Ottolenghi at animal

What do you call it when you know everything about a person and that person has no idea you exist?  Oh, stalking.  I don't remember where I first read about Yotam Ottolenghi, but that name pulled me in immediately.  I tried to make sense of it:  last name is definitely Italian, first name sounds Hebrew.  I want more info.  (I was similarly intrigued when I first of Adriano Goldschmied.  What can I say?  I love a pizza bagel.)

Needless to say, I got a little stalky.  I started scouring the internet for information.  I learned that Chef Ottolenghi is an Israeli of Italian and German descent, with a grandma who recreates her own little Tuscany there, down to the imported espresso she drinks every morning (though I am partial to the Elite brand instant coffee served in yellow mugs ubiquitous in Israeli households, I can't begrudge Ottolenghi's Italian grandmother her real-deal coffee).  I also learned that with head chef Sami Tamimi, a Palestinian who, like Ottolenghi himself, is a handsome young gay man in stylish nerd glasses, he owns a series of vegetarian restaurants in London, with huge spreads of irresistible baked goods and menus based on fresh seasonal vegetables, prepared simply to bring out their best.

There was so much to love here, and in the sunny vegetarian recipes that Ottolenghi posts on the Guardian, with their constant nods to Italian and Middle Eastern Mediterranean cuisines, that in my head I entertained ideas of going to London just so I could try his restaurant (and take pictures, and blog about it, obvs).  The food, and the stories, resonated with me in a very personal way.  So, when I found out Chef Ottolenghi was hosting a dinner right here in Los Angeles, at beloved animal, I jumped on it.  Five courses, all vegetarian fare, eached paired with wine.  (Note: four of those five were rosés, two of which where sparkling.  Wine for a summer night after my own heart.) 

goat cheese ravioli with turmeric and pink peppercorns

The preparations were simple -- not unlike the kind of food I like making for myself on a weeknight -- but were executed really well, with perfectly fresh ingredients.  Plates were easy to deconstruct.  Nothing was trying to be meat.  Really, nothing was trying to be anything other than what it was.  All of the dishes came from Ottolenghi's new vegetarian cookbook, Plenty, and for each dish, the focus was a vegetable: eggplant was cooked over open fire until it was totally soft and smokey, zucchini grilled, and tomatoes roasted to bring out their sweetness (the latter for a dish called 'tomato party'.  Who doesn't love a tomato party?), or left raw -- after all, in some cases it's best not to mess with natural beauty.  Flavor was heightened with a variety of cheeses, lemon zest, toasted nuts, and torn fresh herbs.  Everything tasted bright and alive.

tomato party!

Having said that, I have to admit: the food left me wanting a little.  Somehow the dinner's presentation -- small, sparse plates -- didn't meet up to the festive abundance you see in images of the restaurants.  Though a salad of watercress, orange blossoms, and toasted pistachios seemed to bounce off the plate with flavor, this kind of fare is a little too delicate overall to satisfy on its own.  (Fortunately, we knew a place across the street.  Please don't tell Chef Ottolenghi that we topped off his meal with a big bowl of fries at Golden State.)

milk pudding with toasted coconut and almonds

But maybe the real prize here is the chef himself: he's totally charming in person, and as you see in the notes above every recipe in his book, he's also chatty and generous with stories and tips.  We discovered that his sister lives in the same suburb of Tel Aviv as my uncle, and he mentioned to us that he went to Joan's on Third that day for lunch, and Joan wouldn't stop feeding him (she must have been thrilled at the chance to indulge in her motherly overfeeding instinct).  This latter fact makes perfect sense:  she probably sensed a kindred spirit in this Italian by way of Israel who came from London all the way to Los Angeles to teach us a thing or two about vegetables. 

All I Need is Bread and Cheese

 The concept of naan-va-paneer-va*... was a beloved one in our kitchen growing up, and when the weather is as sunny as it's been lately, the simplicity of this kind of meal is especially appealing.  You might recognize those foreign words from your local curry shop's menu, but they are the same in Persian as they are in Hindi:  naan is bread, and paneer is cheese.  Take those two -- typically it was lavash, sangak, or some other Persian flatbread, and salty feta cheese -- and add some things:  some sliced tomatoes, a few pistachios or walnuts, some cold cantaloupe, or maybe just some fruit preserves.  Something about this combination is deeply satisfying.

