Recently in Restaurants Category

The other day, my friend Howie announced that the Artisan Cheese Gallery would be serving his self-created sandwich vision, simply titled "The Howie." I had no idea what the Artisan Cheese Gallery was, but after some thorough investigation (ie. reading more than the first line of his email), I discovered that it was a neat restaurant / gourmet shop in Studio City that's been throwing some sort of sandwich making contest on Twitter. Anyway, Howie submitted his concoction (hence "The Howie"), and on Saturday it was featured on the restaurant's menu to wide acclaim. I unfortunately was not able to partake in the festivities, which was most sad not because I wanted to support a friend, but because the sandwich looked really, really good. How good? Well, it's roast beef, gorgonzola, and caramelized onions on a ciabatta that's gone through a panini press. Oh, and it's served au jus. Needless to say, I was most bummed to have missed it.

However, when Howie revealed via Twitter that the sandwich would be making a return appearance today, I knew I couldn't let the opportunity pass. I zipped over the hills, met up with Howie and his friend Nick, and headed over to the Artisan Cheese Gallery. The experience was remarkable. I cannot extol the virtues of Howie's creation widely enough. It was totally delicious, thanks in large part to the Artisan Cheese Gallery, which crafted each sandwich with extremely high quality ingredients. I'm not endorsing this sandwich because Howie made it. I'm endorsing it because it's just awesome.

And of course pictures after the jump...

I don't know how it was for the rest of the country, but the weather in LA this past weekend was fantastic, and what better way to enjoy the sunshine than by stepping out and taking a hike? Inspired by a recent post in LAist about hidden staircases in Hollywood, I recruited two fellow hoofers — Lisa Timmons (of Socialite Life) and Bets — to join me as we explored the nooks and crannies of Beachwood Canyon, an area populated by mansions and hidden paths. The journey covered 2.1 miles of territory and over eight hundred stairs total; so as you can imagine, we worked up quite the appetite (not to mention sweat). Pictures of the adventure, including our delicious post-hike lunch as well as a significant double celebrity interaction (ooooh!) and a car wreck (ahhhh!), after the jump...

Back in October of last year, I detailed a particularly enjoyable yet sweaty trip to Jitlada Thai Cuisine, a restaurant that is widely regarded as one of the best Thai eateries in Los Angeles. This is thanks in part to its unique Southern Thai menu whose famously delicious (and notoriously spicy) offerings have been well documented by Chowhound, Yelp, LA Weekly, and just about any enclave of the Internet prone to discussing such things. Needless to say, it's an experience.

Well, after having checked out my perspiration-filled adventures at Jitlada, Tony at the food blog SinoSoul contacted me about getting together with a bunch of discerning bloggers for a full-on feast at the storied Thai restaurant. It sounded very exclusive, and as one might expect, I thrive on exclusivity. Throw in the opportunity to sample the sundry items of Jitlada's menu, and I was sold. Little did I realize that I would soon be spending nearly four hours in a chair, stuffing my face with seventeen different courses of food, the majority of which were spicy enough to send my regulatory system into overdrive on at least three or four different occasions.

In other words, it was awesome. Pictures and details after the jump...

UGH. My quest for a free Angry Whopper has become a drawn out affair, no thanks to Burger King, which seems unwilling to hold up its end of the bargain. After four weeks had gone by since I'd dropped ten friends from Facebook as per the rules of the promotion, I decided to call up Burger King headquarters to find out where the EFF my Angry Whopper was. I spoke to a lovely woman named Wilmarie, who informed me that the mistake would be rectified and that Burger King would be sending me a coupon right away. At last, it seemed like I'd be making headway. I then spent the next seven days furiously checking my mailbox hoping that maybe, just maybe this Angry Whopper saga could be put to an end.

WELL. Today, I was delighted to see an unassuming envelope from Burger King sitting in my mailbox. Ahhhh... sweet, sweet victory. I was so excited that I almost blasted off a mobile "tweet" right then and there to proclaim my joy at having finally received a free Angry Whopper. But then I opened up the envelope, and inside was a generic apology letter — no surprise there — and a coupon for one free... Whopper. Not an Angry Whopper, mind you. Just a regular, run-of-the-mill, emotionally neutral Whopper. Normally, this would be ground for celebration and tears, but alas, I now find myself in a bizarrely awkward situation: should I be grateful for what I have and simply enjoy my free burger in peace? Or should I demand the specific bounty which I am owed? I feel ungrateful for complaining, but I also feel cheated by sitting here quietly. What say you, oh readers from the Internets?

