Ritz Bites

The higher end of a weekend in San Francisco

Because I haven't spent a ton of time in San Francisco, especially in recent years, it was time to hit some of the classics. But asking for advice from friends and colleagues was quickly overwhelming.

Too many places. Too much good food. Too hard to decide. (Big problems, I know.) So I left it to fate, and my  trusty eater brother-in-arms MOP noticed a rez at Jardiniere on the Saturday night. I'm glad to cede OpenTable.com stalking to someone whose taste in food I trust.

Jardiniere's been around long enough that the taxi drivers know where it is, but it's not played out. At least not to my foreign SoCal eyes. The Nouveau touches, like the swag iron railings, make it feel like Fancy Special Occasion Place but also fun. I wish more restaurants had a balcony with such panoramic good views of other eaters and the room.

The menu again presented more tough choices, a situation for which the tasting menu took care of everything. And thankfully, everything was great. If only there weren't so many other restaurants to hit up on the next trip, I'd gladly go back just to order the luscious potato gnocchi with lobster, chanterelles and shallot jus topped with just about the best bread crumbs I'd ever tasted; the duck breast with blackberries, farro, and foie gras terrine; and the interesting wine pairings that totally did us in.

The meal felt like a perfect meeting of Northern California and France. If only international relations were this triumphant.

When I told Cicely that our other dinner plan included dinner at Zuni, she pointed out its CP-equivalent iconic status in her mind. Shame on me for never having been! (She didn't really say that. Instead I thought it.)

Compared to Jardiniere, Zuni's menu was well, not as exciting. But it's an impeccably sourced, sustainable apples and oranges comparison. Zuni is closer to the level of what a highly competent home cook can make, many of whom I know are Zuni fans.

Yet its comfort and sincerity is 100% Bay Area (4% "health surcharge" for the city's universal health care program!), and the food will never go out of style. Roasted chicken with bread salad, mustard greens, and pine nuts and currants (a Catalonia-inspired riff I often borrow) is indeed firmly in the Judy Rodgers canon. The crazy $48 price tag for a chicken who lived a happy life is also pure current day S.F. 

I've done my foodie duty. And just shot my street cred by using that word.
 

Best working lunch for one: Akasha

With time to kill on the Westside and a pile of projects to review, I needed a place to plant myself. Turned out to be the perfect conditions for a late lunch at Culver City newcomer Akasha. One of the wide squishy leather bar stools was mine for a couple of hours, along with the expansive crushed limestone bar counter. (The surface is wide and deep enough to be functional in any design studio.)

I ordered wine first, food second. (Should be the other way around especially at lunch, right?) The extremely dark fruit-heavy Prisoner wine doesn’t play nice with Akasha’s many light veggie organic dishes. So what to do? Steak salad, natch. The dressing had the right bite, and the cheese and red onions gave the salad enough kick to stand up to the wine. Which was very necessary, since the steak itself, though tender, was quite under-seasoned, and the multigrain toast points were a total snore.

Chocolate hemp gelato with caramelized bananas epitomizes Akasha's reigning eco-chicness. The hemp factor, while interesting, just  winds up diluting the chocolate flavor, but the bananas are revelatory – layers of clean crisp sugar skin coddle sweet smooth banana within. It's the raw and the cooked, with the best of each. The cookies taste oddly eggy, though.

Extremely convivial service, a lofty green agenda, sophisticated design sense, fresh fruit cocktails (L.A. has enough places doing this to have far exceeded the three-is-a-trend axiom), and an ideally eclectic iPod mix is something I’d love to stumble upon every day. Music sounds amazing in this space, giving me that "I gotta buy / go home and listen to this" feeling I get in record stores.

I have to admit, Akasha’s soaring ceiling and mixed decorative textures give me a touch of neighborhood restaurant envy, especially given the proximity to its neighbors. The state of affairs at Sunset and Vine is comparatively sad, indeed. Again, the hungry public is rewarded for Culver City's smart  planning and redevelopment efforts.

Akasha
9543 Culver Blvd.
Culver City 90232
310.845.1700

Belated birthday post: It's Fraîche (so fresh)

I'm probably the last food blogger in L.A. to go to Fraîche. Finally we went for H's birthday, with high hopes of this much touted Culver City star. Downtown CC no longer looks all dressed up with nowhere to go. Instead, the food/drink/art loving masses come on their own, and spill out onto the sidewalks in front Fraîche and the like.

