Although not exactly a well known secret the Foodboomblogger West, Ron W, spills the beans and his guts on the world famous Beverly Hills dining institution Spago.
Spago defines fine dining with all the back stage theater that goes along with operating an iconic institution.
This is as good as good as it gets in LA for dishing up recognizable food with recognizable ingredients served in a manner which you will recognize. Classy and classic. It is elevated Continental cuisine that panders to the top .05% of the World’s “beautiful people”.
The place is huge once you clear the cozy bar just inside the front door. The various dining rooms and patios are gorgeous, adult, and a throwback to a time when you dressed up instead of stripped down to dine out.
A gaggle of Goddesses greet you like royalty even if you’re just the UPS guy dropping off a case of frozen Tater Tots for Wolfgang Puck.
I was led to a patio with a canvas top like the Coliseum which opens to reveal the real stars. I was treated like the best Orchid in the show or high end dope. Cared for and coddled like a preemie baby by a platoon of staff. They even have a heater meter man to adjust or move the towers when the ancient Dowager’s Botoxed forehead starts to drip.and droop or when I complained that my hair was getting crisp. No one should complain here about anything, although I bet the odd Diva does.
The Vibe: Major money. More high end wheels than the Zurich Auto Show. My Ford Fiesta was so unique, they parked it in front.
Who goes there? Trust Fund Babies, Moguls, Kardashian knock-offs, (whats the least you can hang on yourself and still leave a few essential parts to the imagination?), coiffed Blue Hairs, and a whole phalanx of uncles squiring their nieces out for the evening. Isn’t that nice? Isn’t that niece nice?
Go ahead, slip into that gownless evening strap and wobble to the LOO 9 times as the dining room gasps or covers their smirk and giggles.
The Staff: Top professionals. European haute cuisine attention to every detail from matching linens to your suit color or burping you discreetly. I was busy chasin’ Jason, The Captain, to hail the Bread Vato who magically appeared. A bottomless basket of house made bread varietals.
“What was that?” I asked as a plate was carried past my table. “Garganelli.” replies Jason who sends for a small tasting plate to set before me. Rise, Sir Jason.
Fermin is nearby to make sure the meal is seamless and will cheerfully free hand that crouching tiger on the top of your.
The Bar Program: The standards high above the standard. A heroic wine list the size of an Acura’s Owners Manual. They have everything you can think of which is a sobering thought.
The Food: Simply marvelous. Yeah, I ordered the off menu Spicy Tuna Tartar in Sesame Tuille Cones like everyone else because I am Mr. In-the-Know Pants.
To quote Elmer Fudd, “Ah…I’m gonna get that wabbit”. And so you should too. A ranched rabbit that hardly anyone offers (Redbird excepted).
It took me back to Fall in Bavaria, hare today, gone tomorrow. It was stuffed and then bathed in a red wine reduction (which describes an ideal wedding night if you ask me). It was sinful. (The Rabbit, not the honey moon. Okay, that was too).
The Lamb Chops are the best in the City. Huge, meaty, and I’d jump on that just for the Falafel Macarons with Harissa. Offer those to the both sides in Syria, and the shooting stops immediately.
The Mushroom Ravioli was terrific. Simple, soft and funky pillows. (My college bunk). The forest floor in Porcini Sauce. Its easier to get them here than to fly to Florence although its about the same cost.
Got room for dessert? The Dried Chocolate Cherry Bread Pudding with brandied Luxardo Cherries, Caramel Sauce and Creme Fraiche Ice Cream.
It was rich and feather light. (Your last Tinder experience?).
The Nougat Glace had Pudwill Farm Blackberries, Toasted Almonds, Basil, and Sage Honey. You got the nougat? I want an extra shovel.