RESTAURANT WEEK IN LOS ANGELES

Why I Hate Restaurant Week and Other Thoughts...

How dare these weirdoes even think they are presidential material? Have standards dropped so low that any whacky oddball with a little PR savvy can operate inside the political circus of our land? Has it always been that way? Was this country ever led by statesmen, whose intelligence and eloquence mattered, or have our Presidents always been a manifestation of the common man in America? What we get is who we are.

We need a new category to express the modern phenomenon of a First World nation that acts like a Third World nation – but at least, so far, thank goodness, does not smell like one.

I sent an email to President Obama suggesting he create a private foundation funded exclusively by our billionaires, administered non-politically by the greatest minds devoted to health, education and public works across the land. I can see the plaques: the “Buffet Express,” high-speed trains, “The Gates Jobs Connection” on the cornerstones of schools. Give them full credit. Praise them to the world. Stop fighting with Congress; they won’t do it and the people are confused. The billionaires won’t refuse; they want to be loved. Maybe the Occupiers will force the billionaires to act.

I sat down to write about my restaurant experience last night but look what came out. Also, I’m avoiding writing something to be published about Restaurant Week LA for fear of committing journalistic hari-kari.

But what about freedom of speech? I won’t mention names and let’s see what happens.

A new friend, and recent arrival to Los Angeles, wanted to participate in LARestaurant week; she thought it sounded like fun, an opportunity, even. She chose the restaurant; I went for the company, but confess I expected much better food. This well-known, respected, high-end establishment, with a quasi-famous chef’s name attached, in West Hollywood (am I allowed to say West Hollywood?) has been around for years.

I should have known better.

One can always hope. Hope, as I recently told a potential literary agent, is a wonderful thing and I will always harbor it, even when I know better.

Dine LA brings business to restaurants that wouldn’t have gotten it otherwise, the old bait and switch tactic that hooks customers by its alluring hype. They advertise $44 for a three-course, prix fixe menu, excluding drinks and tax, and we fool ourselves into thinking that we’re actually going to eat the kind of food that made this restaurant famous. Wrong.

The prix fixe menu dishes are more diner type of food than haute cuisine. I’ve seen it every time. Last night, to make matters worse, our waitress kept whisking away plates and glasses that we had to grab back because we hadn’t finished yet - a last sip of wine, the shiny walnut on the salad plate.

True, the dryness of the “recommended” pork confit was not worth fighting for, nor was the not-freshly-cut charcuterie served without even a pickle or anything, nor the inedible soppy bread pudding my poor friend got for dessert. I liked the sides of cauliflower and pine-nut studded farro, but not for $44 dollars and the worst service I ever had in Los Angeles. The busboy was kind; asked if we were done and could he remove the plate. He hoped we liked it. We didn’t.

I’ll return when they’re serving their normal menu, the one they’re famous for, when I don’t have to eat dessert if I don’t want to (because I’ve paid for it), and the service is for welcomed guests.

On second thought, I won’t.
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