In the meantime, I will try to use the coupon to score the Angry Whopper. After all, "Whopper" might just be an umbrella term, in which case... never mind!

Developing...

Sacrifice #9: It's none other than Sherayay from The Real Housewives of Atlanta! And who better to go down in flames than the genius behind She By Sherayay? Well, actually, I can think of one more deserving person, but that won't be revealed until tomorrow. I suppose I could tell you today, but that would be like throwing a fashion show with no fashions. And how the hell are you supposed to do that?

In the meantime, let's hope that Sherayay doesn't take this fiery dismissal too harshly. At least she'll still have that big ol' house to live in. OH WAIT.

We're getting close to the end here. Today I sacrificed Teri (and a wax version of The Rock), which means I only have two more people to destroy. Who will they be? Stay tuned...

In the meantime, BURN, TERI, BURN!!!!!

As I mentioned last week, Burger King has this nifty new promotion for its new item, the Angry Whopper. Just drop ten friends from Facebook and get a free sandwich! How can I turn that down? Last week, I dispensed of two hapless souls. Over the weekend, I managed to drop four more people. Their identities after the jump...

Second to go down: "Squirtle Squirtle"

Reasoning: This Pokemon-esque creature added me a while back, and for some bizarre reason (probably drunkenness), I added it. I always felt I should drop it, but I knew I'd have to wait for the right moment. I'm glad I waited. 20% there!

First up in flames: the mysterious Lisa!

BURN IN HELL!!!!!

Just under eight weeks ago, as part of a Hills promotional tie-in, I posted a contest imploring people to state their worthiness to win $25 of free Sonic fast food. I really didn't expect much of a response, but I must have vastly overlooked the draw of free food and perhaps underestimated the quality of Sonic (which I still have not tried). Anyway, I received many submissions, and they were all well-written, well-stated, and well-imbued with the sort of sentimental stuff that really pulls the heartstrings.

I had a very difficult time choosing a winner, but alas, the time has come.

The winning entry after the jump...

Last week, my friend IndianJones made a random pop-in at my apartment and expressed a desire to consume spicy food for dinner. Where else to go but Jitlada Thai Cuisine, a local Thai restaurant that has made a name for itself as being one of the spiciest — if not the spiciest — restaurants in Los Angeles. I had only gone one prior time, and that visit ended with me literally emerging from the restaurant looking as if I'd just run a half marathon. Yes, I was a sweaty mess, but it was quite delicious. I'd been hankering to go back ever since, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. But would the second time bring beads of sweat anew? Pictures after the jump...

Avid followers of The Hills may notice Sonic's various parody ads scattered throughout the telecast on a weekly basis. This is all part of the fast food chain's serialized spoof, titled The Stalls, and in an effort to promote both the ad campaign and their restaurants, the good people of Sonic have sent me a $25 gift certificate for use at my discretion. But not only that, they've included a second $25 gift certificate to give away to my readers. Well, if there's anything I like more than free food, it's giving away free food (except to doe-eyed orphans. Why they gotta be so needy, yo?).

So here's how this will work. If you want the gift certificate, write in with a heartfelt plea, and whoever makes the best case for themselves will win it. Be advised that I may publish your email.

Now, for no reason other than me being bored, please enjoy several photos from The Hills, photoshopped to include milkshakes.

When I was in ninth grade, my dreams came true one night when my brother took me to Planet Hollywood in New York City. Surely I would be in for a night of celebrities and glamor, the likes of which had never been experienced outside the hallowed city limits of Los Angeles. Well, we didn't see any stars that night, but I did get to enjoy a delicious offering of Cap'n Crunch chicken fingers; so it really wasn't all bad. Nevertheless, the silly restaurant chain has always had a special, kitschy place in my heart, and so when my friend Michelle recently dropped by Planet Hollywood, I vicariously relived all those glorious memories through her blog post. It's worth checking out, even if you don't have dumb sentimental attachments to the house of Arnold, Bruce, and Sly.

