When I first met my husband, I told him that I’m part Native American. I’m also half Jewish. This is when he said to me, “You don’t live on a reservation…you make them.”
I’m sorry, but you will not be able to make a reservation at Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing, a new pop-up restaurant on Abbott Kinney housed in what was once Capri. Well, you can if you are a party of six or more. Since I am a huge micro-manager, my suggestion is go, leave your name if there’s a wait, and walk around, going in and out of the great stores. They will even phone you when your table is ready.
It’s rare that I’m blown-away by a restaurant, but I have become the town crier for this one. Which is funny because the woman who once dubbed me the town crier because I like to share all my finds, is the one that called me late one night, sated, and told me every detail of her experience at this one. She mentioned that they only serve beer, wine and water, a fact I chose to ignore. So, the very next evening when I dragged my husband to an early dinner there, I tried and failed to order iced tea.
Everybody has them. Those neighborhood joints you walk/drive by a
million times but never go into. For no good reason. The place looks
nice enough and clearly has customers, but you always just pass it by.
We've lived in the Valley for over a decade, within walking distance of
the Great Greek and we never went until last month. Our friends, S and
K (who used to live nearby) were horrified. Turns out the GG is one of
their all time favorite places. Or so they claimed. You'd think if that
were true they would have drug us there long before the night K was due
to leave the country for an extended length of time. Of course, it was
the one restaurant she just had to eat at one more time before she
left, so that has to count for something. I guess there isn't a lot of
Greek food where she's going.
It seems everywhere we look nowadays, our eyes light upon a charming French style eaterie, usually simple as that is the underpinning of any bistro of repute. I, for one, am glad of this trend especially as so many French chefs are willing to stay true to their roots and serve delightful cuisine. Quite the opposite to the fancy hoo-ha of other chefs around town who keep trying to impress by mixing two, three and sometimes more cuisines for what I call confusion food – and just end up with dishes of unparalleled mediocrity in taste, although presentation might be eye catching.
My husband and I are lovers of the grape, so we rarely indulge in hard
alcohol, especially since it’s usually more costly and the bars in Los
Angeles don’t exactly cater to our age range. It’s hard to find a place
with a classy atmosphere that’s not blaring hip-hop and filled with
half-exposed 20-year-olds. How they find the money to buy $12 martinis
all night is a mystery to me. 
La Sandia