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Oil Slick

By Linda Burum — Thu, 08 Nov 2012 01:15:00 GMT

Photograph by Damon Casarez; Shutterstock

Behind the bar at Ferrari Olive Oil Company in Studio City, a woman fills tiny cups with samples from stainless steel tanks labeled “Pendolino,” “Koroneiki,” and “Arbequina.” Customers slather baguette chunks with the estate-sourced extra virgin oils, made from olive varieties grown north of Santa Barbara. “Taste and compare before you decide,” co-owner Alex Ferrari advises a patron, who is savoring the last droplets of the peppery Koroneiki. The woman’s mind is made up. Ferrari pours her choice into a dark 12-ounce bottle.

Extra virgin or cold pressed? A grassy Hojiblanca or a bright Picholine? Shopping for high-quality olive oil can be daunting, so American consumers—whose demand for the product is growing—need a little hand-holding. In Los Angeles a number of independently owned olive oil tasting bars, each with its own style and sourcing philosophy, have come to their aid.

In 2009, Crystal and Chip Reibel opened Pasadena’s Beyond the Olive, where the focus is on California varietals. “At the time the olive oil world was thrown into turmoil by reports of lax USDA evaluation standards,” says Crystal. While the system is still flawed, the Reibels were encouraged by some outstanding, locally produced oils they’d tasted at California ranches. Today their shop sells approximately 50 Golden State EVOO varieties.

Years of research led Dax Alvarez and Randy Hernandez of Oliana in West Hollywood to Oakland’s Bradley family, olive oil importers who have worked for decades with small mills around the world. Oliana’s infused whole-fruit extra virgin olive oil—made by crushing olives with citrus like Persian lime and blood orange—smartens home-cooked meals in a single drizzle.

To maintain a supply of freshly pressed oils year-round, Yasemin Altuner of Antica Olive Oil, Vinegar, and Spices in Los Alamitos sources from the Southern Hemisphere in April and from the Northern Hemisphere in November. Her customers appreciate the seasonality. “As with wine,” says Altuner, “once a vintage sells out, it’s gone forever.”

Antica Olive Oil, Vinegar, and Spices
11110 Los Alamitos Blvd., Ste. 103, Los Alamitos

Beyond the Olive
10 N. Raymond Ave., Pasadena

Ferrari Olive Oil Company
11923 Ventura Blvd., Studio City

Oliana
8951 Santa Monica Blvd., West Hollywood

Frugal Find: Sal’s Gumbo Shack

By Linda Burum — Wed, 17 Oct 2012 23:36:00 GMT

There’s a crunchy, squishy burst of brine in every bite of the shrimp po’boy at Sal’s Gumbo Shack. Prompted by friends with a yen for her French Quarter fare, Sally Bevans opened the small Long Beach café in May. Atop her dark, roux-tinged gumbo loaded with seafood, chicken, and spicy sausage sits a lone crab claw—cracked open for easy access. Her jambalaya rice comes al dente, and the fried green tomatoes, okra, and oysters boast corn flour crusts that crumble like pralines. Creole cognoscenti flock to Bevans’s “Soul Food Sundays” to devour succulent braised oxtails and baked turkey wings on the shady back patio. » 6148 Long Beach Blvd., 562-422-8100.

The Intolerable Foodie: Kids' Meal

By Joel Stein — Wed, 17 Oct 2012 23:34:00 GMT

Illustration by Tim Bower

I will not talk to you about where the best burger in the city is. Or the best cupcake. Because I am not a small child. Yet other intolerable foodies are constantly trying to draw me into nuanced reviews of kid food. Debating which is the best burger stopped being interesting right around the time that arguing over which superhero would win in a fight did.

I enjoy a good hamburger as much as I enjoy an amazing guitar riff or a spectacular set of boobs. That doesn’t mean those things are worth analyzing on a blog post. Yet I have seen people who have eaten at El Bulli parsing whether Short Order is better than Umami. I did not spend all this money becoming a food snob just to discuss things that people who save for their child’s college education can.

