ink. omakase

No need to hash out the fact that I love the Voltaggio brothers again. And I know I've already posted on ink. before. But after eating there again for my dad's birthday earlier this year, I felt compelled to share the omakase option at ink.

Although the omakase seems overpriced, in certain ways, it's worth it. There's something to be said about experiencing what, in the chef's mind, is a true representation of himself or herself in a set number of courses. You get to try a further refined version of an already refined menu. And just as the word, "omakase," suggests, you put your trust in the hands of the chef.

The omakase menu is simple, leaving no room for options outside of choosing your dessert.

The five-course meal started off with its strongest: Scallops. These beautiful, perfectly seared scallops came flanked by pieces of silky tofu that mimicked the scallops in appearance. Eaten with the bitter and rich cocoa ash, the soy-based "black vinaigrette," green onion tapioca, and an amazingly delicate rice cracker with bits of nori, this dish was heaven.

It was a quick reminder of Michael Voltaggio's innovative and balanced flavor profiles, playful techniques, beautiful presentation, and Asian influences. Everyone (maybe it was just me) scraped up every last bit of tapioca, ash, and sauce before waiting excitedly for the next course.

The second course was a beautifully simple presentation of Foie Gras. A dragon's portion of cool foie gras with a pair of waffle wings, a pickled shallots and dandelion greens spine, a smoked maple marshmallow tail, and a handful of sriracha fireballs.

This was a flavor bomb. The first few bites were a little strange, but the more I ate, the more I understood the concept and combination of flavors. The rich fattiness of the foie cut through by the acidic pickled shallots, the gentle spicy sweetness of the sriracha accompanied by a toned-down interpretation of waffles and maple syrup. Although it took a few attempts to get the proportions to my liking, a perfectly portioned bite was exactly that: perfect.

My second-favorite of the night was the third course: Branzini. The mushroom oatmeal was almost identical to the Hot Mushroom Cereal from last time, which was a real win for me because that was one of my absolute favorites from last time. The fish flaunted a golden-crisp layer of skin that cracked open to delicate and rich meat. The fragrant and crispy enoki mushroom hay was addictive, and the clean mushroom broth was perfect with the fish's salty skin.

The fourth course was a play on Steak Frites. The beef seemed sous vide. If it wasn't, it was cooked really darn well. Medium-rare from tip to tip with an even sear. Either way, the beef rib cap melted in my mouth with absolute ease. The frites came in the form of potato cigars that were light, crisp, and preferable to a more traditional mountain of fries. The plate also came with a deconstructed béarnaise sauce: an egg yolk purée raked along the base like the sand of a zen garden and two powdery patches of tarragon butter. And because a plate of steak frites would never be complete without some form of onion, the plate came with a couple dollops of pickled shallot jam.

ink. had four dessert options that night, but I raved so much about the Grapefruit dessert and the cilantro sorbet that my family decided to double up on that one. Just like last time, the balance of grapefruit, creamy cilantro sorbet, avocado cream, and charred lime merengue was irresistible. I regretfully didn't ask for another scoop of the cilantro sorbet this time though. So good.

We also had the Apple dessert from last time, which was just as interesting and delicious as last time. The burnt wood ice cream was especially delicious this time.

But the most interesting dessert was the Chocolate dessert. This came with a creamy, dark chocoloate ice cream, spiced tofu cream, fluffy chunks of black sesame cake, and towers of chocolate ganache. I typically don't like chocolate desserts (I know I say that all the time), but this was pretty amazing stuff. The combination of chocolate and black sesame really reminded me of what would be a modern Japanese dessert, and the spiced tofu lightened up the plate with just the right finesse. Pretty great stuff.

If you only have one opportunity to go to ink., I'd recommend going with small plates because you get to try more things. You also get more bang for your buck. But if you're looking to celebrate a special event and want each person to experience each dish in its intended portion, consider the omakase option. Either way, you'll get some kickass food.

ink.
8360 Melrose Ave
Suite 107
Los Angeles, CA 90069
(323) 651-5866
http://mvink.com/

GET: To ink.

Soban

Apologies for the delay in posting. Searching for a job/apartment/car, as well as a couple weddings, has really put me back. But I think I'm getting into the groove of things again, so let's just pick up where we left off, like a couple of old friends.