• Planet Hollywood… 17 Years Later [Best Week Ever]

A few weeks ago, I headed off to local Middle Eastern restaurant / institution Marouch for the first time to enjoy some hummus, pita, and various other delectable treats from the Fertile Crescent. Joining me in the fun was my old friend and Metromix contributor Katherine Spiers, who for the past two years or so had been goading me into trying this fabled eatery. It was worth the wait. Photos of our culinary adventure after the jump.

ME WANT FOOD.

This past Sunday, the Lametourage (a.k.a. me, J-Unit, Jash, IndianJones, and our out-of-town friend Dan) all hit up local Chinese restaurant Genghis Cohen, and while yes, Jash and I had a very disagreeable incident there on Christmas of last year, the truth is that GengCo is too damn good to be ignored. How good is it? Well, as you can see from these pictures, we attacked the food like a pack of ravished hyenas. It wasn't until after the dust settled that we realized we had made such a huge, huge mess. It's a thin line between civilization and barbarianism, and we straddled it on Sunday.

A few more pics of our boorish feast after the jump...

It comes with a heavy heart that I must announce the passing of a great/horrible/beloved casual dining chain, Bennigans. Yes, that oh-so-lovable, Irish-y, neighborhood "Tavern & Grill" has closed its doors in the wake of its parent company filing for bankruptcy. This is absolutely devastating news to me mainly for one reason and one reason alone: the Monte Cristo. You know what I'm talking about. That glorious, cholesterol-laden sandwich that seems to be a gift straight from the deep-fried gods. I've had many Monte Cristos in my time — some good, some not so good — and while a few have come close, none have ever been able to touch the pure, greasy perfection that is the Bennigans Monte Cristo. For the uninitiated, the sandwich consists of several layers of ham, turkey, and cheese (American and Swiss), all deep fried in battered bread and sprinkled with sugar. Marvelous. Just marvelous.

I remember the first time I had one back when I was a kid. I think I was in Philly on a family trip. What I thought would just be another ordinary sandwich proved to be the start of a decades long love affair that to this day will occasionally prompt me to drive all the way out to Glendale, CA (gross) just to get the sandwich. Honestly though, it's been about two or three years since I last went; so I suppose I'm part of the problem, not the solution. The sad truth is that I've never lived near a Bennigans. They always seemed to be thirty or forty-five minutes away. The closest I ever came to Bennigans nirvana was in 2000 when I was an intern at the WWE in Stamford. Lo and behold, there was a Bennigans just about a mile away from the Stamford, CT offices, and you better believe I was there at least once a week to fetch my Monte Cristo to go. Did I smell what The Rock was cooking? Not necessarily. But I always smelled that sandwich.

Oh well. I guess those days are long gone now. At least I still have Red Lobster. Never leave me, Big Red. Never leave me.

• Bennigan's Closed After Parent Co. Files For Bankruptcy [NBC5i.com via Slashfood]

I realize that a lot of people who read this blog don't necessarily live in Los Angeles, but that's no reason why we all can't simply adore this restaurant review which absolutely eviscerates one of the city's oldest establishments, Gladstone's of Malibu. The famed seafood joint gets the royal treatment from Leslie Brenner (subbing in for critic S. Irene Virbila), who viciously tears apart nearly every plate that descends on her unlucky table. I have to admit that I was damn glad she did it too. I ate at Gladstone's a year ago, and I was shocked at both the pricing and the mediocrity (at best) of the food. How could a place like this be so popular? I guess one can never underestimate the power of an oceanfront view.

Nevertheless, Brenner's review is laugh-out-loud funny at times; so much so that I just had to compile some of my favorite quotes:

Ready to be horrified? Check out the near toxic plight of PJ's Oysterbed, a San Francisco seafood restaurant that closed at the end of May. For reasons unknown, the management and employees left the premises without even bothering to clean out their inventory, which means that for about two weeks, a pile of Dungeness crabs and RAW OYSTERS have been sitting in what was formerly an ice bed and is now a puddle of warm water. The stench is so bad, pedestrians can smell it on the street. But it gets worse. It seems as though San Fran's pesky subterranean population has discovered this rotting festival of neglect. That's right: rats have now descended on PJ's Oysterbed, and they are currently feeding on the rancid remains of the seafood. Oh, and they're not just normal rats. They are huuuuuge. Note the picture above. Horrifying.

For more information on this stomach-turning debacle, check out Eater SF's coverage here and here.