Frank Bruni's praise for the monkfish danced in my brain during the drive over. I often bitch about not seeing it on enough menus in L.A., and I wanted to taste those tender, meaty nuggets. The dish did not disappoint, and was a great reminder that monkfish doesn't have to come with bacon or a smoky meat to satisfy. The swoosh of silky potatoes underneath was enough extra buttery heft for my taste.

Sweetish dressing on the mushroom salad, however, was an odd choice and detracted from earthy mushroomy flavor. A huge kurobuta pork chop needed more seasoning. At least the platter of Kumamoto oysters was perfect.

The wine list offers plenty to chose from without breaking the bank. Our 2001 Saint-Joseph Rochecourbe by Domaine Alain Paret for $58 was a great buy, versatile enough for our different choices. (The list of typical sherries and ports is unexciting.)

This isn't the place, however, to skimp on the final course. I insisted on hogging the lemon meringue tart to myself, and nibbled on explosively tasty ricotta fritters dotted with sweet tiny early season strawberries.

The volume was loud enough that I didn't even notice the background soundtrack. Even though I'm a little bummed to have missed out on a good mix, this is a good thing. They don't pump up the volume to compete with the already considerable din of lively chatter.

Now the room -- non-kitschy use of flagstone and warm materials, crowded tables, open kitchen. I like it. But the corridor to the bathrooms feels like an entirely different restaurant. Faux-finish walls with bad oil paintings and French themed posters are more typical of cheesy bistros than a Westside restaurant with a developed food and design palate. Confusing.

Culver Citizens are lucky to have Fraîche in the mix. Plus they have fresh fruit cocktails! But if it's oysters, juicy booze, and conversation I crave, I'm grateful that the Hungry Cat is our local spot.

(Which, BTW, totally got robbed by being left off of L.A. Magazine's top 75 list while Fraîche cracked the top 20. Someone was SERIOUSLY out to lunch there -- and not in a good way.)

Fraîche Restaurant
9411 Culver Blvd
Culver City, CA 90232

310.839.6800

WTF took us so long? Campanile Writers' Soup Kitchen

It's February and week I've-lost-count of the WGA Strike. For a while now, Mark Peel has graciously offered the Writers' Soup Kitchen at Campanile featuring prix fixe dinners on Wednesday for $18. The special isn't exclusively for writers only; merely one guest per table has to be a Guild member for all party members to partake.

Apparently WSK nights have been packed ever since this special meal began, but then there are the idiots like us who procrastinate. Thinking about all the typically delicious Campanile food we ate last Wednesday, all I can say is -- dumb move to have waited so long. 

It's an amazing deal. My tangy sidecar cost about half of the $18 meal, and the difference between one dinner and a glass of wine is marginal. We weren't drinking enough to get the $25 bottle paired with the menu, but a friend of ours a couple tables over gave us a glass. (If you're a writer or just know a lot of writers, be prepared to see many familiar faces.) They're giving away the store!

Both the creamy fennel and butternut squash soups started off the meal on the right wintery note. The half grilled chicken was succulent and perfectly charred. The fries vanished, fast. Veal scallopini
isn't my thing, but as far as Italo-Americano classics go, there wasn't anything to complain about. I loved the beluga lentils and pancetta chunks served with the moist and rich mahi mahi. And to finish, small scoops of each vanilla and chocolate gelato tucked together in ebony/ivory harmony and one biscotto are all one needs for dessert.

I still take issue with the name of the meal, but am grateful for the restaurant's largess. And will gladly take advantage of this minor silver lining of the strike again, especially since time might be running out.

Black, white and red all over: Murano on Melrose

The days of ticky tacky newspaper decoupages that plastered the walls at 9010 Melrose Avenue near Doheny are a distant memory.  That's because the large space has been a revolving door of restaurants since the West coast outpost of Cafe Figaro closed sometime in the late 80s or early 90s.  The latest incarnation, an urbane bar/lounge called Murano, is the most extreme design tabula rasa yet.

All the major elements get a check in the "it totally works" box: thin metal alloy piers that modulate the facade, contrasting spotless white surfaces and ebonized floors, a few silver glitter-slathered walls, comfy chairs, and Lucite bar stools.  Best are the dramatic scarlet and black glass lighting fixtures that honor the restaurant's namesake.  Think upscale South Beach and Palm Springs -- a smattering of alter-kakers included.  But the ten lively WeHo boys in our group who were there to celebrate a friend's birthday (plus me and the hubby) were more the target audience. 

