I Can’t Feel My Face: Chung King

Posted on April 2, 2007 by Kiki Maraschino

Sometimes, while out wandering in the bars and clubs of Los Angeles, you might hear rumors about a Chinese restaurant whose food makes your face go numb. You might eavesdrop on whispered conversations about a secret chicken dish that makes you hallucinate. In a certain area of Monterey Park, it is rumored, they cook with an illegal pepper that possesses drug-like qualities. My friends have all attested to the numbing and blissful effects of this chicken dish. Even my husband, Bob, has made the trek on the Monterey Park version of the Marrakesh Express. Last night I finally coerced our friend, Jason, into taking us out for hallucinogenic chicken.

I did a little research, and discovered that the magical Szechuan peppers (huajiao), are the dried berries of the Prickly Ash. They were banned because of a bacteria that could endanger California’s citrus crops, not because of any narcotic properties (the ban has since been lifted). Which is actually kind of disappointing. It is exciting to think that you are sampling something secret and forbidden. So if anyone hears about any opium-laced dumplings, give me a call.

There are a handful of restaurants along Garfield Avenue that cook with the huajiao pepper, and each one seems to have its devotees. Last night Jason took us to Heath and Gina’s fave, Chung King. With only 8 tables and minimal decor, the little restaurant looks deceptively like a greasy spoon. Chung King resembles one of the $1 Chinese Food places that populate America’s strip malls. But do not be fooled – this is not your local strip mall. just a few miles from home, you are deep within another culture. The menu has English translations, and although no one speaks English, everyone communicates with smiles and gestures. Still, there is an otherworldliness that made me glad to have Jason to rely upon. After quizzing us on our preferences, he ordered in long-winded Mandarin while we smiled stupidly.

Boiled in Hot Sauce (Fish and Beef)

He summarized our order for us in English:
Fried Chicken Cubes with Hot Pepper
Boiled in Hot sauce…Fish and Beef
Delicious Smelled Beef
Fried Chinese Bacon with Garlic Sprouts

Hmmm…Chicken, fish, beef and pork. All the same old stuff. The menu I read was filled with adventure…frog, eel, intestine, kidney, and tripe. I said, “You don’t have to order a wimpy menu for us. I’m willing to eat eel or intestine.” Jason said, “Oh, that’s NOT a wimpy menu. If you want to get weird, you do that at the cold buffet.” After placing your order, you head to the back of the restaurant to a glass deli counter full of exotic delights. I eyed the tripe, but nobody else seemed interested. I find I sometimes want to eat something daring just to test myself, and I actually have no interest in it at all. Each cold plate comes with three selections. Bob did not seem very decisive, so I ordered the pig ear, dried beef, and pickled long beans. Jason chose the peanuts with fish, seaweed and cucumbers.

Pig’s ear, Dried beef and Pickled long bean

The kitchen surprised us by having our hot order ready by the time we returned to our table, so we had plates crowding every inch of the table. Except for the bacon, the serving platters were heaped with a frightening amount of hot chiles. I now understood what Jason meant by “not wimpy.” I tried to start with the least spicy and numbing dishes so I wouldn’t overwhelm my palate. The bacon was the most disappointing dish. It was a sort of boiled English bacon mixed with leeks. The blandness might have been a welcome relief from the heat of the other dishes, but its chewiness made it more trouble than it was worth. Jason later complained to the owner that it wasn’t smoky enough, and she countered that he should have ordered the bacon with cabbage.

Next I looked over the cold plates. The boiled peanuts had little tiny dried fish mixed in with giant gaping mouths that disturbingly made it look like they were screaming. The peanuts were surprisingly not at all fishy. So next I went for the seaweed, commenting, “This is going to be really fishy.” Bob caught my eye and I asked, “Is it strange that I eagerly reach for food while saying, ‘Ooh, I’m going to HATE this!’?” He said, “I understand your curiosity.” But again, the seaweed was not fishy at all. Not at all like the Japanese seaweed I have tried.

Next I selected a slice of pig’s ear. It was very different than the pig’s ear I had eaten in France, which was a big, chewy mass of cartilege. This was thinly sliced, steaked with ribbons of fat, and lightly pickled in a combination of spices, including most recognizably star anise and hot chile. The fat melted deliciously on my tongue like gelatin, but then my mouth caught on fire. It was like napalm. The fat coated your mouth, trapping the hot chili with it, so it was impossible to douse the flames.

