kogi. It sounded kinda cool but it also sounded like relatively simple street food, albeit kinda unconventional: Korean meat and accompaniments presented in the charming aesthetics of an East LA taco truck.
What we see with Kogi is the perfect confluence of events. It launched in Los Angeles, a city unequaled in the nation in terms of its street food (fuck you New York). It launched during a recession when value dining was at peak demand. And it shrewdly utilized social networking (especially Twitter) to (artifically?) generate a cult demand for its product. The result? What was a quirky experiment in fusion cuisine became a regional sensation with national coverage. A phenomenon that tore up the food blogs for almost a year. Motherfucking Kogi.
I give Kogi massive credit for taking up residence at the Alibi Room in Culver City. Most of us who aren't total trendy douche bags find something weird about waiting two hours for a taco truck, so knowing that we can go to a fixed location and get most of the offerings on a regular basis is a very good thing.
So it was that I met up with Hollywood Legend Kenny at Costco in Venice (he was getting his tires rotated) and we had two hours to kill, so I proposed hitting up the Alibi Room for some Korean BBQ Taco Action which, coincidentally, is the title of my current adult film project.
We showed up early--5:30 when the bar opens--so we knew we'd have to wait for our food. But, showing up as early as possible is key as the Alibi Room quickly filled up and 99% of the patrons were eating Kogi. A good number were eating Kogi and drinking nothing but water, so I wonder how much the Alibi Room is really making in this relationship.
The Alibi Room is a nice space. Lots of room, big bar, comfy lounge areas. Not a bad way to kill a half-hour before our food arrived. Good beer selection and friendly staff too. Kenny and I both ordered taco combos (chicken, pork, short rib) and we shared an order of sliders (short rib) and a kimchi quesadilla.
Did I mention I was a skeptic? I am. I really freaking am. It's easy to get my respect but pretty damn hard to earn my admiration.
So knowing that, I say without qualification: Kogi was fucking good. Really fucking good. Really really fucking good.
I mean, it's the perfect fusion of cuisine. What is Korean bbq? Meat and pickled shit. What's a good street taco? Meat and pickled shit. Throw in some cilantro and they're basically the same cuisine except for skin color and math aptitiude.
I'm sorry I'm a racist.
Tacos: really nice. I actually kinda like how they griddle the tortillas so that they're vaguelyslightlykindacrisp. Short ribs were, as most have reported, the best. Tender, meaty, and vibrantly flavorful. Spicy pork was also very good, though not particularly spicy. Chicken was excellent but, compared to the other two meats, it just didn't shine. It's like being Scarlett Johansson in the same room as Anne Hathaway and Zooey Deschanel: excellent doesn't hold up against spectacular (unless you're showing off your ass at the beginning of Lost in Translation--that's spectacular with a capital T--but Kogi's chicken isn't Scarlett Johansson's ass, it's Megan Fox's ass, nice but not splooge-worthy).
Kimchi quesadilla: Also very very delicious. Good cheese, well made, excellent non-gas-inducing kimchi, and nicely griddled tortilla. A surprising highlight of the meal.
The sliders: the only dud. Mediocre roll. Great meat. Too much cheap cheese. I wouldn't kick it out of bed, but why get the middling sliders when you can get superb tacos for the same price?
Which brings me to the matter of price. Even here, in residence, Kogi tacos were eminently reasonable. Three tacos were $7 and in a town where it's hard to find a delicious diarrhea-inducing street taco for less than $1.75, that ain't bad. $2.333333333 for a taco that you're able to enjoy in a cushy chair? That's an extra $0.5833333333333 well spent.
So I guess that every now and then something comes around that is both worthwhile and trendy. Unlike Goa or Pet Rocks, Kogi provides a real quantitative value and it appears to have launched imitators (Chinese fusion tacos, fine-dining food trucks) which will ensure that Kogi's legacy lives on.
Kogi Korean BBQ
@Alibi Room
12236 Washington Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90066
www.alibiroomla.com
www.kogibbq.com
So it's kinda surprising that a weird little quirky taco truck mastered all of those benchmarks, did it quickly, and capitalized on it vigorously.
I'm no fan of trends or bandwagons. I'm a skeptic to the very core. You really have to prove to me why you're so freakin' awesome, I'm not just going to accept it. Point is, I never sought out Kogi. It sounded kinda cool but it also sounded like relatively simple street food, albeit kinda unconventional: Korean meat and accompaniments presented in the charming aesthetics of an East LA taco truck.
What we see with Kogi is the perfect confluence of events. It launched in Los Angeles, a city unequaled in the nation in terms of its street food (fuck you New York). It launched during a recession when value dining was at peak demand. And it shrewdly utilized social networking (especially Twitter) to (artifically?) generate a cult demand for its product. The result? What was a quirky experiment in fusion cuisine became a regional sensation with national coverage. A phenomenon that tore up the food blogs for almost a year. Motherfucking Kogi.
I give Kogi massive credit for taking up residence at the Alibi Room in Culver City. Most of us who aren't total trendy douche bags find something weird about waiting two hours for a taco truck, so knowing that we can go to a fixed location and get most of the offerings on a regular basis is a very good thing.
So it was that I met up with Hollywood Legend Kenny at Costco in Venice (he was getting his tires rotated) and we had two hours to kill, so I proposed hitting up the Alibi Room for some Korean BBQ Taco Action which, coincidentally, is the title of my current adult film project.
We showed up early--5:30 when the bar opens--so we knew we'd have to wait for our food. But, showing up as early as possible is key as the Alibi Room quickly filled up and 99% of the patrons were eating Kogi. A good number were eating Kogi and drinking nothing but water, so I wonder how much the Alibi Room is really making in this relationship.
The Alibi Room is a nice space. Lots of room, big bar, comfy lounge areas. Not a bad way to kill a half-hour before our food arrived. Good beer selection and friendly staff too. Kenny and I both ordered taco combos (chicken, pork, short rib) and we shared an order of sliders (short rib) and a kimchi quesadilla.
Did I mention I was a skeptic? I am. I really freaking am. It's easy to get my respect but pretty damn hard to earn my admiration.
So knowing that, I say without qualification: Kogi was fucking good. Really fucking good. Really really fucking good.
I mean, it's the perfect fusion of cuisine. What is Korean bbq? Meat and pickled shit. What's a good street taco? Meat and pickled shit. Throw in some cilantro and they're basically the same cuisine except for skin color and math aptitiude.
I'm sorry I'm a racist.
Tacos: really nice. I actually kinda like how they griddle the tortillas so that they're vaguelyslightlykindacrisp. Short ribs were, as most have reported, the best. Tender, meaty, and vibrantly flavorful. Spicy pork was also very good, though not particularly spicy. Chicken was excellent but, compared to the other two meats, it just didn't shine. It's like being Scarlett Johansson in the same room as Anne Hathaway and Zooey Deschanel: excellent doesn't hold up against spectacular (unless you're showing off your ass at the beginning of Lost in Translation--that's spectacular with a capital T--but Kogi's chicken isn't Scarlett Johansson's ass, it's Megan Fox's ass, nice but not splooge-worthy).
Kimchi quesadilla: Also very very delicious. Good cheese, well made, excellent non-gas-inducing kimchi, and nicely griddled tortilla. A surprising highlight of the meal.
The sliders: the only dud. Mediocre roll. Great meat. Too much cheap cheese. I wouldn't kick it out of bed, but why get the middling sliders when you can get superb tacos for the same price?
Which brings me to the matter of price. Even here, in residence, Kogi tacos were eminently reasonable. Three tacos were $7 and in a town where it's hard to find a delicious diarrhea-inducing street taco for less than $1.75, that ain't bad. $2.333333333 for a taco that you're able to enjoy in a cushy chair? That's an extra $0.5833333333333 well spent.
So I guess that every now and then something comes around that is both worthwhile and trendy. Unlike Goa or Pet Rocks, Kogi provides a real quantitative value and it appears to have launched imitators (Chinese fusion tacos, fine-dining food trucks) which will ensure that Kogi's legacy lives on.
Kogi Korean BBQ
@Alibi Room
12236 Washington Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90066
www.alibiroomla.com
www.kogibbq.com
Saturday, June 13, 2009
The Yelp!ification of Opinion
So I recently wrote about sandwiches. I think I was pretty clear that I was just talking about sandwiches I liked from places I've been. I didn't pretend that I was an expert on sandwiches. I didn't pretend that I'd been to every sandwich place in town or that I was making an unequivocal list of the best and anything not on my list was bad.
Apparently, however, every positive mention of a business means you are, by definition, damning every other similar business you aren't mentioning. My sandwich post garnered the most comments of any post I've done in a while and all were ostensibly from new readers, most of whom were soiling their panties over my failure to mention their favorite sandwich shop.
Come on fuckers, I didn't title my post "the best sandwich in LA" or any other crap like that. I was just writing about good sandwiches. And so sorry I didn't go to your little sandwich shop in Santa Monica, but have any of you been to all the sandwich shops that I listed in my post? I mean, if you have then I'll think a bit more about caring for your opinion. I still won't care for it, but I'll at least consider it.
Now I will respond to each comment:
What equation it does not fit, however, is the subject of my post which is PLACES I'VE BEEN. I haven't been to Bay City Deli. Sorry.
Does the internets really have most of us convinced that every little musing is an objective unequivocal assertion of truth and value? Or do we really just love our little parochial sandwich shop that much? Or do most of us not read?
Just to check: "I really like Bacaro."
Now I hope to get a flurry of comments declaring my statement invalid because I don't also like some place I've never been.
Save it for Yelp!
And tell your mom I said whaddup.
Apparently, however, every positive mention of a business means you are, by definition, damning every other similar business you aren't mentioning. My sandwich post garnered the most comments of any post I've done in a while and all were ostensibly from new readers, most of whom were soiling their panties over my failure to mention their favorite sandwich shop.
Come on fuckers, I didn't title my post "the best sandwich in LA" or any other crap like that. I was just writing about good sandwiches. And so sorry I didn't go to your little sandwich shop in Santa Monica, but have any of you been to all the sandwich shops that I listed in my post? I mean, if you have then I'll think a bit more about caring for your opinion. I still won't care for it, but I'll at least consider it.
Now I will respond to each comment:
What equation it does not fit, however, is the subject of my post which is PLACES I'VE BEEN. I haven't been to Bay City Deli. Sorry.
-
Artisan Cheese Gallery in Studio City has superb sandwiches!"
- I've heard this. I haven't been, hence not writing about it. But that's the Valley, and the only things in the Valley are porn stars and pumpkins.
