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.

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?”

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?

Surprisingly it was the spicy garlic chicken. “When is chicken ever the best dish at a restaurant?” Connie asked H.C. So true. But it was. The chicken was tender and the sauce was savory. Great with an order of brown rice ($1.50). Add to that it was the cheapest of what we ordered. As for the other dishes, H.C. called the Late Night Party Roll a dumpster-diving roll because it was constructed in such a way that you had to search for the sushi pieces under what basically is scallops dynamite. What’s the point of putting rolls there if they’re just going to get torn apart in the search? It was tasty but not compelling enough to order again at $14.95. The Black Pearl Roll tasted different from my initial run-in with it at the grand opening party. Here, it was so salty and just left much to be desired. The sauce of H.C.’s orange shrimp dish reminded me of a higher end version of Panda Express’ orange chicken. And that was $16?

As for the service, even though our waiter was very cute (“He’s so pretty!” Sarah gushed), charming and friendly, he didn’t check on us too often even though there were only two other tables on that outdoor patio. Eff it, in the whole restaurant. So basically we stayed there longer than we really needed to or wanted to.

Yes, at first I was reluctant to categorize Wokcano as a PINSMFA but after this experience I have to just say it out loud. For sure, never going there again. Again, just not my thing. And there are just so many other places I’d rather go to in that area — Riva, The Fig, Buddha’s Belly, Border Grill, Fritto Misto….

Afterward, to save the night, H.C. and Connie went over to Copa d’Oro to partake of its all-night happy hour (only on Mondays), Sarah went home to snack on ranch-flavored Doritos and I went home to fix myself a tasty Manhattan and watch Iron Chef, secret ingredient: oxtail.

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.

Even though we got there at around 10 on a Saturday morning and there was no line at the counter, there was nowhere to sit in the restaurant. There were three free tables outside on the sidewalk but on a chilly morning, who wants to sit there?

I really dislike restaurants that make you hunt for your own seats. And if they’re going to do that, have lots of seats available or be very efficient with customer service. Tender Greens in Culver City does it and so does Clementine’s in Century City, and I’ve never had a problem finding a seat at those places even though they’re very busy and popular.

Now since Amandine is a French patisserie, part of me feels like I can’t fault diners for wanting to linger and enjoy their coffee and paper. But when there are clearly people waiting to sit, I dunno, hmm, I usually clear out. No more food on the table, no more coffee to drink, it’s time to leave. Not the case here.

Seemed like no one wanted to leave. Namely this one couple who sat and chatted on and on and on. They were obviously done with their omelettes and their pastries and their cafe au laits. Empty wrappers, dirty napkins on dishes, hands on laps. Time to go! Newp. They just sat there. Perhaps if their dishes were cleared they would have gotten the hint.

So we sat outside on the uncomfortable metal chairs in the cold with the smokers.

For food I ordered the Omelette Lorraine ($8.25) with ham and gruyere but asked for it as a scramble. The food came out quickly which was one great thing about this place. But my scramble hardly had any gruyere in it. Just a tiny knot of it in the corner.

My bf ordered the Country Omelette ($8.75) and said that his came with plenty of cheddar. “Yeah, but if my omelette just has two ingredients shouldn’t they make sure they put a lot of each in it?” I complained.

The only thing I loved about my dish was the side of potatoes which were tender thin slices covered in this cheesy cream sauce with onions. Mmmm, they were soo delicious. I wished I had more of them since I didn’t get much cheese in my scramble.

For drinks, in the spirit of the patisserie, I ordered the cafe au lait so wasn’t expecting a refill but bf got a coffee and was. We weren’t sure coffee came with refills until the server came out with our breakfast and then offered to refill bf’s cup. But then he never returned to do so. “Maybe just go inside and ask for it,” I said, dejected. So he did and when he came out with his refill he whispered how he was glad that he didn’t get a latte.

Apparently the barista who was busy making a latte was dipping the foaming wand into the latte and then taking it out again to make the little heart design in the foam. Problem is, she kept wiping the wand on her bare hand and then dipping the wand in again. Grrreat, I had a cafe au lait. Blech. Sure, her hands could be clean but still…shouldn’t she use a towel or something?

Since the air was chilly and the passing traffic kept blowing a cold wind on my scramble I shoveled it quick as I could into my mouth. “Wow, you’re really hungry,” bf marveled. “No, I just don’t want my food to get cold.”

And as if cold eggs weren’t annoying enough, the couple that just arrived and took the two tables next to us started to rearrange them. Loudly. The seats and table are made of that light silver metal, almost looks like aluminum, so whenever these people dragged them, they made a horrible scraping noise against the concrete. Hello? Pick up the damn chair! It’s not that heavy!

The first couple of times they did this I was able to bear it. But after five, six, 10 times, I had to turn around and say, “What the fuck?!” They didn’t hear me though. They were too busy organizing their stupid chairs and tables just right. Arrgghh! So annoying! Settle down already!

I just wanted to leave but bf was still enjoying his coffee refill so I decided to buy myself a pastry to try and turn this bad experience around. I love almond croissants and I love love love chocolate ones so I was beside myself when I saw the combo in one croissant. Sounded like it would be just the thing to cheer me up.

