Off the Map: Departing Los Angeles on a Wing and a Pie

Banana Cream Pie -- Bandera, Los Angeles, CA

Bandera

Up until this point, we have loved certain aspects of Los Angeles dining experiences: the roominess of the premises, the relative quietness of the dining rooms, the patience of the waitstaffs, and the ease with which we have been able to taste our Best Thing I Ever Ate dishes, without so much as a side glance for our peculiar ordering style.

Unfortunately, all of this west coast charm comes to a crashing halt the second we arrive at Bandera.

Way to Ruin It for Your City, Chumps

We are here to buy a single slice of banana cream pie, as spoken about by Adam Gertler on the ORIGINAL Best Thing I Ever Ate special.  We have already decided, prior to arrival, that we would just ask for the pie to go and consume it while safely back in our upgraded Beverly Hills hotel room (mostly because Vodka already had to make Ginger promise to "just stay awake until 9:30," and we only had 45 minutes to go until she turned into a comatose pumpkin).  

Stay Awake: We Have Potassium to Eat

This proves to be the correct decision, as when we enter Bandera, not only are there no seats available, at either a table or at the bar, but the place is packed.  More packed than any place we have seen in LA thus far, including the chaos that was Bay Cities Bakery and Deli.  Besides being crowded as all get-out, it is also excessively loud, both from the tinder of hundreds of voices, and from the quartet of musicians which they have inexplicably decided to place in the middle of the dining room.  Meaning that no matter which way you turn, you cannot escape the deafening noise.

Putting the 'Band' in 'Bandera'

When we ask the host how we go about procuring a slice of pie, he sends us to the bar, suggesting we "get the bartender's attention."  Yeah, easier said than done, mister, as seven minutes later, we've yet to be able to track him down over the hoard of other patrons stacked in the area.

PLEASE JUST GIVE US PIE SO WE CAN LEAVE

Finally, Ginger manages to place our order, and the bartender, to his credit, is just as pleasant as all others we have encountered in this fair city, despite his surroundings.

"I hate this place," Vodka announces while we wait for our container of pie to arrive, saying each word like there's a period after it.  And the more irritated Vodka gets, and the more Ginger starts to droop, the longer our pie takes to arrive.

Much Like the Sun Setting Over Our Los Angeles Journey, Our Patience Is Decidedly Waning

"How long can it possibly take to cut a pie?" we ask after at least ten minutes have passed.  Eventually, and not before we are ready to throw said pie in someone's face, the long-suffering bartender passes it over three people's heads in order to reach us, and we hightail it out of Bandera as quickly as possible.  When we reach our hotel, Ginger approaches a member of the staff and asks if we could get two forks.

"Are you Dutch?" he asks her.

"Huh?"

"Dutch.  Are you from Amsterdam?"

"No?" Ginger answers, once again as if English really is her second language.

"You sounded like you had a Dutch accent," he insists.  "Where are you from?"

"New York."

"Ah, so you ARE from Amsterdam!" he proclaims.

"Huh?"

"New," Vodka whispers, trying to provide an English-to-English translation of the proceedings just so we can get out of here, forks in hand.

"What?" Ginger asks.

"New Amsterdam," Vodka explains.  "New York was called New Amsterdam."

"See, so you are practically Dutch!"  The fork purveyor is insistent on hammering his point home.  

At This Juncture, We Would Have Been Better Off Eating This Pie With Our Hands

When we are eventually able to escape from him, we return to our room and deposit the pie container on Ginger's bed.  Inside is a substance that looks a bit like slop, but whether that is due to Bandera's packaging technique or to our inability to effectively carry a to-go bag is up for debate.  

Funny That Fork-Man Seemed to Know We Would Need a Napkin, Too

The pie itself, while not completely offensive, is a bit on the bland side.  It's not really sweet, not really creamy, not really crunchy, not really... anything.  And there is just SO MUCH banana (including giant slices sprinkled throughout the container), that it essentially tastes the same as a plain old banana with some flavorless whipped cream on top.  Not only is this banana cream pie not good enough to warrant coming from a regular restaurant, it is certainly not good enough to be from a place as aggravating as Bandera.

