Beso might be the last man standing when the economy finally recovers. If so, it won’t be because it’s that great of a restaurant. It won’t be because the food is great. The food is just good enough. It won’t be because it’s reasonable priced. It’s not. It’s just not as overpriced as some of the places that strive for the same clientele. (And most of those places have failed. People aren’t tolerating the fifty-dollar steak like they used to.) It won’t be because, as one bartender aggressively told me, “Dude, we are so much nicer than bartenders at other bars. We are so much nicer than we have to be!” He was almost spitting as he told me this, but more on that later. If Beso weathers the current economic storm, and all evidence says that it will, it will be because Beso does just enough right to not piss you off to the point of never returning.
The bartender’s bizarre, telling comment came one night when I was waiting at the bar for my friends to arrive for dinner. I asked what beers they served on tap.
“Nothing”, he replied. As a beer drinker, I’m especially sensitive to places that disrespect the suds.
“No love for the beer drinkers, huh?” I asked.
“We’re bottles only. It makes our job so much easier.”
Okay, red flag! Red flag! It’s not about your convenience, pal, it’s about mine! I’m the customer. But I just filed that one away. As it turns out, Beso stocks a decent selection of bottled beers. I ordered a Negra Modelo. He ripped off the bottle cap and smacked the bottle down in front of me.
“We normally serve it with a nice slice of jalapeño in the bottle. It’s really good.”
He might as well have been speaking Klingon. Jalapeño? Really? I’ll applaud the effort. Somebody took the time to figure out a little bit of personalized flair for something as mundane as cracking a beer. And I’m sure the result is quite invigorating, but you’ll understand if I pass. (He seemed to pout a little when I demurred.)
“No,” I said, “But I’ll take a glass.” Come on, don’t make me ask. Too much work for you again? But I will give them credit for not cramming a lime wedge that I didn’t ask for into the bottle. Can the bartenders of the world stop with that, please?
I asked how the place was doing. He looked at me confidently. “Good. Real Good…Other places are having trouble but we’re not. Later tonight, it’ll be blowing up in here.” I sipped my beer. He continued, “I mean, I can only speak for the bar, but one reason, I mean, dude, we’re so much nicer than bartenders at other bars. We are so much nicer than we have to be!”
Translation: “As big of an asshole as I’m being right now, I could be so much worse.” Noted.
Certainly rampant assholery is a favorite target of this website, and when customers are paying a couple of hundred bucks a head for the privilege of being treated like shit, I’m usually all over it. But to have the existence of such behavior acknowledged openly, well, I was stunned. Thank God my friends showed up about then. I left the recovered asshole to his jalapeños.
I’ve been seated at three or four different places in the dining room and they’re all about the same. The banquets along one wall are best and filled with beautiful people. Beso really manages to promote an air of superiority to diners by simply taking away their armrests. Astonishing. The only seating that really doesn’t work are the absurd arrangements in the bar area. Uninviting ottomans serve as chairs at tables that are uncomfortably low for eating (which of course, the unfortunates who don’t make into the proper dining room must do. Oh, the shame.)
The menu has some steady choices and some missteps. A conversation starter for sure is the “Tomahawk Chop”, a brontosaurus sized portion of bone-in beef ($64) that my friend Alan has ordered three times but has yet to finish once. He usually slices me off a pound or two. I’ll admit it’s tasty. The outer layer is perfectly charred to crispness while the interior stays pink and juicy, as ordered. The grilling station is separate from the main kitchen and adjoins the dining room like a sort of meat-based observation booth. Perhaps the proximity to the customers (or more specifically the fact that the customers can see their faces) inspires the grill cooks to amp up the effort. The results seem to work.
Overall the wisely smallish menu gives a very slight nod to celebrity owner Eva Longoria’s Mexican-American heritage without being disingenuous or precious about it. There’s a dish called Eva’s avocado guacamole with crispy tortilla chips, which my friends seem to like more than I do. The “avocado” in the above item might seem redundant until you see the next item on the menu, Todd’s artichoke guacamole with za’taar pita chips. I’ve no idea who Todd is, but I assume I’m supposed to*. I’m underwhelmed by this dish, but my friends seem to like it, so it sits half eaten on our table every time until the entrees arrive and table space becomes a premium. The other eponymous dish, Eva’s tortilla soup, sounds perfectly rustic but would be better suited for a writer who doesn’t hate tortilla soup. Otherwise, the addition of Manchego cheese, chorizo, salsa verde and pico de gallo to a few dishes upholds enough cultural identity to give the menu some personality without making the claim to be authentically Mexican. Perhaps, as I’ve written about many times in this column, this because is high-end Mexican restaurants don’t survive in LA.
A friend and I both went for the salmon steak one night. Although the waiter cautioned us that “it isn’t a filet,” we were still unprepared the pervasiveness of the tiny bones. For $34, how about making it a fillet, huh? Avoid it unless you like your meal coupled with busy work. Since then, I’ve stuck to the pork chop or the grilled striped bass and have been much happier. I’ve never been in love with the sides or the preparations at Beso, but I’ve also never left hungry. The deserts are lovely, but at a table full of guys eager to keep their shirts off all summer, grudgingly overlooked. The exception was the one time we had to wait in the bar longer than usual for our table. On that occasion the manager brought a complimentary assortment of sweets after our meal regardless. In was a classy touch, one that in other restaurants would be considered “way more nicer” than was necessary.
* “Todd” is restaurateur Todd English, Longoria’s partner in Beso. But seriously, are you supposed to know that?
Beso: Hollywood Boulevard. Located near the Vine St. Red Line station, which is a good alternative to the valets’ $7 fuck-you fee. Good bottle beer selection for a place that hopes you never order a beer. Acknowledge the niceness or don’t come back, fucker. (photo by Aaron Black)
Posted by Aaron Black at 8:16 AM