-
Seriously, the exclusion of Bay Cities completely invalidates this list."
- Now I don't want to go to Bay Cities because apparently its fans are militant retards. Sort of like NOW on a short bus. Nothing invalidates anything. Please check the subject. It's a list of places I've been that I've liked. It makes no pretense to comprehensiveness or objectivity.
-
I'll second Artisan and third Bay City. And throw in Langer's for good measure."
Does the internets really have most of us convinced that every little musing is an objective unequivocal assertion of truth and value? Or do we really just love our little parochial sandwich shop that much? Or do most of us not read?
Just to check: "I really like Bacaro."
Now I hope to get a flurry of comments declaring my statement invalid because I don't also like some place I've never been.
Save it for Yelp!
And tell your mom I said whaddup.
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Short Cuts
In a perfect world I'd chop all my veggies and slow-cook all my sauces. But last time I checked North Korea had the bomb and Ray Romano's still alive, so it's clearly not a perfect world. Here are a few of my favorite culinary shortcuts:
1. Frozen garlic cubes. You get these little frozen bits of chopped up garlic--like all great things a product of Israel--at Trader Joe's. They're quick, convenient, and actually contain pretty much just garlic (unlike a lot of the other garlic pastes or jars of chopped garlic). A little tricky to use at first--make sure you keep your stove top temperature pretty low and keep stirring the cubes around until they melt into your oil--but when you figure it out you get a flavor and aroma that's pretty damn close to freshly chopped garlic.
2. Pasta sauce. Yes, I know. I use jarred sauce. I'm sorry. But I mean, really, unless I'm making from-scratch sauce from fresh tomatoes, what's the REAL difference between making a sauce from canned tomatoes and from a nice simple ready-made marinara? You can still add your sausage, veggies, and herbs--it's just that initial heavy lifting that's been done for you.
3. Salad dressing. Yeah, I'll even buy vinaigrettes. It's just easier and usually tastes better.
4. Salsa. Actually, this isn't so much a short cut, but I just really like cheap, cooked, room-temperature jarred salsa. It actually tastes like something, as opposed to salsa crudas or salsa fresca which just taste like cold and cilantro.
This wasn't a very interesting post. Sorry.
1. Frozen garlic cubes. You get these little frozen bits of chopped up garlic--like all great things a product of Israel--at Trader Joe's. They're quick, convenient, and actually contain pretty much just garlic (unlike a lot of the other garlic pastes or jars of chopped garlic). A little tricky to use at first--make sure you keep your stove top temperature pretty low and keep stirring the cubes around until they melt into your oil--but when you figure it out you get a flavor and aroma that's pretty damn close to freshly chopped garlic.
2. Pasta sauce. Yes, I know. I use jarred sauce. I'm sorry. But I mean, really, unless I'm making from-scratch sauce from fresh tomatoes, what's the REAL difference between making a sauce from canned tomatoes and from a nice simple ready-made marinara? You can still add your sausage, veggies, and herbs--it's just that initial heavy lifting that's been done for you.
3. Salad dressing. Yeah, I'll even buy vinaigrettes. It's just easier and usually tastes better.
4. Salsa. Actually, this isn't so much a short cut, but I just really like cheap, cooked, room-temperature jarred salsa. It actually tastes like something, as opposed to salsa crudas or salsa fresca which just taste like cold and cilantro.
This wasn't a very interesting post. Sorry.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
A Really Good Sandwich
I like sandwiches. I also know how to make sandwiches and inevitably my homemade sandwich that costs me 95 cents is 10 times better than the $5 fast food/deli sandwiches out there and at least as good as the $9-$12 "gourmet" sandwiches that white people like.
But as someone who spends his days on the road and frequently finds himself inside businesses that deal in said expensive sandwiches, here's my quick take on a few of LA's standouts. Note that I'm sticking to take-out "gourmet market" sandwiches and panini and not deli sandwiches (kosher or otherwise).
Larchmont Village Wine, Spirits, & Cheese is perhaps the flagship sandwich counter, located on weird Larchmont Ave which is equal parts quaint and Beverly Center--one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in Los Angeles, yet the sandwiches at this neighborhood wine shop are your best bet for gourmet dining. The simple set menu (all around $9) of nicely thought-out sandwiches leaves Larchmont with a line out the door most every lunch hour.
Pros? Top quality meats. Well composed sandwiches. Delicious bread. Lots of produce. Half-size sandwiches are a perfect inexpensive light lunch.
Cons? Menu rarely changes. Sandwiches are tough to eat on the road.
Cheese Store of Silverlake has stellar panini and, believe it or not, friendly helpful staff. The selection changes daily and showcases newly arrived cheeses, charcuterie, and condiments. Virtually every ingredient in a panini is available for sale in the store. Go for any sandwich that has muffaleta or a chutney. While the panini are the draw, their un-paninified baguette sandwiches also rock. A recent baguette with brie, arugula, and fresh strawberries basically made me jizz my pants.
Pros? Hot, tasty, portable sandwiches. Fresh ingredients. Great cheeses and chutneys.
Cons? Often light on the fresh veggies. They run out of sandwiches quickly.
Goudas and Vines, a relatively new addition to Santa Monica, has great simple sandwiches. The designs aren't any different from what you'd get at your local Safeway, but the ingredient quality is several steps up.
Pros? Fairly inexpensive. Quick. Friendly.
Cons? Uninspiring combinations.
Venice Beach Wines, fresh from a recent remodel, has added a great selection of cheese, charcuterie, and the inevitable pressed sandwiches that come with that territory. The lamb and manchego sandwich rocks.
Pros? Inspired combinations. Nice indoor/outdoor space to enjoy your sandwich in.
Cons? Limited selection. The small space can get easily overwhelmed.
So yeah, get your sandwich on. The Earl will appreciate it.
But as someone who spends his days on the road and frequently finds himself inside businesses that deal in said expensive sandwiches, here's my quick take on a few of LA's standouts. Note that I'm sticking to take-out "gourmet market" sandwiches and panini and not deli sandwiches (kosher or otherwise).
Larchmont Village Wine, Spirits, & Cheese is perhaps the flagship sandwich counter, located on weird Larchmont Ave which is equal parts quaint and Beverly Center--one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in Los Angeles, yet the sandwiches at this neighborhood wine shop are your best bet for gourmet dining. The simple set menu (all around $9) of nicely thought-out sandwiches leaves Larchmont with a line out the door most every lunch hour.
Pros? Top quality meats. Well composed sandwiches. Delicious bread. Lots of produce. Half-size sandwiches are a perfect inexpensive light lunch.
Cons? Menu rarely changes. Sandwiches are tough to eat on the road.
Cheese Store of Silverlake has stellar panini and, believe it or not, friendly helpful staff. The selection changes daily and showcases newly arrived cheeses, charcuterie, and condiments. Virtually every ingredient in a panini is available for sale in the store. Go for any sandwich that has muffaleta or a chutney. While the panini are the draw, their un-paninified baguette sandwiches also rock. A recent baguette with brie, arugula, and fresh strawberries basically made me jizz my pants.
Pros? Hot, tasty, portable sandwiches. Fresh ingredients. Great cheeses and chutneys.
Cons? Often light on the fresh veggies. They run out of sandwiches quickly.
Goudas and Vines, a relatively new addition to Santa Monica, has great simple sandwiches. The designs aren't any different from what you'd get at your local Safeway, but the ingredient quality is several steps up.
Pros? Fairly inexpensive. Quick. Friendly.
Cons? Uninspiring combinations.
Venice Beach Wines, fresh from a recent remodel, has added a great selection of cheese, charcuterie, and the inevitable pressed sandwiches that come with that territory. The lamb and manchego sandwich rocks.
Pros? Inspired combinations. Nice indoor/outdoor space to enjoy your sandwich in.
Cons? Limited selection. The small space can get easily overwhelmed.
So yeah, get your sandwich on. The Earl will appreciate it.
Monday, June 01, 2009
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Bar Hop - Downtown LA
So I live in Downtown LA now, which I absolutely love. And I'm aware of the humor that it was only after moving to the most suburban of big cities that I actually moved into a city center to live in a converted warehouse on a rutty street with close-up views of LA's idiosyncratic downtown skyline.
A friend informed me that our lack of towers and spires is due to the arbitrary decision to require all skyscrapers in LA to have a helipad on top. True.
I'd been out a few times in downtown prior to my move but not recently. And since I moved to the "Arts District" I've only really been out in my 'hood and adjacent Little Tokyo, since the rest of downtown is blocked off by a moat of warehouses and poop-on-your-car hobos. That all changed last week.
After our below-mentioned dinner at Barbrix, the restaurateur colleague of mine headed back to my place and called a cab to truck our asses into the Old Bank District/Historic Core/Whatever the fuck marketing name realtors come up.
But first we needed to make a stop.
"Kind Eddy's" my colleague told the cab driver, who looked at us with a mix of awe, shock, and disdain.
"What's that?" I asked.
"A dive bar in Skid Row."
"Oh."
Damn. I wore my good wristwatch.
"Here." My colleague requested to the cabby. The cabby seemed concerned that he was stopping three storefronts away from the bar.
"You sure you don't want closer?"
"Nah man, it's cool."
And out we went. We strolled past a few Skid Row denizens, including a gentleman being arrested by a pair of LA's finest, with no harassment and popped into King Eddy's at the corner of 5th & San Pedro.
(It should be noted that, thanks to a rather vigorous ramp up of law enforcement coupled with an increase in social services, Skid Row is actually a pretty decent 'hood. It's dirtier than SF's SoMa, but seems safer overall. The drug problem has been more or less addressed and reduced to small-time pot dealers hocking "cabbie" and prostitution in this most sex-focused of cities is unenforceable at best, so what you're left with is, well, people who live on the streets and/or in the many [many] SRO hotels in the area.)
On to King Eddy's. Just like the trailer for an internet porn site that tricks you into getting a trial membership, the idea that was presented on paper of King Eddy's was so much more appealing than what the bar actually was. Because "cheap ass dive bar in Skid Row" sounds as immediately intriguing as "Big Tits Round Asses," by the fourth or so video it gets pretty tedious and now you're on the phone trying to cancel before the monthly rebill kicks in.
Point being, once you get inside, King Eddy's is your pretty prototypical dive. Cheap drinks. Cheaper food (reheated stuff from Costco). And a clientele drawn from the neighborhood: the homeless/underhomed, legitimately employed SRO occupants, the aforementioned small-time dealers, a handful of ladies/transwomen of the night, and a cluster of the young and adventurous. The bar boasts an "A" Health Department grade and is "Zagat Rated." It also has great flat screen TVs, friendly bartenders, and a dude in latex gloves whose sole job is to walk around with a rag and disinfectant spray and clean off every surface regularly. Cool.
