Category Archives: Places I’ll Never Show My Face in Again

Places I’ll Never Show My Face in Again: Bugatta on Melrose

Bugatta Mule by Caroline on Crack

Worst Moscow Mule ever.

A couple of years ago Esquire Magazine released a list of “Signs You’re in a Bad Bar.” On there were things like “Jager shot machine” and “kid-friendly.” But like most cocktail geeks and regular bar hoppers, I’ve got my own list in my back pocket. And when I walked into Bugatta on Melrose for the first time and spotted those telltale signs — the 10-ounce “martinis” on the menu, the Lavender Cosmo, the indifferent bartender with dead eyes — I decided to put away my prejudices and give the place a chance. You can never judge a book by its cover and all that. Besides, who knows, I could be pleasantly surprised.

The venue didn’t look changed much from its previous incarnation as the Bungalow Club, except to say that there were more people in it. Apparently there was a party going on. Very loungey, nice bar area. Not my type of hang, but whatevs. Loved that I was able to just get a seat right away at the bar.

But then I looked over the cocktail menu. Nothing appealed to me. Mojito-tini, raspberry lemon drop, blueberry lychee. Wasn’t this the same menu that Bungalow had from the early 2000s? So I decided to go with the Moscow Mule. I figured this straightforward classic was a safe bet even though the chances of it being served in its traditional copper cup here were slim to none. But how badly could you eff up a Moscow Mule?

Well. Turns out, a lot. The menu listed the cocktail as containing “fresh lime juice.” But unless that meant a fresh bottle of margarita mix, there was no such juice in this cocktail. I saw the bartender struggling with the cap on the new bottle and thought, “No, that can’t be my drink.” After a squirt of the mix she then dumped what seemed like a three-count of Peychaud’s bitters into the mix, turning it rose-colored. She then took a straw to it, you know, like how bartenders do to gauge whether the cocktail needs tweaking. Too much margarita mix, perhaps? But she threw out the straw and then placed the drink in front of me.

Wuuut? That wasn’t like any Moscow Mule prep I’ve ever seen. I mean, is she kidding me? Does she think people really don’t read the menu or watch her as she makes the cocktail?

Despite my better instincts I took a sip of it and, yup, it was the worst cocktail I’ve ever had. Over the top lime-y. Downright undrinkable. It in turn inspired my new favorite Twitter hashtag: #cockfail, to now be used with any horrible cocktail I encounter.

I would have said something to the bartender but 1) If she could fuck up this cocktail that bad, chances are she didn’t have the skills to save it and 2) we had dinner reservations so had no time for a redo anyway. The drink was $8; if it were more I probably would have asked for my money back. But instead chalked it up to a lesson learned.

To be fair, even though I didn’t like Bugatta, seems like 10 out of 13 peeps on Yelp do. So there’s that.

PS: Here’s a list of 10 Signs You’re in a Good Cocktail Bar, just for good measure.

Update 1/20/12: Bugatta’s social media person contacted me and said, “These problems were made aware to the bar staff. Our bar manager and owner are correcting these issues.  We strive to offer the freshest ingredients for our mixed cocktails and promise that the sour mix you spoke of in the review will not be used again.”

Still don’t understand why they listed “fresh lime juice” when sour mix was clearly the default ingredients. And how can they now say they “strive to offer the freshest ingredients”? Anyway, there it is for what it’s worth now.

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Bar Toscana: I Don’t Speak Italian Cocktails

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I had first heard about Bar Toscana in Brentwood from Aidan Demarest (The Edison, 1886 Bar, Spare Room). A bunch of us bloggers wanted to thank him for putting together such an epic blogger barhop and he had picked Bar Toscana, which opened last December, as the place to celebrate a job well done.

After all, the new bar off-shoot of Toscana restaurant, boasted a cocktail menu created by Francesco Lafranconi, the director of mixology for Southern Wine & Spirits. It was heavy on Italian ingredients to complement the bar’s stuzzichini.

Haven’t had the chance to make good on my promise to Aidan yet so it wasn’t until I had a meeting with the beverage committee for Taste of the Nation LA (TOTNLA), of which I am a member, that I finally made it over to the bar.

Now at the risk of alienating myself from the LA cocktail community, my real disappointment here was the cocktails. To be frank, judging just from the menu, the drinks sounded unappealing in that they read too sweet with the doubling up of liqueurs and agave nectar and too bitter with the use of Cynar and bitters.

However, admittedly I’m not a huge fan of too bitter or too sweet flavors, apparent characteristics of popular Italian liqueurs (see: Aperol, Fernet Branca, Campari, Cynar, Limoncello). Shrugs. I just prefer my cocktails aromatic, simple and not too sweet.

In any case, I decided to go with the Toscarita ($16) made with tequila, orancello, agave and topped with grand marnier-blood orange foam and Sicilian orange peel sea salt. It sounded the least sweet of the bunch and comfortingly familiar with its margarita characteristics. However, I found it difficult to imbibe.

The salt which usually serves as a nice contrast to the sweetness of a margarita only rendered this cocktail even more unpalatable. It’s already tangy and bitter, but salty on top of it all? Not for me.

But what served as a double kick in the nuts…if I had nuts, were the prices. I mean $16 for a drink I could barely get through?! However I had to remind myself that this was Brentwood, after all. Looking around at the lounge, it’s definitely an older, affluent crowd, the kind who probably regard a $17 “Italian Sazerac” as a happy hour treat.

So, yeah, Bar Toscana suits the neighborhood. But as a drink destination on my shortlist of Westside watering holes? No.

I could bring myself to splurge on $15 cocktails at the Tasting Kitchen in Venice, but at least I usually walk out smiling. Here, I left asking “Che cavalo?”

