L.A. Letter: Wilshire Turns Love Box into Love Circuit
Mind you, the following history exists only in the imaginations of my friends and I, who have all lived in this neck of the woods for many years. Santa Monica and Venice feature a bevy of restaurants and bars catering to the swinging hetero thirtysomethings of western Los Angeles and beyond. First, there was only the “Titty Triangle”: Three great Venice restaurants that not only featured good, reasonably-priced food for the professional crowd, but over-the-top bar scenes. Every Friday and Saturday, those moneyed beach-lovers with a “scratch to itch” hit Hal’s Restaurant (my personal favorite, by far), Chaya Venice Restaurant, and James’ Beach Restaurant. Other area restaurants and bars come and go, but none were ever deemed worthy enough of admission to this exclusive hot and horny threesome. A couple of years ago, however, we voted to add the Viceroy Hotel -- the renovation of a long-standing older, southern Santa Monica hotel -- and its super-hot Whist Restaurant and Cameo Bar. As a result, we renamed “Titty Triangle” the “Love Box.”
And now, after much deliberation and a dinner at Wilshire Restaurant (on Wilshire Boulevard, natch, in central Santa Monica), my Hurricane Katrina refugee niece, N.Diddy, and I voted to admit a new member to the “Love Box.” Desperate for a catchy tag, we of course first thought “Pussy Pentagon,” but that sounded too sick even for us, so we decided to quit channeling high school geometry and renamed the entire thing the “Love Circuit.” Details, photos, and a special bonus side trip after the jump.
It goes without saying that no matter how you draw the boundaries of the Love Circuit, that always, without fail, sitting smack dab in the middle is Venice’s Roosterfish Bar, the beloved gay hangout for all us faggots on the west side -- best damn juke box and drink prices in town. Rest assured, those of you men traveling the Love Circuit, you’re always welcome to visit us at the Fish if you’re game and you’ve made no progress elsewhere.
Wilshire is apparently the object of much deliberation, construction, and foodie-person anticipation. You can’t miss it -- it’s directly across from Santa Monica’s Douglas Municipal Park and its great facilities, including the lawn bowling yard where I’ve spent many a sunny, inebriated weekend afternoon playing the Mother Country’s greatest sport with Santa Monica’s large population of expat Brits.
N.Diddy and I both had a bitch of a week, and we were in no mood to get fucked around by some fancy, hoity-toity restaurant of the nanosecond. Fortunately, Wilshire delivered, in spades. We really, really loved it! First, the specialty here is organic, locally grown foods, purchased from local farmers’ markets (yeah, I’m suspicious of that promise too, in that there’s a Whole Foods Market about three blocks down the street). However, we had to admit the entire meal was mouth-fucking fresh, original, and utterly compelling.
For starters, N.Diddy had one of those cream soups that have like 15 different mushrooms and other vegetables within. We both agreed it was awesome. I started with the capriccio of ahi tuna, which was somewhat bland by itself, but when you mixed the wafer-thin tuna with the other ingredients floating on the plate, it turned out to be awesome too. Appetizers run about $10 to $15.
For entrees, N.Diddy had the organic, boneless short ribs, and I had the organic, roasted pork chop (free-range pig makes me nervous, but our waitress recommended it). Shit, I wish I knew food better and could describe all the myriad ingredients used to make these incredible dishes, but bottom line, this chow was awesome. Anyway, we were melting. Entrees run about $25 to $30.
For sides, N.Diddy had the potatoes, which were nothing special but very fresh. I had the farro with wild mushrooms, although I must admit I did not know what farro was when I ordered it. It was incredible. I could have eaten several gallons of it. Sides were $7.
Our dessert, the special “Halloween Treats,” was passable but somewhat bland. I’m sorry, but there is no such thing as an organic dessert that tastes worth a fuck. Gawd, I hate carob.
