Ritz Bites

Friends at the Bar: Rustic Canyon

The reasons to haul out to Rustic Canyon on Wilshire and 12th Street are plenty: this chic yet cozy restaurant is named for the ONLY Westside neighborhood I'd move to, our friend Jon is the mixologist, and it's owned by a fellow Crossrodian.  We took our chances driving across town on a Thursday night to nab one of the highly sought after bar stools, but it was worth the risk.   

Sitting with friends and Jon as he kept the bar going and we sampled Rustic Canyon's food and drink =  bonus.   

I took my time with the Indochine, a sweet prosecco-based drink with a light tang of ginger and lemongrass, since I allowed myself just one libation (o.k., plus a bunch of tiny sips).  In my previous life I would've sucked it down and made my way through many of the other drinkies, none of which you can go wrong with -- as long as effervescent white wines agree with you. 

Favorite dishes included the bowl of skinny crispy fries, wild snapper ceviche, intense mussels, and fried green tomatoes with burrata, which is quite substantial and fatty but not greasy. 

After the savory foods were gone, the bar was crowded with desserts -- Gaviota strawberry shortcake, peach cobbler, and the marshmallow-blanketed rocky road bread pudding.  All very large portions (almost too large, if there is such a thing)  and made with the bestest, freshest ingredients.

No more being at a loss about where to eat in Santa Monica.  Now, if only a similar place called Bronson Canyon would open on Franklin Avenue...

Rustic Canyon
1119 Wilshire Blvd.
Santa Monica, CA 90401
310.393.7050

FLLW To-Go and other post-weekend questions

What kind of shitty hostess am I?  We invite people over for dinner at our house and then they bring the main dish.  Because our friends Andy and Jennifer worked so hard to make this incredible "blog worthy" dinner for us, I must sing their praises.  Andy too follows the good book of Steve Raichlen in all matters grill-related, and this tandoori chicken is no exception.  I learned the red which we generally associate with the dish often comes from food coloring; it's definitely not a naturally occurring result of the spices in the recipe.  Plus the spicy coriander walnut sauce kicked ass.  Anyone who uses Raichlen's books should take note: the sauce and lamb make a fantastic pair, too.  I also used it to spice up steamed carrots a couple nights later.

But even if I felt guilty, I admit it's pretty sweet to not to sweat the big stuff and just take care of the wines, soup, dessert, cleaning up, and miscellaneous tidbits.   

Is it just me, or does anyone else find it both strange and cool that designers of take-out containers seem to be inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright? 

My onion rings from Birds came packaged in a Styrofoam (boo) box that reminded me of the iconic Coonley Playhouse art glass window designs.  I'm sure the great man would be, um, honored to see his influence manifested in such humble of places. Damn, I just met E.L. Wright; I should've asked him. 

Wright gear is merchandised up the yin yang, but this I haven't seen in any gift shops yet. 

And on a sassier and more annoying note, what's up with this sample of "group of global style setters [for whom] ordering ros is a sign of being in the know"?  These enology enthusiasts are clutching glasses of must-serve-super-chilled wine by the bowl as if they're about to shatter the stemware into 1,000 pieces. 

At the risk of sounding like an asshole snobby anti-snob who maintains a strong love/hate relationship with the Sunday Styles section (ahem), I ask: was the wine served to them frozen?  Or do they like bringing it to room temp?  I wonder what Kermit Lynch makes of the young and beautiful sophisticates downing the wonderful Domaine Tempier Bandol he distributes.  Eh, business is business I suppose.  And I better drink my bottle of 2004 sooner-ish than later, trend or no trend.