Ink - Los Angeles

As Mark Zuckerberg's ex-girlfriend once cautioned on The Social Network, "The internet isn't written in pencil, it's written in ink."

And in Ink is written one of my best meals in LA, starting with the Broccolini. The pig ears have a cartilage crunch that is music to my ears, with an airy, fatty fry that lingers long after the charred tips of broccolini are gone. On the other hand, the pool of creme fraiche was totally unnecessary - the best broccolini I've ever had could have easily stood solo.

Dungeness Crab is almost cheating. The fresh-crab flavor is so good, I would marry it and sign my vows in ink. Believe me, this crab is worth kissing through a veil of green melon on a bed of fish sauce mayo.

Watch out for the Potato Polenta. Creamy but forgettable, the foie gras saves it from drowning in the murky duck broth of obscurity. The foie adds lascivious beads of fat and oil that lather the tongue.

You definitely don't go to fine dining to be obscure, but you do want to look classy at the same time. Good thing squid ink is the little black dress of dining. Containing no speakable taste, the murky color add mystery and excitement that any palate can handle, and it really does go with everything. The ink shells set the gold standard of al dente, and the thick tentacles of Octopus are a fragrant explosion, tentacles-down the best octopus I've ever had.

The Lamb Belly has a heavy finish. The robust gamey flavor of lamb gives character to the soft, fatty fronds, infallibly finished with a thick, pasty yogurt. The pine nut cassoulet was yet another unneeded extra - the beans were a bit hard and tasted undercooked.

Despite the smaller shared plates, dinner so sated my thirst for luxury that no room remained for dessert. But let's look at the bigger picture: I only had five dishes at Ink, and two of them became the best ever. And although "best ever" may not mean much coming from a small-time foodie, I won't let that stop me from declaring myself a fan of Ink, written in ink.