The dried beef was like thick strips of beef jerky, extremely salty, but one of the least spicy items on the menu. I should have noticed the crushed Szechuan peppers coating the sides. My lips started tingling, parasthenia was setting in. This combination of elements is known as Ma La, literally “numb heat”. My mouth had the strangest sensation of numbness, and then I felt my throat swell. I feared my throat would close up and I would be unable to breathe, so I pushed aside the cold platter.

Delicious Smelled Beef

The Delicious Smelled Beef was delicious, the meat so tender it seemed like it didn’t even have any “grain” to it at all. I really liked the grub-looking slices of bamboo shoot. But it was painfully hot, even with my mouth already numb.

The hot pot beef and fish was homey and comforting. The fish, which we guessed was some type of cod, was tender and perfectly cooked. But again, super-hot-spicy! The best dish on the menu was the chicken, fried to perfection without a trace of greasiness. But this was the dish famous for those peppers, and after one paranoid suffocating episode, I didn’t want to overdo it.

Fried Chicken Cubes with Hot Pepper

Everyone was really friendly, smiling and laughing. Jason said, “They are amused by you. They think it’s funny that you are taking pictures of your food.” So that seems to be a universal sentiment. At one point, when Jason had gone outside to answer a cell phone call, the owner, Grace, came over to proudly display a picture of herself with Huell Howser. So California’s Gold beat us here. We communicated in gestures, that she was the sole proprietress of the place. Later, Jason told me that most of the restaurants in Monterey Park are owned by women.

Our proprietress, Grace, with Heull Howser

He asked her to bring some of the peppers out for me to look at, and she returned with a scant few in a white bowl. To see how strong they were, I pretended like I was going to down them like a shot of whiskey. I could tell by the way everyone freaked out and grabbed for the bowl, then laughed, relieved, that they really were not fooling around. She waited for me to photograph them, then stood there until I handed them back, and whisked them back to the kitchen. So they are either very expensive and dear, or very dangerous. The waitress came up to expound on the wonder of the peppers. She and jason talked for awhile, then strangely, he started rubbing her forearm. He interpreted, “She said that Szechuan is cold and humid, so they have to eat this pepper to clean out all of the toxins. She said that is why girls from Szechuan province have the softest skin in the world, which is why I had to see for myself.”

There was much discussion between us as to whether or not the huajiao pepper was making us high. I definitely felt lightheaded and strange. That reaction could be attributed to the insane amount of hot chiles we had consumed, or even the culture shock of being in such a new environment. There was definitely an anaesthetic effect. It was compared to cocaine, and to narcotics, and psychedelics.


We stopped at the Boba shop to get slushies to cool off (red bean, green tea, and almond milk). They had a gumball machine selling little trinkets. Winnie the Pooh and friends were dressed up in a variety of costumes, including eachother. Tigger in a Pooh costume…Pooh in an Eeyore costume. It was a trip. I’ve always been strangely fascinated by animals dressed up as other animals. Then I saw this:



My mind was blown. I was obsessed with it. I could not rest or stop digging for quarters until I made it mine. Bob just stared at me, trying to figure out what was so amusing. It just seemed so obvious to me. I asked him intently, “Why would a BEAR dress up like a FISH?” The look he gave me made me admit that, OK, maybe the pepper did make me totally high. Chung King 206 South Garfield Avenue Monterey Park 91754 11am-10pm Cash Only.

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Meet Me at 3rd and Fairfax: The Vendors

Posted on March 31, 2007 by Kiki Maraschino

The Farmer’s market at 3rd and Fairfax is Los Angeles’ oldest outdoor market, open since 1934. Most people know it as a tourist attraction, or nowadays as part of the Grove megaplex. But Farmers market vendors pride themselves on the freshness of their products. Most of the prepared foods for sale are made right on the spot, often behind big plate glass windows so you can watch the candy being made and the ice cream churning.

As I mentioned in the last blog, I have a favorite route that I travel through the Farmer’s market. It starts at Gate 4, on the North side, which takes you straight into the food court. If it is early in the morning, you might start with french toast from Charlies. On a Saturday morning, the line for this place can take forever. But usually I hit the Farmer’s Market in the afternoon, in which case, go for the Gumbo Pot.

There are five “lanes” that run from East to West along the market. I like to walk up the second row, where you can find Marconda’s meat market. They have meats that are particular to New Orleans cooking, and an incredibly smart assed counter man. We have had this exchange more than once:

“Tasso please”
“What?”
“Tasso.”
“What did you call me???”

