The Escondite

The Escondite

410 Boyd Street, Los Angeles, CA 90013 (follow the signs)

el escondite – noun.  Spanish for: the hiding place;  the refuge; the underground shelter; the shelter; the port of distress; the asylum; the lurking-place; the free port; the safety zone; the haven of refuge; the port of refuge.

So what's better than a bar named the Hiding Place?  A bar that’s named "The Hiding Place" in Spanish, and that’s actually hidden.  Really hidden.  And really really awesome.

For those who just started following my Bar Fly reviews, go back to my first article and read the first paragraph describing my ideal bar.  Normally, I wouldn't expect that kind of experience to exist in reality, so I usually just settle for places that come close to that ideal.  But what if it actually existed?

Imagine you’re trying to find a new hidden place.  Imagine you park on a dark side street across from the Higashi Honganji Buddhist Temple, where the western edge of Little Tokyo merges with the border of Skid Row.  Now imagine that rather than heading back into the tranquil, but lively and safe familiarity of Little Tokyo, you instead cross the street and enter into the unknown and foreboding darkness, along suspiciously abandoned streets lined by empty warehouses and run-down storage facilities.  Imagine that as you continue walking deeper into the unknown, you find yourself forced off the sidewalk and into the middle of the street as tents and sleeping bags progressively fill the walkways, becoming increasingly engulfed in the sleepy encampment of the local “residents” – heading deeper and deeper into what clearly seems to be the wrong way, at the wrong time.  Imagine you finally turn down a street, pass another row of tents and a small congregation of homeless guys, and stumble upon an empty looking brick building covered in ivy, set far behind a spacious parking lot.  Imagine you walk through the parking lot toward the front of the building, led only by an ambiguous blue neon arrow pointing toward a large heavy-set rustic wooden door, which is closed.  Imagine the door appears to have a mafia-style sliding peephole latch, covered by a speakeasy grill.  Imagine you knock on the door and the latch slides open from the inside, and a pair of eyes peer out at you.  Now imagine the latch closes, the door opens, and you’re led into a shockingly unexpected “sanctuary in the woods,” dimly lit with soft red lighting, antlers, cuckoo clocks, cow skulls, an incredibly ornate polished wooden bar, a giant wooden Indian, an inviting and friendly staff, live music, a huge assortment of beers and cocktails, and some of the heartiest food you’ve had since you were a kid…

Now wake up.  You just imagined what it’s like to experience The Escondite.

The Escondite is self-described as “a hideout that takes you away from the norms of L.A into a chill sanctuary,” and it certainly matches this description – sitting on the southeast corner of San Pedro and Boyd Street, on the border between Little Tokyo and Skid Row, in a place affectionately dubbed “Skidrowkyo” by its owners, Erin Carnes and Brian Traynam, the place is truly hidden – in both name and location.  And while the imaginary journey depicted above describes the back entrance to Escondite, the place is even hard to find from the front – set far back behind a large (and usually empty) parking lot and marked only by two wordless signs – an illuminated sign of Escondite's logo at the far corner of the parking lot (a single eye peering through a rustic wood door), and a blue neon arrow pointing to the entrance.

And while the place has a purposely sketchy location, once inside, it is absolutely amazing, in all respects – ambiance, food, drinks, views, and entertainment.  The place is actually split into two sections – an inside bar and restaurant, and an outside patio with a beautiful panoramic view of the downtown skyline.  The inside can really only be described as having an “American West” ambiance – displaying antler light fixtures, cuckoo clocks, cow skulls, stuffed white owls, posters of “American Outlaws,” pie tin lamps overhanging comfortable red booths, an exceptionally ornate polished wooden bar with a carved lion’s head, and brick walls with windows made out of wooden pallets.

And whether you want to eat or drink, the place will blow your face off, hosting nine draft beers, 15 bottle beers, cocktails, and a menu that includes a full assortment of appetizers, salads, sandwiches (“sandos”), and burgers named after TV shows the owners watched as kids – my personal favorites are the Fat Albert Burger (provolone, applewood smoked bacon, maple syrup, with a glazed doughnut bun) and the Capt. Kangaroo Burger (egg over easy, hash browns, cheddar, Canadian bacon, gravy and Cholula).  And if you’re just into beer, check out the Great Bottle Challenge, where participants taste eight craft beers – new brews and rarities – and play a drinks-trivia game.  Or if you’re just into eating (after drinking too much?), help yourself to the Hangover’s Revenge Brunch Menu (Saturday and Sunday from 11:00 am to 5:00 pm).

And if that wasn’t enough, The Escondite keeps long hours, open from 11:00 am to 2:00 am every day, and features live music 7 days a week.

So whether you’re into food, drinks, hang-over cures, live music, exceptional views of downtown’s skyline, or just hanging in a legitimate hideaway, The Escondite is a definite must – hands down one of LA’s best hidden gems.  And even if you’re apprehensive about strolling through Skidrowkyo at night, c’mon, who can pass up a bacon maple syrup burger with a glazed doughnut bun?  No one.

