That Bloody Bazouki: Ulysses Voyage

Ulysses Voyage
6333 W. Third St.
Los Angeles, CA 90036
(323) 939-9728

M-Thurs. 11am - 10:30pm
F-S 11am - 11:30 pm
Sunday 9am - 11:30pm
MC, VISA, AMEX

I know the stated purpose of this blog is to explore cheap ethnic eats in LA. I've decided that's both too limiting and too vague. After all, everything is ethnic to someone else, "cheap" is subjective, and I've been doing some extensive research into macaroni and cheese around town that must be published someday soon. But not today.

Today is about a place you probably walk past all the time, little knowing that inside is some of the best Greek cuisine you'll find this side of 5th Century B.C. Athens. I don't know if you can Greek food "ethnic" anymore, when gyros and kabobs and Greek salads are ubiquitous. And anywhere you can get Ketel One probably ain't cheap. But damn, the food here is good, and as carefully prepared and authentically Greek as anything I've had on two visits to Greece.

Here's the dish:

Ulysses Voyage is near the west end of the main drag at The Grove. Not Farmer's Market, thought their website says so. It's in The Grove proper. It's a two minute walk from the movie theaters, less from the Apple Store.

The dining room is small, just a few tables, but it opens out into a spacious heated patio where you can watch the people parade and the trolley go by. Neither the greasy-spoon type of Greek place with Santorini travel posters peeling from the walls nor the over-the-top "atmospheric"
Greek with dancing waiters and plates whizzing past your ears every thirty seconds on their way to destruction, Ulysses Voyage is the type of place you might find on the Plaka in Athens: good, clean, local food done right, with enough atmosphere to evoke a hint of the Aegean. (Translate: one guy on a bazouki playing and singing over the somewhat inadequate sound system).

Ulysses Voyage professes to be "meze" cuisine, which means it's a place to snack on small items over a leisurely beverage -- the Greek equivalent of a tapas bar. But it's actually a full service restaurant with dishes ranging from mezes like olives and feta all the way up to pastas, salads, and rack of lamb.

Ironically, the "meze" here are fine, but unexceptional. The appetizer menu is dominated by an extensive array of hummus- and tzaziki-based dips. At lunch, $10.50 gets you a sampler of any three. Try the Taramosalata, a salmon egg whip that's as Athenian as the Olympics or the Fava beans whipped with eggplant; if you like a little spicy, the Tyrokafteri dip of feta and hot peppers is the trick.

The Calamari Salad ($12.00), is one of the best of this noble dish I've had; the steak is big, tender, grilled to perfection with lemon and paprika on a bed of fresh greens. God I love squid, and I don't eat it enough!

But where Ulysses Voyage shines is in its iteration of classic Greek entrees. The Moussaka ($11.95) is heavenly. The layer of bechamel cream on top is a fluffy, jiggling, two-inch think souffle of the lightest texture; beneath are layers of thin-sliced potatoes, eggplant, and ground lamb baked and spiced. A vegetarian version ($10.95) deliciously substitutes zucchini for meat without missing a beat. The Pastitsio (11.95) -- a deep dish of baked penne dish with ground lamb and bechamel -- is equally divine, and a little heartier. Rack of lamb is tender and juicy. And all the main courses are served with fresh, tasty veggies and the lemon potatoes that every Greek restaurant specializes in, but which achieves apotheosis here. And there's a feta cheese spread that goes on fresh-baked bread that tastes like it must be all butter, but it isn't. Just feta, in healthy Mediterranean style.

Two other things worth mentioning. One is that they do a great brunch. I know, I know, you haven't had brunch since the late '80s: all that cream cheese and hollandaise went out with your size 3 dresses. But you can do a lot worse, calorically, than a Greek omelette. Or even better, if you crave Eggs Benedict every now and again but can't afford to sleep for the rest of the day, try their Artichoke Eggs: sauteed spinach and poached eggs on top of two perfectly- baked artichoke hearts, served Benedict-style. It's both light and decadent.

The other thing we have to talk about is ouzo. Now most of you will wince. You had it once or twice. Ultra-strong, licorice-y, and maybe you got too drunk.

You weren't drinking it right.

In Greece, ouzo is almost universally served over ice, mixed with a liberal amount of water: about one part ouzo to two parts water. The water turns the clear ouzo a pretty, milky white, and from a syrupy batch of lighter fluid to a refreshing late-afternoon drink... really!

Of course if you really can't stand the taste of licorice, there's always that Ketel One.

So... next time you find yourself at the Grove with an hour to kill before that movie, or pooped from fighting the Christmas shopping hordes, step into Ulysses Voyage, and into a little bit of Athens.

Big Fish Story -- Sushi Dan

Sushi Dan

8000 W. Sunset Blvd., #A2020
Los Angeles, CA 90046
(323) 848-8583
Google Info


11056 Ventura Blvd.
Studio City, CA 91604
(818) 985-2254
Google Info


I know the stated purpose of this blog is to identify "cheap ethnic eats," which evokes (as it should) images of holes-in-the-wall in Koreatown, Thaitown, Little Tokyo, and East L.A.. I suppose, Sushi Dan is "ethnic," as mush as the ubiquitous raw fish can be said to be truly Japanese anymore; and true, the lunch special is an extraordinary deal. But somehow a spacious marbly room that shares a mall with Virgin Megastore, Crunch, and Sam Ash at the entrance to the Sunset Strip seems unlikely for this space. Suffice to say I'm no slave to labels, man. I'll review whatever's making my taste buds do jumping jacks at the moment. And Sushi Dan fits the bill.

Here's the dish.

It's on the top floor of the Virgin Megastore mall on Sunset Blvd. and Crescent Heights, right across from the Laemmle Theaters. You know the Laemmles. You were there to see an indie film, how many months ago? Damn, when was the last good indie film playing at the Laemmle, anyway? It's a space that's seen a couple of restaurants come and go, most recently a pretty decent fresh-Mex grill.

A big modern room with full bar greets you as you enter, along with the obligatory cute young Japanese hostess. There are a large number of dining room tables, and an expansive sushi bar... sadly, mostly empty. The best tables are in the back, past the huge aquarium whose seemingly continuous issues with water clarity are not, I hope, an ill omen for the restaurant. There, five or six booths line the windowed back wall, affording panoramic views of the Hollywood Hills and the east end of Sunset Strip: SkyBar, Chateau Marmont, the Marlboro Man-cum-iPod Girl billboard.

I confess I've only been there for lunch; why go any other time? There are three lunch special combos, all of which offer a mix of traditional nigiri sushi with one of the restaurant's many specialties. For $9.95, (that's right, $9.95), you get miso soup, five pieces of sushi and one of a selection of a dozen or so rolls. This may not sound like much. It is. The slabs of fish on the nigiri are huge. On my first visit what already looked like a gigantic salmon slab on my sushi turned out to be twice as big... the slice was double thick, folded under the rice. It was the entire end of a fillet which would probably be counted an entire "serving" at your local Weight Watchers. But for all the emphasis on quantity, the fish has been uniformly excellent on every visit. And refreshingly, the five varieties of fish reflect what people (well, what I, at least) in the 21st Century order at sushi bars: the salmon is complemented by hamachi, albacore, maguro, and seared tuna instead of the standard 80's palette of tired shrimp, fishy mackerel, cheap tamago and rubbery squid that make up so many combo plates.