We’ve become too lazy. It’s a lot harder to appreciate the subtleties of saffron in bouillabaisse than it is to carry on about how meaty/cheesy/bready/awesomey that burger was. We have normalized surface pleasures so much, the next thing you know, this magazine will devote an entire section to plastic surgery.

Foodies talking about burgers is particularly sad because it’s a bunch of uptight people trying to prove they can be fun—in the wrong way. They’re trying to pair toppings with the perfect craft brew and asking the waitress which beef blends were used. It’s like going to an orgy with a nerd who spends the whole time comparing it to Roman, Greek, and 1970s orgies. Only it’s more boring because he’s talking about a cheeseburger.

All this haute fast food is crowding out real haute cuisine. I have seen the greatest chefs of our generation destroyed by ground beef and pizza dough. The brilliant Neal Fraser is opening a hot dog restaurant. It’s as if our finest literary professors were deconstructing Everyone Poops.

We foodies are the last trench in the battle of adulthood versus permanent childhood. We must save our polemics for bordeaux vintages, regional moles, and sushi rice styles. For if we, too, succumb to the easy pleasures, then the hard ones will disappear. And then we will not be superior anymore.

Sugar Highs

By Jenn Garbee — Wed, 17 Oct 2012 23:34:00 GMT

Photograph by Joseph Shin

Nut Butter Cups
Ococoa
Chocolatier Diana Malouf’s Middle Eastern heritage helped inspire her dark chocolate nut-butter cups. The creamy pistachio butter-date and the sesame butter-fig fillings draw on the region’s signature candy flavors—and put Reese’s to shame. » Available at Farmshop, Brentwood Country Mart, 225 26th St., Ste. 25, Santa Monica, 310-566-2400 or farmshopla.com.

Jamoncillo
La Zamorana Candy Co.
Three generations of Mendez family members have been making jamoncillo (milk fudge) in copper cauldrons at their East L.A. factory. The 55-year-old secret? A handmade slicer with guitar strings divvies up perfect rec-tangles of sweet, tawny fudge. » Available at La Zamorana Candy Co., 5110 E. Olympic Blvd., East L.A., 323-261-1817.

Turkish Delight
Nory Candy and Pastry
Armand Sahakian’s sugar-dusted San Fernando Valley workshop is a fantasyland straight out of the Chronicles of Narnia. Lightly press the ambrosial, gelatinous squares of citrusy-sweet bergamot oil, rose water, and pistachio lokum (also known as Turkish delight) between your fingers for the full C.S. Lewis effect.

English Toffee
Littlejohn’s Candies
It’s buttery, crunchy, and slathered in milk chocolate that’s been encrusted with almonds.
This year’s Jersey Shore costumes will eventually go out of style (one can hope), but L.A.’s consummate toffee with 1920s roots never will. » Available at Littlejohn’s Candies, Farmers Market, 6333 W. 3rd St., Beverly Grove, 323-936-5379.

Sea Salt Caramels
Little Flower Candy Co.
While apprenticing at a Parisian patisserie, Christine Moore fell in love with the richness of Brittany’s famed sea salt caramels. More than ten years have passed since the former restaurant pastry chef began wrapping her own versions of the nutty, briny morsels in waxed paper. » Available at Little Flower Candy Co., 1424 W. Colorado Blvd., Pasadena, 626-304-4800.

Upper Crusts

By Lesley Bargar Suter — Wed, 26 Sep 2012 01:24:00 GMT

Photograph by Misha Gravenor

If dessert pie is the new cupcake, then the meat pie could be this year’s gourmet burger. Lately many of L.A.’s premier chefs have taken on the British and Australian convenience food, elevating the humble snack to a high-end >

meal-in-one. Meat pies may not be on any 7-Eleven shelves, but these warm, dough-wrapped, protein-packed delights—known in these parts as potpies—are no less comforting and, for chefs, no less inspirational.