When it comes to late night dining, Los Angeles has its fare share of offerings; although, truth be told, we could always use more. I can only go to my after-hours haunts so many times before ennui kicks in. That why I'd been so excited to try The Waffle, one of the latest entries in the LA pseudo-diner circuit. The 22-hour restaurant opened earlier this year, and already, it has stirred up quite the controversy in the food-blogging community. Some people love the kitchen's wide variety of dishes; others feel its overrated. There's been backlash, and there's been backlash on the backlash — so as you can imagine, I really didn't know what to expect when I wandered into the restaurant with my friends, J-Unit and IndianJones, this past weekend.

I'll sum it up in one clear, unfortunate word: overpriced.

After a prolonged, icy winter that left Los Angeles reeling in the permafrost of multiple 62 degree days, the sun finally came out this past weekend, sizzling the Southland up to temperatures reaching triple digits. It was, in short, excellent. To celebrate this change (not to mention the impending weekend), my friends and I decided to undergo some change ourselves. No, we didn't become trannies. Instead, we tried out a new Mexican restaurant: The Gardens of Taxco.

By now, at least half the Angelenos reading this post are probably chuckling to themselves as the word "new" doesn't often accompany "Gardens of Taxco." The family-run restaurant has been around since the seventies and has become a mini-institution in its own right. None of us, however, had stepped foot inside this wood-paneled mecca, despite its convenient location. On Friday, we decided that was all about to change. For once, Don Antonio's, El Coyote, and Marix Tex-Mex would have to wait. We were tryin' new Mexican!

Things just aren't getting any better for me on the Los Angeles restaurant scene. One of my favorite higher end restaurants, Bin 8945, is closing down tonight. I first went there on a whim with my friends, J-Unit and Jash. It was almost a year ago — March 2007 — and the meal served as an impromptu celebration to mark the end of our time at TVgasm. We decided to splurge and order the tasting menu with the wine pairings, and needless to say, it was remarkably delicious. One of the best meals I'd had in Los Angeles. And it kept going. At the end of the night, we counted about fourteen courses, and even though that was spread over about three hours, we were, as you can imagine, stuffed.

Of course, the wine left us in a jovial mood, and midway through the meal, we became a bit loud. We raised our glasses to Los Angeles Times food critic S. Irene Virbila several times, often adding a boisterous ode to her good recommendation. "NICE CHOICE, S. IRENE VIRBILA" we guffawed many, many times. It really wasn't that funny, but we thought we were hilarious. Again —  the wine.

Later on, after the place had pretty much cleared out, restaurant owner David Haskell, who had been waiting on us, happily informed us that the entire time, S. Irene Virbila had been sitting at the very next table over. We were astounded. So many emotions coursed through me: I was sort of embarrassed, sort of thrilled, and sort of sad that I hadn't even noticed what the woman next to me had looked like. If only I had known! If only!

On a subsequent trip to Bin 8945 with my parents, the experience wasn't nearly as great. Our reservations had been lost, the dishes were hit-and-miss (oh, but when they hit...), and the service wasn't nearly as strong. Still, I chalked it up to an "off night." I've wanted to go back many times, but alas, I never made it, and now it's shutting down. If it weren't for the strike, I'd head over tonight. According to Eater LA, the restaurant will be serving a special meal, prepared by guest chef MaryAnn Salcedo (a.k.a. Gordon Ramsey's sidekick on Hell's Kitchen). Eight courses, $100 a head plus $70 wine pairing. As S. Irene might say: fun.

Just weeks after having been unceremoniously (and unforgivably) shut down, beloved neighborhood restaurant Cha Cha Cha has been stripped of its exterior charm, thus rendering its facade a blank, white shell of its former self. I guess this is the way rock enthusiasts felt when Nickelback showed up on the scene.

Nevertheless, this was all inevitable, but who knew it'd be so painful? If anyone needs me, I'll be crying in the corner.

Back in September, I went on a highfalutin jaunt to Paris with some friends, and while there, we had lunch at a cozy, New York Times-recommended bistro called Chez Michel. The meal was delicious — some of the best mussels I've ever had — but nothing could prepare me for the cheese plate I had ordered for dessert. Turns out the plate was less a of plate and more of a miniature fromagerie. No dainty slices of brie here — just giant blocks of cheese. It could have fed ten people. We were all so shocked when this leviathan offering of dairy products descended on the table that I immediately whipped out my camera and snapped a quick photo.

