February 5, 2014
I have a deep and abiding love for brunch. I know from reading Anthony Bourdain that cooks hate working weekend brunch, and that most of it is derivative, overpriced slop, often cobbled together from whatever’s left over from the week’s dinners. I know all that, and yet, I can’t get enough of the soft light and copious coffee and bloody marys. And hopefully, if I’ve done my research, I find a place like The Tasting Kitchen that takes brunch as seriously as I do.
Three different kinds of bloody marys, people. You have the option of having your waffles (which are paired with ridiculously most, flavorful, crunchy fried chicken) stuffed with bacon.
I went with my buddy A of party bus fame and ordered enough food for four people. And then he ordered half a grapefruit. Unironically.
January 29, 2014
A bunch of colleagues and I were two bars in on an after work bar crawl when we ran into/onto this new place. We had been aiming for the truly terrible dive bar next door (which turned out to be closed for the night), but fortuitously we veered a little to the right and landed in Honeycut.
Honeycut is the kind of bar that I find myself in more and more these days: dark, vaguely speakeasy-ish spaces with intricate, ambitious craft cocktail programs (blah blah homemade bitters blah handcrafted sodas something something) and a little something extra going on on the side (in this case, a disco with a Saturday Night Fever light-up floor).
I’ve been back a couple of time since, both with colleagues and with friends, and have never had a bad time. I like a bar that equally pleases lawyers in suits sporting expense accounts and vagabondish twenty-somethings in torn jeans and flip-flops.
- January 27, 2014
December 10, 2013
There is a lot of hype going on around Wolvesmouth, the LA underground supper club / “culinary happening” that’s so fucking hip that it had a residency at the Santa Monica Museum of Art. It’s easy to see how Wolvesmouth could be passed over as overly pretentious bull. It’s one of the hardest tables to book in LA (probably even moreso than Trois Mec, due to high demand and its curated lottery system). The locations is secret, and you don’t get directions until the morning of the dinner. The plates themselves often look like Jackson Pollock paintings.
I am here to tell you: Wolvesmouth, both the experience and the food, is not bullshit.
ribeye cap. plantain. broc stalk. piña. mint aioli. queso fresco. broc tempura. black bean soubise.
Consider: this dinner takes place in someone’s home. Therefore, all of the cooking is done with the limitations of a home kitchen. Churning out nine courses from that space is impressive in itself. They may have two fridges, but your stove is probably better than theirs.
crab. cauliflower. turnip. cabbage. cider. brussels. apples. cabbage.
The food is way less postmodern than internet research would have you believe. Possibly due to the home kitchen environment, there are no foams, no spherification, no gimmicks. (Not that I’m anti-foam or anything, but sometimes it’s a bit too much.) For all the painterly flourishes and pretty platings, this is all honest food, sometimes with unexpectedly homey flavors. Really tasty stuff, folks. I’m not going to break it down dish by dish (as there are lots of other bloggers who have done that, and done it better than I ever could). Honestly, if you go, you won’t have the same menu I did.
ocean trout. marscapone. onion jam. profiterole. candied lemon geleé. snap pea. yellow wax.