Fresh
off a pot roast dinner, we ford the way to our next braised meat of the
evening. Ginger, in her continuing paranoia that LA is going to throw
us out of the city for attempting to consume a single entree in one
of their esteemed establishments, is nervous as we approach Lucques,
particularly when she sees how crowded the dining room is.
 |
| We're the Restaurant Version of Squatters |
Vodka,
ever the more shameless of the duo, approaches the host stand and
explains our conundrum: that not only are we approximately ninety
minutes early for our reservation, but we're really just here to eat
Frank Bruni's Best Thing I Ever Ate FRENCH FAVORITES dish, the braised
short ribs with horseradish cream.
 |
| In Other Words, Hand Over the Short Ribs and No One Gets Hurt |
Trying to be as self-deprecating as
possible in the hopes of acknowledging that yes, we know we're royal
pains in the neck, and no, please don't toss us out on the street
without a short rib to go, Vodka promises that we would be more than
happy to sit at the bar (which Ginger's research has shown serves a
different menu than the dining room -- one that does not include short
ribs) and not take a table away from a more conventional customer, as
long as we can be given our desired dish.
 |
| See How "Accommodating" We Can Be? |
The host's
reaction to this long-winded explanation? Disdain? No. Resigned,
bitter agreement? Nope. Abject refusal? Not that either.
He says, and we quote, "Oh, absolutely. Just go relax by the fire, and I'll work something out for you."
What sweet heaven is this place?!
As
we try to contemplate what exactly about Los Angeles makes its
residents so bloody affable, Vodka quips, "I'm going to go relax in the
bathroom" while Ginger settles down on the couches in front of a roaring
fireplace. Moments later, we are escorted to a table, which, since
we're not on a bar stool, we fear means we're going to have to explain
ourselves all over again.
 |
| Yes, You May Have Heard of Us? We're the Ones Who Were Relaxing by the Fire |
When our waiter arrives,
Vodka begins, "So we're a bit of a problem: we only want one order of
the short ribs, plus wine," and then smiles in a way she thinks makes
her looks "sweet" (picture the Wicked Witch of the West grinning madly for an
appropriate visual).
"Why would that be a problem?" the waiter responds pleasantly.
"Well, because there are two of us, and we only want one thing...," Vodka explains.
"That's
not a problem at all!" the waiter assures us. "It would be a problem
if you wanted the short rib dish without the short ribs, but this is
nothing! The host already explained to me what your wishes were."
So at Lucques, not only are we the customers about whom the waitstaff talks about
amongst themselves, and for once in our lives, it seems to not be with a
negative connotation.
Our waiter then fetches us a
basket of bread, which Ginger immediately begins consuming, despite the
fact that just seconds before, she had been complaining about how full
she was. "He should have just not put the bread down," she says between
bites. "Put food in front of me, I'll eat it." When we are given our wine, Ginger holds out her own toward Vodka and
says, "Cheers," to which, without a word, Vodka removes the glass from Ginger's
hand and places next to her own for a photo op.
 |
| Drink AFTER Pictures -- The Rules Never Change, Ginger! |
When Ginger is
eventually allowed to drink, we discuss just what it could be that makes
everyone we encounter in LA so nice. Is it a quality of life issue?
The fact that people aren't stacked on top of one another? The
ever-present sunshine? Or are all the wannabe actors here who are employed by restaurants and Uber and everything in between just, well, BETTER actors than those in New York? Because if they're not genuinely
pleasant people, they're certainly better at acting like they are.
 |
| Boom, Roasted, Grouchy NYC Waiters |
We
have a brief moment of panic when our plate of short ribs arrive,
namely because there are PLATES of short ribs. As in we both have our own plate. With an enormous portion of the short ribs, horseradish
cream, mashed potatoes, and assorted greens. After all
that, did our waiter misunderstand our desire for just ONE order?
Could this possibly be a split portion of the dish, because there is
just SO MUCH food on each plate.
 |
| Picture This Plate Times Two |
Rather than question
the circumstance, we forge ahead and begin eating, and once again, even
though short ribs would never be a meal either of us would necessarily
order on our own, we can't deny that Lucques's version is delicious. Even
though as a whole, the dish is very similar to the pot roast at Jar, we
are more taken with Lucques's version, more so because we think their
potatoes and horseradish are better.
 |
| In Other Words, We're More Taken with Lucques's Carbs and Condiments |
We
brace ourselves before looking at our check, half expecting to be
charged for two separate short rib entrees, based on the sheer volume of
food we received. But in the continuing miracle that is LA's
acceptance of splitting dishes, there on our receipt, plain as day, is
the charge for just one plate of short ribs. We are given a warm wave
goodbye from both our waiter and the host as we exit the premises, which is
in stark contrast to the usual Grinch-type reactions we elicit from
restaurant workers in New York. We practically skip out onto the
sidewalk, high off of the pure humanity we've witnessed in this place
(and truth be told, off of the wine, too).
 |
| Story of Our Lives: The Empty Wine Glass |
As we
settle into the backseat of our next Uber ride, heading off to our final
Los Angeles Best Thing I Ever Ate stop, it seems our hearts, as they
say, have grown three sizes today.
Well, they did for the next five minutes. Until, in true Grinch-style, we were annoyed once again.
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