R.I.P: Sharkeez

In my continuing efforts to rid my life of all things asinine, I present to you the next installment of R.I.P:

Behold, Sharkeez-- a Tijuana knock-off bar that has actually become so popular for perennial frat boys and party tramps that they actually keep making more of them.

I'm not the only one who's tried to lay Sharkeez to rest for the critical survival of the human race. You know who else gave it a shot? God. God actually tried to smite Sharkeez.

One of these Whorehouse Training Camps spontaneously combusted in the middle of the night a couple of years back, which seemed to me a divine foreshadowing. And God said, "it is good."

Unfortunately, God didn't factor in that Sharkeez must've fucked a Gremlin sometime in the late 80s-- nowadays, you pour water on one and *poof!* another dreadful little nightmare pops up. And the fate of mankind rests once again in the hands of neanderthals who like to drink shots from a plastic syringe and head-butt each other.

I was lured into one of these for the LAST TIME yesterday, you hear me? Last. Time. I walked in there for Happy Hour and walked out with a missing dignity and a full 17 minutes closer to my expiration date.

To illustrate my outrage, here's a quick hit list of reasons I'd like to give the owners a swift slap in the mouth after my horrendous trip to Sharkeez:

1. It's called Sharkeez.

I mean, really? Something about that "eez" really punching up the profit marginz? Waz "Sharkey's" or even "Sharkees'" just too classy for you? Nothing sayz passing fad like a bar with a lame name and an even lamer intentional misspelling. But you post-undergrad Peter Panz just keep showing up in drovez, proving me wrong. And it makez me just want to euthanize you all.

2. They sell a drink called a Donkey Punch.

Do you people even know what a Donkey Punch is? I mean, really visualize a Donkey Punch for a couple of seconds (that is, what you think a DP is, since you all know Goddamned well no one you know has ever done it) and then look down at your drink. Do you want to drink a whole bucket of liquid named after a brain contusion and a contracted sphincter? Whatever, have fun.

3. They hold shouting contests for free booze.

4. There are more flat screens per capita than a Circuit City Best Buy.

5. They host regular Flip Cup Tournaments. Seriously.

6. Their Shark Attack requires a minimum of three drinkers and very closely resembles Jungle Juice (refer to inaugural R.I.P post)

7. The place is crammed with the best our gene pool has to offer (see above and below) relentlessly and shamelessly propositioning each other:

7. They have breathalyzers in the bathroom.

8. The bartenders and wait staff wear sports jerseys.

9. Every item on the food menu was fried in the same vat.

10. Perfect strangers play grab-ass to and from the coed bathrooms and proceed to text each other about this very meaningful experience on their iPhones for the next 30 minutes.

(11. Because ours go to eleven.)

G'bye, Sharkeez. I'd like to say I'll miss you, but clearly I won't. Call me when you decide to host a Donkey Punch tournament, and you just might see me around.

Anisette: WTF?

The food blogs and message boards have been abuzz about Anisette since it opened – unsurprising since the restaurant marks the return of Alain Giraud, one of LA’s foremost chefs. Reviews have been mixed, especially among the Chows and the Yelpers, but I was still very excited to try it. I tend not to have specific expectations about how food should be prepared; if there is good food and good wine, then I’m happy.

Our reservation was for 8:30 on Friday night. When we arrived (to a packed house) the hostess told us it would be a few minutes before our table was ready, and to have a seat at the bar. The space is lovely, albeit loud, and we were duly impressed by the wall of bottles. After squeezing ourselves in near the end of the bar, we bought a round of cocktails to pass the time. All of us tried an elderflower/cucumber cocktail. Very au courant and well made, but I’d go with something more basic next time.

At around 8:45 we went to check on our table. It still was not ready, but we were told the table was finishing dessert and that it would be ready soon. As the driver, I decided to skip the next round of cocktails, but one of my dining companions opted to try the absinthe. The preparation was traditional, yet impressive. The bartender placed a sugar cube on a slotted spoon on top of the glass of absinthe, lit the cube on fire so it would melt into the drink, and then poured cold water into the drink to put out the fire and dilute it slightly. The absinthe was very alcoholic, with a strong medicinal aftertaste, but definitely a fun diversion.

However, at this point it was 9 p.m. and there was still no word on our table. For the next half hour we sat dejectedly at the bar waiting for our table to be ready. The bartender gave us each a gratis glass of bubbly as an apology (not what we would have ordered, but a nice gesture), and after several more inquiries as to our table, we were finally seated around 9:35. That’s right folks. Over an hour wait for our table, and we had a reservation!

The manager gave us a basket of gougeres for the table in apology for the wait, and the sommelier took our wine order immediately. We wolfed down for the gougeres (which were lovely) and then waited for our server to take our order. And waited. And waited. Did I mention there was a lot of waiting? Our server finally came to take our order around 10:05 p.m. – about the time I’m used to finishing dinner – and didn’t seem too concerned that we had been at the restaurant for an hour and a half already. After a comment to the manager about the further wait, however, our starters came out rapidly. We had a Frisee au Lardon salad, a smoked salmon plate with brioche, and a cheese plate. The egg on the Frisee au Lardon was overcooked, such that the yolk was completely solid and did not run at all. Still tasty, but a restaurant helmed by someone with Alain Giraud’s pedigree should be able to execute a traditional dish like this better. The smoked salmon was good but nothing special. We really enjoyed the cheese plate, although I have no idea what was on it – our server did not know and never came back with the info even though we asked him to.

Things really fell apart with our main courses. We ordered the Beef Daube Provencal, the Gnocchi, and the Black Cod with Chorizo and Clams. Of the three, only the Beef Daube was standout. Really delicious, with melt in your mouth beef, and an almost carmelized reduction. The Black Cod was cold and bland. Only the chorizo had any flavor. I’m not sure how long it had been sitting, but the wait didn’t do it any favors. Next to the Gnocchi, though, the cod was delicious. The Gnocchi – purportedly made with black truffle and parmesan – were mealy, devoid of any flavor, and slightly undercooked.

While halfheartedly eating dessert around 11:15, we marveled at just how mediocre the food was. Only the cheese plate, the Beef Daube and the chocolate ice cream (part of a trio we ordered) could be classified as flavorful and satisfying; the rest of our food ranged from pedestrian (the Frisee Salad, and the Salmon) to downright offensive (the Gnocchi). Bottom line – for a top chef, about $100 per person and an hour + wait for our table, I expected a lot more.

If I’m on that side of town again I might go to Anisette for a drink at the bar and maybe a cheese plate, but with so many other delicious French options available in LA these days (Little Next Door, Comme Ca and Café Stella to name a few) I won’t be eating dinner at Anisette again anytime soon.