Los Angeles, we messed up. Here's a man who did just about everything you should responsibly do in this industry and we ousted him. Andy Ricker respected his customers, his employees, and a culture -- a Thai culture he was not born into, but loved so much that he wanted to share the lesser-known aspects of its cuisine and customs with the western world. The preparation was detailed, the desire to educate altrustic, and the experience as authentic as possible. I can almost feel the Singha slushlike top layer of their beer now..

The more hopeful side of my nature never subscribed to the notion that no good deed goes unpunished. And I suppose I still don't, but these days I'm not so quick to brush off the proverb.

Chef Ricker, thank you. Don't think that your efforts went unnoticed. I and many others appreciated what you did. Every dinner here was a wonderful and precious moment for me.

We were lucky to have Pok Pok in our city. Now let us count the seconds until this property gets turned into another damn poke place. Eat up, drones.

Four times now I've come by before 7:30am and the bakery is closed. Owners, if you can't be up and running by 7am that's fine, just change your hours.

Taco greatness is rarely achieved. And the taco business...it's tough. Much tougher than you'd ever think. I get that. And I know the man responsible for this place gets that. How do I know? Because I remember visiting his illegal taco setup down on 1st and Beaudry years ago and it was wonderful. Back then a three man operation (sometimes two) would grill up the meat, hack it to pieces on a tree trunk cutting board, serve up your tacos on a plastic wrapped plate and hand them over for you to dress with salsa, cool liquidy guacamole, and all the proper fixings. When it came time to pay they even used the honor system where they would ask what you ate and they'd charge you based on what you told them -- just like in Mexicali. Many fond and delicious nights were spent on this corner.

See, only people with a deep understanding of taco culture who have given much thought as to what really makes for a great taco experience could ever (and would ever) go through the trouble of creating such an environment.

Unfortunately though, in my eyes, much has been lost along the way as what started as a rogue street corner taco operation grew into a handful of brick and mortar projects. Being the latest of these projects, and reading about the concept way ahead of time, Salazar made me hopeful. I mean here you have dining al fresco with quality meat grilled over mesquite charcoal and placed over handmade flour tortillas. Add to that a promising drink program and you have the building blocks for what should be a real beacon of light among the cheap, faux-asada cooked over a flat iron griddle masses.

Paying a pretty penny for a plate of carne asada and al pastor tacos, beans, salad and steak was expected. After all, the place provides a decent setting and the cost of table service has to be factored in. The problem is that once you bite into your food, what should be the culmination of so many things done right in theory, ends up being just middling in reality. Tacos were average, beans were average, the paloma was average and gone in three sips (filled to the brim with ice), the salad was way below average and the value was nowhere to be found. Add to this that a third of my steak was whisked away by the server while I was engrossed in conversation* and, well..my only recourse is to sigh in disappointment.

Successful scalability requires that everything go right just about every time, a kick ass staff, and a first-rate team of taco mercenaries. This is true of the greatest kitchens and any operation in general. I commend Salazar for trying to do something great even if it fails to execute the same way the old street corner operation once did.




*I did by the way remind the server that he had asked me if I needed boxes and not whether I was done; to which I replied there won't be anything left to box up. His reply that he MEANT if I was done did little to bring back my steak.

What does it mean when the highlight of your steakhouse dinner is the interesting looking bread basket of which you only try one item?

Dining at LA Prime gave me a sense of bereavement. Bereavement of the bovine whose life was taken to produce the steak that ended up on my plate; of its marrow that varnished my toasted bread; and of its unfulfilled potential as something utterly delicious. Excuse me if I come off as a bit histrionic, but steak is a big deal to me, and LA Prime didn't deliver.

The filet was under seasoned and devoid of tenderness -- a filet trademark. I might as well have asked the server to wrap my raw steak in butcher paper and grilled it on my Weber at home.

Now I can spend more time detailing how average our dinner was or I could just pass along my advice. Choose another restaurant. And buddy, the view doesn't make the food taste any better.

On the plus side, the Robert Mondavi Cabernet Sauvignon I had was generously poured. Good service.