Ritz Bites

Dress Me Up! Dress Me Down! Figuring Out Bastide

Some cheer the demise of formality, and some defend it. I straddle both camps. Growing up in my particular Los Angeles meant hardly ever having to dress up, and god forbid, never addressing anyone by their last name. For a while in college, I avoided using any name at all, relying instead on plain "Professor." I loved our laid-back lifestyle, and thought any dress code was totally wack. Part of this ethic came from my family. When my parents were invited to the Harvard Club of NY with a cousin, for instance, my dad got a cheap pair of Top-Siders or some WASPy aspirational style shoe, wore them to dinner, and then immediately gave them away. Avoiding that kind of "horseshit" was part of the reason why my folks moved to L.A. in the first place.

 

Call me reactionary, but now as an adult, I love any rare excuse to dress up. I've got a closet full of clothes fit for a lifestyle which as a parent with young messy kids, I simply do not lead. And I'm looking right at ya, Carolina Herrera Emmy gown that I SWORE I'd wear again. I get pissed off when people think rocking jeans in very nice restaurants is cool, and I don't think it's excusable to wear Levi's just because you're carrying an Hermes handbag that costs more than my car.

But I still feel uncomfortable in any environment that requires a certain standard of dress, or puts on fancy formal airs, even if there's no posted, official dress code. So the infamous topsy-turvy story of Bastide on Melrose Place is an excellent case study of weighing feelings and attitudes towards Los Angeles's attempts at "white tablecloth" dining.

Back during the Alain Giraud era of Bastide version 1.0, I picked Bastide for my Fancy Birthday Dinner in 2003. It was a major special treat for us that required saving pennies, and my unreliable memory romanticizes the experience as The Time When More Fine Dining Existed.

Thanks to the miracle of the googling, I found a query and subsequent report I posted on Chowhound (written under a stupid handle I used for a pair of seconds). Even if I cringe reading my ignorant Chowhounding and writing from way back then, it's a reality check about why maybe it's a GOOD thing that yet another Big Fucking Deal Fancy Place changed with the times.

And yet, when we went to Bastide for our anniversary last Friday, I felt a slight tinge of sadness that Andrée Putman's cool, exacting, maximally conceived minimal décor had given way to scarlet accent walls, beaded curtains (eek!), banana leaf wallpaper (although I'm always down with an ode to the Paul Williams period at the Beverly Hills Hotel), Campbell soup can pendant light fixtures, and even an Assouline bookstore. At least the patio hasn't changed much. But when I re-read my 2003 account of our meal, it's no wonder that as the night wore on during this last time around, we were so comfortable in the space that feels charmingly intimate and unlike any other restaurant in Los Angeles. And it's not because Bastide is the city's most expensive or most precious place.  

Even if the menu reads like a straightforward modern French and Cali market-driven roster, and is worlds away from Giraud's approach. Not to mention Ludovic Lefebvre's tenure at Bastide, and LudoBites, where we'd ironically enough, just been for a phenomenal meal the night before. Executive Chef Joseph Mahon's focused cooking delivers. From the platter of Kumamotos topped with Banyuls vinegar shallot mignonette and simply arranged in a row, to the velvety sweet corn soup with its bit of porky and curried bite, to the slices of yielding yellowtail with shaved asparagus and apple soy dressing that mellows and accents the fish, to the buttery medium rare steak slices with peas (not totally in season but I'll forgive that), this was all careful but not fussy. In short, satisfying and classy. I couldn't get through the version of mac n' cheese made with orzo, fontina and beloved Époisses -- but high falutin, stunt interpretations don't do much for me. Where there once was strained delicate tomato water soup, there's a full-bodied but smooth, tangy gazpacho studded with mild shrimp. Not as technically "impressive," but hits the seasonal spot. Desserts are lovely. The buttermilk panna cotta's raspberry consome dazzles under that Campbell's soup can light. The subtle bottle of '96 La Gomerie from the wine list of special and low-inventory bottles priced at or below retail had something to do with the warm happy feeling, but I would've been won over anyway.

