Apparently there’s a rule somewhere that says if you’re going to open a deli in Los Angeles, sandwiches have to cost $13. To hell with that. The whole point of corned beef is that it’s cheap beef cooked enough so you can’t tell you’re poor. Kishka? Knishes? These are table scrapings turned into entrees by enterprising Jews. So let’s not kid ourselves that delis are fine dining. Tell Jerry’s and Art’s to kiss your ass, you’re not paying that much money for what they’ve got. Canter’s is still too high, but it’s closer to what it should be. You can get a huge sandwich for about ten bucks, and a bowl of chicken soup with noodles, kreplach, rice, and a matzo ball will only set you back five bucks. When you need an emergency dose of Jewish penicillin, Canters hits the spot. They also have a great pastry and dessert counter at the front that is worth its weight in poppy seed. Average price for two people tends to be around twenty to twenty five bucks.

(323) 651-2030, 419 N Fairfax Ave, Los Angeles

Welcome to the organic zeitgeist. In order to open a restaurant in Los Angeles you have to make sure you advertise yourself as organic, healthy, tasy, and fun. None of these tell you anything about the food, they’re just complimentary adjectives to bolster your yoga lifestyle. When Wal-Mart is considered a leader in organic produce, you know the very meaning has been diluted. A corporation that works to lower national wages, destroy unions, and avoid health care for its employees is not organic. It’s footprint, in fact, is massive and destructive. Therefore, when looking for a place to eat these days I tend to raise an eyebrow at anyplace that bills itself as organic and has the decor of a Seventh Generation detergent bottle. Bloom has set up shop in an emerging part of Los Angeles – emerging from auto body shops, section 8 HUD housing, and bars on the windows. (I suppose this is the new area to watch for real estate.) The menu offers a wife variety of salads with useless descriptors like “gorgeous” and “amazing”, but thankfully also includes actual incrediets such as their Asian pear and blue cheese salad or the grilled skirt steak salad. I had the turkey chili, which was flavorful and didn’t taste like something out of a vat. My wife had the Bloom Gorgeous green salad and ignored the edible flowers that I guess were the gorgeous element, and we shared the brie, wild mushroom and fig jam sandwich while our dining companion had the burger. While my chili was tasty and fine, the cornbread was super, loaded with jalepenos. My wife’s salad was pretty good – I liked the dressing, but she found it simply whelming. The sandwich was definitely on the right flavor track, but it felt incomplete. The seeded bread should have been toasted, with some melt to the cheese. It was served as a cold sandwich and we all agreed it would have been a much better Panini. The burger looked wonderful, and I begged off having a bite opting to come back and have it all to myself. We dipped our perfect fries in the green aioli and swooned. Dessert was a must and I have to admit the homemade fudge was satisfying, but not earth shattering. I think I need a little more tectonics to my fudge and this one didn’t quite shake it. I’ll go back for the burger, the prices were certainly fine for the quality of ingredients. The busboy was a little too eager to clear our plates so the last quarter of our crushed mint lemonades were gone after we got up to look at the dessert case. Our waiter was acceptably playful, thin, hair-gelled, and queer. There’s a bbq-shawarma-rotisserie joint just down the street that was beckoning me back to the area, so perhaps I’ll cruise back to West Pico again. Dinner for three, with two desserts, was fifty bucks.

(323) 934-6900, 5544 W. Pico Blvd, Los Angeles

Barney’s is where all bar restaurants turn to five times a day to get guidance on what to serve. Not only is Barney’s home to a massive beer selection of both bottles and draft, but their newspaper format menu is a nirvana of sloppy greasebomb foods. They claim to be home to the second best chili in Los Angeles, and they refuse to tell you who has the best. Potato skins are two giant scooped out potatoes crammed in whatever toppings you can imagine. They have gargantuan salads, monster sandwiches, and an almost infinite selection of beers to go with them. Hands down, my favorite burger is the Dagwood: bacon, cheese, chili, sour cream, and a fried egg along with all the standard additions. Have fun unhinging your jaw to take a bite. Have fun unhinging your pants afterwards. Once you add a beer to your order you’re looking at close to thirty bucks for two people.

8447 Santa Monica Blvd., West Hollywood, (323) 654-2287

Spectacular! I phoned in an order and was guided through my menu choices by a delightful girl who insisted I try the pulled pork as my first taste of their food. I would have had the baby back ribs, but I was working for a client and couldn’t have sauce all over my hands as I worked on their computers. The pulled pork tasted like some amazing baked bread, the okra was garlicky delicious, and the collard greens lasted all of two seconds before I inhaled it (little chunks of bacon inside – caution). And get this – their corn on the cobb was smothered in chipotle butter and cheese. Mein gott! I cannot wait to go in person, try everything else on the menu, and proffer my sincere thanks for the great recommendations. I paid twenty bucks (including the delivery tip).

444 Lincoln Blvd. Venice, CA, (310) 396-7675

My residential trajectory in Los Angeles has been distinctly south west: towards water. No matter how many people tell me Eagle Rock and Silver Lake are enclaves of artist hipsters where I would find community, there’s nothing there that compares to living as close as you can to a giant body of water. The air in the northeast of the city sucks, the traffic is a nightmare, and have you seen the size of their potholes? The reason it’s a hipster enclave is because hipsters reject mainstream ideals to be iconoclasts. But the one thing the mainstream has right is a lifestyle of clean air, blue skies, and tidal balance. And for those of you who may criticize that I just haven’t spent enough time in the north east to appreciate it, I’ll have you know that the same weekend we went to Auntie Em’s Kitchen, I also ran the inaugural City of Angels Half Marathon which started at Travel Town in Griffith Park, crossed Los Feliz to descend into Silver Lake, traversed Echo Park and the lake, and climbed downtown to Civic Center. My wife has worked downtown for six years, I’ve driven all over Mt. Washington, and several of the “Eames-era” knockoffs in our house are from various parts of the north east craigslist community. Every second I am there the dominant thought is “sure, it’s nice, but couldn’t it be closer to the water?” I want my Case Study house with ocean views. With that in mind I’m both delighted and depressed to find a place like Auntie Em’s, because it’s so good I want it closer to where I live – I would eat here all the time! Of course, if it was on the west side it wouldn’t be what it is: a fabulous neighborhood cafe whose casual environment belies its exceptional, original quality. If it were located in Santa Monica it would be twice as expensive, five times as pretentious, and the coffee would suck. Everything at Auntie Em’s is made from scratch, and if not, is bought from small farms or artisnal cheese makers. Open faced breakfast sandwiches are generously portioned, and paired with a bottomless cup of coffee will set a pleasant tone for your weekend. The desserts look spectacular (and are made on the premises), and word is that their red velvet cupcakes are perfect. Auntie Em’s Kitchen changes their menu to reflect the season; another hallmark of an establishment that curates its food rather than simply serving it. This place is clearly a labor of love for food and community, damn it. I want to come back every day and be a regular, I want to spend a fortune in their adjunct market and go cheese-crazy, I want to indulge in their Farmer’s Market dinner. Sadly, it will be some time before I make it back because it’s really, really, really fucking far away. Two can eat blissfully well for $25.

4616 Eagle Rock Blvd, Los Angeles, (323) 255-0800