After our beers we left and walked the not-even-two-blocks to Main St., which begins the "real" gentrified downtown LA. It'd be like if you your first girlfriend was a chubby transwoman you picked up at King Eddy's and your second girlfriend was Scarlett Johansson AND you picked up the latter while still copulating with the former; that's how proximal $$$ downtown LA is from !!! downtown LA.
First stop, some queer speakeasy-ish bar (Varnish) in the back of Cole's. It was nice, but that whole "mixology" thing is so 2005. And I wouldn't even have minded except that I ordered a "well Manhattan, up" and I was immediately informed that they "don't have a well." The fuck you don't have a well. Every place has a well. Well just means whatever the fucking default spirit is you serve you pretentious douche. I understand that this might mean that my drink still costs whatever the going rate is for a premium cocktail. I get that. All I was indicating by my request was that I want something simple, classic, and quick. And I would've forgiven even that except the waitress THEN asked if I'd like to try some fucking rye and bullshit drink on their "cocktail list" as if I should be fucking honored to try some fucked concoction that a couple of high on their horse 22 year-olds came up with while stoned. I cut her off mid-sentence. The drinks took for fucking ever, too.
But my Manhattan was, actually, excellent.
Next stop was The Association. Now this was a bar I could support. Good vibe, friendly bartenders, appropriately lit, and a cocktail list made up of nothing but standards from the golden age of American drinkin'. They proudly proclaim that their "newest" drink recipe is the James Bond-inspired Vesper dating from the 1950's. We can never hope to match the drinking prowess of our grandparents, but if we hope to even come close we need to master the drinks they drank: boozy and strong and not the queer shit made up of syrups and homemade bitters and fresh squeezed juices that pass for "cocktails" in places like Varnish. My French 75 was fabulous.
Following the Association, we went to the Crocker Club. Located in an old bank vault, complete with thick swing-open vault door and booths set off in money cages, the Crocker Club was pretty cool. At this point I was drunk as hell so I really don't remember much, but my overall feeling was quite positive.
And then our evening took a turn for the awesome, because we hopped into a cab and headed back across town to Sam's Hofbrau.
Sam's Hofbrau is a strip club straight out of From Dusk 'Till Dawn, minus the vampires but with a lot of guys who look like Harvey Keitel. It's a topless/bikini place so there's plenty of booze to be had and a good mixed up crowd of equal parts men and women, hipsters and gangbangers. No cover. Cheapish drinks. Delightfully authentic dancers. Five thumbs up.
Last stop before a cab dragged our asses back to my apartment was a taco truck parked just outside. It was the best fucking taco I've ever had.
Because every drunk 3AM taco is the best fucking taco you've ever had.
Where we went:
King Eddy's - 131 E. Fifth St.
Varnish - 118 E. Sixth St.
The Association - 610 S. Main St.
The Crocker Club - 453 S. Spring St.
Sam's Hofbrau - 1751 E. Olympic Blvd.
A friend informed me that our lack of towers and spires is due to the arbitrary decision to require all skyscrapers in LA to have a helipad on top. True.
I'd been out a few times in downtown prior to my move but not recently. And since I moved to the "Arts District" I've only really been out in my 'hood and adjacent Little Tokyo, since the rest of downtown is blocked off by a moat of warehouses and poop-on-your-car hobos. That all changed last week.
After our below-mentioned dinner at Barbrix, the restaurateur colleague of mine headed back to my place and called a cab to truck our asses into the Old Bank District/Historic Core/Whatever the fuck marketing name realtors come up.
But first we needed to make a stop.
"Kind Eddy's" my colleague told the cab driver, who looked at us with a mix of awe, shock, and disdain.
"What's that?" I asked.
"A dive bar in Skid Row."
"Oh."
Damn. I wore my good wristwatch.
"Here." My colleague requested to the cabby. The cabby seemed concerned that he was stopping three storefronts away from the bar.
"You sure you don't want closer?"
"Nah man, it's cool."
And out we went. We strolled past a few Skid Row denizens, including a gentleman being arrested by a pair of LA's finest, with no harassment and popped into King Eddy's at the corner of 5th & San Pedro.
(It should be noted that, thanks to a rather vigorous ramp up of law enforcement coupled with an increase in social services, Skid Row is actually a pretty decent 'hood. It's dirtier than SF's SoMa, but seems safer overall. The drug problem has been more or less addressed and reduced to small-time pot dealers hocking "cabbie" and prostitution in this most sex-focused of cities is unenforceable at best, so what you're left with is, well, people who live on the streets and/or in the many [many] SRO hotels in the area.)
On to King Eddy's. Just like the trailer for an internet porn site that tricks you into getting a trial membership, the idea that was presented on paper of King Eddy's was so much more appealing than what the bar actually was. Because "cheap ass dive bar in Skid Row" sounds as immediately intriguing as "Big Tits Round Asses," by the fourth or so video it gets pretty tedious and now you're on the phone trying to cancel before the monthly rebill kicks in.
Point being, once you get inside, King Eddy's is your pretty prototypical dive. Cheap drinks. Cheaper food (reheated stuff from Costco). And a clientele drawn from the neighborhood: the homeless/underhomed, legitimately employed SRO occupants, the aforementioned small-time dealers, a handful of ladies/transwomen of the night, and a cluster of the young and adventurous. The bar boasts an "A" Health Department grade and is "Zagat Rated." It also has great flat screen TVs, friendly bartenders, and a dude in latex gloves whose sole job is to walk around with a rag and disinfectant spray and clean off every surface regularly. Cool.
After our beers we left and walked the not-even-two-blocks to Main St., which begins the "real" gentrified downtown LA. It'd be like if you your first girlfriend was a chubby transwoman you picked up at King Eddy's and your second girlfriend was Scarlett Johansson AND you picked up the latter while still copulating with the former; that's how proximal $$$ downtown LA is from !!! downtown LA.
First stop, some queer speakeasy-ish bar (Varnish) in the back of Cole's. It was nice, but that whole "mixology" thing is so 2005. And I wouldn't even have minded except that I ordered a "well Manhattan, up" and I was immediately informed that they "don't have a well." The fuck you don't have a well. Every place has a well. Well just means whatever the fucking default spirit is you serve you pretentious douche. I understand that this might mean that my drink still costs whatever the going rate is for a premium cocktail. I get that. All I was indicating by my request was that I want something simple, classic, and quick. And I would've forgiven even that except the waitress THEN asked if I'd like to try some fucking rye and bullshit drink on their "cocktail list" as if I should be fucking honored to try some fucked concoction that a couple of high on their horse 22 year-olds came up with while stoned. I cut her off mid-sentence. The drinks took for fucking ever, too.
But my Manhattan was, actually, excellent.
Next stop was The Association. Now this was a bar I could support. Good vibe, friendly bartenders, appropriately lit, and a cocktail list made up of nothing but standards from the golden age of American drinkin'. They proudly proclaim that their "newest" drink recipe is the James Bond-inspired Vesper dating from the 1950's. We can never hope to match the drinking prowess of our grandparents, but if we hope to even come close we need to master the drinks they drank: boozy and strong and not the queer shit made up of syrups and homemade bitters and fresh squeezed juices that pass for "cocktails" in places like Varnish. My French 75 was fabulous.
Following the Association, we went to the Crocker Club. Located in an old bank vault, complete with thick swing-open vault door and booths set off in money cages, the Crocker Club was pretty cool. At this point I was drunk as hell so I really don't remember much, but my overall feeling was quite positive.
And then our evening took a turn for the awesome, because we hopped into a cab and headed back across town to Sam's Hofbrau.
Sam's Hofbrau is a strip club straight out of From Dusk 'Till Dawn, minus the vampires but with a lot of guys who look like Harvey Keitel. It's a topless/bikini place so there's plenty of booze to be had and a good mixed up crowd of equal parts men and women, hipsters and gangbangers. No cover. Cheapish drinks. Delightfully authentic dancers. Five thumbs up.
Last stop before a cab dragged our asses back to my apartment was a taco truck parked just outside. It was the best fucking taco I've ever had.
Because every drunk 3AM taco is the best fucking taco you've ever had.
Where we went:
King Eddy's - 131 E. Fifth St.
Varnish - 118 E. Sixth St.
The Association - 610 S. Main St.
The Crocker Club - 453 S. Spring St.
Sam's Hofbrau - 1751 E. Olympic Blvd.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Barbrix - Silver Lake, Los Angeles
In what is the earliest initial visit HFF has ever made to a new restaurant, I headed to Barbrix with a restaurateur colleague on their third day open. It was rockstar fabulous across the board, even at this early stage.
We showed up early to kick off our evening that ended up wending through some of the seamier parts of Downtown Los Angeles (King Eddie's anyone?)--but that's a different post. Our early arrival was inadvertently shrewd as the place was packed with a line out the door by 7PM.
The space is well designed and pleasantly simply--a welcome relief from the oft overexecuted ripped-from-the-Hanging-Gardens-of-Babylon LA dining rooms that would be more appropriate as VIP lounges in Vegas strip clubs. There's a front patio with a cluster of tables, a big square wine bar in front, a bunch of tables (actual tables), and a back dining counter at the open kitchen.
The wine list is stellar (no surprise given co-owner Claudio Blotta's track CV) and dirt dirt cheap. No glasses over $10. No bottles over $55. A handful of very good bottles for under $20. A global selection of small-production labels, the most quotidian of the bunch is the Qupe Syrah. Wines on the list are priced only nominally over retail and well under the 3x wholesale bench mark that even the most casual LA restaurants seem to use as a starting point.
We went with one of the priciest bottles, the Sean Thackrey Sirius Petite Sirah at the absurdly low price of $55 on the freakin' list. Delicious, subtle complexity, pleasurable without tasting a damn thing like stewed prunes and grape jelly. Paso Robles this isn't.
We had a lot of food (it's all small plates), so I'm sure I'm forgetting stuff. Roasted cauliflower salad was great, very well done. Wild boar sausage with white bean ragout was fabulous. Porchetta-style pork belly was really nicely cooked, though the skin was absurdly (bordering on inedibly) crisp. Shrimp and chickpea "tortillas" (actually soccas): very good. Crostini misti (crescenza/fig/prosciutto, favetta & pecorino, jidori chicken liver pate) rocked, particularly the pate. Crispy grilled polenta with mushrooms: simple, tasty. The kitchen proved adept at the eclectic menu, showing themselves just as at home with pasta (an excellent beet arancini). The only so-so dish was the pork rillettes. It was fine, but I wanted stronger seasoning and a little more fat.
