Zengo – Santa Monica

When you’re in residency, they tell you that the more time you spend working, the more you’ll learn. That’s probably true you first roll in from a scarcely-sufficient siesta. It’s still true while you watch a noon-conference powerpoint, lunching on knowledge that fills your brain just as much as that Styrofoam tray of cafeteria food fills your belly.  It stops being true somewhere between hour #20 and hour #24 of a 28-hour shift. No matter how much sleep you think you go overnight, you start to feel like you took advantage of the bottomless Bellini at Zengo’s unlimited lunch, and all that food for thought becomes about as easy to stomach as the tourist-town that surrounds the Santa Monica Pier.

Residency entices with the fountain of knowledge while the menu at Zengo promises the fountain of unlimited drinks. Sure, the balance of every ingredient in every dish is about as off as anyone who’s had a couple pitchers of bottomless booze. But in the delirious, sleep-deprived mind of the post-call resident, the sheer amount of learning justifies the hours, and at Zengo, the “quantity over quality’ approach actually makes sense in the context of drunkenly justifiable gluttonly.

Let’s start with the good news first. The Grilled Achiote Salmon was decently cooked with a passable ponzu and a crunchy bed of broccoli. Mediocre at best, but it’s a crowd-pleaser like Santa Monica’s famous Ferris Wheel – a safe, not-unpleasant choice that most people can live with.

But where the salmon was a little more subtle, the crude chunks of barely-seasoned chicken of the Thai Chicken Satay is about as Asian as the Bungalow crowd is down-to-earth.

Ever seen me without sleep? I get Angry Zengo Roll, and anything I say is as impossible to understand as the tuna is to taste. I think my brain takes on the rubbery texture of the Jamon Omelet, a dry egg sleeve with chunks of canned ham and grocery-store grated cheese.

At my hospital, more than half the patients speak Spanish. I’ve made an honest effort to learn, but my medical Spanish is about as authentic as the Chicken Chilequiles.  My gringa accent sours my Spanish like the mouth-puckering tomatilla salsa, and the chicken is as nonexistent as my ability to roll my R’s.

I actually liked the steak and kimchee combo in the Steak Benedict, but the dry biscuits overpower the stingy serving of steak. The Bacon Fried Rice hits the spot like post-overnight hospital-cafeteria breakfast sausage - salty with a side of grease.

You don’t go into residency for the lifestyle, and you don’t go to a tourist town like the 3^rd Street Promenade for gourmet goods, but when you watch a sick person get better under your care, the victory dances tenderly on your tongue like the Bay Scallop Ceviche. Swallow that with a bottomless Bellini on an outdoor rooftop in sunny Santa Monica, and your flute will always be half full. Any way you sip it, Zengo’s $35 for all you can eat AND drink is a steal, even if it’s about as palate-pleasing as Panda Express.