Recent visits

My Taco 6300 York Blvd. Los Angeles. (323) 256-2698
I would eat at My Taco once, maybe twice, a year. Or maybe more, depending on whether I find something other than the house specials, barbacoa and the carne asada fries (pictured above).
Don’t get me wrong, both are delicious.

The carne asada fries dish arrives as a generous portion of potatoes topped with delicate chunks of beef, cheese and a healthy dollop of guacamole. Pity the seats in the colorful restaurant don't double as beds, as one could easily enjoy a nap after ingesting a plate of these. Equally stomach worthy, the ever so slightly charred barbacoa drips with something I’ll call “flavor,” and is accompanied with small tortillas, chopped onion, cilantro and a cup of liquid fat meant for dipping, dressing or submersion.

It’s all very wonderful, paired with chipotle salsa, pureed avocado and charred jalapenos, and could probably satisfy a family of four or an NFL lineman. My hesitation to head back anytime soon lies solely with the burden of an increasingly health-focused conscience that holds a particular aversion to foods in which I can actually feel the fat running down my throat. You can take that as an endorsement. (B+)

Babita 1823 S San Gabriel Blvd. (626) 288-7265
Sitting on a somewhat overrun stretch of San Gabriel, not too far from the seafood palaces of Valley, numerous Asian markets, and a gem of commercial architecture in Aztecas Mexican restaurant, Babita is quaint and understated, a bedroom sized restaurant that serves refined takes on Mexican cuisine at prices that, I suspect, fail to make it a favorite of the non-bourgeois neighbors that live within a stones throw. That's really unfortunate as, I suspect the well trained chef has a lot to offer anyone, whether their normal venue for Mexican fare is a taco truck or something a few steps up the price chain.

We began our visit, on one of those wonderfully quiet Sunday nights, with the guacamole. Given the rest of the menu, it seemed a bit ordinary, though enjoyable. Thankfully, the main dishes that followed soared a bit farther.

The shrimp enchiladas, plumply stuffed with prawns where restaurants of similar ilk might opt for moderation, arrived coated with a not-too-sweet mole, one that you roll around on your tongue as long as you can as hints and wafts of countless spices trigger multiple sensations. The Atlantic salmon, covered with Oaxacan cheese and wading in a shallow pool of citrusy vinaigrette and cooked tomatoes was even better. I fell asleep that night still thinking about it. (A)

Ebisu 356 E. Second St. (213) 613-1644
Ebisu is a sub-city of Tokyo (or maybe Tokyo is a meta-city partially composed of Ebisu) in which, a short walk from the central train station, one finds a more than adequate collection of tastefully shy nightspots tucked in little streets that wrap like dragons, signaled by glowing lanterns and word of mouth, restaurants that hover when you walk by. Ebisu, the restaurant, is nothing like this. Gaudy fish adorn the walls. The centerpiece is a 12 foot ship replica that functions as a table setting for a rectangular table. And the food is...just ok: all too creamy California rolls seemingly devoid of avocado, cold and sterile steamed broccoli and carrots served as part of the dish, decent grilled salmon, and a monstrous, table-consuming sampler boat that was perhaps a good example of the lack of wisdom in trying to do too much...chicken, beef, tempura, salad, vegetables, and sushi. I was kind of puzzled by meal's end. (C)