“Crazy Gideon” is an Israeli electronics merchant in downtown L.A. He grabbed his schtick from “Crazy Eddie” from the east coast, a New York chain of discount electronics stores. Like many immigrants, the subtlety of American idioms like “crazy” didn’t translate for Gideon and his version of crazy is both scary, hostile, and not at all charming. Yes, his prices are insane. So is his need for a straightjacket and heavy doses of Thorazine. The same can be said for “Crazy Fish”. Under normal circumstances, fish should be fresh, prepared by a trained chef, and served by an attentive, competent staff. Oh ho ho, not at Crazy Fish! Horrible fish prepared by incompetents and served by… apparently no one. Their spicy rolls and cooked dishes tasted slathered in a heavy mayonnaise, making the gag factor higher than newbie tapioca wrestling night at Weight Watchers. The fish is not fresh, the staff barely capable, and the ambiance feels like you’re thrust into a twelve year old’s myspace page. Many people commit suicide by leaping off buildings, slitting their wrists, or hanging. Committed to your death? Come to Crazy Fish and order the blowfish.

(310) 550-8547, 9105 W Olympic Blvd, Beverly Hills

I had a family meltdown at Ciudad with my parents. We took turns going to the bathroom to have massive crying jags and the wait staff came over repeatedly to make sure we weren’t experiencing food poisoning. Very nice folks. Ciudad is a highbrow venue from the Border Grill chicks, but it’s catering to the foodie crowd who like expensive small dishes. Subsequent visits have been very pleasant, always making sure to order their mojitos. Bring the credit card, you’re looking at a surprisingly high bill, especially if you order drinks. One bill was over a hundred bucks for three of us eating simply.

(213) 486-5171, 445 S Figueroa St #100, downtown Los Angeles

Cafe Bizou exists to prove you can achieve fine dining at down to earth prices. That’s why there you’re going to need reservations no matter when you want to go, and there’s always a full house. The menu is stellar standard French bistro fare – fish, steak, rack of lamb with mint. But you can add a salad for less than two bucks and they have a reasonable corkage fee for BYOB. This is great food for those of us who want to eat well without breaking the bank. The rack of lamb is the most expensive entree and it’s about eighteen bucks! The Sherman Oaks location is a rabbit’s warren made of tents, while the Santa Monica location is a large portion of the Water Garden office complex. Both have delivered outstanding meals every time we’ve been.

(310) 582-8203, 2450 Colorado Ave., Santa Monica
(818) 788-3536, 14016 Ventura Blvd., Sherman Oaks
(626) 792-9923, 91 N Raymond Ave., Pasadena

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