What Is With All of the FRUIT?!

And with that, our Los Angeles Best Thing I Ever Ate adventure has come to an end.  In true form, the cheerfulness that LA had lulled into us over the past couple of days has suddenly dissipated, and we are ready to return to the land of abrasive waiters, cramped barstools, and our own bad moods.

Oh, New Amsterdam, there is no place like home.

Bandera's Banana Cream Pie: 2 stars

Off the Map: We're the Types of People Waiters Get Warned About

Braised Shortribs with Horseradish Cream -- Lucques, Los Angeles, CA

Lucques

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. 

Lucques's Braised Shortribs with Horseradish Cream: 5 stars*

*Certifiable Best Thing We Ever Ate

Off the Map: Apparently, We Look Like Carb Eaters

Pot Roast -- Jar, Los Angeles, CA

Jar

For our final evening in Los Angeles, we have a double-header of meat.  By pure geographic luck, it turns out that two of our heartiest dishes -- at two of the nicest restaurants on our list -- are within a few minutes of each other.  Which means we're beginning our dinner hour with a pot roast, and ending it with a short rib.

Just don't ask us to define the difference between the two, because we have no idea.

One Piece of Meat Begets Another

Ginger, similar to our La Scala experience, has been concerned that both stops are going to be annoyed by our request to a) sit at the bar, and b) only order one dish.  However, when we walk into Jar, and find a nearly empty restaurant with an even emptier bar, her concerns are somewhat relieved.  

We Love Few Things More Than Eating Alone

We pull up two stools and remain the only two customers at the bar for the entirety of our meal, quite pleased, once again, by how much room there is to spare in this city.

When We Get Back to New York, We're Going to Start Pushing People Away from Us

"It's very nice in here," Vodka whispers, who is instantly taken by a locale that is both quiet and devoid of other customers.

"That was my fear," Ginger says.  "That we'd be the weirdos ordering one pot roast at the nice place."

"It's not THAT nice," Vodka retorts, placing both her camera and cracked phone on top of the bar.

"Put that away," Ginger hisses.

"My ghetto phone?"

"The camera," she insists.  "Wait until no one's watching."

What? You've Never Seen Someone Take Pictures of Their Wine Before?

To be fair, it's going to be difficult to ever not have any waitstaff watching us, considering they really don't have anyone else to look at, but Vodka temporarily complies with Ginger's request.  And after she is properly plied with a few sips of Pinot Grigio, it seems Ginger's remaining shame flies out the window, and she obediently begins pushing the bowls of bar snacks in front of Vodka's waiting lens upon request.

Less Afraid of Bar Snack Germs Than Usual Considering We're the Only Ones Here to Touch Them

Any Place That Provides Free Potato Chips Is Okay By Us

Back to the pot roast, when we request one order of Rocco DiSpirito's Best Thing I Ever Ate CRAZY GOOD dish, the bartender looks us up and down and then  asks, "Would you like a side of mashed potatoes?"  Well, of course we would like a side of mashed potatoes!

Come to Think of It, Just Bring Us the Whole Pot

"Apparently, we look like carb eaters," Vodka whispers once the bartender is again out of earshot.  Which perhaps hammers home the point that we could never really fit into LA.

All of Those Personal Trainers Would Have a Field Day with Us

Though neither one of us would ever choose to order a pot roast on our own accord, once confronted with this one, we have to admit that it is quite pleasing.  

Maybe Those Two Carrots Will Make Up for the Vat of Mashed Potatoes We've Just Consumed

The meat itself is cooked to a perfect tenderness, the accompanying drippings are savory and warm, and the side of horseradish adds a perfect kick to the whole endeavor.  

Fork Tender

We Get a Kick Out of You, Horseradish

While the entire dish needs to be doused with a solid helping of salt, we generally have no complaints, especially about the accompanying mashed potatoes.