A panzanella centered around polenta with heirloom tomatoes, cubes of cucumbers, plus a bit of burrata topped with microgreens needed streamlining.  (On a related note, I must stop confusing panzanella with anchovy-dressed Roman puntarelle!)  In an effort to bring all our main courses at once, the flat iron steak arrived lukewarm; the meat was a little tough and even for me too salty, but the potato galette and pile of spinach were extremely satisfying.  Both dishes, however, seem like they're stuck in the time when Balsamic vinegar was the most exciting Italian ingredient to hit our shores since Parmesan and olive oil, and kitchens everywhere were reducing it by the gallon.  I liked the clean white fish served next to a generous pile creamy leeks.  Murano's portions are generous, plus the Veuve and pinot grigio were flowing heavily enough to somehow eliminate interest in dessert.  We all took small bites of a cute little flourless chocolate cake.

There's a nice specialty cocktail menu, but the wine list isn't terribly interesting.  We're also in $14 cocktail territory here.  Really?  $14?  When did that price become OK outside of a hotel bar, especially for drinks without fresh squeezed juices?

Criticisms aside, it was the most fun group dinner in recent memory (which, admittedly, I generally hate), mostly because of the company.  But I can't discount the setting.  If we go back, it'll be to enjoy the slick-as-a-mofo room in daylight for brunch. 

Murano
9010 Melrose Avenue
West Hollywood 90069
310.246.9118

Photo from Citysearch.

Mr. Wilson's Kitchen of Wonder

The new Culver City has arrived.  Along with more folks wearing Corbu specs than any other part of town, its five square miles is suddenly packed with places to eat.  I never thought I'd be jealous of neighborhood amenities over in that once sleepy suburb, but I am.

Wilson is part of this new crop, and one of the restaurants where it's  easier to plan ahead for a civilized meal for those of us who can't wait an hour for a seat down the street.

There's little to not love here if you're partial to functional furniture that looks like Paul Smith designed it, and if you prefer some Dwell mag style mixed in with an Alice Watersesque kitchen vibe.  The cooking is delicious with some hidden surprises that aren't annoyingly wacky.

I've had a lot of versions of grilled octopus, but never with equally charred green beans and smooth almond slivers.  The gluttonous slow roasted pork has its requisite sweet and savory components, and the grits are studded with corn kernels to give the meltingly soft stuff on the plate some bite, plus a generous pile of greens.  Arctic char reminds me of the firm, sweet ocean trout I had at Bouchon in Santa Barbara.  I bet this dish with soft leeks, tear drop tomatoes and cockles will be ordered more as summer nights warm up.

Not everything is pitch perfect. We're stuck with one damn bad waiter.  We have to wave our arms wildly to get anyone's attention.  He pushes the most expensive wine on the menu -- one of my most hated service tactics.  When asked for wines by the glass, they're recited only by their grape.  Um, we'd like some more information, thank you... 

And when the couple next to us are confused by their still-frozen mousse, he grabs a utensil, crudely carves the offending dessert into more manageable chunks, and walks away satisfied, as if he's done them a favor.  I know it's a really difficult and often thankless job, but that's a pretty funky approach to customer service.

Desserts are the least interesting part of dinner.  The aforementioned hard strawberry white chocolate mousse feels like a semifreddo because it's served too cold.  A lot more effort is put into its whimsical blooming flower presentation than flavor (gelato cones in Parma are spread for a similar effect).  The cookie covering the creme brulee ramekin gives a satisfying extra crunch, and dark chocolate blackberry cake is the densest of the three sweets.

Hollywood, busting at the seams with clubs and not enough exciting new restaurants, needs to take a page from Culver City's book. 

Wouldn't it be nice.

Wilson
8631 Washington Blvd.
Culver City 90232
310.287.2093

On Task: Tasca Wine Bar

Just when I think I'm over small plates, they pull me back in.

Granted Tasca on Third Street doesn't purport to be a traditional tapas bar or try to jump in on the waning trend.  But it gets lumped in that category anyway, because Tasca's menu is divided between small and large plates.  A little bit of ordering confusion arises in our group, at which point I remember that small plates sometimes makes things more difficult rather than convenient.  In the end, however, we're fed and happy, and that's what matters.