But the highlight of the meal is your choice of one specialty item that comes with the combo. I've yet to work my way through the menu, but I can vouch for a couple. To call the Calamari Tempura Roll "generous" is like calling Gary Busey "quirky" or the Bush Administration "pesky." It's probably bigger than your head. The roll itself is tasty, all crisp nori, tender calamari highlighted with avocado, cucumber crabmeat and eel sauce. But it's invisible under a PILE of bic-lighter sized pieces of additional calamari tempura. Imagine your favorite steakhouse's "fried calamari" appetizer done Japanese style and dumped on a single maki roll, and you've got the idea. It's delicious, and if you are light luncher, probably enough for two. The Yellowtail Collar is a large piece of fish grilled to a slightly charred crispness on the outside but yielding nooks and crannies filled with an extraordinary amount of tender, flaky fish.

Downsides to Sushi Dan include spotty if friendly service. Several orders have been botched but corrected with apologies stopping just short of seppuku. My urgent need for a Bloody Mary at a hangover brunch brought a "so sorry." Apparently the batch of mix had gone bad waiting for anyone to order it. This leads to concern that the slow turnover could lead to fish laying about longer than it should. You can help. Go to Sushi Dan. Order fish. Demand a Bloody Mary. And then go check out that indie movie... I hear The Calamari -- sorry, The Squid and the Whale -- is good.

Taylor's Steak House -- What Amurrcans Do In Koreatown

Taylor's Steakhouse

3361 W 8th St Los Angeles, CA 90005 (213) 382-8449 Google Map 901 Foothill Blvd La Cañada/Flintridge, CA 91011 (818) 790-7668 Google Map

I think the best food to be had anywhere in the world right now is in our very own Koreatown. But not everyone can eat kimchee, tofu, pork belly and the like. Check that -- most everyone can, but will they?

For those of you who are squeamish about internal organs or have bad memories of Korean food from the war or too many M*A*S*H reruns, there is an oasis for you in Koreatown: Taylor's Steakhouse. It's a piece of perfectly preserved midcentury nostalgia food that'll take you right back to the Eisenhower administration when we were fighting Koreans on the battlefield, not the golf course, and we'd only eat their food if we were caught behind enemy lines with Hot Lips but no hot dogs.

Here's the dish...

Smack in the heart of Koreatown, surrounded by tofu joints, BBQ houses, noodle shops, and spas staffed by Korean lesbians in black lace undies (or so Sa tells me -- I sadly have yet to experience this first hand) is Taylor's. Founded in 1953 as "Taylor's Tavern," the operation moved to its present location on 8th Street near Western in 1970. And while the Caucasian population of the 'hood has since moved out to the suburbs, and the Latinos have vacated to wherever they vacate to, Taylor's remains, unchanged. It's classic steakhouse food: shrimp cocktails, Caesar Salads, and steaks of various cuts and sizes. Period. I think there's a fish on the menu somewhere but why bother? (This is not vegetarian-friendly food.)

Taylor's "world famous" item is their "culotte" cut, described as "the tenderest portion of the sirloin -- only two cuts per steer!" Sa imagined that they just take those cuts, and throw the rest of the cow away. How very 1950's. The full sized, 16-oz. $26.95 culotte is big, thick, and juicy, perfect for those (like me) who find filet mignon too flavorless, and like their meat to fight back a little bit, but have been burned once too often by leathery sirloin. If you're not the type to drive home in the big fin Caddy with white sidewalls to Jane Wyatt and the kids, you can get a more 21st-century sized "dinner" cut of the culotte for $19.95, including your choice of potato. Awesome deal. The house "Molly Salad" that comes with full dinners is a half-iceberg head, quartered and drenched in delicious blue cheese dressing with diced tomatoes -- a great version of a classic dish. The steak fries are underwhelming; get the baked potato, which is worth the price of admission by itself. It's got a toothsome, been-cooking-all-day skin, and it's like buttah inside... literally, if you're as liberal with the butter as I am.

The decor is just the way I like my steakhouses: all red vinyl booths and dark paneled walls adorned with bad seascapes and photos of sports stars, crooners, and regulars. Those guys sitting at the table next to you wearing big glasses and talking point spreads look and sound like Mafia, but they're actually former USC head football coach John McKay and buddies... identified by Sa from his picture in the foyer. The waitresses are all "honey" and "sweetie." The martinis are great, and retro-old fashioned in size: no birdbaths here. The wine list is smallish but there are some good buys... try the EOS Zinfandel ($24) with your steak.

It may not be the BEST steakhouse in Los Angeles -- the best I've had was probably at Mastro's in Beverly Hills -- but it's superior to places like Musso & Frank or Dan Tana's, and it's unquestionably the best bang for the buck. We're talkin' steak dinner for two with a good bottle of wine and maybe a salad to share for under a hundred bucks. At those prices you can even go when it's not your anniversary, without having to sell your Barbie collection to pay for it.

There's a nearly identical branch of the restaurant in La Cañada/Flintridge, but I recommend Koreatown, because while you're there you can scout out where you want to go for your next Korean meal -- or get that special "spa treatment."

Dining at Canyon Pace -- Abuelita's

Abuelita's

137 S. Topanga Canyon Blvd.
Topanga, CA 90290
(310) 455-8688
www.abuelitastopanga.com
Google Local Info
MC, Visa, AMEX
Extensive Vegetarian Menu

In an effort to rediscover my Shakespeare roots, I made the trek out to Topanga Canyon for a production of Twelfth Night at the Will Geer Theatricum Botanicum. Of course, Twelfth Night features a clown named Feste, Feste reminds me of "fiesta," "fiesta" is Español for party, so was there any question that I'd be going out for margaritas before the show?

Turns out one of the most well-reviewed Mexican places in L.A. is Abuelita's, about a mile and a half down the Canyon from the Will Geer, right around the corner from The Inn of Seventh Ray. I might have checked out the New Age, organic Inn, as everyone says I must do; but I worry, do they even have margaritas, and if so, do they put tofu in them?

I'll make it to Inn of the Seventh Ray one of these days, but let's talk Abuelita's. The name is a good sign: "Granny's", is a loose translation. You know that I'm all about Mex food made by grandma, not the gang youth at your local Baja Fresh, right?

The service upon entry was not a good sign. Bees were attacking their outdoor patio overlooking the creek (the best outdoor dining in L.A., according to AOL Cityguide -- as long as you don't count the horror-movie infestation of bestingered insects), so I'll cut 'em some slack. But still, our hungry party of five waited fifteen minutes just to be seated in a nearly-empty restaurant. We sat inside to avoid the swarm, but the creekside canyon ambience did seem lovely.



The first round of margaritas, the house blend, were so watery that we seriously wondered if they'd remembered to add the booze. Our waiter (cute, I'm told, by our female companions) had suggested we order the Cadillac version for a buck more, and he was right. The second round was a major improvement.

When the food finally arrived, all other concerns went out the window. The tortillas, handmade on the premises, were delightful. The chiles rellenos were delicate and fluffy, perfectly picante chiles stuffed with a generous (maybe too generous?) amount of cheese, the light tomato sauce tangy, flavorful, and not the least bit gloppy.

A grilled shrimp burrito, made mojado with an unusual lobster bisque sauce, got rave reviews. You know I love my taquitos, and these delightful fingers of deep fried pulled pork were some of the best I've ever had. The sum of gritty, chewy quality of the fresh, hand-pounded tortillas, perfectly cooked pork, and fresh guacamole added up to a thoroughly satisfying whole. Only a chicken mole soft taco disappointed. The chicken was fine and tender; the mole, a little too sweet; but the taco itself, just chicken mole with no condiment, felt like it needed another ingredient to finish it off. Onion? Scallion? Something.