Little did I realize this offhand pic would soon become the toast of the Internet. Okay, maybe that's an overstatement. It's only been viewed twenty times. BUT I was most honored when the editors of the online travel resource Schmap contacted me about using the photo in their latest Paris guide. I'm not going to lie: I was floored, and I don't even know why. It's cool and everything, but when I received the email, I literally felt like I had been nominated for an Academy Award. I think it's because it was like two in the morning, and I was tired and/or delirious. Nevertheless, I've since come down from my Schmap-induced high, but I remain quite flattered that the editors saw artistry (or at least functionality) in my pic. To check out the photo in all its Schmappy context, click here.

Oh, and as for the cheese, it was quite tasty. We quickly deduced that it was indeed a traveling plate, meant for consumption by multiple tables. Probably not the most sanitary of practices, but oh so very European!

• Chez Michel [Schmap!! Paris]

Cha Cha Cha in 2005

Back on New Years Eve, my friends and I attempted to patronize Caribbean eatery Cha Cha Cha, but the lines were simply too long for our celebratory timetable. We instead headed down the street to The Boulevard, happy to discover a suitable dining option on such short notice. Little did we realize, however, that this alternative would soon become a permanent solution to our culinary woes. Yes, Cha Cha Cha, one of our favorite local tapas joints, summarily closed later that evening, never to open again. You heard me right. No more guava and goat cheese quesadillas. No more pitchers of flavorful sangria. And no more random sightings of Maggie Gyllenhaal or Ananda Lewis. Cha Cha Cha is done.

The restaurant apparently fell victim to its landlord's myopic vision of an upgrade. According to Eater LA, rumors abound that the space will be used to house a new club, and adding insult to injury, the venue will be run by Art and Allan Davis, the brothers who, with Justin Timberlake, unleashed Chi on Los Angeles three years ago. For those of you who don't remember Chi, let me try to describe it with a few, brief words: awful.

The good news, I guess, is that the original Cha Cha Cha is still open in Silver Lake, but honestly, who wants to go all the way over there? I have better things to do other than wade through a sea of scoffing hipsters and hairy leather enthusiasts. Well, actually, I don't, but that's besides the point. I guess what I'm trying to say is... we'll miss you, Cha Cha Cha. Your sangria will always have a place in our livers.

A sight rarer than the unicorn.

When it comes to dining options on Christmas, the choices are few and far between for the greater non-Christian population of America; however, there is usually one standby whose open doors have become a tradition unto themselves. I'm of course talking about your neighborhood Chinese restaurant, a culinary outpost in a sea of "Closed for Christmas" door signs. Eating Chinese on Christmas is pretty much the de facto alternative dining option on the 25th — so much so that it was even immortalized in that most hallowed of holiday offerings, A Christmas Story.

So surely finding a Chinese restaurant open on Christmas in Los Angeles should be no problem, right? In a city with a rather sizable Jewish population, not to mention two popular Chinese eateries with the seemingly un-Christian names of Genghis Cohen and Mao's Kitchen, a veritable feast of Yangtze proportions would await those of us seeking out the supple flavors of soy and MSG. Or so we thought. This is Los Angeles, of course —  a city that rarely makes sense at any given time.

To those unfamiliar with the latest offerings on Los Angeles's Lazy Susan of fads, one particular sensation that has swept the city by storm has been the Frozen Yogurt craze, helpfully nurtured by Pinkberry and its many imitators. Basically, people have rediscovered FroYo, but this time around, they've taken out the flavoring, added fresh toppings, and convinced themselves that they're now eating health food. I'm not necessarily opposed to the whole movement, but I can't abide by any frozen yogurt shop (or frozen dairy shop in general) that doesn't offer a chocolate option for those of us less health inclined (Pinkberry, it should be noted, has a scant selection consisting of only Plain and Green Tea. Oh, and their signature flavor: AWFUL).

Well, over the past year, dozens of Pinkberry knockoffs have sprouted up across the city, and now, it seems the bubble is at last bursting. One of the first casualties is none other than the miserable establishment, Yogurtpia, which happens to be one of the places I've actually been to. According to Eater LA, the storefront is covered with ominous, brown paper, hopefully signaling the end to this embarrassment of an enterprise. Yes, it's a joyous time for me, as Yogurtpia's unceremonious death fills me with great satisfaction. But why? Why am I so thrilled that a generic yogurt shop has disappeared into the night, never to be heard from again?