Bastide's prices aren't at the upper range of L.A. restaurants, but the service sure is. Wine is properly decanted, water is continually refilled, butter is house-made, the table perfectly set, seat cushions are regularly fluffed, and attention is paid. Given that we're talking about $10-15 apps and salads, and $20-36 main courses, Bastide has become something of -- dare I say? -- a relative bargain. To think dinner at Café Stella or any other not-cheap neighborhood bistro costs the same is a head-scratcher. This obviously has to do with the fact that Bastide has its Daddy Warbucks. 

Apologies for the lack of images, but I've never been an Everything I Ate kind of blogger anyway. Recent Bastide pics are available at other blogs, should you need better visuals.

So the take-away is that I'm at peace with L.A. remaining in essence a casual town, which is further mandated by the times we live in. I just have to be OK with showing up over-dressed.

Disclosure: we were not hosted, but received several dishes compliments of the chef.

Bastide: 8475 Melrose Place, West Hollywood; (323) 651-5950.

Bar Covell: The Right New Neighborhood Wine Bar

Here's what I wrote about the new Bar Covell in this week's Gold Standard newsletter for the LA Weekly. (Gentle reminder: if you're not subscribed yet -- you can do so here.)

The team behind Bar Covell is all too familiar with the city's red tape. But after jumping through endless hoops -- building inspections, permits and licenses -- the new wine bar finally opened its doors in what was formerly a traffic school facility at the eastern edge of Hollywood Boulevard. Owner Dustin Lancaster (formerly of Café Stella) tells us he wants Bar Covell to be a place for "people to come together" in a space that feels "lived in, rustic and industrial." Reclaimed materials, such as the bar surface which once had a previous life attached to a barn in Kentucky, and artfully placed antique tsotchkes (cameras, pages torn from an antique encyclopedia Lancaster bought in Buenos Aires, a motorbike) help imbue the place with a sense of the past. With an emphasis on affordability, Lancaster and bar manager/wine director Matthew Kaner (Silverlake Wine) hope to "open up the conversation about wines and challenge people." The salvaged window casements doubling as blackboards have space to list only six wines, so that's how many are served by the glass. But what Lancaster calls the "hybrid wine tasting and wine list" arrangement means that any bottle is essentially fair game for by-the-glass pours. And more importantly, the staff is determined to direct customers to wines they'll like even if a requested variety isn't listed. Eight beer taps will satisfy craft beer enthusiasts. The rotating selection ranges from the locals (Solidarity by Eagle Rock Brewery, Palomino Pale from Bootlegger's in Fullterton), to a few imported options. A "light fare" of cheeses, charcuterie, and a vegetable dish or two selected by Heirloom L.A. are coming next week.

A glass of L. Preston blend fit the mood at the end of an oddly chilly July 4th weekend. I'm looking forward to see what Bar Covell has in store, and already have plans to go back next week. Given how often I make it out to bars these days, that says a lot about a place.

And back to the part about City of L.A.'s red tape: talking to Lancaster about what he's had to go through was an interesting reminder of the disconnect between what the pols say about encouraging local business development, and what it actually takes to get a new venture off the ground. It's alarming and incredibly frustrating; and a longer story for some other time.

Bar Covell: 4628 Hollywood Blvd.; Los Feliz; (323) 660-4400

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Trader Joe's Silver Lake Expansion: The Price of Progress

The neighborhood will largely cheer when hearing the news that the Hyperion Avenue Silver Lake Trader Joe's expansion into the shuttered video store next door is complete. It's been open since Friday, July 2.

But after the initial excitement and disorientation passed today (it's weird getting to re-learn your previously super familiar local grocery store), the bittersweet nostalgia kicked in.