The Caña Rum Bar

Caña Rum Bar

714 W. Olympic Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90015 (back of parking structure)

When I say I found the best bar experience since I first discovered The Varnish, that should make you stop and listen.  For this week’s Bar Fly, I present to you, The Caña Rum Bar.

Last Tuesday, I was hanging out in DTLA with one of my best friends from Berkeley (also a client).  Being a Tuesday night, we thought it’d be a good idea to check out some bars, since the crowds would be low.  We made a big loop, starting at the Biscuit Lofts, swinging by Little Tokyo, and then heading down Gallery Row, through the Bank District, toward LA Live, to a bar I’ve been meaning to check out for a LONG time, but have never done so due to its isolated and somewhat inaccessible location.

Heading south on Main Street, the up-and-coming livelihood of Gallery Row slowly faded into the background and led into the DTLA of 10 years ago – quiet, dark, and desolate.  [The magic and uniqueness of DTLA is never more pronounced when you pass through an area where the eerie quietness of an historical but downtrodden commercial district and the pandemonium of a newly-developed multi-billion-dollar entertainment complex like LA Live are essentially separated by a single street (in this case, Flower St.)]

We parked near the Mayan Theater off Olympic Blvd. and walked down the empty street toward the old Petroleum Building.  Marked only by a neon sign, we continued along the side of the building, through the entrance of the parking structure, all the way toward the back, to a small door with a maroon awning.  And there, in the far back of a parking structure, inside a commercial building built in 1925, in an otherwise bleak area of town, we found the Caña Rum Bar.

The Caña Rum Bar is a “members only” rum and cigar bar.  But don’t worry, “members only” simply means you pay $20 for the entire year and get to bring guests.  And as someone who is religiously opposed to cover charges, trust me in saying the small fee is well worth the experience.

After checking in, the front entrance leads down a dark and narrow hallway toward a door partitioned off by thick black curtains – an entryway that screams “members only,” and gives you the distinct impression of being part of a private club.  Passing through the curtains leads into a very dimly lit, eclectic nautical-themed bar, which is deceptively large, spread out along three different sections wrapping around the long L-shaped bar – candlelit booths and tables line the sides of the room, separated by wooden mast-like pylons, continuing around the room and bar, leading into a separate patio-like cigar room, where patrons can sit on kitschy cast-iron lattice chairs around a roaring fireplace and smoke their favorite cigars under a partially vented skylight ceiling.  The place is lit by old-fashioned chandeliers and hanging glass lanterns wrapped in knotted nautical rope.  The scene is classy, tranquil, and upscale but laid back.

The bar itself has an interesting mix of thematic elements - nautical, Caribbean, Cuban, with a bourgsie yet unpretentious vibe - probably reflecting the varied history and culture of rum itself.  And make no mistake, the perfectly executed aesthetic form of the place is equally complimented by its substance:  Caña not only looks like a rum and cigar bar, it IS a rum and cigar bar - featuring literally hundreds of different types of rums, from all over the world.  And if that wasn't enough, you can also purchase cigars.  [and smoke them in the cigar room.]  But if you just want to keep things normal, they also have an excellent selection of cocktails and beer.  So there's really something for everyone.  [But I highly recommend trying the rum.]

The Caña Rum Bar is truly one of the best bars in LA – a place that transports you into a different place in a different time; a place offering an authentically unique experience; and a place that takes its role seriously, but does so in a relaxing and unpretentious manner, with a knowledgeable and kind staff.  And let’s face it, with the Cuban Embargo still in effect, you’ll probably want to smoke your favorite Saint luis Rey in a private place.

And while Caña has the very real feel of being off the beaten path (and as far as bars go, it is), it’s only a block away from LA Live, and could serve as a great way to end the night after catching a show at the Nokia Theater or watching a game at the Staples Center.

And if you really want to mix things up with a similar unknown gem, head down the street and check out the Veranda Bar in Hotel Figueroa – an unassuming hotel with an unexpectedly beautiful Moroccan-styled interior (think Casablanca meets Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom), with an ornate indoor/outdoor bar tucked into a garden setting, overrun with bougainvillea and cactus, beside a tranquil blue pool, hidden through the hotel, out in the back.  As stated by the Los Angeles Times, “Oodles of celebrities frequent the place for pre- and post-concert parties, fashion shows and the like, but no one at the hotel crows about it, which is why the place has come to epitomize the ultimate in laid-back – even self-effacing – style.”

So whether you want to lounge in a Caribbean hideaway or bask in a North African oasis, DTLA is the place to be.  Just make sure to keep out the tourists.