Visting Topanga Canyon is a little like visiting the 70's. Life goes on at a slower pace there; but you do come away with some good memories.

Oh, and Twelfth Night, under the moon and oak trees of the utterly delightful Theatricum Botanicum, kicked ass.

The Frog and the Pig - Toad House

Toad House
4503 Beverly Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90004
(323) 460-7037
Open Daily 7:30am-1am
American Express, Discover, MasterCard, Visa
Google Local Map

I thought I'd follow up my last post about Noshi Sushi with a breakdown of a spot less than two blocks away, and yet a world apart. Where Noshi is all about slabs of delicately flavored cool fresh, Toad House is all about...

Frogs.

Psych! It's not about frogs. It's about meat. And particularly, pork.

Just another bunker on Beverly Boulevard from the outside, Toad House greets you with happy cartoons of pudgy yellow pigs on the front door. There are a couple of tables inside, but most of the dining area is outside on the covered patio. And with good reason. There's going to be a lot of smoke, and not just from the surly Korean youths puffing away in the corner over big bottles of OB or Hite beer.

Take a seat outside under one of the five or so TV sets suspended over the tables (there's almost one monitor per table). But trust me, you won't be watching TV. The food show is much better.

The waitress sets down menus. No one speaks much English here, so make it easy on yourself. Take a date, and point to the #3 combination, $39.95 for pork belly and beef brisket for two people. All the combinations include beer, wine, or soju. Have you been paying attention to my past posts? If so, you know want the soju.

Then sit back and watch what happens. Nice but harried waitress fires up the convex grill; a smaller version of what you might see at a Mongolian BBQ. She brings out the metal bowls filled with the small side-dishes known as panchan. Be sure to impress your date that you know the word for these dishes. Say it with me: panchan. They're actually not that remarkable here, but the chili sauce bean sprouts are good, and the potato salad is tangy -- why do these Korean places make potato salad, anyway?

Next comes the leek and scallion "pancake." You won't recognize it as a pancake, because it's more like a quiche or a soufflé. It arrives at your table with the eggy concoction still roiling and boiling to a finish. Let it simmer and solidify a little before you dig in. It's sooo light and fluffy; somewhere between meringue, mousse and the fluffiest omelette you've ever had. I'm craving it as I write about it.

Next come the piles of raw pork and beef. The waitress lays it out on the grill for you. It cooks. You watch, waiting. The brisket is the classic Korean bulgogi, thin-sliced and tender. It cooks fast. Start eating it when it looks good. The pork -- if you ordered the #3 -- is pork belly, huge slabs of marbled meat that look like bacon on crack. Let the waitress cook this for you. You'll know when it's done: she comes by with some bad-ass scissors and (this momma's boy loves this part) cuts it into bite-sized chunks for you.


But there's one more trick to Toad House. It's dduk bo sam style. That means that while the meat is cooking, you'll be brought a big pile of shredded lettuce and scallion, a couple of dipping sauces, and a plate filled with something so unfamilar that -- I guarantee -- even after having enlighened yourself by reading this post -- you'll ask, What's that? They're small, square rice-flour cakes, paper thin and slightly stretchy; not unlike the rice paper wrappings on Vietnamese summer rolls.

Just take a piece of this dduk wrapper in one hand, grab a bit of caramelized, grilled meat, dip it in some sauce, and put it in the wrapper. Add a chopstickload of the lettuce and scallion. Wrap it up loosely, and eat in one bite, dim sum style. This, you will discover, is a little big of hog heaven. Don't worry about doing it "wrong." A glance around the table reveals as many techniques for devouring this stuff as there are for eating rice, beans, and guacamole with tortillas.

Just be sure to wash it back with soju. And don't forget to toast the five happily trotting pigs in the poster on the dining room wall.

They gave their bellies for yours.

What Was YOUR Lunch Sandwich Today Like? - Greenblatt's Deli

Greenblatt's Delicatessen-Restaurant and Fine Wine Shop
8017 Sunset Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90046
(323) 656-0606‎
www.greenblattsdeli.com

Reviews, Map, Etc.

Sometimes I go so far afield in search of finding a new, "institution"- level eatery, I forget to mention the institutions in my own backyard. And sometimes, I forget to frequent them. Somehow, I recently went several years without visiting what is possibly the closest eatery to my house, and certainly the closest Bona Fide L.A. Institution: Greenblatt's Deli, at the eastern approach to the Sunset Strip, right next to the Laugh Factory.


Why, I thought, have I not blogged Greenblatt's? Perhaps because I assume most people have been there. But a quick poll of my friends tells me that's not true.

My poll also suggested that if you have visited Greenblatt's, the first words out of your mouth will be, "I love Greenblatt's, but it's so expensive." Now it's true, fourteen bucks for a Reuben sandwich is not cheap. But somehow it seems that Reuben sandwiches have ALWAYS been fourteen bucks there, and as prices everywhere else in the world have slowly crept up over the years, this doesn't seem so outrageous anymore. Especially when there are so many things to recommend said sandwich. In this case, I will let the picture above speak a thousand words.

Greenblatt's is simply the best Jewish deli on this side of the hill. It kicks all manner of ass over Canter's. There's free parking, first of all. True, it's always crowded and the spaces are tiny, but it seems like there's always one space left there when you need it. Second, location. Even if you don't live nearby, chances are you're headed to the Laemmle theaters across the street, and wondering where you should eat, a couple of times a year. Third, atmosphere. Seventy years old, it has a rare-in-L.A. genuine old wood-paneling wide-plank-floor creakiness that makes you feel like this town has some real history, after all. Fourth, open 'til 2:00 am, 365 days a year.

And then there's the extraordinary wine shop. It is, remember, Greenblatt's Deli and Wine Shop. They have a small but extraordinary selection of wines, mostly French, at extraordinary prices. A couple bucks more than the average selection at TJ's, perhaps, but you get what you pay for. These are quality, well-chosen wines.

And -- and this is the most exciting part -- I've recently discovered that next to Costco, they have the single best price in town on family-sized (as we call it Chez Winfield) bottles of Ketel One: $31.99. That, friends, is a bargain, and they know it. Witness the sign above the nearby Belvedere display.

And of course there's the food. I could go on describing the flavors of their hot pastrami, or corned beef, or their delicious Egg Salad Like Grandma Used To Make It, or this stellar BLTA I had yesterday.


But you know what you're getting: Jewish deli counter food, the quality of which I'd say compares favorably to even the best New York has to offer. The good stuff.

My only chronic complaints: the deli counter help tends to be distracted and either hard of hearing or lacking English skills. Orders need to be peated, repeated, and three-peated, then checked, double-checked, and thriple-checked. From which comes the corollary: delivery service? Fuhgeddaboudit. That's what they tend to do with your phoned-in order.

But for that quick lunch to take home, or a pre- or post- movie bowl of matzoh ball or kreplach soup in one of their comfy naugahyde booths? Drop in, chow down -- and don't forget to grab a bottle or two to go.

