Boil. Fry. Bake

Yes. We have a coffee table. It’s oval. Brown. Pleasant enough. A little scuffed. Every so often we decide to try and upgrade, very aware that means the side tables, maybe the lamps, will have to change. And the sofa set? Maybe that too. Yeah, that’s why we haven’t bought a new coffee table yet.

John suggested a Sunday run to Helms Bakery in L.A. Not for bread. It’s a giant converted industrial space from the 1920’s, at the edge of Culver City. Culver Studios, the Sony lot, various small production companies and loft spaces all are nearby, plus the adorable Culver City Main Street bar and restaurant area. Helms Bakery is a design center with furniture shops, eclectic collectibles and no doubt celebrity clients. We began with a fancy cup of tea from a kiosk, overpaid for a vintage rock and roll trivia book and prepared to browse. The vintage book booth manager had no single use bags so John took the book back to the car rather than carry it around. In the meantime I chatted with the manager and a customer with a cute little terrier. Emotional support animals are everywhere in L.A.

“Ratter?” I asked. The terrier looked just like a dog park regular whose owner discovered just how good a hunter hers was. That dog proudly brought a rat to her as she sat in her hot tub one night. Gradually she became aware of little glinting eyes throughout the bougainvillea surrounding the hot tub. As her screams subsided, the terrier really got to work.

“Oh yes”, said the other customer. “I bring her everywhere and on a trip to New York, she got loose during a walk one night and came back with a big rat.” I told the bougainvillea story. John returned as we said our goodbyes.

Fancy a rare wood block the size of a small country? Mmmm. No. We moved on to the man cave shop with giant leather couches and cleverly made bookcases. Did you want a chair built into what amounts to a cockpit? They have one. Another large section featured specialty teak wood that reminded me quite a lot of my parents’ Danish modern, but I would rally if John really, really liked it. He did not. Dodged a bullet there. The back room clearance area of nicked marble tops and whorled wood shiny finishes was a possibility. Still at least $1000, meaning really $10,500, what with an all new living room to match the rare wood table.

No Deal – Off to Margot!

Let’s eat instead. Drinks and upscale food will feel cheap by comparison!

Right on site there is a Father’s Office (stalwart fancy burgers, comfort food and drinks), a pasta joint where you line up and pick your sauce as disinterested staff serve you a la Subway, and a new bakery/breakfast spot with a long, permanent line outside. Said our tea server, “Oh that’s the shortest I have ever seen the line.” We opted to leave the compound and walk to a place we used to like.

Since we liked it, it could very well be closed. Let’s see, shall we?

Margot is at Platform, the little mall by the newish commuter rail line that connects the beach cities to downtown and beyond. Downstairs at the mall are typical curated shops – the ones that display 8-15 things and the clothes hang with lots of space around them. As in a fine art gallery. As in $700 sweatshirts.

Well, the restaurant is still there, with great drinks, tapas, crudo and a huge wide open space plus a patio. We’d been dealing with winds, so indoors we went. Above you see their fingerling potatoes with a house made paprika aioli and grilled asparagus (our favorite) with a stunning lemon/garlic ricotta cream. Naturally we had to have oysters. They were chilly, briney, fresh grated horseradish on the side, all you want in an oyster order, to the point that we almost cracked and ordered more. A little decadent, so we instead went for their albondigas in their own charred pepper tomato sauce. These pork meatballs were tender and spicy. When we have share plates, we measure how good something is by who fights for the last bite. It was a draw.

A solo waiter and one bartender were working the whole multi table space as no rush was expected before lunch on Sunday. We were patient, he was nice. I usually do a white wine without oak, butter or the grapefruit tang of a New Zealand sauvignon blanc. That’s surprisingly hard to find. In this case a dry Loire Muscadet was considered. The waiter brought a taste of Moroccan rose (thin, pass). The French Provencal rose was perfect. John did a vodka-based cucumber/mint cocktail called the Santorini, with a touch of something called mastiha. Turns out that is a resin-based Greek liqueur that gives a piney finish to drinks. He did not detect any Christmas candle flavor. Balanced was the report. And that was that for day drinking.

A really good food Sunday. We found it incredibly cute that each plate style was different. Homey plating with elevated food.

And no coffee table. Not even a $700 sweatshirt. But we have to go back to the west side, because IB Hospitality Group, which owns Margot, opened Juliet (our daughter’s name), a casual French fusion restaurant a few doors down. They also have Norah in West Hollywood. The mastermind of IB, I have since learned, is from Mumbai. How nice. L.A. gets the benefit of a world traveler who likes our weather and wants to feed us amazing food.

I admit I kinda like the table above…but how would the couch look with white Husky hair all over it?? And where do you put the remote and the tv for that matter??

Margot is at 8820 West Washington Boulevard Suite 301. Skip the Mexican and Italian joints downstairs and take the elevator up.

John and I ran a quick errand at Eataly in Century City (buying jars of Calabrian peppers – he eats them with eggs EVERY day). We had an hour of free parking, and we both love beating the parking gods, so we left rather than enjoying their restaurants, which we know well. We make a lot of Westside L.A. decisions based on parking, so we went to Beverly Hills, where city lots offer 2 hours free. Does this make a ton of sense, knowing we were about to freely spend on drinks and food? Not really! But oddly satisfying!