The Red Lion

The Red Lion

2366 Glendale Blvd., Los Angeles (Silver Lake), CA 90039

The Red Lion is one of LA’s best bars and most unique experiences, hands down.  For those of you who know me, you know the Bar Fly is really focused on hidden places.  In this respect, the Red Lion isn’t really “hidden,” in the usual sense of the word.  But I’m nevertheless including it because based on its unassuming outside appearance, the experience once inside the tavern is unmistakably surprising.  In this sense, the magic is hidden.  (And it’s got 3 bars hidden in 1!)

If it wasn’t for the ocean, I’d move from the West Side to Silver Lake in a heartbeat.  Contrary to common belief, Hollywood, with its chic clubs and hordes of tourists, is not the creative center of Los Angeles.  Rather, the true heart of Los Angeles is in its surrounding neighborhoods – Silver Lake, Los Feliz, Echo Park, and Atwater Village.  In many ways, Silver Lake is truly the creative epicenter of the world – a gritty, eclectic, urban, and ethnic area that is simultaneously an authentically hip neighborhood with a bizarre swank that is quintessentially “LA”; a place where the multitudes of creatives, intellectuals, artists, performers, dancers, and hipsters near and far will flock; a place where the real actors, performers, and musicians live – not the Brad Pitt’s and other A-list stars earning millions and represented by Ari Gold, but the girl you might vaguely recognize from a Dove soap commercial who spends the rest of her year bussing tables and working a double shift; a place where writers hang out at local coffee shops while working on their script; where designers sell their work on the sidewalks and at street fairs; and where musicians perform at free outdoor music festivals and at house parties held in bizarre, seemingly-abandoned apartment complexes.

In addition to this startling authenticity, Silver Lake is also home to some of LA’s greatest treasures:  Intelligetsia Coffee, the Sunset Junction, some of the most famous modernist architecture in North America, and…The Red Lion.

While the Red Lion isn’t really “hidden,” it lies in a very unique, somewhat obscure enclave of Eastern Los Angeles – on Glendale Blvd., up in the hills, near the Silver Lake Reservoir, far above Sunset Blvd. where the masses of bars are expected to be.  From the outside, the Red Lion looks like nothing but a beige building with a large wooden door.  Plain, simple, unassuming.  But once inside, you’re transported into another world...

The first step inside exposes you to an excessively authentic small German gasthaus (“gasthaus” literally translates as “guest house,” and refers to a German-style inn or tavern with a bar, restaurant, banquet facilities, and hotel rooms for rent).  The room is small, cramped, and crowded, with large wooden tables, surrounded by gaudy clocks, ornate German beer steins, an old guy playing piano, and a bar with authentic German draft beer, served by Austrian girls wearing the traditional dirndl.  Even if you spent the entire night in this small room, you’d forever love the Red Lion.  But then you’ll notice the staircase, almost hidden in the back…

The staircase takes you upstairs, past German tchotchkes and giant nutcrackers, and leads directly into an upstairs (“middle”) bar and “cellar” – a smaller bar inside a small room (that looks somewhat like a bar stuffed into a college dorm room).  So pick up another Spaten Optimator, but don’t stop there…  Continue down the hall to the door in the back, which seems like a backdoor entrance for employees…

And this is where the Red Lion literally transports you to Theresienwiese in late September – the back door leads into an open air, loud and boisterous, full-scale beer garden, with a large outside bar, tables, servers, sausage platters, and authentic German beers served in pint glasses, steins, and even das boot!.  On a crowded night, the experience makes you feel like you’re in the Hofbrauhaus tent during the taping of the first keg at Oktoberfest.  [Trust me, I’ve been to Oktoberfest, and the Red Lion is legit!]

And once you’re done prosting your friends, head directly across the street to the Cha Cha Lounge – a dimly-lit hipster/full-on Mexican cantina bar with the vibe of some place you’d stumble into in Tijuana, situated in a building that once housed a colorful local men’s club.

And if you find yourself inadvertently pulled into a clandestine, underground beerfest and challenged by a group of large Germans, remember your lederhosen and don’t forget to turn das boot sideways before the air bubble comes.  People get hurt that way.  [And yes, this is the only place in LA that actually serves beer in das boot.]

Seriously, if you’re in the area, check out the Red Lion on Friday, October 21^st for a real Oktoberfest celebration.

The Far Bar

The Far Bar

347 East 1^st Street, los Angeles, CA 90012

Little Tokyo is one of those little jewels in LA that’s so small you’d miss it if you didn’t know it was there, but so quaint and distinctive that once you find it, you wonder how you ever did without it.  Founded around the beginning of the 20^th century and one of only three official Japantowns in the United States, LA’s Little Tokyo is the cultural center for Japanese Americans in Southern California.  However, the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II emptied the area, and what is left of the original Little Tokyo can be found in roughly five large city blocks surrounding the Japanese Village Plaza – bounded on the west by Los Angeles Street, on the east by Alameda Street, on the south by 3^rd Street, and on the north by First Street.