Yes, It Rhymes With Mex - TAIX French Restaurant

TAIX French Restaurant
1911 Sunset Blvd.,
Los Angeles, CA 90026
213.484.1265
Info on Yelp


You've driven past it a million times, on your way downtown or to Dodger Stadium or to your hipster friends' houses in Echo Park and Silver Lake. It looks like one of those old school L.A. restaurants that's been there for so long, unchanging, that that can't possibly be any good. You know the type: Little Joe's Italian restaurant still hunkered down in the middle of Chinatown (terrible!); The Buggy Whip on the way to LAX; the Smokehouse.

Taix French Restaurant shares a period-LA vibe and catacomb-y, sprawling design with those places, and I confess it made me afraid to eat there. I generally avoid restaurants that take up an entire city block. But after finally, trepidatiously going to check it out about a year ago, I've been a dozen times since and it's become one of my favorite restaurants, full stop.

Pulling up to the valet under the Smokehouse-like covered motor court ($2.50 charge - a sign of good value to come) you realize you can be nowhere but Los Angeles. The wide entryway features Flintstones-scale brick pillars -- one can imagine Fred pulling up and ordering a car-tilting sized side of Boeuf -- as accent to the Tudor building that is the home to "French Country Cuisine." You're not surprised to learn that although the restaurant has been in operation as a strictly family enterprise since 1927, the current location opened right in the Flintstones wheelhouse: 1962. Entering through heavy wood and wrought-iron doors, you ambulate down a long flagstone hallway past the restaurant's 321 Lounge, which is worthy of another post all its own. Suffice to say it's a comfy, intimate space voted "Best Free Music Venue" by the LA Weekly), with a spectacular long bar that pours long drinks and serves the restaurant's full menu.

A pleasant if comfortingly aloof maitre'd' takes you to the main dining room, which is a pastiche of a tourist's imagination of a high-end French restaurant. Gold and black marble-glass walls, baroque chandeliers, Art-Nouveau etched glass; it's a tour of styles from Belle Epoque to Art Deco that somehow manages to hang together... just barely. Every table in the main room is a comfy booth. Another plus.

But the food and drink are where Taix shines. Their dinner menu (they also have lunch, late-night (service in the bar 'til 1:00am weekends) and even children's menus) strives for, and achieves, classic French country cuisine with none of the attitude, obfuscation, or overcharging of most French restaurants. Cocktails are expertly made, generously poured, and reasonably priced. Appetizers run the socio-economic gamut. If you're feeling peasant-y there's a simple, tangy Ratatouille ($5.50) and a classic Gratinée a l’Oignon (French Onion Soup) ($6.95). If you're feeling bourgeois, there are two kinds of Moules Frites (steamed mussels), a classic white wine "Moules Mariniére" and a Moules Maison, featuring leeks, both of which are bread-soppingly tasty. If you'd prefer to let them eat cake while you pop escargots, Taix's snails are imported from Bourgogne ($16.95) And if you're feeling ugly American, there's an $8.95 Macaroni Gratin that is plain ol' mac and cheese, an entree-sized portion, that's become one of my favorites in town.

The dinner entree menu is a tour of delights. The Poulet Rôti au Jus (roasted half chicken, $13.95) is the best I've had in any restaurant anywhere. The Côte de Porc Grillé (Grilled pork chop with port wine and caramelized onions, $19.95) is tender, perfectly cooked, the onions an ideal complement. Plat de Côte de Boeuf Braisé  (Braised short ribs in an exquisitely dark, reduced Cabernet sauce on garlic mashed potatoes) is heavenly and rich in the best French style. Trout almandine, rack of lamb, skirt steak... all have been yummed over by dining companions over several visits. On my last trip, on the waiter's recommendation, I had the Tagliatelles Aux Fruits de Mer ($19.95) a simple pasta with seafood, cream, and white wine that was simply splendid, despite its Italian roots. As you can see, the prices are ridiculously reasonable for Los Angeles. Most entrees are under $20.00, none is over $30.00, and, especially if you treat yourself to an appetizer or two, the portions are plenty. (although $4.00 extra gets you soup du jour and your choice of salad).

Also of note are the rotating "Cuisine Grand-mére" (Grandma's Cooking) specials. I've been back several times to get Thursday's heavenly Lapin a la Dijonnaise, a braised half rabbit with mushrooms, pearl onions and mustard sauce, and have in fact launched a personal campaign to eat more rabbit. So good. Tuesday's Braised Oxtail and Saturday's Duck a l'Orange are also exceptional. Basically, everything is good at Taix; I've yet to be disappointed with any dish I've ordered there. And the wine list is terrific, an array of both French and California wines, with loads in the $20-30 range (also lots of half-bottles, which is nice), and helpful and knowledgable waiters to help you choose one.

And yes, ladies, there is Mousse au Chocolate and Crème Brûlée to be had for dessert.

[Alas, my trusty point and shoot Canon Powershot 450 finally died while writing this, and I have no photos of the food. But somehow that seems right... firing flash photos against such tasty, classy dishes seems wrong, somehow. I'll try to fill in next time I go. In the meantime, there are some swell photos of a lamb chop and a review on the LAIST website.]

I never post bad reviews, and I don't generally give star ratings because of the difficulty of balancing quality and value. But Taix gets my strongest recommendation: a true LA institution serving outstanding food with excellent service and fun ambience at reasonable prices. It's my kind of place. And just today, as I was prepping this post, I received an e-mail that it was voted "Best French Restaurant" in an LA Times Readers Choice poll. Clearly, you should go dine there.

Red Booths and Raw Fish - Noshi Sushi

Noshi Sushi

4430 Beverly Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90004
(323) 469-3458

Open 7 days til 9 pm
CASH ONLY

Google Local Info

It's a fucking zillion degrees in L.A. You've already imposed on your friends to swim in their pool twice, you've seen An Inconvenient Truth and every other thing playing at the Arclight. You've cooked out on the Weber until you have hot dogs coming out your ears. You feel like it's actually too damn hot to eat, but you've got to... and you've got escape the heat.

If you're like me, you want raw fish. Cool, fresh, buttery slabs of sushi. And you'd like it somewhere where you can relax and spend a couple of hours, not propped up on a slightly-too-small plastic chair in a spartan Zen room that should be cool but, because of the small space and the track lighting over the sushi bar, is just a little too close for comfort.

You want to go to Noshi Sushi. I think it's the best sushi restaurant in Los Angeles. Sure, there are places in Beverly Hills that do the thousand-dollar slice of fish. And of course there are the splendors of sushi row on Ventura Blvd. Katsu-ya makes delicious dishes in the "Japanese tapas" style -- things like Carpaccio of Yellowtail with Jalapeño, or Spicy Tuna on Crispy Rice Cakes -- as does my new local favorite Shintaro. There's Nozawa with his "Trust Me" special, and his amazing array of tunas and his blue crab rolls. But Nozawa's rice is always a little warm, and authentic or not, I don't want warm rice taking the cool edge off my raw fish on a hot night.

No, those places are great, but when my wife and say "Wanna go for sushi?", we mean Noshi. Why? Big slabs of fresh fish at reasonable prices, consistently amazing hamachi (which is, after all, the best of all possible sushi fish), and the most comfortable dining room of any sushi place in L.A.


It's in what looks like a nuclear fallout shelter on Beverly Blvd., smack in the middle of Koreatown. It's got a huge sushi bar, but it's one of the few sushi joints where I don't usually sit there... because Noshi's got booths. Big ones. Real, honest-to-god, spacious, red naugahyde booths. The place looks like it was probably once a steakhouse, and has the airy, high-ceilinged feel of a Japanese Hamburger Hamlet, without the cheesy decor.