NYC PTSD: We Still Huddle All of Our Dishes Together Despite the Fact That We Have an Entire Bar Top to Spare

"This is about as good as you get for pot roast," Ginger surmises.  And with that, just like Fred Flintstone himself, we shimmy off our bar stools and off to our next meat-centric meal.  Which, with any luck, will come with a side of carbs. 

Jar's Pot Roast; 4 stars

Off the Map: The Godmother Sandwich -- An Offer We Can Refuse

Godmother Sandwich -- Bay Cities Italian Bakery and Deli, Los Angeles, CA

Bay Cities Italian Bakery and Deli

Now that we are in the Los Angeles version of "down the shore" in Santa Monica, we decide that we will look less conspicuous hauling ourselves across town with nothing but our own legs to carry us.  After all, everyone walks when they're at the beach, right?  Even Californians who don't seem to want to walk anywhere?

Wrong.

California: Thousands of Fruit Trees, But Not a Single Pedestrian

Halfway through our journey across town, we encounter our first four-lane crossing without the benefit of a stop light.  Unlike in New York, where we step off the curb with wild abandon the second we have the right of way (this practice is sure to get us killed some day), in LA, we tend to place one toe onto the street at a time, certain that we're about to get plowed down by a driver who isn't used to the likes of us.  We approach this first intersection just as tentatively, until we realize that Santa Monica drivers will stop -- instantly and swiftly -- at the mere sight of a pedestrian.

Such power, we have never known before.

This Is the Benefit of Being the LA Anomaly

Therefore, by the time we finally make it to Bay Cities Italian Bakery and Deli, we expect to be greeted in an equally royal fashion: for them to roll out the red carpet, hand us our desired godmother sandwich from the BETWEEN BREAD episode of Best Thing I Ever Ate, and send us on our way.

Needless to say, this is not what we experience.  

Where Did All of These People Suddenly Come From?!

Despite the relatively barren sidewalks of most of Santa Monica, Bay Cities is packed to the gills.  In fact, when we manage to force our way toward the deli counter to try to order a sandwich, the number we choose is 74... and they are currently only on 58.  

Yeah, We'd Like to Get Bread, But We're Still SIXTEEN NUMBERS AWAY!

It is at this point that Vodka has a sudden sneezing fit (clearly she's been hanging around Ginger and her hives too long), which results in other waiting customers insisting on saying "bless you" to her EVERY TIME.  Instead of being grateful for this, Vodka is more astonished than anything.  

And truth be told, slightly annoyed, being that she then has to keep saying "thank you."

Someone, Please Give Us the Sandwich So Vodka Can Stop Being Polite

By some blessed miracle, one of the Bay Cities workers suddenly places a basket of pre-made godmother sandwiches on the counter of the deli, which Ginger spots and scurries over to grab one.  It takes us another ten minutes to make our way through the cash register lines, and not since Katz's have we been to a more overwhelming deli establishment.

Maybe All of Those "Bless Yous" Paid Off

Assuming this sandwich must be pretty amazing to convince people to ford through all of this nonsense, we unwrap it at one of Bay Cities's outside tables and examine its contents.  

Scenic View. Or Not

And we immediately discover that much like the deli itself, there's a lot going on in this sandwich.  

One Positive: It's Split in Half

Namely at least four kinds of Italian lunch meat, cheese, roasted red peppers, lettuce, sauce, and a bevy of other ingredients we can't quite determine, all jammed between two slices of thick Italian bread.  

This Ain't Your Wawa Hoagie. And We Don't Mean That As a Compliment

One bite reveals that instead of the BETWEEN BREAD episode, Susan Feniger and Mary Sue Milliken should have chosen this for the MESSY one, as the contents of the sandwich are suddenly all over our table.

Well, This Is Appetizing

The bread itself seems awfully hard for holding the preponderance of ingredients, since its crustiness works against the insides, rather than cupping them together.  

For the First Time in Our Entire Lives, We'd Like Less Carbs

There also seems to be way too many roasted red peppers relative to the rest of the filling, only topped by the proliferation of mysterious sauce.  

