I am a blogger, not a writer, and I’ve always corrected those who say otherwise. It’s simply semantics to some, but for me there is a distinction. Anyone can opine in a blog, but to write is the art of making a page come alive, and overestimate my skill would be stupid.
I am a blogger, but whoever wrote the DineLA menu for 1212 is a writer. Because only a real writer could verbally bring these dishes back from the dead.
They start off true enough, with duos from the land and sea.
What’s not to like about lobster? Bitter endive accents chilled chunks of tail, and a fried oyster is delicately breaded to bring out the pearls of caviar.
A fried finger of pork is palatable with an alliteration of prosciutto, pistachio, and provolone. An eggplant parm honors the eggplant to the max.
The mains are where the writing is key. Langoustine Scampi seduces with sound, and there is potential in flayed lobster-shrimp over polenta. But there is no salt in this scampi, no detectable sweetness as the tender flesh is mired in oil. It’s a mess of heads and tails, and I can’t make heads nor tails of it.
Osso Bucco is dry, slow-braised into shredded desiccation. By no means is it inedible, but not worth killing a calf. The risotto is alright, as it sings of saffron with the unmistakable fragrance of Parmesan.
The Tiramisu sounds almost poetic, an impressive passage for a cup of cream. Good cream, but it could use a little more of anything else.
Beware the DineLA menu that features novel dishes. They’re a deal with the devil more often than not, sacrificing quality for quantity, complexity for cost. I should have known when the recommended Merlot which tasted like table wine, but the suggestion was made with such enthusiastic confidence I got caught up in the moment. Coulda, woulda, shoulda. I woulda gotten a cabernet, and I shoulda ordered a la carte.
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