Excellent pacing and service have a lot to do with our good moods at the end of the night.  The owners are just so damn nice here.  (I'd been warned.)  Never are we rushed, and we don't ever feel ignored either.  Food comes out just at the right time, with no competing for table or palate space.   We have a lovely chat with Gustavo (owner, I think) about Buenos Aires in between courses.  I silently forgive them for playing the Gotan Project, that most tired of hip restaurant soundtrack staples.  (I'm hardly in a position to criticize since I'm going to the Gotan show at the Bowl the next night.)

No BYOB means H can bring a versatile enough Consilience 2002 Great Oaks Vineyard syrah, which makes me very jealous.  While BYOB has its obvious perks, I'm also glad Tasca finally gets its liquor license next week, so look forward to some good malbecs.  Hopefully this development will increase the buzz and put some more butts in the bar stools that sat empty on Saturday night. 

And what about the food, you ask?  With the exception of a couple off-notes, it's all on target.  Baby artichokes with heirloom tomato slices are firm yet chewy, and bring the simple ingredients together.  The portion is much bigger than I expect, too.  I could've gotten another order of the truffled potato chips.  Rich heavy dishes are best, like the braised short ribs and fettuccine with duck confit.  Had I been focused on the wine I would've ordered more food in this genre rather than stuck to the light stuff, like the disappointingly bland baby octopus salad with mussels, roasted peppers and olives. 

If you're looking for a dessert smorgasbord you best go elsewhere.  Tasca offers only about four items, but two of which we can vouch for their quality.  Strong espresso flavor runs through the gooey chocolate pot du creme, and apple pocket with vanilla ice cream is filled with robust roasted fruit and thankfully, no icky syrups or other fruit byproducts are involved.

Most of the tables are full on Saturday night, plus there's a little scene of outside diners chillin' on sensible outdoor chairs.  While these folks get to enjoy their smokes, they miss out on the blue/brown scheme with antique mirrors and rich woods inside.  And the best touch?  The eclectic selection of beautiful old silverware, likely collected from vintage stores and flea markets in Buenos Aires.  I should've spent more time antique hunting there.

Tasca
8108 W. Third Street
Los Angeles 90048 
323.951.9890

Is BLD a BFD?

The story of this space has already been told.  A succession of restaurants with the right stuff gives it a go in a lovely corner spot in what seems to be a fitting neighborhood.  Great things have been done here (i.e. Roxana's desserts).  Still the revolving door awaits every one of these efforts.  What gives? 

Is BLD enough of a BFD to overcome the curse of the location at Vista and Beverly?   

Signs during Friday lunch seems to point to yes.  Charley and I get there at noon when the diffusely sun-soaked, retooled room is fairly empty.  But by 12:30 it's in full swing.  I recognize some other local business owners, and the rest of the crowd seems to be a mix of worker bees from local Industry-related offices, design firms, slackers like me with time on their hands, etc. 

While I didn't love the one meal I had at Grace (everything was one or two steps overwrought), I had high hopes for BLD.  At the very least, it promises an unfussy menu composed of the best the market has to offer.  And in short, BLD delivers.  So $13 isn't the cheapest butter lettuce salad I've had, but the total deliciousness of blue cheese, light buttermilk dressing, bacon and tomato make it worth the cost.  The glistening and textured pink steak slabs that er, grace Charley's Caesar make for a satisfying meal.  (Tangential point, but I'm pleased to see the Chilewich placemats in red that I get so much use out of at home.)

Like most restaurants, BLD needs to work on the espresso.  And for the love of god, stop serving a lemon peel with it � always a tell tale sign that a restaurant doesn't know from espresso.  What marketing campaign was it that made this become the default mode of serving Italian coffee in the USA?  I have no idea how else to explain how it took hold.  (If anyone does, please  share.)  And why does it still fucking persist? 

This new restaurant isn't all that different from Red, the one that started it all.  They're both upscale incarnations of that most hallowed of American institutions, the Coffee Shop � BLD better focused with classier food and a brand name behind it � but restaurants where for a few bucks more you can eat at a swankier place.  Or for a just couple bucks less you can eat much shittier food.  So that being said, I'll definitely be back during their nicely long business hours to try more than just salads.  Especially since the fries look slammin', and the wide spaces between tables in some areas can accommodate strollers.   Christ, I can't believe I'm already starting to think this way�

BLD
7450 Beverly Blvd.
Los Angeles 90036
323.930.9744

New Twists on Old Classics: Campanile's GCN

How's about a quick rehashing of Grilled Cheese Night at Campanile on Thursday night?