Dear Fairy Godmother: Please Turn This Sandwich Into a Martini

Within a few bites, we have abandoned the sandwich entirely, grateful at the very least that we didn't have to spend over an hour waiting for it to be created.

You're Welcome, Bay Cities, For Us Creating Our Own Placemat

Immediately upon leaving the premises, Vodka drops her phone on the sidewalks of Santa Monica, resulting in a fully shattered screen -- the curse, perhaps, of disparaging the godmother sandwich.  Talk about keeping your friends close, and your enemy sandwiches closer.     

Bay Cities Italian Bakery and Deli's Godmother Sandwich: 2 stars

Off the Map: Two Narcissists Walk Into a Burger Joint

Bacon Office Burger -- Father's Office, Los Angeles, CA

Father's Office

Here is the problem with using a double-decker tour bus as your main form of transportation: you're using a double-decker tour bus as your main form of transportation.  

Yeah, Nice Place, California -- When Can We Eat Again?

Midway through the afternoon on our second day in Los Angeles, we have seen just about as much of the city as we would ever care to see from the top shelf of a StarLine tour.  Furthermore, we are suddenly starving, being that a single egg and a few kernels of caramel corn is seemingly not enough to sustain us through hours of wind-blown tourist narrative.  Therefore, we abandon our stringent itinerary in order to head directly to Father's Office, home of Adam Gertler's Best Thing I Ever Ate WITH BACON meal, the office burger.

If Only That Neon Sign Said 'GIN,' You'd Be Speaking Our Language

When we walk in, we are immediately carded (we choose to be flattered by this instead of the more logical explanation that it is simply the restaurant's policy), handed a menu, and asked if we know how the process works.  The host then explains that we can sit wherever we like, and when we're ready to order, we can do so at the bar.  We are astounded by this circumstance, not that we mind the system necessarily, but that it was explained to us up front.  We believe that in New York, they would have just left us to our own devices, forced to figure out on our own why no one was coming to ask what we wanted to drink.  ("No doubt we would have been sitting here complaining about how bad the service is.")

It Only Would Have Been a Matter of Time Before We Had Asked for the Manager

With this knowledge in mind, Vodka heads to the bar, orders one office burger plus two glasses of wine.  When our order arrives, she is incredibly impressed by the kindness of the Father's Office staff, who has pre-cut the burger in half for us.

My, What a Thoughtful Place!

"I can't believe how nice all of the LA restaurants are about splitting food," she tells Ginger.  "She must have noted on our slip that we were sharing a burger."

Ginger allows Vodka to drone on about this point for at least a minute before finally piping up, "I mean, they cut all the burgers down the middle, but you can keep thinking that this was just done for us."

Self-centered, party of two, anyone?

And While We're At It, Can You Just Enable Us and Say We Were Also the Only Ones Carded?

The office burger itself features a thick slab of beef, topped with blue cheese, arugula, bacon and caramelized onion.  

That's a Lot of Greenery -- Where's Ginger's GasX When You Need It?

Served on something more resembling a hero than a regular potato bun, each half is practically the size of a real burger, and it comes with a helping of shoestring fries on the side.  

As Always, We Are Especially Taken with the Carbs

We enjoy the burger (keep in mind that we are starving, so we would enjoy just about anything), though it's not our favorite one we've ever tasted.  In fact, we believe most of the ingredients get lost under the heavy-handed helping of caramelized onions, which bring a sweetness to the entire creation which is not necessarily enjoyable.  

Can Someone Please Pass the Salt Lick?

What we do appreciate about Father's Office is that, for a place resembling a slightly hipper (and much more expensive) dive bar, they don't take any nonsense from anyone, particularly in the fact that they don't allow any substitutions.  Despite this decree, the guy who sits down next to us tries to order a burger without blue cheese, claiming he is "allergic" to it.  We are heartened when he is promptly shut down by the bartender, if only because we appreciate when someone else is the "problem customer," instead of us.

Who Knew It Took the LA Air to Make Us the Accommodating Ones?

After all, until you break out in hives, mister, you're not really allergic to anything.

Father's Office's Bacon Office Burger: 4 stars