Bound for Wally’s, we passed our beloved high-end Mexican place that had closed. This was, what, maybe the fifth really nice restaurant we especially liked that had given up. Don’t invite us to your new joint—it won’t last. Our lamented spot had craft margaritas, house-made slow-roasted salsas with unique flavors like habanero and vanilla, and specialty tortillas. Sigh.

The empty space was now filled. Had a happy hour menu which we we were surprised by, given it was called Negroni Caffe (a coffee bar?) and Bistro (but had sushi, according to the menu). Now we had to go in.

We could choose a salad and entrée, menu seeming to lean vegan. I had a cauliflower concoction, roasted florets in a kind of soup, sauce, and purée—tasted good. John opted for a Mexican salad and a sushi course, while I chose an Italian chopped salad, hold the garbanzos. Since Negroni started in Argentina, spread to Paraguay, and has an outpost in Miami, of course they had sushi and chopped salad. Nope, I don’t understand it either. But we were enjoying it.

I had a glass of my standby Pinot Grigio, while John opted for an actual cocktail, since that is really their passion. He picked a Cacao Old Fashioned, fat-washed with organic cocoa butter. Say what? Fat-washing is a slow filtration process that imbues the liquor with flavor via the fat, explained the bar manager, who stopped by for a chat since the place wasn’t busy yet. Okay! I needed some fat-wash experience. John ordered me the Porn Star Martini, basically to be a wise guy—Tito’s vodka fat-washed with vanilla yogurt, blended with passion fruit, and finished with prosecco you pour in at will. It was delicious, and I was grateful not to be driving.

Time for one more eclectic dish to share: truffle carpaccio! Duh! That’s how they roll in Argentina via Miami. Forget the cheapo truffle-oil-on-meat vision you have in your head. This was actual, numerous, generous, thin-shaved truffle slices atop beef. The creamy component came from aerated aioli molecular gastronomy globes atop the beef, with parmesan shreds and chives to finish.

We loved it.

We’ll be back to get our world food and fat-wash fix again, thanks to Argentinian founder, restaurateur, and bar innovator Pablo Sartori’s latest foray.

For one thing, we never ordered a Negroni.

Knowing I would be at loose ends in L. A. with our 8 year old on a summer Saturday night, I seized the chance to visit Animal Restaurant on Fairfax, white hot popular and still bustling since their opening in 2009.   I called ahead to try and get a 6 p.m. slot.  Their new system has you leave a message with your request and they phone you back.  As we  drove to the Natural History Museum by USC, I got the call.  Not possible, but come right at 6 and we’d likely get a bar seat. Good enough.   We would be “nose-to-tail “eating very soon.

We showed up at 5:45 to find a bearded owner/chef outside (not sure whether it was Shook or Dotolo), quietly yelling at some teens along the lines of  “my roof and don’t get on it, of course I called the cops.” Some graffitiing kids had broken his gas line.  The restaurant would not be opening until it was fixed.  The gas company was working on it as we spoke.   I took the opportunity to shake his hand and said we were excited to eat there.   As dolled-up couples showed up for their reservations, the situation was explained over and over.  The hostess brought out some house wine for any takers.  Juliet was given a lemonade and some cookies.  The hostess also confided she had a cancellation, so a table was ours.   Still,  the wait dragged on and we arranged to come back.  We went to the car and played a tough game of Go Fish. Juliet cleaned my clock using her uncanny ability to get exactly the right cards from my hand just as I was ready to pounce.

We returned and were whisked to a table ahead of  a few others.  Juliet called out a hello to Ashley, the manager who gave her the treats.  I suppose we were seen as insiders.  Too funny.   I toyed with getting the rabbit loin spring roll, and certainly the liver pate on toast, but with a child, unless you are a mean adult, you order one course and that will do it for patience, hunger and tolerance for doing a boring grown up thing. Juliet ordered  the flat iron steak with fingerling potatoes and artichokes, finished with a parmesan truffle oil fondue.   I cannot, and did not, resist soft shell crab, over scrambled eggs, sandwiched with a pureed salsa.  I got a glass of a decent French rose and we staved off hunger with a side of garlicky grilled bread, finished with salt.

Our waiter eyed the presence of a child warily.  C’mon dude.  Two tables down featured some glamorous parents out with their 3 year old and a 6 month old in a carrier!   Ashley saw to it we got our food quite quickly.  Juliet was admired for eating a medium rare steak.  She loved it but found the sauce “a little cheesy.”  Fair enough.  My crab, appropriately, had the liver, so I got a nice burst of mustiness as I ate.  That’s what you pay for at Animal, and I got it.

Animal Restaurant Review – Final Thoughts

Restaurants usually get complacent after being open a while and endlessly popular.   Animal Restaurant seems in top form, while also maintaining a friendly and unflappable vibe.  It’s a neat trick to turn over tables all night while  not seeming to rush your customers.  Very much a plus is their inclusion of sides with your entree.  Too many chefs see every dish as a chance for another sale.  Also appreciated by lots of tables the night we were there was the BYOB policy with a $20 corkage fee.