Red Medicine

Minutes go by. Forty five minutes to be exact and still no sign of my dinner companion.

This was to be my last meal in LA and as a finale I opted for Red Medicine, the controversial modern Vietnamese canteen. Decor is simple, kept to a minimalist approach save a few wood accents here and there. There is no door sign or flashy neon light that helps patrons recognize any hint of this recent headliner. And the parking sucks or lack of parking, I should say.

So my dinner companion saunters in while I'm sipping an over-sweetened Krome Vodka with specks of basil floating around which I blindly mistake for nori. (Might have been more interesting if it was nori). He glances around, peruses through the menu and utters, "This place operates on really high margins."

Really?

A "sorry for the delay. Parking was shitty" would've been nice. But I digress...

Many swear by the Pork Chaud-Froid, a blend of chicken skin, lychee, clove, and pistachio. I couldn't make heads or tails of it. A bizarre taste that doesn't leave one wanting more - an awkward combination of plaids and stripes. Yes, awkward would be the best way to describe Jordan Kahn’s creations. Although some dishes work awkwardly well, if such is possible. Take, for example, the kobocha, burnt onion, Chinese sausage, chrysanthemum, crème fraiche.

 A seemingly United Nation of ingredients that should leave battle scars on the tongue but manage to produce symbiotic results. The aftertaste reminded me grandma's bubbling concoction of Chinese herbs, dried sea horses and other odd sorts. This and the "Banh Mi" stole the show.

"Banh Mi" little sandwiches of foi heaven

The dishes are a mouthful to enunciate and the flavors are anything but subtle; bordering on sweet and herbaceous. Red Medicine is definitely a breath of fresh air to the Los Angeles dining scene.

Quick Tip: parking structure on adjacent street

Red Medicine

8400 Wilshire Blvd.

Beverly Hills, CA 90211

323-651-5500

http://redmedicinela.com/

Wayfare Tavern, my place

I have a thing for the traditional gentleman's only club of dark mahogany constructed steakhouses littered with men in black suits. This was realized last night when I happened to stumble into Wayfare Tavern. There was a palpable buzz of energy the moment I opened the bulky oak door. You have your archetypal steakhouse interior, with a massive bar of whiskeys and what not, and an assemblage of bankers and attorneys babbling about the latest acquisition, mergers and adultery cases.

The food is more or less traditional steakhouse fare, but scaled up a bit and slightly Parisian. Deviled eggs, steak tartare, escargots...and of course steak frites.

delicious complimentary popovers

 Fortunately, we got a seat right at the epicenter, 1 feet away from where the action is. It is way more theatrical sitting at the bar watching an interplay of sous chefs, chef de cuisines and line cooks than at a one-man sushi bar, I can tell you that.

Of course, I had to try their roasted bone marrow. And, of course, it was unctuous. Really hard to eff up bone marrow. I have yet to try a butchered bone marrow.

This will definitely be a place where I get my fix for bone marrow, steak tartare, and men with powertrips. I do intend to try the deviled eggs, escargot and many more.

Now on to my packing....

Wayfare Tavern
Financial District
558 Sacremento St.
www.wayfaretavern.com/


*reservations highly recommended*

The French Laundry

Only a few hours left before the pinnacle French Laundry meal and the unthinkable happens. A bout of food poisoning like no other hits my innards leaving me slumped on the bathroom floor floor drenched in cold sweat and vomitus. Between spasms of agonizing pain, the inevitable sinks in..could I possibly make it to the French Laundry in less than 7 hours? 30 days of waiting for this day, plus an additional 3 weeks of calling time... must....surive....

Three weeks of calling busy phone lines at exactly 10 am everyday, exactly 30 days before the day preferred left us with the golden lunch hour seating. Not that I'm complaining, lunch seating is better than no seating.

Despite the horrid bowel-clenching experience last night, everything seemed to be a distant memory as I reached the rustic cottage that much resembled Hansel and Gretel's gingerbread lodging. There was nothing over the top, no razzle dazzle that one would expect from the caliber of TFL. Just a small brass sign that read 'The French Laundry'.

The French Laundry - you either know it or you don't. Therefore, I'm not going to go into an elaborate biographical frenzy of the who's and what's or the making of TFL. Nor am I going to describe each dish and break it down into its molecular components. You know that pithy saying, "A picture is worth a thousand words"?

Besides, I don't have the eloquence to give Thomas Keller's creation due justice.

Panna Cotta with Sturgeon Caviar

Spanish Mackerel "En Escabeche"

Sweet Butter Poached Lobster Tail and Coffee Chocolate Emulsion

Rabbit Shoulder and Tokyo Turnips

Thomas Farm Squab

Lamb Rib eye, Chanterelle Mushrooms and Garlic Pudding

Pomegranate Palate Cleanser

Caramelized Apples, Molasses and Cream Cheese Ice Cream

Cappuccino and Doughnuts

Not a breath of foam or a puff of nitrogen. Pristine, unadulterated ingredients that did not need extravagant heavy sauces to distract us from the fundamental ingredient. Never have I tasted lobster as sweet or as tender. And the squab, much to my surprise tasted of toro, but more rich and tinged with the slightest gaminess that told of its cage free existence. Nine surreal courses and a few edible take home relics which left me lusting for more.

As I make my journey home, a few pounds heavier, a lighter heart, I ask myself, 'Was that the culmination of TFL experience? What comes after this?'

The answer lies 6,000 miles away, across the Atlantic..

The French Laundry

6640 Washington St

Yountville, CA 94599
(707) 944-2380

http://www.frenchlaundry.com/