Next to Mexicali Taco & Co., Soban is the only other place I make a point of going to on every trip back to L.A. And like Mexicali, Soban has found a way to nestle its way into my soul, almost to the point where writing about it is absolute torture. But with the hunger pangs still fresh from writing about Mexicali, I figured I should just push through this one as well.

A soban is a low, wooden table typically used for family eating, and the name for this restaurant could not be more appropriate. When you eat here, you're either eating with family, or it sure as hell feels like it. The food here is, at its heart, comforting. It's food that you feel in your gut, that makes your eyes roll back, that gives your spine a tingle, and that makes a single tear roll down your cheek. As if that weren't enough, Soban's food often shocks your tongue to life, elevating familiar flavors by just enough to leave you excited to eat more.

Service is almost always fast, attentive, and friendly, even when they're slammed and in the zone. Lots of dishes come with some tableside service, which can be fun for first-timers.

Like a well-stocked Korean home refrigerator, every meal starts with anywhere from 12 to 15 banchan plates.

Most of them are staples, but a few are unique to Soban. Even with the staples, Soban does them better, as if to say, "Why do a dried out piece of egg when you can do a silkier, more delicate version?" Thankfully, my favorites are almost always in the set.

For me, the Deulggae (wild sesame) (also, romanizing Korean is a ridiculous venture) Seasoned Celery goes down the hatch in a matter of seconds. Perfectly blanched celery with just enough preserved crisp and give. Each bite is cool and refreshing, but also a little sweet and nutty.

The Seasoned Parsley is my second favorite. It uses classic Korean seasoning techniques, but with a non-traditional vegetable. The result is a very herbal, cleaner, and punchier version of a typical Korean Seasoned Spinach.

And as if the banchan spread wasn't enough, you also get your choice of either white rice or jakgok rice. I almost always go for the jakgok rice because of its more complex and often more satisfying flavor, complete with a mix of beans and chestnuts. But I understand that sometimes white rice is just too darn good to pass up.

Before we get to my absolute favorites, let's look at some of Soban's other stellar offerings. The Haemul Dooboo Jun can be a full meal on its own. It's a hefty, crisp, and satisfying plate of three to four seafood tofu pancakes packed with the flavor of sesame seeds and green onion. The amount of toothsome octopus and squid is just right, and the accompanying sauce adds a salty and citric touch.

The Dwenjang Jjigae is one of the best I've had in L.A. My mom makes a mean dwenjang jjigae, so I can't give this fermented soy bean stew too much praise, but I will say that it's the best I've had in a restaurant outside of Korea and my parents' home. Comforting, savory, rich, and refreshing, this stew hits all the right notes on a rainy day.

The Saengtae Tang is an exceptional pollock stew with a beautiful, delicate broth. My mom doesn't really like adding anything spicy to saengtae tang, and that's what I grew up with, so I always get this without the default addition of red chili powder. The stew is huge, packed with a colorful mix of squash, onions, and other vegetables, generous portions of tofu, and a perfectly-cooked body of a pollock. The fish meat flakes at the touch of a fork and its subdued flavor lends itself to rounding out a clean and refreshing stew. If you see some strange-looking intestinal things floating in your stew, don't say anything and just pop it in your mouth. You might be pleasantly surprised.

Now let's get to the outrageously exceptional stuff. First up, the Hanchi Moolhwae, a shocking display of sliced radish and noodles made out of cuttlefish, topped with abalone, and flanked by tobiko, squid ink tobiko, and green sprouts. Sometimes they throw in some julienned Asian pear, too.

Depending on how spicy you want it to be, someone will pour on a gochu jang (red chili paste) and rice vinegar based sauce that tastes like it has some oysters or something ocean-based mixed into it. I usually go with half-spicy or less, just because I'm afraid that too much spice will take away from the freshness of the abalone and cuttlefish. It would probably be really tasty on its own or on some rice, but refrain, and let the process continue.

Next, they'll ask if you want some ice water to pour into your bowl. I know, it sounds weird, but just let them do their thing.

The result is unforgettable. Toothsome and refreshing cuttlefish noodles, crunchy and flavorful bits of abalone, crisp strands of radish, sharp and brief notes of green sprouts, and addictive bursts of tobiko. The ice water essentially becomes a cool soup laced with the chili-vinegar sauce. If you're still full after all the noodles, throw in a bowl of rice (preferably white, in this case) into the soup and enjoy.

