Once upon a time, I read an interesting review of The Tar Pit on LAist. It wasn’t exactly positive, but it only covered their happy hour and seemed to be more concerned with Chef Mark Peel’s children running around than with the food itself. Most disheartening, though, was Peel’s comments to the review. Needless to say, such a big time chef should not have been so concerned about one bad review and his concern made me less likely to go than the review itself. Yet, to The Tar Pit I went, and I was glad for it.
Through an act of charity (seriously), my lady friend and I found ourselves in possession of a gift certificate to Patrick’s Roadhouse in Santa Monica. The only catch was that this thing expired at the end of December. Being the go-getters we are, we finally made our way there on December 21st to get some brunch. When we arrived, we quickly learned that the whole menu wasn’t being served due to it being the manager’s last day. I’m not sure why that prompted a special menu, but it still looked great and we didn’t ask any questions.
Two of the things I love most in this world are beer and my belly. No, I don’t have a beer belly…much, but when a gastropub in Koreatown called Beer Belly opened up, I figured I had to try it out. I was meeting a group of people, and arrived to find the place packed. And this was not a big place. Like about 8 tables and a few bar stools big, and all of them were loaded. Plus, it was first come, first served, so we got to hang around the tables like vultures surrounding a wounded gazelle. It was the tail end of happy hour, though, so I ordered a beer and hoped a table would clear out soon. Fast forward thirty minutes and we’re still waiting when a woman working the place asks if we’re waiting for a table. Uh, no, lady, we’re just standing here awkwardly for the hell of it. She then proceeded to ask us if we wanted to be on the list. This “list” was new to us, and apparently also new to her, as she told us she had just started it. Well, at least we wouldn’t have to stand awkwardly any longer.
While “the bun” has undergone many iterations (pretzel, brioche, etc…) and sandwich bread is known for its varieties, there is one bread-like breakfast conduit that still hasn’t really seen much glory as far as being put to alternate uses. It is the waffle, but Bru’s Wiffle in Santa Monica is out to change that. You see, Bru’s thinks that waffles need more of the limelight and they are willing to give it. At Bru’s, you can get a pizza waffle, taco waffles and even “sliders” with waffle buns. Of course, Bru’s offers waffles in their sweet breakfast form, but the savory offerings were really what drew me to Bru’s.
Remember playing Cowboys and Indians as a kid? Thankfully, there is a place in the world where that fantasyland still exists. It’s called Arizona, and while not everyone runs around with a gun loaded with 223 ammo, there are places you could picture saddling up a horse just as easily as stopping by in a hybrid. One such place is the Cave Creek Coffee Company, affectionately known as C4 by locals. The facade is reminiscent of Tombstone, but the interior is pure class (not that Tombstone was lacking in class…).
When Jonathan Gold’s latest rendition of the 99 best restaurants in LA came out, I was amazed to find an Indian place basically in my backyard. No, I don’t have an actual backyard because I live in LA, but you get my drift. Fortunately, my body had been craving Indian and I easily convinced my girlfriend that we had to order some carryout from there. While the menu appeared to have typical Indian fare, Mayura actually specialized in South Indian food. With that in mind, I was excited to get down with something new.
A long, long time ago, I was a fledgling meat blogger just getting his bearings. In a desperate attempt to eat Giordano’s and get it on the blog, I bought a half-baked pie in Chicago, packed it in ice and brought it back to LA to finish the baking myself. The result was delicious, and while I reviewed it, I always felt that it was unfair to judge a restaurant in which much of the cooking was up to me. Since those days, very little has changed, but my desire for Giordano’s has only grown stronger. So on my last visit to Chicago, I made sure to hit Giordano’s for real, or to at least have some of my family pick it up for me in Evanston.
And now you may be wondering why an unvegan such as myself would choose to leave sunny Los Angeles for a December weekend foray into the Windy City. With very good reason, in fact, to celebrate the 30th anniversary of my sister’s birth. Yes, it makes me feel old to have a sister so old. But I was delighted at the opportunity to spend a special event with her and a good portion of my family. For the celebration, we headed to a restaurant called Province in downtown Chicago.
In the Windy City for a cold and lovely weekend, some friends, family and other converged upon a brunch place called Yolk in River North. On such a cold day, I was surprised to find such a long line of people waiting to get a piece of Yolk’s action. Despite claiming to have a 20-minutes wait, it was a good 35 minutes until we were seated. It was not a good sign of things to come, but a quick glance at the menu made me immediately forgot the wait it took to get there.
I could read all the food blogs in the world and go to all the restaurants they claim to be great, but nothing really ever beats a personal recommendation. Usually it comes from someone you know and they know your taste better any anonymous or famous food critics. So when my buddy and his lady friend suggested we hit up an Italian place called San Gennaro in Brentwood, I was ready for business.
When we arrived, one look at the menu told me this was not going to be an easy choice. Instantly my eyes met with gnocchi, Italian fried chicken and Ray’s Special pizza. Instead of making the tough decision myself, I asked the waiter to decide for me and he picked the pizza.
