I posted a couple of weeks back about how sad (I might have said dismal) some food writing is. But then again, sometimes food writing isn’t sad at all. Sometimes it’s a hoot and a holler, and frankly if it ain’t one or the other what’s the effin’ point?
Here is Jonathan Gold in the LA Times, describing a restaurant I’m obviously never going to, named Cortez, in Echo Park.
“What you think about Cortez is going to depend in large part on what you think about crowds, and noise, and screechy jazz, about well-meaning servers who are slightly impatient with the idea of service, and about spending most of an hour leaning up against a shoe box-narrow windowsill waiting for a seat to open up.”
He doesn’t quite eviscerate the restaurant in the rest of the review, but after an opening like that, who needs to?
The above photograph is by Francine Orr, evidently taken at a quieter time, though it looks like you still have to share tables.
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