Next up, the Galbi Jjim. Now, I think I've said before how every Korean kid claims their mom has the best rendition of this dish, but this is the closest any restaurant has gotten to getting me to say that it's as good as my mom's. Sweet, succulent gems of perfectly braised short rib, swimming in an addictive pool of a sweet and salty sauce and accompanied by pine nuts, dates, strips of orange rinds, and delicate strands of egg.

Like the Saengtae Tang, I prefer this dish without the optional spice, but I will say that the spice is a great way to cut through some of the sweetness. Both are incredible, so get on it. And either way, get some rice on your spoon and dip it into the braising sauce. So, so good.

The third of my four staples is their Eundaegu Jorim. I am a sucker for this dish. If it's on a menu at any Korean restaurant, I immediately want to get it. Something about it speaks to me, and over a bowl of rice, it's a killer.

Like everything else I've tried at Soban, the Eundagu Jorim here is objectively better. The black cod is perfect: silky, supple, buttery, and flaky. The braising sauce is just sweet enough with just the right amount of spice. Usually, I don't go for the spice (if you haven't noticed already), but this is the exception. The vegetables and tofu, like those in the Galbi Jjim, are infused with the addictive braising sauce. And also like the Galbi Jjim braising sauce, taking a spoon of rice and dunking it in the braising sauce is obligatory.

Before I continue, I have to give a shout out to Steph C., who essentially put this place on the map. But I have to attribute credit to my mom for finding out that Soban's specialty is their Ganjang Gaejang, my fourth and final staple.

A literal description of what this is just doesn't do it justice. I mean, really, when did marinating raw crab and slurping it out of its shell ever sound appealing? SINCE FOREVER.

With a smell brimming on the edge of musky East Asian medicine, a cold plate arrives with two crabs, split in quarters or halves, relaxing in a pool of delicious, briny marinating juices. Don't be intimidated by the loose, slippery texture. Just go for it.

For those who are unfamiliar with how to eat the stuff, proceed as follows:

(1) Pick up a quarter with your fingers.

(2) Take a second to marvel at the beautiful, shiny gem of a morsel you are about to eat. I mean, look at those eggs!

(3) Pick it back up and suck. Yum. At this point, you should be tasting the ocean, along with some ginger and ginseng, a little spice, just a touch of vinegar, and a sweetness similar to an herbal date.

(4) Depending on how much you love what you're tasting, continue sucking until you get every last bit of that translucent crab meat.

(5) Continue until only the crab's carapace remains with all of its guts and glorious juices.

(6) Get some rice in that business and mix it up.

(7) Enjoy.

(8) Scrape every bit of amazingness.

(9) You've probably guessed this by now, but take whatever rice you have left and dip a spoonful into the marinating juices. So, so, so good.

(10) Let the single tear roll down your face as the plate is cleared from your table.

(11) Maddeningly attempt to get the smell of Ganjang Gaejang off of your fingers.

(12) Revert to unabashedly smelling your fingers as another single tear rolls down your face.

(13) Look longingly at the unadulterated plates of Ganjang Gaejang arriving at other tables.

(14) Hiss at the other tables.

(15) Make a creepy grimace until the other tables get uncomfortable.

(16) You should have stopped reading this by now.

Every meal ends with one of my favorite renditions of Shikhae. My biggest problem with most is that they're either too watery, too sweet, or both. But this. Just enough sweetness and just enough horchata-like texture to make this a wonderfully refreshing way to end the meal.

Despite having gone to Soban over a dozen times now, there's a lot on the menu that I haven't tried. Probably because I only get to go to Soban once every time I go to L.A. And probably because the dishes I always make a point to get are just too absurdly delicious. Oh well. Next time, I say, next time.

Soban
4001 W Olympic Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90019
(323) 936-9106
http://www.sobanusa.com/

GET: Ganjang Gaejang; Galbi Jjim; Eundaegu Jorim; Hanchi Moolhwae.

Mexicali Taco & Co.

My life has been defined by Mexican food. And for better or for worse, it all started with Taco Bell. By the time I had graduated elementary school, I had similarly graduated, again, for better or for worse, to El Torito. By high school, I was well into my one-thousandth order at Baja Fresh.