Now here's where it gets really weird. Service was excellent. When I walk into an LA restaurant staffed mostly by cute girls in their twenties (which is every restaurant that isn't staffed by ripped men) I'm immediately skeptical. The emphasis on looks above all else in a service staff has rendered LA service either mediocre and neglectful or eerily over-trained but under-engaged, vacantly rattling off info about the menu like a Hungarian speaking English phonetically. But at Barbrix the staff was very well-trained (you can tell they've had the opportunity to taste everything on the menu) while remaining honest and personable. I like idiosyncratic service. I like individual service. I like personality. The fact that everyone's hipster pretty (it is Silver Lake, after all) is merely a bonus.
And, seriously, I'm not trying to blog-fellate Barbrix but it's just so easy: even our fucking espressos were perfectly pulled, nice temperature, thick crema.
Our tab was like $150 including a generous tip, but that was with a pricey wine and way too much food. You could easily eat there for $30-$35 a head with wine. That's the sweet spot for a neighborhood place, which is what Barbrix is (and doesn't pretend to be anything else). It's the price that'll get locals in on a weekly basis. A lot of affluent and adventurous people live in the neighborhood and they need a place to eat. Keep the prices down, the menu evolving, and the atmosphere friendly.
It's a simple formula but incredibly easy to fuck up (cf. most every restaurant in Los Angeles).
Barbrix
2442 Hyperion Ave.
Los Angeles, Ca 90027
323-662-2442
www.barbrix.com
We showed up early to kick off our evening that ended up wending through some of the seamier parts of Downtown Los Angeles (King Eddie's anyone?)--but that's a different post. Our early arrival was inadvertently shrewd as the place was packed with a line out the door by 7PM.
The space is well designed and pleasantly simply--a welcome relief from the oft overexecuted ripped-from-the-Hanging-Gardens-of-Babylon LA dining rooms that would be more appropriate as VIP lounges in Vegas strip clubs. There's a front patio with a cluster of tables, a big square wine bar in front, a bunch of tables (actual tables), and a back dining counter at the open kitchen.
The wine list is stellar (no surprise given co-owner Claudio Blotta's track CV) and dirt dirt cheap. No glasses over $10. No bottles over $55. A handful of very good bottles for under $20. A global selection of small-production labels, the most quotidian of the bunch is the Qupe Syrah. Wines on the list are priced only nominally over retail and well under the 3x wholesale bench mark that even the most casual LA restaurants seem to use as a starting point.
We went with one of the priciest bottles, the Sean Thackrey Sirius Petite Sirah at the absurdly low price of $55 on the freakin' list. Delicious, subtle complexity, pleasurable without tasting a damn thing like stewed prunes and grape jelly. Paso Robles this isn't.
We had a lot of food (it's all small plates), so I'm sure I'm forgetting stuff. Roasted cauliflower salad was great, very well done. Wild boar sausage with white bean ragout was fabulous. Porchetta-style pork belly was really nicely cooked, though the skin was absurdly (bordering on inedibly) crisp. Shrimp and chickpea "tortillas" (actually soccas): very good. Crostini misti (crescenza/fig/prosciutto, favetta & pecorino, jidori chicken liver pate) rocked, particularly the pate. Crispy grilled polenta with mushrooms: simple, tasty. The kitchen proved adept at the eclectic menu, showing themselves just as at home with pasta (an excellent beet arancini). The only so-so dish was the pork rillettes. It was fine, but I wanted stronger seasoning and a little more fat.
Now here's where it gets really weird. Service was excellent. When I walk into an LA restaurant staffed mostly by cute girls in their twenties (which is every restaurant that isn't staffed by ripped men) I'm immediately skeptical. The emphasis on looks above all else in a service staff has rendered LA service either mediocre and neglectful or eerily over-trained but under-engaged, vacantly rattling off info about the menu like a Hungarian speaking English phonetically. But at Barbrix the staff was very well-trained (you can tell they've had the opportunity to taste everything on the menu) while remaining honest and personable. I like idiosyncratic service. I like individual service. I like personality. The fact that everyone's hipster pretty (it is Silver Lake, after all) is merely a bonus.
And, seriously, I'm not trying to blog-fellate Barbrix but it's just so easy: even our fucking espressos were perfectly pulled, nice temperature, thick crema.
Our tab was like $150 including a generous tip, but that was with a pricey wine and way too much food. You could easily eat there for $30-$35 a head with wine. That's the sweet spot for a neighborhood place, which is what Barbrix is (and doesn't pretend to be anything else). It's the price that'll get locals in on a weekly basis. A lot of affluent and adventurous people live in the neighborhood and they need a place to eat. Keep the prices down, the menu evolving, and the atmosphere friendly.
It's a simple formula but incredibly easy to fuck up (cf. most every restaurant in Los Angeles).
Barbrix
2442 Hyperion Ave.
Los Angeles, Ca 90027
323-662-2442
www.barbrix.com
Monday, May 11, 2009
HFF Reexamines: The Tax Question
EaterLA linked to this article in Bon Apetit regarding tipping on takeout and delivery. I agree wholeheartedly on takeout: tip a couple bucks, regardless of price. The author's opinion on delivery is also good, 15%-20%. Though I'd bump that down toward 15% on the scale actually as a delivery driver is, generally, tipping out much less than a server at a sit down restaurant. A server is going to tip out 20%-40% of his gross tips in a given night, a driver very little if any.
But here again that canard of tax comes into play: "at least 15 to 20 percent of the check before tax," he writes.
You should tip AFTER tax. Always. Here's why: a server has to pay taxes based on GROSS sales. Because of years of service staff underdeclaring tips and restaurants turning a blind eye, the IRS set a benchmark a several years ago of a minimum assumed tip income of 8% of gross sales, information which the restaurant has to provide as part of its payroll accounting. Not net sales, gross sales. Gross sales include tax.
So if a server grosses $200,000 in a year, the IRS will assume a minimum tipped income of $16,000 on top of his or her wage income for the year. When you factor in tip-outs and (in some cases) credit card service charge deductions, you get a situation where if you tip less than 10% the server is at best breaking even, at worst losing a bit of money.
That distracts from the main point, though: why does a small fraction of a small fraction matter? I know sales tax went up, but not by much. The difference between tipping before and after tax is the difference of 9.25ish% of whatever percentage you were planning to tip. A 20% tip? It's a difference of 1.85% of the total bill. Assume you have a $200 (before tax) tab. A 20% tip would be $40 before tax or $43.70 after.
You're really going to squabble over $3.70? And that's on a sizeable tab. More importantly, are you really going to squabble over $0.37 on a $20 tab? It's not a procedural issue, it's a generosity issue. When I go out (restaurants, bars, hotels, cabs) I smile, say thank you, and tip generously. I don't make a lot of money, but I'm probably making a bit more than whoever's serving me (or maybe not). And those few extra bucks I spend in gratuity come back to me in the form of better service, room upgrades, neighborhood discounts, and free drinks. It takes time to build those relationships, but they pay off.
So here's HFF's ironclad rule for tipping: for competent, attentive service tip at least 20% after tax. Only for egregiously rude service should you tip less than 15%. Period. When in doubt, round up. Those extra pennies will come back to you, as the no doubt racist idiom goes, "in spades."
But here again that canard of tax comes into play: "at least 15 to 20 percent of the check before tax," he writes.
You should tip AFTER tax. Always. Here's why: a server has to pay taxes based on GROSS sales. Because of years of service staff underdeclaring tips and restaurants turning a blind eye, the IRS set a benchmark a several years ago of a minimum assumed tip income of 8% of gross sales, information which the restaurant has to provide as part of its payroll accounting. Not net sales, gross sales. Gross sales include tax.
So if a server grosses $200,000 in a year, the IRS will assume a minimum tipped income of $16,000 on top of his or her wage income for the year. When you factor in tip-outs and (in some cases) credit card service charge deductions, you get a situation where if you tip less than 10% the server is at best breaking even, at worst losing a bit of money.
That distracts from the main point, though: why does a small fraction of a small fraction matter? I know sales tax went up, but not by much. The difference between tipping before and after tax is the difference of 9.25ish% of whatever percentage you were planning to tip. A 20% tip? It's a difference of 1.85% of the total bill. Assume you have a $200 (before tax) tab. A 20% tip would be $40 before tax or $43.70 after.
You're really going to squabble over $3.70? And that's on a sizeable tab. More importantly, are you really going to squabble over $0.37 on a $20 tab? It's not a procedural issue, it's a generosity issue. When I go out (restaurants, bars, hotels, cabs) I smile, say thank you, and tip generously. I don't make a lot of money, but I'm probably making a bit more than whoever's serving me (or maybe not). And those few extra bucks I spend in gratuity come back to me in the form of better service, room upgrades, neighborhood discounts, and free drinks. It takes time to build those relationships, but they pay off.
So here's HFF's ironclad rule for tipping: for competent, attentive service tip at least 20% after tax. Only for egregiously rude service should you tip less than 15%. Period. When in doubt, round up. Those extra pennies will come back to you, as the no doubt racist idiom goes, "in spades."
Bizarre Foods: LA
So I'm watching Andrew Zimmern's Bizarre Foods trip to LA (I know it aired last fall, but I missed it then so bear with me).
Cool stuff. A lot of things I didn't know about. For instance: Typhoon, the Pan-Asian restaurant at the Santa Monica Airport of all places. It's time to put my krugerrands where my mouth is and head to Typhoon to try crickets, scorpions, Thai white sea worms, and ants. Who else is in?
I'm also embarrassingly underfamiliar with LA's taco trucks, having have eaten at all of, well, one I think. Maybe two. I was really drunk.
And his visit with Nobu Matsuhisa is a reminder of what happens when true, honest innovation takes hold: you have a bunch of plastic surgeried housewives eating octopus tiradito and uni shooters. When culinary risk-taking comes from a lifetime of experience coupled with blind (perhaps even foolhardly) commitment to the correctness of your culinary decisions you get great authentic food that is approachable.
Take note.
Cool stuff. A lot of things I didn't know about. For instance: Typhoon, the Pan-Asian restaurant at the Santa Monica Airport of all places. It's time to put my krugerrands where my mouth is and head to Typhoon to try crickets, scorpions, Thai white sea worms, and ants. Who else is in?
I'm also embarrassingly underfamiliar with LA's taco trucks, having have eaten at all of, well, one I think. Maybe two. I was really drunk.
