Last Friday night I had plans to dine with a friend. My friend needed to be picked up in Culver City, as he was without a car or a magic carpet. Culver City? Boy, haven't been there since Beacon beckoned me there for my very first meal in Los Angeles (true story... although the address says Culver City, so maybe it doesn't count). Anyways, since I was picking up my friend in Culver City, I thought this a prime time to visit one of downtown Culver's many up-and-coming restaurants. Quickly I reached for the LA Weekly and thumbed to the dining in Culver section. Top of the list? Akasha, recommended by the publication. Eco-friendly, good location, good wine list...sold. But what started off as an experience ripe for enjoyment, ended up in an experience in which I learned a lot about what separates fine dining from eh-it-was-fine dining.
Akasha is beautiful. The historic Hull Building was restored by chef Akasha Richmond and her team to reflect the new modernity in downtown Culver. And everything is "green" of course: recycled ceiling, recycled tile, local limestone, beeswax touches, etc. Okay, so not only does the place look good, but it makes us feel like we are doing Mother Earth a favor by supporting such a restaurant. But let's not kid ourselves. We don't go out to eat because we want to please mother earth, we go out to eat because we want to please our appetite. We want to feel sophisticated, taken care of, in on a "scene," and most importantly, deliciously fed. Akasha failed to deliver on most. Take for example, sophistication. We were seated in a timely manner but some very friendly hostesses and were even accommodated when the table given to us didn't please my highly choosy taste in tables (you will discover that I find that where I sit in the restaurant is of the utmost importance). I opened the beautiful hard cover menu to find loose leaf paper. Wrinkled, stained, and surprising, the paper (as I later learned) is post consumer waste paper, recycled and brought to us diners. Okay. Fine. Sacrificing a bit of sophistication for mother earth, I get it. Our server gave us her spiel and then turned around to head back to the kitchen. Wait a second... behind that black collared shirt and that clean black apron is a pair of jeans. Really? Here? Oh but they are 100% organic cotton jeans from Levi's. I then look at the menu and the prices. There are small plates ranging from $7-15, pizzas from $10-13, and big plates from $12-25. Wait, did I get that right? $12-25 for an entree. That's right, in the same category as a seared albacore filet, a zinfandel braised pot roast, and a pan roasted Idaho trout, is an organic turkey burger with choice of salad or fries for $14. But the cheapest beer on the list is $7... for a Fat Tire. I don't get it. But I did get it. I ordered the turkey burger with a salad for $14. Perhaps it was the jeans or maybe it was the paper menu, but something was telling me that it was alright to only spend $14 on my dinner that evening instead of upping my experience to a $25 flatiron steak with Parmesan crusted dutch potatoes, green beans, and chimichurri. Never mind that the Gruyere on my burger was cold and congealed or that the burger meat itself tasted miraculously like meatloaf minus the ketchup. (But there was ketchup on the side... which was actually pretty good). And you know what? I'm not complaining because for someone who is as money conscience as I am, a $14 option is nice. I just think Akasha missed the boat here. It's Friday night and I was ready to drop some dough on dinner, that's why I picked such a nice place with such a nice write up. And it looked great from the outside. But there were so many casual touches to the restaurant, that part of me couldn't bring myself to spend beyond a TGI Friday's budget.
Am I a snob? Maybe. But I root for restaurants in this lackluster economy, and when I go to one that so easily could be a true, fine dining experience, and I believe is billed as such, and then gives me faux-nice packaged in recycled hemp wrapping, I'm underwhelmed. All I know is that next time I'm dining in Culver, I'm going to head to Ford's Filling Station, where I hear you can order a whole roasted pig at least ten days in advance. I'll save the neck for you, Clark, but you had best leave the intestines for me.
A: the small intestine
(The trivia question is taken from this week's set of questions from King Trivia. Join me, Quizmaster Brandon, at Sagebrush Cantina in Calabasas on Tuesdays at 8pm, Weiland Brewery in downtown L.A. on Thursdays at 6pm, and TGI Fridays in Woodland Hills on Sunday at 9pm. Bar trivia: it's fun, it's free, and you can win free drinks. What's not to love?)
Holla! Cathy and I like to evaluate restaurants too.
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