This is, hands down, the second best burger in the city. The menu has loads of other choices, all of which look tasty, but God damn is this a good burger. Fresh and tasty beef done right in a red and black room filled with guns. Also a fashionable bar, The Arsenal comes fully loaded with goofball booze concoctions to satisfy your most queer of girl drink drunks (like me).
Update April, 2007: they now offer two new chic options: the diet du jour (bunless burger over salad), and a Kobe beef burger for two and a half bucks additional. The Kobe burger rocks, well worth the upgrade price. The fullness of the Kobe is complimented by an au jous dip and grilled onions. Super tasty!

12012 W Pico Blvd, Los Angeles

There’s one waiter at the Apple Pan who is so consistently curt, yet so amazingly efficient, that all the others guys who work the U-shaped counter have to bear the weight of his reputation. Expect at least a ten minute wait for a seat at the counter-only seating, and figure out what you want – quick. Then, as you place your order for a steakburger, don’t be alarmed when your waiter cuts you off and finishes your thought for you. When you’ve only got four things on a menu, with maybe four options on each one, how long do you think you could stand a hundred times a day, “uhhh, the… Uhhh.” It’s just a good thing this guy hasn’t snapped yet and reached across the counter at some poor west sider and gone, “WHAT? WHAT THE CHRIST DO YOU WANT TO EAT? A BURGER? OR A FRIGGING BURGER? MORON!” Beverages served in the classic egg cups you had in school when you were five. And yes, make sure you get the apple pie. It’s on the sign, dummy. It’s good. The prices are shocking for being a lunch counter, but when you exist in the shadow of Nordstrom across the street I assume the real estate price is stratospheric. Two people eating burgers, drinks, and pie will have to shell out twenty five bucks. Whoa!
10801 W Pico Blvd, Los Angeles, (310) 475-3585

In the past few years street food has taken over haute cuisine so you can feel like you’re cool for paying $13 for a single tasting plate of Spanish food. AOC, from the women who brought you Lucques, does it very well offering a variety of cheeses, meats, fish, and assorted vegetables alongside a generous wine accompanying each dish. This is the kind of menu people call “playful” when they really mean “I paid a lot for little portions.” You’ve got to order five of these bastards to feel like you’ve eaten a meal. The faux wood menu and contemporary design will make you feel like a real foodie schmuck after you’ve eaten $100 worth of food and are still waiting for the entree. Still, the seared fish (you pay extra for it being closer to raw) and lambs are delicious, and the cheese selection is stellar. (It ought to be; AOC stands for Appellation d’Origine Controlé, the French government bureau that is responsible for guaranteeing the authenticity of foods, including cheese. Would you pay $50 per person to eat at a restaurant called FDA?) (Reviewed May 2004)
Follow up – May 2006: A.O.C. still stands as one of the best restaurants in town. But while the food was close to orgasmic in its taste, quality, beauty, and design there were a few things that got under my skin. First, don’t *ever* call something family style when the entire dish weighs less than one ounce. Second, when your table tells you that they would like some cheese, and what was served is thin to the point of transparency, see what you can do about either getting more or doing something nice for them. The overarching attitude of the restaurant as conveyed by our server and the words the place uses to describe itself try to get in the way of what is an extraordinarily good meal. The wine list is amazing with options and prices that will drop your jaw. If you do the full A.O.C. experience with wine, cheese, and at least three dishes per person a group of four will run $100 per person at minimum.

8022 W 3^rd St, Los Angeles, (323) 653-6359

There are those who like their red sauces tangy, and they go to Pizza Hut. Those who like it sweet go to Papa Johns. Those of us that like a lot of brown sugar in our pasta sauces can go to Al Gelato on Robertson. The pasta is served family style, from a large bowl. Order the meatball and it’s the size of a baby’s head. The food is good, but save room for the dessert. A vast selection of home made gelato and it’s fanfreakintastic. Apparently, in God they trust, all others pay cash. Greenbacks only! Two people can eat here for twenty bucks, but the gelato will push the tab to thirty – cash only.

806 S Robertson Blvd, Westside, (310) 659-8069

Coming into Nadine Trujillo’s kitchen is like being invited into her home (with her daughters, Denise and Jackie, too). Everything here is cooked from genuine home brewed recipes, from the salsa to the mole, to the tacos a la crema that are considered some of the best in town.

3510 W Sunset Blvd, Silver Lake, (323) 913-1422

Though it bears his name, Castro Alejo is number one, divorced from his wife who got this location in the settlement, and number two, dead. His ex-wife has frozen the menu in place for probably at least a decade and it’s just fine that way. Even the special menu written on a white-board hasn’t changed in years. The small place is always packed along its family style long tables, and you’ll always see someone who remembered to bring their own wine. Everything on the menu is good. Come to Alejo’s expecting a garlic bomb. When I worked for idiots, nothing would give me more pleasure than eating a whole order of garlic linguini with mushrooms and then working on the CFO’s computer while breathing all over him. What a schmuck. He deserved it. Pasta dishes are about seven dollars.