On my last visit, he discovered we both had the same credit card and used that to play an elaborate practical joke on me. If you are going to continue shopping, they will hold your purchase in the refrigerator for you. Oh, and they shape their sausage into little piggies. What more could you want?



Just next to the meat counter is the nicest produce in the market. But I usually save them for last, since fruit can get heavy, and I feel strange pushing around those green wooden shopping carts. Continue heading East between the two glass display counters of the Ultimate Nut and Candy. The candy counter on the right has very good sugar free candies, especially the English toffee. On your left is a counter for nuts and dried and candied fruit, which gets very busy during the holidays.

After passing a few trinket shops, you will see LittleJohn’s Toffee House on the right, where you can watch them making candy in the window. They sell homemade marshmallows, which also come dipped in caramel or coconut.

At the end of the old Farmer’s market you dead-end at the other food court. Tusquella’s Fish and Oyster Bar, Bennett’s Ice Cream and Patsy D’Amore’s Pizza are all supposed to be very good, although I am usually full by this point. But sometimes I have just enough room for Bob’s Coffee and Donuts, known for its cinnamon rolls and jelly donuts.

Then I head south. Huntingtons meat market, on the left, is not my favorite. But they do have freakishly huge and meaty ham hocks. You will never want to buy the ones at the grocery store ever again (Do you have pig’s feet? Where do you buy your shoes?).

Next to Huntingtons is Monsieur Marcel Imports, which has a French deli with a nice selection of charcuterie, cheeses and wines, etc. Across the lane is their little French bistro, but I have not made it there on an empty stomach yet. Maybe my new year’s resolution next year will be to enter the Farmer’s market at a different entrance.

At this point, turn and head West. On the left is Tusquella’s seafood. I have yet to buy their seafood, but they have New Orleans products there, so I always stock up on Creole mustard and fish fry.

On the right is Light My Fire, which stocks every kind of hot sauce and dried chili powder imaginable.

At the end of this lane, you dead-end at DuPars. Now is the time to wrestle with your conscience over whether or not to buy a pie. Then cross back just behind The Gumbo pot, which will bring you past Thee’s Continental Bakery in case you need any baked goods. Just to the right of The bakery is The French Crepe Company, where my friends often choose to line up while I am off getting my catfish fix.

Exiting through gate 3 takes you between two produce stands. The Fruit Company on the left has a fantastic fruit salad, which seems pricey, but is worth it. Across the aisle, Farm Fresh Produce has fresh fruits in season; I especially love the bing cherries and figs. Sorry I don’t have pictures of the gorgeous produce. Some guy had started a random conversation with me on this visit and was goading me into photographing the watermelon, which made me kind of nervous. In fact, lots of guys strike up random conversations with me at the Farmer’s market, so it’s probably a good place to troll if you are single.

Tips: There is a secret upstairs dining area on the north side if you can’t find a table…They are busiest on weekends and Thursday nights when they have live music, and it can be hard to find parking…The Grove’s parking lot does not accept validation from the Farmer’s Market shops, so pick up a latte or stop by Crate and Barrel for validation if you park in the structure.

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Meet Me at 3rd and Fairfax: DuPars

Posted on March 30, 2007 by Kiki Maraschino

DuPar’s has been a Farmer’s Market institution since 1938. The Naylor family, as in Tiny Naylor’s, reopened this location in December after what appear to be minor renovations, primarily the removal of the counter and the addition of an outdoor dining patio. Holding down the Southwest corner of the Farmer’s Market, DuPars can be accessed through a secret back alleyway from the food court.


DuPars is one of those places that has made being trapped in a time warp cool. The pies are the same, the menu is the almost the same, and the waitresses are still wearing the same trippy old-fashioned uniforms.


DuPar’s is known for their pancakes, but the real draw here is the pie. I have never had a real meal at this location. I have eaten at the Studio City location and wasn’t that impressed. It was all your basic grub, nothing wrong with it, but nothing spectacular. The pies ARE spectacular. Like most places that you frequent often, I have a “route” that I travel through the Farmer’s Market. It always starts with a catfish sandwich at the Gumbo Pot, and on special occasions, it ends at the outdoor to-go pie counter at DuPar’s. Pies glisten like jewels under the glass, and the splurge is often irresistible. Luckily they sell some cute little mini-pies so you don’t have to go whole-hog if you are guilty and indecisive. DuPars is willing to meet you half-way.