You won't find any fancy, layered, fusion creations here. No specialty rolls. It's stripped down, dude. No fancy "premium cold sake list." They got hot sake, cold sake, and Asahi and Sapporo beer. Small bottles only, no large. No Kirin. Tempura/teriyaki combos and old-school sushi rule the day.

There are a very few specials on the wall. The albacore salad, a mound of crisp cucumber and shredded daikon and carrot with slabs of albacore tuna in a light, tangy dressing, is the perfect starter to beat the heat. After that, you'll recognize the menu from 1980's sushi bars: Tuna, eel, clam, giant clam, octopus, squid, shrimp, and scallop sushi; California rolls; spicy tuna rolls; salmon skin rolls. You can try to ask for your favorite nouvelle sushi option, but if you're going much beyond "Spicy Scallop Hand Roll," expect a blank stare.

But what they do, they do right: big, bold and fresh. My personal favorites are "white fish" (you get halibut unless you specify red snapper, which is usually better) - order it with ponzu sauce. Scallop sushi (ordered with mayo) is never better anywhere than here. And as for the hamachi (yellowtail) sushi... it's simply the most consistently sweet and buttery you'll find. It invokes in this blogger what his wife affectionately calls "hamachi-face" -- that look of utter epicurean delight that makes your face positively melt with joy. Which is much better than having it melt -- like the Nazi dude in Raiders of the Lost Ark -- in the heat outside.

Two tips:

- Arrive early. The restaurant is only open 'til 9:00 pm, and you can have a tough time parking and a long wait in the 7-9 window.

- Bring cash. It's cash only, and they have no ATM. But you don't need to bring too much... unless you eat more than your weight in sushi and drink more than three beers or sakes, you'll have a hard time spending more than $35.00 a person.

It's Chinatown, Jake -- Ocean Seafood

Ocean Seafood

747 North Broadway

Los Angeles, CA 90012-2819

(213) 687-3088

www.oceansf.com‎

More Info

View Larger Map

Everyone knows that the best Chinese food this side of Hong Kong is in the San Gabriel Valley: Monterey Park, San Gabriel, Alhambra, Rosemead... You know that, right? It's true. But sometimes that extra five is just too many minutes on the 10. Sometimes you're stuck downtown. Jury duty, maybe. Who knows, maybe you're using public transportation, and Monterey Park isn't an option. Maybe you're like me, and you just like the vibe and the romance of L.A.'s original Chinatown. After all, San Gabriel doesn't have one of the great movies of all time named after it. To paraphrase Lucy Van Pelt, "How can San Gabriel be so great if it doesn't even have a movie named after it?"

Many folks will tell you that if you're having Chinatown Chinese food, you should go to Empress Pavilion. And if you were looking for dim sum, I'd say they might be right. But when I want dinner in Chinatown, I head for Ocean Seafood.

It's located on the top floor of the same arcade that houses Mandarin Deli, Pho 79, and Kim Chuy -- all utterly worthy restaurants. It occurs to me that if I could only pick one building in L.A. in which to eat, it would be this one.

Aside from the simple loveliness of its name (isn't "ocean" one of the prettiest words in our language?), Ocean Seafood serves awesome meals in classic Hong Kong Seafood style. Entering from street level, you're greeted by a mirrored foyer with a burbling, stone-waterfalled koi pond.

You're already feeling pretty blissed-out by the time you arrive at the dining room upstairs, where your first sight is of bubbling saltwater tanks full of the little and not-so-little sea beasties you're about to consume.

The room is what you want in a Chinese Seafood palace: huge, gilt, filled with lazy susan bedecked tables and a "full bar" that's as perfunctory as the typically crappy service.

We usually bring another couple, and get the same half dozen dishes here. Other stuff is good, but it's always these dishes that I crave.

Start off with the Peking Duck. I once got into an online spat with Jonathan Gold because I love the Peking Duck here, which he argued was like ordering pasta in a French restaurant. Screw you, I basically said, I've had some great pasta in French restaurants, and if you won't order the Peking Duck here because it's regionally not a authentic Hong Kong style dish, your loss, Pulitzer dude.

Peking duck, for those not familiar, Is a whole-or-half duck, roasted. Its skin and a layer of fat are sliced off at your table and placed on a fluffy pancake with a smear of sweet plum sauce and a scallion, and served on a small plate with a shrimp cracker, to be eaten as finger food.

The remainder of the fowl is taken away, cleavered into chopstick-sized portions, and brought back to you for further consumption.

This is just one of the best dining experiences there is, and at $14.50 for half a duck or $26 for a whole, worth the price of admission.

We then move on to the Crab in XO Sauce. The crab you will have formed a personal relationship with: they bring the live one you order straight from its tank in a plastic bag, to wave its goodbyes to you before hitting the pot. The XO sauce is kinda dated by now -- it was big in the 90s -- but I still love it. A family-secret concoction of finely garlic, onion, chilis, tiny dried shrimp, salt cured fish, and the like, it's spicy, tangy and oceany. Eating this dish is a freaking mess, but worth every stain.

The golden ticket on this plate are the crab shoulders, not the legs... put the whole donut-hole sized shoulder piece in your mouth and suck until it's empty. Then use the hot towel provided to clean up.

After that, a nice palate cleanser of Chinese broccoli, steamed with garlic.

Okay, the garlic isn't exactly palate cleansing, but the broccoli is fresh and crunchy. I could eat this stuff all day.

Finally, after all that protein, a traditional "filling-in-the-corners" carb dish, just to make sure you don't leave hungry. We generally go for the House Special Pan Fried Noodle, a mixture of chicken, pork, fish and veggies atop your crispy-browned-giving-way-to-saturated soft noodle.

For dessert... well, why have funky Asian dessert when you can just order the sweet honey walnut shrimp instead, smothered in a rich, creamy mayonnaise and honey sauce, with crunchy candied walnuts?

All this can be had for about $30 pp for four. Wash all this down with a Tsing Tao, and I guarantee you won't be hungry again in an hour.

They also do a fine dim sum brunch. There's free parking available underground; they validate for the parking lot adjacent.

Khaaaaan! - Seoul Garden Restaurant

Seoul Garden Restaurant
1833 W Olympic Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90006

(213) 386-8477‎
MC, Visa
Valet Parking in rear. Closed Sunday.

Yelp Info

The hostess slaps a menu on your table, but everything you need to know about Seoul Garden is prominently displayed on a backlit plexiglass menuboard on a wall in the main room. Note the first three dishes: Beef Jingee-skan, Chicken Jingee-skan, Pork Jingee-skan. It took me a bit of Googling, after my first visit there, to figure out that it's Genghis Khan... which is Korean not (curiously) for what the Mongolians call BBQ, but for what the Japanese call shabu-shabu. Go figure.

And by go, I mean go to Seoul Garden to enjoy this utterly pleasurable style of dining. There's other stuff on the menu but (and I always tell you exactly what to order, that's part of the value-added service you get at LA Food Crazy) you're here for the Genghis Khan. Get two orders for 2-3 people, three orders for three hungrier or four people. Beef (a must), chicken or pork according to your pleasure. Order soju. Here's what ensues.

It's a five course meal. The waitress fires up a hotpot filled with water on your table. While it comes to a boil, you are brought the small, refillable dishes of bonchon; Korean appetizers that here include a delicious, tangy pickled turnip and a delicately cooked egg cake.