In college, where I was encouraged to voice my opinions, I proudly and confidently granted my coveted, one-of-a-kind award for "the like, best effing Mexican food, ever--I'm not even kidding" to three establishments over the course of one week: King Taco, El Taurino, and Patty's Mexican Foods.

One-and-a-half years of working in South Korea with plenty of soju and no trace of good Mexican food, I shocked my dead, Mexican taste buds to life with a visit to Mexico. Next stop, Seattle, and after three years, the only Mexican food I've found comfort in is Rancho Bravo. On short trips to L.A., I dutifully made my way to Ricky's Fish Tacos and tried some killer tacos at places like Guisados, Loteria Grill, and countless food trucks. And sprinkled throughout, of course, was the pseudo-Mexican, category-of-its-own Chipotle.

But then came the day. The day my life changed. For the absolute better. From one that simply enjoyed carne asada tacos to one that is shamelessly obsessed with carne asada tacos.

The day I put Los Angeles' best carne asada taco in my mouth.

Mexicali Taco & Co. started as a food truck. Literally. One red pickup truck wielding a light and a stereo blasting dance music. One grill smaller than a grand piano. One bucket of ice and sodas. One cross-section of a tree trunk to chop carne asada on. And one table to slather on some salsas and toppings.

And to top it all off, in the middle of an empty parking lot on the corner of First and Beaudry, Mexicali Taco & Co.'s humble beginnings showcased a stunning view of Downtown L.A.

My visits to Mexicali Taco & Co. were never too frequent, peaking at four gluttonous visits in one week. One of those visits even followed a twenty-two course meal at The Bazaar.

As is the occasion with most patrons, I quickly became friends with co-owners and head honchos Javier and Esdras. And the more friendly we became, the less embarrassed I was of seeing them more often than some of my close friends in L.A.

Unfortunately, Mexicali Taco & Co. had to temporarily shut down after some glitches having to do with the parking lot's managers. Their loss. On to bigger and better things.

After a painful and torturous set of months, Javier and Esdras opened a permanent space that was bigger, and most definitely better. The best part? They changed their hours to every day except Sundays, instead of only Wednesday through Saturday nights.

Some days they still play that nostalgic, parking lot dance music. But as their menu has expanded, so has their music selection, ranging from jazz standards to Latin pop rock.

The cashier is flanked by a delicious selection of Aguas Frescas and a salsa bar. The selection varies, and I've only tried these a couple times, but both times they've been ridiculously refreshing and delicious.

My favorite drink I've had is the Cebada. Like a cinnamon-infused barely-sweetened barley milk tea, the overall effect is rich, refreshing, and particularly useful in fighting against some of their spicier selections.

The salsa bar is plentiful and complete with a tangy and spicy tomato-based habanero salsa; a flavorful, more watery tomatillo-based salsa de arbol; a creamy, addictive guacamole sauce; a familiar, bright pico de gallo; smartly seasoned, thyme-infused pickled red onion; and fresh radishes and limes.

The selection can be overwhelming, but don't be afraid to experiment, mix, and match.

Enough. On to the main event. The tacos. These unassuming triplets come topped with a healthy portion of grilled green onions sprinkled with salt and a hearty cup of slow-cooked pinto beans.

The tacos come on either a corn or flour tortilla. I have to take a second to address just how delicious these tortillas are. Because these are not your typical tortillas. Javier and Esdras drive them up themselves from Calexico every week. And with your first bite, you fully understand what Javier and Esdras mean when they say that they can't find comparable tortillas anywhere closer. Both varieties are light and delicate on the outside, and rich and flavorful on the inside. They garner just enough chew and texture--almost crispy on the outside, al dente on the inside.

The Chicken Taco is perfect. Surprisingly juicy and satisfyingly charred with a savory seasoning. Just a tad bit of spice goes a long way in making this one of the tastiest chicken tacos I've had.

But the real, clear winner, if you haven't picked this up already, is the Carne Asada Taco. So. Effing. Tasty. So effing tasty that I was compelled to write a haiku.

So effing tasty.
Tender, rich, and tangy chuck.
So effing tasty.

Okay, not my best work. But still. Like the chicken, the carne asada proves that Javier and Esdras know their way around a grill. Charred edges, an undeniably savory meatiness, and a noticeable, yet quiet, citric aftertaste.

