Wine Giques

It's the Service, Stupid.

Great article in the LA Times today (no, not on the front page, which is All About the Fires) on the differences between restaurant service in LA and NYC.  Seems that those fancy-schmancy Ennwhysee chefs who are invading town have had a little sumpin'-sumpin' to learn about service in LA.  Mainly, that it doesn't have to be technically perfect, but you do have to fluff up your guests' egos a bit.  (After all, ego is what powers LA's economy.)  And give them time to relax after their long drives.  Dining is a commitment in LA, where you often have to get in your car to visit a fine restaurant.  (Mozza is the exception in my neighborhood, where walking is common.)

I found the article timely because I'm off to NYC this weekend to observe some of those fancy chefs in their own habitats.  I plan to act the part of the total Angeleno, and to wear my shades and baseball cap into the restaurant, and perhaps to pick a fight in the bar. 

Obsession

Okay, I have to cop to missing the dining scene.   I really, really miss it.  I miss the food-- and the obsession with food --in San Francisco and New York.  I love LA, love my neighborhood, love the city's energy, its place as the leader in all things associated with pop culture and small dogs that fit in handbags.

But--oh--FOOD. When you tour the great dining cities of the world --NY, SF, Paris, Hong Kong, Tuscany (okay, not a city, but so what) -- and you come to LA, you respect how far the city has come (anyone else remember when City Restaurant was an outpost on LaBrea?), but you also sense that the community of people who eat in restaurants for the sake of eating in restaurants is actually pretty small.

I was lucky enough to be lurking in NYC earlier this year, and I went to Eleven Madison Park.  (I was trying for Union Square Cafe, but my friend Carmen wasn't working, so I hoofed it a little uptown.)  "Parked" myself at the bar with a bunch of cute boys who worked at Resto, and who spent the rest of the evening talking about FOOD.  Now these guys were hot.  Hott.  In LA, they'd be talking agents, scripts, auditions, clubs, anything but food.  Not this posse.  They waxed poetic about summer tomatoes.  Debated the best way to structure a foyer entrance.  Drank decanted wine.  Exclaimed over the turbot.  Talked about chicks.  (They looked to be in their late 20's and early 30's, and straight).  Then back to the chow.  I don't know about you, but I find this very attractive.

I suppose I missed my place in the world.  Born to be a Parisienne, shuttling between cafes, shoe fittings and handsome men in chef's jackets.  Ahh, the moveable feast that is a city of food lovers.  Feels like home to me.  And the grenache I had with dinner?  Domaine de la Cote de l'Ange, 2000.  Very fine, just like the guys.  And the food.