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: Pour One for the Homie

Rice Bowl -- Revel, Seattle, WA
Revel 

Of all of the Seattle Best Thing I Ever Ate places that Vodka perused on our exclusive culinary resource (Yelp), she found the looks of Revel's dishes by far the most appealing.  Loaded down with carbs and sides of soy sauce, she expected Revel to be a virtual lovefest of deliciousness.

Really Now -- Doesn't That LOOK Like a Great Idea?

Would Revel ever be able to live up to the expectations produced by the foodie masterminds on Yelp?  Well....

Never Trust Anything You Read on the Internet (...)

When Vodka and Chianti arrive at the place, we cozy up to the bar, a placement that we feel is ideal because a) we will have an entertaining view of the kitchen, and b) closer to the bar, closer to the booze, right?

Nope.

Unless This Is Filled With Vodka, This Ain't Gonna Cut It

It takes a full 9 minutes for our waiter to even arrive for our drink order, and another 11 for our Laura Palmer and Lufthansa Heist to appear before us (yes -- we timed it.  The delay was THAT severe).  

Overarching Opinion on the Cocktails?  Meh

Apparently, alcoholic-based impatience causes Vodka to murmur her new favorite catchphrase ("Homie don't care"—except in this case, she clearly DID care) in a Tourettes-like fashion, and by the time we are finally able to take the first sips of our cocktails, she is decidedly disgruntled.

And If Chianti Knows Anything, It Is That Things Do Not Go Well When Vodka Becomes Disgruntled

This endless wait for our beverages has given us ample time, however, to decide on our upcoming food intake.  

Hey Kitchen - You Got Any Free Samples Over There?

And being that we have subsisted only on second rate hash and squares of chocolate all day, we are predictably ravenous.  While we are here to taste the rice bowl, as featured by Frank Bruni on the MESSY episode of Best Thing I Ever Ate (in truth, he featured the ASPARAGUS rice bowl, but Seattle and their stupid "seasonal eating" movement has stricken said asparagus from the menu), we also ask for a plethora of other dishes to tide us over.

Soooo... Revel Also Grows Its Own Grass....

First comes the garlic shrimp, chermoula, and white bean pancake, which perhaps because it arrives first (and thus when we are at our hungriest), proves to be the best dish of the night.  

Probably Not Due to the Fact That It's FRIED Or Anything....

Fried to a mild brown on the outside and crumbly with shrimp on the inside, it is essentially an upscale version of a scallion pancake.  

You Can Just Bring Over a Stack of These, Thanks

When combined with the four dipping sauces that Revel provides (the garlic soy sauce takes top prize in this assortment), it is fairly pleasing.

A Sauce Menagerie

Dip Tasting, OCD-Style

Unfortunately, by the time we taste our next choice -- the smoky mushroom, garlic chive, and sweet miso dumpling -- Vodka is beginning to doubt the veracity of the delectable-looking pictures posted on Yelp.  You see, while these dumplings LOOK appealing, in taste, they are just... odd.  

Um, Don't Think the Spoon There Is Really Gonna Cut It

Green pierogies (we mean, really -- look at the shape) stuffed to the gills with a mashed-up mushroom concoction and sprinkled with nuts), they are also impossible -- IMPOSSIBLE -- to eat in any logical way.  This trouble is not helped by the fact that Revel only provides chopsticks at each of its patrons' places, and how one is supposed to stuff this monster of a dumpling into her mouth using only two measly sticks remains a mystery of physics.

Revel Is Only For Those Gifted in Hand-Eye Coordination

Next up is the dungeness crab, seaweed noodle, creme fraiche, and spicy red curry bowl, which is overwhelming in its number of components.  Chianti laps up the contents of this dish with glee, while Vodka is decidedly less enthused.  

This Emotional Spectrum Is Pretty Much Consistent Throughout Our Entire Friendship, Actually

While the noodles themselves are pretty much perfect, they are so overwhelmed by the other ingredients that it is almost difficult to find them.  

Hey Revel - Noodles Are Vodka's FAVORITE FOOD. Don't Hide Them, Please

But fine -- no big deal, right?  These other dishes are not the reason we're here, and when our rice bowl laden down with salt and pepper grilled shitake, rapini, and turnip confit is placed before us, Vodka has only one thing to say:

"Ugh, I HATE broccoli rabe."

This dish is not off to a fortuitous start.

So Much Rabe, So Little Rice

Now, while messy dishes are decidedly not our thing, it soon becomes apparent that if Revel would just serve this concoction in a BIGGER BOWL, there would be no need for it to be messy at all.  