“I find them really fun,” says Casey Lane, who calls his new downtown gastropub, the Parish, an “ode to En-glish drinking foods.” His pies are filled with such delicacies as pig’s head and wrapped in thick crusts made with suet, or beef fat. “I love these kinds of dishes. They’re a complete meal.”

Culver City’s British-inflected Waterloo & City always includes at least one pie on the menu. “It’s the classic workingman’s food,” says chef Brendan Collins. “Every time I eat one, I feel sort of manly and hardy.” His offerings change seasonally, and with cooler weather comes a decadent riff: a roasted marrowbone peeking out the top.

“It’s our national food, as much as we’ve got one,” says Australian chef Rob Theaker of 3rd Street’s Simplethings Sandwich & Pie Shop, where the perspective is distinctly Down Under. He roasts organic, free-range chickens for the curry-spiced potpie and finesses varieties made with portobello mushroom or steak and lager.

If you prefer yours to go, there’s Pig & Pastry, a frozen line from Lindy & Grundy’s Melissa Cortina that uses the butcher shop’s high-quality meat. “I sort of fell into meat pies as a consequence of my dual passions for baking and butchering,” says Cortina. Her chicken and beef pot roast pies can be reheated at home—and consumed, ideally, in your jammies.

Perspective: Off The Menu

Thu, 20 Sep 2012 07:00:00 GMT

Illustration by Ed Fotheringham

It’s a quiet morning, but it’s even quieter inside my head. For the first time in 27 years I can wake up and let the early hour wash over me. I don’t have to spring out of bed and check the restaurant’s bank balance. There isn’t anything left in the account anyway. It’s all been paid out to staff, vendors, and taxing agencies. It feels very strange.

Owning a restaurant is like managing a list that never ends. Most of the tasks are banal: Get bread for bread pudding, call plumber again. Some are more fun: Write seasonal specials, finish catering menus. Some are horrible: Berate the prep guy, fire someone. Now it’s as if someone has waved a magic wand to make these worries disappear. As a result, I am thinking more than I have in years. What a luxury to allow thoughts to meander in and out of my head without purpose.

As my mind wanders, I, too, wander the city. Every errand is now an opportunity to take the long way. I cruise down streets I haven’t driven in years. Being a native Angeleno means that I don’t need to move away to experience a different city. Live here long enough and the city changes around you.

I’m thankful for the time to enjoy the good in the world, but I’m ready to face the bad, too. During the past 15 years, I’ve interviewed countless experts for my radio show, Good Food, and yet the demands of the restaurant kept me from doing anything with the knowledge I absorbed. Now my conscience fidgets with some of the more uncomfortable realities in our food system. We all strive to be more informed, but we also have the tendency to skim over many of the troubling details. Finally I’m free to confront them.

Dressing It Down

Thu, 20 Sep 2012 07:00:00 GMT

Illustration by Ed Fotheringham

What exactly is a gastropub? In 1999, when I left the white-tablecloth world of fine dining to take over Father’s Office, I didn’t really know. I hadn’t heard of London’s the Eagle, which is where the term was coined, nor had I any intention of making a burger or starting any trends. But I knew that I didn’t need to serve my food on bone china to feel accomplished and that, as a city, we were missing something.

There were plenty of great chefs in Los Angeles 20 years ago. It was just that tasting their food involved fancy clothes and significant cash. We’ve long had a wealth of low-cost gems like Zankou Chicken, the Apple Pan, and Langer’s. What we were lacking was the middle ground.

Then came September 11, 2001, and for the first time I noticed Angelenos from all walks of life huddling together and seeking comfort. The communal table was born; I had never seen so many places serving mac and cheese. That was the beginning of the gastropub movement—a trend that is predicated on the idea of comfort. It’s about celebrating the everyday with beer, not toasting to rare occasions with champagne.