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Places I’ll Never Show My Face in Again: Wokcano Santa Monica

It was just last year when I attended the grand opening party of the Wokcano in Santa Monica. After being turned off by its sugary cocktails and high-priced sushi, I secretly vowed to never show my face there again. Eh, not really my thing but if it’s your thing then that’s OK. I just didn’t see a reason to make a big deal of my meh opinion of it.

But then Wokcano‘s PR person enticed me to pay the restaurant another visit with her pitch of the “Get Bombed” menu, which, even though I’m not a big bomb/shots fan I was still curious about their special $3 sake, Jager and Irish Car bombs. The special was only during certain hours of the week. I won’t list them here since we’re still not exactly sure when they are.

In any case, since the PR person also mentioned the restaurant’s new summer roll, a BBQ kobe tempura roll, I naturally thought to invite food bloggers Sarah of The Delicious Life (who came despite her unfortunate encounter with the Doritos roll in a previous visit) and H.C. of LA and OC Foodventures; and Connie of music blog Hey, Hey Scenesters tagged along for good measure.

Now as food bloggers we get invited to the occasional media event and hosted dinner to check out the restaurant’s offerings. And it’s usually unspoken that these things are comped. So naturally as said food bloggers we assumed that that would be the case here. Because bbq rolls and sake bombs are things we wouldn’t order on our own.

In any case, for reasons I won’t get into, we didn’t get to try those items. Apparently every Wokcano (there are six locations in L.A.) has different items and different specials, yada yada. But instead of leaving with empty stomachs, we decided to stay and just try the dishes we wanted to try since we’d be paying for it out of our own pockets. I ordered the Late Night Party Roll ($14.95), which is crabmeat, avocado roll topped with baked lobster, scallop and smelt egg in a creamy sauce. Since I couldn’t have a bomb, the waiter kept trying to get me to try out another cocktail. But after my stellar Golden Jubilee cocktail I had down the street at Copa d’Oro beforehand I just wasn’t in the mood to make the best of it with one of theirs.

Sarah ordered the spicy garlic chicken entree ($13.95) and Connie got the Black Pearl Roll ($14.95) – salmon, tuna, yellowtail and cream cheese wrapped with seaweed and deep-fried in tempura and topped with black sesame and butter garlic sauce. H.C. requested the Aromatic Shrimp ($15.95) with spicy sweet and sour sauce.

Of those items, guess which we thought was the best?

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Places I’ll Never Show My Face in Again: Amandine Patisserie

Not a great place for a sidewalk cafe table

In my on-going search for new favorite breakfast places on the Westside, I decided to give Amandine Patisserie, located in Santa Monica/Brentwood, a go. It’s just a couple of blocks west of my current fave, Literati Cafe, and it’s gotten a ton of decent reviews on Yelp, The Delicious Life, and Chowhound. I read their online menu and with French toast and omelette specialties and yummy-sounding French pastries galore, how could I go wrong?

Well, turns out I could go a lot wrong. My problem wasn’t so much with the food as it was the entire experience — from counter service to finding a seat to table service to finishing my meal.

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Places I’ll Never Show My Face in Again: American Airlines and Alamo Rent-a-Car

Flying Coach

American Airlines

How is it that with all the advancements in technology to make our lives as comfortable as possible, they still haven’t applied that science to airplanes? In fact it seems like airplanes are increasingly becoming the most uncomfortable way to travel out of the planes-trains-automobiles transportation triad. Case in point: my trip to Maui via American Airlines.

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Places I’ll Never Show My Face in Again: Bloomingdales M.A.C. Counter

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Since I now live down the street from Century City, I find myself frequenting it a lot more than I used to. Instead of going there once a year, so far this month alone I’ve gone three times. It’s all redone and fancy now with its brand-new cineplex and swanky food court, and new stores that aren’t really my style. And yet somehow I end up there, wishful window-shopping.

Fantasy shopping central and the main attraction at Century City is Bloomingdales. Oooh, Stuart Weitzman pumps! Oooh, a Diane Von Furstenberg dress!

However, for obvious reasons I never buy anything there. But one weeknight while I was waiting for my friend Kevin to return an unwanted Star Trek-looking shirt, I wandered over to the M.A.C. counter in my ongoing search for a “daytime red.” There weren’t that many people around. “Great!” I thought, “I won’t feel bad enlisting a salesperson in my quest for my new lipstick.”

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Places-I’ll-Never-Show-My-Face-in-Again Twins Up for Grabs

Not my twins

Remember them?

Months ago I wrote about how Shutterfly sent the wrong picture to my mom for Mother’s Day. Instead of an old family portrait she got a 16×20 portrait of unknown twin babies taking a bath. Well, I have been trying to get my hands on this odd canvas picture ever since then but my parents, much to my dismay, thought they threw it away. But when I came back up to Sacramento for the Christmas holiday my mom surprised me by presenting the long-lost portrait.

It’s so hiliarous…and yet kinda cute. But after much thought, I can’t keep it cuz, really, where would I put it? My mom suggested that I put it up in my bathroom but that would be a really weird thing for a single girl who really doesn’t like kids to display, wouldn’t it? So I decided to give this strange bit of PINSMFA “memorabilia” away. So whomever wants it — collectors of cute, Anne Geddes fans, etc. — just leave a comment here or if you want to be more discreet, drop me a line (caro @ carolineoncrack.com), and consider it my Xmas present to you. I think whomever ordered this picture for real must have paid about $140 since that’s how much we paid for the real family portrait, but you can pick this beauty up for free. I just want the kids to go to a good home where someone will appreciate them. Or is this picture too weird for anyone except people who know said twins?

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