Unfortunately it wasn’t that good. It was just…eh. Yeah, it was light and flaky and there was a lot of chocolate but I didn’t really taste the almond. And apparently Amandine is known for making great croissants. But I wasn’t feeling this one. Could have just been tainted by my horrible experience.

When bf was done drinking his coffee, the couple were still arranging their stupid chairs for the five imaginary friends who never showed up. To show them how annoying they were being, I stood up quickly knocking my chair out behind me so that it scraped loud and long. Passive aggressive, I know, but at the same time I didn’t want to yell at them and make my morning worse.

So, yeah, why would I ever come back to Amandine when Literati Cafe down the street has lots of cheese, coffee refills and plenty of wooden chairs and seating indoors? Au revoir, Amandine!

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.

I know it is a characteristic of coach class for its passengers to be crammed in like cattle but why can’t that be changed? Why must the thrifty be punished so? We’re just trying to save some money by not paying $300 more to fly business class, can’t we at least get enough space to stretch out our legs and recline our seats 5 degrees more, too?

True, this whole sardine can characteristic isn’t unique to just American Airlines and perhaps the ugly ’70s printed seat upholstery that didn’t quite fit the seats isn’t either nor the unattractive flight attendants. But what I especially didn’t like was that you have to pay for airplane food now.

I know, a lot of airlines like Northwest and United are charging for their lame food but that didn’t happen in Continental when I went to New York this summer. And the flight was actually a bit more bearable because of it. Like you’re a rabbit in a cage who’s at least enjoying a nice wedge of lettuce. Flying is an ordeal as it is without our being charged for things that used to be free. (Remember when they didn’t charge you $2 for those headphones so you can hear the in-flight movie? Ah, the good ol’ days.)

But this time the cost to eat in-flight was $5 for a Thai chicken wrap, $2 for a Musketeer bar and even $2 for bottled water. Oh yeah, and no more free peanuts! Boo! It was a good thing that I bought a bottled water from the airport store beforehand and had a couple of energy bars in my carry-on as well.

I also didn’t like the fact that the TV screens ran down the center of the aisle so those seated by the windows had their view partially obstructed by the overhead bins. In other airlines, they have them running down each side of the plane. What happened to that here?

When we finally landed in Maui, my seatmates were grumpy, too. Yes, we just arrived in what would be the start of a beautiful vacation, but the journey getting there sucked. “I’m never flying this airlines again,” the young mother of two who sat in front of me said. The flight attendants had been rude to her when she had made the mistake of putting her child seats in the aisle seats instead of by the windows as is apparently FAA regulation.

Also when we pushed the flight attendant call button to summon some assistance about a faulty headphone set, the flight attendant never came by. We had to grab one finally as they walked quickly down the aisle. On other airlines I’ve been on, the flight attendant usually comes by right away and then turns off the call button.

Yeah, American Airlines sucked, at least the main cabin experience did. I guess business class couldn’t have been too bad since apparently Nicole Richie and Joel Madden were on the same flight.

Alamo Rent-A-Car

Regarding my Alamo Rent-a-Car experience in Maui, I don’t have to go into too much detail except to say there were roaches in my car. Dre said that it’s a common occurrence in the Jeep and convertible rentals on the islands but she’s never seen it happen in a regular car before. Her theory is that they’re attracted to the moisture in cars.

In any case, when we were setting out to hit a tiki lounge for a first-night-in-Maui mai tai, we opened the car door to find roaches crawling all over the dash. OK, there were probably only about three scurrying around, but isn’t that three too many? So we opted to walk the 1.7 miles to get to the bar instead.

The next day I called Alamo.

“Hi, I wasn’t sure if this was normal but my rental car has roaches in it.”

“Oh yeah? Yeah, it’s not a common occurrence but it does happen sometimes. Feel free to turn your car in and exchange it for another one.”

So, that I did. I had to drive all the way back to the airport location and endure several long lines (it was a Friday morning so there were many other tourists picking up their cars, too) to get another car. Since all the cars were taken, all the customers basically had to wait til the recently returned cars were washed and barely dried before they could receive them.

I waited and waited until one of the Alamo lot people pointed me to a compact car that just got out of the wash. “Heyyy, that looks like the car I just turned in.” I checked under the floor mat on the driver side. Sure enough, there was that roach carcass that I had pushed under the rug the night before. Ugh!

I let the German couple behind me in line take the car since they couldn’t understand me when I said it was infested by roaches. Hopefully they don’t mind such things.

Fortunately the car I did end up taking had no roach problems.

Now, I know roach-infested rentals could simply be a common occurrence in Hawaii but what I didn’t like about Alamo is that they didn’t clean their cars all that well, or dry ‘em for that matter. And the fact that that roach carcass was still there instead of being vacuumed up disturbed me. In fact the interior of the car was barely clean what with mud smudges on the doors and sandy floor mats and crumbs in the seats. And this was a car that was sitting in the lot when we had first arrived in town at 8pm.

I would think a large rental car agency like Alamo would have higher standards of cleanliness but I guess not.