The other day I picked up a mini cherry cheesecake. The center is creamy and light; it is not a dense cheesecake. But it’s not a bunch of whipped fluff either. It is just right. Even though they are smaller in diameter, the little pies are the standard height, so it cut up nicely into four normal-sized slices. Although there was some bickering as to the evenness of those slices.

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Pie ‘n Burger

Posted on March 27, 2007 by Kiki Maraschino

I have been hearing about Pie ‘n Burger for some time now. In the same location since 1963, it often receives votes for the best burger in LA and is known for its strawberry pie. In fact, Pie ‘n Burger has been around so long that its diet plate of a burger patty, peach slices and cottage cheese has actually come into vogue again.

Today I finally had a meeting in Pasadena, not a quarter mile away from the place. Pie ‘n Burger appears to be an unassuming little box from the outside, but once inside, you are transported back in time to a little old-fashioned California coffee shop, circa Nick at Nite. When the friendly waitress asked me what I wanted, I said, “Well, I guess I better have a pie n burger.” She laughed gaily, as if I was the first person who had ever said such a thing. I was placing my order to go, but when she rattled off a list of about twenty-five different kinds of pie, my mind was blown. I thought, “Well, I’d better get a slice for my husband too”. And when I thought about a slice of blueberry pie, it seemed like a sin to have it un a la mode, which would not have traveled well. So I did what I tend to do when faced with a wide array of choices – I ordered one old standard – banana cream pie, plus something daring – butterscotch. Then I asked for a slice of blueberry pie, heated, a la mode, to eat while I waited for them to cook my burger.

They asked me how I wanted my burger cooked, which was refreshing in this age of “always-cook-the hell-out-of-it-to avoid-food-poisoning”. They grill their onions, so I asked for onions, ketchup and mayo. Burgers come standard with big leaves of iceberg lettuce, pickles, and thousand island dressing, so I went with it.




When my pie arrived, it could not have looked better tied with a giant bow. The flaky crust was fairly bursting with blueberries, and the entire pie was collapsing from the weight of two massive scoops of ice cream. The filling was especially sweet, and needed the balance of the cool vanilla ice cream. As I ate my pie, I chatted with the charming waitress. I liked the way her eyes shone when she talked about candy. Her slight Texas accent and wide-eyed charm, coupled with the old formica counter transported me back to a time and place when things were simpler. Not the actual, olden days when everything actually kind of sucked for most people, but an imaginary, romanticized “good old days” like you see on TV. As I dug into my purse for dollar bills to pay for the spontaneous added expense of three slices of pie, the waitress said, “That’s OK if you don’t have it.” I did, but talk about the halcyon days of yore!


When I got home, the burger had cooled, but that did not affect its deliciousness in the least. It was dripping with a delicious, messy mix of condiments, the patty was charred and juicy, and the crunchy lettuce and sweet pickle made me kind of nostalgic. I don’t remember the bun at all. I scarfed it down too fast to even notice. It wasn’t memorable, which is maybe what the bun should be – just a vehicle for getting all of the other stuff into your mouth.



The cream pies were the worse for wear from the trip home. About and hour and a half after leaving the restaurant, the butterscotch pie had started to melt into a pool of unappetizing syrup. The banana cream pie held up better, but was more sweet than flavorful. Plus, I’m not big on meringue on cream pies – just my personal preference. So I would say, go for the hamburgers, go for the fruit pies, and definitely go for the good service and ambiance. If I lived nearby, Pie ‘n Burger would probably be my home away from home.

They also serve breakfast. Oh, and as an added bonus, Pie n Burger has a wine shop in back. You can buy a bottle of wine or champagne and open it at your table to enjoy with your dinner. Might I suggest a nice Zinfandel to go with your chili size, and how about a Syrah for the rhubarb pie? Pie’n Burger 913 E. California Blvd. Cash and checks only. http://www.pienburger.com/index.htm

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Meet Me at 3rd and Fairfax: The Gumbo Pot

Posted on March 27, 2007 by Kiki Maraschino

I was worried when they opened the monstrosity known as “The Grove” that my beloved Farmer’s Market would be contaminated by it and die a slow, whimpering death. The closure of Dupar’s for “renovation” did nothing to allay my fears. But now, well into the “Grove years” the Farmer’s Market still shines as a beacon of good food in the face of the franchised blanding of America.


