Mexico Restaurante y Barra

(Image credit: latimes.com)

8512 Santa Monica Blvd. (at La Cienega), (310) 289-0077, gogomexico.com

I'm a quarter Mexican, and Alexis is a native Angeleno; put us together and you have two very, very white people who love a good plate of enchiladas with a margarita. So it's a good thing we have Mexico, because we're sure as hell not going to Fiesta Cantina across the street. (Have you walked by that place? It could be Tuesday afternoon and it's like New Year's frickin' Eve in there. Mexico is festive too; it's just not Spring-Break-in-Cancun festive.)

The menu is small and focused. Where your El restaurants (Coyote and Torito, mainly) tend to have an entire novella devoted to tamale choices, Mexico fits its entrees, apps, drinks and desserts all on a single page. The limited selections were somewhat worrisome this time-- we took Divaker with us, and having eaten many a Mexican dinner with him over the years, I can attest to the fact that the man does not tolerate any so-called "vegetables" invading the sanctity of his cheese enchiladas. Fortunately, customizations are available upon request, so he was a satisfied customer. The plates echo the menu in their emphasis on quality over quantity; you can order the guacamole plate, dinner, and a slice of cake without fear of being carted away in a wheelbarrow. Speaking of which: the guac, served in a small dish inside an avocado shell, is chunky and delicious. Our go-to entrees as vegetarians are the vegetable enchiladas and chile relleno, both of which the restaurant pulls off with consistent panache.

Since the place is open late and has two levels of outdoor seating, it also makes a great choice for a late-evening drink. (Comes in handy if you've been underwhelmed by the booze at Spanish Kitchen.) The eclectic alcohol choices reflect Mexico's ownership (it was dreamt up by Larry Nicola of Nic's Martini Lounge) and include the tamarind-infused Cabo de Noche, the Mamasita Mojito (a sort of Brazilian-Cuban hybrid made with cachaca instead of rum), and about a zillion different margaritas. And you know what goes great with a midnight drink? No, not french fries. Well, yes, french fries, but I'm talking about dessert. The Mexican Chocolate Wedding Cake is my recommendation, at least in part because it tastes nothing like it sounds. The first time I ordered it I was expecting a huge, gooey, butter-cream-iced slab; and I got a modest (but filling) section of a lightly spiced, very subtly chocolate cake that reminded me most of German Christmas cookies from my youth in the snowy hills of Baden-Württemberg.*

*That sentence is 100% true except for the last six words.

Flavor of India

Image credit: flavorofindia.com

9045 Santa Monica Blvd., 310-274-1715, flavorofindia.com

Our move to this part of town brought with it the sad reality that we would no longer be in reasonable proximity to Samosa House, one of our favorite Indian spots and almost weekly supplier of takeout dinner during the chaos of my grad school days. Thus, finding "our new Indian place" ranked high on the list of priorities of post-relocation endeavors. Fortunately, we hit the nail on the head the first time with Flavor of India.

While I am of the opinion that Indian food is actually quite amenable to the American palate, I am also of the opinion that Americans are distrusting, over-cautious, un-adventurous eaters, and so it's always a bit of a gamble when you ask friends if they want to go out to Indian food with you...kind of on par with asking them if they'd like to share an escargot, blood pudding and grub platter with you. (Although, my friends/only readers can rest assured that I won't be proposing that, as that item sounds suspiciously un-vegetarian.) To avoid all this awkwardness, we asked our friend Divaker to come with us--a bona fide real-life Indian who has even BEEN to India.

Like any good Indian joint, there was a menu section that singled out non-vegetarian dishes, which, I will admit, colors my interpretation of the place heavily. Nick and I both ordered the vegetarian thali (combination plates), but with different vegetable items, and Divaker ordered something we don't eat. You know that thing that happens when you're super-white and you're with someone ethnic, and you find out that you're really way more ethnic than they are, and your white guilt is momentarily alleviated? That happened! First, the server noted to Divaker how good my pronunciation was. (I've gotta give that one to growing up a middle-class angelena--just like the rest of us, I've been doing yoga forever. The words aren't hard, they just have lots of extra H's.) Then this: The server "assumed" that Divaker would want his dish very spicy, to which Divaker gently pushed back, and ended up quite content with his nominally spicy dish. I, however, ordered medium spice and noted to myself during the meal that I definitely could have handled having it kicked up at least a notch, and mentally patted myself on the back. Not that it means anything. I mean, whatever. But stay tuned for my date to Gardens of Taxco with my 25% Mexican fiancé.

It was a delight to learn that they offered the elusive malai kofta, a sumptuous veggie meatball-that-doesn't-pass-for-a-meatball, but rather, something way better. Samosa House had long tantalized us by serving us their crack-laced version once, only to never it offer again. Finding it as a regular offering here was really quite a victory. Score another point for "why moving to WeHo was a good idea and makes our lives immeasurably better." It's unclear who, exactly, is arguing against that one, but I feel compelled to compile an ever-expanding arsenal of propaganda opposing the ideals of that entity.

The paneer was flavorful and nicely textured, the saag was wonderfully garlicky, well-cooked, and vividly green. The began bhartha was...perfect, really. I actually think that, under certain circumstances, Nick, who has eschewed all eggplant other than that made by my stepfather, might even be talked into eating and liking it. Nick, in addition to the Kofta of Inspiration, got aloo gobi, being the potato-powered being that he is and needing to keep his reserves up. The naan and rice were respectable (I'm not sure how much inter-restaurant variance there is in these things), and the raita packed a memorably potent tang that was ideal gustatorially, regardless of its effects on a marginally lactose-intolerant digestive system. Dessert helped remedy that, though. Between us we ordered ginger kulfi (the Indian analog of ice cream, with this version being unusual and worth going out of your way for), kheer (creamy rice pudding with a delicate spice profile), and masala chai (judged to be well-above adequate, even if not completely authentic, by Divaker). All of this was superimposed on the canvas of quaint, unassuming, breezy, sherbety-colored ambiance. The waitstaff was helpful and endearing. (Although, not to knock them, but isn't that true at every Indian restaurant, really?)

Suffice it to say we liked it, we'll go back, we'll take our friends, and giggle while quietly but respectfully whispering to each other how cute it is. And, at the suggestion of our friend Michaela, we will try the makhni paneer.