Sure, there might be 14 check-out aisles, plenty of wandering room, and expanded shelf space. But gone are the murals showing local landmarks: Dodger Stadium, Travel Town, the Observatory. In its place are other trying to be "funky" eclectic images that don't have the neighborhood feel of the former decor. For all its shortcomings, I've always preferred this pre-mega-chain, old school-feeling TJs, for better or for worse.

And instead of being named for the area's signature streets (Rowena, Griffith Park Blvd., Hyperion), instead the registers are numbered. Boring! I asked if that will stay, and it appears they're working it out during the transition. So there's hope yet that this more distinctive system might return.

Shop your hearts out, folks. But beware -- more TJ's square footage doesn't mean more parking. That's for you to manage. On your way out, mention the changes we'll miss (I can't be the ONLY one who will), and maybe your favorite Silver Lake, Echo Park, or Los Feliz street will appear by a register someday.

When the Best Canned Food Meets the Freshest Produce

Results from the pickled asparagus. Two weeks in the jar, yet just a few minutes to devour. Combined with super fresh red leaf and butter lettuces, mushrooms, avocado, and simple lemon shallot vinaigrette. Utterly delicious creamy and tangy flavor contrasts. Must repeat process.

Can It! Intro to Home Preserving and Canning Class at Valerie Confections

Canning and preserving carries an air of nostalgia, Depression-era savvy, and resourceful American pluck. There's also the dark side and sordid legacy of preserved and canned foods, which is another story entirely... Anyway, for many people, the memory of making preserves is this big treasured childhood thing. Yet I don't know of anyone in my family who jarred anything; maybe someone stashed pickles and cheap fish back in the day in a cramped Lower East Side or Newark tenement.

Taking a class with Valerie Gordon of local treat maker Valerie Confections and Kevin West of the blog Saving the Season might change that bit of family culinary history (or lack thereof). I jumped at the chance when invited to attend a session of hands-on instruction, since we already consume jars of Valerie's preserves made from local organic farmers' market-sourced ingredients at a frightening pace.

We've got the no-knead bread happening all the time, so makes sense to have fruit preserves to go with it. And what a perfect way to spend an afternoon away from my kids while doing something that benefits them. Right? Especially since most toddlers will eat just about any pickled vegetable.

Just in Time for Summer Evenings: Yamashiro Garden Market

I think I know what our new Thursday evening ritual will be.

Pack the kids in the car, battle a little bit of bottleneck traffic around Franklin and the 101, and drive up the hill to Yamashiro around the magic hour, where L.A. City Farm recently started up the Yamashiro Garden Market. (Here's my preview on Squid Ink ago just before it debuted.) Truth be told, it was my first visit to the sprawling, historic property at the top of Sycamore Avenue. 

It's certainly not an extensive market by any means, but you can find most fruits and veggies and basics (Rivadeneira Farm, the vendor I buy eggs from at Barnsdall and Atwater was there tonight), while get a massage, chocolate, popcorn, coffee, and most importantly, Bulgarini Gelato. A certain member of our family lucked out by having Bulgarini's mango yesterday BEFORE noon thanks to a hidden stash in the freezer and a nasty fever + diminished appetite for everything else, followed by a fresh dose tonight.

Two tacos with a big blob of wasabi guacamole at the spawn-of-Kogi-style YamaSada by Yamashiro and a fresh spinach and cheese crepe made for a substantial dinner. But I hope some more prepared vendors will occupy the tents up on the hill tucked just below the illuminated homes and ridges of Outpost and Runyon. Plus balloons, a puppet show, clown, and $2 valet parking sweeten the deal. Be prepared to wait for your car, but that's a nicely subsidized price.

Here's to more opportunities for public life in Los Angeles! Especially those that combine gem locations, local food, and good intentions. The killer views don't hurt either. And neither does the access to Bulgarini.

On KCRW Good Food

Tempting as it may be to rant about feelings of blogging (or lack thereof) guilt, let's just say having two kids is a serious time sucker. And the blogosphere is just so darmn overwhelming. Plus my writing time is mostly spent elsewhere. Having stated those excuses about breaking the rules, I don't want to be one of those people saddled with a dead blog. No! This will not stand.