Despite its small size, Little Tokyo derives its charm from its authentic cultural identity, combined with its unique proximity to the growing Arts District – formerly the Warehouse District.  During the 1970s and 1980s, when Little Tokyo was still reestablishing itself after World War II, artists began moving into the nearby aging warehouse spaces, forming a hidden community in the industrialized area.  As Little Tokyo continued renovating, this integration of culture and art brought it under the national spotlight – the Japanese Village Plaza was awarded a Federal Design Achievement Award in 1986, and the district was declared a National Historic Landmark in 1995.  Now, the area has a ton of restaurants, of all types, and a variety of fashion and clothing stores – everything from shoes, to high-end fashion, all the way to great chotsky dealers (I always get my aviators at Popkiller).

The point is this:  Not only is Little Tokyo very Japanese, it is also very artsy, but in a very urban area, beside the train tracks and the dilapidated remains of industrial warehouses, many of which are being converted into chic art studios and lofts.  So the place has a quite unique feel.  Think Skid Row…but clean…with beautiful graffiti murals…and the homeless wearing brightly colored kicks and looking more like hipsters (suspend your imagination)…and speaking Japanese.  And tiny stores hidden in the winding mall in the village plaza where you can buy Japanese VHS tapes and yogurt.

And there, across the street from the Japanese Village Plaza, hidden far back in a very very narrow alleyway, behind the adjacent restaurant is...The Far Bar.

The Far Bar is basically the first bar I located on my quest to find the best hidden places in LA.  And it has pretty much everything I love about Little Tokyo:  it’s low-key but classy; small, but surprisingly accommodating; and its use of space is truly unique, yet not pretentious.  If you can find the entrance, you literally have to squeeze through a long corridor of brick walls, which suddenly open up to a small-but-larger-than-expected patio bar, lit only by small candles and lights strung overhead, zigzagging from wall to wall high above the narrow makeshift alleyway bar.  The place gets loud and boisterous as the night goes on, and will usually have a band in the very back of the patio (which is still only about 5 feet from your table).  The place serves sushi, beer, liquor, cocktails, and of course, sake.

And after The Far Bar, you might want to head to the opposite end of Little Tokyo, across the street, in the very back of the small Honda Center strip mall, and check out Bar C – a low-key wine and sake bar with a weird bordello theme, where the the walls are covered in pink fur and Japanese bartenders dress like French maids. 

And the good thing is that if you have too much sake, you could probably just walk across the street and crash out in an abandoned warehouse for a few hours.  If anybody asks, just tell them you’re an artist.  [Just don’t tell them I told you to say that.]

The Old Place Restaurant

The Old Place Restaurant

29983 Mulholland Hwy., Cornell (aka Agoura), CA 91301 – Tel: (818) 706-9001

To most, the City of “Malibu” conjures fantasy-like images of the rich and famous, basking on picturesque beaches, and cliff-side houses you’ll never afford.  But, as a former resident of “the ‘Bu,” I can truly say the place offers far more than these iconic images, serving as a legitimate Shangri-La within an otherwise congested and overpopulated city – sprawling mountains, deep valleys, souring peaks, offering wineries, amazing hiking and rock climbing, mesmerizing camp sites, and of course, world class surfing.  I am still amazed by the abundance of hidden gems tucked away in the tiny corners, nooks, and crannies of the Santa Monica Mountains.

Last week, I made a concerted decision to get back into rock climbing and hiking, and as part of this resolution, I used the Labor Day weekend to take a break and drive up to Malibu – to do a rock scramble above Malibu Lake, and take advantage of some of the weekend’s epic surf (compliments of Hurricane Ileana).  After finishing a 4-hour hike off Deer Leg Trail, I returned to my car and decided to take the scenic route back to the beach.

And while driving along Mulholland Highway, deep in the mountains between Malibu and Agoura Hills, I stumbled upon another one of Malibu’s best hidden secrets:  The Old Place Restaurant.

Technically, The Old Place is not in Malibu – it lies halfway in a residential neighborhood and halfway in the Peter Straus Ranch, in an unincorporated district in the mountainous wine country area of the Santa Monica Mountains, still within Los Angeles County, in a once-established town called “Cornell,” now sharing the Agoura Hills zip code.

And if that doesn’t make the place seem hidden enough, The Old Place actually resides in the dilapidated remains of what was once Cornell’s post office, from 1884 to 1904.  And at first blush, The Old Place seems like it hasn’t been updated since that time, appearing to be a distressed wooden warehouse, somewhat like an old cowboy saloon, or one of the Cajon river homes lying on the bayou in the beginning of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride [or the House of Blues, to those who haven't been to Disneyland].  But despite The Old Place’s odd, out-of-place look, its surroundings – standing directly beside the quaint Cornell winery and downhill from an obscure art gallery – suggest the exterior is merely an unassuming façade, concealing some kind of…je ne sais quoi. (Keeping with the Cajun theme.)