Today, recovering from maid of honor duties at an absolutely beautiful but extremely culinarily indulgent wedding last night (6 courses, catered by animal.  Need i say more?), I couldn't possibly stomach a lunch more substantial than naan-va-paneer.  Today's rendition included some special treats: for one, this insanely good goat's milk feta with sun-dried tomatoes purchased from at the Silver Lake Farmer's Market from the burnished old Greek man who once sang a song about my beauty while selling me cheese (I love the Greek).

Another was zaatar, a Middle Eastern blend of dried thyme and other herbs with toasted sesame seeds. You'll find zaatar in  Israeli and Lebanese food for sure; I've also had it in Jordan.  It's not a Persian ingredient.  I have a giant bag sitting in my fridge that I carried with me the last time I was in Israel (let's not talk about how long ago that was), but you can find it in Middle Eastern markets and spice shops here.

This doesn't really warrant a recipe, but here's the breakdown of today's naan-o-paneer lunch:

 - whole-wheat pita, perfectly toasted and spread with strained nonfat Greek yogurt, drizzled with olive oil, and sprinkled with flaky salt and zaatar
 - a few slices from a really good tomato, sprinkled with olive oil, lemon juice, and salt
 - a few slices of cool, crisp Asian pear
 - marinated feta with sun-dried tomatoes

The perfect beverage to go along?  Sharbat-e-golab, sweet icy rosewater ade.  I'm going to go make some right now!

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* That spelling is actually based on the 'formal' way of pronouncing those words, but in conversation you'd hear something more like noon-o-paneer-o....  And spoken conversationally, these phrases roll off the tongue in a particularly pleasant way:  noon-o-paneer-o-pesteh for pistachios, noon-o-paneer-o-talebi for cantaloupe.  If you've got an Iranian friend handy, ask her to say it so you can hear how it goes.

Our Bake Sale Family

The fifth annual No Cookie Left Behind bake sale came and went, and I'm still trying to make sense of it.  Five years in, we thought we could make this happen with our eyes closed, but actually we learned a few things this time around.  It was awesome, and a little humbling.

A personal lesson was that as much as I try every year to get an earlier start, it just doesn't work that way.  We kicked things off with an amazing brunch chez Heather Taylor, but we let it go slack from there.  Three months out, bake sale work is a slow slog, executed in a vacuum:  you get little feedback, and so there's not much to push you forward.  We're busy people.  Momentum is impossible.  But in those last couple weeks, the frenetic push to get everything done starts getting results, and that feels electric.

This year's bake sale was a little mellow.  It fell on Father's Day, so a lot of people were previously engaged.  And though we tweeted, blogged, and promoted like crazy, we didn't get the 'big press' that we usually rely on:  for various reasons outside our control, we weren't featured on Daily Candy or Good Food this year.  So, we learned.  Those things do make a difference.  Now we know.  (But don't worry: our network never lets us down and as of yesterday, we already have a connection to Evan Kleiman for next year!)

Despite the quiet though, it was a really nice bake sale.  We are so proud to have made over $3100 for Share Our Strength, and any baked goods left over from the day went straight to Hollywood's own Covenant House (note:  there is no better sight than a thuggish-looking teen walking down the street licking the frosting off a pink cupcake).

Year five brought us back a little.  Though we didn't get quite as many of those little thrills from strangers who'd heard about us from sources we didn't even know about (or New York Times photographers covering our bake sale for a story), we had a solid showing of "our people."  Friends stopped by to drop off homemade jams, or some very special popcorn, and stayed the whole afternoon, cafe-sitting and peoplewatching.  Others ate the day away, then left with a shopping bag full of even more desserts.  Our crew's enormous network of friends and family made up the bulk of the crowd, and it was really fun to see a slew of familiar faces, smiling as they enjoyed sweets, sunshine, and each other's company, all thanks to something we created.

But you know, one reason there were so few strangers is the bake sale itself.  Just as we set out, we've built a community.  In our first year, back when I was living in Miracle Mile, a new storefront was going up a block or two from me:  Kiss My Bundt Bakery.  With no knowledge of the business, I blindly sent a message to the email address on their site.  The response I got, from Chrysta Wilson, the proprietor of the shop, crystallized the vision for No Cookie Left Behind:  she came to baking from being a community organizer, and was grateful to find a way to give back.  It was that word: community. 

