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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