There are certain cravings I get that just cannot be satified by anything else. The Gumbo Pot’s blackened catfish po’boy is one of the foods that often calls out to me with its siren song. So what if “blackening” is not a classic New Orleans dish, but is a technique invented by Paul Prudholme in the 80s! So what if it was EVERYWHERE in the 80s, like pesto in the 90s, and lemongrass recently. Blackened catfish ROCKS. And the Gumbo Pot is one of the few places in Los Angeles that actually has food that tastes anything at all like New Orleans. There is something about the bread – they say it’s in the water, like New York pizza dough. I hear rumors of a place where you can buy that bread in South Central, but I haven’t hunted it down yet.
The Gumbo Pot puts their own special twist on the catfish po’boy (I refuse to say they “kick it up a notch” no matter how appropos it is here), by sneaking in paper-thin slices of fresh lemon. Just writing this makes me want to eat one now. In fact, if you had one in your hand right now I would knock you down to get it without a second thought.



Their house salad is an ingenius balancing act of flavor…sweet candied pecans, vinegary homemade pickles, tart green apples, and a creamy buttermilk dressing over romaine. It is fucking amazing! You have to ask for the salad with apples. If you accidentally order the plain house salad, you cannot beg borrow or steal a green apple from them to save your life. I just about lost my mind once when the manager refused to let me buy green apple slices. But you know, that is how they do it in New Orleans. What you see is what you get. No substitutions. We are so spoiled in Los Angeles, with our orders like, “Ummm, geee, I can’t decide between the chicken and the fish…is that line caught or farmed? Is the chicken grilled? Is it free-range? Organic? Yeah, can you do the chicken without the skin, on a bun instead of bread, oh, and can you put some pesto mayo on it? Oh, that would be great, thanks! Oh, and and can I get fresh fruit on the side instead of fries? You’re a doll!” They don’t put up with that crap in New Orleans. Your exchange would go something like this:

“Ummm, geee, I can’t decide between the…”

“Y’all let me know when ya’ll decide what ya want” (walks off)

So, that’s kind of the gruff, take-no-shit attitude you can sometimes get at the Gumbo Pot (Actually, one of the guys is a sweetheart, and only one is super-gruff). But their food is so good it is worth it. They can treat me any way they want to, as long as they don’t cut me off.

Really, most of their food kicks ass. The gumbos are smoky and intense, and their fried catfish is also a thing of beauty, as is the shrimp po’boy. As much as it pains me to admit it, their red beans and rice are even better than mine. And I pride myself on my red beans and rice. In fact, I am the queen of red beans and rice. But I just handed my pinball crown to him…to him (How do you think he does it? I don’t know!).

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Let’s fry some catfish!

Posted on March 25, 2007 by Kiki Maraschino

CATFISH “FINGERS”

2 pounds fresh catfish filets
2 cups milk
2 eggs
10 dashes Tabasco sauce
1 Tablespoon yellow mustard
1 cup “fish fry” mix

½ cup cornmeal
½ cup flour
¾ cup cornstarch
2 Tablespoons Tony Chachere’s Cajun seasoning
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon pepper
½ teaspoon garlic powder
Peanut oil
Slice catfish crosswise into 1-inch strips. The size and thickness of the strips will vary. That’s OK. In a large Pyrex pan, whisk together milk, eggs, Tabasco and yellow mustard. Add the catfish pieces, turning to coat thoroughly. Cover with plastic wrap and leave in the refrigerator for at least half an hour.

In a medium-sized baking dish or pie pan, mix together fish fry, cornmeal, flour, cornstarch and seasonings. Gently dredge catfish pieces in dry mix and set aside.

In a large cast-iron pan, heat 2 inches of peanut oil to 350 degrees. The temperature of the oil is where most people have problems with frying. I flick a little bit of water into the pan and I can tell by the sizzle when it is right. Every time you add a piece of catfish, the oil should bubble furiously around it. If not, you are adding too many pieces too quickly and the oil is cooling. You will need to constantly adjust the fire during the frying process. For the right temperature, I need to keep the dial between 4 and 6 on my stove, but that may vary. It is best to use a thermometer until you get the hang of it. I find the Chinese wire deep frying tool used for woks invaluable for deep-frying.




Fry catfish in batches, being careful not to crowd the pan or the oil will cool. Fry the less thick pieces for about 2 minutes, and the thicker pieces for about 4 minutes, turning the pieces frequently.

Drain on paper towels, and dab with additional paper towels to soak up any grease.