Service was excellent all around. We had the sweetest waitress, who I actually knew from a gym where I used to meet my trainer. She was the bestest. Valet parking was only $5.50, which is horrifyingly cheap in our neck of the woods. Hostesses, doormen, and other staff were equally well qualified. The food arrived at a nice, even pace.
The decor is weird but compelling. N.Diddy studies art, and even she couldn’t figure it out. Suffice to say it’s akin to the poseur-zen natural materials of that ass Dodd Mitchell, combined with some sort of Alice in Wonderland and Laugh-In motifs. We’re talking big, weird, white chandeliers, bamboo, rocks, petrified wood, leather, and wide, white, undulating metal stripes on the walls, everywhere. We didn’t eat on the patio because it was freezing, but it is beautiful. Lots of pine trees soaring through canvas sails, and big cauldrons of fire burning brightly. One of those cauldrons would be perfect for my backyard, but first I’d have to teach my dogs not to piss on it.
Our big complaint, as usual, was the fucking huge flatscreen TV incongruously hanging on one wall of our dining area. It showed “natural stuff,” like coral, rocks, and lava, rather like some shareware screensaver boring people put on their PCs. I kept on waiting for the WinFixer pop-up spyware to flash on the screen, but no such luck. I eventually changed seats to put my back to that abomination.
The Bathroom Report: N.Diddy’s report on the women’s restroom summed it up as “badly done,” unlike what I saw in the men’s. She said her restroom seemed unfinished, and some of the walls appeared to be white plasterboard. The men’s bathroom was straight ahead Disneyland Thunder Mountain Railroad, and I thought it was cute. Lots of petrified wood and other natural shit, and a sink that looked like a big brown rock gully filled with pebbles. I momentarily debated pissing in it, because it reminded me of the Texas creeks of my youth, but I thought better of it and found the urinal.
Oh yeah, the Love Circuit. The Wilshire has two bars, and both were packed with the usual suspects: well-dressed beach denizens. The back bar, on the patio, is VIP!!! With the help of a little extra tip, we cajoled our waitress into giving us VIP passes, and we went celebrity-sighting. We came up empty. I think the back bar is just reserved for restaurant patrons who actually pay to eat. If you’re just in for some cheap-ass horndogging and cocktails, you’re relegated to the front bar, deservedly so. Remember people, "capitalistic synergy.”
After that, we dropped by the Viceroy to gawk, because N.Diddy had never seen it, and our baser celebrity-sighting instincts had been stoked at the Wilshire. The Viceroy is over the top Mad Hatter retro-mod London style, all lime green and white, and when it opened, my design friends thought it would need a remodel within a year. Surprisingly, it still looks fresh, and it is as packed with horny martini drinkers as ever. Valet parking was $13.30! We thought we might get free drink coupons at that price, but no such luck.
In homage to the sad demise of Taradise, we thought of statistics we might tally to cheer up Captain Gridskipper. I settled on counting men in "stripeys." N.Diddy settled on counting women with visible butt cracks (double points for a visible thong). We both crapped out. The number of stripeys was mind-boggling, and after about 100, I couldn’t tell one from another -- similar to trying to estimate protest size on the National Mall. N.Diddy had the opposite problem. She couldn’t find one female butt crack, so at least it appears the ladies are dropping that whore look that used to be so popular in these places. So there you go, Captain. Sorry.
All in all, we had a great time. It was just what we needed. Wilshire, welcome to the Love Circuit. We shall be back.
Wilshire Restaurant [Official site]
Hal’s Restaurant [Official site]
Chaya Venice Restaurant [Official site]
James’ Beach Restaurant [LA.Com]
Viceroy Hotel [Official site]
Roosterfish Bar [Official site]
Santa Monica Parks and Recreation Department [Official site]
"Stripeys" [Thephatphree.Com]
Previously: Blind Ballroom Guessing Game, L.A. Letter: A Tale of Two Steakhouses, L.A. Letter: A Tale of Two Nightclubs, Sushi Hotbed, Defamerist: My Favorite L.A. Weekend
