Boil. Fry. Bake

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.