Jon & Vinny's Fairfax - Los Angeles

Michelin came back to Los Angeles, and I ate at Jon and Vinny’s less than a week before they made the Bib Gourmand. 

I think Michelin is BS, tbh, and if they think the people of LA don't care about eating well, they're welcome to take that elsewhere. Self-aggrandizing snobs be damned, I do still believe they are right more often than not, and they're not wrong about Jon & Vinny’s. 

They make Italian stuff. All the stuff you immediately associated with Italian cuisine. Marinara Braised Meatballs, for example. Soft, airy baseballs of juicy ground meat in a ripe and tangy tomato sauce that is to die for. There's a swab of the thickest and creamiest ricotta and chewy slabs of garlic bread with grill-stripes for dunking. 

Get at least one vegetable, and don't underestimate the simplistic description. The Grilled Broccolini is a veggie that wows. That char tho, mixed with these giant grilled grapes and dusted with chili vinaigrette that pours acid into your burn. It doesn't hurt - it just wakes up your palate for the pasta. 

Small but mighty is the Spicy Fusilli, a creamy orange-pink vodka sauce with swivels into the spirals that captures a coat of parmesan.

The underrated Cavatelli is less popular but no less accomplished, and it's probably the prettiest of the pastas. Cavatelli roll-ups wrap around the cream sauce, and the fennel sausage lends salty fragrance. Cavolo nero is a tolerable kind of kale, and its darker, earthier quality elevates the dish. 

You'll never make it look as pretty as it tastes, but Nonna’s Lemon Ricotta Cookie harmonizes sweet and citrus. Subtle and worth exploring. 

The cookie won't ruin your appetite and it preps you up for this decadent Chocolate Budino. Custard married pot de creme and spawned a chocolate masterpiece. Ribbons of caramel contrast with sprinkles of sea salt, and olive oil is lightening and as enriching as it is enlightening.

Jon & Vinny's is not fancy, and that makes me like it better. They don't try to make it more than it is, and they make Italian staples that taste incredible. There is absolutely no reason not to try them - there’s nothing not to like and no way you won’t find something you more-than-like. 

The Sycamore Kitchen - Los Angeles

The counter is petite, a short stroll of pastries, just door to menu to ringing up. The majority of the seating is on a garden-like front patio, with heat from a few fiery lamps. 

A casual cafe, on the smaller side, sunny and sweet with homemade smells that stir up all the feels. Smaller doesn't mean less at Sycamore Cafe, and they have the pastries to prove it.

There's a Flourless Lemon Tart that manages to be both light and dense. Sunshine and citrus shimmers and settles, a glimmer that is both bold and bright.

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The Salted Caramel Babka is something else altogether. Moist rolls swirl around in sticky-bun layers, spilling delicate pecans drizzled in gooey caramel syrup.

The Croque Madame stands strong, like any single lady should. She is hard, salty ham with sharp, melted Swiss on a crispy, chewy bread. She is softened by sweet bechamel, mollified but not pacified by a effusion of a fried egg yolk, the one accessory that pulls it all together.

The Double B-LTA brought them Jonathan Gold-level fame, and it's not hard to see why. The crispy pork belly is takes bacon to the max. It stays savory and sharp as the braised pork belly melts to a viscous liquid. There are exactly enough strips in just the perfect thickness to provide full coverage to this holy-grail of a classic, and the ripe avocado adds to the buttery lettuce and fresh tomato. 

Another French-style cafe, famous for its baked goods and brunch, barely a couple of blocks from Lefavre legend Republique. It begs the comparison, but really there is none. Sycamore Cafe is a such a sweet and special place; its reputation as a standout is well-deserved, and it deserves to stand alone.

Petty Cash Taqueria - Los Angeles

Petty Cash Taqueria had such potential. A petty amount of cash to spend on street tacos on our way up to Griffith Observatory was just what we needed to set the mood for the Star Party. Unfortunately, this experience was anything but celestial.

I wasn't aware that it was traditional to serve just one person at a time, but I can't think of any other reason for them to serve only one of our four cocktails, then the appetizer, followed by the remaining three drinks. The ice in the first drink was mostly melted and the appetizer finished by the time the other three drinks arrived. I have no idea where this tradition came from because I've ever met a Mexican person that rude.

Maybe they wanted us to drink after the appetizer so that we could forget about the lackluster Pig Ear Nachos. A single layer of maybe 12-14 chips, drowning in a slurry of sour cream, with a half-cooked (runny white...ewww) egg was about as pleasant as 6 PM on the 405...Windows down...next to a motorcycle. That averages out to $1 per chip, btw.

Unfortunately for us, the round-robin eating game never stopped. Only one side of the table can eat at any given time is the only rule I gleaned out of all this. The opposite side got their Al Pastor and I watched them eat it because it was starting to get cold. Then they watched me chow down on my Carne Asada, charred chunks of steak dampened by bland beans and guac that wasn't quite ripe.

Then it was their turn again, with the waiter unceremoniously waving yet another tiny taco, shouting "Mushroom!?!!? Mushroom!?!? Who had the mushroom!?!?!!" I'm sure it's hard to keep the orders straight when less than a third of the restaurant is full. My turn! Pork Belly Carnitas, as soft as expected, but totally forgettable.

The other side gets another generic, and then my long-awaited Octopus arrives. This one is good. Really good. Tender, ten-tastic chargrilled chunks with chile and lime which I would have enjoyed more had I not been choking on the ridiculous service.

Wow Petty Cash Taqueria, you are everything I despise in restaurant form. A perversion of street food, you take a culinary unifier, something affordable to and enjoyed by all, regardless of class or race or means, and turn it into an abomination. Some would argue that the significant inflation in price is for the service, but I've had better from every single food truck or street corner stall. Congratulations, Petty Cash Taqueria, for creating the most insulting homage I've ever seen.

Milk - Los Angeles

Everyone gets a guilty pleasure. I've whittled away hours laughing at the lists on Buzzfeed, my friend Tariq sings Taylor Swift. And who doesn't get hot and bothered at the sight of Oberyn Martel every time they watch Game of Thrones?

Well Milk knew just how to cater to all my guilty pleasures. The Thai Tea Macaron Ice Cream Sandwich was a sweet drink in melty, solid form with a ton of tea-taste in a golden Oberyn-orange, reminiscent of the dusky hues of the tunic he would so readily remove. 

I do love gawking at a good-looking man, but sometimes being a girl is best. There's nothing that makes me laugh more than shaking it off around my kitchen and telling the haters to just hate, hate, hate. The Vanilla Bean Macaron Ice Cream Sandwich is as lightly vanilla as Taylor Swift, carefree and only moderately sweet, the perfect treat to burn off with a little dance.

When I'm done dancing, I start trying to get sleepy before bed. But one episode of Law & Order SVU leads to another, and next thing I know I'm up half the night, as if I had an entire Strawberry Shortcake Shake before bed. It's a sugar-load for sure, with piles of strawberry sorbet and vanilla ice cream, layered with cookie crumbles and sponge cake sin.

Some may argue that Milk can be a bit too much, but IMHO, a guilty pleasure is supposed to feel like a cardinal sin. The way I see it, there are much worse sins than getting fat at Milk so I'll be milking it for all it's worth.