Chorizo is the third option (chorizo picture below), but the toothsome, smoky, and lightly-spiced chorizo really fares best in the Zuperman (not pictured, unfortunately), a wonderful concoction of meat (chicken), meat (carne), meat (chorizo), and cheese sandwiched between two crispy flour tortillas. So, so good.

My favorite taco? Carne asada on a corn tortilla, guacamole, pickled red onions, and pico de gallo with a tiny spritz of lime. A handful of heaven.

My taco-monster friend, Steph C., mentioned two, very good strategies for topping your tacos. First, do up your tacos one at a time. Unless you're going to inhale all three in three minutes, which is completely possible. Second, if you are saving a carne asada taco for last after eating their other selections, make the small effort to order your last tacos separately so that you can enjoy them fresh.

If you're anything like me, though, and giggle with over-excitement every time you go to Mexicali Taco & Co., you might find yourself ordering everything on the menu without remembering either of these strategies.

The other treats will never taste better than the carne asada taco, but they're often just as delicious. I could eat the Gueros (Cantonese-Baja style peppers) all day every day, if only they didn't set my mouth on fire with each bite. The extreme spice of the blistered pepper is balanced with a sweet, salty, peppery, and citric soy-based sauce that renders the experience one of inadvertent masochism. Super delicious, but tongues, beware.

If movie theaters or ball parks served Nachos like the ones at Mexicali Taco & Co., maybe box office sales and attendance wouldn't be declining. Especially when they're topped with some of that tasty carne asada.

The salsa is addictive, and the rich sweetness of the roasted peppers balances itself with the tempered brightness from the onions.

The chips are thick and crunchy, not subject to the typical symptom of wet flaccidity. The mix of cheeses makes each bite pop with different proportions of creamy goodness. Some guacamole and pico de gallo doesn't hurt either. Be careful, though. One order can easily be your entire meal.

The remaining two game-changers at Mexicali Taco & Co. in particular make an order of only three tacos seem like an ungratefully dismissed opportunity.

The Vampiro would make even the most conservative vampires contemplate imminent death by eating this garlic-infused quesadilla. A generous and toothsome portion of cheese, a golden and delicately flaky shell, and a punchy garlic sauce are essential to my inability to forego ordering this every time. Again, don't even think about thinking twice. Order it with carne asada.

While the Gueros, Nachos, Zuperman, and Vampiro are all amazing, after the tacos, the next best thing at Mexicali Taco & Co. isn't any of the above. It's the Cachetada. A beautiful, crispy, grilled corn tortilla topped with your choice of meat (chorizo pictured here), a gooey Mexican cheese, and a smokey and balanced chipotle aioli sauce. And if you're going to make one of your selections Ranchero Style (adding an egg on top), the Cachetada is the one to do it on.

The Cachetada goes best with carne (again, no surprise there), and does just fine on its own, but I like to make this even more difficult to eat by topping it with the holy trinity of their guacamole, pickled red onions, and pico de gallo.

The first bite is a kind of magic. The pleasant snap of the tortilla opens up to a chute of juicy carne accompanied by a strand of thyme-spiced pickled red onion; a kick of chipotle is tempered by the cool, creamy guacamole; and subsequent chews are bookended by a bright pico de gallo and a hearty easy-fried egg.

When the yolk breaks, don't dwell on that brief feeling of panic. If a golden stream of egg yolk doesn't dribble down your chin by your third bite, you're eating it wrong. Or you just have an insane ability to eat this without things getting messy. Or you inhaled the whole thing in one bite. No judgment. Use those God-given fingers and tongue to scoop up any wounded soldiers.

There's no way to think about Mexicali Taco & Co. for even a second without ravenous hunger pangs. Every time I visit L.A., that first bite into a cachetada or taco makes my eyes sweat with unadulterated happiness. I went twice in the past week on my most recent trip to L.A., but to nobody's surprise, I'm already itching for my next fix. Thanksgiving couldn't feel further away.

Esdras. Javier. I know I always joke about you guys FedEx'ing some carne asada to Seattle. But seriously. Help.

Mexicali Taco & Co.

702 N Figueroa St
Los Angeles, CA 90012

(213) 613-0416
http://mexicalitaco.com/

GET: Carne Asada Taco; Carne Asada Cachetada Ranchero Style; Carne Asada Vampiro; Cebada.