You nibble on them with you soju. You remembered to order soju, right? Your waitress will also bring small bowls of cabbage soup.

Then comes your Khan. Raw flesh, sliced paper-thin, arranged flat on a giant wheel of a plate. Here's one order of beef and one of chicken:

A giant bowl of shredded cabbage, mushrooms, tofu and fish cake accompanies your Khan.


Your waitress gets you started, scooping a bunch of vegetables and meat into the boiling water.

Quick, take out the beef, it's already medium-rare. Two more seconds, it's well-done. You scoop some veggies and beef into your bowl. It's tender, mild, flavorful; an absurdly simple and unadorned iteration of the meat.


Of course you can adorn it. People ask, "can I add some of the bonchon?" That's like asking whether you should put some of the guacamole or the salsa on your taco. It's a free world, dude. And the best news is, the bonchon are bottomless. Run out of one, they'll bring you more.

You begin to think you'll never get through that giant wheel of meat, you're boiling it and eating it and boiling and eating it, but trust me, it eventually it does all go away. And just when it's almost gone, the last few bits still boiling in the broth, the waitress swings by. She portions the remaining Jingees-kan into your bowls, and drops some udon noodles into your broth, letting them cook for a bit before scooping them in front of you.

Not a lot, mind you... you're full from all the meat... but it's so clean and tasty, cooked in that broth that has been gathering yummy beef chicken and pork flavors, that you can't resist.



And just when you think, no, there couldn't possibly be more, there is. The waitress will have let the water boil down pretty well by now. She arrives with a bowl of rice, an egg, some seaweed, and sesame oil. She adds them expertly to the broth, and whips up a quick a delicious jjuk (porridge) for you. It's delicious as is, but also a perfect base for disposing of any remaining bonchon on the table.


You've drained that last bit of soju, and now comes a metal cup of the refreshingly sweet tea which I believe is called chik cha.

The meal has probably set you back $25 or so. But if you're like me (or my wife Sa, who wants to go here, like, ALL the time) you'll be back soon.

A couple of notes. It can be crowded, take-a-number crowded, at peak hours. And as with most Korean restaurants in Koreatown, you'll have a more pleasant experience if you're not high-maintenance. Pointing at things and asking for more is fine and appreciated. Asking about serving sizes or ingredients explaining your special dietary needs, asking for rice before the porridge section of the meal, etc., will not enhance anyone's evening. And saying kam sa na hamida (Korean for thank you) is always nice.

Besides, any questions that can be answered are right there in backlit plexiglass, down to the instructions for cooking your veggies. So just say "beef jingee-skan and soju," sit back, and let the evening roll.

If Not For the Decor -- La Parrilla

La Parrilla

Three Los Angeles locations:

3129 W Sunset Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90026

(323) 661-8055

1300 Wilshire Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90017-1705
(323) 353.4930

2126 Cesar Chavez Ave
Los Angeles, CA 90033-1823
(323) 262-3434

MC, Visa, Amex

http://www.laparrillarestaurants.com

I've been meaning for years to make it to one of the branches of La Parrilla, consistently mentioned by local Chowhounds as one of the top sit-down Mexican restaurants in L.A. You know this is one of my favorite genres of foodie experience. A few weeks ago, I finally made it to the branch on Sunset Blvd. in Silverlake.

There is so much wonderful to say about this place. A stone-faced abuelita hand-making fresh tortillas at a station near the entrance: always a good sign. Guacamole made fresh at tableside. Also, always good. Our one fear, when we saw no bottles of booze on the wall, and wine margaritas on the menu, was that there was no tequila. Our waiter, whether legally or not, promised us tequila, and the margaritas were in fact good and strong. By all accounts, La Parrilla serves up decent versions of classic tacos, enchiladas, chiles rellenos and the like.

But parrilla means "grill" en español, and that's where La Parrilla shines. Find the selection of molcajetes and parrilladas. A molcajete is a mortar bowl usually used for grinding ingredients (like your tableside guac). Here they also come overflowing with various meats from the grill. We had the "Azteca," featuring tender, moist grilled chicken and perfectly cooked carne asada, nopalitos (grilled cactus, which I've never had before... delicious! Somewhere between a roasted bell pepper and an ortega chile), a grilled slab of mild panela cheese, and grilled scallions, all doused in a delicious, smoky, and delightfully spicy red chile huajillo salsa.

We also got a parrillada. Same idea as the molcajete, but this is served on a small portable grill that comes to your table and continues to cook, char and caramelize your food as you plow your way through it. We ordered the chetumal, an amazing array of grilled goodies: two skewers of shrimp al carbon, melt-in-your-mouth pork loin, chicken adobado, sliced red potatoes, a couple of whole jalapeño chiles. All this is served with some of the better whole beans I've had in LA (with plenty of bacon to add flavor), Spanish rice, and a bowl of melted cheese sauce to add to whatever bites you wish. Throw some of that together in your fresh, handmade tortilla, and holy guacamole, is it good. And each of the molcajetes and parrilladas serve two to the point of stuffed... at $11-15 per person, that's a hell of a deal.

But there's a "but..."

The decor sucks. It's been described as "Tijuana chic." That's being generous. The layout of the place is bizarre. You have to negotiate a seemingly endless maze of candy counters and carts to get to the seating area. The lighting is harsh. The requisite piñatas and plastic parrots look like they're beginning to rot. And if you want to enjoy your food, don't even glance upward at the nasty drop ceiling; the oozing water-damage stains and general filth and squalor there might well put you off what is arguably the best sit-down Mexican fare in town.

I'm going to have to go check out the other locations; if I can find one a little less skanky, I'll become a regular.

Meet Okonomiyaki -- Haru Ulala

Haru Ulala

368 E. 2nd Street
Los Angeles, CA 90012
(213) 620--1120

Google Local Info, including map, directions, and more reviews

My friend Kent spent a lot of time in Japan a few years ago. When I launched LA Food Crazy, he immediately e-mailed to ask if I had come across anyplace that serves okonomiyaki. I'd never heard of okonomiyaki. It was, he said, his favorite meal in Japan.

For Kent's birthday, he demanded okonomiyaki. He sent me the results of a Google search which had turned up four places that serve it in the LA area, and asked if I'd finish up the research and pick a place.

I said sure. After a full morning's research I had discovered... that there are only four places in LA county that serve okonomiyaki. Two are in Torrance (sorry, not driving there on a Saturday), one is in Westwood (Korean-operated... not necessarily bad, but not likely to be very authentic either).

And then there was a place I'd never heard of, Haru Ulala, near the south end of Little Tokyo. We were going downtown to visit the display of Oscar-consideration costumes at Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandise (an extraordinary yearly event, btw. Anyone into movies, costumes, or both should check it out), so Little Tokyo it was.

Turns out Okonomiyaki is worth the search, and Haru Ulala is my new fave J-town destination.

The place is just a half dozen banquettes, configurable into different sizes by clever sliding room dividers. Perfect for large-sized groups. Interestingly, though okonomiyaki is listed on their website, it doesn't appear on any of their confusing array of three different menus.

This is Izakaya-style Japanese food... which is to say, bar food. The Japanese equivalent of chicken wings, potato skins, nachos, and fried calamari, or perhaps more accurately, of Spanish tapas. All the items on the three menus are inexpensive, small plates of snack food.