I applaud the recently added open-faced sandwich featuring wild mushrooms with shell beans, sharp Pecorino Romano and parsley sauce (below).  Some of the mushrooms were perfectly nearly charred on the outside and moist inside.  The ingredients together formed a heft that spoke of flavorful, healthy and earthy proteins.

H is already a fan of the sliders (below), so these weren't new to him.  But no less exciting.  These compact burgers were oozing with juice and velvety toppings like caramelized onions and crazy thick pancetta.

Not many foods manage to make an impression that's simultaneously diminutive, macho and adorable.

Lately I just can't say no or keep my hands to myself when a fried potato appears within grabbing distance.  So I ate most of the fries.  That was fun.

I harbor better memories of Broken Napoleons of days past.  This version with plum sauce wasn't as crispy and interestingly textured as others I've had.  But I can't say it's a bad dessert.

Like all things at Campanile, even their average is better than the good that exists outside these walls.

Tip of the Hat to Hatfield's

The renaissance along Beverly Blvd. continues, with Hatfield's the latest restaurant newcomer.  The only place along that stretch I really ever think about much is Angelini, and I'm hardly a regular there; we'll see if Hatfield's helps the street earn its place on the gastro-map. 

The buzz so far on Hatfield's is good.  I'm happy to welcome any farmers' market driven restaurant with a focus on simple but creative dishes.  But apparently it's not staggering difficult to get a reservation for Thursday night dinner, happily.  (Afternoon tea around here is still a different matter entirely, dammit.) 

The three of us at dinner agree to skip the main courses and stick to the apps.  It's a good strategy in general these days, and is appropriate to Hatfield's menu; the entres don't particularly interest me, and when the nighttime outside temp hovers around 70 degrees I'm definitely not craving rack of lamb.  My stomach isn't distended from two appetizers, but I'm not hungry either, thanks in part to the hot crusty rolls topped with a thin layer of melted cheese.

As for the physical environs, muted colors and sparse furnishings suggest the owners and decorators spent some time perusing back issues of Real Simple.  I recognize the chandelier over the bar from recent DWR catalogues.  Al fresco dining is pleasant, even if the chair and my back don't become great friends.

I love me some invertebrates, so the Japanese octopus dish is mine (top right).  Delicately placed beneath and around the thin slices of grilled octopus is mellow fennel, tangy olive puree with a thickening starch component, saffron vanilla braised heart of palm, and orange rind.  The last two pieces aren't very distinguishable, nor are they at all objectionable.  Textures and tastes meld together quite well.

I feel very dainty taking careful bites of the "warm summer salad" with corn raviolini, zucchini puree and an assortment of attractive tiny fresh tomatoes and painstakingly peeled favas (above left).  They're also into artfully placed microgreens and sprouts here.  Next time I'd ask if a larger portion is an option, since this combo highlights sweet seasonal veggies and is warm but not piping hot.  In other words, perfect for summer, just like the name implies. 

Dessert takes up the stomach space we still have to spare.  Like I've said before, I tend to prefer panna cotta firm � but not too solid � instead of the more common runny variety.  This one falls into the latter category (above right).  But the strawberry and fruity accompaniments plus the gently curved tuille are delicious, especially on this toasty night.  And a bit of thinly sliced melon and strands of mint go a long way. 

I then sample an entire beignet, which is smooth and consistently airy (I like textured beignets better), and eat a big bite of the sucker-punch-of-a-molten-cake featuring chocolate and gooey peanut butter.  To finish we're given crisp chocolate praline bars that are each slightly smaller than a Kit Kat piece.  Though stuffed with sweets we already are, they're appreciated anyway.

While waiting for my car I peek into the window of BLD, which is on the verge of opening at the corner of Vista two doors down from Hatfield's in the erstwhile Red/Opaline/Caf Capo space.  Might it be able to bring more joy to those who live in Miracle Mile North and overcome the curse of the location?

Hatfield's
7458 Beverly Blvd.
Los Angeles 90036 
323.935.2977