And his visit with Nobu Matsuhisa is a reminder of what happens when true, honest innovation takes hold: you have a bunch of plastic surgeried housewives eating octopus tiradito and uni shooters. When culinary risk-taking comes from a lifetime of experience coupled with blind (perhaps even foolhardly) commitment to the correctness of your culinary decisions you get great authentic food that is approachable.
Take note.
Monday, May 04, 2009
HFF Quickie: Street - Los Angeles, Ca
Had lunch at Street, the love-it-or-hate-it new restaurant from Susan Feniger located in Hollywood on Highland just off of Melrose.
Pretty good stuff. Their lunch combos featuring your choice of a small salad and small dumpling plate for about $14 is a good deal. My radish cake with sweet Chinese sausage and egg was more than awesome and my "New Jerusalem" bread salad with jerusalem artichokes and feta was also nice, though I prefer softer bread than the garlicky croutons served here. They're tough to stab with a fork.
Sweet and spicy millet puffs served in lieu of bread are delicious.
The table also shared the puri appetizer which was simple and tasty and a dessert of Turkish doughnuts glazed in rosewater. Retarded good.
Service was friendly and knowledgeable. Food took a little bit longer to come out of the kitchen than it probably should, especially the doughnut dessert which took quite a while.
Street's interesting, fresh, and reasonably priced given the quality of the ingredients and the space. Check it out.
Street
742 N. Highland Ave.
Los Angeles, Ca 90038
323-203-0500
www.eatatstreet.com
Pretty good stuff. Their lunch combos featuring your choice of a small salad and small dumpling plate for about $14 is a good deal. My radish cake with sweet Chinese sausage and egg was more than awesome and my "New Jerusalem" bread salad with jerusalem artichokes and feta was also nice, though I prefer softer bread than the garlicky croutons served here. They're tough to stab with a fork.
Sweet and spicy millet puffs served in lieu of bread are delicious.
The table also shared the puri appetizer which was simple and tasty and a dessert of Turkish doughnuts glazed in rosewater. Retarded good.
Service was friendly and knowledgeable. Food took a little bit longer to come out of the kitchen than it probably should, especially the doughnut dessert which took quite a while.
Street's interesting, fresh, and reasonably priced given the quality of the ingredients and the space. Check it out.
Street
742 N. Highland Ave.
Los Angeles, Ca 90038
323-203-0500
www.eatatstreet.com
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Budwesier American Ale
Let's go back in time, shall we?
It's 1919 and everyone's sittin' pretty. America has had two centuries of quality small-production local brewing, wine making, and distilling. We're kickin' it, enjoying a brew or three--and a lot of whiskey and gin--and well on our way to becoming the biggest swingingest dicks on the planet. And then.... WHAM-O! Prohibition and the Vosltead Act come right out of the blue and end boozing as we know it in America.
(It should be noted at this point that Prohibition as a movement had existed in America since its founding and many states had already enacted alcohol restrictions and outright exclusions at the time the Eighteenth Amendment had passed. And the passing of the Volstead Act did in no way end the production, sale, and consumption of alcoholic beverages in America. -ed.)
The greatest casualties of Prohibition weren't American Law & Order or the scores of deaths from organized crime bootlegging or Joseph Kennedy's acquisition of massive wealth. Hardly. The greatest casualty was America's boutique winemaking and, especially, its tradition of (for the lack of a better term) microbrewing.
Brewing is an intimate endeavor. Unlike winemaking, which can be done essentially spontaneously, even the crudest, crappiest beer requires a significant level of human involvement. Brewing requires cooking. Beer is nowhere near as shelf-stable as wine or spirits. Brewing requires fires and cauldrons. Brewing is best done where it had always been done until the late 1800's: small, local breweries. Every tavern brewed its own beer, kept in casks in the cellar for the consumption of guests and villagers. Monasteries brewed beer. And even when beer production began to be industrialized, the cost of transport kept beer an, at best, regional endeavor.
Finally, a few American entrepreneurs, perhaps Adolph Coors most notably, took advantage of a few technological innovations (primarily refrigerated rail) to begin distributing beer super-regionally, just in time for the banishment of alcohol production in America.
Prohibition killed every small brewery in America. Big breweries which were backed by larger holding companies could stay in business producing near-beer or malted milk, putting a handful of well-heeled giants in prime position to expand once the Eighteenth Amendment was repealed.
(Wine was spared such a fate because many wineries could stay afloat making sacramental wine and by selling grapes to home winemakers. Smaller production winemaking was able to recover more quickly than brewing, though it did take several decades.)
When Prohibition was repealed it wasn't a magic switch that Roosevelt flipped to send all the booze flowing again: individual states, counties, and cities reallowed booze at their respective pace (Kansas didn't allow on-premise liquor sales until 1987), creating a situation that only large brewers could exploit. Advanced refrigeration and transportation techniques created a national distribution network and, in the grand Cold War American tradition, beer became as homogenous as the nation we pretended to be.
But pretend homogeneity is just that. As the long tail of America grew and grew, shrewd innovators began to capture the lucrative market of the disaffected and craft brewing came back strong. In 1977 Jimmy Carter formally legalized homebrewing and American beer lovers began reproducing the beers they had drunk and loved in Britain, Germany, Belgium, and beyond. Some of these homebrewers had enough success to make the foolish decision to go commercial and, even more foolishly, succeed at that as well.
So full and complete was the craft brew revolution that the big American brewers belatedly tried to jump back into the game, like Chrysler attempting a hybrid a half-decade into the post-Prius world. First, macrobreweries half-heartedly made some of their own niche beers (remember Red Dog? No? Good). When that failed, macrobreweries began partnering in distribution deals with successful smaller brewers. Have you ever noticed that Widmer Brothers Hefeweizen is almost ineveitably lined up next to Anheuser-Busch beers at bigger bars? That's why.
Instead of opening the doors for smaller brewers, these partnerships succeeded in macro-izing formerly niche producers like Sierra Nevada, Pyramid, Sam Adams, and Red Hook--to the detriment of all (based on my purely empirical evaluation).
Eventually the American macro-breweries gave-up, quit, and let themselves be bought-out by bigger, more diversified European beverage companies.
So where are we now?
Budweiser has released a malty, dry-hopped "American Ale." And it's not bad at all. It tastes significantly like Newcastle, but with a bit more hoppy bite on the finish. Good structure, but a bit lean on the mid-palate. Actually, I'd call it a dead-ringer for Newcastle, if not a slight improvement thanks to the added edge of hops on the finish.
Couple this with Michelob's pleasant Amber Bock and maybe we're seeing macrobreweries returning to their roots. Because if you can't beat them (or buy them out) you might as well join them.
Maybe Budweiser can capitalize on the hipster anti-elaborate backlash and chisel themselves a Pabst-like niche with craft brew-lovers who've become disenchanted with the douche-y developments in the last decade or so of American microbrewing (how many neo-Belgian beers do we need? Seriously!); a mainstream punk rock volley against the eighteenth note nonuplets of late 70's prog.
It's 1919 and everyone's sittin' pretty. America has had two centuries of quality small-production local brewing, wine making, and distilling. We're kickin' it, enjoying a brew or three--and a lot of whiskey and gin--and well on our way to becoming the biggest swingingest dicks on the planet. And then.... WHAM-O! Prohibition and the Vosltead Act come right out of the blue and end boozing as we know it in America.
(It should be noted at this point that Prohibition as a movement had existed in America since its founding and many states had already enacted alcohol restrictions and outright exclusions at the time the Eighteenth Amendment had passed. And the passing of the Volstead Act did in no way end the production, sale, and consumption of alcoholic beverages in America. -ed.)
The greatest casualties of Prohibition weren't American Law & Order or the scores of deaths from organized crime bootlegging or Joseph Kennedy's acquisition of massive wealth. Hardly. The greatest casualty was America's boutique winemaking and, especially, its tradition of (for the lack of a better term) microbrewing.
Brewing is an intimate endeavor. Unlike winemaking, which can be done essentially spontaneously, even the crudest, crappiest beer requires a significant level of human involvement. Brewing requires cooking. Beer is nowhere near as shelf-stable as wine or spirits. Brewing requires fires and cauldrons. Brewing is best done where it had always been done until the late 1800's: small, local breweries. Every tavern brewed its own beer, kept in casks in the cellar for the consumption of guests and villagers. Monasteries brewed beer. And even when beer production began to be industrialized, the cost of transport kept beer an, at best, regional endeavor.
Finally, a few American entrepreneurs, perhaps Adolph Coors most notably, took advantage of a few technological innovations (primarily refrigerated rail) to begin distributing beer super-regionally, just in time for the banishment of alcohol production in America.
Prohibition killed every small brewery in America. Big breweries which were backed by larger holding companies could stay in business producing near-beer or malted milk, putting a handful of well-heeled giants in prime position to expand once the Eighteenth Amendment was repealed.
(Wine was spared such a fate because many wineries could stay afloat making sacramental wine and by selling grapes to home winemakers. Smaller production winemaking was able to recover more quickly than brewing, though it did take several decades.)
When Prohibition was repealed it wasn't a magic switch that Roosevelt flipped to send all the booze flowing again: individual states, counties, and cities reallowed booze at their respective pace (Kansas didn't allow on-premise liquor sales until 1987), creating a situation that only large brewers could exploit. Advanced refrigeration and transportation techniques created a national distribution network and, in the grand Cold War American tradition, beer became as homogenous as the nation we pretended to be.
But pretend homogeneity is just that. As the long tail of America grew and grew, shrewd innovators began to capture the lucrative market of the disaffected and craft brewing came back strong. In 1977 Jimmy Carter formally legalized homebrewing and American beer lovers began reproducing the beers they had drunk and loved in Britain, Germany, Belgium, and beyond. Some of these homebrewers had enough success to make the foolish decision to go commercial and, even more foolishly, succeed at that as well.
So full and complete was the craft brew revolution that the big American brewers belatedly tried to jump back into the game, like Chrysler attempting a hybrid a half-decade into the post-Prius world. First, macrobreweries half-heartedly made some of their own niche beers (remember Red Dog? No? Good). When that failed, macrobreweries began partnering in distribution deals with successful smaller brewers. Have you ever noticed that Widmer Brothers Hefeweizen is almost ineveitably lined up next to Anheuser-Busch beers at bigger bars? That's why.
Instead of opening the doors for smaller brewers, these partnerships succeeded in macro-izing formerly niche producers like Sierra Nevada, Pyramid, Sam Adams, and Red Hook--to the detriment of all (based on my purely empirical evaluation).
Eventually the American macro-breweries gave-up, quit, and let themselves be bought-out by bigger, more diversified European beverage companies.
