Tres at the SLS Hotel: Learning To Trust

After a horrendous drink experience at Menage in Pasadena two years ago—I called it the 'Midori Sour Gone Wrong' as it almost cost me my dinner and pass out—I've been avoiding surprises and Midori ever since. Whether I'm at a bar or lounge, I would always order my signature Mojito or Stella so as to prevent any future unconsciousness.

It wasn't until my birthday last month that I broke my own personal rule and learned to trust again. Maybe because I was giddy from my carnivorous-happy meal at Animal beforehand, amazed by SLS Hotel's fetching interiors, or their bartender's recognition of St. Germain (my absolute favorite liquor), but I gave our bartender full reins to create—provided he incorporated St. Germain in his concoction. And boy oh boy, was I glad I made that leap.

After a few minutes in the alcohol filled vault, our trusty mixologist emerged with our drinks in hand. My friends had a Russian version of the Brazilian Caipirinha and Rose champagne. As for me, he created a updated version of the Greyhound. It was bracing and crisp, yet sweet and light—I was blown away.

Seeing how happy it made me or rather, probably tired from my endless profession of love for the cocktail, the bartender revealed his recipe: Grey Goose Poire, St. Germain, fresh-squeezed Grapefruit juice and triple sec.

Simple. Delicious. Greyhound a la Tres is now my new signature drink.

Stinking Rose: Rabbit on Easter?

This past Easter Sunday, a sudden wave of lethargy hit my boyfriend and me right around dinnertime. With it being a major holiday, we didn’t want to make this meal into a major production by shopping around for ingredients, taking chance that the grocery store might be closed, then lugging back all the fixings to fix supper.

Instead, we picked up the phone and called The Stinking Rose, made a quick reservation, then drove on over to La Cienega restaurant row to have the restaurant to take care of business. We were not disappointed.

They started us off with a plate of warmed rolls, a glass of refreshing mojito and a jar of wonder sauce. Don’t know what its true name is, but all I can say is wow. A Chimichurri-esque relish made of chopped garlic, parsley, oil and seasonings, this wonder sauce should be in the arsenal of a pixie, spreading garlic joy to all. Add some to a roll, bam! You now have a garlic roll. In the restaurant’s case, sprinkle some on french fries and shazzam! Heavenly garlic fries.

To be fair, their garlic fries wasn’t just great because of the wonder sauce, although that played a major part. What made their fries amazing was the expert way they were prepared by the fry master: a shattering crispy exterior, fluffy magma-hot interior that was not a bit greasy. We lovingly devoured the entire plate within minutes.



By then, we were getting stuffed, but the show must go on. I had their short ribs, which was fork-tender, literally. One gentle poke from my fork’s tines broke the connective tissues holding the tender beef fibers, making the entire structure collapse into the rich garlic red wine sauce below.



My boyfriend ordered their roasted rabbit and isn’t it a beaut? I had heard it tasted like chicken so I had to try some. And guess what, it does taste like chicken, albeit a muscular, “I work out daily” one with none of the flabby bits. The roasted olives and garlic made a wonderful supporting cast for this fabulous dish.

As I helped clean, ok, more like mooched off the plate, a thought came to mind… isn’t it sacrilegious to eat rabbit on Easter, aka Bunny Day? The thought quickly disappeared however as I speared up a particular succulent piece. Perhaps we are honoring this hare by eating reverently.

All I know was that this moment was ecstasy. Gastro induced euphoria, or as I like to call it, Gastrophoria. This the raison d’etre for my blog: to catalog and share moments (both big and small) of food bliss and other food-related news. Thanks for reading and bon appetit!