Chrysta donated that first year, and has every year since.  She hung out for a while this year, selling incredibly moist red velvet bundts in a jar.  So did Meg Taylor of Large Marge Sustainables.  Though her delicious catering company has blown up and is now craft services to the stars (including feeding the crew of Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution -- a compliment if I've ever heard of one), she brought her amazing citrus herb shortbread as she has since year one, and stayed to chat.  Two days before the bake sale, I emailed Elizabeth Belkind of the wildly successful CakeMonkey Bakery.  Back in 2006, there was no CakeMonkey: only the dozens of dulce de leche cupcakes that Elizabeth made for No Cookie Left Behind.  This year, her business partner Lisa heeded the call, and I started the morning with a pick-up at their Burbank kitchen, wowed by the incredible smells and the trays and trays of cubed butter in their fridge! I like to think we've had CakeMonkey sweets at the bake sale since before CakeMonkey existed.  And of course there's Tai Kim.  Tai!  What can we say about this man who allows us to wreack havoc on his ice cream shop's tranquil patio year after year, then contributes generously to our cause to boot.  We love him.

And our community grows!  Between the raffle and the spread, we've brought in so many new friend-contributors over the years:  I was thrilled to meet Lauren Soloff of The Granola Project after crushing hard on her amazing kitchen when Heather did a visit for her blog (though I was more thrilled when I dumped the sesame-date-cocoa-nib granola I got at the bake sale in with some greek yogurt, cottage cheese, blood orange marmalade (another bake sale find), fresh apricot, and flax meal for breakfast yesterday.  Goodness).  Heather also introduced us to Full Moon Pickles, and I can't wait to try their Lady Marmalade, a concoction of meyer lemons and fresh ginger.  She also connected us to Holly Flora, who has been helping to make our tables beautiful with their so-special flower arrangements.  Our own Peggy contacted her friend Danielle, and a sweet hook-up occurred:  pastry chef Danielle Keene of Bittersweet Treats happens to be a Top Chef Just Desserts finalist, and kindly donated free seats in her dessert classes held on a family farm in Malibu to our raffle.  This year also brought in Cafecito Orgánico:  they've taken over the cafe next to Scoops, and were happy to caffeinate our sweets-loving crowd.  (It's all connected, by the way: the founder of Cafecito is a college friend of my friend Juan, they used to provide the beans for that old Kiss My Bundt storefront on West Third, Large Marge used to make food for this shop, and they provide my own morning coffee every Saturday at the Silver Lake Farmer's Market.  LA is not so large when there are bake sales.)  Our beloved friends at Golden State Cafe donated to the raffle for the second year running, and co-owner Jason Bernstein sent his girlfriend and his mother to buy up sweets while he worked.  See?  Family.

my personal take of jams and granola

This year, the sisters of SporkFoods were busy getting Jenny married off (the same Jenny who coined the name No Cookie Left Behind in my living room five years ago), so our vegan representation weighed a little heavy on my mind.  Then I met a smiley vegan named Amy at a party, asked if she had any leads, and an email later, Jesse and Mallori of JAM Vegan Bakery were standing outside Scoops with some of the most beautiful cupcakes we've ever seen.

That's pretty much how our bake sale goes:  if we know you, we will put you to use.  And trust us, you will like it.   Because once you're in, you're part of our No Cookie Left Behind family.  We may be a little dysfunctional, but let me tell you, our family reunions are something else.

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First two photos by Alex De Cordoba via LA In Bloom, next two by Amelia Morris.

It's Saturday, I'm Tannaz: Broome Street General Store

Having heard about Broome Street General Store around the internet, needing a gift for a very Silver-Lakey friend, and it being like 2 seconds from my apartment, I had to check it out this Saturday.  It's an adorable rendition of what early Restoration Hardware could have been if it weren't looking for chain-store world takeover and served excellent espresso drinks.  It's a beautifully picked set of a little of everything, with a nod to retro stylishness and solid construction:  giant jars of bloody Mary mix from a tiny brand in Brooklyn, with bits of hot pepper and tomato seeds visibly swimming in the thick red juice; tiny Weck jars, with their pretty orange seals, filled with whole nutmeg, or lavender buds.  A few Asian specialty kitchen items, a few Italian ones.  Simple juice glasses, artisanal honey, and heavy, substantial baking dishes in simple colors and patterns. 

The space used to hold a frivolous but beautifully appointed shop named Zanzabelle, and I wondered as I walked in if Broome Street would be different.  The nutmeg was the first thing that caught my eye.  It was, admittedly, an adorable little treat.  But at $8.25 for about six... nuts (what the hell do you call a nutmeg?), it gave me pause about the whole place.