Dip in Tartar sauce, Remoulade, or even mayonnaise spiked with Tabasco. Or make yourself a Po’Boy! (I had a lot of help with this recipe from someone known as “Big Daddy” on a Louisiana cooking site).


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The Glory That is Burbank: Porto’s

Posted on March 23, 2007 by Kiki Maraschino


6. EVERYBODY LOVES PORTO’S!!


True, Porto’s has been a Glendale institution for over 35 years, but last year saw the grand opening of its Burbank location. And we greeted them with open arms! The Portos family began their tradition of baking back in Cuba, and the second generation is now helping to run the business.

You enter the large bakery’s corner entrance facing the barista. On your right is a long bakery case with a line snaking back and forth two or three rows deep, depending on the time of day. That is the line for cakes, and a wide assortment of breads and pastries. To your left is a shorter, single line and bakery case. Choose this line for sandwiches, and a smaller selection of pastries and breads. It is an “express line” for people who aren’t ordering a large quantity of baked goods. If you order sandwiches or cafe con leche you are given a number. You wait for the cafe in front of the barista, and you wait for the sandwiches in the far left corner. In the far right corner is a special counter for custom ordering sheet cakes and wedding cakes. Learn the system, and you can be in and out surprisingly quickly, considering the crowds.



Porto’s has too many selections for me to list, and even the list of specialties is extensive. They are famous for their potato croquettes and pastries with guava filling. But if I had to pick one item that is Porto’s claim to fame, it would be the pastel de carne, the little meat pie. Savory ground beef is enclosed by a flaky crust that is a cross between a puff pastry and a pie crust. The top is brushed with a sweet glaze, which makes the pies unusual yet addictive. They make an excellent party appetizer, a steal at 50 meat pies for 25 dollars.

For my wedding cake, and for most of my birthday cakes, I have ordered the Cuban cake: Yellow sponge cake soaked in a light brandy syrup, with a guava filling. Be forewarned: the darker icings use an intense food coloring that turns everyone’s mouths bright blue, or black, for the rest of the party. Sometimes this is kind of a fun thing to do on purpose.


I often stop by early in the morning for Cuban sandwiches – roasted pork, ham, Swiss cheese, mustard and pickles layered on French bread still warm from the oven. No matter how early it is, the staff are always friendly and energetic. As soon as I started to take a picture of the bakery case, everyone started laughing and posing for my camera. The people who work at Porto’s love their jobs; they are having a good time. Their happiness is highly contagious and often has me walking to my car, sandwiches and pastries in hand, with an extra little bounce in my step. 3614 W Magnolia. .http://www.portosbakery.com/home.htm

Posted in Bakeries, Burbank | 1 Comment

Farfalla Trattoria

Posted on March 22, 2007 by Kiki Maraschino

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.



Anyways, back to Farfalla…they used to close down between lunch and dinner. But now they are open from 11am to 10pm. Lucky for us, since we were able to stop in and pick up something to go after our tax appointment yesterday. Because it was a quiet inbetween time, I was able to catch a rare photo of their dining room without the usual bustle. I love this room, made cozy by the warm wood and brick, as well as the back wall of wine bottles. When seated along the outer edge, it is perhaps the most comfortable dining room in town. But if one is unlucky enough to be seated down the center, the constant passing and chair bumping by servers can be annoying. Now that we don’t live in the neighborhood, we usually get our food to go and avoid the crowd.


Their pizza is similar to New York pizza, with a super-thin crust, light sauce and intensely concentrated flavors. I like the Margherita, but I am addicted to the pesto with goat cheese.

Their gnocchi is rivaled only by nearby Il Capricio’s – light, delicate little pillows in a rich cream sauce with chicken and sun-dried tomatoes. Their pastas are interesting and well-balanced, and served in generous portions. I especially like the wild mushroom rigatoni in a light pink sauce. Bob likes the farfalla with salmon. The fish specials are always fantastic, as is the steak special, which is usually a T-Bone. The free-range chicken reminds you what chicken is supposed to taste like, and the sausage and polenta, although simple, is a favorite. In fact, you can’t go wrong at Farfalla. I have never had a bad meal there. The only area that could use improvement is desserts, which aren’t made on-site. They are ordered frozen from Sysco, the ubiquitous restaurant distributor (I recognized the desserts from a food show I attended). http://www.sysco.com/products/Productpage_search.asp?productID=683. If they could get whoever is making their fantastic bread to make the desserts, they would be much better off. Of course then I might never leave. 1978 Hillhurst Avenue, Los Feliz.