Los Angeles

Living in Southern California, we enjoy rich ethnic diversity. Those of us who explore culture through cuisine are very happy about that. Located in West Los Angeles, Yabu, which has a devoted following and is a good example of a neighborhood Japanese restaurant. Because Yabu has a much larger, sister restaurant in West Hollywood, when you call to make a reservation, you will be asked to confirm that you want to eat at the Pico restaurant.

You do.

There are lots of chain restaurants with Japanese names, but Yabu's kitchen prepares authentic Japanese comfort food. Serving lunch (Mon.-Sat.) and dinner (Mon.-Sun.), the restaurant is perfect to drop in for a quick bite at the sushi bar or with family and friends to hang out at one of the tables tucked into the corners of the room. Order cups of hot green tea, ice cold bottles of Japanese beers or hot (or cold) sake and try out new dishes as you enjoy easy conversation and good food.

I love food. And I love going out to eat and trying new places. And I love talking about food. In fact, I love food so much that whenever I'm eating I actually try not to get too full so that I'll be able to eat again in another two hours—which is something I think I inherited from my mother. When I was a kid, I thought it took five hours to get to Santa Barbara from LA because she would take the Pacific Coast Highway and stop to eat three times. (If you are not familiar with the geography of Southern California, it shouldn’t take more than an hour and a half to get to Santa Barbara).

But despite that fact that I grew up in a household where it was the norm to discuss what we were going to eat for lunch during breakfast (even if breakfast was at 12pm), I am not a foodie. I hate restaurants that pile food into thimble sized pyramids in the middle of oversized square plates. And when things like soup are served in shot glasses (unless you're Hatfield's and then you can do whatever you want). But the other night when my lovely boyfriend realized that not only did he not owe extra taxes, but he was getting a hefty refund, I wanted him to take me somewhere nice to make up for all those nights of sopitos at Poquito Mas while he anticipated paying what he thought was going to be a huge bill from the government. It turns out my step-dad is not the only man in my life who can’t do his own accounting. No offense, Alan.

In Persian, Darya means sea

Darya in West L.A. 

I wish my comfort food was as simple as mac and cheese or ice cream with chocolate sauce and gobs of whipped cream.  But I grew up with a Persian mother and nothing makes me feel better than basmati rice with saffron; eggplant and zucchini in a tomato stew with veal; filet mignon kabobs, marinated and then grilled to perfection – the dishes that she raised me on.  Back in high school and even to this day, my friends still invite themselves over for dinner in hopes that my mother will be cooking her legendary rice served with one of her Persian stews.

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.