Does Seattle Have Some Kind of Issue With Appropriately-Sized Plates?!

As it stands, the combination of the sticky rice and overflowing ingredients makes the dish difficult to mix, and the one measly egg yolk that has been placed on top of the heap is hardly enough to penetrate the deepest crevices of the bowl.  Holding as much as we can between our chopsticks, we take our first bites...

...and taste black pepper.

Amazing We Can Taste Anything Over All That Rabe

Lots and lots of pepper.  So much pepper that even the broccoli rabe seems more palatable in comparison.  As we try to make our way deeper into the bowl, the preponderance of pepper never dissipates, and if anything, the whole thing only gets worse.  

Anyone Know the Number of a Good Chinese Take-Out Place?

Besides being completely devoid of any flavor except black pepper, this rice bowl is also in desperate need of some sauce, as it is so dry that it is all we can do not to dump the remainders of our four dipping sauces into the bowl.

In Need of At Least 84 More Egg Yolks

Lest you fear that we are just too full from the rest of our evening's eating to properly enjoy the rice bowl, when we escort all of our leftovers to Chianti's apartment and consume them the next day, the rice bowl is, if anything, even worse.  

PS We Finally Unearthed the Rest of the Noodles From Their Preponderance of Accessories

Even drier and more peppery, it is only refraining from one-star status because perhaps, just perhaps, the asparagus version is one-hundred times better.  But if it is, Vodka will never know, as she has no intention of returning to Revel ever again.  Because you know what?  Homie don't care.

Revel's Rice Bowl: 2 stars

This Dish Is Our New Favorite Word: Misguided

Arroz de Pato -- Aldea
Aldea

"I assume you have a life, but in case not, do you want to go to dinner tomorrow?" Ginger emails Vodka Thursday afternoon.  Thankfully, Vodka has no such thing, so she instantaneously answers "Yes," and we decide to head to Aldea for Frank Bruni's chosen Best Thing I Ever Ate BIRD IS THE WORD dish, the arroz de pato.

The Benefits of Having No Life

Now duck, so far, has not treated us very kindly on this mission, but we are hoping we can blame this track record on Buddakan and not on the poultry itself.  What is also not helping our case on this particular night, however, is that we have both, separately and inexplicably, been is foul moods for the majority of the week. 

Or in Our Case - Fowl Moods.  Heh Heh

Ginger is blaming her hostility on an overall lack of carbs, and Vodka, simply on the fact that we are crazy ("Well, that too," Ginger answers, "But also the bread.").  For this reason, when we belly up to the bar and the bartender holds a platter of four varieties of bread products in front of us, we finagle our way into trying one of each ("We're not really a 'one piece per person' place anyway," the bartender informs us.  Our kind of policy).

An Image of Gluttony

Said bread is served seconds after the arrival of the cheese plate we have ordered, but instead of pairing the two entities, we find ourselves carb-loading all four varieties into our mouths at rapid-fire pace, the cheese nearly forgotten. 

And Never in Our Lives Have We Forgotten About Cheese

One of the options, a cornbread soaked in bacon renderings, we believe holds the most potential for greatness, and so Vodka takes a deep, hearty bite.

And she instantly clamps her mouth shut.

Bacon Bread?  What Could Go Wrong?

"Is it good?" Ginger asks, not sure whether to interpret Vodka's face as horror or ecstasy.  Vodka shakes her head back and forth slowly.  "Well, no wonder it's unlimited," Ginger reasons, yet unfortunately, this is not the end of our bread drama of the evening.

Easy to Give Away Free Things When They're All Different Degrees of "Adequate"

While the three other varieties (a brioche, a baguette, and an olive roll) are all various states of "fine" (the baguette proves to be the most successful), as is the accompanying olive oil, we are at another stand-off over the walnut version that has come with the actual cheese. 

Aldea Seems to Be Suffering from a Case of "Too Much Bread in the Kitchen"

Taking her first bite, Vodka observes, "This has nuts in it."

This statement is followed immediately, in unison, with:

Ginger: "Yes, it's delicious."
Vodka: "I hate nuts."

Truth be told, with tastes like these, it's amazing we've made it through this many dishes without a fistfight.

With Tastes Like These, It's Also Amazing We're Friends In the First Place

Onto the cheese plate, which includes a blue cheese, a soft goat-like cheese, and a hard, cheddar-like cheese (clearly, we can't distinguish cheeses unless they're blue): all are tasty enough, though we are especially taken with the lone hard cheese on the platter (and Ginger enjoys the accompanying triangles of membrillo-like jam, though Vodka finds them useless).