So where are we now?
Budweiser has released a malty, dry-hopped "American Ale." And it's not bad at all. It tastes significantly like Newcastle, but with a bit more hoppy bite on the finish. Good structure, but a bit lean on the mid-palate. Actually, I'd call it a dead-ringer for Newcastle, if not a slight improvement thanks to the added edge of hops on the finish.
Couple this with Michelob's pleasant Amber Bock and maybe we're seeing macrobreweries returning to their roots. Because if you can't beat them (or buy them out) you might as well join them.
Maybe Budweiser can capitalize on the hipster anti-elaborate backlash and chisel themselves a Pabst-like niche with craft brew-lovers who've become disenchanted with the douche-y developments in the last decade or so of American microbrewing (how many neo-Belgian beers do we need? Seriously!); a mainstream punk rock volley against the eighteenth note nonuplets of late 70's prog.
Friday, April 24, 2009
What More Do You Want?
The level of assumed entitlement in this post-Yelp! world is amazing.
There was a time where a consumer and a business-owner obliged each other with this simple, basic ground rule:
If something purchased did not meet the consumer's satisfaction and that item could be reasonably returned (or was faulty, or was only partially consumed in the case of food) then the business-owner would accept the return and refund their money. That's good business.
Now it seems that only "kinda" liking something is grounds for demanding refund and sending a dish back is grounds for an entire check to be comped.
Two cases in point:
Consumerist Blog writes about purchasing a chimichurri salmon dish at Trader Joe's and finding a dead, cooked worm on the fish as he's consuming it. That's gross, sure. Fine. So he returns the uneaten fish and the worm to his local Trader Joe's and gets a refund and several complimentary items. Well done Trader Joe's. However, on the blog, Consumerist is annoyed that he hasn't received any response from Trader Joe's corporate. What possible response would they have that wasn't already addressed by his local store? What does he want? Free TJs for life over a stupid worm? Come on! Organic matter exists with other organic matter and every so often you'll find unintended organic matter packaged with intended organic matter. That's life. I'd be more concerned about finding inorganic matter like broken glass or "bleach-like" substances. But a worm on a fish? Especially a dead one? Who cares? Pick it off and keep eating.
A recent Yelp! review of Street in Hollywood had this to say:
"I ate their on Saturday night. The food ranged from good to forgettable. The left side of the menu (small plates) is MUCH better than the right side. In a city like LA, with amazing and authentic Korean and Thai restaurants, there is little reason to eat korean BBQ short ribs or mediocre Bibimbop here. My biggest complaint is that we were not seated until 9:30pm when we had a 9pm reservation. To make matters worse, they did not offer to buy us a round of drinks and only took a few appetizers off the menu when we asked them to "do something" at the end of the meal. On a $250 bill (before tip) they took of $17 worth of apps. Many of the cocktails cost above $10, so this really was not much. (BTW, the $16 cocktail is SO over in LA; just ask Bar 1912).
Overall, they need to shore up the way they run the restaurant. Relying on Ms. Feniger's hard earned reputation alone does not make a great restaurant. Unless they shore up the front of the house and focus the food on being unique, STREET will fail...and there will go Ms. Feniger's rep. It will be a long time before I spend my $$$ here again."
Oh, so you weren't blown away by the food and you had to wait 30 minutes to be seated for a reservation? Okay, so that sucks. Oh, but they comped some appetizers? Cool, so what's the problem? You could've left if you didn't want to eat there. Should they have maybe comped a little bit more? Sure. But you were the entitled prick who asked that they "do something." When I was a waiter that was a cue for not caring if you ever did come back.
So what should you reasonably expect when a restaurant fails to meet your expectations?
For egregious wait times for a reservation: comped drink or appetizer.
For unacceptable food: either comped or replaced, if replacement causes a significant delay then perhaps the entree or a drink should be comped.
For an incorrect order: replacement and, if it causes a significant delay, a comped drink or dessert.
For unacceptable service: a lot of discretion here, ranging from free drinks to gift certificates to a total refund.
Basically buddy, for having to wait 30 minutes for your table (and knowing your type it was probably more like 15) you should MAYBE get a free drink while you waited.
You're lucky you didn't get a cockslap across your face.
There was a time where a consumer and a business-owner obliged each other with this simple, basic ground rule:
If something purchased did not meet the consumer's satisfaction and that item could be reasonably returned (or was faulty, or was only partially consumed in the case of food) then the business-owner would accept the return and refund their money. That's good business.
Now it seems that only "kinda" liking something is grounds for demanding refund and sending a dish back is grounds for an entire check to be comped.
Two cases in point:
Consumerist Blog writes about purchasing a chimichurri salmon dish at Trader Joe's and finding a dead, cooked worm on the fish as he's consuming it. That's gross, sure. Fine. So he returns the uneaten fish and the worm to his local Trader Joe's and gets a refund and several complimentary items. Well done Trader Joe's. However, on the blog, Consumerist is annoyed that he hasn't received any response from Trader Joe's corporate. What possible response would they have that wasn't already addressed by his local store? What does he want? Free TJs for life over a stupid worm? Come on! Organic matter exists with other organic matter and every so often you'll find unintended organic matter packaged with intended organic matter. That's life. I'd be more concerned about finding inorganic matter like broken glass or "bleach-like" substances. But a worm on a fish? Especially a dead one? Who cares? Pick it off and keep eating.
A recent Yelp! review of Street in Hollywood had this to say:
"I ate their on Saturday night. The food ranged from good to forgettable. The left side of the menu (small plates) is MUCH better than the right side. In a city like LA, with amazing and authentic Korean and Thai restaurants, there is little reason to eat korean BBQ short ribs or mediocre Bibimbop here. My biggest complaint is that we were not seated until 9:30pm when we had a 9pm reservation. To make matters worse, they did not offer to buy us a round of drinks and only took a few appetizers off the menu when we asked them to "do something" at the end of the meal. On a $250 bill (before tip) they took of $17 worth of apps. Many of the cocktails cost above $10, so this really was not much. (BTW, the $16 cocktail is SO over in LA; just ask Bar 1912).
Overall, they need to shore up the way they run the restaurant. Relying on Ms. Feniger's hard earned reputation alone does not make a great restaurant. Unless they shore up the front of the house and focus the food on being unique, STREET will fail...and there will go Ms. Feniger's rep. It will be a long time before I spend my $$$ here again."
Oh, so you weren't blown away by the food and you had to wait 30 minutes to be seated for a reservation? Okay, so that sucks. Oh, but they comped some appetizers? Cool, so what's the problem? You could've left if you didn't want to eat there. Should they have maybe comped a little bit more? Sure. But you were the entitled prick who asked that they "do something." When I was a waiter that was a cue for not caring if you ever did come back.
So what should you reasonably expect when a restaurant fails to meet your expectations?
For egregious wait times for a reservation: comped drink or appetizer.
For unacceptable food: either comped or replaced, if replacement causes a significant delay then perhaps the entree or a drink should be comped.
For an incorrect order: replacement and, if it causes a significant delay, a comped drink or dessert.
For unacceptable service: a lot of discretion here, ranging from free drinks to gift certificates to a total refund.
Basically buddy, for having to wait 30 minutes for your table (and knowing your type it was probably more like 15) you should MAYBE get a free drink while you waited.
You're lucky you didn't get a cockslap across your face.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Kickin' It Old School: Castlewood Country Club, Pleasanton, Ca
There was a time when America was truly great. When marital rape was legal and the only Negroes on a golf course were caddies, greenskeepers, and W.E.B. DuBois. I got to experience a whiff of that era on a recent trip to the venerable Castlewood Country Club in the foothills of Pleasanton. And let me tell you, that whiff smelled strongly of Burma Shave.
My parents, for reasons still vague, were recently invited to join the club (they let Jews in now!) and they accepted as social members, providing access to all the facilities and two tee times a year on the admittedly beautiful golf course.
I was up seeing my parents for the recent pan-religious holidays and we went to the club on a Friday night, wearing the requisite sport coat. We were greeted by the friendly young hostess and ushered into the bar for a cocktail, which we enjoyed with an appetizer of fried calamari which was surprisingly tender and tasty. I didn't actually enjoy my cocktail which was probably the worst Rob Roy I'd ever had, tasting strongly of scotch for the first half of the drink and strongly of vermouth for the second.
We moved into the dining room which was really really nice in a very old school way. Sort of a hybrid of a vintage downtown SF steakhouse and a vintage North Beach strip club, all overlooking a shady golf course.
I was charmed by the menu which offered a "complete" option for every entree. For $4 extra you got soup or a house salad and a scoop of ice cream for dessert. My mom informed me that this used to be standard.
You know what? The food was actually pretty damn good. I mean, the ingredients were of middling quality and questionable seasonality, but the preparation was impeccable and there were flashes of innovation in the flavor combinations.
I went with a lettuce salad with Fuji apples and candied pecans to start--pretty nice, though the supersweet apples and the supersweet candied pecans made for a supersweet salad.
For my entree I steered clear of the who's who of circa 1963 menu items and opted for the "appetizer" of mac and cheese with lobster meat and vegetables. Pretty tasty and more than enough for an entree.
The wine list, although small and offering all of ONE non-sparkling wine that wasn't Californian, was well thought out and not as predictable (or slavishly devoted to Livermore Valley wines) as one might've thought. We had a Paraiso pinot noir from Monterey County. Good stuff.
And a quick note on the service. Did they know a shit ton about food? Not really. Was the service attentive, friendly, professional, and deferential? Absolutely. It was really great service. They replaced flatware and napkins, cleared dishes promptly, and were generally convivial.
Why can't we have such service at places that don't feel like a time warp? Why?
So yeah, I do recommend Castlewood Country Club to y'all. Of course you have to be a member so, well, nuts to you.
My parents, for reasons still vague, were recently invited to join the club (they let Jews in now!) and they accepted as social members, providing access to all the facilities and two tee times a year on the admittedly beautiful golf course.
I was up seeing my parents for the recent pan-religious holidays and we went to the club on a Friday night, wearing the requisite sport coat. We were greeted by the friendly young hostess and ushered into the bar for a cocktail, which we enjoyed with an appetizer of fried calamari which was surprisingly tender and tasty. I didn't actually enjoy my cocktail which was probably the worst Rob Roy I'd ever had, tasting strongly of scotch for the first half of the drink and strongly of vermouth for the second.
We moved into the dining room which was really really nice in a very old school way. Sort of a hybrid of a vintage downtown SF steakhouse and a vintage North Beach strip club, all overlooking a shady golf course.
