When I first moved to LA, I came to understand that Brazilian food is something that happens to you. It’s not something that you seek, like, “Hey, I could really go for some fried balls of meat and maybe half a chicken!” Instead it’s 1am, and some drunken gaggle of WeHo friends orders in from Bossa Nova simply because it is open late and isn’t Pizza Hut. Obviously, I want to like it. I’m drunk and hungry and there is suddenly a giant menu of food in front of me. Someone in the group is an expert and orders all the “authentic” menu items. Beans, rice, chicken, plantains and a dish of weird dust whose presence I am supposed to understand. After four or five misguided late-night Brazilian feasts, I gave up and started ordering their pizza (doy). Even then, it isn’t very good and somehow I just spent twenty bucks. Again.
That’s not to say I was ready to give up on Brazilian food as a concept. WoodSpoon is a charming and aesthetically pleasing spot in the Fashion District that is open for dinner. And now that I’m living downtown, I’m pretty excited by any business or restaurant that wants to acknowledge me as a patron. Not to say that the Corner Kafe won’t serve me, we all know they will, I just don’t want to eat any of those amorphous pig bits they’ve so lovingly documented in photographs.
Turns out WoodSpoon has been around since 2006, and as we pull up on our bikes, the “hostess” makes sure that we know it. She looks at us expectantly. “Um...table for 2?,” my boyfriend finally asks. She bites her lip and casts worried glances about the dining room. It’s a weeknight. At 9. There is one couple waiting outside. The dining room is bustling, but not full. “Let me see what I can do for you...just a minute.”
So we wait outside, though we can clearly see the ENTIRE inside, including an empty table for two with place mats and napkins. As there are no menus anywhere, we are left with no choice but to survey the clientele. Oh, man. These people are fucking cool. Asymmetrical Haircut sits on the same bench as her Motorcycle Jacket kind of nuzzling him and feeding him something fried off her fork. Once Modeled For Something Somewhere takes the table next to what I can only assume will be ours with her metrosexual arm candy. The entire right side of the place is overrun by some kind Med School Grad Explosion.
Once sitting down, I admit I’m hungry and annoyed by the Model’s story about New York and how it compares to LA. How about it doesn’t? The waiter stops by and we order right away. Coxina for an appetizer because the menu says it’s Brazil’s most popular street food. We both order from the Brazilian Grill: your choice of protein or vegetables served with rice, beans, plantains, and collard greens. He orders beef, I order chicken with bacon.
Service on the coxina was fast, and I’ll admit they were better than Bossa Nova. Maybe it’s my particular palate...but the insides taste the same as the outside and the best part is the “salsa” which is basically pico de gallo without anything spicy.
Our plates arrive and there is surprisingly little protein for $15. Two skewers each. And there’s that little bowl of yucca flour...I’m sorry but no amount of creative deployment can convince my mouth that it is food. The chicken was kind of greasy and tasted like a hot dog. My fault for ordering bacon. Collard greens always taste good to me and these were no different. Bottom line: rice and beans and meat is something anyone with five dollars and two brain cells can whip up in the kitchen themselves, so I think the ego and pricing of this place could stand for some serious deflation.
But...by the glory of flesh-eating deities everywhere...I was given a few bites of the beef skewer and my heart starting dripping with savory sunshine. It was really, really, show-stoppingly good. I am still thinking about that tender salty bit of cow-part. Yes, right now. It was that good. A week later I ordered a whole steak somewhere, which is entirely out of character, and I think maybe WoodSpoon is to blame.
So go there and eat cow. I bet all their cow is top-notch. Or don’t go. Stay home in the kitchen and learn to make beans yourself. You’ll save a lot of money and you’ll never have to watch Motorcycle Jacket drip white sauce from his pot-pie onto his lap.
That’s not to say I was ready to give up on Brazilian food as a concept. WoodSpoon is a charming and aesthetically pleasing spot in the Fashion District that is open for dinner. And now that I’m living downtown, I’m pretty excited by any business or restaurant that wants to acknowledge me as a patron. Not to say that the Corner Kafe won’t serve me, we all know they will, I just don’t want to eat any of those amorphous pig bits they’ve so lovingly documented in photographs.
Turns out WoodSpoon has been around since 2006, and as we pull up on our bikes, the “hostess” makes sure that we know it. She looks at us expectantly. “Um...table for 2?,” my boyfriend finally asks. She bites her lip and casts worried glances about the dining room. It’s a weeknight. At 9. There is one couple waiting outside. The dining room is bustling, but not full. “Let me see what I can do for you...just a minute.”
So we wait outside, though we can clearly see the ENTIRE inside, including an empty table for two with place mats and napkins. As there are no menus anywhere, we are left with no choice but to survey the clientele. Oh, man. These people are fucking cool. Asymmetrical Haircut sits on the same bench as her Motorcycle Jacket kind of nuzzling him and feeding him something fried off her fork. Once Modeled For Something Somewhere takes the table next to what I can only assume will be ours with her metrosexual arm candy. The entire right side of the place is overrun by some kind Med School Grad Explosion.
Once sitting down, I admit I’m hungry and annoyed by the Model’s story about New York and how it compares to LA. How about it doesn’t? The waiter stops by and we order right away. Coxina for an appetizer because the menu says it’s Brazil’s most popular street food. We both order from the Brazilian Grill: your choice of protein or vegetables served with rice, beans, plantains, and collard greens. He orders beef, I order chicken with bacon.
Service on the coxina was fast, and I’ll admit they were better than Bossa Nova. Maybe it’s my particular palate...but the insides taste the same as the outside and the best part is the “salsa” which is basically pico de gallo without anything spicy.
Our plates arrive and there is surprisingly little protein for $15. Two skewers each. And there’s that little bowl of yucca flour...I’m sorry but no amount of creative deployment can convince my mouth that it is food. The chicken was kind of greasy and tasted like a hot dog. My fault for ordering bacon. Collard greens always taste good to me and these were no different. Bottom line: rice and beans and meat is something anyone with five dollars and two brain cells can whip up in the kitchen themselves, so I think the ego and pricing of this place could stand for some serious deflation.
But...by the glory of flesh-eating deities everywhere...I was given a few bites of the beef skewer and my heart starting dripping with savory sunshine. It was really, really, show-stoppingly good. I am still thinking about that tender salty bit of cow-part. Yes, right now. It was that good. A week later I ordered a whole steak somewhere, which is entirely out of character, and I think maybe WoodSpoon is to blame.
So go there and eat cow. I bet all their cow is top-notch. Or don’t go. Stay home in the kitchen and learn to make beans yourself. You’ll save a lot of money and you’ll never have to watch Motorcycle Jacket drip white sauce from his pot-pie onto his lap.