And The Old Place doesn’t disappoint, as walking up the rickety wooden steps and stepping inside the restaurant gives way to an unexpected, almost magical experience.  The ceilings are low and the place is dark, lit by dim hanging lamps that look like old-fashioned mine shaft lanterns.  The place is packed and loud, but still intimate, with 5 booths, 3 tables, a private room, and a 20 foot antique bar that runs down the center of the restaurant and serves as a giant dining table.  The place is crowded and compact, with an oddly unbalanced symmetry – on the left, the booths sit low with a high back, nearly sunken into the ground, making you feel like you’re inside a Hobbit hole waiting for Bilbo Baggins to come out and tell you about the night’s specials; but on the right, the bar is so tall that ordering a drink feels like standing below a pharmacist counter and asking for a pinot gris.

The Old Place was founded by Tom Runyon after he moved out West from New York, some 70 years ago.  Runyon was an avid hunter, trapper, and fisherman, and the restaurant reflects this aura through its rustic, pioneer-like, stereotypical Western vibe.  While Tom passed away in 2009, his son, Morgan, continues to operate the restaurant, and pays tribute to his father’s establishment by featuring Tom’s original menu of “Steaks, Clams, and Baked Potatoes.”  The restaurant features a delicious menu, serves beer, and has an excellent selection of wine from the surrounding local wineries, as well as other top producers from California.

All of this is to say that dining in The Old Place is a truly charming, almost transcendent experience – reminiscent of the days when pioneers would ride into town on horseback to get a drink at the local watering hole before heading back to Malibu Creek to pan for gold.  The old saloon and the surrounding mountains take you back to a time when the West was new, unsettled, and unexplored – a romantic era in American history.  So, if you’re interested in drinking some wine, eating some steak, and playing a gold-digger for the evening, The Old Place is a must – a truly genuine experience that can’t be recreated.  [And by “gold-digger” I mean the 1849^er/SF-type, not the stereotypical LA-type.  Go to Surfrider beach for that type.]

Blind Barber

Blind Barber

10797 Washington Boulevard, Culver City, CA 90232 

 “The term “blind pig” (or “blind tiger”) originated in the United States during prohibition, and applied to lower-class establishments that sold alcoholic beverages illegally.  In contrast to speakeasies, which were usually considered higher-class establishments that offered food and entertainment, a blind pig was usually a dive where only beer and liquor were offered.  The namesake possibly originated from a scheme developed by bar owners to circumvent the law restricting the sale of alcohol, where they would disguise their bar on the outside to look like a forum for "exhibition shows," advertising an attraction (such as an animal), but once inside, then serve their patrons a “complimentary” alcoholic beverage (so they were actually paying for the illegal drink, and the “exhibition show” was merely a front for illicit activity).  For example, the establishment would put on an exhibit of a “blind Greenland pig” (or a “blind tiger”), charge 25 cents to see the pig, but then throw in a gin cocktail for free.”

If you’re reading this review, for my 2 cents, I’d say The Varnish pretty much sets the standard for speakeasies in LA (that speakeasy through a broom closet behind a bar inside a restaurant within the hallow of one of LA’s most historic buildings); and Sweeny Todd's sets the standard for barbershops (that old fashioned barbershop on the edge of Los Feliz where you can page through a collection of tastefully displayed vintage “gentleman” magazines while waiting to get a traditional flat razor shave).

But what if these two places were combined into one?  What if I told you they already are? ...

A few weeks ago, I heard about a new speakeasy in Culver City – a bar inside of a barber shop.  The place was set to open Friday, May 18, 2012.  But I also heard the place had planned a “soft” opening prior to that date.  So naturally, I had to check it out, to verify if these rumors were true.

The place was located in Culver City – a small, but burgeoning hidden gem within LA; a place overtaken by the Munchkins in 1924; a place boasting the World’s Smallest Main Street; and a place revitalized in the 1990s with art galleries and hip shopping centers, and lauded by The New York Times as a “nascent Chelsea.”  But normally, Culver City conjures images of a claustrophobic, crowded, and boisterous downtown area, densely packed with street-side restaurants and no parking.

But this new place was different – located somewhat off the beaten-path, sufficiently west of the main downtown drag.  A place with small-town charm, not yet fully affected by the growing downtown scene, where you can still park on residential streets without needing a special permit (something I understand is virtually unheard of by Culver locals).

I parked on a dark residential street and walked along a quiet sidewalk toward the address I had been given.  Halfway down the block, I spotted a lonely barber pole, with faded red and white stripes, dimly lit and slowly spinning.  But the scene was lifeless – nobody was standing outside, nobody was walking by, no noise was heard, and all the surrounding stores were unlit and closed.  But sure enough, the barber pole led me to a barbershop window (marked only by the words, “Barber Shop,” painted above the shop’s glass doors).  However, the lights were off, the doors were closed, and nobody was inside.  (Pretty clear I had been misled about this “soft” opening.)