We were totally stabbing in the dark with our order, but did pretty well once we got past the slimy "shredded yams," which dripped with a snotty goo; a decidedly un-Western aesthetic that the mild, jicama-like flavor failed to overcome.

Everything after that was fantastic. The grilled calamari with shiitake mushroom, thin strips of squid browned in butter with small, delicate shiitakes, was still being discussed days later. A small stewed pork rib was fall-off-the-bone tender. Fried soft shell crab served with ponzu dipping sauce was as light and tender as I've ever had. Fried cheese was as far from the mozzarella fingers at TGIFriday's as you can imagine.

But we were here for the okonomiyaki. In a couple of the other local places it's a make-it-yourself-at-the-table operation at, like shabu shabu or Korean BBQ. Going DIY would terrify me with this recipe. You can get an idea of how the operation should go here. To see how it can go horribly wrong, scroll about 2/3 down the page at this delicious-looking archive of Daily Gluttony -- a terrific food blog, btw. At Haru Ulala, okonomiyaki is mercifully prepared in the kitchen. We ordered two, one for the vegetarians at the table, and one seafood version.

How to describe okonomiyaki? It's somewhere between a pizza, a pupusa, an omelette and a latke. Shredded yam, cabbage, egg, flour, and your choice of ingredients get mixed up, grilled, flipped like an omelette, then slathered with a sweet brown sauce and drizzled with mayonnaise. One came with writhing bonito flakes on top -- a subtle flavor but a freaky image. Don't try eating this on acid. (Or... do. ) The fluffy eggs, crisp cabbage, and julienned Chinese yam (slimy goo thankfully cooked away in this version) provide a variety of textures that still doesn't overwhelm the ingredients you choose for your "pizza." The brown sauce and mayo help pull all the different textures and flavors together into a savory, creamy goodness.



Sound like hangover food? It is. It's rich, sweet, comfort cuisine perfect for a rainy night (if we ever have one of those again in L.A.), yet leaves you feeling surprisingly light and healthy. Wash it back with beverages from their extensive list of beer ($8.00 pitchers of Kirin) and soju (including an array of Japanese sojus, which are much more intense than their light, slightly sweet Korean counterparts), and it's hard to imagine a more satisfying and fun group meal.

I have read one or two mentions in other reviews of uneven service. Not for us! Our server Sayuko, aside from being take-her-home-and-keep-her adorable, gave us some of the best service I've had in recent memory.

And seriously, somebody out there needs to capitalize on the untapped okonomiyaki market. A stand specializing in this stuff next to a popular dive bar in Koreatown would make a fortune.

The Neon Crab — Won Jo Kokerang Agurang

Won Jo Kokerang Agurang

3132 W Olympic Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90006
(323) 766-0007

When you're truly food crazy, every restaurant sign is a siren song. "Here," each one sings to you. "I am the one... the best restaurant in the world that no one else knows about." But in the world of food blogging, there are very few restaurants no one else knows about. No matter how off the beaten track a place may be, I usually a find that a blogger, or Jonathan Gold -- damn you and your lifetime of experience! -- has already written it up. But aside from one reference to "that dancing crab place" on Chowhound LA, I can't find a single review of Won Jo Kokerang Agurang. Perhaps this is because no one has been brave enough to try to write out the name?

Whatever the case, I believe this is an L.A. Food Crazy scoop...

Driving down Olympic Blvd. at night, as we do fairly often, to a Kings game or to Beverly Soon Tofu, one sign calls to me like a spoonful of smack to a junkie. A red, neon crab, its claws flickering in its two neon positions: up, down; up, down; up, down. There's no English on the exterior signage at all. It's one of those inscrutable Koreatown bunkers that line the boulevard, each one sheltering who knows what culinary delights.

Every time we drive by the Neon Crab, the windows are fogged up. If customers enter or exit as we pass, a puff of steam wafts out the door, through which I glimpse a small spare room packed with Koreans. I tell my wife -- like ten times -- "we have to try that place." Finally I talk her in to it. As we approach, I say, "I'm picturing steaming iron bowls of roiling, spicy crab stew, with noodles and legs stickings out all akimbo."

I am almost entirely correct. There are no noodles, but there is rice.

Oh, there is rice.

The room is tiny. Ten or so tables. No one speaks a word of English. This is a good sign. The menu is small, so don't bother picking and choosing, much less asking whether this or that is good, or whether this or that comes with this or that appetizer, or whether the food is too spicy. Your questions will not be understood. Just order the Spicy Crab Soup. This is the steaming bowl of crab in question. Or, if you hate soup, order the Spicy Crab Casserole (pictured). It's identical to the crab soup, with sauce rather than broth.


As I say, there are no noodles. What look like noodles in the photo are bean sprouts. This is excellent news for those of you who, like LA Food Crazy, are low-carbers. It's true -- people ask me, how do you stay so thin when you eat so much food? To which I have three answers: 1. Low carb diet; 2. I actually only post once a month or so, which doesn't require lots of eating' and 3. Do you really think I look thin!? I love you! This means, btw, that whenever I discuss noodles or burritos or french fries here, I have unselfishly broken my diet and researched meals in excess of 20 carb units just the edification of you, my readers.

But I digress. Back to the meal.

There are panchan (the ubiquitous side dishes that are the bread and butter or chips and guacamole of Korean dining) galore: tangy, refreshing cucumber salad, tsukomono-style bean sprouts, tofu, kimchee, pickled turnips, seaweed, and yes that is potato salad with apple chunks.

Then the lady comes with the crab and the scissors. I've decided American waitresses don't use enough scissors. She cuts up the crab like your crazed third grade teacher attacking construction paper, chopping it into manageable pieces. She makes a little plate for you out of one of the crab's shells, and leaves you to it. (She may also try to embarrass you by placing a lobster bib around your neck. Please, for the dignity of all white people in Koreatown, politely decline it.) You go to town on Dungeness crab, the spicy broth, the bean sprouts and greens and onions soaked in spicy crab sauce. It is probably more crab than you can eat. You drink soju. Oh, the price of the crab soup for two ($45, if I recall correctly -- notes are not LA Food Crazy's strong point, he's too excited about the food to write stuff down) includes a beverage. You want soju. God bless soju, and I don't even believe in God.

But the best is yet to come. You say to the waitress while making a stirring motion over the detritus of your soup/casserole, "fried rice, please."

The waitress comes back with a rack of ingredients: some rice, some seaweed, some sesame oil, some spices. She takes a ladleful of your crab soup/casserole, and mixes it up into a risotto that comes out looking like this.


It is, I guarantee you, one of the best things you have ever eaten. Spicy, savory, with a rendered-down crabby essence... you will find yourself getting out of bed at three a.m. for leftovers, because you couldn't possibly finish the rice right after all that crab.

Okay, so the word is out. I suspect the next time I drive by, and that crab blinks at me, and the door opens, and steam wafts out, that I will see one or two of you, trying to talk to the waitress and asking "what's in the "mixed seafood casserole?" and "do you have noodles?" and "Could you make it medium spicy, please? And do you have a wine list?"

Jeesus, did you not read what I just told you? Seven words:

Spicy Crab Soup.
Soju.
Fried rice, please.

El Coyote (Pt. II) -- Judyism

In my last post I tried to break down any resistance you might have to dining at El Coyote, that L.A. bastion of 1930's style California Mexican cuisine, by positing that there are redeeming culinary qualities to be found among the julienned beets and Thousand Island dressing. Judging by the number of hits on the site and some e-mail, I'm not alone in my love for the place.

