DineLA: Vermont

Vermont was my favorite neighborhood "upscale" joint when I lived in Los Feliz. Not only was the food outstanding, but the service was attentive to the point of obsequiousness. Once during a particularly romantic meal, a waiter casually dropped a large cloth napkin on my table and gave it a few pats, then continued on his way with great aplomb. I was confused by the intrusion until I realized that I had set the table on fire. Talk about sang-froid!

Sadly, that waiter seemed to have called out sick the other night, along with most of the staff. That can be the only explanation for the uncharacteristic gaps in dinner service. Once our first drink orders were filled and dinner orders taken, we did not see much of our waiter for the next two hours. Although the busboys were manically clearing and pouring, we were virtually abandoned.

Our appetites were kept at bay by the bread basket, which is one of the best in town, with fresh walnut bread and focaccia. I am not a big fan of their spinach-pesto dipping sauce, but the busboy brought me fresh, clean-tasting unsalted butter in record time upon request (I know, I know, how gauche am I?).

The first course arrived relatively quickly. Mixed greens with homemade chutney, walnuts and pear made a nice winter salad. The deep-fried goat cheese on top was cut in half, and the soft melted cheese that oozed out was delicious with the chutney, although the pears were somewhat flavorless. I hate to nit-pick, but really, half a cheese? It was a decent serving, but couldn't they just have formed it into a smaller round? It gave me the impression that the "usual" salad came with a whole round of cheese and made me feel a little gypped.



Then we waited and we waited. Busboys removed our glasses when they had sat empty for too long, and no one asked if we would like more wine. I have heard the participation fee in DineLA is steep ($1000) and they could easily recoup that on liquor sales if they poured a little more aggressively - or at all. Finally the waiter returned and asked us if we had eaten our main courses yet. I realized they were treating this more like a wedding banquet than a tasting menu. Our waiter didn't even know what was happening. My husband took the opportunity to order a second glass of wine, but the waiter didn't ask if I would like another glass of champagne.



At last our main dishes arrived. My oxtails were worth waiting for, or maybe worth half the wait. The sweet, rich meat fell off of the bones, and even mouthfuls of fat were delectible. It was paired with a generous helping of barely wilted baby spinach dotted with pine nuts and sultanas. When my husband Bob tried it, he commented on the sultanas, 'I can see what they are trying to do - balancing out the sweetness of the meat" and I realized how many episodes of Top Chef I have forced him to watch. The plate was perfect for a low-carb lifestyle, but I did secretly crave polenta or some other soft, creamy carbohydrate.

The fettucini was in a bland, slightly watery cream sauce. It did not do the homemade noodles justice. But when I tried the heavily salted chicken it made sense. Only when eaten together did the seasoning for the chicken and pasta work. The chicken was properly cooked, with both crispy skin and moist breast meat.



The pastries at Vermont are always a highlight. Even when eating at another restaurant, we would often stop by Vermont for dessert. And once again, they did not disappoint. The light chocolate cake was delicious with homemade hazelnut ice cream, which was so light it was more like an ice milk. The praline cake was stellar, vying with the oxtails for the best plate of the meal. Paper-thin layers of fresh meringue alternated with a homemade hazelnut pastry cream. Bob protested the use of the word "praline" when no pecans were involved, but considering the things they call "Napoleons" I give restaurants a wide leeway in wording their menus.

All in all, including one glass of champagne, one carafe of sparkling water, two glasses of wine, two coffees and tip, the bill came out to $158. I guess I should be grateful that we were unable to order more wine. I look forward to returning to Vermont on a better night.

Vermont (323) 661-6163
1714 North Vermont LA 90027

Fred 62

Is it possible to love a creation in spite of its creator? You have to admit that "Live Through This" rocked, even if Courtney Love is not the most likeable person on the planet. And Picasso wasn't exactly a nice guy. The same holds true for Fred Eric, one of the most controversial personalities on the LA food scene. I cannot say my one run-in with him, in which he almost ran me over with a motorcycle, exactly endeared him to me. His restaurants, as well as his personality, inspire love/hate relationships.

Fred 62, which was sort of sandwiched between Vida and the Airstream Diner, was like the Jan Brady of Fred Eric’s creations. But it may turn out to be his longest lasting legacy. On the hippest street in town, Fred 62 has managed to hold its own for ten years. It seems that Fred 62 is becoming an old standby. Quite a feat for something so gimmicky.

The location is hip, the servers are hip, and the clientele is most definitely hip - it's almost a little annoying. The interior is slick and cool. The of-the-moment car culture seats are a nice spin on the usual 50s diner décor. Fred 62 is, in essence, a diner, spun through Fred Eric's brain, where it rolled around with a little punk rock and your mom's apple pie. The hipness and smugness are tolerable, because when it comes down to it, Fred Eric, is a culinary genius. Even if he can't seem to stay with a project (including Fred 62), he can sure develop an interesting menu. The language he uses to describe the food is whimsical in an overly self-aware kind of way, peppered with in-jokes and pedantic plays on words, like the "Charles Bukowski", which doesn't quite work because it is not actually a ham on rye. Sometimes diversity can be the hallmark of a bad restaurant. But between the Asian noodles, the American comfort food and the crazy vegan fare, Fred 62's variety fits the funky neighborhood. There is something for everyone.

Personally, I get cravings for their BBQ Beef Royale fortnightly, and would walk a mile for the apple "punk tart". The BBQ Beef Royale is brisket at its finest, slathered with an addictive BBQ sauce that carries a slight kick. The bun can barely contain the massive chunks of meat. This sandwich is only to be eaten when you are feeling seriously carnivorous. Fashioned to look like a pop tart, the Apple Punk Tart is really a southern hand pie. The apple filling comes from genuine apples and is not overly sweet. It is the filling my grandmother would have made. The crust is perfect, balancing a little bit of shortbread's buttery heft with a lightness of a puff pastry. If I could make a pastry like that, I would quit my job and travel the state fair circuit winning blue ribbons for my apple pie.

There are often complaints of bad service and "tude" levied against Fred 62. I actually prefer their servers' superior attitude to having some overly caffeinated cheerleader pretending to be my best friend. But then again, I spent my formative years in punk rock slam pits and I don't mind getting up and hunting down my server when it's called for. I have gotten just as much attitude for a lot more money at restaurants like like L'Orangerie.

Regardless of the controversy surrounding Fred Eric, underneath all of the hip and the hype, Fred 62 is what it is - just a neighborhood joint with good people serving good food. I think that is what has given this place such a loyal following in the dog-eat-dog world of "that place is so last week". Fred 62's 15 minutes of hipness ran out a long time ago. Yet there are still people willing to stand outside for a half an hour just to get a table. In the rain.

Fred 62 1850 North Vermont Ave. Los Angeles (323) 667-0062. Open 24-hours.

Farfalla Trattoria

PHOTOS UNDER REPAIR

The Farfalla Trattoria in Los Feliz holds a special place in our hearts. We had dinner there on our very first real date-date and have celebrated most of our anniversaries there ever since. We once ran into Keith Morris just as he was leaving (he recommends the house specialty salad - greens and torn pieces of bread in a mustard dressing). Later, when we tried to pay our check, we were told that our dinner was "compliments of Mr. Morris." What a nice surprise for our anniversary. I have loved him for that ever since. Even if he does occasionally hassle me about my dietary habits. Thank God he doesn't read this blog or I would be totally busted.