In the meantime, here's my interview on Good Food with Evan Kleiman talking about what I've learned during my recent French fries binges around Los Angeles. The segment starts at about minute 51.

Centeno & Co. working hard at the Lazy Ox, Little Tokyo

Devoted followers of chef Josef Centeno were thrilled to hear news of the Lazy Ox Canteen, his eclectic -- forgive the cliché, but it does describe his style -- casual neighborhood restaurant that recently opened on the edge of Little Tokyo. Centeno finally has full leeway to call the shots in the open kitchen, with an extensive menu and blackboard specials that showcase his vision of a multi-ethnic, neo-urban cuisine where just about everything is available, everybody's welcome, and so much is possible.

Glowing filaments in oversized dangling light bulbs dialed down to a tolerable, intimate level (think Varnish) set the atmosphere in the rough-hewn wood surfaced room. As per what these times call for, it's an earnest, down to earth sort of deal compared to Opus, Centeno's former glossy, splashy place of cooking residence next to the Wiltern. Location of this one is a little odd and why anyone would want to eat outdoors there baffles. Yet thankfully the food ethic remains the same. Centeno's work gets into contrast: colors, textures, flavors. All done in a way that tells you this is a guy who loves to have fun experimenting in a this-might-be-interesting-and-cool-and-tasty way, and not for the sake of trickery, show, or gimmicks. Deciding what to order was hard. When we did finally set on our choices, they came out really fast and almost all at once, and some lukewarm.

Centeno especially has a way with fried foods, much to the dismay of my cholesterol level. I had no idea what to expect with the crisp broccoli leaves; we were served deep fried battered flat greens that took up more room in my stomach than necessary, but I can't say I've ever had anything like them. Fries were killer (more on that later at Squid Ink). Pomegranate seeds gave a terrific tart crunch to soft beds of chicken liver crostini. Crisp quail served with fennel and apple salad was a highlight, and given its demure size I recommend it to anyone who should stay away fried fowl but is jonesing for something in that genre. Fat corona beans, pickled shallots, and rapini cover any sort of carbonized intensity the charred octopus might have had, but not to the overall detriment of the dish. Rich, gamey intensity of cavatelli with braised oxtail and rutabaga appealed the least, and the pasta component seemed incidental. A butter crunch salad with radicchio, satsumas, golden beets and thin sliced lettuces could've used a little more bite. Nice bonus that most of the dishes we ordered incorporated shades of green, orange, and magenta. Who doesn't love color-coordinated food?

Desserts of roasted Gala apples and a light tangy lemon trifle are modestly priced at $7. Single-digit dessert prices in restaurants of this quality seemed to becoming extinct, although we might be coming back to that again. Score one more for Lazy Ox, which also has an extensive wine and beer list.

So Centeno groupies, rest assured. He'll be at the Lazy Ox for a while (he's also a partner in the business), and it looks like he's got the motivation and space to plod along, work hard, and share the results. I'll be back to face those tough ordering decisions again, next time starting with the many things cooked under a brick.

Lazy Ox Canteen
241 S. San Pedro
Little Tokyo
(213) 626-5299

Masa Takayama Was Here: Arado

Arado is a perfectly fine and friendly Korean style Japanese restaurant with a helpful staff, an oozingly sincere mission statement, and side room bizarrely dedicated to the oceanic world. But one major element that defined the place's first incarnation is long gone: the man who went on to become arguably the most famous sushi chef in America.



Along with delis and era-appropriate health food restaurants, modest Japanese restaurants were a staple of our hamisheh restaurant eating in late 1970s and early 80s Los Angeles. The regular rotation included Aoi on First Street (still there), Kuishimbo on Wilshire and Wilton (moved to 6th and Catalina), Feast from the East when my dad's friend ran it, and Benibasha on Olympic and Norton, with its awesome jukebox. (After we saw Grease at a Hollywood movie theater, I was thrilled to find "You're the One That I Want" included among the machine's killer choices of late 70s pop hits.)