It feels good to be in this clean, tidy shop.  But, the well-curated inventory at Broome Street is not cheap.  I came for a gift, but true to form, instead ended up grabbing myself some cool refreshing caffeination and a snack to go along.  For an iced latte and savory hand pie, I paid over ten dollars.  It took a few minutes, but eventually I figured out what I was really paying for.  Broome Street is set off from the street by a sweet square patio, each corner of which houses a tree whose branches arch over and shade the wooden bistro tables perfectly.  It was a searing 85 degrees outside, but sitting on that patio under dappled sunshine, with my icy coffee and a light breeze shaking the pages of my book -- that's pretty much all I ever want.  The hospitality of the surroundings allowed my mind to wander far from Rowena Avenue.  That quiet patio, with vines growing over an arched trellis on one side, offered me a moment of respite.  It turns out Broome Street offers free wireless internet and electrical outlets outside, too.  And in addition to the baked goods on offer currently, salads and sandwiches are coming soon.  The staff -- the shop's owners -- are warm and conversational, and clearly they're taking care of their guests. 

I probably won't go back to Broome Street for a bottle of  toasted sesame oil with an extra-stylish label or gummy peach candies gussied up by a fancy tin.  But I know myself:  I have a long history of passing time over espresso drinks.  Weekends keep coming, and I keep being Tannaz: for a sweet moment of neighborly hospitality, great coffee and a bite to eat on that dreamy patio, I can't wait for the next opportunity.

Blowing Your Mind With Crisco

I've recently discovered Google Reader (because I live in 2004 apparently), and it has changed my life.  Rather than spending hours reclicking on the countless blogs I love just to check if there is anything new, now I just go to this one simple place and get a continuous, constantly updating feed of new posts from all of my blogs.  It's amazing.  And it's so efficient that sometimes I don't know what to do with myself, what with all the time I've saved by not hitting refresh all over the place.  Fortunately, it also recommends posts for me, so the procrastination truly can go on forever.

And today, these very recommendations led to an etymology post!  That old nerdy favorite that no one cares about but me.  First one since 2008 (not that you care)!  Unlike most of the etymology posts, this one comes from our own English language.  But, like all of them, it's based on hazy and vague sources, and may not actually be true.  Meh, undeterred.

It comes from Chris Loves Julia, the blog of a sweet young family in Utah, from a post about a fine local pizza joint with reverence for the true meaning of shortcake:

"Most often when we hear someone talking about strawberry shortcake, what they are referring to is angel food cake topped with macerated strawberries and whipped cream from a can. When a cake or bread is referred to as "short," what that means is there has been something added to the mix to shorten the gluten strands (gluten is the protein found in flour, and just like protein in meats, it forms long, elastic strands). Things that shorten gluten strands include Crisco (also referred to as "shortening"- did I just blow your mind?), oil, and butter. The fats get in the strands of gluten and break them apart, creating a crumbly texture." 

What?!  This is what shortening is all about, shortening of gluten strands?  Yes, Chris Loves Julia, you have totally blown my mind.  This is amazing.  And I want shortcake.

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thanks to Roadsidepictures for the photo

i will be taking the tube to barcelona, thank you

This is the best thing I've ever seen.  If only it were real.

Huge heaving sigh...

I will take the blue line to Mexico City, from there to Barcelona, and then to Athens.  Aaaah!

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from the amazing Colossal blog

My Happy Place: Spring for Coffee

Have you been to Art Walk?  You really should.  The streets downtown fill with all sorts of people looking for fun, every corner seems to have performers banging out the night's soundtrack on plastic buckets, and as the night progresses, every storefront seems to have become a gallery -- tiny, strange, mainstream, street, you name it -- if just for the night.  You might have to stand in line at a small street-art gallery on a side street that a friend takes you to, but it's worth it to see the place that, for this friend, "feels like home" -- his happy place.  It's not odd to see a sign for a "Cleaners/Gallery", and by the time you pass by a barbershop a second time, it's turned into a club, lights dimmed and techno bumping.  Step into the sprawling Last Bookstore, and there's a budding dance floor in there, too.  Downtown's DJs-per-square-footage has to be at a national high on the second Thursday of each month. Our city becomes a little extra charged for a few hours each month.

But you'll want to get there early, especially if you're driving (though seriously, do as I say, not as I do, and take the metro, for Pete's sake).  And before the streets fill with hubbub, you can take a moment.  I've driven past teensy Spring for Coffee a million times, always sad to keep driving.  On this evening, I stepped to the little counter, was greeted by two heavily-tatted zany-friendly baristas, got a delicious cappuccino in a real cup made from beloved Blue Bottle coffee, and plunked down at one of only 3 sidewalk tables.  I tried to read, though who are we kidding -- the peoplewatching was way too compelling.  And it being downtown, I had the occasion to do a Google Image Search on my phone for "crackpipe," just to make sure. (I was right.)