But still, because I’m me, I decided to express my frustration to the world by yanking on the door – as through personally disenfranchised that a bar that wasn’t officially open wasn’t open (for me).  But to my surprise…the door opened.  I jolted, almost instinctively, and looked from side to side, not wanting to be seen as inadvertently trespassing.  Still somewhat surprised, I shrugged my shoulders and decided to walk in.

As I entered, I spun around the small shop, noticing the excellent details:  the four old fashioned leather barber chairs, the faded/distressed primer walls, the penny-tiled floors, the pie-tin lamps hanging from the ceiling, the antique wooden bench seats…  Other than the almost non-existent flicker from the overhead pie tins, the shop was silent and dark, as through the last employee forgot to lock up before leaving.  As though I shouldn’t be there.

But as I walked around, I noticed a faint, almost inaudible, sound of music coming from a door in the back of the shop.

I followed the sound to the door, and decided to continue down the proverbial rabbit hole, to see where it would take me.  I turned the knob…  And again, the door opened.  And the sound of music and distant voices suddenly filled into the small room.

Again, I decided to trespass, and walked through this back door, down a dark hallway, and around a corner…

And there, I found The Blind Barber.

The concept was brilliant.  The execution, almost perfect.  The kind of place matching my description of the ideal bar:  a hidden, dimly lit establishment where the staff knows what they’re doing and does it well.

This secret room was dark, very dark, lit only by the small candles sitting atop a few couples tables tucked into the back, and the conservatively-placed wall chandeliers, providing dim light for the leather booths lining the sides of the room.  The place was full but not packed.  Intimate.  And as I walked farther into the room, I noticed a small film crew filming a movie in the back booth.  The whole scene was timeless.

The furnishings were minimal, but classy and appropriate:  black-and-white checkered floors and polished wooden walls, adorned only with lonely pictures of old-timey boxers and handlebar mustaches.

As I approached the bar, I also discovered the staff is amazing – helpful, accommodating, and unexpectedly nice.  I told the bartender I liked scotch, and he suggested I order a Sweeny Todd (ironically?).  He then introduced me to the owner, Jordan Novak.

Jordan and his crew conceived the Blind Barber in New York, and after achieving success, decided to bring the whole operation out west – including the bartenders and barbers.  He also explained the bar is nestled in the gutted remains of what was once a Wells Fargo bank, and that the location was deliberately chosen after being approached by the building’s landlord, who wanted to revitalize the entire development and bring new life to the somewhat tranquil area of town.  I also questioned Jordan about the origin of the name, “Blind Barber,” assuming the name was a subtle reference to the “blind pigs” during Prohibition (or perhaps a descriptive moniker related to stereotypical conditions of an old trade, comparable to a “Mad Hatter” – where hatters went “mad” due to the mercury used in curing felt, speakeasy patrons notoriously went “blind” from drinking too much moonshine).  Jordan assured me the name was not so contrived, and was actually developed independently by his friend, and co-owner, who originally used the name solely for the barbershop.  But I don’t know if I believe Jordan.  Which is fine.  With a quasi-illicit location like the Blind Barber, I’m sure he’s got to keep some things a little mysterious.

All in all, the Blind Barber is awesome.  One of the best bars I’ve seen in quite some time.  And while you may not be able to see a Greenland pig or an exotic tiger for a quarter, you can drink a classic cocktail while getting a haircut.  And that’s enough to bring me back.

The Nook

Nook Bistro

11628 Santa Monica Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90025 (way in the back)

nook (nʊk) - n  

  1. a corner or narrow recess, as in a room

  2. a secluded or sheltered place; retreat

So, I was hanging out with my friend, Kelly Weaver - a producer/photographer/videographer/all-around LA girl, with stylish punk rocker platinum hair, an affection for rhinestones and a Gwen Stefani vibe. We drove up Santa Monica Boulevard, past 3rd Street and Lincoln, past 20th, past Busby's...heading toward the 405 and West LA. As the hustle and bustle of Santa Monica faded into the background and the scenester West Side restaurants and bars were increasingly replaced by run-down strip malls, residential neighborhoods and road-side taco trucks, she finally asked, "Where is this place again?" "We're almost there," I said.

Finally, a few blocks from the 405, we pulled into the parking lot of a small corner strip mall, consisting of a few humble establishments (a dentist office, a nail salon, a small market and drug store), all of which were closed. As we got out of the car, she asked, "Are we going here?," pointing to a lonely Chinese restaurant toward the back of the tiny shopping center. "No," I said, "It's behind that."

We walked through the parking lot, along the row of stores lining the back of the mall, toward the inside corner of the L-shaped plaza, passing underneath the second story level through a small walkway leading into the recesses of the building, and just past the last store visible from the road (and the parking lot) we came to an ambiguous pair of large frosted glass windows...

...and THERE...we found The Nook.