I was charmed by the menu which offered a "complete" option for every entree. For $4 extra you got soup or a house salad and a scoop of ice cream for dessert. My mom informed me that this used to be standard.
You know what? The food was actually pretty damn good. I mean, the ingredients were of middling quality and questionable seasonality, but the preparation was impeccable and there were flashes of innovation in the flavor combinations.
I went with a lettuce salad with Fuji apples and candied pecans to start--pretty nice, though the supersweet apples and the supersweet candied pecans made for a supersweet salad.
For my entree I steered clear of the who's who of circa 1963 menu items and opted for the "appetizer" of mac and cheese with lobster meat and vegetables. Pretty tasty and more than enough for an entree.
The wine list, although small and offering all of ONE non-sparkling wine that wasn't Californian, was well thought out and not as predictable (or slavishly devoted to Livermore Valley wines) as one might've thought. We had a Paraiso pinot noir from Monterey County. Good stuff.
And a quick note on the service. Did they know a shit ton about food? Not really. Was the service attentive, friendly, professional, and deferential? Absolutely. It was really great service. They replaced flatware and napkins, cleared dishes promptly, and were generally convivial.
Why can't we have such service at places that don't feel like a time warp? Why?
So yeah, I do recommend Castlewood Country Club to y'all. Of course you have to be a member so, well, nuts to you.
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Seventh busiest restaurant in California?
Restaurant Industry magazine released its list of the nation's Top 100 Independent Restaurants (by estimated gross sales).
Most of the list isn't surprising; many of the restaurants are in either New York City or Las Vegas, including the mind-boggling Tao Las Vegas which grossed $68MM in 2008 (almost twice the number two on the list, Tavern on the Green). The California entries are mostly recognizable: SF downtown expense-account/tourist mainstays Slanted Door, Scoma's, Boulevard, and Cliff House along with Los Angeles meal machines Gladstone's Malibu and Lawry's The Prime Rib.
Can I just ask what's up with definite articles and Beverly Hills steakhouses? Lawry's The Prime Rib? Morton's The Steakhouse? Wolfgang Puck's The Cut? (Yes he is).
Actually he's probably not. He's Austrian after all.
But in all this list of LAs and New Yorks and Chicagos and Miamis is a very very odd and eye-catching outlier: Coalinga.
That's right, Harris Ranch Steakhouse is one of the 100 highest grossing restaurants in the country, and the seventh highest in California (between NYC's Ruby Foos and Asia de Cuba). Adding to my bafflement is the fact that not only are they higher grossing than a lot of serious Vegas restaurants (Aureole, Eiffel Tower, Spago Las Vegas), but Harris Ranch Steakhouse also has one of the lowest per person averages on the list at an estimated $33 a head.
Holy fucking crap, 474,323 people dined at Harris Ranch Steakhouse in 2008. That's more people than dined at half of the restaurants in the top 10.
So a half a million people hopped off I-5 while going to/from somewhere and had a leisurely steak dinner in a hot, stinking, hellhole.
I lived in the Bay Area. I live in Los Angeles. I drive up and down I-5 a lot. I've never considered eating there. Hell, I can only remember stopping for gas there once. I tend to avoid it because the town smells like cow shit and the gas is usually a bit more expensive than elsewhere.
Plus I don't consider driving on I-5 to be a leisurely endeavor. I'd rather not spend a couple hours eating at a restaurant, I just want to get wherever the fuck it is I'm going. I stop for gas and a piss once, maybe grab a drive-thru bean burrito, and keep on my way.
So who are these people? I mean, the LA-SF drive is only about five and a half hours, so that can easily be done between meals (bring a Clif Bar), so it's probably OC/San Diego folks making the longer drive. Or maybe truckers? Indulging in one good meal on the road? Steak and a blowjob under the methane-shrouded moon?
Point is, if I were a high-class truckstop hooker, I'd hang out at Harris Ranch.
Second point? I'm eating at Harris Ranch next time I make the drive up I-5 (if I'm not in a rush).
Most of the list isn't surprising; many of the restaurants are in either New York City or Las Vegas, including the mind-boggling Tao Las Vegas which grossed $68MM in 2008 (almost twice the number two on the list, Tavern on the Green). The California entries are mostly recognizable: SF downtown expense-account/tourist mainstays Slanted Door, Scoma's, Boulevard, and Cliff House along with Los Angeles meal machines Gladstone's Malibu and Lawry's The Prime Rib.
Can I just ask what's up with definite articles and Beverly Hills steakhouses? Lawry's The Prime Rib? Morton's The Steakhouse? Wolfgang Puck's The Cut? (Yes he is).
Actually he's probably not. He's Austrian after all.
But in all this list of LAs and New Yorks and Chicagos and Miamis is a very very odd and eye-catching outlier: Coalinga.
That's right, Harris Ranch Steakhouse is one of the 100 highest grossing restaurants in the country, and the seventh highest in California (between NYC's Ruby Foos and Asia de Cuba). Adding to my bafflement is the fact that not only are they higher grossing than a lot of serious Vegas restaurants (Aureole, Eiffel Tower, Spago Las Vegas), but Harris Ranch Steakhouse also has one of the lowest per person averages on the list at an estimated $33 a head.
Holy fucking crap, 474,323 people dined at Harris Ranch Steakhouse in 2008. That's more people than dined at half of the restaurants in the top 10.
So a half a million people hopped off I-5 while going to/from somewhere and had a leisurely steak dinner in a hot, stinking, hellhole.
I lived in the Bay Area. I live in Los Angeles. I drive up and down I-5 a lot. I've never considered eating there. Hell, I can only remember stopping for gas there once. I tend to avoid it because the town smells like cow shit and the gas is usually a bit more expensive than elsewhere.
Plus I don't consider driving on I-5 to be a leisurely endeavor. I'd rather not spend a couple hours eating at a restaurant, I just want to get wherever the fuck it is I'm going. I stop for gas and a piss once, maybe grab a drive-thru bean burrito, and keep on my way.
So who are these people? I mean, the LA-SF drive is only about five and a half hours, so that can easily be done between meals (bring a Clif Bar), so it's probably OC/San Diego folks making the longer drive. Or maybe truckers? Indulging in one good meal on the road? Steak and a blowjob under the methane-shrouded moon?
Point is, if I were a high-class truckstop hooker, I'd hang out at Harris Ranch.
Second point? I'm eating at Harris Ranch next time I make the drive up I-5 (if I'm not in a rush).
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Bottles Bottles Everywhere
LA County Supervisors are "drawing heat" (not really, but that's what a newscaster would say) for their bottled water with custom-printed labels. The bottles of water (allegedly Arrowhead) have their labels removed and an LA County-logo label placed on them by a modestly paid intern. It prevents free advertising on cable-access TV for bottled water companies, they reason. It costs barely any money and takes very little time.
But that's not really the point, is it? No public official should be drinking bottled water, period. Everyone should have reusable bottles. Put taps and filters in municipal buildings if you want to improve the taste but no bottled water ever. Bottled water is a scourge on the planet and it's in bad taste for public servants to be drinking it in any economic climate.
An odd bit of info in that LA Times article? Three years ago Mayor Villaraigosa told employees to buy their own bottled water. Despite that, spending on bottled water has doubled in that time, to $189,000 a year.
The city could buy reusable bottles wholesale for ~$3 each, most of which would last several years and be way less douche-y.
But that's not really the point, is it? No public official should be drinking bottled water, period. Everyone should have reusable bottles. Put taps and filters in municipal buildings if you want to improve the taste but no bottled water ever. Bottled water is a scourge on the planet and it's in bad taste for public servants to be drinking it in any economic climate.
An odd bit of info in that LA Times article? Three years ago Mayor Villaraigosa told employees to buy their own bottled water. Despite that, spending on bottled water has doubled in that time, to $189,000 a year.
The city could buy reusable bottles wholesale for ~$3 each, most of which would last several years and be way less douche-y.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
HFF Presents: Recession Indulgences
We're all spending less. Most of you are probably still employed, but you're working more, or making less, or maybe you're just perpetually pissing your pants in fear every hour on the half-hour.
But even if you're fearful, you still want to have a good time. Good times make the world go 'round. Gone are the $300 dinners at Gordon Ramsay and the $500 handjobs from Gordon Ramsay, but there are still a few ways to behave decadently without spending decadently.
1. Intelligentsia Coffee. At ~$14 per half-pound or $4.50 for a brewed cup, Intelligentsia is the Rolls Royce of coffee, even if Intelligentsia is infinitely more reliable. Sure it's more than double the prices of even its quality competitors, but it really is that freakin' great. Don't make it your daily drinker, but enjoy a cup of French press every few days to wake up or wind down. Bay Area edition? Blue Bottle.
2. Dinner at Bacaro. I know I've been flogging this spot, but I really do love it so. If you still want to have a semi-upscale and hip night out without dipping into the emergency stash of hundreds taped to your taint, then Bacaro it is. With reasonably priced wines (included a nice new red wine for $15/carafe), fixed price small plates ($7/dish or 3 for $19), and killer happy hours ($1 off wines by the glass on Mondays and $5 small plates from 5-7PM every day) you can have an indulgent night out without having to pimp out your boyfriend for cab money home.
3. Sake. If you've never had a good sake before, hit up a trusted retailer and ask for a recommendation. You'll be surprised what you can find for around $20 a bottle. Take it home, sit down on your stoop or porch or balcony or whatever, take a deep breath or two, and slowly sip.
4. Sex on a Sunday morning. I know this requires some advanced planning for those who don't co-habitate, but give it a try when (and as often as) you can. It'll be self-explanatory.
But even if you're fearful, you still want to have a good time. Good times make the world go 'round. Gone are the $300 dinners at Gordon Ramsay and the $500 handjobs from Gordon Ramsay, but there are still a few ways to behave decadently without spending decadently.
1. Intelligentsia Coffee. At ~$14 per half-pound or $4.50 for a brewed cup, Intelligentsia is the Rolls Royce of coffee, even if Intelligentsia is infinitely more reliable. Sure it's more than double the prices of even its quality competitors, but it really is that freakin' great. Don't make it your daily drinker, but enjoy a cup of French press every few days to wake up or wind down. Bay Area edition? Blue Bottle.
2. Dinner at Bacaro. I know I've been flogging this spot, but I really do love it so. If you still want to have a semi-upscale and hip night out without dipping into the emergency stash of hundreds taped to your taint, then Bacaro it is. With reasonably priced wines (included a nice new red wine for $15/carafe), fixed price small plates ($7/dish or 3 for $19), and killer happy hours ($1 off wines by the glass on Mondays and $5 small plates from 5-7PM every day) you can have an indulgent night out without having to pimp out your boyfriend for cab money home.