Downtown.  Art Walk.  Spring for Coffee.  Crackpipe.  A night in the life.

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Spring for Coffee is at 548 S. Spring, on the northeast corner of Spring and 6th.
The Last Bookstore is at 435 S. Spring, on the northwest corner of Spring and 5th.
Crewest is at 110 Winston St., at Main, a block south of 4th.

Sweets, Scoops, and Sunshine: No Cookie Left Behind Bake Sale 2011

I'm not sure how to talk about this bake sale without gushing for paragraphs and paragraphs.  Gotta admit, it filled me with anxiety for a couple months, but in the last couple weeks, everything has come together, and brought with it the same sense it brings me every year:  that everyone is amazing, there is so much goodwill in the world, and that, even though this thing is most definitely about pushing the envelope on how amazing of a spread of delicious baked goods (and jams!) as far as it'll go, it's actually all about people.

Guys, I think it's going to be a good one this year -- our fifth annual No Cookie Left Behind bake sale at Scoops (five years!), and I'm hoping you all will join me on Sunday.  I've been blabbing all over Facebook and Twitter about the incredible roster of bakers that will be involved (I will say this:  somehow we've struck an eerie balance of vegan and bacon), so I won't repeat myself here. Read up over there, or really, just show up, and know that you won't be disappointed.  And you'll be helping out with a great, great cause:  every dollar goes to Share Our Strength in their fight against childhood hunger.

HERE ARE SOME DETAILS:

WHEN:  Sunday, June 19.  2 - 5 pm
WHERE:  Scoops!  712 N. Heliotrope in East Hollywood. Just north of Melrose, between Normandie and Vermont.
INTERESTED IN BAKING?  Awesome!  Email us at nocookieleftbehind@gmail.com
CAN'T MAKE IT?  Consider donating to this important cause.  Click here to do so.

Hope to see you on Sunday!

Why I Won't Be At the Next No Cookie Left Behind Bake Sale

There is a No Cookie Left Behind bake sale coming up Saturday, and I won't even be there.  I'm cutting the cord on this one, and couldn't be happier about it.  You see, since we started holding our bake sales in 2007, they've grown into a community event.  They are pretty much inseparable from Scoops and the surrounding neighborhood, and they just wouldn't be right without Tai watching over the operations with his smiley goodwill.  Our baked goods come from neighborhood businesses like Lark Cakeshop, Spork Foods, and Large Marge Sustainables, and with the advent of the raffle last year, we've even been able to bring local non-food businesses, like The Echo and Pal Cabrón, into the mix.  Ours is an East Side bake sale, held by eastsiders (which isn't to say all aren't welcome:  we open our arms and tables full of sweets to any and all who want to join us!).

So, when people started telling us during the Haiti bake sale that we ought to have a bake sale on the west side, or in Orange County, it just seemed strange to us.  We didn't want to.  Schlepping this operation to someone else's community just didn't jibe with what works so well for our bake sales.  It got me thinking though.

Our bake sale is designed to bring community together.  But it doesn't have to be my community.  Any community can have a bake sale, and it'll be a wonderful thing wherever it happens to be.  After this revalation, I was prepared to respond to those suggestions.  So, the next time someone told us to have a bake sale on the west side, we'd tell them, "No thanks, but you should have a bake sale on the west side."  And we'd mean it.

I love the idea of planting a seed for local events in communities all over.  It's been a goal for the last year or two:  to convince someone -- even just one person -- to hold a bake sale in their own neighborhood, then provide them the support and the knowledge we've gathered over the past few years, to help empower them to make it happen.  Miraculously, someone has taken me up on it.

A couple months ago, I'd never met Jen.  She sent me an email back in June of 2010, suggesting we do a bake sale on Abbott Kinney.  True to form, I didn't respond March of this year, a full nine months later.  Buzzing off our first bake sale meeting for the year, I checked the old bake sale email address and happened to see her message sitting there, and decided I'd try my new line on her.  A couple days later, an 8.9 earthquake hit the coast of Japan.  I got a reply from Jen: "Given the tragedy in Japan, I think we have to!"  Yes.

