A noteworthy food writer made this comment about LA's food scene when I asked her where to go while visiting. In my week of eating, I've only had two fine dining experiences, neither of which blew my socks off. The first was at The Tar Pit in Hollywood. The place was filled with impeccably dressed couples, white leather banquets and a staff that looked liked the cast on Gossip Girl. We ordered a few appetizers that had extravagant descriptions and failed executions. The drinks were well made and of the prohibition era, which has become common place at even moderately hip restaurants across the country. The following evening, we went to Mozza, Mario Batali's pizza joint with Nancy Silverton's famous crust. The hostess told us that 11:30PM was the soonest we could sit down, so we headed to Comme Ca, a French Bistro known for their burger on brioche. The bone marrow and oxtail marmalade was rich and delicious, the burger cold at the center, the rest . . . a slightly refined version of the grand buffet on the final day of culinary school. (Sort of forced conceptually, over salted and too rich.) This morning, we went to The Griddle Cafe, the hottest brunch place on Sun Set strip, with two hour waits. Worth the wait. Brown sugar baked bananas are set into buttermilk batter, made into pancakes and piled high. Huevos Rancheros is composed of two perfectly poach eggs atop fresh made corn tortillas, swimming in a smoky red sauce and topped with a generous slice of California avocado. Real good.
Los Angeles may not be breaking new ground on the fancy food front, but the ethnic food, street food and "down and dirty" food is golden.
Tomorrow morning I head to San Francisco on the 101. I think I've had it with the billboards, high heels and Maseratis. I'm hoping for a little more sincerity.
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