In part two of the El Coyote post, I'm here to tell you, for real, why El Coyote may just be the The World's Greatest Restaurant.

To me, a great restaurant is defined by so much more than the quality of its food. It's an experience. I can appreciate a $35 piece of seared ahi with wasabi butter on an architectural mound of rice and daikon, served under recessed lights on a cold marble table in a room so spacious and echoey that your "Mmm! Delicious!" bounces off five walls before reaching your date as much as the next foodie. In these places, it's "all about the food." But an evening meal with friends has the potential to encompass so much more of life: sound, smell, ritual, history, people-watching, conversation, true confessions, sex (yes, sex), joy and horror. El Coyote delivers all those things for me. Our weekly meals there are like church. In fact, since my wife and I don't go to church, it's exactly like church. We call it "Judyism." Why?

Here's the dish.

Though our schedules have changed recently, we used to go to The Dog every Thursday night. It went like this:

I wake up on Thursday morning, and generally the first thought in my head is "Mmm. What shall I have tonight? Beef rolled tacos? Or a tostada no veg-all with guac? Or am I feeling celebratory... No. 1 combo?" I think about it all day. I make a point not to eat a big lunch: maybe a little bit of sushi, the anti-El Coyote. We get calls from friends during the course of the afternoon -- they also woke up craving Dog food. "You guys Dogging tonight? Is there room at the table?" When our table gets full, we start screening calls. It's strictly first come, first served.

I leave work early; when I took the job, I told my employer: "One condition: Thursdays, I leave at 5:30. Non-negotiable." I drive home, narrowing down my menu selection in my head. Rolled tacos and a garden salad. But will the tacos be beef, chicken, or one of each? At home, there is already a small crowd of friends waiting for me. They're loitering anxiously around the front door, jackets on, keys in hand. "He's here! Let's GO, I'm starving!" We pile into the car. Somone rides in the back of the SUV. It takes too long to get there. Minutes seem like hours. Finally we pull onto Beverly Blvd., and there's the sign, exactly like a church steeple, beckoning us to worship. Its warm red neon is welcoming. It promises "cocktails." Happy hour revelers are already spilling out the restaurant, glowing, laughing, yelling, staggering obliviously in front of the cars lined up to get into the parking lot... They have already taken communion. Elvis, the chief valet, knows us; he won't allow us to have a ticket. He's been the valet for 10 years... he still doesn't look old enough to drive. We head towards the door -- oops, we forgot to let someone out of the back of the SUV. We fix that. We enter and Billy, the host, says hi. He expects us to call if we're NOT coming on Thursday. Our table is waiting. Large 8 (yes, we know most of the tables in the place by numeric designation), in the gold room, in the corner. We take our assigned seats automatically.

Our waitress Judy sees us from across the room, and seconds later she's brought our drinks. She knows what we all want: house margaritas, straight up, ice on the side, one with no salt. Judy is adorable. She calls the margaritas "vitaminas." Vitamins. From vita, "life." She's Guatemalan, and looks twenty years younger than she is. We comment on whatever pretty ruffly Mexican dress she's wearing that day. She's wearing costume jewelry that was a present from my wife last Christmas, and an apron she made for her the year before. We see Judy more often than most of our best friends. We ask about her dogs; she asks about anyone who's missing from the group. "Where is your friend with the funny hair?" We tell her the strange tales of our our life the past week. She responds, wide-eyed: "Ohhh!?... Really? No! Really?... Ohhh." I think she doesn't understand most of it.

Judy has been serving us for 13 years. She's our high priestess.

The tortillas and guac arrive. We usually skip the chips, a passing attempt at health made useless when we slather butter on the tortillas. Is there anything better than a steaming hot corn tortilla with butter? Who says the food at El Coyote isn't good?

Judy knows not to take our order til we've received our second drink. By now everyone has changed their minds about what they're getting. The room is getting louder. There's always a hen party across from us, a different set of secretaries just off work, bitching about their bosses. Maybe there's a celebrity. We've seen Drew Barrymore and Edward Norton, Dom DeLouise and Ruth Buzzi, Tim Burton and Lisa Marie (on Halloween; we were dressed as Jack Skellington and Sally -- somewhere, we have a Polaroid commemorating the event), Ricardo Montalban, among countless others. There's the table of regulars in "the bower," a table in the hallway. The same six, also there every Thursday, twenty years older than us. We think of them as a vision of ourselves at age 65. Finally they stopped coming. Someone must have died.

Halfway into our second drink, just when we are well and truly ravenous and a little tipsy, the food arrives. Kent shreds fresh cilantro and squeezes lemon into his Albondigas soup. Sa digs into a chicken Caesar salad. I went for the tostada after all, which requires dousing it in the hot salsa (did I mention the salsas here are all made daily, from scratch, even down to crushing the dried chiles for the salsa picante?), squeezing a half a lemon's juice on it, adding some Cholula. Finally we eat. Everybody cleans their plate. We talk with increasing vehemence about politics, gossip about friends. Maybe there's some friendly fondling under the table.

The margaritas at El Coyote have a truth-serum effect... you start telling people childhood secrets. Maybe you tell someone what you really think of them. Maybe you make a pass at someone. Once, Judy tells us, two customers actually "made the sex" on the patio just before closing one night, she bent over the table with one leg on a chair, he behind. I'm guessing there was a margarita close at hand.

We order one more straight up margarita... to share, like communion. We portion it out carefully. No one wants to get shorted. As we eat and drink, hosts and waiters and waitresses drop by and say or just smile and wave. Margie, of the owning family, pours us water and asks if everything is all right. We eat there twice a week so we know them all, not just Judy. Elegant Miguel, competent Siggy, cute Kevin of the ever changing hair, sexy Isabel, mi amor, fabulous-in drag Roberto, (his Carmen Miranda Halloween outfit not to be missed), Fran the token Republican who tells funny jokes, Casanova, Gabby. They're all family. Even the busboys -- did you know that Jose, the one who looks like a hispanic Jason Robards, personally made ALL the house margaritas here for decades? He'd come in every morning at 5 am to fill the big vat in a corner of the kitchen with the secret mix. He finally passed on the secret a few years ago, but you might want to say "thanks" next time you're in.

The margaritas have their unique, slightly psychotropic effect. The restaurant's year-round christmas lights are beautiful. It's someone's birthday, and the worst rendition of "Happy Birthday, Panchito" imaginable -- the wait staff must rehearse daily to keep everyone that far off-key -- never sounded sweeter. Ten minutes later, we're best friends with the birthday boy.

Finally the bill comes -- reasonable, though with steady price increases the past few years (including one just last week -- margaritas now $5.50), it's not quite the steal it was when margaritas were under two bucks and combos were $4.40. As we leave, we say hi to the table of gay men that are always just sitting as we're leaving. We shop for curios in the window: maybe we really do need that see no evil hear no evil speak no evil monkey figurine set. We finally exit... with one quick glance out onto the patio to make sure we're not missing anyone making the sex.

Elvis whips our car around before we even know we're there, and we make it home. The car knows the way. Maybe we party more at our house. We laugh and sing, maybe we dance.

The next morning, maybe we're a little hung over. But it was worth it, and we'll survive somehow. Maybe we'll have a big, late breakfast.

Some huevos rancheros would be nice.

Hmm... the Church of the Dog opens at 11:00 AM...