Meeting each other over coffee in Echo Park (Jen graciously made the big trek east) went swimmingly.  We found mutual connections, traded restaurant recommendations (Jen has since tried dreamy Robata Jinya, I have yet to make it to Red Medicine), commiserated over boys, and planned her bake sale! And this bake sale is going to be awesome.  It takes place at Tortoise General Store on Abbott Kinney, and Jen has rounded up baked goods from plenty of home bakers, plus a few local businesses (Gjelina and Platine Cookies -- nothing to scoff at) and one very un-local but lovely business:  Seattle's Theo Chocolate.  And of course, dear Lesley over at Chow Balla will be providing her now-legendary maple bacon popcorn. I'm so excited that Jen is making this happen.

So, please come by the bake sale on Saturday -- even better if you whip up a batch of cookies and bring it along.  You'll be supporting Japan and No Cookie Left Behind, but also you'll be supporting Jen.  We'll be back in June with our regularly scheduled east side bake sale, but in the meantime, she's taking the first step in creating a brand new hub of goodwill, good times, and deliciousness in her own community.  But she can't do it without the community itself. 

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Some links:
The No Abbott Kinney Cookie Left Behind Facebook event (Accept it!  Tell your friends!)
The No Cookie Left Behind webpage.
Our Facebook page.  (Like it!)
Our Twitter.  (Follow it!)

Ich Bin Ein Hipster: Berlin Currywurst

Here's the thing about Berlin Currywurst:  its location is perfect.  Should we be surprised that Silverlakers are fascinated with this little slice of hip urban Germany in the middle of Sunset Junction?  I mean, if this place existed on the west side, say, or in the valley, would anyone be impressed with the space's cool minimalist feel, their commitment to organic ingredients, or the co-owner's totally awesome haircut?

But as it stands, everyone who walks into the tiny space  -- cleaned up considerably since its time as a beloved pupusería -- seems to just 'get it'.  A guy in a fedora chats up the disarmingly handsome young German couple who do triple duty as owners, waiters, and cashiers, waxing poetic about his own time in Berlin, getting nostalgic not only about currywurst, but that lovely young German girl who who got away.  A young couple lets their two towheaded boys run around the restaurant while they chat with the owners in German.  Another guy asks about the restaurant's furnishings, and comes to find out that the awesome industrial-looking chairs have been acquired over years, while the tables -- wood tabletops on legs made of metal piping -- were created by a friend of the owners.  Of course.

Berlin Currywurst's menu, scrawled across one chalkboard-painted wall behind the counter, consists of two things:  fritten, nubby chunks of hand-cut french fried potato; and the namesake currywurst.  Currywurst is a German street food consisting of bite-sized chunks of sausage drenched in curry sauce and sprinkled generously with spicy curry powder.  While the menu seems sparse, you have many options:  you can choose from a variety of sausages (pork, veal, beef, and chicken are represented in various combinations, in addition to two different tofu options), and several flavors of curry, all made in-house (I went with a daily special of orange-ginger, but you might try chipotle or jambalaya).

The fritten have a rich real-potato taste. They come topped with lots of black pepper, and if you choose, you can add grilled onions or jambalaya sauce.  The gnarliest, most roughly cut are the best ones, as they're crisped through in all those well-browned nooks and crannies. The real prize at Berlin Currywurst is to take one of those crisped chunks of potato, pull it through the warm curry sauce from your wurst, then dip it in mayonnaise: spicy, fried, salty, and creamy, all in one bite.

Which brings us to the other thing about Berlin Currywurst.  Essentially, you're getting street food in a sit-down restaurant.  The cornerstone of the menu is heavily spiced sausage (you can order yours at a heat rating from 1 to 4, and 3 and 4 are not available to children), and it's served with deep fried potatoes.  Your only utensil is an adorable wooden pitchfork of sorts.  All this is bliss when you're wobbling out of the bar at 2 o'clock in the morning, but this place is for daylight hours: don't be shocked when the bill comes and you're out 13 bucks.  Of course, there's a reason for the price:  they use high-quality organic ingredients, and the offerings are generous (along with a hefty portion of wurst, you get a slice of their hearty homemade bread, too).  The thing is, I'm here for dinner and my judgement is not clouded by way too many tequilas.  I just wish they had some vegetables.

But still, between the comforting food, the great space, and the welcoming service, the place has a nice feel.  And the fact that they've managed to bring a novel ethnic food item to Los Angeles in 2011 is impressive in itself.  So, Berlin Currywurst, welcome to Silver Lake.  We love your aesthetic, and your saucy, spicy chunks of sausagey goodness.  We also love vegetables.

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Berlin Currywurst is at 3827 Sunset Blvd, at Hyperion, in Silver Lake.