With So Much Bread and Cheese to Be Had, Who Needs Jelly?

Similarly, our cocktails are satisfying, if nothing to write home (or in this case, to AA) about -- Ginger's tastes appropriately like ginger, and Vodka's, in a true "I've had a tough week" divergence from her usual vodka, like tequila.

Though We Do Enjoy the Metal Straw That Accompanies Vodka's Choice

Finally, we are served our Best Thing I Ever Ate reason for being here: the arroz de pato, featuring duck confit, chorizo, clementines, and olives.  Pretty enough, the dish looks like a cross between paella and pork fried rice, and because we love a carb, we are optimistic that this rice will prove appropriately pleasing.

It does not.

To Sum Things Up in a Nutshell and All

Vodka takes one forkful, and confirming that all the bread in the world has not yet raised her from her funk, states, with mild hostility, "I don't like it."  It seems Vodka's first bite has included a healthy dose of the yellow sauce that is dolloped around the plate, which we're assuming are the clementines but taste more like lemons.  This sauce seems excessively sweet for this savory dish.

Yellow Dollops of Sugary Not-Goodness

As we manage to eat around the "frosting," we find the duck itself to be extremely well-cooked (as in tender and juicy, not dry and chewy), and the rice, appealingly sticky with a tangy bite.  The chorizo, sliced super thinly, adds more spice than one would assume it would be capable of in such a form, which is more than we can say for the bits of crispy duck skin, which taste like, well, nothing.

Perhaps Mustard Would Have Made a Better Yellow Condiment Choice

"This whole lemon thing is misguided," Ginger states, tossing her fork with disdain.  It seems "misguided" has crept into her lexicon recently and taken up residence as her favorite word ever, and the term is now catching, as one thing then another, including Aldea's chef, becomes "misguided."

You see, earlier in the evening, Vodka had spotted said chef, George Mendes, lingering near the bar. 

"I think he was our waiter somewhere else," she whispers.  "Oh no, wait - he was on Top Chef or something."

"I like that you assumed he was our waiter, like everyone is always here to serve us," Ginger smirks. 

This Is the Kind of Logic That Occurs When One's Bloodstream Is Filled with Tequila

When we figure out that Mendes is actually the chef of this place, we begin to notice him, throughout our meal, perched in various points of the restaurant, texting on his phone.

"What is he doing?!  He should be somewhere making this dish better!" Ginger exclaims, and with that, we decide it is time to leave.

After One Cocktail Each and Everything

When we receive our bill, we learn that Aldea has recently started the policy of taking 20% off all food served at the bar, a concept that not only thrills us, but is also the first thing all week that neither of us can even dare to call "misguided."

Aldea's Arroz de Pato: 3 stars

Off the Map: Best $30 Fungus We Ever Ate

Grilled Mushroom Stack -- o ya, Boston, MA
o ya

As alluded to previously, Vodka spent part of her younger years traveling to Boston because it is the home of her inexplicable childhood hero, Nancy Kerrigan (inexplicable because Vodka barely knows how to ice skate and Nancy Kerrigan seems to have about as much personality as a beige throw pillow).  Like all obsessions in Vodka's life (closest reference point: this blog), this one was taken to the extreme.  Case in point: Vodka, at age 12, could be found in the kitchen of Nancy Kerrigan's parents' home chatting with Nancy's mother.

For the record, this is not the kind of fandom behavior I would advocate.

Anyway, this explanation of Vodka's Boston-based background is not relevant in any way except a) the topic of Nancy Kerrigan became a great point of discussion between Vodka and her BFF, the trolley tour guide, on her solo trek around the city, and b) Vodka is clearly more than comfortable acting like a complete whack-job within the confines of Boston's city limits.

And Thanks, Tour Guide, For Taking Me to See the Church Where Nancy Got Married. Way to Enable the Crazy

As Celine Dion continues to belt out "All By Myself" deep within the recesses of Vodka's mind, she heads to o ya for her last solitary dining adventure of the trip.  She is seeking the grilled mushroom stack, as recommended by Frank Bruni on the SLICED episode of Best Thing I Ever Ate.

Well, Not So Much a "Stack" as a "Platter"

Earlier in the day, Vodka had called and had the first of many inane conversations she would have with the very friendly staff of o ya:

"Hi.  Do you have a bar or are there only tables?"
"There's a chef's tasting bar.  Would you like to make a reservation?"
"What if I only want to eat one dish at 5:00pm?  Can I just come in then?"
"By yourself?"
"Yes."
"To eat one dish?"
"Yes."
"Which dish?"
"The grilled mushroom stack."
"Um... yes.  What's your name?"

