When Lance was in LA without me, he would occasionally help me live the LA experience through pictures.
He would send me pictures of the ocean. Many, many pictures of the ocean, followed by a selfie of him without a coat on and in shorts. In February.
He would send me pictures of office buildings like the one from this post.
And he would send me pictures of food. What kind of husband would he be if he didn’t send me pictures of his food?
A horrible one, indeed.
When he sent me this picture:
…I had to use all the restraint within me to keep from hopping on a plane for LA.
The food is all organic, and while I don’t always seek that out in a restaurant choice, it is a feel good perk. We arrived at dinner time (or at least dinner time in my definition of dinner time–6:30ish) and the restaurant was fairly empty. It was a week night, so perhaps they are more hopping during the weekend. Either way, we didn’t have to wait, so we were happy.
The open kitchen below the artful sign was interesting. It gave me something to watch as I waited for my meal.
Of course, I also had this goofball to watch.*
*I swear, he has been warned about the silly faces and their ability to be posted on this blog.
During our meal, I was particularly mesmerized by what was happening further back in the kitchen.
When restaurants say their fries are hand-cut, it isn’t that I don’t believe them, it is just that I don’t understand how they could possibly have the time to hand-cut so many fries. As I sat eating my dinner, I watched as the man in the above and below pictures used a contraption set in the black container to over and over and over again press one potato into dozens and dozens of fries.
He must have the arm muscles of Thor.
Naturally, my date couldn’t make it easy for me to nonchalantly snap these pictures. This is why you see his arm in both pictures. I have already deleted the goofy faced shots.
My dinner was magical. I don’t think I have used that word yet to describe an entire meal on here before. Aside from having no clue what I wanted to eat (one of everything, yes?), I went with an anything but basic chicken club sandwich. The mustard aioli spread transformed this from the usual chicken, lettuce and mayo club into a upscale delicacy. It was supposed to come with chicken skin chicharrones (translation: deep fried chicken skin–Oh. My. Word!), but they were all out. The bacon they used as a substitute made me just as happy. My side salad was also a pleasant surprise of flavor.
I, on the other hand, do not like spicy chili. I took one bite and though the flavor was perfect for chili, declined any further bites. The mac and cheese, though piping hot, was creamy, crisp on top and a brilliant blend of havarti, cheddar, goat and blue cheese.
Our waiter was sweet and attentive. When we were coming to a close on dinner, he handed us the dessert menus and told us we should give the non-menu rocky road ice cream sandwich a try. Not one to pass up a dessert recommendation, especially a secret menu dessert, we ordered it to share.
Does that look like something we should have shared?
The rocky road ice cream (again, made on the premises) was delicious, but it was the cookies that stole the show away. Expecting two basic chocolate chip cookies to encompass the ice cream, I was pleasantly surprised to bite down into warm, slightly under-baked, chocolate chip cookies.
After rereading their menu for this post and staring at the ice cream sandwich for the last five minutes, I am having to remind myself that I cannot afford to hop on a plane to LA right now just to have this meal.
But if my Hubby is looking for me, you might want to point him towards The Curious Palate.