Nook is the creative and entrepreneurial venture of James Richardson, Jeffrey Stuppler and Brian Frith-Smith, who all saw an unfulfilled need for moderately-priced bistro fare served in a friendly, inviting atmosphere.  And Nook fills that need perfectly.

The place itself is quite small, yet ironically offers a full range of dining experiences - from the dimly-lit and intimate couples' tables spanning the left side, to a more boisterous communal table running through the middle, to the quaint 4-person bar, and finally to the somewhat secluded booths embedded into a few nook-like cubbies scattered along the back edges of the restaurant.  The architecture could be described as somewhat minimalistic-retro, as the décor is simple and understated, with subtle yet distinctive aesthetic touches - such as conservatively placed neon-colored lighting, and the slightly angled rectangular roofs sitting atop the open-faced nook-booths (complimenting the retro look of Nook's slanted logo).

And thanks to chef Richardson, the food is great, featuring options like Maple Mustard Glazed Ribeye and Spicy Gulf Shrimp & Grits, all excellently prepared yet moderately priced.  Nook also has a fairly extensive beer and wine selection, providing a full range of options for all tastes and budgets.

So how could one of LA's coziest dens of chic ambiance and great food be located behind an opaque glass window, tucked away inside the back corridor of an older strip mall along a busy street a few blocks from the freeway?  Co-owner Jeff Stuppler explained the location was deliberately chosen, and that "it's actually been sort of a joke that you first have to find the mall, then find us within it.  It's almost like a game."  [Something like hide-and-seek, I suppose.]

So the take-away is simple: the next time you're playing a game of hide-and-seek, make sure to add the Nook as one of your go-to hiding places.

And for an extra round of fun, head back down Santa Monica Blvd. and check out The Room.  Where is that located, exactly?  I'll never tell. (Okay, maybe I will.)   Now close your eyes and count to 60...  Bet'cha can't find me!

The Varnish

The Varnish

118 East 6^th Street, Los Angeles, CA 90014 [hidden in the back]

For those who read my last review, I gave a fairly graphic image of my ideal bar.  For this review, I’ve chosen to discuss a bar that matches that ideal almost perfectly:  The Varnish.

The Varnish is essentially a modern-day speakeasy – a modern take on those clandestine establishments where alcohol was served illegally during Prohibition.  In order to be done well, a modern-day speakeasy should, at a minimum, satisfy three general requirements:  it must be hidden; it must have a Prohibition-era theme; it must offer expertly-crafted classic drinks.  [Requiring a password is a plus.]  And by almost any standard, The Varnish is done well.  Really well. 

As for being hidden, The Varnish is essentially a bar-inside-a-bar, and is accessed by walking from the street level on 6th down a short flight of stairs into the partially sunken Cole’s French Dip restaurant and bar, past the hostess, kitchen, bathrooms, and several tables of patrons, to a plain unmarked black door in the back.  There is no bouncer standing outside.  There is no sign.  The door looks like nothing more than an unassuming broom closet.  If you didn’t already know the bar was there, you wouldn’t find it.  [Years ago, when I first discovered The Varnish, I took a date here, and as I was opening the door, she gasped, “No way, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”  No way?  Yeah way.]

In other words, The Varnish is hidden behind a broom closet in the back of a restaurant behind a bar. 

As for the Prohibition-era theme, The Varnish resides inside the recently restored Cole’s – the oldest existing restaurant in DTLA (est. 1908), the original inventor of the French dip sandwich, and recipient of the Los Angeles Conservancy’s coveted Preservation Award recognizing outstanding achievement in the field of historic preservation.  Cole’s itself is nestled within the hollow of the Pacific Electric Building (est. 1905), which served as the main terminal for the Pacific Electric Red Car trolley lines during Los Angeles’ heyday in the early 1900s.  [By the way, the term “varnish” was a railroad expression for passenger trains in the days of wooden cars, which were varnished after painting to provide an elegant finish befitting the high level of craftsmanship typical of late nineteenth-century passenger equipment.  Not surprisingly, the original railway tracks now lay beneath The Varnish, and the same level of craftsmanship has been devoted to the bar.]

Immediately upon entering the bar, you’ll feel transported back to a time gone by – the room is dimly lit by the original glass lighting fixtures; the bartenders are dressed to the nines in vests, ties, garters and slacks; drinks are made with old-fashioned block ice (not cubes); and the small tables and rail car booths sit atop the original penny-tiled floors.  [Cole’s even utilizes the original 40-foot mahogany “Red Car Bar” that was frequented by thousands of Angelinos taking the trolley to and from work some hundred years ago.]

In other words, when you step into The Varnish, you’re stepping back in time. 

And as for quality drinks, The Varnish was created by the nationally-renowned mixologist, Eric Alperin (2011 American Bartender of the Year), and the bar has repeatedly won awards for being the “Best American Cocktail Bar” – a place where you can order drinks like The Highlander, The Bee’s Knees, and Coffee Cocktails. 