3. Sake. If you've never had a good sake before, hit up a trusted retailer and ask for a recommendation. You'll be surprised what you can find for around $20 a bottle. Take it home, sit down on your stoop or porch or balcony or whatever, take a deep breath or two, and slowly sip.
4. Sex on a Sunday morning. I know this requires some advanced planning for those who don't co-habitate, but give it a try when (and as often as) you can. It'll be self-explanatory.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
I Love Pizzeria Delfina
So Pizzeria Delfina, home of (to my mind) the best mid-priced bourgie pizza in San Francisco, is giving Yelp! a nice big old cockslap across the eyes. How are they doing that? By dressing their staff in t-shirts proudly emblazoned with quotes from some of their worst Yelp! reviews.
I've always strongly believed that, with the exception of some very specific niche businesses and out-of-the-way establishments, Yelp! reviews have virtually no impact on whether a business, especially a restaurant, succeeds or fails.
Restaurants succeed based on quality (of both food and management), value, and location. That's it.
Read about Pizzeria Delfina's big fuck you to Yelp! (and see one of the t-shirts).
I've always strongly believed that, with the exception of some very specific niche businesses and out-of-the-way establishments, Yelp! reviews have virtually no impact on whether a business, especially a restaurant, succeeds or fails.
Restaurants succeed based on quality (of both food and management), value, and location. That's it.
Read about Pizzeria Delfina's big fuck you to Yelp! (and see one of the t-shirts).
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Have I Mentioned I Hate Yelp!?
I'm ecstatic about the increasing negative press shoved upon Yelp! Most recently, Yelp! CEO Jeremy Somethingman defended Yelp!'s decision to not remove content that is blatantly false by saying that Yelp! can't take action based on the remarks of a business owner "who has skin in the game."
That's retarded. And you sir are retarded Mr. Somethingman. Sure if the business owner says "I don't like this review, take it down" you don't. But if the business owner can prove a review is VERIFIABLY FALSE, then of course you should take it down.
I like to think that in some small way I helped start the coalescing of this anti-Yelp! bandwagon. Everybody climb aboard!
Here's a deep dark secret: I have a Yelp! account. I started it solely to make fun of one reviewer who had a particularly asinine review. However my sarcasm was perhaps too good and she took my backhanded compliments as fronthanded compliments and proceded to, near as I could tell, ask me out on a date. Weird. Point is, because of my Yelp! account I receive the weekly Yelp! newsletter.
This newsletter is perhaps the steamiest pile of shit I've ever read.
Observe:
"Welcome to Westchester! In case you’re a little lost, it’s that place you were stuck in during your six hour delay at LAX. Yup, sound familiar now?
No Yelp!, it still doesn't sound familiar. Because A, why would I leave LAX during a mere six hour layover? And B, how the fuck would I know it was Westchester if I did?
It may not seem like much, but this little nook nestled in-between Culver City and Inglewood boasts dozens of hotels, three universities, a bustling cultural scene... and a plethora of choice restaurants. Who knew getting stuck at the airport could be so much fun? Well, yelpers did, of course!
Once again, if you're STUCK AT THE AIRPORT you're not leaving the airport to go to Westchester. Also, nooks aren't nestled, things are nestled in nooks.
Westchester definitely holds its fair share of LA history, much of which might lie within the walls of classic steakhouse The Buggy Whip, which Ethan H calls "strange and awesome." Strange, perhaps, but their steak has Ethan reverting to caveman terms within seconds: "Me like steak. Me like tasty steak. Me like BIG, tasty steak." Guess that about sums it up!
Why does Westchester hold its share of LA History? Elaborate please. And what sums what up? Me like steak sums up the history of LA in the walls of a steakhouse? Assembling words in order and punctuating them with a common American idiom does not a statement make, Yelp!
For historically delectable diner fare, Mishka F recommends the chicken and waffles at Pann's: "It was instant gratification. The chicken wings were fresh outta the fryer while the waffles were exactly the way fresh waffles should taste. Woah."
Continuing with this history conceit I see. Well--nothing else to say on this one, actually.
Need a quick, perhaps more timely, breakfast? Hit up The Coffee Co with Diana L for a blissful breakfast burrito: "It had melted cheese on top! I heart melted cheese, especially when I'm not expecting it." Um, surprise?!
What exactly is a timely breakfast? Is that an egg that knows that morning's stock prices? Or a pancake that makes an astute joke about foreign exchange rates? And you weren't expecting melted cheese in a breakfast burrito? Are you autistic?
Melted cheese might also be a major factor at Truxton's American Bistro, where Robert H fell head over heels for their Gilly Burger: "I had completely ignored my buddies' conversations as I was one with my burger... I have a new love!" Our hearts are melting with just the thought of it!
Whoever writes this steaming bloody runny feces of a newsletter really likes to superficially link clauses together with like words. Also, melted cheese is a major factor about what at Truxton's? It's just a factor? Is that it? A factor at Truxton's American Bistro is melted cheese? My head hurts.
Being in LA's jetsetter mecca, it would only be appropriate to highlight some global gastronomy, including Swiss-inspired Chalet Edelweiss. Known for great fondue and pizza, Jefferson L touts that "the food is tasty and the draft beer selection is refreshingly unique." Lederhosen, here we come!
Why are you going to lederhosen? Lederhosen are clothing. You can come in and on lederhosen, but I don't think you can come to lederhosen.
East and West collide at KC Cafe, bewildering the heck out of Melina L: "Crepes... and boba? Once I got over my confusion and settled in, I was one happy snacker."
Actually, there was this thing called "imperialism" and it brought lots of French food and culinary techniques to southeast Asia, starting over a hundred years ago. The Vietnamese and Japanese do crepes like Melina L. does four dicks at once: with a smile, a nod, and a lot of skill.
Craving a feast from the East? Caroline C Thai's one on for Ayara, while Lee S admits that Kanpai Sushi "makes me want to work harder, just so I can afford my next fix of pepper toro, sea bass skewers, and baked spicy creamy blue crab hand roll (a roll so good they gave it a seven-word name!)." Mmm, sounds far from an inflight meal to us!
Ugh.
That's retarded. And you sir are retarded Mr. Somethingman. Sure if the business owner says "I don't like this review, take it down" you don't. But if the business owner can prove a review is VERIFIABLY FALSE, then of course you should take it down.
I like to think that in some small way I helped start the coalescing of this anti-Yelp! bandwagon. Everybody climb aboard!
Here's a deep dark secret: I have a Yelp! account. I started it solely to make fun of one reviewer who had a particularly asinine review. However my sarcasm was perhaps too good and she took my backhanded compliments as fronthanded compliments and proceded to, near as I could tell, ask me out on a date. Weird. Point is, because of my Yelp! account I receive the weekly Yelp! newsletter.
This newsletter is perhaps the steamiest pile of shit I've ever read.
Observe:
"Welcome to Westchester! In case you’re a little lost, it’s that place you were stuck in during your six hour delay at LAX. Yup, sound familiar now?
No Yelp!, it still doesn't sound familiar. Because A, why would I leave LAX during a mere six hour layover? And B, how the fuck would I know it was Westchester if I did?
It may not seem like much, but this little nook nestled in-between Culver City and Inglewood boasts dozens of hotels, three universities, a bustling cultural scene... and a plethora of choice restaurants. Who knew getting stuck at the airport could be so much fun? Well, yelpers did, of course!
Once again, if you're STUCK AT THE AIRPORT you're not leaving the airport to go to Westchester. Also, nooks aren't nestled, things are nestled in nooks.
Westchester definitely holds its fair share of LA history, much of which might lie within the walls of classic steakhouse The Buggy Whip, which Ethan H calls "strange and awesome." Strange, perhaps, but their steak has Ethan reverting to caveman terms within seconds: "Me like steak. Me like tasty steak. Me like BIG, tasty steak." Guess that about sums it up!
Why does Westchester hold its share of LA History? Elaborate please. And what sums what up? Me like steak sums up the history of LA in the walls of a steakhouse? Assembling words in order and punctuating them with a common American idiom does not a statement make, Yelp!
For historically delectable diner fare, Mishka F recommends the chicken and waffles at Pann's: "It was instant gratification. The chicken wings were fresh outta the fryer while the waffles were exactly the way fresh waffles should taste. Woah."
Continuing with this history conceit I see. Well--nothing else to say on this one, actually.
Need a quick, perhaps more timely, breakfast? Hit up The Coffee Co with Diana L for a blissful breakfast burrito: "It had melted cheese on top! I heart melted cheese, especially when I'm not expecting it." Um, surprise?!
What exactly is a timely breakfast? Is that an egg that knows that morning's stock prices? Or a pancake that makes an astute joke about foreign exchange rates? And you weren't expecting melted cheese in a breakfast burrito? Are you autistic?
Melted cheese might also be a major factor at Truxton's American Bistro, where Robert H fell head over heels for their Gilly Burger: "I had completely ignored my buddies' conversations as I was one with my burger... I have a new love!" Our hearts are melting with just the thought of it!
Whoever writes this steaming bloody runny feces of a newsletter really likes to superficially link clauses together with like words. Also, melted cheese is a major factor about what at Truxton's? It's just a factor? Is that it? A factor at Truxton's American Bistro is melted cheese? My head hurts.
Being in LA's jetsetter mecca, it would only be appropriate to highlight some global gastronomy, including Swiss-inspired Chalet Edelweiss. Known for great fondue and pizza, Jefferson L touts that "the food is tasty and the draft beer selection is refreshingly unique." Lederhosen, here we come!
Why are you going to lederhosen? Lederhosen are clothing. You can come in and on lederhosen, but I don't think you can come to lederhosen.
East and West collide at KC Cafe, bewildering the heck out of Melina L: "Crepes... and boba? Once I got over my confusion and settled in, I was one happy snacker."
Actually, there was this thing called "imperialism" and it brought lots of French food and culinary techniques to southeast Asia, starting over a hundred years ago. The Vietnamese and Japanese do crepes like Melina L. does four dicks at once: with a smile, a nod, and a lot of skill.
Craving a feast from the East? Caroline C Thai's one on for Ayara, while Lee S admits that Kanpai Sushi "makes me want to work harder, just so I can afford my next fix of pepper toro, sea bass skewers, and baked spicy creamy blue crab hand roll (a roll so good they gave it a seven-word name!)." Mmm, sounds far from an inflight meal to us!
Ugh.
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Does Bay City Deli not fit some equation here?"