More than a decade later L.A.’s dining landscape is flush with casual, fun eateries offering great food. It’s just what this city needed—and apparently what the world wanted from us. To earn respect as a serious food town, all we needed to do was serve more burgers and tacos. I only hope that now that we’ve found our groove, we don’t get stuck in it. It would suck to finally gain culinary cred only to blow it because every new restaurant is named for an animal, comes decked out in reclaimed wood and Edison bulbs, and boasts a signature burger. I hope we don’t become a cliché.

If You Can’t Stand the Heat

By Patric Kuh — Thu, 20 Sep 2012 07:00:00 GMT

Photograph by Fritz Hoffman

There’s no line cook “type.” They can be as energetic as carnival barkers, as serious as hangmen, or totally spooked by the idea that “service”—meals, in kitchenspeak—might go wrong. For the decade I toiled as a line cook, I spent more time in houndstooth pants than in civilian clothes. As much as the oven scars on my forearms, they showed I belonged to an unglamorous kitchen rank where precise gestures, executed under high stress, provide their own satisfaction. Chefs can be creative; line cooks are clutch.

Two of my colleagues from those years represented both the variety and the ethos of the position. Ruben was from the central Mexican town of Cerano, Guanajuato. With the encouragement of chef Alain Giraud, he’d worked his way up through the Citrus kitchen, from dishwasher to the lead station: meat. Every chop, lamb rack, or steak he put out was the perfect temperature. It was an enviable skill.

Judging by her sometimes streaked hair, Mary would have been a punk, had she the time. Not as confident as Ruben, she would sink deeper into her Doc Martens if she didn’t finish her garde manger prep. But as soon as things started going, her movements would become fluid and crisp.

The beers we would share after the last shift of the week were the extent of our socializing, but occasionally we’d do more. Once, Ruben threw a barbacoa in the parking lot of his apartment building. Another time, when Mary got a job at Charlie Trotter’s first Vegas restaurant, we drove to Reseda to help her haul boxes. I see it now as one of the last times we would feel unencumbered. Ruben’s girlfriend would soon have a baby; I would soon start to write. For now we were packing Mary’s truck. It was a moment of line cook solidarity. In this realm of the kitchen hierarchy you have each other’s backs, and although we were all exhausted, sending Mary off with a final toast of Coronas was the right thing to do.

After Hours

Thu, 20 Sep 2012 07:00:00 GMT

25%
One-fourth of the pros said that when they aren’t eating their own grub, they love to slurp ramen noodles.

Risky Business
Chefs’ extracurricular activities include rock climbing, scuba diving, and motorcycles.

Does a Body Good
Favorite workout (other than sweating over a grill)? Cycling.

38%
That’s the measly percentage of chefs who wake up before 9 a.m. So who’s cooking breakfast?

Cheers!
Intoxicant of choice in order of preference:
Beer
Bourbon
Wine
Gin
“Other”

Seoul Food
The venues vary, but most cooks said they head to Koreatown after work. Wolfgang Puck, karaoke star?

#Nerdalert
Some of the city’s less “extreme” culinarians shared that book collecting, video games, and watching Pawn Stars were among their passions.

They Grow Their Own
…veggies, that is. Farming and gardening ranked high (ahem) among pastimes.

Illustrations by Ed Fotherington

The Bad Chef Awards

Thu, 20 Sep 2012 07:00:00 GMT

1. Repeating garnishes? That’s lazy. We don’t want to see the same arugula salad beneath our burrata, atop our pork chop milanese, and beside our dinner date’s branzino. Mix it up.

2. The temper tantrums some chefs threw in June over the loss of foie graswas overkill. Serving 10, 20, 30 courses of fatty duck liver? That’s not an act of protest—that’s how you get gout.

3. Sticking spleen in a sandwich doesn’t count as nose-to-tail. Offal for offal’s sake does the trend a disservice and has us yearning fondly for the days of the chicken breast.

4. There is such a thing as a big plate. We’re on to you: Four small plates at $12 apiece is less painful (at first) than one $48 entrée, but in the end we’re paying the same—often more.

Illustrations by Ed Fotheringham