In other words, the drinks are good.  Really good. 

Additionally, one of the best aspects of The Varnish is that it’s located in the bustling, up-and-coming area of Los Angeles’ Historic Core – a neighborhood that fell into serious decline after WWII, but recently attracted significant investment and revitalization after the Los Angeles City Council passed the Adaptive Re-Use Ordinance in 1999, allowing the old and unused office buildings to be converted into apartments and lofts, with the purpose of attracting new residents who would bring vitality to the City’s urban core.  As a result, The Varnish, while intimately tucked away in the backroom of a historic landmark, is also centrally located among an increasing number of new, hip bars and restaurants (such as Mignon and The Gorbals).  In bar owner Eric Alperin’s own words, this location was deliberately chosen because it’s an area of Downtown that has an “NY vibe,” with “more of a walking life.”  As more residents flock to the Downtown area, Alperin’s words continue to ring true. 

All in all, The Varnish is a truly timeless experience.  Fortunately, Prohibition is over and this review shouldn’t tip off the authorities to any illicit activity in my favorite watering hole.  So definitely add this bar to your list for 2012.  Just remember to keep your list in your bootleg. 

The Gorbals

The Gorbals

501 S. Spring Street, Los Angeles, CA 90013

For those of you who know me, you know my favorite type of bar is a speakeasy, and more generally, anything hidden/obscure.  Not those cheesy knock-offs claiming to be "speakeasy-esque", where the interior is made to look like a 1920's Prohibition-style underground drinking den, but the actual bar happens to be located on a major street with a giant neon sign reading something insulting like, "Speakeasy Bar".  [So much for "speaking easy", I guess.]  No, what I'm talking about is the kind of place where you have to walk down a hidden dark alley, around a few homeless guys and a dumpster with used heroin needles, down a sketchy flight of stairs, to a closed iron door where you need a secret password to get in, and then just when your date's about to mace you and run for her life, the large door opens and you escort her into a dimly-lit upscale establishment where the staff knows what they're doing and does it well.

So, The Gorbals of DTLA isn't quite that extreme; it isn't a speakeasy, nor does it claim to be.  But on a weekday night, it ranks very high on my list.  [I say "weekday," because the restaurant is located in the trendy/upcoming area along Gallery Row (5th & Spring), which can be pretty crowded and overrun with hipsters on the weekend; but mid-week, the scene's completely different and you're anxiously aware of how close you are to Skid Row.]

The Gorbals is located inside the lobby area of the historic Alexandia Hotel - one of Downtown Los Angeles' most notable landmarks, built in 1906 and formerly lauded as one of the most luxurious hotels in the country (frequented by Winston Churchill, William Taft and Theodore Roosevelt, to drop a few names), but recently renovated and currently serving as a low-income housing project.  The restaurant itself is marked only by a subtle, almost hidden sign, displayed above a thick wooden door, which is usually closed (making you think, "If there was a restaurant here, it's closed").  The door opens into a dimly-lit, simple yet romantic, small but uncrowded restaurant, with a modern looking stainless steel bar wrapping around the quaint room, accompanied by funky wooden art pedestal bar stools, large wooden communal tables, and a collection of small candlelit tables scattered throughout the darker areas atop the century-old tiled floor.

The restaurant was created by owner/chef, Ilan Hall, best known as the winner of the 2nd season of Top Chef, so you know the food's good. The place itself, as well as its food, was inspired by the Gorbals - a slum-like neighborhood in Glasgow, Scottland, where Hall's father had grown up; the kind of place widely known as a dangerous melting pot of poor immigrants (mainly Jewish, Indian and Pakistani) and multi-cultural food.

Likewise, The Gorbals is an amalgam of many different ethnicities and tastes, not limited to a certain style or cuisine, and is self-described as "Scottish, Jewish, Spanish, American; it is haggis burgers, paella, chicken skin sandwiches, gefilte fish 'n chips, and bacon-wrapped matzoh balls."

The menu offers a host of interesting and eclectic options (the bacon-wrapped matzoh balls are hugely popular), as well as a full bar, serving beer, wine, spirits and specialty cocktails.  So whether you're looking for a romantic dinner, a late night snack, or just a drink, The Gorbals has it all!

Oh, and for extra fun, make a right after leaving the restaurant, walk into another hallway, make a quick left up an unmarked flight of stairs [as though casually walking to someone's apartment], follow the music through another door, and you'll literally stumble into The Mezz - a hidden burlesque/jazz bar on the 2nd floor of the Alexandria.

All in all, The Gorbals has a great mix of ingredients that makes for a truly unique experience: a diamond-in-the-rough feel just outside Skid Row, hidden behind a closed door inside a blighted historic landmark currently serving as a housing project; upscale yet unpretentious; artsy but simple; dark hallways, corridors and unmarked stairs... For 2012, make this place a must.  And while you might be tempted, you probably won't need your mace.