My sister was the adventurous one when we ate out, and an unusually young raw food enthusiast. Few single-digit aged kids ordered steak tartare at Chasen's or asked their mom to bring home a dozen oysters from Phil's Phresh Fish. I stuck to the tried and true. I'd eaten more chicken teriyaki and tempura combos by age 10 than I care to count.

When a simple Japanese restaurant and sushi bar called Saba-Ya opened its doors near Kuishimbo on Wilshire and Wilton in the early 80s, our family went there a lot, in part because Alison's seemingly endless appetite for the sashimi, and friends owned a women's clothing store in the same strip mall. The sushi chef and owner was an affable Japanese gentleman who warmly welcomed us to the bar, where he'd ply my sister with his product. I wanted to want to eat those delicate slices of translucent raw fish, but in reality, I found sushi revolting. Cucumber rolls were fine, but raw tuna itself made me gag. Literally. In front of the nice sushi guy. Classy!

After a few years the main chef was no longer at Saba-Ya. We remained regulars anyway, but got word he'd opened a new joint across the street, tucked in the back corner of the slick two-story strip mall that also featured an exciting new take-out place called El Pollo Loco. Apparently the other sushi bar was a step up from Saba-Ya. So one afternoon my dad and I poked our heads in to scope it out; the light stained wood paneled room was beautiful, and still remains in my limited experience the paragon of less-is-more impeccable Japanese taste, but we couldn't spot a menu anywhere. Plus it was filled with seriously serious businessmen, and the hushed sound level was intimidatingly serene.

We then read how a sushi chef named Masa Takayama who's run a little restaurant called Saba-Ya operated THE most expensive restaurant in Los Angeles located in a Koreatown strip mall. It also happened to be Marlon Brando's favorite. Suddenly the situation made sense, and Ginza Sushi-Ko soon after relocated to Beverly Hills.

Arado doesn't exactly retain the luster of its previous tenant. But it's good for sharing an easy lunch and stories with the kids, and using nostalgic reflection as consolation for not eating at Masa any time soon. Who knows, maybe he'll want to revisit his humble L.A. roots someday.

Arado
4001 Wilshire Boulevard
Los Angeles, CA 90010
213.387.1199

In Praise of Smaller Local Farmers' Markets

Big box chain store shopping shouldn't have much to do with farmers' marketing, but in one case, it's unavoidable. Bed Bath & Beyond is useful and all, thanks to those coupons that never expire and some crap I usually need. Yet over the years going to the Hollywood Farmers' Market inevitably means a trip to BB&B to validate my damn parking. (Unless I can swing brunch at the Hungry Cat.)

Lucky for us more little markets keep popping up, and at this rate, there'll eventually be one in my backyard. They might not all have the selection or variety of the big boys, but I'll take the convenience and lower key neighborhood vibe over teeming crowds on Sundays. Which isn't to say I don't love that, too; it's just a different deal. Lately it's about quicker in and out and easier kid management instead of extended socializing and leisurely weekend shopping.

While every market needs community support, I'm making an effort to patronize the vendors set up at Atwater Sunday, Barnsdall Wednesday, Silver Lake Saturday, and Los Feliz/Vermont Sunday markets. The Barnsdall market on Wednesday afternoons and evenings (12-6) is now managed by SEE-LA and is particularly pleasant, what with all the olive trees and historic setting and whatnot. Plus parking is easy and the location neatly contained. Head up the hill for a picnic if you're so inclined.

Along with plenty of produce peddlers, Angel sets up Cafecito Organico's shop, and if you time your visit right (which I did NOT yesterday), you might catch the righteous Grill Masters before the chicken fat-powered truck rolls off to its next destination. Or if all else fails, don't worry, there's still Hollywood on Sundays. Everyone could always use a bottle of multi-purpose cleaner.