And so, when Vodka arrives at o ya (located in a somewhat random area near South Station, the building looks so nondescript that you would think you were entering an abandoned warehouse were it not for the Japanese symbol on the front door handle), her reputation has obviously preceded her.

Hunker Down, Fish - There's a Weirdo About to Arrive

First of all, the restaurant is not yet open (though no staff meeting is in progress, so that's a plus), and Vodka is the only one present.  Approaching the hostess stand, I begin my spiel: "Hi, I called earlier.  I just want to eat the grilled mushroom -- "

"Oh, THAT's you."

Great.

In spite of this greeting, all three staff members at the hostess stand, along with my waiter, are extremely accommodating in the face of this odd request, albeit highly curious as to my motives.  One of the hostesses has the chef start cooking my grilled chanterelle and shiitake mushroom sashimi (with rosemary garlic oil, sesame froth, and soy) immediately, a process I can observe from my seat at the (again, completely abandoned) chef's tasting bar.

Thankfully, I'm Pretty Adept at Talking to Myself

In the least threatening way possible, one of the staff members gently questions what the heck my point is in being here, and when I explain the Best Thing I Ever Ate mission, they seem slightly relieved that they are dealing with only an OCD-like overeater and not a stalker of the country's finest mushrooms.  It soon becomes obvious that this staff member has informed the rest of the workers as to what I am up to, as they all begin wishing me luck on the remaining courses that evening (well, except for the chefs behind the tasting bar itself, who seem to find it odd that I am, for instance, taking photographs of a cat-shaped chopstick holder).

I Found My Cat's Christmas Present for Next Year

When the waiter arrives with my gorgeous plate of long-sought-after mushrooms, I interrupt his culinary explanation with, "I know this sounds psychotic, but can I just pay now?  I need to be in Cambridge in 20 minutes."  When I relate this interruption to my friend at dinner that evening, she explains why such displays of social oddity have not gotten me placed in a mental institution yet: rather than hiding behind the veneer of believing what I do is "normal" behavior, I "paint it red."  I call attention to it.  And let's be honest: this mutual philosophy is partly why Ginger and I are not only friends, but why have not yet been murdered for, say, trying to instruct deli workers how to make a sandwich, or for shielding our bread plates with the forcefulness of a knight.  We know what we're doing is partially insane -- best for us, and the rest of the world, to put it out in the open and just go with it.

And Tah Dah - You Do So and You're Served Mushrooms Before the Place is Officially Open

Anyway, back to the mushrooms: to sum them up, they are absolutely worth all of the nonsense surrounding them.  Sliced thin and sprinkled with foam (a substance which usually reminds Vodka of shampoo but here is quite perfect), they are the ideal combination of salty, garlicky, and vaguely sweet, and they have the slightest hint of a truffle flavor.  Crunchy on the outside with tenderness in the middle, the mushrooms themselves rival those in the polenta at Scarpetta.

The dish is a revelation.

Mushrooms Lathering Up Their Scalps

Dabbed on top of the mushrooms are a few springs of what I assume are green onion, though I at first believe a Christmas tree must have shed some needles on the plate.  Even though these onions are the only sprig of color, the mushroom stack is the most refined presentation I have seen so far in Boston, even compared to the eccentricity of the smoked hamachi.  Even more importantly, its taste lives up to its appearance, and the dish is by bar the best $30 fungus I have ever eaten.

Ginger: "So Let Me Get This Straight: The Best Thing You Ate in Boston Was a MUSHROOM?!"

As I dash out of the restaurant, the ever-polite and helpful staff ask if they can help me get a cab, a final gesture of service that gives o ya extra credit over their already 5 star status.  Vodka, though, insists she knows her way to the Red Line and skedaddles out of the place, content in the knowledge that she has upped her personal Inane Boston Behavior quota by another degree.

This Platter Was Licked Clean, By the Way

And to close this tale of absurdity, Vodka would like to employ one of her favorite quotes of all time, one she has kept as a personal mantra since just around the time of the Nancy Kerrigan fandom and which sums up perfectly the manner in which Ginger and I go about our lives, and this blog:

"When in doubt, make a fool of yourself.  There is a microscopically thin line between being brilliantly creative and acting like the most gigantic idiot on earth.  So what the hell - leap."  -Cynthia Heimel

o ya's Grilled Mushroom Stack: 5 stars*

*Certifiable Best Thing We Ever Ate