4002 Lincoln Blvd at Washington Blvd, Mar Vista, (310) 822-0095

My wife and I were married at the Harbor House in Marina del Rey. We’ve gone back to celebrate our anniversary, paying too much for mediocre food but reminiscing at what a fabulous wedding we had. We’d order scallops and steak and maybe a martini or two, talk about what the last year has meant for us, and how we’ve grown together as people and a couple. Now that it’s gone, we needed a new place. Akasha’s proximity to home, beautifully designed interior, and exciting menu seemed like a good fit. My wife got reservations via OpenTable.com (sooner than the 6 week wait we’d heard about), and when I stopped in two weeks before our reservation I mentioned it was our three year wedding anniversary to the host who noted that in his computer. The previous restaurant was an Italian piano bar that avoided closure by tinting its windows to avoid discovery. The renovations were mysterious, masked by large wooden panels. From a distance one could clearly see they were gutting and updating the location with high ceilings and serious interior design work. We knew nothing about Akasha herself, or that the restaurant’s renovation was part of TLC’s Flip this Restaurant. After three years of marriage we’re now just dumb local yokels looking for a nice dinner. Dumb yokels who know what a dining experience ought to be and an axe to grind when it’s sloppy. We were greeted with an enthusiastic welcome and a congratulations on our anniversary. That was sweet. The waiter then added his kind congrats as well. We looked over the menu and gave our entire order at once – martini for the wife, glass of red for me, tumuric seared pear salad with goji berries and chevre, shiitake, roasted squash, and basil pizza as appetizers; Punjabi mung bean bowl and wild pepper scallops entrees. Nice waiter, lovely interior, great wine list and decent prices for all items. Well, mostly lovely interior. The chairs are the leather-strap variety your sleazy uncle had in his apartment in 1984. The pear salad comes out – five minutes after we ordered. No wine. No cocktail. Then the pizza shortly after, simultaneous with the wine and cocktail. I’m annoyed. There’s an order to a meal, and this isn’t it. Fine. We roll with it. The pear salad is stunningly mediocre. Pears aren’t in season and there was maybe three slices of it. I felt like Wody Allen, “the food here is terrible – and such small portions!” Four small bits of chevre and a truckload of arugala. Salad is the Styrofoam packing of the food world and there was enough of it here to ship the chandeliers back to whatever Chinese factory that knocks off Frank Gehry furniture made them. The pizza isn’t really a pizza, it’s a failed foccacia with stuff on it. My wife loved her cocktail, the Emerald City, and my 2005 “Prisoner” red was spectacular. But as we’re enjoying our drinks out of sync with our meal, our waiter comes over and tells us he’s handing us over to another. Not a trainee, just another waiter. OK. New guy is nice enough. But a handoff? “Happy anniversary.” Thanks. Entrees are served – there’s still salad in the bowl and a slice of pizza on the plate. Expediter asks, “do you want me to hold the entre?” No, idiot, I want you to know better than to ask. What’s the deal here, Akasha? You woo me in with your hubbub and then you hustle me through with organic grease? I understand if you’ve got tables to turn but this is ridiculous. We send back what’s left of the styrofoam (having eaten the pear and chevre in the first two bites) and accept the entrees. I’ll take them hot from the kitchen rather than warmed over and held, thank you. The scallops were outstanding and the mung bean bowl was delicious – there is no denying them that. We took our time with them, and had to ward off the busboys from taking them away. Dessert was nice, too, the salty chocolate tart was the right balance of sweet and salty. Coffee was the expected fair-trade hippie garbage. We were given our bill with another sincere congratulations on our wedding anniversary. To be fair, I don’t expect a complimentary dessert, but when the staff is falling over themselves to both acknowledge my special day and get me the hell out of their restaurant I was thinking maybe a mint and a kiss. Nope. The bill before tip was $104. Whatever. It was the next day we found out that a friend had left his credit card to pay for our coffee and dessert. That never made its way to the bill. I would have forgiven the weak appetizers if we didn’t feel like we were being pushed out the door. But because of the shoddy service (even though our waiters were kind, they weren’t expediting) I’m docking two stars. One for the appetizers and another for the mangling of the experience. And it wasn’t like they didn’t know it was a special occasion – they took every opportunity to remind us that they were screwing up our night. So, Akasha, now that you’re booked six weeks out and your TV show has aired how about you fix the thing?

9543 Culver Blvd, Culver City, (310) 845-1700